Katy walked with me to first period, peppering me with questions about Cameron.
“Steph said he’s going to work on the play,” she said excitedly. “Which is perfect because I can get to know him, but you have to give me some insider info. What’s he like? Has he dated a lot of girls? I mean, is he a player, or what?”
“No,” I said, “he’s not a player.”
“Did you guys ever kiss? What’s his type? Does he like redheads?”
“I don’t know.” I noticed she looked nice considering it was a regular school day — her hair twisted up, makeup done, looking smart and dramatic in a black turtleneck and wire-rim glasses instead of her contacts. She’d dressed up for a boy who had spent the night sleeping next to me. “He’s only been here a week, and before that I hadn’t seen him in eight years. He’s probably totally different.”
She sighed, impatient. “Okay, then, what was he like? Just give me something to go on so that I have a shot at him!”
“A ‘shot at him’? Are you on an elk hunt?”
“What’s the problem, Jenna?” She’d come to a complete stop in the hall; people walked around us. “Is it so awful for me to want to have a boyfriend? It is so impossible to believe it could happen?”
“Katy, don’t. I didn’t mean it like that. Come on.” I took her arm, tried to pull her along toward class. She jerked it away.
“You’ve obviously forgotten what it feels like to be single. If this had happened last year, you’d be helping me.” Suddenly she was crying. I led her to the side of the hallway.
“I’m sorry, Katy. Really.”
“You never call me anymore,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m used to Steph dumping me for boys, but not you.”
I had no defense. I’d barely noticed Katy since starting to date Ethan. “We’ll get to spend a lot of time together during the play, at least. . . .” The final bell rang; I was in for my second detention of the week.
“Jenna, you have to help me get Cameron,” she said. “You have to. He’ll listen to you.”
“I don’t know if he’s interested in having a girlfriend right now.” She sniffed back her last tears and ran her finger under her eyes to clean up mascara smudges. “But I’ll do my best,” I said. “Okay?”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
Ethan and I went off campus for lunch, eating in his car at Liberty Park and then spending the last ten minutes making out. Usually making out was a good distraction, but I couldn’t turn the thinking part of my brain off. What did it mean that I’d spent the night next to Cameron? Anything?
After a while, Ethan brought my mind back into focus when he murmured into my neck, “You’re so . . . mm.”
“So are you.”
“I’m coming over tonight, right? Your parents will be gone?”
I sat up and straightened my shirt. “Yeah. But I have a ton of homework. So we have to concentrate. On the homework, I mean.”
He laughed. “You’re funny.”
I made a scoffing noise.
“What?”
I turned to him and rested my head on the back of the seat. “When I was a kid,” I said, “I always thought of funny stuff in my head but I never said it.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one was listening.”
He moved his hand to my neck, rubbing it gently. “I would have listened.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Would, too,” he said, teasing.
“I wasn’t the kind of person you would have liked.” My eyes stung. “Think of the most unpopular kid you’ve ever known. The one who got picked on and ignored, every day.”
“Come on, I bet you weren’t like that.”
No one, of course, wants to believe that his girlfriend — the girl he just made out with — was the gross, fat kid who sat alone in the corner of the school yard. But I kept talking. Maybe it was guilt over Cameron sleeping in my bed, or what Steph had said about me resisting a Katy/Cameron matchup because I wanted him for myself. Or maybe I was trying to push Ethan away, or toward me, or somewhere. Anything to alter the current inertia of our relationship. “I was,” I said. “I was exactly like that. You wouldn’t have listened to me. You wouldn’t have even looked at me.”
“Well.” He took his hand off of my neck and looked out the car window, proving my point. Even the thought of me back then with the present me right in front of him was enough to make him avert his eyes. “That’s the past. You should just . . .forget that stuff. It never happened.” Having wiped his mind clear of my previous existence, he turned back to me. “You’re here now, and you’re you.”
“Am I me?”
“What do you mean? Of course you’re you. Who else would you be?”
Good question. “We better go. I don’t need another detention.”
He gave me a kiss. “Sometimes you think too much.”
I think that was the beginning of the end.
I made it all the way to my car after school before remembering about rehearsal. I hurried back to the drama room, where Ethan, Mr. Bingry, and the cast were sitting in a circle with their scripts. Ethan glanced up when I walked in, smiled, then looked back at his script.
My purpose in being there was not exactly clear. There were no extra seats at the table, so whatever Ethan had meant by me being part of “cast bonding” was not readily apparent. I lurked nearby for a minute waiting for some kind of instructions, but none came so I sat in the nearest chair and took out a notebook and pen in case I was actually called upon to do something. Finally, halfway through, Mr. Bingry called for a break. Ethan ran off to the bathroom and Bingry waggled his finger at me. I went over to him. “Start making a prop list,” he said. “This play has a lot of them.”
“It would help if I had a script. So that I knew what said props actually were.”
“Ethan didn’t give you a script?” Bingry sighed and shuffled through a stack in front of him. “Here.”
I took it and flipped through, trying not to be irritated that Ethan had failed to help me do my job. “What’s my budget?”
