THE PRETENDER: Black Mountain Academy

by Brent, Cora

  The bus is pulling away from the curb when I happen to look up and I’m startled to see Camden. She’s just standing there in the middle of the snowy courtyard, still as a statue, her arms crossed, her posture stiff. And even though I can’t clearly see the expression on her face I’m sure of one very perplexing fact as she stares straight at me.

  She’s absolutely furious.

  Camden

  So this is what it’s like.

  To really connect with a guy and constantly look ahead to the next time you get to see him. Over the years I’ve had crushes. I’ve had school dance dates and brief flings and inconsequential hookups. But nothing compares to the way I’m falling hard and fast for Ben Beltran.

  In class I’m useless for the entire day. I daydream and scrawl heart shaped doodles and remain extremely aware of Ben’s presence whenever we’re in the same room. It’s a testament to my willpower that I manage to stop myself from climbing into his lap and treating the class to a sex ed lesson.

  Halfway through the morning I have an epiphany.

  I’m going to lose my virginity to Ben the first chance I get.

  Lunch is spent in the newsroom. The last issue of the year goes digitally live in the morning and even though I’ve got the layout memorized I want to conduct one more proofread before the meeting after school. But neither my heart nor my head are invested in the task and I keep rereading the same sentences over and over without comprehending what they mean.

  No one feels like working in the afternoon and you can almost taste the restless energy in the classrooms. Everyone is already in vacation mode with the holiday break nearly here. Usually this would annoy me because I pride myself on remaining focused no matter what else is going on but today my brain is all mush and romance.

  My last class of the day is world history and Ben is not in it. My heavily pregnant teacher, Ms. Adduci, declares the hour is ‘self study time’ and encourages us to work on the thesis projects that are due in the spring. I’m sure she is not surprised when no one does this. Instead people watch videos on their phones or nap at their desks. Some members of the jock crowd cluster together in the back of the classroom to share offensive memes and compare obscene stories. I’m just minding my own business at my desk and halfheartedly trying to skim over my notes for my thesis project on the French Revolution when I distinctly hear my name. Followed by laughter. Not silly, good natured laughter. Mocking, scornful laughter.

  I’m not the type to wither away with shyness and act like I don’t have ears so I turn around to see what the racket is about. I am not surprised to see Todd Bellinger back there, flanked by some of the less talented members of the football team. There’s a nasty grin on Todd’s face, the kind that girls all over the planet are uncomfortably familiar with seeing from assholes like Todd and I curse my own foolishness for hooking up with him at that stupid party last spring. Still, there’s no reason for him to be so fixated on that one time. It was months ago, we didn’t even go very far and I’ve made it clear that he’ll never be touching me again.

  “Were you saying something?” I fire, expecting that Todd will just sneer, roll his eyes and return to his buddies.

  That’s when I notice Corby King. He’s not sitting in their circle but he is close enough to hear whatever they’ve been saying. He’s looking at me with a mixture of embarrassment and apology because he’s actually a decent guy and whatever garbage has come out of Todd’s mouth is obviously foul. Then he shoots a glare at Todd and Company and growls, “Knock it off, guys.”

  “Fuck you, King.” Todd scowls, confident in the fact that he’s got sufficient backup in the room to take on anyone. He turns an ugly smile in my direction and my stomach performs an unpleasant flip. “Things are getting freaky down in the valley, huh? Maybe it’s worth taking a field trip down the hill to slum with you and your hometown girls.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You and Beltran.”

  A sour taste rolls through my mouth. “You’re crazy.”

  “Oh yeah? Fuck boy was shooting his mouth off in the cafeteria. He offered up his finger for a sniff and I said, shit, I remember that.”

  Howls of laughter follow and I hear the teacher crossly remind us that the last bell has not rung and we should be working quietly. She says my name when I stand and gather my books.

  “Rest room,” I choke out and sprint through the door.

  I know Todd’s laughing harder than ever but if I’d stayed I might have burst into tears and nothing would have been worse than that. My chest hurts and my head is cloudy.

  “It is just us, Camden.”

  He wouldn’t lie to me about that.

  He wouldn’t jump at the first opportunity to gloat about getting me on my back.

  He wouldn’t ridicule me for the sake of getting some laughs from the biggest lechers in school.

  Or would he?

  The halls are nearly empty and I don’t seek sanctuary in the girls’ bathroom. Instead I make a beeline for the one location at this damn school that I feel at home; the headquarters of the Black Mountain Academy Bulletin. The room is a small one, located all the way at the end of the long corridor past the gymnasium. There are two rows of computers set up and a large smart board stretches across the front wall. At the moment the only person inside is a sophomore named Rodney. He writes the music and entertainment columns and he’s typing away on a keyboard at the far end of the room while bouncing his head in time to whatever music blasts through his earbuds. I receive a silent nod when I enter and then he returns to his screen, leaving me free to sink into a chair at the opposite end of the row and lay my head down in my arms like a small child.

  I don’t want to be wrong about Ben.

  More than anything else in the world I want to believe that I can trust him.

