“I didn’t ask.”
“Well, where did she cut your hair?” I could tell by the tone of Travis’s voice that he was getting a little frustrated. I obviously wasn’t giving him the information he wanted, but I didn’t know what he wanted, so I wasn’t sure how to fix it.
“In the kitchen.”
“At the house?”
“Yes.”
“Your house?”
“Yes.”
Travis whistled into the phone.
“I think that counts as a friend, at the very least,” he said. “Joe’s not been over, has he?”
“No, we go to his house or Uptown to do stuff. He’s never been here.”
“Damn.” Travis whispered again. “Well, I want to hear more when I get there, okay? I’ll bring Beth’s car over, and you can drive me back.”
Travis arrived a few minutes later and ate most of my leftover shepherd’s pie. He did less cooking than I did, and his wife, Bethany, traveled on business a lot. She worked for a textile company. He was also a really big guy and could pack it away. He was taller than me by a couple of inches and had curly hair. He and my dad looked a lot alike, both with dark hair and bright blue eyes. I looked like my mom.
“So tell me more about this girl,” Travis said between mouthfuls.
“Mayra Trevino,” I said. “Her eyes are brown.”
He looked up from the plate and tilted his head to one side.
“That’s all you got?”
“Oh, um…” I stammered. I didn’t really know what to say about her. “I sat behind her today in ecology.”
“I thought you sat by Joe.”
“There was a new kid,” I said quietly. I didn’t want to think about it too much and bring the memory back. “He was in my seat.”
“Did you take it okay?” Travis’s tone was guarded.
“No.”
“Shit—I’m sorry.” Travis ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll call the school again, okay?”
“I thought they wouldn’t discuss me with you,” I reminded him. “I’m eighteen, and there isn’t any guardianship or anything.”
“Well, they can listen even if they won’t talk!” Travis said, raising his voice, which made me flinch. “I’ll call that Jones guy myself. He obviously hasn’t read your IEP or your 504 plan. He was supposed to talk to Mrs. Heath last semester. He shouldn’t be putting you through that shit.”
“Please don’t,” I said quietly.
“Why not?” Travis snapped back.
“Because,” I said as I took a deep breath, “I’m already going to have to deal with the hit-and-run guy. I can’t do both at once. It’s too much.”
With a huff of air through his nose, Travis conceded. He picked up his plate and fork and put them in the sink. I followed him and washed them both, put them away, and then I cleaned the sink. Travis knew if he washed them, I would just get them out and wash them again. We had an understanding.
“If your mom had passed a few weeks earlier, I would have become your guardian. I could go to that school and give Jones shit, then.”
“Travis,” I whispered. I felt my whole body seizing up on me.