If I Tell

engine without noticing. I hoped my lunch would rot and smell up his car.
    “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I’ll make it a fast lunch and have you back in time for your next class, I promise.”
    “Whatever.” I pulled down the strap on my seat belt, buckling myself in and crossing my arms as he pulled away from the curb. Tina stared at us from the school yard as we drove away.
    He drove past the high school and turned right at the light instead of left.
    “McDonald’s is the other way,” I told him.
    “I know. I thought we’d go to the one at the mall. The one by the high school’s always so packed. Especially at noon.”
    “I have a class at one.”
    “I said I’ll have you back on time. Don’t worry.” He sounded pissed off and drove for a moment before saying anything else. “So. How’s school?” he asked, like it was an effort to be friendly.
    “It’s fine.” I reached for the volume knob on his stereo and cranked up the music, even though it was a CD of stupid hip-hop songs I couldn’t stand.
    He bobbed his head to the music, not even appreciating my intentional rudeness.
    When we got to the mall, we went to the food court. Simon pointed to an open table and told me to save us seats. He headed to a line to order for us, and I stomped to the empty table and sat waiting for him, wanting to take off and leave him all alone.
    A few minutes later he joined me, carrying a plastic tray covered with fast food.
    “Big Mac, large fries, large Coke?” he said, unloading the food from the tray. My standard order.
    “You should have asked before you ordered for me,” I snapped, just to be disagreeable.
    “Oh.” He looked upset. “Sorry. I just assumed since that’s what you always get. I got a Chicken Grill. You can have mine if you want.”
    My fingers reached for the burger. “It’s okay,” I mumbled, feeling silly. “I don’t want to wreck your diet. I know older guys like you need to watch what they eat.”
    He eyeballed his chicken sandwich and unwrapped it, ignoring my dig. “So, I’m worried about your mom. I thought you might be able to help.”
    The burger that hovered in my hand, poised for a bite, lost all its appeal. I dropped it in the wrapper on my tray. My appetite vanished for good.
    “Why are you worried about my mom?”
    His eyebrows pressed together, and apprehension radiated from his dark skin. I had a vivid image of him pressing up against Lacey and wanted to reach across the table to smack him. Hard. To leave an imprint on that skin.
    “She’s. Well, she’s acting really…” He struggled for a word. “Odd.”
    “She’s really pregnant,” I said. Did he really need to be reminded?
    “I know. But it’s more than that. I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t seem happy with me. With anything, really. And she’s angry. Really angry. All the time. Man, I wish my mom was alive. I’d ask her these questions.”
    I wished Simon’s mom was still alive too. Stupid cancer. I couldn’t stand his wounded expression. I looked over at the table beside us. Girls younger than me giggled and flirted with a nearby table of boys. Middle-school kids probably skipping class. I envied them.
    “What do you expect me to do?” I asked, still watching the kids.
    “I don’t know. Nobody knows her as well as you do. I thought maybe she said something to you when you went shopping. About why she’s so unhappy.”
    My eyes narrowed. “She’s pregnant, Simon. She has raging hormones, and she’s gaining weight. You know how she is about her looks. It’s probably normal for her to act grumpy.”
    His shoulders drooped, and he ran a hand through his tight black curls. “I don’t know. I’ve talked to a couple of other guys with kids, and they said their wives were fine. I mean, moody and kooky when they were pregnant, but not like her. She’s more…I don’t think she’s supposed to be like this.”
    “So? Are you asking for my permission to walk out on her? Because she’s not acting the way you think a pregnant woman should act?”
    His expression changed. He looked almost offended. “I’m not leaving her. I’m worried about her.”
    Raw emotion crept into his features, making him look older and troubled. There were new wrinkles under his eyes and bags, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. And his cheeks were drawn, thinner.
    For an instant I felt sorry for him, the old Simon, the one I used to get along with. I remembered how he used to make me laugh. And