  Todd’s taunting laughter echoes in my ears. It mushrooms and expands until I can’t hear anything else, although dimly I’m aware that the last bell has rung.

  Footsteps approach and a hand lands on my shoulder. “Camden?”

  I raise my head to find Trina staring at me with concern.

  “Are you sick?” she asks. “I can handle the meeting this afternoon if you want to go home.”

  “I’m not sick,” I grumble and roll the chair away from the desk.

  “What’s wrong then?”

  “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  “No wonder.” She pulls up a chair, inches closer until our chairs are touching and tosses her black curls over one shoulder before shooting me a conspiratorial grin. “When you asked me about Ben Beltran you might have mentioned that you guys are a thing.”

  “What makes you think that we are?”

  She playfully shoves at my arm. “Nice innocent act. Kent heard it from Ben at lunch. So fess up.”

  “Kent heard it from Ben,” I say and I’m picturing how it must have happened; Ben occupying the spotlight among a cluster of Black Mountain jocks and handing out details about his sexual exploits.

  I stand up so quickly that I manage to knock a keyboard off the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait.” Trina is alarmed and gets in my way. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “Yeah.” I’m already backing through the door. “I just need to get some air.”

  The after school frenzy has turned the hallways into a storm of bodies. They cluster and they hug and they shout and they get in my way. I know I’m short on time. The first bus leaves approximately ten minutes after the final bell and Ben is going to be on it. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I just know that I need to see him, like perhaps laying eyes on him will help me understand.

  Someone, a boy, calls my name from the depths of the hallway crowd and then laughs. It’s not Ben’s voice and I don’t care whose voice it is. I hold up my extended middle finger and hope the caller sees it.

  A blast of arctic air greets me when I open the front door but I hardly feel it. The courtyard is filled with wanderi
ng students but beyond that is the familiar, ugly outline of the public bus. Three inches of snow crunch beneath my feet while I take long strides across the courtyard. I see the bus doors snap closed. The cold is starting to seep in and I cross my arms over my chest in a flimsy attempt to fend it off. The undercarriage of the bus squeals, indicating that the driver has taken the vehicle out of park. It’s too late. Any confrontation I have with Ben Beltran will be happening later in Devil Valley. Probably better that way. I can’t guarantee that I won’t create a scene and I’d hate to give the BMA rumor mill any more fodder to chew on.

  I take a deep breath and shut my eyes for a long second. But when I open them I find myself looking right at Ben. He’s there in one of the rear bus windows, perhaps sitting in the same seat we shared this morning. He doesn’t appear especially concerned about anyone or anything. In fact he looks bored. A raging fire rises in my skin and I welcome it as a shield to the cold. I’m angry. I have every right to be angry.

  At the last second before the bus pulls away Ben’s head turns and he sees me. Or at least I think he does. Our eyes connect but I can’t clearly translate his expression. That might be the case even if he stood six inches away. Ben is good at keeping his emotions at bay. He’s good at seeming cool and detached.

  In a flash the bus is gone and Ben is gone and I’m left standing there in the courtyard all alone except for the hundreds of teenagers surrounding me. The school day is over and it’s nearly Christmas and everyone in sight is excited. Everyone in sight is also a Black Mountain kid. They leave the school property in their fancy cars because this is their world and I’m just a visitor here.

  Like Ben.

  We are outsiders, both of us.

  Why did I trust you?

  I can’t hang around outside in the freezing cold all afternoon. There’s a Bulletin meeting to deal with. I straighten my spine, breathe through the internal pain and march right through the doors and to the room where Trina is keeping order among the staff, all of whom are eager to be finished with the last meeting of the year. Even the faculty advisor, Mr. Demelza, is perched on the edge of a table, engrossed in his phone and not paying much attention. I don’t keep them long and I silently congratulate myself for maintaining a calm, level tone as I thank everyone for another fine issue of the Bulletin, wish them a happy, safe holiday and remind them to be back here and ready to work the second week in January.

  Mr. Demelza asks me if I need anything else before tomorrow’s issue goes live and from the look on his face it’s obvious he’s got his fingers crossed that I’ll say no. He’s one of the first to flee the room. Trina is the last person to leave. She wants to talk about Ben. And me. And me and Ben. I would call Trina a friend and I’m sure she’s too principled to backstab anyone. For a tempting second I wish I could confide in her. I wish I could confess my feelings and ask for her advice. But my pride won’t let me admit to anyone that I might have been fooled by Ben Beltran so I just smile and tell her I’m busy with this final round of proofreading. I hear her sigh as she leaves.

  For the next two hours I stare at the screen and re-read articles I’ve read dozens of times and examine the layout I have already memorized. The silence in the building thickens as the other extracurricular activities conclude. The hallway is dim when I step out of the Bulletin room and I can hear the faint echo of a girls’ volleyball game in progress but there is still an overwhelming sense of loneliness in the school. I shiver as I button up my jacket and outside the sun is already beginning to dip below the horizon as the calendar has nearly reached the shortest day of the year.

