Page 61 of We Shouldn't Be Together
I wink at her. “Are you in a rush to get to health class?”
“Hard pass.”
There’s a kink in my neck, and I let it cut deeper into my muscle. I focus on the pain instead of my shame. Any little inch I get onto Cammy’s good side, I take it. Even in the moments earlier, I was sitting here, contemplating my lack of real friendship.
My gaze wanders back to Kai and Jamie. The jealousy writhes inside me, but I continue to focus on the pain. My third eye imagines me taking out my feelings on Jamie West during phys-ed. I breathe out shallowly, imagining Camila praising me for whatever nasty words come out of my mouth.
It’s sad that this is the only safety I feel.
13
Idon’tknowwhymy parents asked me where I wanted to eat tonight. I said pizza, but we’re at the Jasmine Garden Chinese Restaurant. Granted, it’s one of the best restaurants in town, but still. It’s not pizza.
Over moo shu pork, szechuan chicken, and too many dumplings, my parents continually reminded me it’s still ten days before I get my license. It’s not enough that every day they ask about my stitches and if I’ve wrecked any. I mean,please, by now I know how to look after freaking stitches.
“You know, we’ll still take the car awayafteryour birthday,“ Dad lectures. “Just because you get your license, doesn’t mean you get to be stupid.”
I plant my hand over my chest. “Stupid? Me?”
“I can’t handle the idea of a careless accident,” Mom chimes in, “when you don’t have your father or I next to you. This is scary stuff, Kai.”
I groan. “Mom, I said I was sorry about the stop sign. I braked as soon as I realized.”
“A moment too soon,” Dad reminds.
“But I did it,” I defend my case.
Mom holds her thumb and index finger half an inch apart. “I’m this close to taking the car away. I should’ve already done it.”
Dad chuckles to himself. “Yeah. We can give the car to Milo instead.”
Milo revolts beside me, dropping his chopsticks. “I don’t want it. A microscope, Dad. That’s what you promised me for my birthday. A microscope. Not a car. I don’t want a car.”
Mom sniggers. “Yes, honey, we get it.”
“Look, guys, I’m sorry,” I say bluntly. “The stop sign was a mistake, and I own it. I won’t do anything else dumb. And when I get my car, I’ll never wreck it.”
“Don’t hold him to it,” Milo blurts.
I punch him in the arm.
Milo recoils, holding the tender spot. “Ouch! You jerk!”
“Malakai,“ Mom warns in a low whisper, avoiding a public scene. “Apologize to your brother.”
I lift my hands. “Sorry, but not sorry. You should have faith in me, not like he says.”
“We can do that,” Dad says, “without you punching your brother.”
“Well, he should keep his mouth shut,” I double down.
Mom points at Milo. “Apologize to him properly.”
I groan and roll my eyes. “Sorry, Milo, that you’re such a delicate flower.”
“Mala—“
“Sorry,” I blurt, cutting off another full-naming. I face Milo and nod. “I’m sorry.’
