How I Fly (5 page)

*Slaps head. Cries: Awkward moment. Does it seem like I’m hitting on him?*

Patrick, Laura, and even Harrison are blinking at me strangely.

And as I play back what I’ve said, I realize it sounds like I’m trying to invite myself to his room. Alone. And possibly for the entire weekend!

*Slaps head again. Cries: Even bigger awkward moment.*

Laura saves me by calling out way too loudly, “Oh yeah, laddie. Me too. I’m a huge tree—root—fanatic. Huge. You’ll have to show us
both
as soon as possible.”

“Of course.” He’s flipped into copying Laura’s accent perfectly. “Wee -cute-lassies and pretty, big-eyed tree lovers are always welcome. Anytime. Hopefully you’ll like my stuff enough to convince this one”—he nods to Patrick—”to sign me on.” Harrison raises that one wicked, overly suggestive brow only to me again. “Like I told you, I’m room number 199.”

*Thinks: 199 rhymes with fine, divine, shine and mine…*

“Dude.” Patrick shakes his head, his voice still slightly on edge, but I can tell by his expression he also feels bad for making Harrison feel alienated. “Before you shackle yourself to one of these two crazies, the
real
hot girls with the more
exotic
accents are located on the third floor. So far I’ve met three from Paris and two from London. And you should see the shoes those French girls are wearing. So much sexy
bonjour-ing
going on up there. One of them invited me to a party with some of her friends tonight. Apparently she’s also got a no-show roommate. She said I could bring a friend, and I don’t really want to show up with any girls, you know? Are you in?”

Laura glowers darkly, shooting daggers at Patrick as Harrison nods. “We’ve only just met and you’re already inviting me on our first European expedition? Hell yes!”

Patrick laughs, seemingly calming down because Harrison’s taken his bait. I’m already determined to call Patrick out on this later. Didn’t he want me to have a friend with benefits? Isn’t it easier to kiss and then dump a flirty player over other guys? Maybe not today thanks to Europe, but for the rest of the summer, Patrick needs to back off my new almost-boyfriend.

Well, two can play at this game. “Whatever,
players
,” I add with a bored shrug. “Laura and I can do better without you jokers stalking us at the Welcome Social.”

“I haven’t heard of that.” Patrick tosses Harrison a glance, as if he’s calling our bluff.

I move my crutches out from under my arms and balance back on one of the tall dressers. “Hosted by the future engineers and environmental programs. You’re not invited. Right, Laura? They just aren’t. Sorry.”

Laura catches my look and ramps in. “Yep. Apparently there aren’t many girls in those programs. They handed out free entry tickets to any
girl
who wanted one. I would expect half of your sexy
Europe
is going to be with us, anyhow…so…yeah. Have fun.”

Harrison’s gaze is going slowly over my face like some sort of caress that captures my gaze right back until I can’t look away despite the fact that Laura and Patrick are staring at us. The endless, teasing warmth in his eyes that really does seem to be only for me is making my cheeks burn some. Finally, after a long pause, he says, “Who cares about later? I thought we were all going to lunch? I call sitting by beautiful Ellen. We’re going to talk about camera lenses and why my Canon is better than any Nikon. I’ll fight anyone off with my crutches who dares to try for the seat, too.”

I grin, only slightly. “How can tell I’m a Nikon girl?”

He blinks. “They listed what kind of camera took the winning photos on the website.”

“Oh. Right.” Even though I know he’s completely full of it, I can’t help but sigh behind my heart that this cute boy openly called me beautiful and vowed to go to war over a seat next to me, and he likes to talk about cameras.

I avoid Patrick’s snide-eye squint and the way he’s gripping his stomach, holding back the vomit-gag sound he’d make if he weren’t trying so hard to make me happy. I also avoid Laura’s wide, blue-eyed, gushing expression. She’s bought into Harrison hook, line, and sinker. I can tell by her face that she’s holding back a giant hug and a huge speech to me about the
wee-leaps-and-bounds
I’ve made in one short day, which I’m sure will come out of her mouth the second she gets me alone.

And even though I see directly through what is
obviously
Harrison’s well-practiced girl-fishing act, I’m suddenly grinning ear to ear and almost willing to admit I’ve been hooked since the second he proposed.

Because that was so cute. He
is
so cute. And somehow, in one day, this guy and all of his flirting have untied some of the huge knots I’d made of my heart that I thought could never be undone.

It’s not like I’m going to fall in love with him or anything, because I think that’s pretty much out of the question for me at this point, but the flirting thing is harmless and really fun. As he and I crutch slowly behind Laura and Patrick down the long hallway that leads to the dorm common area and the front doors, I’m breathing deeply and smiling without having to force it for the first time in a long time. I’m searching for ideas to make this guy laugh so I can see his dimples again, because he
is
really cute. He also did call me beautiful, and even though I get he probably calls a ton of girls beautiful, I liked being the one he called beautiful today.

He winks at me, and instead of busting on him and rolling my eyes like I’d normally do, I simply wink back.

Harrison raises his brows as if that response really surprised him, and the way he loses a bit of that sassy twinkle in his eyes and turns slightly red, like I’ve called some sort of huge bluff on the guy, makes me laugh out loud. The peals coming from deep in my belly rattle through my chest and echo down the hall. Patrick and Laura freeze in their tracks and look back at both of us as though they’ve seen a ghost.

“What? Did you forget something?” I ask, still laughing while pausing to catch my breath, knowing full well why they’re gaping at me like two open-mouthed fish.

