6:59 (34 page)

Cameron

Cameron,

Don't worry about taking Anj to school. Olive's doing that. If you have extra time, check out my video I left you.

Cam

After reading the letter Cam left me, I folded it back up and tossed it into my trash can. Just as I was about to tear into my closet for clothes, I realized that I was already dressed in the sweater and jeans I'd asked him to wear the day before. And there was no gel in my hair.

I looked at the time — exactly 7:02. I had over thirty minutes to do practically whatever I wanted this morning. This was new.

So with all this extra time, what was I supposed to do?

If you have extra time, check out my video
. Cam had made a video response for me? I didn't know whether I should feel excited or nervous. This would be the very first time I would ever lay eyes on Cam, excluding the time I saw his model photos. This would also be the very first time I heard him talk. Instantly my heart began to race. I desperately hoped that this video wouldn't be pointless.

I clicked play.

My first thought on seeing him was that he was
me
. In the video, his hair was un-gelled, he was wearing my sweater, and he was sitting in my room. But when I took a closer look, I noticed the eyes — the piercing, crystalline, gray eyes that made him one of the Gray Eyes. His hair was blonder, too. And when I looked even closer, his face was harder than mine. He looked aged and experienced.

He wasn't me at all.

I ended up watching the whole video three times. The first time, I just watched in fascination. I was watching me as another person, as if I were an actor acting in a film. I didn't hear the words he said. The next time I watched, I heard his story, his side of life. It was intriguing, knowing that while I was “sleeping,” he was out doing these missions and meeting people. He had a life in this body, too. Just not
my
life.

The third time, I actually listened. Upon revealing to me his life story, he'd also opened my eyes to what a crappy guy I've been to Olive. I always knew that Olive was angry at me for the whole Anjolie thing, but I didn't know half the things I'd been doing wrong to her. I was acting like a jerk and I wasn't even realizing it. Olive was my girlfriend so she had the right to my attention and affection. All this time I've been spending with Anjolie should have been with Olive, my girlfriend.

I had to make a change.

I stood up from my desk and grabbed my backpack. As I left my house, I heard Mila and Dad in the kitchen, laughing and giggling. I wondered what was so funny.

“Dad?” I said when I entered the kitchen. “Mila?”

Mila couldn't jump off of Dad's lap fast enough. She sprung herself away and turned herself onto autopilot, cleaning the stove and counters as if that's what she'd been doing the whole time.

I narrowed my eyes at them. “I'm guessing you guys had fun in Croatia?” I asked, grabbing a sausage off of Dad's plate.

Dad and Mila just gaped at me for a long time, not knowing what to say. I stared back at them, waiting for a response. It was Dad who finally did something.

He laughed. “Alright, my boy, you caught us,” he said, standing up from the kitchen table with an embarrassed smile. “Mila and I, we may be… well… we…” He couldn't find the words to describe their new relationship.

I decided to put him out of his misery. “You and Mila are together now,” I said, taking a bite from the sausage. “And chances are you've been together for a lot longer than a weekend.” My eyes were still narrowed as I stared at them.

Mila was the next to speak. “Um, yes,” she said, wringing the dishcloth in her hands. “We've been, um, seeing each other for… for about four years now.”

Judging by the looks on their faces, I knew they were expecting me to flip out like all the kids in those movies. But honestly, I had no problem with their new relationship. In fact, I was pretty ecstatic. I'd been living in this house for eighteen years with Mila at my side, thirteen years with Mila playing the motherly role. She'd been in my life for so long, it would be weird if Dad and she
weren't
dating.

I took another bite of the sausage just to prolong their suspense. Then I said, “When should I start calling you ‘Mom'?” I smiled.

Mila let out a relieved sigh and walked over to me, embracing me in a long hug. “Good boy,” she said happily. “You are a wonderful, boy, Cameron. You know that?” She squeezed my cheeks with her hands.

I shrugged. “You always say that,” I said with a smile. Then I nodded at Dad. “Let's hope Cam takes the news well. Word on the block is that he hates you, Mila.”

Mila rolled her eyes and shooed away my reply. “Oh, I hate him, too. No worries.” She laughed and joined Dad, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Dad kissed her forehead and then looked at me. “So now you know,” he said. “Now, get yourself to school. Don't want to be late.”

