Cameron and the Girls (10 page)

I hold my breath as a wave of pleasure washes over me. That girl? I forget my fears for a moment, break out of the bathroom, and drum down the stairs in my boxers. Mom holds the phone out, a frown hanging on her lips.

“Make it quick,” she says.

I wait until she's gone back in the kitchen and then ask hopefully, “Is it you?”

“Cam? It's me, Nina.”

“Oh.” Something flits around my brain, like a moth getting close to a light. It's not a voice this time, but my own thought: You might be a fool to have all this hope.
But it quickly flutters away.

“I need your help.”

“Help?” I say. “With what?”

“I'm not feeling so well. I'm a little down. My mom called.”

“What did she say?”

“She's not coming back for another week.”

“But that's good, isn't it? She won't be bugging you.”

“I guess.” There's a sadness in Nina's voice. “It's just that . . . I don't know. I'm sorry to bother you, but it's awfully lonely here.” When I don't say anything, she adds, “I heard they had to put Griffin in the hospital. He was out on his roof, barking like a dog.”

“Who told you that?” I say.

“Nobody. I made it up.”

“Aren't you worried about him?”

“Griffin? No. He can take care of himself. Besides, he's always trying to look at my boobs.”

“Are you going to school today?” I ask.

“I don't think I am.”

“I told you school's not fun when you're not there.”

“Well, maybe you could come visit me,” she says.

 

At school, Mrs. Owens tells the class that Griffin won't be with us for a while. It doesn't seem fair about poor Griffin. He can't help it. None of us can.

“It isn't my fault,” I say out loud.

“I've never thought that it is,” says Mrs. Owens.

I can't believe it and plunge ahead. There is no arm, no voices to keep me from saying my piece. “Stop looking at me that way,” I tell her. “You're looking at me as if it were my fault. As if I made him go off.”

Attaboy.

“Cameron,” warns Mrs. Owens.

“You are,” I persist.

You could be the king of this class.

“Cameron, could I see you out in the hall?” She starts walking toward the door.

What's the magic word, Teach?

I wait until she stops and raises her eyebrows at me before I say, “What's the magic word?”

A mousy gasp sweeps the room, and Amy gets ready to drop to the floor.

Mrs. Owens places one hand on her hip. “Please, Cameron,” she says.

The room is quiet as I stand and slide back the chair with my heel. I can't help myself and kiss two fingers of one hand as I pass Nina's empty desk. I tap the fingers on top of it.

Asserting oneself is one thing. Acting out aggressively is another.

In the hall, Mrs. Owens possesses me with her eyes. “Are you all right, Cam?” she asks. “This behavior is so unlike you.”

Control is essential at a time like this.

“Shut up!”

“Cameron,” says Mrs. Owens. “I will not have you talking to me this way.”

“Are you going to do to me what you did to Griffin?” I ask.

“What do you think I did to Griffin?”

He's not here.

“He's not here, is he?”

“You know I can't really talk to you about other students, but we all know that some students have a more difficult time than others. Wouldn't you agree with that?”

“Did you ban him from coming back to class?” I ask.

Oh, this is good. See how easy it is? You've got control of her now. See her dance?

“I would never do any such thing,” she says. “I am a firm believer in learning for everyone. Banning an individual from that opportunity would go against my beliefs.”

“Do you believe sick people can ever get well?”

Mrs. Owens clears her throat and stares straight at me. “Cameron, I'm worried about you. These kinds of questions are so unlike—”

“You don't think people can change.”

“Maybe,” she says, clearly disturbed, “maybe you and I should go down to the nurse's office.”

“No,” I say.

“Cameron.”

“No.” I back up a step. “The law says I don't have to go to the nurse's if I don't want to.”

“The law? Cameron, I'm just talking to you one person to another.”

I feel penned in by her words. My stomach contracts into a fist. I need to hang on.

“Cameron?”

“Don't touch me,” I say, nearly panting. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She steps aside as I head down the hall.

