by Anne Eliot
I cry all of the tears I’ve held back from my mom, Nash, Patrick, and Laura since before my surgery in early December. I use Cam as a lifeline to soak up the feeling of his heart next to mine, of his arms around me, his hand sliding over the top of my hair, his soothing voice—all the things I lived without while I was recovering.
All the things I wanted more than air or food or water for months and months.
“Shh. Shh. Ellen. Ellen. Please don’t cry. Please. Ellen. Don’t cry.”
Eventually, I cry myself out to the point I’m completely empty.
My throat feels raw; my face feels like I took out my eyes and cheeks to replace them with bruised peaches. I’m embarrassed because the entire front of Cam’s T-shirt is soaked through where I’ve been clutching it.
*Thinks: Cam. Cam. Cam. Cam. Cam.*
Now that I’ve thought his name, I can’t un-think it. I’m actually proud right now that I’m not chanting it out loud.
Because he’s been stroking the top of my head this whole time, my bun’s all torn up and half out of its bun twist. When I try to open my eyes and see if I can breathe normally at the same time, the first thing I focus on is his shoes. He’s wearing these military-style boots, kind of like the winter pair of Doc Martens Patrick always wears, only these are light and canvas and sort of tattered, like he’s been wearing them inside and outside for a long time…for…like…
I whisper my thoughts out loud: “Seven months. It’s been seven months, you know?”
“Seven. Plus one week.” His voice is sandpaper mixed with pain, just like mine.
*Thinks: Seven months, plus one week, plus one day, plus however many hours passed by this morning until I saw you talking to Professor Perry. That’s how long it’s been.*
I pull away from his warmth and slide off his lap to gain my own seat on the bench. Not until I’m solidly balanced do I look up to find his familiar, gorgeous moonlight and gray eyes boring down worriedly into mine. His expression is blank, but his overlong lashes betray him with saltwater-thick points that prove he’s just finished crying along with me.
I re-memorize the new, more angular lines of the face that’s haunted my dreams since he went away, and I breathe in his familiar, warm, safe smell. “You look thinner. And you look…like you grew all the way up without me. Why are you using the last name Reece?”
“It’s my mom’s maiden name. She and the courts registered me here under that name.”
“Oh.”
He leans back, and his eyes survey me top to bottom. “Aside from the black metal boot, you look the same. Possibly younger and smaller?”
“Very funny. I always look like a kindergartner after I’ve been crying.”
“I know. And don’t get me wrong, even the same to me you look…great. I’m happy to see you.” He swallows and looks away.
I suddenly feel like I need to prove something to him. “I’m not the same. Not at all. I’ve learned so much about myself, what I’m capable of, what I want for my future. All that…so I might still look puny, but I’m stronger thanks to all that’s happened these months. So much stronger.”
“Despite how bad it all sucked…I’m also much stronger. Especially on the inside. With myself, my own goals—all that.”
“Good…and your hair is so much more…”
“So much more what?”
“Er—short?” I pull in a ragged breath.
“Is it bad?” He raises his brows, his hand going over the top of his head self-consciously. “I was thinking of keeping it like this.”
“No. I like it. It’s just…”
*Thinks: Hot. Sexy. Perfect.*
Because he’s blinking at me, waiting, I add, “…just such a drastically different look than what I remember. I almost want to ask you if you got a bunch of tattoos and piercings. Did you?”
“Ha. Please. Because all people who’ve been to jail get those? None yet, anyhow.” He laughs. “I’m just worried I look kind of ugly and out of place, that’s all.”
How can he not know the look has made him more model-beautiful? He looks twenty years old, and not at all like the high school seniors we’ve only recently become. The haircut has made those perfectly balanced cheekbones more prominent, the square chin even more square, and, without the sandy blond fluff to soften the edges of his face, my eyes go to the only soft thing left on his countenance…
His perfectly shaped lips.
Before I can think what I’m doing, the back of my good hand, as if acting on its own, brushes against one of his cheekbones then goes up higher to test the what the top of his head feels like.
“Ellen…” He flinches away from my touch and pushes me off his lap and literally leaps off the bench as though I’ve burned him.
Who do I think I am? I’ve had no right to crawl into his lap, cry on his chest, and now touch him how I just did. Mortified, I cross my arms against my chest. “Cam…I’m sorry. Really sorry. That was totally inappropriate and out of order and…I’m so sorry. So sorry.” And then, because I’m feeling really guilty for the direction I just about took us in, I quickly add, “I also need you to know…that there’s someone else. I wasn’t trying to—do—anything, I was just curious.”
“Someone else?” He turns back to me, placing both hands on the sides of his head as though he’s trying to stop a bad headache. A headache I’ve given him, I’m sure. “Well. Good to know. As long as he makes you happy, that is.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “So…sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel like you had to run away from me.” I’m not sure if I’m saying those words to Cam or to Harrison, who’s not even here…or am I saying them to myself?
His voice is back to shaking. “Please don’t apologize. We’re having this conversation so I can apologize. Not you…so don’t say that word to me. Not now, and not ever again. I jumped up because sitting next to you was scrambling my concentration, like it always does, and—being so close to you after all this time—I was going to—I was going suddenly—way off track, that’s for damn sure.”
