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Without a word, he takes one from me, and moves to his bean bag propped up against the foot of his bed.
“How’s the party?” he asks, picking at the cake with the ends of his fork.
I shrug, plopping down on the floor next to him, crossing my legs. “It’s okay,” I say, taking a big bite of cake. Mouth full, I say, “The girls took over the karaoke machine.”
Jeremy smiles, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh.
He finally starts eating his cake, which makes me relax. I try not to draw attention to it, that I’m watching. But after last year, when he got all skinny and sick, I get worried it’ll happen again, even though he’s a lot happier now that he’s homeschooled and no longer has to deal with people picking on him.
“What were you drawing?” I ask when I’m finished with my cake. I set the plate on the floor next to me.
He shrugs and mumbles, “Stuff.”
“Your comic book?”
He nods, his gaze downcast.
I wish he’d show me. I can’t draw at all. I think it’s so cool he’s doing his own comic book, but he never shows me anything but the pictures he draws of superheroes that already exist, like Spider-Man and the X-Men and Avengers and stuff.
He even made me a Captain America picture for my birthday last year. It’s taped up on my bedroom wall with my other posters.
He finishes most of his cake, leaving the icing.
I take it from him and scoop it up with my finger, finishing it for him. He hates icing, unless it’s chocolate. I’ll eat any kind.
“I got you something,” I whisper.
I don’t know why I’m whispering, or why I feel all nervous suddenly.
“You already got me a present,” he says, finally looking up and meeting my gaze with a frown.
I swallow, and it goes down rough. Shrugging a shoulder, I wipe my hands on my jeans, reach into my pocket, digging out the bundle of tissue paper.
“Well, yeah,” I say, “but that was your main present. Like for your party.”
His eyebrows scrunch together, eyes dropping to where I hold out the white crumpled tissue paper.
“It’s kind of lame,” I say, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. “I found it at the flea market Mom took me to a couple weeks ago.”
He nods, taking it from me, staring down at it like he’s worried it’s going to blow up or something.
“I just… It made me think of you.”
The second the words leave me, my face grows hot.
“Well, not you, exactly.”
He’s opening it, and when he sees what’s inside, his frown deepens even more. Pinching the silver ring between his fingers, he looks up at me and says, “Captain America?”
Jaw tight, I nod jerkily.
“But he’s your favorite. Don’t you want it?”
“I have a shield. It’s on my wall.”
He nods. He knows this. He’s seen it the couple times he’s come over. It’s bigger than my head. It was a birthday gift from Gavin and Linda last year.
“But you don’t,” I whisper. “You don’t have a shield.”
