6:59 (24 page)
Authors: Nonye Acholonu,Kelechi Acholonu
Cam
I stretched my arms out, sighing heavily when I'd opened my eyes. When I rolled over on my bed, I noticed that I was in my boxers again. What was this? Did Cameron have some kind of infatuation with this body or something? I mean, yeah, it was pretty hot and all, but I didn't want to sleep practically naked. That was weird.
I swung my legs over and pressed the bottom of my feet onto the hard carpet. What to do today? Today was Wednesday, my day off. I could do whatever I wanted without stupid Anjolie nagging me to get to my mission.
I pushed away from the bed and walked to the bathroom to shower and do all that other cleanliness stuff. After I'd done all my crunches, pushups, and chin-ups, I'd spent a half hour showering in searing hot water, drowning myself in the steam and water. Dad had always told me that my long showers were girly, but he didn't know that those showers were the ones that calmed me. In the hot shower I was able to deal with a lot of things, almost as if the steam was my therapist and the water was my cleanser. It would wash away all the guilt and the lies and the problems, replacing them with promise of a better life. A life better than this crappy one I lived.
When I stepped out of the shower, I dried off, jammed gel into my hair, brushed my teeth, and shaved my chin. Things normal people do in the morning. Things
I
was supposed to do during the morning â if I could actually
see
the morning.
I left the bathroom wearing a long-sleeved green sweater and jeans, capturing the heat from the shower into my pores. Before I left the room, though, I saw a pile of clothes on my dresser and a note attached to it.
CAM,
WEAR THESE CLOTHES BEFORE YOU BLACK OUT, PLEASE.
CAMERON
I stared at the note, observing his handwriting, realizing that for the first time Cameron was interacting with me. And he needed me to wear the clothes he'd laid out.
I examined the clothes. Bright orange shirt and white basketball shorts. Way too bright for me, but I would wear it. For him.
I kept the clothes and the note on the dresser and left the room.
****
“Daddy,” I called, padding down the stairs after slipping on my thick, black socks. “Daddy, where are you?” A grin was plastered on my face, indicating how giddy I was to mess around with him.
When I entered the living room, Dad looked up and sighed long and heavily. “Cam,” he said flatly. “Why are you calling me âDaddy'?” He looked genuinely exhausted.
I ran across the room and jumped onto his lap, hearing him cough out a groan because of my weight. “Because I love you, Daddy.” I squeezed him in my arms and he grunted again.
He struggled with me for a few minutes, trying to pry my heavy self off of him. “Cam, get off!” he demanded, shoving at my chest. But I still held on tightly, rocking back and forth until he fell forward onto the floor, head first. “
Ow
, Cam!”
He struggled to his hands and knees and I laughed loudly, kicking him over with my foot. He stumbled and fell flat on the floor. “Screw you, Cam!” he barked, trying to get up again.
I kicked again, but he grabbed at my foot and sent me flying onto the floor. “Ow!” I grunted when my face smashed onto the floor.
Dad laughed at me, proud of himself as he finally pushed himself off the floor. “Get up, you baby,” he spat at me, grinning widely. “Or are you too hurt to wrestle with your old man?”
He was challenging me like the idiot he was. Nobody challenged me and won. I sprang up from the floor and went for his waist, tugging him to the floor. But he grabbed me by the back and circled his arms around my waist. The two of us fought to stay upright, but Dad grabbed me tighter and lifted me from the floor, sending me onto the ground head first. He laughed loudly and curled my legs over my head, bending me into a painful
C
shape.
I reached for his leg and squeezed hard, causing him to release his grip on me. I took that opportunity to circle my legs around his neck and twist him onto the floor and underneath me. Now
I
had him pinned down. I grabbed his arm and twisted it around his back until Dad smacked the floor in surrender.
I let out a triumphant laugh as I released him. “Ha! Yes!” I said, standing up.
