by Anne Eliot
The laughter creeps back up behind us. Whispers. And then more laughter.
And just like that, it’s over. Back to normal.
Cam’s suddenly back to the untouchable jock staring down at his phone. Laura’s the new girl in the wrong outfit, staring at the ice bits melting in the bus aisle, and I’m the water-logged handicapped girl, causing a fresh round of gossip, who just one-upped her last snowy-day fall by 200%.
I lay my ice-cold cheek against one of the sleeves of Cam’s jacket that’s been wrapped like a scarf around my neck. I’m left wondering if the warm caramel smell might be something I’d made up because even that’s disappeared. I check the status of my bad leg, testing weight on it to see if it’s going to hold me when the bus arrives at school. Thanks to the blasting heat coming from the vents at our feet, all appears fine now.
I risk a glance at Cam who’s staring down at his phone in extreme concentration. That’s when I get that he’s not staring at his phone. He’s taken my phone out of his pocket! He’s staring at my photo album!
Worse, he’s stopped on the photo I took of him leaning on the bus stop!
*Remembers all the times Mom and Nash told me to add a security code to my iPhone screen. Dies. Dies. Dies.*
My neck is growing warmer and warmer. The bus takes the sharp corner at the end of Lakeshore and Cam tightens the remaining arm that’s holding me from falling over while he leans to the side again and gives me a long look.
I’ve got nothing to say.
Nothing.
So I blink stupidly at him because: Navy Blue. Gray. Beautiful.
Because: Proof of how I stalked him is front and center.
Finally he goes first, whispering under a soft, startlingly kind and non-judgmental smile. “I didn’t mean to pry into your phone. We’ve got exactly the same Otter Box. And I’ve never set a background photo or a screen-lock code, either. Though we should have our screens locked…not safe and all that.” He blinks twice over my silence before going on. “Does your mom get on your back about not having your...screen unlocked?” He shakes his head and I can see his cheeks are firing a bit red. “My parents do, all the time.”
I manage to revert back to my awkward nod and wonder if I’m going to wake up from this good and also bad dream.
He raises the phone up in front of all of our faces. “Nice shots, though,” he adds, scrolling through my album, thankfully not bringing up the shot I took of him. “Did you take all of these just this morning? How do you do so many and make them all so very…good?”
“I don’t. They aren’t all good.”
“I disagree.” He scrolls up and down, pausing to look at the shot of Jennie, Bella-Jane and Paige. “This one’s sort of riveting. And so…interesting the way the color of their flip-flops bleeds into the snow making it also look neon, huh?”
Nodding.
Again.
Me.
*Cries: I’ve turned completely stupid. Someone help me.*
Laura leans over me and glances closer at the photos. “Check my eyes, but these photos are truly amazing and artist-level good. Aren’t you just so creative?”
He smiles. “These are Ellen’s, and yeah…from what’s here, she seems to be even more of an amazing photographer than I’d already assumed.”
*Chokes on butterflies. Chokes to death on butterflies. Wonders what that means? Vows to pull her mind out of this stupor.*
Cam returns to the shot I took of him.
“Would you look at that model shot of our very own Cam Campbell,” Laura says, grabbing the phone to look closer. “Why do you have a photo of the likes of him?”
Before Laura can say more, I blurt out, “I love snow. Love it! And…I also love fall colors and coats. Feet in snow and bus stops are also—so very good. That’s how and why. There are lots of shots of people in coats…or…flip-flops. You know…shots of random people leaning and standing around in snow. So…I don’t know. I end up with so many shots of just everyone.” I cringe, knowing that explanation sounded so weak.
He blinks down at me, cocking his head even farther to the side. I wonder if the look on his face is saying, Whatever. I know you are lying, stalker-girl. But he doesn’t call me out! He only scrolls through more shots, then says, “Snow does make common objects seem interesting.”
