How I Fall (8 page)

For some reason, that idea twists my heart in a direction I don’t recognize.

I clamp it down and breathe it away.

*Vows to never, ever fangirl on Camden Campbell’s devastating beauty ever again because it hurts way too much when he’s mean.*

I make it down the second step. Then the third, but my calf is burning like fire so I’ve got to pause a second to bite the insides of my cheeks. I realize how the hip bone on the side where I landed on the sidewalk is killing me almost as bad as my calf.

If Nash or my mom spot any sort of bruises on me, I’m so busted and I’ll have to tell them what happened. As it is, I’m going to need to beg the nurse for an ice pack and the ibuprofen my mom signed off on that is stored in the front office for me just to make it through a regular CP day. Physical therapy tonight is going to kill double, and I won’t be able to tell Nash why.

I pause to take in a few long breaths before tackling the last mega-step down to the curb as the other kids crowd the aisle behind me.

Rustling backpacks and groaning happens when those up front see I haven’t exited all the way yet.

“Ellen, you’re still not off the bus?
Really,
” someone calls out.

“Really,” I mutter back, glowering at anyone who dares meet my eyes when I twist back. “You can all just wait.”

Saving Ireland  

cam

Everyone’s at lunch but I haven’t eaten. I’ve come here directly from my pre-calc test, one I probably bombed because I rushed through it so I could check on Ellen Foster.

First, because I’m worried she’s still stuck in her soaking-wet clothes. Second, because I’m worried she’s not okay. And third, because I’m worried she hates me after today.

But that’s where my idea ended.

Here. With me. Worrying and over-thinking.

I’ve been staged at the drinking fountain nearest the digi-photo classroom, hoping and wishing she would just come out so it would seem as though I might be simply walking by doing my own thing. I’d stop her with a casual: “Hey, oh…uh…so…”

Which is where this whole lame plan stops, because again just thinking about talking to her makes me choke.

I rub my hands over my eyes as they kind of ache from staring too long at the closed digi-photo classroom door, then I rest the back of my head against a locker, closing my eyes and replaying the whole thing again.

Not. Stalking. This is not stalking. Is this stalking? Christ. This is totally stalking.

Whatever it is, it’s unsuccessful on my part, just like my failed morning bus plan.

Save Ellen Foster? Help Ellen Foster? Talk to Ellen Foster. Sit by Ellen Foster. Check on Ellen Foster to be sure she is okay.

I open my eyes and glance at the clock hanging at the end of the hall. Maybe I should give up. Ditch the digi-photo class all together so I don’t have to face her. Only, I’ve never ditched a class in my entire life. With my police-state parents, it’s simply never been worth it. But right now, with my chest feeling tighter than an over-pumped football, battling my father over one skipped class seems a good idea versus going in to a class and failing miserably in front of her all over again.

Besides, that would obviously be the safest option for the poor girl.

Maybe she won’t care. Maybe after today, she will sit in class, stare at the back of my head and think,
Cam Campbell is such a creeping iPhone photo stalker, not to mention an inappropriate, school bus, snuggle-cuddling, hallway-creeping loser!!

I shake my head, knowing she’d be right to think that. I’ve gone over how I locked my arms around her for the whole ride without even an explanation. I’ve replayed for the millionth time how after seat-slamming her, I’d undressed her, then practically mummified her shivering body into my coat and then proceeded to roll her around like a limbless—helpless—egg—without even asking!

“Who does stuff like that? But were there any better choices?

She’d been about to freeze to death. Shaking so much she’d scared me! Plus she didn’t say anything at the time. Although…she didn’t thank me, that’s for damn sure.

There was the part where she shoved my arms off her, and how she wouldn’t look at me at all when she finally pelted my coat back in my face. Was that a solid ‘back-off’ signal that I’m too stupid to ignore, or was she getting pissed because I’d accidentally stared at her phone too long? I couldn’t help it. Her shots were so good. And I’ve always wanted to see what it is Ellen photographs at our bus stop every morning. Then, I got stuck wondering if that one photo of me I found hiding in her album was a very good sign?

Like…maybe she’s also a stalker and will not judge me later on for my actions today.

Ha…losing it. So losing it. Why is it women are so impossible to understand?

I close my eyes again and grit my teeth, clinging to the last shreds of my sanity to the fact that I did actually meet one of my goals. I did stop her from falling over on the bus ride to school. So that’s something.

But…now…she’ll get pneumonia. People die from pneumonia.

