“Why?”
“So you can go with Ryan and me.”
“You’re going to prom with him?” This surprises me.
“Not like that.” But from her expression, maybe she wishes that was the case.
“Lila, do you like Ryan?”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. And every girl should put on a pretty dress, so she can dance in the gym.”
I smile. “You present a tempting offer.”
“You could always bring Conrad. I think he likes you.”
I stare at her. “Seriously?”
“It was just an idea. Look, if you can afford it, you should buy the tickets. Just in case.”
“Of what?” The only person I want to attend prom with, and, well, I don’t even know where he is.
Lila ignores the question, instead joining the line at the table. She’s digging into her wallet. “How much?”
“Seventy per couple.”
She counts out the cash and takes her packet. “Now you.”
It’s uncanny the way she knows I’ve got money on me today. Usually I wouldn’t, but I was planning to stop at the P&K for groceries on the way home. I dig into my backpack for my wallet, but an arm covered in worn green fabric reaches in front of me, holding three twenties and a ten. “I’ve got it.”
I whirl, unable to believe what I’m seeing. “Shane?”
Yes. It’s him—worn jeans, black T-shirt, green army jacket, and the bluest eyes in the world. His hair is a little longer than it was, curly more than shaggy. And he’s buying prom tickets? I can’t even process what this means. Joy and disbelief war within me as he concludes the transaction, then draws me gently into an empty classroom. From the pictures on the wall, this is health, but I can hardly think right now, let alone speak.
“You must have questions,” he says softly.
I just put my arms around him and lean my head on his chest, shaking. The tears trickle down my cheeks. It’s ridiculous because I’m happy, not sad, but I have no control over my emotions. He hugs me to him, resting his chin on my hair.
“Okay then, let me do the talking. I ended up fostering with this crazy religious couple. No phone. No Internet. No TV. No music. It was pretty close to hell. I think … it was actually worse than juvie.”
“They wouldn’t let you write to me? Not even a postcard?”
“I lost your address,” he admits. “When my release came, I had your letter, but by the time I unpacked, I couldn’t find it. I’m so sorry.”
“So you’re back?” I tip my head back, devouring his face with my gaze. It feels like I could never get enough of him.
He smiles at that. “It seems that somebody was pressuring my dad, making him think about me. And … it worked. So he contacted my social worker and started the process to get custody of me, at least until I turn eighteen. He’s taken a local route with the trucking company, he’ll drive a delivery circuit and be home at the end of each night.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “They approved his petition?”
“Yeah. I guess you made quite an impression on him. Says I’m lucky as hell to have you. Like I didn’t already know.”
“Wow. But it took a while I guess?”
“Not as bad as it could’ve been. Since Dad’s never been convicted of a crime, never had a problem with drugs or alcohol, and there’s never been any allegations of abuse, it was pretty easy for him to get me back, once he started fighting. I … just never expected that he would. He’s better at running away.”
“I bet once he offered proof he’ll be home at the end of the day, it helped a lot.”
“From what my social worker says, yes. We’ll have regular home visits, just to make sure things are still okay, but I don’t expect any problems. And I’ll be eighteen in July. So if my dad can’t take living with me, then he can bail, and I’ll be fine. Thanks to you.”