How I Fly (20 page)

“Okay
, Mom.
Thanks for that amazing lecture. As if you think you’ve got more experience than I do, think again.” I roll my eyes, laughing.

“I’m from the civilized part of the planet, your people are babies compared to my people.” Laura laughs also, and knocks into me. “You know what I mean! I’m trying to protect you as a friend, that’s all.”

“Yes. I know, and the same goes for you right back. I’m going to focus on being happy,
whatever
it is I decide to do. Happy and confident. As for the
odd bits
?”
We both giggle again
.
“I’m not in a hurry for anything like that. It’s going to be one moment at a time. I promise.”

Laura sighs and squeezes my hand. “Okay. Right. Me too.”

I giggle again while she turns back to survey the rear seat for herself. “If you’re serious, you better up your game, though. It’s possible Charisse is making conquests of Cam, Harrison,
and
Patrick.” Laura flips back and gives me a wide blink. “I think she’s going for a record.”

“You are a nut. She knows Harrison’s with me.”

“Yeah, well, she knows Chloe likes Patrick, but your idol doesn’t seem to care.”

“But you sound…jealous. Does it really matter which girl Patrick ends up with?”

“No.” She shrugs and snuggles back in to drop her head on my shoulder again. “It’s just…that Charisse…she’s mesmerizing them. I could swear Patrick and Harrison and even Cam look so…
stunned
. It’s like they’re…high…or she gave them some sort of magic
stare-at-me
potion. How does she do that? Oh, how I wish I could be French for just one week to figure out their secret. Is it possible the guys are so simple the expensive perfume just goes into their brains? Because if that’s all it is, we can buy some. What do you think?”

“No clue.” I pull out my sweater and cover Laura with it. “And who cares? It’s all up to the universe and fate what happens—right?”

“You asking me or yourself?” Laura bumps her shoulder into mine, this time hard. “You sound like me!” She sighs out a long breath and adds, “And you’re right. Even if we could get some of that perfume, none of this is up to us, it’s up to
fate
! So I don’t know why we’re fretting about stuff.”

“Who’s fretting?”

“Not me,” she says.

“Not me.” I cross my arms and smile out of my window, suddenly looking forward to this week and all of my new confidence.

She lets out another sigh, because I know she’s thinking about Patrick as much as I’m thinking about Harrison and fate, and whatever is going to happen this week…will happen. We can only hope for the best.

“I do love you, wee-bestie,” Laura mutters, finally meeting my eyes with a soulful, shuttered smile. “I can’t imagine how empty my life would be if I’d never knocked you flat the day we met.”

I scrunch down so I can’t see over the bus seats anymore, and lay my head against hers so we’re snuggled in temple to temple and watching the landscape speed by our window together.

My heart is almost bursting with that perfect and amazing best-friend kind of love.

“Love you back.”

Cam

Patrick and I have been doing shifts so we can keep on eye on Harrison Shaw. Right now, he’s the one watching the jerk, and I’m on a run. I’ve run twice as far as I’ve ever gone, because I’m trying to erase images of Ellen Foster from my head, but it’s not working.

I haven’t slept this whole week because of her damn beautiful face.

Worse, Patrick and I have been working on tracking Harrison’s every move like we’ve turned into FBI agents…or maybe just stalkers. We formulated this half-hatched plan last week when Patrick revealed to me that he also doesn’t trust Harrison. Neither one of us is sure what we’re even tracking—beyond the fact that both of us are trying to figure out why the guy makes us so uneasy.

Only,
uneasy
is a really stupid and nearly impossible thing to track.

Plus, I’m not into stalking dudes—or anyone, for that matter. Only, it’s all twisted up now, because while I’m stalking Harrison, I am following Ellen around. Only it’s not her and it’s not him that I’m always focused on. I’m always staring at her, while Harrison and Ellen are
being
the couple that is
them
.

“God help me.” I start running faster, pushing more images of
them
out of my head.

Of course this sucks, because ever since the bus ride here Harrison seems like he’s on to me and Patrick. He’s been on his best
behavior
all week. A fact that has Patrick more restless than ever because as the days go on, we know Harrison’s being as fake as hell.

Like whenever the French girls come around—usually wearing only bikini tops made out of tiny bits of fabric—Harrison, who used to drool all over those girls, now acts like he’s turned into some sort of blind Tibetan monk. Which is a joke, because monks, priests, and even the Pope himself would be tempted to stare at what we’ve been seeing on the beach every day.

Adding to the torture, Ellen’s always so happy and shining extra bright when she’s with Harrison Shaw. She seems even happier that her Harrison hasn’t noticed the French swimsuits at all. To throw salt in my wounds, Ellen’s been acting like her relationship with Harrison is reaching new heights because of Harrison’s freak-fake devotion to her.

