by Anne Eliot
Thankfully, the ass seems to have looked his fill, and he turns away.
I toss a glance over at Patrick. From the look on his face, he just saw what I just saw. From his murderous expression, I know Patrick would love to pound Harrison all kinds of ways, but he and I have had many good lessons in anger management and consequences. I hold up seven fingers and mouth, Seven. More. Days. That’s to remind him of what we talked about last night when we were both coming up with ways we wished we could fry Harrison Shaw on a spit. Even Laura was piping in her ideas, because finally she sees Harrison’s for the shady jerk that he really is.
Patrick grimaces and shakes his head, holding up one fist that says he doesn’t give a crap how many days are left. I’ve called Patrick off on most of his paranoia about Harrison’s behaviors, which have become even shadier since we all returned from Grand Bend. But I think Harrison’s new levels of strange just has to be normal. I can suspect what the dude is feeling. He probably flipped when we got back to the dorms and he realized he was suddenly odd man out when it came to all of us. And we made sure he was way the hell out.
I’m sure he also started going out of his mind with regrets about Ellen.
Who wouldn’t?
The poor sucker just let go of a rainbow. He must be sick every time he opens his eyes in the morning and realizes she’s no longer his awesome girlfriend.
I sigh, happy at that thought. I’m also happy that Patrick’s on the far side of Laura, so he’s safe from getting arrested. Laura’s distracting him by flipping her hair so many times while muttering, how hot it is that she’s covered my entire left side with all of her gold glitter. I normally don’t mind it, but today and in this cramped spot, I feel like blaming all of her glitter flecks for adding heat to this already hot room.
Ellen has grown quieter and quieter. She’s starting to slump forward so she can lean heavily on her elbows and arms. I suspect she’s doing this because her left hip hurts from being stuck in the crisscross sitting position so long. It’s a position that is usually excruciating for her, but one that Professor Perry commanded of us all. She’s placed her crutches over by the door, and I have a suspicion that when it’s time to stand she’s going to be so cramped up that she’ll need me to help her stand. I wonder if, without the boot, the unprotected ankle is also bothering her some, as well as her hip. I lean forward and try to catch her eye so I can see what her pain levels might be. That’s when I realize she’s actually falling asleep with her chin on her hands.
Ah, but she’s so damn cute.
I have this huge urge to slide closer and pull her into my arms. But I don’t. Not unless she asks me directly will I touch her.
I can’t and…I won’t.
Even if it kills me.
And it is, in fact, killing me.
I lean forward on my knees, pretending that I’m not checking her out while I totally check her out. She’s wearing these rumpled shorts and this sexy, slightly see-through cream-colored blouse that drives me insane every time she wears it. As if the universe likes to taunt me for how I long for this girl, she sighs. Just then, her heavy, shower-damp braid slides around her back, shifting every ounce of air between us until I’m wrapped up in the intoxicating scent of vanilla-shampoo-heaven. I eye the band at the bottom of her braid, wishing it would slide off so that her hair would slowly unwind so I could—
I almost have to slap my own face, as I tell myself to stop.
When she pulls in another deep, shuddering breath, like she’s seriously dreaming, and settles her cheek so she’s facing me with her eyes closed, then licks her lips, my heart can’t help it—my whole body can’t help it. Everything flips so damn hard.
Because…damn…but she is so…beautiful.
I have to cross my arms tightly over my chest while quietly scooting myself toward Laura to create the max distance away from Ellen, because if I don’t…I’m going to put my arms around her and pull her up next to my chest so she can sleep comfortably.
And hell yes…then I’m going to kiss the top of her head in front of all of these people.
But, like I said, unless she asks me first…I can’t and I won’t.
This is because I’m being very patient. If this past year hasn’t taught me how to be patient where Ellen Foster is concerned, then I’ve learned nothing. I used to tease Patrick about taking so long to make a big move on Laura, and oh, did I tease him. Hell, I’ve decided Patrick is some sort of master ninja. When I arrived here and found out the guy had still not sealed the deal—not even grabbed a second kiss off Laura London after all these months—I even called him pathetic. I rolled my eyes and hinted at his sanity levels, and he simply shrugged. When I pointed out that he’d been following Laura London around like a puppy for something like nine months, he’d merely answered that he didn’t mind.
That he could and would wait.
I now totally understand Patrick. And although we didn’t talk about our feelings or anything like that together, I did apologize to him this week for being an ass about the topic I didn’t quite understand.
Or…hell, maybe I understood it, but I wasn’t willing to admit to it.
And I’m talking about love.
Love. Love. Love!
I was in love with Ellen back when we first started dating, but I was always afraid of myself and of my dad’s reaction to it. I was also still in love with Ellen during my time locked up. But again, I was afraid that she hated me. That she wasn’t okay. Guilty for still loving her after what I’d done. I was still in love with Ellen the second I saw her again here on campus, but again, that was connected to all kinds of fears and even more guilt. I thought I could love her enough to let her go, and I did just that. And I suppose as long as she was happy—blissfully happy—then I was willing to leave that love, my love for her, alone.
