"I asked him that."
Or did I?
I think I managed to keep
that comment to myself the second time around.
Her mouth drops. "You did not. What did he
say?"
"He didn't react very well."
"I bet."
"I wonder what will happen now that the
police have said there's a connection between these kids and
Katie."
"I didn't hear that."
I nod at the stage. "Maybe we should
actually pay attention." Since Cameron isn’t talking to me this
might give me a little more understanding about what Cameron's
going through.
Amelia shrugs, and a shudder passed through
me. Is anyone else is aware of Cameron’s absence? A surge of
protectiveness sharpens my focus; I want to shield him from the
police, from the rumors, from ever suffering like that again.
Stride Right comes back on stage. "I know
you think this has nothing to do with you, but we're all a part of
this community, and what happens to one or two or three families
affects us all." Several people snicker and Stride Right scowls.
His ‘community' talk gets a little old. "This is important. Someone
is taking our children and it makes me sick to think that tomorrow
it might be one of you."
That shuts everyone up.
We file out quietly. My thoughts are
on Katie and the chaos those first days after she
disappeared.
Are these other families
going through the same thing?
From the dejected
expressions on my classmates' faces, I imagine they're thinking the
same thing.
The rest of the day passes quickly. We turn
in our assignments in photo class, but Turner doesn't have us
present them. Instead he introduces the next project.
"Photojournalism, at its core, is about
telling stories through photos. The sports page was an introduction
to that concept, albeit a limited one. For your next project I'd
like you to find something that qualifies as real news. Something
you'd see on the front page of the newspaper, as a lead story
online, or even on the evening news. I'm not saying you need to
become ambulance chasers, and I realize that you're in school most
of the day, but you might be surprised at how changing the filter
through which you observe the world will open your eyes to things
you've previously overlooked."
My mind whirs to life, headache funk be
damned. No more sitting on the sidelines at staged events. We're
being told to go out and explore. I never would have put it in
those words, but based on the physical reaction I'm having, this is
exactly what I've been waiting for.
It’s like my eyes have been opened. A fog I
never realized surrounded me lifts as I'm driving home and I'm
seeing things I've never noticed before. An almost accident at the
intersection in front of school. An excess of For Sale signs in
front of houses. A dead cat on the side of the road. Everything has
become a possible story.
I'm eyeing a front door that's been left
ajar when my fingers start to tingle.
No!
But it's too late. The flicker comes fast.
In the time it takes me to roll down the street, my hands and feet
go numb, I'm crushed into the seat, then I'm floating out of my
body. My subconscious registers a rubber ball bouncing in front of
my car and—
Dad's hugging me on the couch.
Fuck.
The
hazy dizziness that lingers a day or two after a headache is still
there, and now I've gone back again. This is gonna suck. Maybe I
can leave school early tomorrow and be home before it
hits.
I promise Dad I'll let him know if the
headaches get worse, hoping he doesn't notice that I can't look him
in the eye and make a mental note to avoid him tomorrow
afternoon.
Chapter 22
I convince the school nurse to let me skip
my last class and am home in bed, a pill in my gut, when the
railroad spike drives through my brain.
Mom knocks on my door a few hours later.
"Biz, are you coming down for dinner?"
This is where my acting skills come in. I
don't want them to know I have another headache, so I need to act
normal. Or close to normal. "I'll be down in a minute." I slowly
peel the covers off my head and do a quick mental inventory. Ice
pick in skull: check. Dizziness: check. Nausea: not so much.
Maybe I can make it through dinner.
Or not.
Midway through my mashed potatoes my stomach
heaves. I sprint up the stairs and make it to the bathroom in
time.
Mom's right behind me. "You still have a
headache?"
Sure, that works.
I nod, my head still draped over the toilet.
"Maybe you should stay home tomorrow."
"Okay."
I crawl back in bed and don't get up again
until Amelia calls after school. She knows I won't answer texts
when I feel like this.
"So what's up? Are you and Cam playing hooky
together?"
A fresh wave of nausea sweeps over me. I
still haven't heard from him.
"Biz?"
"He wasn't at school?"
"You haven't talked to him?"
"No."
"Is everything okay with you guys?"
I debate how much to tell her. There isn't
much to say. I was a jackass after the football game and now he
isn't talking to me. "I'm not sure. I got upset that his parents
didn't want me to come over on Saturday and he basically hung up on
me."
"And you haven't bothered to call since
then?" She knows me better than anyone. "Biz, this is Cam. You
can't just blow him off."
"I know."
"I don't think you do. Look," she hesitates.
"I'm your friend and I support you when you screw up every
relationship you're in, but I love you too much to let you ruin
this one."
Ouch.
"You're different with Cam. More yourself
than I've ever seen you with a guy, plus you actually seem happy. I
don't know what you said to piss him off, but you need to fix
it."
My stomach churns, but this time it's not
nausea. It's fear. And nerves. And anxiety that Amelia's right and
I need to be the one to make things right.
"Hello?"
"You're right. I don't know why I do this,
but I don't want to screw this one up." I can hear her smile
through the phone. "So, wise one, what do I say to him? This whole
begging-for-forgiveness thing is new for me."
"Just tell him you're sorry."
"That's it?" That seems too easy.
"It wouldn't hurt to also tell him how you
feel. Not over-the-top mushiness, but guys are just as insecure as
we are. They just hide it better. He's probably freaking out about
this whole thing."
"When did you learn so much about
relationships?"
She giggles. "While you were busy breaking
hearts. I've tried to learn from your mistakes."
Double ouch. "Well I'm glad my mistakes are
helping one of us."
"Don't be silly. They're helping both of us,
it's just taken you a little longer to realize it. Now hang up with
me and call Cam."
"Okay, okay. I'll let you know how it goes."