Why?

My foot hits the pavement.

Why?

My other foot hits the pavement.

Why can’t she see through him?

Of course, as the week wears on and Harrison’s devotion seems unchanging, and there’s nothing at all suspicious about what comes out of his mouth or his behavior, I’ve been doing longer and longer runs like this. Away from them, away from myself and all the garbage and doubt floating around in my head. I wonder daily, just like I wondered before this trip, if I’m being crazy and jealous. I think, because I’ve admitted to myself that I’m still in love with Ellen Foster, that I have no right to be participating in this obviously empty and unfounded conspiracy against Harrison.

She chose him.

He seems to like her.

She and I have agreed to be friends.

That should be something I can accept.

Even from what Patrick reports when he’s been creeping on them, Harrison and Ellen have been simply being a normal ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ couple, as well as being model students. Students that seem to be making Professor Perry proud with their dedicated hours spent snapping photos of anything and everything in sight. Unlike Patrick and I, who have been so wrapped up in our conspiracy theories that we’ve fallen behind on what we’re supposed to be doing. I don’t know why Patrick’s stopped doing his work, but I’m going to just admit that I’m not working because I’ve been too busy taking stalker photos of Ellen, then sulking and being jealous.

I started losing motivation to take photos that first day. Next to the hotel and facing the beach (and in complete view of my hotel room) there’s this cool, slightly wooded nature area. It’s like a beach and a park, only with no playground. It’s a few paths and this awesome little creek that winds all the way to the beach by an empty stretch of lake that’s lined with trees. The best and worst part about it is that it’s got a very accessible concrete pathway and resting areas for disabled people made up of large rocks and natural looking benches. All of which I knew would be perfect for Ellen. I know I’m not supposed to track what’s perfect for Ellen anymore, but old habits die hard with me. The motivation loss on my part started when I realized Ellen, because she couldn’t spend time sunbathing or swimming at the beach because of the deep sand, would be spending all of her free time in this perfect little park—with Harrison.

The first night we arrived, I got to watch Harrison and Ellen set up a romantic picnic by that little stream. For hours they snapped pictures of what I found out later were these cool little frogs. Later that night, well after dinner, they returned to the same spot with blankets the hotel manager had lent them, and they photographed those frogs and bushes and trees from every single angle as the sun went down. The next day they did it again, but this time to capture the sunset, then—the next night—it was the moonrise, Then they’d sat out there snapping shots of the thousands of cool fireflies that also lived in and around the bushes that protected the frogs.

When finally I couldn’t resist checking out the fireflies myself, Ellen’s shining face in the moonlight had almost done me in, because she was so darn happy to show me her shots, to try to make me and Harrison be friendly toward each other, when it’s pretty obvious he and I aren’t interested in being friends at all. That was the night I found out she’d been using Harrison’s camera each and every night—because they were
sharing
and
wasn’t that so great?

When I asked Ellen if her Nikon was broken—because I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason Ellen would leave behind the gorgeous camera Miss Brown had lent to her for this summer program—Ellen told me that even though she wanted to bring her own stuff out here,
Harrison-sweetie-pie-puke
insisted that he didn’t want Ellen getting a sore neck.

Ellen gushed how Harrison was so sweet to worry about her. How he liked to be all manly and share his newer camera—a camera with more diverse lenses, including a new telephoto lens like mine—with her. And how they’d been having
so
-
much-fun-this-week
, and
wasn’t-that-so-nice,
and
didn’t-I-just-love-this-place?

To Harrison’s credit, he did seem really uncomfortable that Ellen had revealed how sappy and dumb her
Camera Hero Guy
description sounded when she’d said it out loud. Then he tried to act like it was no a big deal which was hard to do with Ellen acting like he’d flown her to the moon or something. To put icing on the barf-cake we’d all made, I’d told him that it
was so nice
, and so
romantic
of him. But in reality all I could think was:
Bleh. Loser. Tool. Is that all the moves you’ve got? Camera lenses? I’ve got camera lenses, too!

Followed with my usual internal, immature and selfish rant of:
I HATE YOU SO MUCH.

Even worse (if this crap could get any worse), Ellen and Harrison suddenly seem to be kissing way more than normal. Yesterday and today especially.

Again. Yuck. Barf. Bleh. Loser. Tool and so much HATE! HATE! HATE!

They don’t lock lips when I’m standing there or anything like that, but because I’m tracking Harrison I just happen to see more than I want to see. If I didn’t know better, I could swear Harrison is actually waiting to spot me for the sole reason of acting like he’s just made out with Ellen Foster in order to break me down. And it’s working.