I’ve already calculated that she’s been wearing soggy clothing for about three hours. How long does it take a scrawny, 100 pound girl to catch pneumonia anyhow? Am I too late?

Yeah-me! Stepping up to protect her with my big, awesome, fail-safe plans all over again! Damn you, Laura London from Ireland. Did you have to pick today to start school? Damn. Damn. Damn the crazy little Irish maniac all the way to…

“Oi!! Oi! Oi!”
An over-loud voice with an accent takes over the air space. “
Oiiiii!
Boy-o!”

I open my eyes. Before I can focus, the girl I’m pretty sure I want to kill is standing in front of me with her arm looped through the girl who kills me. To keep my heart from exploding, I keep my eyes off Ellen so I don’t do something stupid and focus on Laura London’s animated face until I calm down a bit, but I can’t even stay annoyed with her because she’s so…

Entertaining. Plan wrecking. Glitter covered. And Irish.

She’s also grinning as though she’s extra delighted to have found me—like she expected to find me here!

“Hullo Mr. Handsome Scotsman.”

I cringe-squint into something resembling a welcoming nod plus a smile, trying to keep my eyes up high and off the flashes of the hideous rainbow skirt that’s trying to blind me from below. “What’s up?”

The locker prevents any possible escape as the madwoman drags Ellen forward. I can already tell by not looking at the skirt, that it seems twice as huge and twice as bright under the halogen lights as it did earlier this morning. I risk a glance past the waving paper, taking in Ellen’s sharpie-black braid framing her pale-moon face to assess if she needs an ambulance or some sort of rescue. But, as I shoot a tentative ‘please-don’t-hate-me’ smile into her wide, shuttered black eyes, I get that all the rainbows brought into this crazy world by the new girl have shifted. As in, her whole outfit has shifted onto Ellen Foster!

It’s all I can do to keep a straight face. I actually have to physically work hard to force my brows from shooting off my head. Ellen is the one wearing the insane rainbow skirt now! And worse, Laura’s sporting an entire outfit of black and orange-striped Lake Huron Tigers school spirit gear. Top to bottom! Including tight, tiger leggings and the ridiculous tiger beanie with the giant wiggle-eyes glued on the front! All items you can purchase in the front office. All items that are slightly creepy and shiny and that no one would be caught dead wearing.

Ellen gets my realization, and she’s suddenly cringing. And, because quite frankly I feel dizzy from gaping between the two of them, I pull my gaze away from both of their outfits, vowing to look at their faces only.

Only…Ellen’s face now says she wants to be anywhere but right here. My heart plummets.

Is that look because I’m here?

Or because the new girl has been holding Ellen hostage somehow and she’s trying to signal me?

Laura, out of nowhere, whacks me in the arm with the school newspaper, but this time I swear some glitter has shot off the end of it somehow. “Did you come to check on our wee-Ellen as well, then? So did I! Brilliant minds, always thinking alike!” She grins. “Didn’t I say he’d come check on you, Ellen? Didn’t I?”

My gaze catches Ellen’s big, shock-round eyes again before she lowers her lids to stare at the ground. Her lashes look like winged half moons brushing the tops of her now, very bright red cheeks. I have this quick thought about how those lashes and the heat off her rosy cheeks might feel against my thumb when she flips her lids back up and catches me staring.

My face gets stuck in one of those freeze and blink smiles. If she weren’t watching I’d smack my own head to see if I could feel any pain. I don’t even know myself right now!

Who randomly thinks about stuff like—eyelashes!

Freaks, that’s who.

Time, or the beats inside my chest, freeze everything even more when she smiles back. Her eyes scan my face, probably looking for signs of life or intelligence (both things long gone) and I lose track of myself even more. Because—damn—does she have pretty eyes. Then, I get this idea that Ellen’s sort of staring at my eyes, too. That, or we’re having one of those deer-in-headlights moments. Each wondering which one of us is about to get taken out or harmed in some way by the glitter-encrusted, tiger-striped Irish girl.

Laura clears her throat because we’ve just created this really long awkward silence then saves me by speaking slowly while making this funny disapproving face. “I asked you, young Camden Campbell. Did you come to check on our wee-little Ellen, then? As you can see I’ve been working hard to make sure she’s all warm and dry.” She turns to Ellen, beaming. “Aren’t you, now?”

Ellen pulls herself out of Laura’s grip and crosses her arms as though she’s holding back from throwing punches. “Mhmm. All good.”

I nod, my eyes still stuck on Ellen’s, but finally burst out with, “I’m glad you’re warm. And dry. And—I’ve never seen you so—colorful.” I raise a brow and tilt my head toward her bright skirt, and then quickly stare up like the ceiling is so fascinating.