I try to finish with a technical ending. “Yes. It’s mostly a matter of taking a ton of shots with the hope that one or two will come out special, you know?”
“Yeah. Actually. I do that, too. Take hundreds, hoping to get the one that’s just right. I get sort of obsessive about it.”
Did he say obsessive on purpose to taunt me?
He knows…he probably knows.
His thumb, the one that’s been sliding up and down my photo feed this whole time, is doing really messed up things to my heart.
My throat.
*Swallows. So thirsty. So thirsty for a Caramel Macchiato…with extra caramel…*
He returns to the photo I took of him. Laura double taps the monitor to make it zoom in on his face, then blinks up at Cam as if she’s trying to compare the shot to his face. “I do have to say that our wee-Camden Campbell is rather photogenic and handsome, isn’t he?”
I nod. It’s something everyone already knows.
No need to act like that’s any sort of surprise.
“Ooh, Cam. You’re quite and rather photogenic and a bloody handsome one, aren’t you?” Jennie’s using some sort of crap Harry Potter accent that’s not even close to Irish. “Good luck with that accent, new girl. It’s not going to help you flirt with him or anyone around here,” she adds, making everyone behind us laugh and whisper.
Laura flushes and lowers her voice, glancing at Cam. “Sorry…I wasn’t being a flirt. Honest. I’m madly in love with a boy back home. If that’s what you think I’m trying to do, then I’m sorry.”
“No. Of course I don’t think that.” Cam has almost flinched. “Like I said earlier, ignore them. That crew is all bark no bite.”
I arch my brow extra high to discount Cam’s words. Even after only one short bus ride, Laura must understand that those kids are all bite and they bite hard.
She deserves to know the truth. As if to prove my point, the laughter and whispering in the seats behind us escalates.
I meet Laura’s gaze and shake my head sadly, because thanks to the fact that she accidentally met me this morning, this girl is going to be an easy target for this crowd from this point forward. Laura’s flush brightens to max-levels as the entire back row is shouting out words like ‘bloody’ and ‘rotter’ and of course Tanner Gold is saying, ‘shag me and snog me’ as they all take up trying and failing to copy Laura’s accent.
Thankfully, she’s smart enough to stay quiet and swallow any comebacks that would make this whole situation worse.
The bus pulls onto school property and I decide to diffuse the tension and take attention off Laura by distracting everyone by untangling myself out of Cam’s jacket with some over-dramatic, extra huge arm flailing. I add in a quick, irritated sounding, “Could you please give me some space to get the heck out of this straight jacket?”
It works to silence the whispers. Better, the accent mimicking stops dead as all turn to watch me wiggle around. I’m so good at the flailing thing that Cam has to move his arms completely off me, and Laura’s almost falling into the aisle in order to save herself from being hit by my good arm.
As the bus lines up for unloading, Laura stands to give me even more space. I push over in the seat to get as far away from Cam as possible so I can make a show of shoving the half inside-out brown wool coat back at Cam like it’s burned me.
Next, I use my good foot to drag my dripping jacket near enough to yank it off the floor. I manage to paste on a serene expression as I hold it up off the ground
with my good hand. My only mistake is looking over my shoulder at Cam and my gaze gets trapped as it tangles into his confused and worried expression.
He’s making this odd face as though he’d like to say something or apologize or—I have no clue, but something.
Thankfully, he—along with the entire bus—keeps blissfully silent.
As the door squeals open, Laura moves quickly up near the driver to pass me back my messenger bag that we left there. Because I need both hands to navigate to the safety-rail at the top of the stairs, I have no choice but to hang it on my shoulder so I can shove the dripping jacket over the center of it.
All three of us (and everyone on the school bus, including the driver who’s frowning at me in the mirror now) stare at the small waterfall flowing from every corner of…well…me.
“Sorry again,” Laura whispers, eyes locked on the water-streams.
Her voice has grown really hoarse which makes my heart ache with regret that she’s so devastated over this.