“Well. So was I.” I sigh. “But I guess we should have expected that. It’s not like either of us could expect how things are supposed to go when we saw each other again. Not after all of what we’ve been through…” I shake my head. “I actually think we’re doing okay.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It feels comfortable—almost easy to talk to you. Do you feel that, too?”
“Yes.” He sighs. “But let me at least be the one who’s sitting here apologizing. Not you. I get to be first. Last. And always. I’m sorry. About all of this.” He spreads his hands wide, then points at my legs. “I’m sorry that you cried, that I left you how I left you, that I didn’t communicate at all. I’m so damn sorry about all of it. Not. You. Ever. Got it? And I’m happy if you’re happy. Are you?”
“Yes.”
*Maybe. No. Yes. Maybe. No. Yes. I don’t know.*
Unable to look at him now, I quickly ask the question that hurts the most: “Why? Why didn’t you call me?”
He blinks. “I was in this juvenile detention foster home place. I didn’t have access to a computer or cell phones until last week. The one text I sent to you happened because I’d stolen a phone from my social worker. That move which got me into more trouble, when I was already in trouble for stealing a car and my dad’s wallet to try to get back to you.”
What’s left of my heart crumbles. Maybe I didn’t wait long enough? “That’s why?”
“Yes. But if I’d had a second chance—if they had given me internet access this whole time—I would have broken up with you the same way. I didn’t think I was coming back.”
“Neither did I. I found out some of what happened to you only last month.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “You needed to move on.”
“But—you’ve had cell phone access this whole past week. What about this past week? Why didn’t you contact me? Why?”
“Honestly? I was too afraid. Terrifie
d I’d hurt you more and I—”
I hold up my hands, and thankfully, he stops talking. I shake my head again, trying to insert this new information. With Cam sitting here, I can’t even remember why I kissed Harrison Shaw last night. And now, why don’t I just kiss Camden Campbell and beg him to…what? What?
I feel like I’m shrinking in front of him, and worse, I feel him shrinking away from me. He’s changed, and I’ve changed, and half a year’s simply passed us by and spit us out here as completely different people.
I copy his move and put my hands up to my head, shaking it back and forth. “God. I’m so confused and drained. I have no clue who or even what I am to you right now.”
“I know. If it helps…I’m right there with you. I actually feel…hollow.”
“Cam, now that we’ve cried it all out, what do you want me to do…who are we going to be…what do you want from me?”
“First, what I need to hear is for you to tell me you’re okay. Really and truly well, despite my past involvement in your life and despite me just showing up here like this.” His voice has gone all scratchy again. He turns back to look at me, but his eyes are heavily guarded. “I can go. I don’t have to stay here for the rest of the summer if you don’t want me near you. I can be gone by tonight.”
“You belong here. You earned this, and you want to be a photographer,” I whisper.
“Yeah. But what about us? Doesn’t this hurt?”
“We used to be friends. Just because we’ve had this really strange fast forward, does it mean we’re no longer friends?”
“I—I want to be, but first say you are going to be okay with suddenly seeing me every single day.”
I raise one brow, calling his bluff. “Are you going to be okay with the same?” He nods, but I can tell he’s lying as much as I am. I continue, “More specifically, will you be okay with me dating Harrison Shaw in front of you every day? Because…like you said, he’s your roommate and I honestly like him, and he’s made me really happy this summer.” My voice drops, and I can’t meet his gaze. “I think that situation might get really awkward.”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s not about that, is it? It’s about you.”
“No. Not about me. It’s about us…moving on. And growing up, I guess.”
He winces like I’ve punched him. “Considering this Harrison’s my roommate, and he’s already taken my place in our group project, I’m going to have to be okay with it because your friendship is—always has been—important to me. And…I do want to stay here for the rest of the summer.”
“Because we’re going to stay friends. And because you want to be a photographer.”
“Yes. For those reasons, and because you said you liked him and because you said you were happy.”
I nod. I think if I confirm anything more out loud right now, I’m not going to be able to keep up my mask of convincing confidence.
When my eyes hit and lock on to his, his own solid and determined expression slips and I can see his all of his vulnerability. Worse, I feel his loneliness. It makes the back of my throat ache. I don’t call him on what I see because he’s not calling me on what must be written in my own eyes.
I just pull myself together and wait for him to get himself where he needs to be so we can keep going.
“Say it, Ellen. Say you are okay.”
I stall, waiting for us both to be breathing normally again. “Am I okay? Hmm. Such a simple question for such a complicated thing.”
“I realize that. But ultimately…above all else and with me sitting here in your space…are you truly okay?”
And though my thoughts and the empty space between us have made me feel two thousand years old, I pull sunshine into my voice and layer on a smile. “I’m okay. Better than okay. As long as you’re okay, then I’m going to be okay. Honest.”