But…since that night we spent together working at the lake in Grand Bend, I’m different. I’m not going to leave love or her alone again. I love Ellen Foster so much, and so deeply that I’m no longer afraid, and I sure as hell no longer feel guilty that I love her.
I can’t, because I’m so in love with her there’s not room for anything else but that love. And I will wait. As long as it takes. Because…despite all that she told me that night about us being friends, I now know she’s been waiting patiently and in love with me, too.
I glance over at her again, and I chuckle because the girl is actually conked out sleeping in a crowd. My eyes go along her neck, and when I spot a thin line of tattered, re-knotted twine, my heart goes insane with even more happiness.
It also makes me more patient than any saint. More patient than Patrick. Because deep inside my pocket, I’ve got this beach glass that’s been made into a pendant that belongs to Ellen.
Only it also belongs to me.
Or…should I say, it belongs to us.
Thankfully, I’d used the light on my cell phone to light up the pathway for Ellen as she walked quickly walked away the other night. I saw something drop out of her hand, and when I brushed it out of the sand along with this cool, tiny leaf charm that fell with it, my knees almost buckled. I recognized the beach glass instantly. I was so stunned and relieved at the beautiful, hopeful significance of the two items lying in my hand that I’d almost shouted out loud.
The little leaf charm got to me the most, because it reminded me of our first kiss. Had she placed it there to also remind her of us being together underneath all of the falling leaves? My mind spun with how many promises I’d made in that letter I’d written to her. She might have been walking away from me and back to the hotel, but as I slid the beach glass and the leaf into my pocket, it felt like she’d stepped directly back into my heart.
If she was wearing this around her neck, then she’s still all wrapped up in our past, our present, and hopefully our future as much as I am.
All I have to do is watch over her and wait.
One day she’ll realize staying apart hurts more than being afraid of losing a friend.
Once she understands that, I’ll give her the charms back.
And kiss her. Of course.
Ellen
I know I’m dreaming, because Cam’s sitting by my side watching over me like he’s some sort of angel. His beautiful, silver-gray gaze has lost the mask I’ve grown used to seeing. It’s floating over me like we just kissed and he’s longing for more kisses. And I wonder if we really did just kiss. Is that why I think I can fly right now?
I smile, wishing this dream would last forever, and he smiles back.
Then Laura’s there—calling out from far away. I realize I’m really overheated and my legs are cramping. I hear Professor Perry’s voice say, “It’s working. Finally! Let’s get on with it already.”
Disoriented, I gasp and pull my head off my arms and look at the crowd around me. Harrison’s making this stressed and annoyed face, like he can’t believe I’d fall asleep at a time like this. He’s actually avoiding connecting his eyes to mine, which is fine with me. I sit up, flex my legs, and quickly check to make sure there’s no drool on my chin. I feel my cheeks burning as Cam slides nearer and says, “Welcome back. It’s show-time. You okay from sitting this long?”
“For now.” I nod, grateful he can’t hear the fluttering in my heart or see the images from my dream that were about me and him, flying and kissing. (And that are still floating inside my head.)
“Wonder who’s up first?” Laura mutters.
Professor Perry doesn’t make us wait, and quickly steps up, holding a microphone.
“I apologize for all of this. Due to the delays, we are going to have to run this program backwards. I usually hold off revealing the three scholarship finalists and their work until the end, but because the administration has other business to attend to and the visiting middle school students are probably getting hungry, we’re going to go ahead and reveal who we’re going to interview as our top three choices!”
The crowd in the seats behind us applauds, and everyone around us starts whispering. My heart spins as fast as my head with my sudden apprehension. Laura grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. I squeeze back.
*Thinks: Me. Pick me. Pick me! Please pick me!*
“I’d also like to point out that these students are going to be showcased in no particular order. I will then pass out ballots and you will simply number them. One being your favorite, and three being your least favorite. Also, for the students in the room—please know this was an impossible task to decide the winners this year. Maybe it’s because you all have had Instagram for years and that some of you were probably born holding cell phone cameras in your hands.” The class laughs and erupts into more whispers as he continues, “But I’ve honestly never seen such good work submitted before. Now, please know that winning doesn’t guarantee you a spot in this university program. You still need to have good grades, great test scores, and be in a good standing with me, with this program, and with your home high schools in order to arrive here as a freshman. Which is why—”
My heart starts thumping heavily against my chest with nervousness and grows heavy with worry as Professor Perry holds up his hands to quiet the room.
*Wonders: Is he talking about Cam? Is Cam in good standing after being arrested? Was he ever actually suspended after my accident, or will he be able to fix that when we go home?*
“Which is why we have additional runners-up selected for a waiting list as well. As good as the work is, we have some students here who’ve pushed the envelope of what we normally would or would not accept in a student here. So, again, let me be clear if I haven’t been already—being featured here means the process of winning one of the coveted full rides to this esteemed institution has only just begun.”
I quickly glance at Cam, because I have the urge to grab his hand how Laura’s grabbed mine and give it a squeeze. But Cam’s folded his arms against his chest. His eyes are shuttered and distant, and I get that he’s folded himself against his heart because he also thinks some of that speech is about him.
