Speechless(119)

                Things calm down around one or so. Dex and Lou work the counter                     while the rest of us take a break. Technically, as far as the state of                     Michigan’s child labor laws are concerned, Asha’s shift ended at nine, and Sam’s                     and mine ended at ten-thirty, but we’ve been hanging around helping out anyway.                     Dex repays us with free food. We sit in the long wall booth, Asha drinking                     chamomile tea while Sam devours leftover home fries. I squish in next to him and                     steal a few from his plate. They’re mushy and a little cold but still good.

                “I need to buy a dress,” Asha says.

                Sam taps the bottom of a mostly empty ketchup bottle against                     the table’s edge. “What for?”

                “Winter Formal.”

                I groan, and everyone stops to look at me. I can’t help it. Is                     Asha really still stuck on this?

                “You want to go to Winter Formal?” asks Sam. He sounds                     incredulous. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks the idea is ridiculous.                     And bad. Bad bad bad, all around.

                She shrugs and licks her spoon. “Why not?”

                “Uh, because dances are lame?”

                “How would you know? Have you ever even been to one?”

                “Well, I’ve never been attacked by a scorpion, either, but I                     know I wouldn’t want to be.”

                “What does that have to do with anything?” she asks.

                He dips a fry in ketchup and points it at her. “Exactly.”

                Asha huffs like she’s given up on the argument. I pull my feet                     into the booth with a yawn. I’m so tired. I really should go home soon. I check                     my cell to see if either of my parents have noticed my absence, but I have                     exactly zero missed calls and no new texts. I’d bet anything that Dad fell                     asleep in front of the television again, and Mom probably went straight to bed                     as soon as she came home from work. She’s been running herself ragged to clock                     in as many hours as she can.

                I lie down and stretch out my legs, resting my head on Sam’s                     lap. He looks down at me, surprised, but doesn’t say anything. A few seconds                     later he sets one of his hands on top of my hair. He starts stroking it, very                     lightly, like I’m a cat. It feels good. I rub my cheek against his leg and close                     my eyes. I could fall asleep right here....