Dad flopped over onto his back, red faced andâ¦
smiling
? “Yeesh, if only you could try out for the wrestling team, Cam. You're pretty good at this.” He stood up, stretching his back. “You're strong and fast and stuff. You'd be pretty famous if they had a night wrestling league.”
I just stared at him, wondering where the sudden compliments were coming from. Dad wasn't supposed to be impressed with me. He was supposed to be angry at me for hurting him. This was weird.
“What are you doing tonight, kid?” he asked, clapping his hand onto my shoulder and squeezing it. A grin was spread across his face, reminding me of a clown.
“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Because I need your face in front of one of my cameras!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “You're a natural at the modeling stuff and so many people are begging to see more.”
I stepped away from him, shock flooding my face. “You want me to
model
for you?” I nearly gasped. But I thought he'd hated that I'd ruined his pictures. All this time he'd actually liked it?
Dad nodded quickly and led me through a long hallway. “It's for the fall/winter campaign of Midnight Models. It's a huge deal and I think you'd be great as one of my Midnight guys,” he said.
“I don't know⦔ I said, suddenly feeling strange about all this nicey-nicey stuff Dad was doing. My intention was to mess with him, not give him gold. However, I
was
pretty flattered that I'd made the pictures awesome. I knew I would.
We emerged into the large studio, a blast of perfume and lights flooding my senses. The studio was filled with people â photographers, models, make-up artists, wardrobe professionals, the works. Dad greeted a few people, still clutching my shoulder. Some models not in the shoot walked by me, winking and waving. I grinned at them.
Dad reached over and picked up a stack of pictures, shoving them into my hands. “Look at you! You're great!” he said, pointing at the glossy prints.
I observed them, surprised at how great the pictures of me had actually came out. He was right. I was a natural in front of the camera.
“I look good,” I said, smiling at him.
“You look
great
,” Dad clarified. Then he pointed towards one of the stations in front of a large, light-rimmed mirror. “Get yourself in makeup then wardrobe. I wanna see what you've got. That is, if you can handle it.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at me.
Again, he was challenging me. I narrowed my eyes back at him and stepped away. “Oh, I can handle it,” I said, and walked over to makeup and wardrobe.
They loved me. The photographer couldn't get enough of my presence in front of the camera. At first I'd been off to the side while the other guy was surrounded by the ladies on the black couch. Then, after a few pictures, the photographer made us switch places and I was now in the center.
The models were the same as before, dressed in flashy dresses and mile-high heels. They all loved me, too. They had to continue switching positions but I was always left in the center. We changed clothes thousands of times, changed hairstyles even more, until finally the photographer called it a night.
We stayed a little while longer, snacking on the food left out for us â courtesy of Mila. I'd successfully snagged all of the girl models' numbers and lassoed two new buds. They were all around my age, seniors at different schools. We made plans to chill after the job.
When we finally got to leave, Dad was signing a few checks. He handed it to each person, and when he got to me, he handed me my own personal check.
“Don't spend it all in one place,” Dad said, before releasing his fingers from the check. “You're a working man now.”
I took the check for two thousand dollars and shoved it into my pocket. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “And I won't.”
Dad nodded his head, satisfied with my answer as he grinned at me.
I returned the grin, suddenly sensing a strange feeling come over me⦠a feeling like appreciation. I'd never felt like this before, so now, I didn't know what to do with it. So I just did what everyone on TV usually did â I hugged him.
Dad's body stiffened for a few moments before he finally hugged me back. I knew this was supposed to feel weird, but it didn't. In fact, it felt right.
Dad pulled away after patting my back. Then he waved me away after Mila entered his office. “Now, go,” he said. “Hang out with the models but don't stay out too late. Those models are pretty wild.” The huge smile on his face never disappeared.
It was only when I finally pulled away from him did I realize that was the first time I'd ever hugged him.
****
I'd gotten home after 4:00 a.m., surprised to see that Mila and my dad were still up. They were sitting across from each other on the couch.
“What are you doing up still?” I asked them, feeling woozy from all the drinks I'd had. I wobbled over to them, trying to straighten myself out.