“Beg, borrow, or steal everything that you can.”
I wrote “zero budget” in my notebook. “I can probably get stuff from my house. My mom will never notice.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Ethan came back in, giving me a wave before sitting down at the cast table again. They were all laughing about something. Bonding. I retreated to my offstage chair and thought about lunch in the park, and how Ethan had not only told me to forget my past but shown me that he didn’t want to hear about it, didn’t even want to know about it.
I sat in the school parking lot longer than I needed to, just in case Cameron came looking for me or for a ride or for a talk or for anything. I’d tried his cell phone but it went straight to voice mail. I was ready to go back to his old house. I was ready to do anything at all to stay close to him.
CHAPTER 18
WHEN I GOT HOME FROM SCHOOL THERE WAS HALF A COFFEE cake on the kitchen table. Mom and Alan must have been eating it that morning and I hadn’t noticed because I was too busy freaking out over Alan discovering Cameron in my bed. I hadn’t binged since Sunday night in the Crown Burgers parking lot. But I stared at the coffee cake and imagined how it would taste with a glass of milk. And then I saw my mom’s favorite coffee cup on the table, with a little milky coffee left in it, and imagined how it would be to sit down with her and share a piece of cake and talk, actually talk about things that mattered.
The longing for her in that moment was an ache in my chest and fingertips, as strong as anything I’d ever felt. I wanted to talk to tell her about what had happened at Cameron’s house that day, and everything else about what it was like to be me when she was so busy and I was so hidden. I wanted to tell her how it felt to walk around the school yard in circles while I watched Jordana and her friends play, and then what it meant — what it really, really meant — to get that ring in my lunch box from Cameron, how he?
??d saved me, and then how I’d saved us.
Here I was all over again, alone in an empty house after school. I could have paged my mom and she’d call me right back but then what would I say? Hi. I have to tell you about something that happened to me when I was nine. And by the way, I miss you, have missed you my whole life. That was not a conversation you could have on the phone at work. Anyway, I’d learned how to get along without her when I didn’t have any other options; it was a habit easier kept than broken.
So I ate the coffee cake instead, and cleaned up all the evidence, and fell asleep in front of the TV. When I woke up, Mom and Alan were standing over me, dressed up with purse and car keys, respectively, in hand. “Honey? Jenna. We’re leaving now, okay?”
I lifted my stiff neck. “What time is it?”
“About quarter to seven,” Mom said. “You were just snoring away so we let you sleep.”
My mouth was filmy, one hand tingling from being slept on. Alan gazed down and asked, “Everything okay? We can always stay home if you want.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I needed them out of there so I could get ready for Ethan. I sat up and stretched. “You’d better go so you can get a parking spot.”
They left. I checked my cell to see if Cameron had called. He hadn’t.
In the bathroom, I brushed and brushed my teeth, washed my face and hands, changed. I needed a whole shower but there wasn’t time. The doorbell rang and Ethan was there.
“Hey,” I said, giving him a quick kiss, trying to feel happy to see him.
“I hope you got your homework done.” He went straight for me, kissing my neck and squeezing my waist. I pushed him off me.
“No, I didn’t. I haven’t even started it.” I turned and walked to the kitchen table where my books were stacked. I sat down and opened my trig. He followed.
“Well I already did mine,” he said, tossing his floppy bangs, which were starting to annoy me. “I’m finished. Done.”
I flipped through my book, the pages making sharp cracks with every turn. “I told you that I had a ton. I told you that.”
“I thought you were, like, kidding around.”
I stared at him. “Why did you think that? Look,” I said waving my hands over my books, “I have a crapload of stuff to get done and I’m practically flunking trig. I really need to get to work.”
He sulked, and roamed around the kitchen randomly opening cupboards. “Do you have any food around here? Let’s order a pizza.”
“No.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No!” I slammed my pencil down on the table. “Ethan, can you pay attention to someone other than yourself for one minute?”
He spun around. “What? I’m hungry. Sue me.”
He was still cute, still infinitely kissable. But I didn’t feel anything. What did our three months add up to, anyway? A bunch of making out and occasionally going somewhere and IM-ing late at night. Even by thinking in terms of three months I knew Ethan and I, our couplehood, was a finite thing. The measuring of time meant there would be an end. If we broke up, would I still be able to sit at our lunch table every day? Katy would be mad. Steph would think I was stupid. Gil and the Daves probably wouldn’t think of me at all.
“It’s just that I told you I had a lot of homework,” I said. “And you know trig is hard for me. And you didn’t give me an Odd Couple script when you were supposed to and I don’t even know why I had to be at the rehearsal today when you barely acknowledged my presence.”
“Because you’re the stage manager.”
“Which I didn’t ask to be. You volunteered me.”
“Because I wanted you to be there with me! I knew you wouldn’t audition, so at least this way we could still be hanging out.” He came over to me and started rubbing my shoulders. I tolerated it until he said, “Don’t get mad. Let’s, like, put on some music and lie between the speakers and cuddle and stuff.”