“
You
get to work,” I said, pointing a warning finger at him. “Don't want to be late.” I smiled.

****

The first person I saw when I walked into school that morning was Olive. She was stuffing her books into her locker and switching them out with others. She wore black jeans and a dark blue blouse, an anomaly to her usual brightly-colored wardrobe.

I didn't take the time to ponder this. I walked right up to her and planted a much-needed kiss on her full, red lips. She let out a shocked sigh, but soon embraced me, returning the kiss.

She was the one who pulled away. “It's not my birthday, Cameron,” she said smiling. “What's with the PDA?”

I shrugged, leaning into her, kissing her neck. “Just wanted to kiss you. That's all,” I said, taking in her new cinnamon-scented perfume. For some reason, that smell made me think about Anjolie and her perfume. I quickly shook thoughts of her out of my head.

Olive shrugged. “Fine by me,” she said, closing her locker. She focused on me. “Do you want to walk to English with me?” she asked sweetly but hesitantly.

I took her books and held her hand. “Why not?” I asked. “You're my beautiful girlfriend, aren't you?” I kissed her cheek.

All through English, I held hands with Olive, only letting go to pass back papers. And each and every time I saw Olive in the hallway after class, I made it a point to close in on her, ask her how her day was going, and kiss her for all the world to see. If even
Cam
thinks that everyone thinks that Anjolie and I are a couple, then I had a problem. Olive was my girlfriend and I wanted the whole world to know that.

And apparently, I was successful. Everyone couldn't get enough that I had a girlfriend now, and that it was my best friend. They thought it was romantic. Olive and I took their inquiries happily, holding our hands down the hallway, smiling at each other. It was, however, awkward when some people wondered when Anjolie and I broke up. It took ages trying to remind them that we were never a couple in the first place.

I saw Armando after school when I was waiting for Olive to get out of the meeting with her teacher. “So what is this?” he asked, wrapping a heavy arm around my shoulders and speaking quietly. “Did you get lucky last night or something?” he grinned.

I pushed him off, trying to hide my blush. “No,” I said quietly.

Armando laughed. “Have you
ever
gotten lucky?” he asked, not bothering to give up his pestering.

I really didn't want to have this conversation with Armando right now. He already knew the answer to this — he just wanted me to say it. “Dude, I blackout before people go out. There's no time, alright?” I shoved him again for good measure.

“Alright, alright, easy,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “What I mean is, why are you and Olive so couple-couple now. I thought you didn't
do
PDA.”

“I do PDA,” I protested. “I just never had a girlfriend to do it with. Is there a problem with that?” I asked, glaring at him.

Armando frowned at me. “Dude,
chill
,” he said, patting my back. “No need to get all crazy mad all of a sudden. This quick anger crap is such a Cam thing. You're not Cam, alright?”

I nodded quickly, taking in his words. “You're right. Sorry.” I shook out any trace of anger I had pent up in my head and sighed. “Look, about me and Olive,” I said, answering his question. “We haven't really been demonstrating boyfriend-girlfriend qualities recently, so I decided to make a change.”

Armando nodded, shrugging his shoulders. “Alright, I guess that's okay. Sucks for Anjolie though.”

Just the mere mention of Anjolie's name had my eyes widening and heart racing. “Why? What's the problem? Why does it suck? Why?” I asked a little too frantic for my liking. Where was this coming from?

He narrowed his eyes at me for a second. “What's with the enthusiasm?” he asked suspiciously.

I shook my head quickly, waving away his question. “Just… never mind. Why would it suck for Anjolie?” I asked in a calmer voice.

“Because she won't have a true date for the Homecoming dance Saturday,” Armando said. “Olive made it a point to say she wasn't going to the dance so everyone thought you and Anjolie would go together 'cause you guys are partners and stuff.”

I cocked my head to the side, staring hard at Armando. “That's impossible, Mannie,” I said slowly and firmly, “because
I will be blacked out
.” Are people forgetting about my condition? Didn't they know that I couldn't possibly attend any night activities? How many times did I have to stress that?

Armando smacked his forehead. “Right, right, right, right,” he said repeatedly. “You can't go. Wow, I'm an idiot. Sorry, dude.”

I just shook my head and shrugged, suppressing my anger. “It's alright, man,” I said, looking into the classroom window, wondering how much longer Olive would take. “It's hard to remember stuff sometimes. I totally get it.”