“I'll tell the class we'll be a moment,” she says as I duck in the boys' room.

But I stay only a second. Soon, I poke my head out the door and see that she's gone back in. I feel a surge as I bolt from the bathroom and down the hall toward the front of the school.

In seconds, I'm outside in the parking lot. I figure I have just a few minutes before they start looking for me, so I head across the street against the light.

I end up at the corner market. A woman is at one of the pumps, swiping her credit card. I watch her while she pumps gas. I can hear clearly the click-click-click as she tops off the tank.

I go inside and buy a Snickers bar and a bag of gummy bears. I pay and walk toward Nina's house.

It starts to rain, and I have to pull my shirt up over my head to keep my hair from getting wet. I sprint the last few yards to get under her carport. Even though I feel shivery, I pull my shirt the rest of the way over my head and hold it, dripping, in my hand. The air circles around me, makes me feel strong.

I don't mess around; I push on the unlocked door. The kitchen is in worse shape than it was the first time I was there. More dishes are stacked in the sink. Little tumbleweeds of hairy dust litter the floor. The cat snoozes in a blue plastic basket half full of dirty clothes. It opens one eye and meows.

“Nina?” I say. I set down the bag of snacks and my shirt but don't stay long in the kitchen. I walk straight to where I found her before and see her on the bed again.

This time I put a knee on the bed and grab her foot, shaking it. “Nina?”

No jumping up and screaming this time. As I watch, one of her eyes pops open and focuses on me. “Took you long enough,” she whispers.

“You okay?”

“No,” she quickly replies. “But what else is new?” She raises herself up, and I can see that she has her clothes on. She notices me gawking and says, “I saw you coming.”

I watch her get out of the bed. She runs both hands through her hair and then stretches.

“Mrs. Owens had me out in the hall and wanted me to go see Mrs. Roosevelt.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm independent now and she can't handle it.”

“So you ran away from school? And no shirt? Wow, Cam.” She puts her hand on my chest, drums her fingers, and then plays with her hair again. I feel goose bumps all over my body.

“It's what happens when you take control of your life,” I say.

“What does your mom think?”

“She doesn't like it. But she has to live with it because it's the law.” I narrow my eyes. “I thought you were depressed today,” I say.

“I was until I saw you.”

A shiver goes through my body and takes a place very near my heart. “You mean that?”

She nods and stretches again, then plops down on the end of the bed. I look at her bare feet, then hear:

Hello, Cam.

“Oh, hello.” At last.

I love you.

“I love you so much,” I say without thinking. It's real and so automatic. Then I wake up to the voice. “You don't know how much,” I add.

Nina bunches up her face. “Really?”

I've missed you.

I feel my body hum. “Oh, I've missed you too.”

“How cool,” says Nina.

“I can't get you out of my mind.”

Nina turns into something different. She stretches out her legs, and they're like beasts. Her toes curl and uncurl, her head bends to the side. Crisp red spots dot her cheeks. “I'm so surprised,” she says.

I was so worried I'd never speak to you again. I know there is no greater love than what you and I have. I've been waiting so long to talk to you again.

“Let's talk, then,” I say. “I've been waiting too.”

I spiral down to the floor and lean against Nina's bookcase. I no longer feel a chill. I hold my knees and press my bare chest against them. I'm so happy, I feel like crying.

“What should we talk about?” Nina says.

“What?”

“I said what do you want to talk about?”

You're just the boy I need. I get so lonely, Cam. And there's no one else I can talk to the way I can talk to you.

“Okay. Let's talk about anything we want to. I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to lose you again.”

Nina smiles as if she were made of sugar. “I didn't know you felt this way,” she says. “I mean, I hoped you felt this way, but I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to push it.”

She leans in closer to me. My eyes finally focus on her but then briefly turn inward before they clear again. “And I'll try so hard not to scare you off,” she says. “I promise.”