I disconnect and call him before I can chicken out, but the phone
just rings and rings.
I hang up without leaving a message. That's
probably not what Amelia meant.
*****
A knock at the door wakes me. The beginnings
of a sunrise peek through my curtains. Mom's hand finds my neck
beneath the covers, her cool flesh searing my feverish skin.
I roll over and wait for my skull to protest
the movement. A vice grips both temples, sending shock waves
through my brain and leaving a trail of pinpricks in its wake like
my face fell asleep. But the severe stabbing doesn't last.
"Do you think you can make it to school
today?"
I push myself onto an elbow. My stomach
stays put. I rock my head from side to side, loosening something
vital to my equilibrium, but nothing I can't hide from Mom. "I
think so. We didn't present our photo projects yet and I'd really
like to be there for that." And I don't want to go another day
without seeing Cameron.
Mom gives my neck a final squeeze. "I'll
have toast waiting for you downstairs."
"Thanks."
I roll out of bed and shove my legs into the
closest jeans I see, then pull a sweatshirt from the bottom drawer.
I may feel like a railroad spike is stuck in my brain but I refuse
to wear a dirty shirt to school. Jeans aren't such a big deal.
The scent of burning toast reaches me in the
bathroom. "Thanks, Mom," I mumble. After a quick swipe of goop my
hair goes into a ponytail. Done.
My giant sunglasses sit on the counter next
to two slices of dry, unburned toast wrapped in a paper towel.
Black coffee steams in a travel mug. Guilt edges through my haze. I
don't mean to be so ungrateful.
Mom appears in the doorway. "Do you need a
ride?"
I slide on my glasses and take a bite of
toast, hoping she buys it. "I'll be okay. Thanks for breakfast." I
step gingerly through the front door, close the door behind me,
then throw up into the bushes.
This is gonna be a long day.
I stumble through school. I haven't seen
Cameron but that doesn't mean he's not here. He might just be
avoiding me.
"Hey, chica, you look like shit." Amelia
sidles up next to me. "I take it you're not eating today?"
My stomach turns just thinking of lunch.
"I'll be in the library." Trying to sleep. I could take a nap in
the nurse's office, but then she'll want to call my parents and I
don't want to get into it with them. The quiet rows between the
unused reference books will have to work.
"Okay, I'll see you in Trig." Amelia turns
to go, then stops. "Cam's not here?"
My shoulders sag. At least he's not ignoring
me. "I haven't seen him."
"What'd he say last night?"
"He didn't answer."
She tilts her head. "And what'd you say in
the message you left him, since you surely wouldn't hang up on your
boyfriend who you hadn't talked to in two days."
"Uhh…"
"Biz! Please don't screw this up. Call him
from the library. No one will be in there anyways."
"Fine."
"You promise?"
She knows I can't break a promise.
"Yes."
The table in the far corner of the dusty
room calls to me. I settle into a chair so I'm facing the room,
then dig my cell phone out of my bag. Cameron still doesn't answer,
but this time I wait through the voicemail recording. "Hey, Cam,
it's Biz. I just want to make sure you're okay. Text me when you
have a minute."
That done, I toss my phone onto the table as
my head falls onto my arms.
Chapter 23
"Crap!" I know I set the alarm on my
phone, but it never went off. I scramble from the library. The
halls are deserted.
How many classes did I
sleep through?
Looks like I have to go to the nurse's
office after all.
I hurry down the hall, crafting an excuse
that will cover the fact that I accidentally skipped Trig but keep
the nurse from calling Mom.
Becky, the nurse, smiles when she sees me.
"Haven't seen you in a couple weeks. How's the noggin?"
"So-so." I hold up my phone. "I took a nap
in the library at lunch and my stupid alarm didn't go off."
"What'd you miss?"
"Trig. Bishop."
Becky scribbles on a slip of paper and hands
it to me, but doesn't let go when I try to take it. "You know I'm
supposed to call your parents."
"I swear I just overslept. I was up late
working on homework."
She hesitates. "I don't believe you, but
I'll let you go. Do me a favor though?" Her compassionate eyes
catch mine. "Please take care of yourself."
"I'm trying."
I head towards Bishop's class,
fingering the note.
Excused from fifth
period.
I feel bad for ditching Amelia, but if I'm
going to present my project for Turner I need to get my head
together. I settle in a stairwell at the end of the hall and
mentally run through my project. There isn't much to say. The story
part isn't that great, and I'm hoping Turner sticks with what he
said and doesn't make that a big percentage of the overall grade.
Especially since the pictures turned out really well.
Careful not to fall asleep again, I lean my
head against the cool cinderblock wall and let my thoughts wander.
They don't go far. Cameron seems to be the first thing I go to the
minute I sit still. I check my phone. Still nothing from him. I
start to text, but footsteps sound on the stairs above me and I
slip my phone back into my bag.
When the bell rings I throw my bag over my
shoulder and make my way to Turner's class. I see Amelia up ahead
in the hallway and give her a sheepish look. "Sorry. I fell asleep
in the library."
She rolls her eyes. "I need some freakish
headache disorder so I can get out of sucky classes too." She hands
me a sheet of paper. "Another test tomorrow."
"Great."
She waves goodbye and I let the flow of
bodies carry me into Turner's room.
I smile when I see him. He's standing in
front of his desk, bouncing on the balls of his feet. A lot of my
teachers seem resentful that they have to waste day after day with
hundreds of teenagers, but it's like Turner looks forward to each
class, relishing the opportunity to teach us, to shape our opinions
and the way we look at the world around us.
His class is the reason I come to
school.
I glance at Cameron's empty chair. School
policy prohibits cell phones during class and while most people
disregard that rule, I don't want to disrespect Turner. Besides, I
doubt Cameron's written back in the five minutes since I checked in
the stairwell.