They’ve snuggled together on the boardwalk benches near the pier. In front of the charming and historical Colonial Hotel Professor Perry made us tour. They kissed while leaning against the famous Grand Bend Welcome Arch, and once while on the swings at the playground in the town center. Then there’s that bench in front of the quaint ice cream and coffee shop.

And if that’s not enough, they’re nonstop sitting on the deck that was built off the side of our sprawling 1960s lodge motel, as if my view from the window isn’t bad enough. I also can’t forget the
hell times
I’ve ‘accidentally’ run into Ellen and Harrison whispering and probably kissing in front of our room, because, of course, me and my
awesome roomie
can’t be separated for even one week. Oh no. At least Patrick was stuck in here with us as well. Honestly, if it weren’t for him and his quiet, calm support with all of this, I’d have died by now.

Of course, it makes Ellen so happy that we’re all in the same hotel room, because she thinks we are all getting to be
such best friends.
But it’s really hard to be friends with a guy who only likes to talk about himself.

Himself and how hot and sexy his
girlfriend
is, of course.

This week is even ruining my desire for food. On the first day, I was pumped to find out this place has this awesome pour-your-own waffle machine, because I love those things. But that was before Harrison made Ellen one in the shape of a heart by cutting it before serving it to her. At this point, I’ve actually grown to hate this adorable beach town. I’m not even sure if I like the Lake Huron anymore, and hell, I think I even hate waffles now.

Thank God tonight is the closing bonfire, because I quite honestly don’t think I can take any more of this.

When I get back to the university dorms I’m going to get my mom, or the damn judge—or anyone who will listen to me—to find me a different living situation, because I am so done living with Harrison Shaw. Done. If they can’t, I’m going to sleep on Patrick’s floor or in a janitor’s closet. Anything. But I need some distance from this terrible thing that is watching Ellen Foster fall more and more in love with a person who sucks, and who is not me.

Of course, all this has messed with my head in so many ways.

We’re supposed to have taken at least four hundred
submit-worthy
shots of the lake or the town by now. The topic was wide open, like sunsets, sand grains, trees or water or the boardwalk, or small-town life or—whatever. Sadly, I think I’ve logged only twenty shots that I would claim as mine. The joke about those shots is that they’re ones I’ve taken of Ellen with my telephoto lens. They’re awesome, but I can’t even turn them in for fear Professor Perry would select them to display on the giant techno-screen back in the classroom, which would alert everyone to my stalker status.

At least Patrick is with me on slacking off on his work. He made the mistake of telling Laura our suspicions about Harrison so she could help us keep an eye on the guy if Patrick and I can’t be around. Instead of gaining the eyes and ears we’d hoped for, that discussion only earned both of us one of her lectures about me being jealous and irrational while she went off on Patrick about how he might need serious therapy for his overprotective tendencies.

She even said Patrick was using worrying over Ellen as an excuse not to get his own girlfriend, while
I
was using Ellen as an excuse to simply not live my life at all.

Damn if that didn’t hit me like a punch in the gut. Because—hell yes, I’ll admit it—Laura’s right. I’m so jealous and so full of longing for what I can’t have—what and who I can’t touch—what I’ve got no right to be a part of anymore—that I feel like I’m shattering into thousands of pieces as I watch Harrison Shaw take what he doesn’t deserve.

So…yes. Sign me up for therapy, please. I’ve got no life because Harrison Shaw somehow stole it. Worse…he may have already stolen what simply can’t be recovered.

Ellen used to be so shy, and I know for a fact that before I went away she hadn’t ever done anything past kissing—past kissing
me
. And I knew that because I was her first real kiss. This thought that eats at me while I watch her and Harrison and all of their public displays of affection is making me wonder—obsess—over things I’ve got no right to even think or care about.

My feet whirl under me.

But I do. I think. And I care. And I think. And I care.

Think. Care. Think. Care.

Like I said. I’m done.

Tonight, I’m not going to the bonfire. There’s simply no way. Going to that would stir up memories and emotions that need to be shut off and finally put away. I’ve already hinted to Professor Perry that I’m not feeling so well. Patrick and Laura know my deal, and they’ve both promised not to say anything other than I needed to get some work done.

I figure it’s all for the best. I’m so behind. With the entire class down at the beach partying with the exchange student class, I’m going to do my own investigation of the little stream and the park area. I’ll snap shots of some of the frogs, too. Maybe get some distance shots of the lake and then the sunset…and hopefully catch some of my own light-trail shots off those cool fireflies. I’ll stay out there until I’m so tired that my back aches from bending over and holding the camera at odd angles. I’ll hold out and do some time-lapse stuff of the moon, the stars, and the lake at night so that when I’m finished my eyes hurt from staring at the shots in the dark.