“We were just waiting up for you,” Dad said, rubbing his tired eyes. He set down his glass of wine. “Didn't know you were going to come home drunk, though.”
Crap. “Um, yeahaboutthat,” I slurred, blinking quickly, trying to clear my blurry eyes. “Sorry?” I set a hand on the wall to keep my balance, waiting for Dad to start screaming and yelling like always.
But, surprisingly, he didn't.
He laughed. “Well, you're Cam,” he sighed. “You're only up at night. As long as Cameron doesn't wake up hung-over tomorrow, I guess I can't be mad at you.”
“He won't,” I responded quickly. “It's something with our body chemistry and stuff.” I honestly had no idea why Cameron never seemed to wake up hung-over after my nightly escapades â but I wasn't going to let Dad know that. Based on his nonchalant attitude towards my illegal activities, he clearly didn't care about what I did with my life. Just as long as he had his precious Cameron intact every morning, there was no controlling me.
I liked that.
Dad nodded, shrugging his shoulders. “Okay, well, go to bed and we'll see you tonight,” he said, shooing me away like he'd done earlier.
I grinned at him again, flinging my arms around him for the second time today. I was beginning to get used to this whole hugging thing.
Dad patted my back. “Don't think you can do this every night.”
I shook my head and peeled myself away from him, wondering if he was talking about my getting drunk or my hugging him. I was too drunk to figure it out. As I slopped up the stairs, I heard Mila and Dad talking.
“âsays I should be nice to both sides of Cameron. It's not his fault he's schizophrenic,” Dad said.
Mila agreed with him. “You're doing a great job at it. Pretty soon he'll be acting like the
real
Cameron.”
Dad snorted. “Doubt it.”
Anjolie
I was nervous. So nervous. I kept tugging on my hair, knowing that if I screwed up, all the blame would be put on me. I've never played my harp in public before â well, except for those bleary days at the orphanage. But nobody ever listened to me. What I played was just noise to them.
No one has ever appreciated my playing.
So now, I sat backstage, hand resting on my big, silver harp, waiting to go on stage. The whole senior class was packed into the humongous auditorium, happy to get out of class for a mere hour and a half. Their voices wafted up to the stage and filled our ears like a swarm of bees, reminding us that too many eyes were going to be on us in just a few minutes. I wanted to puke.
“âstand on my right and Dave, you stand on my left. I want to be in the middle,” Tanya was saying to Hudson, flipping her hair out for the sixtieth time today. She wore a clingy blue dress â way too small for a school performance â and you could tell that she'd just sprayed on a bottle and a half of Orange Glow Tan. She looked like a little goldfish bursting out of a tiny blue dress.
Dave held onto her from behind, burying his equally orange face into her hair. They'd color-coordinated like we were supposed to; he was wearing black, dressy pants and a matching blue shirt. And let's not forget the matching spray tan.
Hudson shrugged, adjusting her stunning, royal purple dress. It went with her dark skin tone so perfectly, I felt bland in my borrowed white one. Compared to her, I looked like a lost Amish girl trapped in a pale, skinny body.
“Where are my drum sticks?” Armando called, sifting through his backpack. When Hudson found them in her bag, he smiled at her and said, “My savior,” with a heart-melting wink of a pale amber eye. He wore all black today with shiny shoes that matched the color of Hudson's dress. His belt, also purple, separated his long, cut torso with his long, muscled legs. His tan skin â not fake like Dave and Tanya's â was a gift from God himself.
Armando looked over at me, smiling wide. “Ready?” he asked, placing a large, firm hand on my shoulder.
I nodded even though I was
far
from ready. But I wasn't one to back down from a challenge. They'd nominated me for a reason, so I was going to put on the show for them.
As I looked around, I noticed that Cameron wasn't talking to anyone. He was leaning on a far wall, peeking through the huge, red curtain that would rise any minute now. His mouth was pursed into a straight line, and he clutched the sheet music with a grip tighter than that of an anaconda's. He was nervous, too.