by Anne Eliot
I let my gaze wander the room, steeling myself for anything of Cam’s that might catch my heart, trip me up, or remind me of our past, but from the looks of things, Cam’s brought almost nothing. A plain retro-looking wool blanket tops his bed along with two overstuffed-looking bed pillows that his mom must have bought for him. Only his heavy canvas jacket is visible as a personal item, while everything else he owns seems still unpacked and zipped in a canvas duffel bag under his bed. It’s like Cam’s just out of the military while Harrison robbed the entire Urban Outfitters store.
That’s when I realize why Harrison’s going back and forth from his closet to the other one. “You’re changing room sides! Why?”
He shoots me a wink. “I couldn’t let your ex-boyfriend sleep in the bed where you and I kissed, now could I? It’s already too strange that he’s here at all. This side of the room has magic memories, and I want to keep them all mine.” He winks and pats the bed where we first made out.
I blush, glancing around.
“Where is he?”
“Worried the ex is going to catch us kissing?”
“Stop.” I blush harder. “We only dated two week. He’s hardly this huge, dramatic ex-boyfriend.”
“That’s not what that blabbermouth Laura told me.”
“She’s not a blabbermouth, and you know she exaggerates everything.”
“So what is Cam to you, then, if he’s not your ex? Because Laura said you were star-crossed lovers, in her words, more tragic-and-mystical-and-magical than Romeo and Juliet’s beautiful sad love story.”
I laugh, hoping to change the subject. “Isn’t Laura the cutest?”
“Hardly.” Harrison scowls. “I asked Cam what he was to you, and his story was rather different.”
“Oh, okay.” My heart flips. “What did he say?” I try to keep my voice light and laughing even though it feels like rocks have just pushed up into my throat. Harrison’s watching my face like a hawk, and I don’t want to hurt the guy.
“He said you two were—are—mostly just friends. You met as on the WOA project, and that’s how you started dating. The guy downplayed the ex-girlfriend factor, just how you did. I feel like I need some sort of solid definition from you as well as to how you think about Cam so I can feel better about all of this.” He shrugs, pointing around his dismantled room.
I smile softly, feeling sorry for Harrison. I honestly don’t know how I would handle this if the situation were reversed. “Go with Cam’s version, please. We were close friends. We are close friends. We shared only…a few kisses. And if there was any sort of relationship there?” I shrug. “We were only juniors and I’d never had a boyfriend before. Laura loves the story because Cam was this popular football dude and I was this nerdy limping girl whom everyone ignored. So, you can imagine we had zero in common.” I try to make my lie convincing. “Before we could get serious he and I…well. You know the story. I fell and he…moved. It’s history, and you and I are happening now, so please don’t let it get to you.” I almost choke then, because I’ve noticed how all of those half-truths have layered into the back of my throat until they sounded sincere and real even to me. So much so that I can hardly breathe. I suppose as much as my head and Harrison are here and now, my heart is taking much longer to catch up now that my past has crashed back to earth.
Harrison stacks socks and shorts into his dresser. “That’s pretty much exactly what Cam said to me.” He pauses to examine my face, and I manage to hold my calm, quiet smile. “Your similar stories make me feel much better.” He sighs. “Because I don’t think I could take living with him for the rest of the summer and watching you hang around with him if you two had been anything more, you know?”
I nod, mostly because I can’t answer anything else without lying more to him.
“Look. I’m sorry I feel all pissed off like I’m fixated on this, but do you blame me? Today at lunch, with all of you laughing and crying and Laura hugging all over him like he’s her long-lost brother? And then Patrick—who’s supposed to be one of my best friends here—got over his surprise and was just acting the same as Laura and you. Shit, I hate to be all pathetic and needy, but I’m the obvious fifth wheel here.”
“No. Harrison, you’re not that. You’re awesome.”
“Really?” He blinks at me, waggling his brows. “Am I anything else?”
“And you’re cute. And you have the best hair and dimples of all of us. And we adore you.”
