I guess that wish came true.
I put down my fork. I feel like I’m about to be sick.
Sara sets her fork down, too. She takes a sip of her tea, watching me.
“Do you know what you’re going to major in?” Alana asks.
I shake my head and pick up my fork, just so I can pretend to be interested in eating. I notice Sara picks up her fork as soon as I do. “I’m not sure yet,” I say.
I poke at pieces of pancake, but don’t actually put a piece in my mouth. Sara does the same.
I put down my fork. So does Sara.
More conversation passes around the table, but I ignore most of it when I can. I can’t stop focusing on the fact that Sara is following my every move while trying to be discreet about it.
I’m going to have to be cognizant of this all summer. I think the girl might need to be informed that she should eat when she feels like eating and not base her food intake around how much I eat.
I make sure to eat a few bites, even though I’m nauseous and nervous and every bite is a struggle.
Luckily, it’s a quick meal. Twenty minutes at most. Samson said nothing the entire time he ate. No one acted like this was abnormal. Hopefully he’s always this quiet. It’ll be easier to pay less attention to him.
“Beyah needs some stuff from Walmart,” Sara says. “Can we go tonight?”
I don’t want to go tonight. I want to sleep.
My father pulls several one-hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet and hands them to me.
I changed my mind. I want to go to Walmart.
“You should wait until tomorrow and take her somewhere better in Houston,” Alana suggests.
“Walmart is fine,” I say. “I don’t need much.”
“Get one of those prepaid phones while you’re there,” my father says, handing me even more money.
My eyes are wide. I’ve never held this much money in my life. There’s probably six hundred dollars in my hands right now.
“You driving?” Sara says to Marcos.
“Sure.”
I suddenly don’t want to go again if that means Marcos and Samson are coming.
“I’m not going,” Samson says as he picks up his plate and walks it to the sink. “I’m tired.”
Well. Now that Samson isn’t going, I want to go.
“Don’t be rude,” Sara says. “You’re coming.”
“Yeah, you’re coming,” Marcos adds.
I can see Samson glance at me out of the corner of his eye. At least he seems as disinterested in me as I am in him. Sara starts walking toward the door.
“Let me grab some shoes,” I mutter, and head back upstairs.
Apparently, there isn’t a Walmart on Bolivar Peninsula, which means you have to take the ferry to Galveston Island. It makes no sense to me. You have to take a ferry from the mainland to an island to do any shopping. This place is confusing.
The ferry takes approximately twenty minutes to get from here to there. As soon as Marcos parked the car, everyone got out. Sara noticed I hadn’t opened my door, so she opened it for me. “Come on, let’s go to the top deck,” she said.
It wasn’t really an invite so much as a command.
We’ve been standing up here for less than five minutes and Sara and Marcos have already snuck off, leaving me alone with Samson. It’s getting late, probably around nine thirty, which makes for a mostly empty ferry. We’re both staring out over the water, pretending this isn’t awkward at all. But it is, because I don’t know what to say. I have nothing in common with this guy. He has nothing in common with me. We’ve already had two less-than-stellar interactions since I arrived a few hours ago. That’s two more than I’d like.
“I get the feeling they’re trying to set us up,” Samson says.
I glance over at him, but he’s staring out at the water. “It’s not a feeling. It’s a fact.”
He nods, but says nothing. I don’t know why he brought it up. Maybe to clear the air. Or maybe he’s entertaining the idea.
“Just so you know, I’m not interested,” I say. “And not the kind of not interested where I hope you still pursue me because I like games. I’m legit not interested. Not just in you, but in people in general, really.”
He smirks, but still doesn’t look over at me. It’s like he’s too good for eye contact. “I don’t remember expressing my interest,” he says coolly.
“You didn’t not express interest, so I’m putting it out there. Just so we’re clear.”
His eyes find mine with a slow turn of his head. “Thanks for clearing up something that wasn’t even confusing in the first place.”
My God, he is good-looking. Even when he’s being an asshole.
I can feel my cheeks burning. I quickly glance away, not sure how to come back from this. Every encounter I’ve had with him has been humiliating and I’m not sure if that’s his fault or mine.