How I Fly (17 page)

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.

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.

The French girls have become friends. It seems as though they might like things to go from hanging out to something more, but Patrick and I are disappointing them. Which is sad, because these girls are well past the word
hot
and more like Victoria’s Secret models with sexy accents. Patrick and I have had fun with them, but so far we’ve kept all hands, lips, and other things on pause for now. It’s almost to the point where I wonder if Chloe and Charisse think that Patrick and I are into each other. But it’s not like he and I can admit what’s really going on. It’s pretty obvious Patrick’s still holding out hopes for being with Laura. And I can’t really easily explain to anyone else that I’m just trying to survive.

Luckily Patrick and Laura understand, which for now is enough to keep me together.

Despite the fact that Professor Perry’s photography classroom is like walking into my own private hell every single day, I’ve caught up on all of my work. Professor Perry accepted the still-life work of the fences I’d photographed while at the boys home for my first project. Even better, he gave me an A.

I’ve also been able to avoid Ellen and Harrison
being a couple
all week long, because today, Friday, was the due date for the second assigned project, and for the most part we were allowed to work outside the classroom to complete it.

Ellen and Harrison have been hanging out working theirs together who knows where. And out of kindness, Patrick and Laura have been hanging out with me while I work on mine and think of things to do to keep my mind busy and my eyes off Harrison and Ellen.

But now that we’re supposed to be back in the classroom for the next few days, I’m realizing very quickly that it’s possible I won’t make it through.

On the first day I came into the classroom to meet Professor Perry, I’d thought the arena style of this room looked so great. It was modern and different than anything I’d ever seen back in Brights Grove, that’s for sure. I couldn’t wait to work in here.

But now, with all the worktables filled up with students, it completely sucks.

From my seat in the last row, I’m choking from having such a good view of everything, like
Ellen and Harrison
sitting up front. We’ve just paired-up on our newly assigned project, “Human Expressions.” It’s a project we’re supposed to complete in one day. Here and now. Professor Perry wants us to take zoomed-in shots of the different faces people make. Laura and I have already done about two hundred shots of each other, which is more than enough, but Ellen and Harrison won’t quit.

It’s like they can’t stop taking photos of each other. And it’s so freaking annoying.

Ellen’s hand goes on Harrison’s shoulder while he points his camera lens at Ellen and snaps about ten photos of her smiling face.

My throat goes dry, and I swear that even from this distance I can hear the camera permanently saving shots of her eyes. Her lips. Her laughing smile.

Harrison moves his camera away, and his hand pulls on Ellen’s braid while she retaliates with her camera.
Click. Click.
While he smiles at her.

Because the last six thousand shots they took weren’t enough?

Ugh.

Worse, while they keep pausing to look at and then edit photos while sharing the same monitor, Ellen’s always pressed into Harrison’s shoulder, so much so that my shoulder actually aches from missing where she used to do that to me. All this while I track the various blushes I used to love more than breathing hitting Ellen’s cheeks whenever that dude whispers some line into her ear. What kills me the most (as if all of that doesn’t kill me) is the way she’s constantly glancing at Harrison out of the corner of her eye. It’s like she wants to check if he’s really there or something. She’s doing it right now.

If only she’d just stop looking at him and glance back at me. Wonder and check if I’m really here. But if she did, would it matter? I’d look away so fast. I’d pretend I wasn’t noticing her at all.

I’m never going to let her know I still love her, because that’s futile. I only want to see her happy. If she knew what I still thought or wanted or hoped for…damn. She’d be sad, or at the very least she’d feel guilty or sorry for me. Because even saying it inside my head while I’m pouting about her being with her new boyfriend is completely ass-wiping -lame and desperate and pathetic.

And that’s not the point. The whole point is that she’s well and that she’s
happy
. That’s it. The. End.

Harrison tickles the back of her neck, and she giggles.

Giggles
happily,
that is.

So. Damn. Happily.

“Is it too hot in here? I wish this place had side windows, not just skylights,” I whisper to Laura. “This room feels more like a prison than the place I just left, and it had razor wires and gates.” I tug at my shirt and lean my chair back, forcing myself to stare at the skylight above me. “I guess I never knew how much I relied on windows. I hate everything about this damn room. Every. Damn. Thing.”

“I’ve had that feeling, too. You’ll get used to it. Tomorrow we’ve got the trip to Grand Bend to do shots for the scholarship. It’s going to be all outside all the time, and so amazing. Are you willing to hang out with me there some? I’m not as good as you lot, so I could use extra help—maybe you could give me remedial pointers?”

“Sure. You know your stuff is getting great, though.”

“It could be better.” She smiles.

I smile back. I know she’s just setting all this up so if things get too sad with Ellen and Harrison splashing around the beach, then she’ll be able to make me work on the only thing that seems to be able to take my mind off just how much I still love Ellen Foster—photography.

I hear Ellen’s giggle again, and it twists my heart into another ball of pain. It’s all I can do not to visibly wince in front of Laura. I know I’m supposed to be watching Professor Perry show me the latest Photoshop tools and techniques, plus go over the various application updates that were just released today from Adobe—a topic I usually obsess over—but I can’t. That’s because after almost losing my mind this whole class time with Harrison and Ellen’s PDA show, I’ve begun noticing Harrison’s reactions to Ellen.