OH. GREAT. What did I just say? I think I said ‘glad’ which is what old ladies say, and ended with colorful? Which was bad…really bad. Shoot me with a memory erasing tranquilizer dart.

Shoot her with a memory erasing tranquilizer dart.

When I glance back at Ellen, she doesn’t seem too alarmed. Luckily, Laura skips forward, temporarily blocking Ellen from the part where I go from self-loathing to the part where I desperately wish to die. Oblivious to my pain, she smiles up at me. “I made Ellen trade clothes, because all morning I was worried about her being cold. As I’m sure you also were. Right?” She blinks at me and then coughs, like she’s trying to help me out.

Recovering a little, I choke out some truth. “Yeah. Honestly. I was worried.”

Ellen sighs. “I was fine. And I only traded clothes because Laura’s so—irresistible.” She finishes with a soft smile directed at Laura in a way that makes me see there is zero animosity, zero kidnapping and only friendship brewing between these two girls.

Laura laughs back, beaming. “You’re not the first to say those words to me Miss Foster, but thanks.”

“So why are you in the tiger-wear?” I note how she’s tied the tiger scarf to look like she’s wearing a puffy turtleneck because she’s tucked the ends into her tiger shirt. “Shouldn’t you be in Ellen’s clothes—not in this crazy whatever it is?” I glance at Ellen. “What the heck happened to you two?”

Ellen crosses her arms tighter over her chest and bites back what looks like a smile.

Laura answers, “It all started with Ellen’s stretch denim. It’s a wicked-cruel fabric, right?” She blinks up at me as if I can understand what she’s talking about and I blink back like I’m totally with her, as she goes on, “So, even though we are the same size, I couldn’t bloody squeeze myself into even one leg of the wet version. Instead, I got my foot stuck in the ankle for like five minutes because the jeans decided to pull a quick-shrink, right? I was falling all over the place! So we both realized Ellen probably couldn’t get them back on either and so—you know—to make up for getting Ellen into this predicament in the first place, I volunteered. Dashed up the hall in my skivvies, no less, and wound up with this tiger get-up as a free bonus!”

“Volunteered for—what?” I frown, rubbing one finger against my temple because the headache Laura gave me this morning just returned in full.

Ellen whispers, “She actually ran to the front office in underwear to beg for help.” Her lips twitch as she goes on, “Tinker Bell underwear. Small ones. I tried to chase her, but I was in a stall and she’d dashed out of the girl’s rest room door before I understood her plan. I caught up in time to hear the principal shouting.”

“Oh, no. No she did not.” I blink, staring between them to see if they’re joking.

“She did!” Ellen leans her weight on one of the lockers, lips twitching in a way that has my heart pounding.

Laura rolls her eyes. “I still don’t see what caused the fuss. My underwear’s bigger than any swimsuit.”

Ellen shakes her head. “Not a swimsuit from Canada, Miss International Scandal.”

Laura tosses me a look like I should side with her, but I’ve already thought about eyelashes today. I do not need to discuss swimsuit sizes out loud with two girls right now. Just…
no
. “I suppose you discovered running in hallways in skivvies during school hours is also not a Canadian-type thing?”

Laura snorts. “So the nice principal man explained to me. All while he ducked behind the front desk and flung this whole tiger ensemble around the room! The school nurse practically tackled me in her sick-room after that. I had to get dressed extra fast all while the principal was yelling stuff through the door about how we all had to fill out some sort of formal report to clarify I was in my state-of-undress because of a snow accident and not because of the principal having any part of it! When I stepped out, he did this nervous duck-dance thing with his hands on his head the whole time while the nurse typed up the report.” Laura flings her hands up to the sides of her head to demonstrate.

I jump aside to avoid more glitter fall out, biting my lip as Laura executes this amazing Irish hard shoe jig all while keeping her face in the most perfect principal’s face imitation I’ve ever seen, as she adds, “And then we all had to sign the paper. Even Ellen!”

“I had to be second witness.” Ellen’s voice is extra-light and her eyes have become so wide and sparkling with what I think is unshed laughter from watching Laura. My stomach does one of those flips. I wonder down to my core what it would take to make that laughter spill over.

“I’m sure they’ll call both your parents,” I say solemnly. “I had to sign as second witness last year when Tanner thought it would be a good idea to streak the football field in his smiling pumpkin boxers. Remember how that incident made the town paper? Let’s hope yours doesn’t make the cut.”