“Now.” The professor smiles. “All of the students in front of me have just panicked. They’re wondering if my little speech was about them.” Professor Perry smiles wider, and the audience laughs—but from this part of the room, you could hear a pin drop. Professor Perry is thoroughly enjoying being the center of our agony. “But I have to say to my students that this is the same speech we give each and every year, and it’s mostly made for legal reasons.”
He goes on, and I want to breathe a full breath of relief, but with Cam’s face so locked up and pale, I can’t.
“There will also be additional merit- and need-based scholarships that will be awarded to many of you. Next year, you students will be seniors. Should any of our runners-up decide the Western Ontario Arts School is their top choice as they go through the application process, all who qualify will be given a direct letter of recommendation from me to submit along with your applications. You are truly an exceptional group of students. I wish I could take all of you. On the flip side, for those of you who would like to complain about not being in the final three and you would like to know why, I’m available this evening for appointments. Don’t expect me to sugarcoat anything for you. This is a university class within a university setting, so please know I can’t stomach any crying, nor will I allow anyone’s mom or dad to call me about the decisions. Got it?” His eyes travel over each and every one of us, and end on me.
We all nod as he signals someone to get the lights while he flips on the projector.
“Okay, then. Our first student we’re going to feature is…Camden Campbell.” The room bursts out in applause, and before any of us can do anything but trade happy smiles, Professor Perry brings up a blank, black screen and clears his throat. “Silence, please. We will now show three of what I thought were Mr. Campbell’s best shots.”
With the room completely silent and dark, I decide I don’t care anymore. I pull away from Laura and reach out to grab Cam’s hand and squeeze it hard. He presses his thumb into my palm—almost like he’s telling me he can’t quite believe he was chosen.
Professor Perry says, “Before we look at Cam’s images, I would like to point out that this student—like most of you here—can be seen as having natural talent. Cam’s teacher back home informed me that Cam is in fact new to photography. I was amazed to discover this young man had only taken one semester of formal photography classes before submitting his work to the WOA competition. Cam’s self-taught ability to photograph his chosen subjects while also capturing light in ways that astound my imagination have me, as a professor, really looking forward to what he is hopefully going to teach me someday. Excellent, excellent work, Mr. Camden.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cam grips my hand even tighter.
The crowd erupts again into applause. Over the noise Harrison makes a strangled sound, and when I meet his gaze, I see him pulling a face. He then leans toward my ear and says, “Professor Perry can’t be serious!”
I shake my head and wonder at the malice crossing his face.
“Harrison!” I whisper extra low. “Really? Shut up.”
Harrison doesn’t answer. Instead, he rolls his eyes and stares up at the monitor like I suddenly don’t exist. I figure he’s only jealous because maybe he’s seen me holding hands with Cam. Feeling guilty—even though I know I shouldn’t feel guilty—I try to pull my hand away, but Cam holds on to mine hard. I don’t fight him on it, because I’ve felt it trembling. He must need a friend right now.
Professor Perry clicks his laptop, and an image that’s half-dark and half-light fills the screen. The entire room almost gasps with wonder. We’re looking at grass so zoomed in it appears surreal. It’s lit by only the moon and the little glowing bellies of the fireflies as they fly up into the night sky away from it. They’re curving into a very cool arc, and the way he’s shot it, or overexposed it during his photo editing—because I really can’t tell—makes me unable to see the difference between the insects flying up and the billions of
stars in the sky. It looks the Milky Way. Only, the Milky Way is not at all what we are all used to seeing. It’s what we as humans hope to see and speculate over—it’s the Milky Way in space, and come to life.
“I know we would all like to look at this one forever, but I’m going to move us along.” The professor clicks to the second photo. This time we’re staring at a little frog. Or, should I say, a close-up of a frog’s eye. Only, it’s not an eye—not how Cam’s shot it. We can see the shape of what is obviously a frog, perched on a rock. But his eye looks like a black, shiny planet, reflecting the night sky. But because Cam used a fish-eye lens, it’s really difficult to tell if the sky is reflecting on the frog, or if the frog is reflecting on the sky—and it’s so cool that I’m grinning.
“Wow. Wow!” Laura’s bouncing up and down. “These are amazing!”
“Best ever,” I whisper, leaning into Cam’s ear.
Professor Perry says, “For his final shot, and though we didn’t do any time-lapse work with this summer session class, it seems Camden Campbell’s well on his way to mastering the skill himself.” He clicks to the next image. Once again, everyone breathes in like they can hardly believe what they’re seeing. I recognize the lake in the background, because the moon is high in the sky and casting a reflection over the water and lighting up the sand—but what’s amazing is how the little wooded spot where we took the photos has been transformed into a fairyland. There are green ribbons of light floating through the entire photo, and once you see those you get that they’re firefly trails, captured light—only, the bug that made each trail of light is long gone. The trees and the grass look like someone’s strung them with thousands of micro holiday lights—only they’re not lights coming off each bug. Like the light trails, he’s captured points of lights where the fireflies had once landed, then flew away.