Armando opened his mouth to respond but was distracted by whomever it was that was coming up behind us. I spun around and met eyes with Anjolie. She walked up to the two of us, looking great in her jeans and a green sweater. She was really getting out of this whole gray-and-white thing. She passed her hand through her long, curly locks, spraying Armando and I with an enticing cinnamon smell. I breathed the perfume in hungrily.

“Hey, guys,” she said, flicking her wrist for a short wave. “What are you waiting around here for? Don't you know loitering is illegal?” She smirked at us.

“
I
was just leaving,” Armando said, swiveling on his heels and walking out the door where he met up with Hudson. They left the school together.

Then it was Anjolie and me. Alone.

She punched my shoulder. “So, although I love hanging out in these ancient, smelly hallways, when are you taking me home, Sloane? And please say now because I think that janitor over there is undressing me with his eyes.” She shuddered.

I laughed and shot a glance at the janitor who quickly looked away, going back to work. Then I looked back at Anjolie, my smile wavering. Cam and Olive had both stressed that Anjolie was just using me for the rides, that it hurt Olive that I spent so much of my time with her picking her up and dropping her off. I knew I couldn't do this anymore. But telling her this was going to be probably the hardest thing for me to do. I swallowed and began to explain, “Um… I… I don't—”

Anjolie's eyes suddenly bulged open in fear. “Don't worry!” she interrupted me. “Pssh, don't even worry about it, Sloane.” She waved away her question. “I actually don't need a ride today. Turns out I have to… I have harp practice.” She smacked her forehead. “How could I have forgotten? Silly me.” She smiled at me.

I smiled and nodded, glad I didn't have to go into detail about my not taking her home. But then I realized that I'd have to tell her that I couldn't be her carpool anymore. My heart tightened. “Um, yeah, I… I can't take you home today,” I said.

“Didn't we already establish that?” she asked with a chuckle.

I nodded. “Yeah, yeah, we did,” I said hesitantly. “It's just… I can't… drive you places anymore.” There, I said it. Now I had to deal with the waterworks.

But surprisingly, they didn't come.

Anjolie's face fell for about two-point-five nanoseconds before she smiled again. “Well, duh,” she said, waving away my words again. “Of course you can't — which is a good thing because I was slacking on my exercise anyway.” She patted her calves. “These babies are turning into rubber!
Not
a good look.” She laughed a little too forcefully. Then she turned away.

But before leaving, she asked, “Did, um, did Olive or Cam or anyone say something to you about what happened last night?” Her face was genuinely worried as she stared at me expectantly.

I shook my head. “No,” I said, thinking about it. “Yeah, they didn't say anything at all.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “What happened last night?” I asked curiously.

She frowned. “Um, I just had a little too much fun last night. That's all.” She chuckled hesitantly and then rushed out of the school doors.

Anjolie

I had no idea why I was crying. This whole crying thing was really starting to annoy me, too. I didn't
do
crying — it just wasn't me. So for me to be crying now, it just made me hate myself even more.

What was I possibly thinking? Why in the world would Cameron continue taking me to school when he had a girlfriend? That
had
to be against the rules of dating, right? I would be so much more knowledgeable on the fact if I've ever even
had
a boyfriend to account for. The closest I've ever been to a relationship was me and happily-taken Cameron. I really needed to get out more.

I pulled my backpack over my shoulder, wishing it would stop sliding like that. Maybe I should walk slower, that way it wouldn't keep bouncing around.

As I walked home, I didn't know whether I should've been relieved or sorrowful about everything. I should've been relieved — I mean, Cam and Olive hadn't told Cameron about how idiotic and
crazy
I was acting last night. That was definitely a blessing. I should've been relieved.

But my tears thought otherwise.

I wiped away the falling tears roughly. Cameron and Olive were definitely a couple and
loved
to show it — as if all that kissing and hand-holding weren't enough. Every time I saw them together, I couldn't help rolling my eyes at the whole situation. Was this Olive's plan after all? To have two boyfriends who couldn't get enough of her? What she's doing is wrong. It has to be. Everyone — well everyone in our group of friends — knows that Cameron and Cam are two different people. What made it right for her to date them both? Couldn't she realize that she had one boyfriend? A boyfriend who is loyal and caring and intelligent and funny and humble and compassionate and lovely and beautiful and…

I had to stop before I began dancing around like that chick from the
Sound of Music
.

