Free Camo Girl by Kekla Magoon Page B

us.
    â€œOkay,” I say. This is good. I draw a makeshift chessboard on some computer paper out of Z’s bag.
    If we don’t talk, things seem to be how they always were. We move the chessmen up and over. Z wriggles his fingers with dramatic flair.
    I play along, try not to think about what’s wrong with this picture. How I have to remind myself not to say anything, because anything I say will make Z upset. I try not to think that it’s wrong, all wrong. I should be able to talk to my best friend, real words, not part of the game.
    â€œYour move, milady.”
    â€œSorry, sir.” I hop a knight.
    He grins, pushing up his glasses. I’m about to lose gloriously, and Z is approaching glee. I realize I’ve missed seeing his face light up over the small things that make him happy.
    â€œCheckmate!” he cries.
    â€œYou got me good,” I say, groaning dramatically. He laughs.
    I start resetting the board. Z joins me in lining the little men up again, but when everything’s set, he pauses.
    â€œMilady, shall we consider a feast before battle?”
    â€œOkay,” I say. “What do you want?”
    He considers. “Pop-Tarts.”
    â€œYou wanna get them, or should I?”
    â€œMilady must away to our rationed stores. I shall guard the soldiers,” he says, stroking his king’s shoulder lovingly.
    I roll my eyes. “Well-laid, sir.”
    The grocery section is about as far on the other side of the store as you can get from automotive. I leave Z, walking the big center aisle that runs the width of the store. My sneakers glide over a slick spot on the floor, giving me a little dance-shimmer effect. Which I decide to try again. And again, as I make my way toward the snack aisle.
    I snag a box of Strawberry Pop-Tarts off the shelf. It’s not stealing as long as you save the box so you can scan the bar code and pay for it afterward. Z’s mom works here, so she can do that, no problem.
    When I glide back into the aisle, working my new little dance move, I’m getting excited about the possibility of a Strawberry Pop-Tart. Just then, who do I see?
    Bailey James.
    I sidle back into the cereal aisle, out of sight. But I can’t help taking a second look.
    It’s him, all right. He’s pushing a big blue cart, wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey. Walking beside a tall, stern-looking woman, who must be his mom. They’re near Aisle 15, housewares, and she’s looking at packages of place settings. She points to one, Bailey nods, and then she plops it into their cart.
    Bailey wheels the cart around fast. I duck back, but not in time.
    â€œElla?” Bailey waves.
    I can’t go anywhere in this town.

CHAPTER 29
    S miling, i step out into the aisle. “hi, Bailey.” I tuck the Pop-Tarts behind my back like some kind of contraband.
    Bailey’s mom is a tall, pretty woman with dark, smooth skin like my mom’s. Her hair is straightened, pulled back in a bun. The lines of her face make her look very serious, but she smiles prettily when Bailey says, “Mom, this is Ella, my friend from school. She’s the one with the basketball hoop.”
    Mrs. James nods at me. “Lovely to meet you, Ella.”
    â€œHi, Mrs. James.”
    We stand in weird silence for a moment. Then Mrs. James relieves Bailey of the cart and says, “I’ll meet you at the checkout, B.” She gazes at him pointedly. “We cannot be late.”
    â€œOkay, Mom.”
    â€œLakers fan?” I say when we’re alone.
    Bailey grins. I grin, relieved that he could tell I was joking.
    â€œSo,” he says. “Sorry I don’t have time to hang out.”
    â€œThat’s okay. Where are you going?”
    Bailey shrugs. “Just this place we go,” he says in a subject-changing kind of way. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Hoops?”
    â€œYeah, okay.”
    â€œCool.” Bailey holds out his fist, and I