“I don’t care about ‘we.’ I care about you. A ton. You.”
“Aww.” I pull in a huge breath, trying to keep the tremors out of my voice, because he’s said all of this and he’s probably been worrying like heck about it, so I feel really bad. “And you’re my boyfriend, which means you’re not anyone’s fifth wheel, you’re my…first wheel!”
He tosses a sock at me, and then frowns when I can’t catch it fast enough and it falls with a thunk at my feet. “That’s what I was waiting to hear.”
“It’s so cute that you switched room sides. I’m sorry this whole situation is beyond strange. Give it—us—a week, and it’s all going to settle and feel normal. Trust me.”
Harrison shakes his head. “How can it ever feel normal? For the record, you and I’ve dated for less than two weeks, and I feel like I can’t live without you, so…forgive me if I can hardly believe that Cam Campbell wasn’t so in love with you.”
I swallow and look away, forcing my mind to not think of the letter Cam sent me. The necklace. The truth.
Harrison sighs. “Ellen, the guy also crushed your legs. Even I saw it on the news way back when it all went down. Then I saw it on Facebook so many times when it all went viral. When you guys told me the story, I about died. I couldn’t believe that was actually you and him—and Huron High—and damn! You were sort of famous! So forgive me if what happened to you never seems normal to me. I can hardly believe you have it in your heart to forgive the guy.”
My chest grows tight, as I remember. “Patrick, Laura and I were all standing right there when it happened. None of what you saw or heard is even true. It was all an accident that was actually my fault.”
“On the video, you weren’t standing. You were flying through the air like someone had shot you out of a cannon. Cam was the one who literally crushed you up into those bleachers head-flipping-first before that other dude smashed you down. I totally get why Patrick wanted to kill him. Laura also told me all about that. She also mentioned how Cam left you alone that whole time without ever once contacting you.”
“He did contact me. Once. And the rest of the time, he couldn’t.”
“Well, Patrick told me how much you’ve cried over that dude breaking things off with you—and frankly, after hearing all of that, I have my own urges to pound the crap out of him myself.”
“Well. Don’t. Please. Just don’t,” I whisper. “I do not want to fight about this—about Cam. Please.”
Harrison’s face crumples and his shoulders slump. “Oh crap. Are we fighting?”
“If we keep talking in this direction, yes.”
“Damn. I think you’re right, and it would be a fight about…nothing that has to do with the two of us.”
“Exactly. I’m so happy you said that.” I sigh again. “Look. This is the only time I want to talk about what happened, because it just hurts me too much to bring it all up, but I think deserve to be placed on the inside of all of the gossip.”
“Why? Why do you think I deserve that? I think I’ve just been an ass to you. Enough to cause an almost-fight, which was not my intent. Hell.” He runs a hand through that thick mop of hair and puts his glasses into the front pocket of his shirt. “I don’t think I deserve anything at all. It’s just that I’m falling for you. And now the thought of anyone making you sad or hurting you or…stealing you away from me. It all sort of makes me insane—so no—don’t put me on the inside. Kick me out if you want, but if you are going to do that please do it right now. Don’t torture me.”
I smile. �
��Truth is, I’ve already got you on the inside of my heart, or you couldn’t have upset me how you did.”
“See? I’m such an ass. I’m so sorry.”
I grin. “I also couldn’t have kissed you how I did the other night if my feelings for you weren’t strong and going in the same direction as yours. I—think I’m falling for you, too. Heck, I know I’ve already fallen too far to look back into all the things that happened to me during my junior year, that’s for sure. I want to look forward, and I love…looking straight at you.”