A half-hour later, I was home. I flung my bag onto the counter roughly and immediately went to fixing lunch for every living being in this stupid, tiny house.

As I crammed the meat into the many sandwiches, Petra and Peter came home, loud as usual.

“Hey, Jo-lee!” Peter called out even though he sat a foot away from me. “Do you know that your name is like Angelina Jolie's name mushed togetha?” He slammed one of the unfinished sandwiches into his mouth. “Me and my buddies were chattin' about that.”

I nodded, wondering how many times I've heard that before. Probably at least a hundred times. “Yeah,” I grunted, starting over on a replacement sandwich. “Can you let me finish making these before you eat them, please?”

“Why so irritated?” Petra asked, sliding into the stool next to Peter. “And why so sweaty? And why're your eyes so blotchy? You look like a character from a Tim Burton movie, for Pete's sake.”

“I love that saying,” Peter said chuckling. “For Pete's sake. For
my
sake. It gets me every time.”

“That's why I said it, ya ding-dong,” Petra said, adjusting her tiny top. All of her goodies popped out like an overstuffed Halloween bag. I looked away, wondering when the image would ever leave my head.

“Anjolie,” Petra said, leaning over the counter and giving me more of an eyeful. “I asked you questions. Don't you wanna answer 'em?”

I groaned. “I can't answer your questions when your boobs are hanging out of your shirt, Petra.
Cover up
!” I pushed her away.

Petra frowned at me and tried, unsuccessfully, to shield herself. “Yeesh, someone's in a bad mood. What for?”

“Yeah, what for?” Peter chimed in.

I decided that they weren't going to leave unless I answered them. Dreading it, I said, “My ride can't take me to school anymore.” I slathered mayonnaise on the many open slices of bread spread out on the counter.

Petra pursed her red-lipsticked lips together, thinking. When she finished, she snapped her fingers together. “That hot boy with the blue eyes!” she said. “He's your ride, right?”

I nodded, glad they remembered him so I wouldn't have to spend ages trying to describe him.

“Maybe it's because you wouldn't screw him,” Petra offered. “That's why most guys bail. Believe me, I know.” She shook her head as if remembering her bad accounts with guys. “Just give him what he wants then.”

“It's not like that, Petra,” I said, wondering when Petra had turned into such a naughty little child. I shuddered. “He's going to drive his girlfriend to school now.”

“Is his girlfriend hotter than you?” Peter asked curiously.

“No!” I blurted out. But then I bit my lip. Was Olive hotter than me? I mean she did have the whole exotic, Latina thing going for her. But I was angelic-looking and stuff. Did that mean she was—? What was I thinking?
That isn't the point.

“She's hotter than you, isn't she?” Peter said, snatching up another sandwich after I finished making it. He bit into it hungrily.

“Shut your mouth, Peter!” Petra said, smacking him over the head. Peter groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Petra gazed back at me. “What you have going for you is boring sweaters and jeans and that frizzy hair of yours.”

I clutched my hair defensively. “It's not frizzy. It's
curly
,” I said sharply. “And it's the middle of October — I'm allowed to wear sweaters, Petra.”

Petra rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and it's also Los Angeles. You have to look hot no matter what.” She pushed away from the counter and helped me finish making all of the sandwiches. “I suggest you try something new for a change. And that doesn't mean just adding colors to your wardrobe.”

I was starting to tire of this whole “try something new” thing. First it was the colors, now it's my whole wardrobe? What else? Would I have to shave off my hair now?

Petra and I finished making the sandwiches and gobbled up a few. I left the rest stacked up on the counter for when the little ones woke up in their ravenous state.

“So will you let me fix you up tomorrow morning, sister?” Petra asked, lacing her small fingers through mine as we walked upstairs. She looked up at me hopefully with her heavily-lined eyes. “I promise no red lipstick or fake eyelashes.”

I stared down at her, wincing at her whole look. “I'll let you as long as you stop dressing like a clown.”

Petra gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “
Ouch
,” she said, running her fingers through her black bob. But she recovered quickly. “I'll do it.”

“Then we're in agreement,” I said.