She could see the skepticism in Ben’s posture before he even turned around. “New friends? Why haven’t you mentioned them?”
Sunday shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a reason to until now, I guess. It’s only been a few days.”
“Are these friends actual friends or a boy?”
She swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”
“And you know what I mean.” He carefully transferred the poached egg to a plate and moved the pot from the hot burner. Then he wiped his hands on a dish towel and turned around, leaning against the sink.
“My friend Micah invited me to hang out with him and his friends. We eat lunch and have a bunch of classes together. That’s it.”
“What will you guys be doing?”
Sunday shrugged. “Maybe a movie. Getting a bite to eat.”
Ben nodded. “All right. Home by ten.”
“I’m sixteen!”
“Eleven. And call us if you need a ride.”
“Fine.”
Ben’s discipline and rule-setting had never been strange to her because Ben had almost always been around. Sunday’s parents were teenagers when they had her, before her father began dating men and her mother realized she didn’t want to be a mother. She wasn’t in Sunday’s life anymore, but Ben had been there since she was eight years old. Half her life.
And things would soon become even more official because Ben was going to adopt her. They’d all talked about it right before they moved. Ben had brought it up shyly, like he was afraid she’d say no. She had cried from happiness when he asked if it was okay, if she wouldn’t mind him being her father, too. He’d always been so good to her; if anything, she felt like she should be asking him if he was sure.
“I’m glad you’re settling in.” He walked over to kiss the top of her head. “I just want you to be careful.”
She spooned up another bite of oats. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Let’s make that a promise, Sun,” Ben said, stealing a blueberry from her bowl.
*
Micah met her at her locker after the last bell.
“Ready?”
Sunday put away the books she wouldn’t need over the weekend and slammed the door shut. “Yeah, where are we going?”
“My house,” he said, leading the way to the parking lot. “I told everyone to come over in, like, an hour.”
“Are your parents out of town?”
“No, they’re just never home and don’t give a shit what I do.” He shrugged. “They don’t really give a shit when they’re home, either.”
Sunday couldn’t imagine a life like that. Her dad and Ben seemed to be aware of everything she was doing at all times, even though she was never really doing anything they’d object to.
Micah slowed in front of a silver Mercedes. A black guy Sunday had never seen was leaning against the hood, arms crossed and brows furrowed. He turned his glare on Micah as they approached.
“Is this your car?” She didn’t mean to sound so incredulous. After all, this was Los Angeles, and the rest of the cars in the parking lot certainly weren’t shabby by comparison. But Micah had been so strange about admitting he lived in Beverly Hills, she was surprised to see he drove such an obviously luxurious car.
“About time you showed up,” the guy grumbled.
Micah ignored her question and the guy’s comment and sighed. “Meet my brother, Eli. E., this is Sunday.”
The frown on Eli’s face relaxed into an almost-smile as he looked at her. “Hey.” He paused. “Your name is Sunday?”
It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten that question this week, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Sunday shrugged. “I sit next to a girl named Whisper in studio art.”
He gave her a full smile this time and an almost-laugh. “Touché. You rolling with us?”
Eli didn’t look so much like Micah. He was bulkier and missing a dimple, and he seemed cranky for no reason. But she instantly liked him, just as she’d instantly liked Micah.
As it turned out, Micah’s definition of fancy varied vastly from hers because their house was exactly the type of home she pictured when she thought of Beverly Hills. They had to pass through a set of security gates, where the guard at the booth greeted Micah like they were best friends.
Their house wasn’t the biggest on the street, but it was objectively impressive. There was a sprawling emerald-green lawn and a long circular drive and elaborate detailing on the outside that made her think the inside was probably even more gorgeous.
“This is totally Beverly Hills fancy,” Sunday said accusingly as she got out of the passenger seat.
Eli climbed out behind her. “Micah likes to pretend we’re poor. It’s better for his image.”
“Shut the fuck up, E.,” Micah said, slamming his door.
Sometimes Sunday wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. Her father and Ben had considered adopting a child from the foster care system years ago, and even went so far as to discuss it with her, but they ultimately decided they were happy with one child. They always said she was such a good kid they didn’t want to jinx it. Most of the time Sunday felt glad, but sometimes even sibling rivalry made her a little envious. Having a brother or sister was a connection she’d never know.
Micah left her alone with Eli while he went upstairs to drop off his backpack and the bag with all his dance gear that he lugged back and forth each day.
“Your house is great,” Sunday said, gazing around the foyer. Her voice echoed back to her.
“Yeah, it’s one thing our parents didn’t fuck up,” Eli said.
She followed him to the kitchen, which was three times the size of the one at her new house. Eli opened the door on the giant refrigerator and waved her over. “Want something to drink?”
The fridge was fully stocked. Sunday felt almost dizzy as she stared at all her options. It looked like they were throwing a full-on party later. She finally chose a can of ginger ale and stepped aside as Eli slipped a bottle of Bud Light off the shelf. He twisted off the cap and took a long swallow.
He noticed her staring and raised an eyebrow. “You want one?”
Sunday shook her head.
“You don’t drink?”
“Not as, like, a statement. I just never have.”
“That’s cool.” He took another sip, then said, “I only drink.”
“What?”
Eli hopped up on the counter next to the sink, swinging his legs back and forth so the heels of his sneakers bumped against the cabinets. “I mean, I don’t do anything else. Like smoke weed or take molly or whatever.”
Sunday sipped her ginger ale and nodded. Eli was still watching her, and she got the feeling he wanted to say more. But then Micah walked in.
“I’m fucking starving,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “You guys want to order pizza or something?”
Eli looked away.
*