“It’s no big thing,” I whisper the painful lie—because to me it’s everything and I’ve just lost it all. I can’t have this nice new girl holding the blame for something that wasn’t in her control. I say, “I fall. I just do.” The words drop out a little too loud. I go on, clearing my throat and keeping my head high, “If we’re all going to believe in fate, then…yeah…the falling part is all mine and was set in stone long before you and I met. Don’t beat yourself up over what happened. You didn’t know.”
She draws in a breath but I can’t meet her wide open, sad eyes because I know looking into them might make me cry, so instead I turn to Cam and try to layer on some sass to cover for how completely terrible I feel right now. “Can I have my phone back now? Or…do you need time to plow through my private emails, as well?”
Blatantly ignoring my question he asks, “Ellen, do you need me—anymore—help?”
I hold out my hand. Poker face locked on so hard. “No. Thanks. Just—let me do this part alone. It’s already been—so messed up and you—with me—draws such an audience.”
“Oh. Right.” His eyes grow wide and turn completely unreadable as he places my phone in my hand. It’s super warm against my icy palm.
Like his jacket. Like him.
Like he was.
I resist the urge to hug the phone next to my heart.
Without a goodbye, only a long shaky breath, Laura jets off the bus.
I sigh and shoot Cam one last glance through my long side bangs as I find a pocket for my phone and balance my way out of the seat to stand in the aisle. I’m so slow, most of the kids won’t even stand up until I’ve exited.
Thankfully, Cam seems to be watching Laura run with some major regret in his eyes instead of watching me awkwardly walk away. I also track Laura’s speedy progress away from the bus through the front window. The girl’s obviously trying to create some distance between her and all of us. Later, I’ll try to find her, try to explain better how I am…how things are, try to help at least keep her off the mean-girl radar.
As I drag my leg down the aisle, I try not to be envious that Laura’s almost disappeared through the two double-doors in under thirty seconds while I’m only starting down the top step.
“Did you guys see that whacked skirt up close?” Tanner shouts out. “It was worse than all her body glitter!”
“It was like she’d vomited a pack of Skittles and glitter glue all over a bed sheet, rolled in it for hours, then wore it all to school!” Bella-Jane adds. “That girl’s from another planet!”
“Campbell. Dude,” Tanner says. “You—your jeans—are all sparkling.”
“Just like Edward Cullen!” Paige adds.
Half the bus busts out laughing.
“And she was totally hitting on Cam. Did you catch that?” Bella-Jane says in her whisper-hiss voice. The one she uses when she’s pretending to be quiet but wants to be sure everyone spreads her original gossip.
I grit my teeth, trying to be happy they’re focusing on Cam and Laura and not on me as I work to shut out their voices. I slowly lift my bad leg down the first step. The calf protests but holds just fine.
“Hurry up, Ellen, would you? We’re all already late as it is,” Jennie calls out.
*Wishes people could just understand that going down is always harder than going up.*
I hear Cam sigh in the seat as though, he too, is super annoyed with me.
For some reason, that idea twists my heart in a direction I don’t recognize.
I clamp it down and breathe it away.
*Vows to never, ever fangirl on Camden Campbell’s devastating beauty ever again because it hurts way too much when he’s mean.*
I make it down the second step. Then the third, but my calf is burning like fire so I’ve got to pause a second to bite the insides of my cheeks. I realize how the hip bone on the side where I landed on the sidewalk is killing me almost as bad as my calf.
If Nash or my mom spot any sort of bruises on me, I’m so busted and I’ll have to tell them what happened. As it is, I’m going to need to beg the nurse for an ice pack and the ibuprofen my mom signed off on that is stored in the front office for me just to make it through a regular CP day. Physical therapy tonight is going to kill double, and I won’t be able to tell Nash why.
I pause to take in a few long breaths before tackling the last mega-step down to the curb as the other kids crowd the aisle behind me.