“Aww, sweet—”
I hold up my hand. “Wait. Let me finish. You know me pretty well now. You know Patrick and Laura too, but you don’t know Cam. All I can say is trust them and trust me. There are a thousand versions of what happened floating around. There’s also a bunch of private stuff about how Cam’s parents suck and how he ended up staying in British Columbia last semester that I have no right to discuss. Both of our lives were simply too messed up for things to work out between us, and, like I said, we were so far out of each other’s circles there was a good chance it wasn’t going to work out anyhow. But what happened? It happened to me and it happened to Cam, and the entire thing sucked. So, for the sake of not hurting me again, please don’t bring it up—not with me and not with him—or hold it against him in any way. The entire thing was, in fact, my fault. I fell. Think of how we met. How you fell and how I fell? That day, I stumbled at the wrong time. The part you saw in the video was simply a dandelion caught under the feet of a buffalo stampede.”
“How about you call yourself a rose, not a dandelion?” His smile seems sad.
I shake my head, loving that he said that. “Cam’s a really great friend. And as your first dorm roommate, he’s going to be your friend for life. I don’t want my presence or our relationship to mess any of that up for you. That guy is as amazing as you are. He also knows so much about photography and lighting and camera lenses and equipment. He’s a true fine artist who can teach you things about this photography passion that we all share. So, for that reason alone, you two deserve to give this friendship a chance. There are not enough photography nerds to go around, and it’s important we find each other and keep each other forever. Okay?”
“Okay…but”—Harrison pauses in front of me with another load of his things—”you swear you two only shared a couple of kisses?”
“Yes.”
“And we’ve kissed one, two, three…hmmm, wait.” He leans in, staring at my eyes. I’m drawn toward how he smells like a walk in the woods. “How many kisses would you say you and I were up to after last night?”
I blush because his face is so close to mine. “This is not any sort of competition.”
“Maybe not for you, but just in case, I’m going to have to up my quotient before I let you go to the pool. Can I?”
I nod, unable to speak because he’s just made my heart beat too fast.
He sets his laundry pile down, then leans in closer and presses his soft, warm, smiling lips against mine. I’m startled when he captures my bottom lip in his, giving it a small tug. Then, as I gasp in surprise, he deepens the kiss and is sliding his tongue over mine. This kiss is different than how he kissed me last night. This kiss feels possessive—sexy, but also like he’s trying to stake his claim.
To show him he doesn’t have to worry, I deepen the kiss on my side, testing again how his lips feel meshing with mine. But instead of getting lost in the kiss, I find myself analyzing it—and him—and us.
*Ponders: This is kissing. This is kissing Harrison Shaw…and his kisses are nice. Better than nice.*
Finally I’m able to relax some. Somewhere, as he pulls me closer, I’m realizing kissing Harrison Shaw is becoming this combination of me and him, and not anything like the kisses from my past that I shared with anyone else.
*Thinks: That’s why they feel different. And that’s why my heart flips differently. Because this is just a different guy’s lips mixed with my lips. My heart getting to know his. And so it’s bound to feel so very different. Nice…but different. Right? Right…?*
Harrison interrupts my thoughts by doing the bottom-lip-pulling thing again. I sigh into him and try that move back on his bottom lip to see if it will do anything to stop my churning thoughts.
He groans and pulls me even closer, and my crutches fall to the floor. As he takes all of my weight into his arms, I’m able to forget everything but this kiss. This moment.
Me and him.
His hands are warm creeping up my back under my shirt. He seems to know exactly how to caress along my waist until I’ve got shivers going down my spine. He nestles me in next to him in ways that make me want to test how it might feel to get—be—closer to him.
I lose track of time and just how many kisses we share, because I’m lost in learning new things now. Enjoying pretty much without any guilt how this guy—this boyfriend of mine—feels, breathes, smells…is simply himself.
He pulls back and smiles down into my face and says, “There. That should put me way ahead. What do you think?”
I blink up at him, dazed. “Yeah. Ahead. Way.”
“Damn…Ellen Foster. But you’re really cute. Do you know that? I’m so happy we talked about all this and that you’re still…mine.”
“Of course I am. I’m happy that you understand that I am. I really…am.”
He hugs me again and kisses my forehead. It’s all I can do not to pout that he hasn’t planted that kiss back on my lips. Did Harrison Shaw just turn me into one of those girls who’s way too focused on making out? Because…suddenly, I finally understand those couples that make out in the school hallways in front of other people. I used to think that was annoying, disgusting even, that they couldn’t wait. But right now…right now…I’d totally be one of those couples in a heartbeat.