I close my eyes and my lips pucker just the slightest. I suddenly feel another presence; something is getting closer. I can sense warmth next to my lips.

Uh, wake up, Cammy, you don't want to miss this.

“Be quiet,” I whisper.

Knock, knock, fool. Your manhood is waiting.

I blast open my eyes and there is Nina, her face so close, I see her everywhere. I feel her lips against mine. It makes my head whirl with pleasure.

“I guess that was pretty good, huh?” she says, leaning back.

I close my eyes again.

Where were we?

“We have all the time in the world,” I say. “You and I forever.”

“Do you think anyone else feels this way?” Nina says.

“No one,” I say. “There's nobody else in the world.”

I
t's
easy to slip onto the bus after school. Nina and I both wait across the road until the line of buses starts coming, and we use them to shield ourselves. While we wait for the door to open, we concoct a plan. It's good, but complicated and maybe hard to put into action. Nina waits for me to get on and then cocks her head as I leave. I feel ecstatic because The Girl is in my life again.

Beth is in the back with a couple of her friends. When the bus starts moving, she quickly sneaks up and sits next to me. “Why is your teacher looking for you?” she says.

“I don't know. Ask her.”

“The vice principal called me today and wanted to know if I'd seen you.”

“What do those freaks care, anyway?” I say, folding my arms at my chest.

“Mom called too. I had to talk pretty fast to keep her from getting hold of the sheriff. I guess you can't go back to school until you have some meeting with them.”

“I wish they'd just leave me alone,” I say.

“They will. Once you do exactly as they say. Look at me. They don't even ask me about Dylan anymore. They think I'm being so obedient.”

“I don't want to do exactly what they want,” I say. But a bit of thunder unloads in the back of my head, and I steel myself for the inevitable.

That's the spirit, boy.

Beth frowns but scoots to the back of the bus. When I turn to look, she's jabbering with her friends again.

Someone at the school must have seen me get on the bus, because Mom is waiting in her car at the stop. I can see her through the windshield; her lips are set in a line and her eyes are just staring. When Beth and I get off, Mom jumps out of the car and tries to block our way.

The bus hisses off and Beth starts walking, but Mom and I just stand there like gunfighters, only I don't feel like drawing first.

“Wasn't the last time enough?” she says. “Wasn't it bad enough for us all? I can't believe you're doing this to me again. Where were you?”

But now I feel loose and free and walk around her. I don't even turn around when I hear her get in the car and start it up. Pretty soon, it creeps along behind me, crunching the gravel. For a second, I think she'd rather run me down and be done with it, and that makes me sneak a peek. But she's got her window rolled down and her arm out as she eases along.

“We can make this easier if you just get in,” she says.

“No,” I say, and realize I never knew how blessed a word it was before. I calculate how long it would take me to catch up to Beth, but she's in hyperdrive and I'm starting to sweat.

“Cameron, even Dr. Simons says it's better if we talk.”

Too much talk and not enough action. You need this, boy. See how it worked with your teacher? You need to take your stand. Do what I say and it will all work out.

I keep staring ahead, but I can't resist saying, “You don't really want to talk; you only want to order me around.”

“Cam, that's not true. I'm only interested in what's best for you.” When I don't say anything, she says, “Cam? Cam? Do you want me to call the authorities to come get you?”

After a second, the engine revs up and I hear some gravel shoot out from the tires. Pretty soon, Mom is moving up beside me.

“Cam? Talk to me.”

“I'm not crazy,” I shout, scaring even myself. “Stop acting like I am. I'm just mad.”

She guns it again and the car jerks ahead. About ten yards in front of me, she veers it to the left and cuts me off. I think she expects me to walk right up to the passenger door and get in. Meanwhile, up ahead, Beth stops and watches us.

“You're more than just mad,” Mom says.

Keep walking.

It's as if the car weren't even there. It's a little tricky with the backpack on, but I step on the bumper and lift myself up onto her hood. It bends and moans as I step across it and then jump down. Beth laughs and claps.