She nods, but looks down at the ground.

Everyone leaves.

Everyone but me.

"You should get to class," she says.

And then she walks away.

***

I wait near her locker after school. I know where her locker is because the day after her brothers told me who she was, I started to notice her a lot more. I admit that day wasn't the first time I'd noticed her. I'd seen her around school but we ran in different circles, had different interests. I always thought she was cute, a little thin, but still cute.

She shows up right after the bell, rushes to get her shit, and then hastily leaves.

And then I do something that turns my creep factor full notch; I follow her. I don't follow her because I'm stalking her. I follow her because I want to make sure she gets home safe.

You know something that's really hard to do? Ride your bike and creepily follow someone that's walking. I give it to her, she walks fast, but it's hard to pedal slowly behind someone and not get attention.

She ends up at the elementary school and picks up her brothers. They wait at a bus stop for a few minutes before the bus arrives and they all hop on. I watch them leave. And then I pedal like crazy, taking a shortcut through the woods toward her house.

By the time I get to her driveway, my legs are burning.

And then it dawns on me that I'm standing in the middle of their driveway, which is at least two acres away from anyone else's... and I have absolutely no reason to be here.

Lincoln sees me first. "Hey Cam!" he yells casually.

I panic.

"We know that it's a bye this week... if that's why you're here."

Saved.

"Yeah... that's why I'm here."

He smiles huge before waving. "Bye Cam!"

They all head down her driveway. She sees me, but doesn't even bother to fake a smile. That doesn't bother me, what bothers me is that she has absolutely no hint of recognition in her eyes. I've been to her house. I was at her mom's funeral. I held her when she'd passed out no more than four hours ago and she doesn't even recognize me. I bet she's thinking about Logan. That asshole. I should've punched him like I wanted to. "Wait!"

She flinches. Why does she flinch?

"Get in the house," she orders the boys.

She watches them all get in before turning to me. "What's your name again?"

I swear to God I want to punch Logan and I don't even know why, but I feel like he's the reason she doesn't remember me. I try to keep my voice level, even though on the inside I want to shake her for not remembering me. "Cameron."

"Right." She nods once. "Cameron." She crosses her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

"I told you yesterday. I want to help."

Her eyes narrow. Her teeth clench shut. But somehow she manages to get out, "And I told you yesterday that I didn't need your help."

I shrug. I have no clue what the hell else to do. I'm nervous. And she terrifies me.

"Why?" she clips.

"Why?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah. Why?" She takes a step forward, dropping her arms to her sides. "Are you one of those church people... or are you trying to redeem yourself to make up for some sin you can't shake? What is it, Cameron? Do we look like we need help? Do you think I need help?"

"Yes," I say before I can stop myself.

Her shoulders sag and for the first time I see something in her beyond strength, or sadness. Vulnerability. And fear. She's afraid.

"Honestly, yes," I repeat, testing the waters. I open my mouth to continue but she cuts in.

"Okay," she sighs. Then turns and walks toward the house. I slowly follow her, knowing too damn well that I have no fucking clue what the hell I'm doing.

***

The next three days she completely ignores me. She doesn't greet me. Doesn't talk to me. Never says my name. Never acknowledges me. I should be pissed, but I'm not. Because in those three days, I've realized something. I wasn't just there for her anymore; I was there for her brothers too. And regardless of whether she shows it, or whether she wants to admit it, she needs the help.

They all do.

On the fourth day, she does something I never expected. "You're welcome to stay for dinner, I made too much." That's it. That's all she says. And even though she says it in passing, I know the effort it takes for her to offer it.

We sit at her giant dining table while the boys talk among themselves.

She reads, and I read her.

And that's how I spend the next few weeks. Each day, she speaks a few more words to me, and each day I find myself caring more than I should.

***

I dry the last pot from the sink before she takes it from my hands and places it on the stovetop.

Clearing my throat, I say, "So I wanted to run something by you."

She nods, her gaze never lifting.

"I was wondering if I could bring my Xbox tomorrow... see if it might entertain the boys for a little bit." I curse myself for my nerves coming out in my voice. "It's just that I'm falling behind on my homework and I thought—"

Her eyes dart to me. "You don't have to come every day. No one makes you."

Frustrated, I let out a breath with a grunt and tilt my head back, looking to somewhere else for a patience that I'm lacking. "I don't mind coming here. It was just an idea. I'll just stay up later and do it when I get home." I sigh, too tired to contain the hurt in my voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lucy."

I start to walk away but her hand on my forearm stops me. "I'm sorry," she says so quietly I almost don't hear her. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to be here." She tries to smile but fails. "Bring the Xbox. They'll love it."

"Okay." I turn to leave but she stops me again.

"I really am sorry, Cameron." And hearing her say my name without anger or aggravation makes my breath catch. She chews her lip, her eyes wandering back down to the floor. "I don't know why you're here but I don't want to question it. I just want to appreciate it." Her gaze lifts. "Thank you."

***

"The prodigal son returns," Mom giggles. She's sitting on the couch in the living room with her boyfriend, Mark. He looks away from the TV when I enter the room.

"Hey Mom." I walk over and kiss her on the cheek. It's been a few days since I've seen her. She spends most nights at Mark's house or he's here.

I reach out to shake his hand but he slaps it away. "What? No kiss for me?" He puckers his lips and waits. I try not to laugh, but I can't help it.

"Maybe you're just not pretty enough," Mom mocks.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Lucky you're pretty enough for the both of us," he says, kissing the side of her head.

"That was lame, Marky Mark," I joke.

His eyes narrow at me. Then he smirks. "You know what else is lame?"

"What?" I lift my chin toward him in challenge.

"Your season's batting average." He tries to kick the back of my knee so it gives out but I step back too quickly. He comes to a stand, the smirk still in place. "My grandma hits balls better than you do."