“I can’t. Her parents are out all day.”
“Then take her to your home.”
“My dad’s got a cold. You don’t want her to get a cold, do you?”
“You know what I hate?” I asked.
Trenton had desperation in his eyes. “Me. I know. I just . . . I’m a selfish, insecure idiot.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m a sorry selfish, insecure idiot with a little girl outside in the cold.”
It was my turn to sigh. I waved for Olive to come in. She happily complied, sitting on the couch. She immediately found the remote and flipped on the television, turning to Saturday morning cartoons.
Trenton took a step and I held out my hand. “Not you.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to come in.”
“But . . . I’m watching Olive.”
“You can watch her from the window.”
Trenton crossed his arms across his chest. “You think I won’t?”
“No, I know you will.” I grabbed the white sack from his hand, and then slammed the door in his face, locking the door. I tossed Olive the sack. “You like bagels, kiddo?”
“Yep!” she said, opening the sack. “Aw you weally going to make Twent stand outside?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, walking back to my room, and falling into my bed.
“Cami!” Raegan said, shaking me. I looked at the clock. It had been almost two hours since Trenton had knocked on my door. “That little girl is watching cartoons in our living room!” she whispered, clearly uneasy.
“I know.”
“How did she get there?”
“Trent brought her.”
“Where’s Trent?”
“Outside, I think,” I said, yawning.
Raegan stomped out to the living room, and then back to my room. “He’s sitting on the ground outside our window, playing Flappy Bird on his cell phone.”
I nodded.
“It’s thirty-three degrees outside.”
“Good,” I said, sitting up. “I wish it were sleeting.”
Raegan’s face screwed into disgust. “He waved at me like it was the most normal thing in the world. What the hell is going on?”
“He brought Olive over. His dad has a cold, so he couldn’t bring her home, and her parents are somewhere else all day.”
“So he couldn’t watch her at her house?”
I thought about that for a moment, and then crawled out of bed for the second time that day. I walked over to the couch. “Why didn’t Trent watch you at your house?” I asked.
“I wanted to come see you,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” I said. “Trenton didn’t want to see me?”
“Yes, but he said you wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, so then I said, pweety, pweety pwease? And he said okay.”
I smiled at her, and then walked over to the front door, opening it. Trenton turned around, and looked up at me. My smile vanished. “Come in.”
Trenton stood up and walked inside, but that’s as far as he got. “You’re mad at me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Why?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Is it because I went home with that girl last night?”
I still didn’t answer.
“I didn’t bag her.”
“You want a cookie?” I asked. “Because that is prize worthy.”
“What is your deal? You tell me five times a day that we’re friends, and now you’re jealous of some girl I flirted with for two seconds.”
“I am not jealous!”
“Then what are you?”
“As your friend, I can’t be concerned about your STD status?”
“What’s an ust edie?” Olive asked from the love seat.
I closed my eyes tight. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Olive. Forget you heard that.”
Trenton took a step toward me. “Her parents let me babysit her. You think they’re worried about foul language?”
I raised an eyebrow.
He lowered his chin, looking straight into my eyes. “Tell me the truth. Are you angry at me because you thought I took that girl home, or is it something else? Because you’re mad at me for something.”
I crossed my arms and looked away.
“What are we doing, Cami?” he asked. “What is this?”
“We’re friends! I’ve told you that already!”
“Bullshit!”
Olive’s finger hovered over the top of the love seat. “You have to put a nickow in my jawr.”
“Sorry,” Trenton said, his eyebrows pushed together.
“So you didn’t . . . go home with her?” I asked.
“Where was I going to take her? My dad’s?”
“I don’t know, a hotel room?”
“I’m not buying drinks to save money, you think I’m going to spend a hundred bucks on a hotel room for some random chick I just met?”
“You’ve done less intelligent things.”
“Like what?”
“Like eat glue!”
Trenton tucked his chin and looked away, clearly disgusted, and maybe a little bit embarrassed. “I never ate glue.”
I crossed my arms. “Yes, you did. In Mrs. Brandt’s class.”
Raegan shrugged. “You did.”
“You weren’t in my class, Ray!” Trenton said.
“You also ate red pencils fairly regularly, according to Cami!” Raegan said, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Whatever!” Trenton yelled. “Where’s my bagel?”
The white sack hovered above the love seat, the wrinkled, rolled top held by Olive’s tiny fingers. Trenton sat beside his friend, fought with the sack, and then pulled out his breakfast, unwrapping it.
Raegan looked at me and held three fingers over her mouth. Her body jerked with a silent laugh like a tiny hiccup, and then she retreated to her room.
“I never ate glue,” Trenton grumbled.
“Maybe you blocked it out. I would block it out if I ate glue . . .”
“I didn’t eat glue,” he snapped.
“Okay,” I said, my eyes widening for a moment. “God.”
“You want . . . you want half of my bagel?” Trenton asked.