I wrenched my neck away. “Oh my God, Ethan! Have you not heard one word I said?”
“What is up with you, Jenna? You’ve been a moody bitch ever since your birthday. Ever since Cameron showed up.” He went into the living room. I followed. “I’m gonna go,” he said, pulling his coat on. He stopped at the door and turned back, as if waiting for me to say something. I couldn’t speak, just shook my head and kept my arms folded across me, and he walked out.
I went straight to my room, turned on the light, and let out a yelp. Cameron was sitting in my armchair. I backed a little way into the hall.
“It’s okay,” he said, “it’s just me.”
“It’s not okay,” I said, my voice trembling both from the fight with Ethan and the shock of seeing Cameron. “It is so not okay.”
“Sorry. I was gonna ring the bell, but I saw Ethan coming and ducked down the side of the house.”
“And then crawled in my window? ” He was silent. I wondered if he’d heard Ethan and me in the kitchen, was sure he had, since I could usually hear everything in the kitchen from my room and we weren’t exactly keeping the volume down. “What do you want, Cameron?”
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Okay, I am.” I sighed. “But I’m also happy to see you.” And I was. I sat on my bed, thinking how nice it would be to have Cameron lying next to me again. I’d hardly had time to enjoy it, experience it, the first time. “I just think you should use the door.”
“I need to borrow your car.”
“Um, okay,” I said slowly. “I’m not supposed to let anyone else drive it. It’s an insurance thing and a house rule.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“Where do you need to go?” I asked. “I can take you.” Clearly I was not destined to do homework.
“My apartment, to get some stuff.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” I got up; he didn’t move.
“You can’t. It’s dangerous. My roommates are dangerous.”
“What do you mean, dangerous?”
“I haven’t paid rent. In a while. They’re gonna be pissed.” He looked down. “Don’t want you to have to deal with the crap in my life. Not again.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you that you haven’t ruined my life?” I said, frustrated. “Not then, not now.”
He rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, just like a little kid. “I don’t know.”
I sat back down. “How long have you been here, anyway, that you haven’t paid rent ‘in a while’?”
“Since August. I thought I’d get a job, find you, get my own place. Then I couldn’t find work at first and thought it wouldn’t kill me to finish school. I’ve been working here and there, but didn’t know how fast my money would run out.” He finally stood. “Point is, they have my stuff. My pictures. My letters. My life. All I have.”
August. He’d been right in Salt Lake at least two months before contacting me. He’d been there before things got really serious with Ethan. What if he’d made himself known sooner? “I’ll take you,” I said. “Then what happens after you get your stuff? I can’t just leave you on the streets.”
“I can sleep in your car again, maybe? And then come in early for a shower before your parents are even up?”
He might have been tall and strong. He might have been independent — an emancipated minor, a working man who paid his way. But all I could see when I looked at Cameron Quick was someone who needed taking care of. And there was no one to do it but me.
“Let’s go,” I said. “When we get back we’ll wait up for my parents. And talk to them about . . . all this.”
It was dark out, and a little drizzly. We drove down the hills of the Avenues and into downtown. Cameron gave directions; I turned and turned and turned again.
“Pull over here,” he said when we’d reached the edges of the Rose Park neighborhood, notorious for gangs and a sludge pit that the federal government had to come clean up. “It’s down the street a little bit,
” he said, pointing to a falling-apart fourplex with a pile of tires in the front yard. “Wait in the car.” He opened the door and started to climb out.
“Hold on! How long should I give you? What if you don’t come back in a certain number of minutes? Should I call the cops?”
“Don’t do anything. Don’t call anyone. I’ll be fine.”
“But what if you’re not?”
“Then go home.”
And with that, he got out and jogged down the street, like if I heard screams or gunshots or whatever I would just drive on home like nothing happened. Well, good for you, I thought, watching him climb a short cement staircase and put a key in the door. You don’t need anyone. Fine.
I watched the clock. Three minutes went by, four. I thought about knocking on the door, having of course no idea what I would actually do once I got there. Maybe I’d have to break the door down, wrestle Cameron away from the bad men, and then carry him out the way you hear people when they get a huge burst of adrenaline. Except the person I pictured rescuing was little Cameron, in shorts and a striped T-shirt, his arms wrapped around my neck.
Then there he was, bursting out of the apartment door and bounding down the steps, a big garbage bag in hand. He ran to the car, fast. I reached over and opened the passenger door and he jumped in.
“Go.”
You can’t exactly peel out in a ’94 Escort, but I did my best. Cameron breathed hard, clutching the garbage bag to his chest.
“What happened? ” I drove a good fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, convinced we were being chased by angry roommates with guns.
“Nothing. You can slow down.”
I didn’t. “Nothing? Nothing happened?”
“They weren’t even there.”
Then I did slow down. “No one was there? At all?”
“Right.” His breathing had returned to almost normal.
“Then what’s the deal with freaking me out like that?” My voice came out high and hysterical and I realized how nervous I’d been, imagining some dangerous scenario from which Cameron had barely escaped, an echo of that day at his house.