  The bus arrives right on schedule and I’m relieved to see the evening shift driver has taken over because he just stares straight ahead, never appears to recognize anyone, and certainly doesn’t try to carry on a conversation. The other passengers are all unfamiliar and all minding their own business so I’m free to drop into a seat and dully watch the darkening landscape zoom past. The dread and anger I’ve been trying to hold at bay rises sharply when I see the bright sign for Dee’s Gas and Goods. If Ben and I were a normal couple I would have texted him hours ago to demand an explanation but we are not a normal couple and really not even a couple at all so I don’t have his cell phone number.

  The gas pumps are not busy and I see Ben behind the counter with no customers in sight. He looks up when I charge right in.

  “WHY?”

  Ben just stares at me, his expression flat. He’s a Ben Beltran mask. There’s no telling what goes on underneath.

  “WHY, BEN?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Why WHAT, Camden?”

  I have to take a breath or I’ll start crying. “Why in the hell did you decide to brag to the whole goddamn cafeteria that we’d hooked up?”

  And then, just for a split second, his dark eyes widen with alarm. The flash of emotion vanishes as quickly as it arrived. “That’s not what happened.”

  “Yes it is! You did exactly what you promised me you wouldn’t. You’re not stupid enough to believe I wouldn’t find out. You just didn’t care.”

  He hops over the counter and closes the distance between us. “Look, if you can calm down for a second and quit drama queening it up all over the place I can explain.”

  I take a step back. “Nothing you say now can excuse what you did. You said I could trust you, Ben. That I needed to trust you. You lied! I think you lie all the time.”

  His jaw works and his eyes narrow into a glare. “Okay, let’s talk about lies. Hey Camden, remember when you looked me in the eye and said you haven’t been spying on me? And then I find out you’ve been trying to extract secondhand information from my friends.”

  I roll my eyes. “Now who’s being a drama queen? I talked to Trina about asking her boyfriend some questions and I did that before we got together. Not exactly a Mission Impossible quest.”

  “Kent wanted to know why the hell you were asking questions behind my back like you’re some kind of pompous ass New York Times reporter instead of a clueless schoolgirl. And when he told me, it kind of pissed me off. You should know better than to fuck with other people’s lives.”

  “So you figured you’d get even by telling anyone in earshot about how we hooked up?”

  He rakes a hand through his hair and exhales loudly, as if dealing with me is beyond annoying. “Kent took a guess that there must be something happening between us.”

  “And you didn’t correct him.”

  “Should I have lied? Thought you had a problem with lying.”

  “I have a problem with you boasting to your sports buddies that we fucked around.”

  “We didn’t fuck around, Camden. I got you off. You got me off too. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I’m delighted to hear that it meant nothing to you.”

  “I didn’t say that for fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head in disgust. “You know that if I was only out for a good time then I could have finished taking it from you the other night.”

  I swallow. “That’s not true.”

  He snorts out a laugh. “No? I’d bet my left nut that once I made you come you were ready to let me fuck you bareback right there on the bench.”

  “You arrogant son of a bitch! You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I’m outraged mostly because I know he’s right. If Ben had kept going I wouldn’t have stopped him. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m even more ashamed that he’s aware of the truth.

  I hold my head up and will my tears away. “You made me believe that I could trust you. And now I’m sure that I shouldn’t have.”

  Ben won’t even look at me now, like the sight of my teary eyes and trembling lips are just too embarrassing to see. Or maybe this game has just become too dull for him to play anymore. “Maybe it’s impossible for us to trust each other.”

  I cough on my own words. “No kidding. I made a mistake.”

  The door opens and Diane Cushing walks into that heated moment. She gapes at the sight of us as we stand faced
off on the verge of war.

  “What’s going on, kids?”

  I try to work my lips into a smile. I’m sure I don’t succeed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can work tonight. I just don’t feel very well.”

  Diane shifts to motherly concern. She wants to press her palm to my head and feel for a fever. She wants to give me cold medicine and tea. She wants to drive me home herself. I hate myself for telling such a lie to a woman who is the very essence of kindness but in reality I truly don’t feel very well. My stomach hurts, my chest feels heavy and my throat is clogged with drowned sobs.

  This is why I don’t do this. This is why I don’t allow myself to be distracted by smiles and kisses. This is why I don’t offer my heart. This is why I don’t let myself fall for anyone.

  Diane seems satisfied with my promise that I’ll walk straight home and go right to bed. Ben says nothing and I do not look his way again. I can pretend he’s just part of the background. I can pretend that I don’t want to throw things at his head. I can pretend that my soul doesn’t ache.

  I pretend this all the way home.

  I pretend this when I tell my family I have a headache and need to lie down.

  I pretend this until I am alone in my room with the door locked and the white noise of my sound machine turned up so that no one can hear me sobbing.

  Then I cry myself to pieces on my pillow and wish to be divided from this frail, breakable thing that is my own heart.

  Ben

  “I’m not going to school today.”

  My mother stops reaching for the kitchen cabinet where her favorite coffee mug lives. “What? Do you feel sick?”

  “No.” I dump out the bowl of dry cornflakes because I’d been staring at it for fifteen minutes. “I’m just not going.”