*Realizes: First love—or falling out of first love—is what messes up all of the adults in the world.*
*Wonders: Does this realization suddenly make me an adult, too?*
I keep my gaze direct and absolutely as strong and as unwavering as I can make it before saying, “Your turn, then. Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m…damn.” He barks out a small, brittle-sad laugh. “You’re right. It is such a simple question for such a big mess, isn’t it?” He glances up at the sky. His wry smile turns the right side of his mouth up as he pulls a hand over his shorn head. “I’m taking my days one at a time right now. But I’m good today because I’ve seen you. I’ve apologized, you’ve accepted, and you’ve told me you’re okay. So…” He glances back over the pond. “I’ve met my goal for today. Actually…it’s been my goal all these months. So…thank you for that.”
I try to joke: “Always the goal setter.”
“Always.”
“And what are your goals for the rest of the summer?”
“Really?” He looks at the sky like he’s thinking.
“Yes. Really. List all of them, because I know you well enough to know you’ll have more than one.”
*Holds breath. Tries to kill the answers I wish he would say, like: Run away with you, search for a Tardis or any object that can turn back time.*
He paces in front of me as though he’s suddenly nervous. “My goals. In no particular order. First goal is to not hurt you again, though it’s pretty obvious I’ve already failed at that. Second goal is to grab one of the scholarships. Third—I’d like us all to be friends again. Me and you and Patrick and Laura. Once all of this awkwardness is over, do you think it can happen? I can’t imagine returning to Brights Grove and senior year without that part of my life back.”
I nod, only able to address the one that doesn’t twist up my heart all over again. “You want one of the scholarships? Why?”
He shakes his head. “Unfair amount of questions coming from your side. It’s my turn.” I shrug. He leans forward. “My mom told me you did an additional surgery to your tendons while you were down and out. Was it—the surgery, the recovery, the broken legs, the wheelchair—how bad was it?”
“The wheelchair part sucked. The rest felt standard to me. Without those broken legs, I wouldn’t have done that surgery at all. I’d still be facing it. Worse, I’d have to be in a wheelchair senior year. So, as Nash says, that accident was probably the very best thing that could have happened to my legs.”
“Ellen, that was the worst thing that could have happened, so don’t lie just to make me feel better.”
“I’m not lying.” I shrug. “That surgery needed to happen. Call Nash if you don’t believe me.”
“If I weren’t terrified of that guy, I would.”
I laugh. It’s possible the physical therapy that followed the accident was the most painful I’ve ever faced, but since one of my new goals is not to hurt Cam Campbell back, I’m sure as heck not going to bring up any pain levels in my legs around him ever again. As far as Cam’s concerned, I’m cured and about to skip painlessly around the world on my two straight feet.
I add, “You’ll see. When I don’t have the boot on, my gait on the left side is now almost straight. Still slow, but it’s almost freakishly normal looking. So…” I smile softly. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger or something like that, right?”
He shakes his head. “I’m more for the Ed Sheeran lyrics where he says ‘what doesn’t kill you sucks’ or something like that.” His face transforms as he layers on a beautiful, sad smile. “Does that make me sound like a wimp?” he asks.
“No. Well…maybe.” Another small laugh bubbles up just as the forty-five-minute bell rings.
Suddenly I’m able to breathe normally, and he seems to also relax.
“This friends thing…it’s going to work. Isn’t it?” he asks.
“It’s going to work great.” I reach for my bag. “Let’s go into the dorm. The professors always come out here during this break. I’d hate for Professor Perry to think you didn’t take me over to the nurse’s office like he ordered. He’s kind of a stickler for r
ules. On the first day I got busted for chewing gum.”
“You don’t even like gum.”
I laugh. “I know. I wasn’t even chewing it. Harrison had just given me this piece and…don’t ask. It was all this terrible misunderstanding. You’ll need to check the website every single morning before class, because he sometimes adds stuff on there and then—poof—whips it right off. It’s like he’s trying to trap us into slacking off. Oh, darn, that reminds me.” I slap my hand to my head. “Today was the day he was passing out scholarship info as well as the deadline schedules for the projects.”
“I got the scholarship information, but I missed the other one. The other guys will have copies, right?”
“Harrison will give me his, I’m sure.”
Too late I realize I’ve said the wrong thing. He doesn’t answer, and because I’m pretending really hard that I didn’t just see him wince like I’ve punched him in the stomach from me saying Harrison’s name, I quickly crutch ahead of him toward the door that leads to the dorm.
*Vows: The just-friends thing is not going to be hard. It’s not.*
Ellen
As we push into the back hallway that leads to our dorm, my book bag starts to slip so I pause to readjust my crutches. The dorm is crowding with people streaming in after the bell.
“Do you need my help?” Cam asks as a few people squeeze around me.
I want to beg him not to say that to me anymore, but I don’t. It’s Cam. He’s always going to ask me if I need help. I need to remember that helping people is simply part of who he is.
I’ve got to remember him, and he’s got to remember me, and then…
Our gazes tangle.
*Changes mind: This friends thing is going to be impossible.*
He adds, “Because…I’d be…happy. To help. You.”
“Uh…uh…”
He suddenly sounds as awkward as I feel. What happened to our easy conversation?
I’m sure my inability to answer him is making that worse.
Only, now that it’s not just me and him sitting on a bench in a private garden, and the rest of the world’s crashing in around us, I’m having some sort of panic attack.