I’m actually pushing back wicked thoughts that involve me begging Harrison for more kisses. Worse, I just entertained the idea of calling Nash to ask him if making out counts as an acceptable form of physical therapy just so I won’t have to go to the pool.
Instead, I only whisper, “You’re really cute too, by the way.”
With a satisfied, almost smug look—which I think he’s earned, because my knees are actually rubber now and he totally knows it—he lowers me so I can balance on the edge of bed. Then he politely hands back both of my scattered crutches with one hand, then scoops up his forgotten pile of clothing and gets back to his task, while I try to remember how to stand up without these rubber knees.
When I’m finally up and moving, I try to keep my voice all casual and call out, “Okay…well, see you later.”
“Counting the minutes.”
When I’m at the door, he says, “Ellen. Wait. I forgot.” He holds up a typed sheet of paper and follows me to the door. “These are the dates Professor Perry says we need to know for the scholarship assignments.” He’s glancing at me oddly through his lashes, and I wonder if he’s staring at my lips, because I am staring at his. “Do you have the schedule yet?”
“What?” I drag my eyes away. “No. I only got the scholarship information sheet.”
“He passed it out during class. He also said none of this information will be on the website because he doesn’t want next year’s crop of scholarship seekers to have advance information on how the process works. That’s why I could never find it online last year. In his words, we all have to be proactive and self-advocating to get the work turned in properly and on time.” He tucks it in my bag. “Plug each of these into your iPhone and set alerts. Do it today, as in ASAP, or you’ll be sorry. I wouldn’t want my girl getting behind on things. Promise?”
I love the way he changed his voice when he called me my girl. “Right after my swim. Promise.”
He runs a hand down the side of my face, pausing to touch his thumb gently against my thoroughly kissed and what feels like slightly swollen lower lip. I can’t read his thoughts, but the way he’s staring at my face has me giddy with kiss anticipation all over again.<
br />
He leans in, but instead of kissing me he says, “Could you give the paper back to me, because it’s my only copy and I haven’t entered the dates for myself yet. Okay, beautiful?” The last word goes into that low voice again.
“Yeah,” I answer, pretending I can process what he’s just asked me.
I lick the empty spot his thumb recently vacated, which makes his brows shoot up very high. That teasing sparkle enters his gaze. There’s no way I can go up on my tiptoes like girls do in the movies. I also don’t want a repeat of my crutches flying everywhere, so I lean carefully and solidly on the crutch part that fits under my arms so I can use my good arm to quickly pull his head down to mine, brushing one last soft kiss over his lips.
“Thanks.”
Cam
I owe it to Laura London for smoothing things over for me. For the past week, she’s been her usual distracting, annoying, glitter-encrusted self. She’s showering me with her kind attention, filling every single awkward silence my presence creates with chatter, goofy antics, and her all-knowing best-friend heart. She really gets just how impossible it’s been for me to function since I woke up from my really bad dream and found myself trapped inside this new nightmare, where I’m stuck between Ellen Foster and her new boyfriend.
I love Laura for being her, for not giving up on me, for remembering and knowing everything, and for the rest of my life I will lay my heart and soul at her feet. Should she ever need a kidney, a blood transfusion, or anything I could give her, I would for all she’s done to Band-Aid this situation. Me.
Patrick, too, has been cool. More than cool, and also a true friend. He hasn’t said much to me about the past, or about the present, nor would I expect him to say anything sappy about how he missed me. Instead, he’s just included me in whatever he’s doing. Parties, workouts, walks to lunch while being simply quiet and watchful—tracking everything and everyone in his silent, observant way. And even though he’s started hanging out a lot with a girl from France called Chloe, and that seems to be going well—so well that he’s got me hanging out a lot with a sassy, fun girl named Charisse—Patrick seems more dark and brooding than I ever remember him being back home.