Rustling backpacks and groaning happens when those up front see I haven’t exited all the way yet.
“Ellen, you’re still not off the bus? Really,” someone calls out.
“Really,” I mutter back, glowering at anyone who dares meet my eyes when I twist back. “You can all just wait.”
Saving Ireland
cam
Everyone’s at lunch but I haven’t eaten. I’ve come here directly from my pre-calc test, one I probably bombed because I rushed through it so I could check on Ellen Foster.
First, because I’m worried she’s still stuck in her soaking-wet clothes. Second, because I’m worried she’s not okay. And third, because I’m worried she hates me after today.
But that’s where my idea ended.
Here. With me. Worrying and over-thinking.
I’ve been staged at the drinking fountain nearest the digi-photo classroom, hoping and wishing she would just come out so it would seem as though I might be simply walking by doing my own thing. I’d stop her with a casual: “Hey, oh…uh…so…”
Which is where this whole lame plan stops, because again just thinking about talking to her makes me choke.
I rub my hands over my eyes as they kind of ache from staring too long at the closed digi-photo classroom door, then I rest the back of my head against a locker, closing my eyes and replaying the whole thing again.
Not. Stalking. This is not stalking. Is this stalking? Christ. This is totally stalking.
Whatever it is, it’s unsuccessful on my part, just like my failed morning bus plan.
Save Ellen Foster? Help Ellen Foster? Talk to Ellen Foster. Sit by Ellen Foster. Check on Ellen Foster to be sure she is okay.
I open my eyes and glance at the clock hanging at the end of the hall. Maybe I should give up. Ditch the digi-photo class all together so I don’t have to face her. Only, I’ve never ditched a class in my entire life. With my police-state parents, it’s simply never been worth it. But right now, with my chest feeling tighter than an over-pumped football, battling my father over one skipped class seems a good idea versus going in to a class and failing miserably in front of her all over again.
Besides, that would obviously be the safest option for the poor girl.
Maybe she won’t care. Maybe after today, she will sit in class, stare at the back of my head and think, Cam Campbell is such a cr
eeping iPhone photo stalker, not to mention an inappropriate, school bus, snuggle-cuddling, hallway-creeping loser!!
I shake my head, knowing she’d be right to think that. I’ve gone over how I locked my arms around her for the whole ride without even an explanation. I’ve replayed for the millionth time how after seat-slamming her, I’d undressed her, then practically mummified her shivering body into my coat and then proceeded to roll her around like a limbless—helpless—egg—without even asking!
“Who does stuff like that? But were there any better choices?
She’d been about to freeze to death. Shaking so much she’d scared me! Plus she didn’t say anything at the time. Although…she didn’t thank me, that’s for damn sure.
There was the part where she shoved my arms off her, and how she wouldn’t look at me at all when she finally pelted my coat back in my face. Was that a solid ‘back-off’ signal that I’m too stupid to ignore, or was she getting pissed because I’d accidentally stared at her phone too long? I couldn’t help it. Her shots were so good. And I’ve always wanted to see what it is Ellen photographs at our bus stop every morning. Then, I got stuck wondering if that one photo of me I found hiding in her album was a very good sign?
Like…maybe she’s also a stalker and will not judge me later on for my actions today.
Ha…losing it. So losing it. Why is it women are so impossible to understand?
I close my eyes again and grit my teeth, clinging to the last shreds of my sanity to the fact that I did actually meet one of my goals. I did stop her from falling over on the bus ride to school. So that’s something.
But…now…she’ll get pneumonia. People die from pneumonia.
I’ve already calculated that she’s been wearing soggy clothing for about three hours. How long does it take a scrawny, 100 pound girl to catch pneumonia anyhow? Am I too late?
Yeah-me! Stepping up to protect her with my big, awesome, fail-safe plans all over again! Damn you, Laura London from Ireland. Did you have to pick today to start school? Damn. Damn. Damn the crazy little Irish maniac all the way to…