And they’re not ringing true. I think he’s not into her. Not how she’s into him, and possibly not at all.

Even to my own mind I know this makes me seem like a jealous ex-boyfriend stalker, or someone who can’t face the reality of my ex moving on without me. But I swear all the way to heaven and down into the depths of hell something seems off right now.

And I mean
really
off. I could swear the guy is acting right now.

All this week long, while we hang out at breakfast and lunch—the two places I can’t avoid them—I’ve been watching Ellen as she falls for this dude. And on her part, it’s sincere. Because,
damn me to hell,
but I’m pretty sure I’ve memorized how that looks because Ellen Foster once fell in love with me. And it looks sweet, adorable, and beautiful.

And like I’ve told myself: as long as Ellen is happy, I can stand by and let it happen. But the problem is, of course, Harrison Shaw. For some reason, and possibly for the obvious reasons, I simply can’t find one good thing about him—because I could swear the guy is not sincere.

The word
tool
, which I’d held in reserve for him from the first day we met and he was such an ass, keeps popping into my head every time he opens his mouth. He’s just so…full of himself, and when he’s not full of himself, he’s full of crap.

He’s been nice enough as a roommate, and he does have some good photography work under his belt, but I can’t shake the feeling that the selfish little whining jerk I met on day one is the real him. The sensitive, glasses-wearing hipster dude who’s all into holding hands and discussing art history and talking about how
Ansel Adams and nature changed his whole life
feels to me like it’s all this huge act.

I’ve been warring with myself over it all week. I know I need to be happy, because Ellen seems to want all of this. Him. And I realize my ship has sailed where she and I are concerned, so no matter what I wish for where she’s concerned, I no longer have the right to wish anything.

With my parents and even my life still feeling so up in the air, Ellen deserves to be in love and having the best summer of her life. And from where I sit, that seems to be happening for her. Now that I’m back and I’m here as a friend, I get that I’m supposed to fade into her background life. She wants the same for me. I’m supposed to make myself as happy as possible, because I know she still worries and senses that I’m not.

So I’m working on pulling that off. And while I’m here this summer,
happy
is the part I’ve vowed to play. I’m the good friend who kissed a girl a few times, but who’s moved on and is cool and evolved enough to still be close buddies with her.

That’s me. Good. Friend. Cam.

It’s just…something feels off about this Harrison Shaw.

He’s cute, and he’s always around, making Ellen as happy as she deserves to be every single day, but damn…how he looks at her just doesn’t seem to match how she’s starting to look at him, and that scares me. Above all else, I can’t watch Ellen Foster be hurt again, even from a distance and by someone else.

I am simply not capable of being near that.

I glance at Laura, wondering if I should mention my gut feelings to her, but right now Laura’s clutching her chest all goofy, like she’s watching a live romantic movie starring Ellen and Harrison and she’s the damn director.

Professor Perry is fiddling with the computer that runs the overhead projector. Harrison uses Professor Perry’s distraction as an excuse to grab Ellen’s hand into his, whispering something that makes her crack up. She tries to pull her hand away, but he slaps a small kiss on it then holds it fast, poking her until she giggles out loud again.

Ellen’s giggles draw a tight glare from Professor Perry. One that Ellen doesn’t even notice, because she’s too busy blinking into Harrison’s teasing eyes and trying to retaliate. Harrison seems to notice, because when he meets the professor’s gaze, he shrugs as though Ellen’s doing all of this giggling and hand holding and general goofing off all while he’s simply an innocent bystander.

I try not to grimace, but I feel my face pulling down anyhow. Sighing, I shake my head and I meet Patrick’s gaze with a pained expression. He returns it with one of his own. As I turn back to work, I notice Patrick’s also frowning down at Harrison, and just how I was frowning.

Professor Perry steps up to Ellen and Harrison’s table. “Ellen Foster, I’m going to need to speak to you after this class. Do you…have
time
?” His voice is bordering on sarcastic, and he rolls his eyes slightly at Harrison and Ellen’s tightly clutched hands. Harrison quickly pulls his hand away and turns away from Ellen, as though to make a show that Ellen was the one clutching his hand, not the other way around.

I see the back of Ellen’s neck color bright red. “Yes, sir, of course I have time.”

The bell rings to signify the beginning of our lunch break. I hear Patrick’s audible sigh as though he, too, is relieved this class is over. We stand along with everyone else to exit the classroom, but, of course, my eyes can’t seem to stop torturing me.

From my viewpoint, I see Harrison wait until Professor Perry turns away again, then he whispers something hastily to Ellen. In once second flat the guy is out of the side doors at the edge of room. I wonder why Harrison’s in such a hurry. Isn’t he going to wait around while his girlfriend gets busted because of him?

I pretend to drop a few things. The whole time I’m watching the pissed-off expression Professor Perry’s directing at Ellen as he waits for her to gather her things, then her crutches so she can get to his desk.