I’m equally surprised. I haven’t laughed like this since…well…since forever.

I meet Patrick’s perplexed gaze with a grin I can’t seem to erase, wishing I could shout out that he and Laura were right all along. He smiles softly at me, and for the first time in months, he’s lost the worried glint that’s been housed in the back of his eyes since the first day he saw me in my hospital bed. Laura cracks me up even more, because she’s obviously holding back some sort of dancing leap-hug that would be really awkward and misplaced if she launched it right at me here and now.

It
is
time for me to move on, and I think, thanks to Harrison Shaw, I just crossed the threshold. After lunch I’ll applaud my friends’ self-control.

I don’t think it’s going to be a difficult sell when I tell them we’re keeping Harrison Shaw as our new friend for the entire summer.

Cam

My social worker, Tom, comes into the holding area where the juvenile court system keeps us as we wait for our monthly meeting with the judges. His eyes are positively sparkling. This is notable, because Tom has never sparkled about anything in his life.

“Camden Campbell, you’re up first. First!” He smiles at me, still with this strange look on his face.

“Hey now.” I frown, looking at the other kids. “That’s out of alphabetical order. What about Andrew Adams? Isn’t that going to mess up the entire computer system for our entire nation? On behalf of the taxpayers, I protest, because I’ve only just started reading this chapter.” I hold up my Digital Photography book, but Tom’s face is so strangely cheerful he makes my throat go sort of dry. I try to joke again: “Does this mean we have to go back early? Court day is my only day off to read, you know?”

A couple of the other guys laugh.

“Don’t joke, Cam, today of all days. Please don’t joke. And I’m happy you brought that book along. It’s going to help your case, so try to use it as a prop to show you are both studious and serious.”

“My case? Why?”

A flat-faced, blue-uniformed security guard comes to the door and calls through a buzzer, “Camden Campbell. Number 4567. Camden Campbell, please report to Courtroom Four with your assigned social worker.”

She buzzes the door to unlock it, and Tom drags me along with him while the others curiously stare.

I’m muttering, but it’s coming out way too quietly for anyone but Tom to hear me. “No one ever goes out of alphabetical order. Wait. Wait. Shouldn’t we be talking about why? Or what’s going on? Something’s going on, isn’t it?”

My heart starts beating way too fast, and my feet have suddenly turned to lead blocks.

When we’re in the hallway and out of hearing range of the other kids, Tom leans down while we’re walking and locks my gaze. “Kid, listen. Your family isn’t famous for self-control. As a matter of fact, in this courtroom, your parents are now infamous for their
lack
of control as the first people to ever actually throw things. So…whatever you see and whoever might be in that room, I need you to stay completely and absolutely calm. No. Matter. What. Give me calm. Got it?”

“Who is in the room?
Who?
” I choke out, almost in full panic now, praying down to my core that it’s not my dad. But I know it’s him. Dad’s got more money and attorneys than the movie stars down in Los Angeles. Money and attorneys always win, and that bastard’s finally cracked his way through to me. I try to protest, to swallow, to run, but I can’t. The back of my throat feels like sandpaper, and my limbs have melted with dread.

I can hardly hear Tom’s whispers. “I’m as surprised as you are! Here’s the protocol on days like this: You will hear the judge out. You will nod politely, and then you will agree to whatever task he gives you to do. You and your crazy parents aren’t going to just get to do what you want without the judge pulling a few more chains around you all. Not after what those people pulled. Even if he suggests tap-dancing in a tutu on the moon, I’m asking you to agree to all of it. If you can do that, and if you can keep it together how you’ve been holding steady at the Boys Academy, you just might be out of this thing. Today. You might get to actually go—and I’m talking walk out of here, drive home to collect your stuff, kind of ‘go.’ Got me?”

When I still can’t answer, he puts his hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Do you hear me? You’re a good kid. Son, based on what I just overheard, you’re about to get a huge and very cool second chance. Don’t mess it up. Please. You’re a talented young man with a whole life ahead of you, and none of us wants to see that talent go to waste.”

A wave of nausea hits me low and heavy, and sweat breaks out on my brow, along my spine. His voice has changed into my dad’s voice. If we’re talking about
talent
, this is for sure about football, and my assumptions are right. This has to be about my dad.

“Hold the book in front of your chest.”

I do what he says, because if my dad’s actually in that room, I can use it as a shield—or better, I can chuck it at the judge’s head, just like my mom did. They haven’t seen furniture and crap flying around a courtroom until they’ve seen this Campbell doing it! I’ve got to ensure I get locked up for two more years—hell, if my dad’s in that room, I’ll take ten years.

I will not go with that guy. I simply will not.

My throat’s closing, which sucks, because I want to ask why no one listened to my pleading about keeping my father away from me. Did my therapist not report that for the first time in my life, during our last session, I said felt like a real person instead of someone’s damn
puppet
? Do I have no rights or say in this matter?

“Hold the book a bit higher. Don’t cover the title. I really want the judge to see what you’re reading.”

I move the book higher, white-knuckling it, actually. I wonder if I will I know how to throw anything with any sort of good aim anymore. What’s the trajectory of a rectangular five-pound coffee table book? How hard do I have to chuck this thing to get the dude right smack in the eye with one of the corners? Do I throw it at Dad or at the judge? Which choice will prove my point the best?

I imagine my dad’s face and think,
A quarterback never forgets. Never. Forgets.

I’m not going to miss. I breathe in and out slowly.

“Good. Great. I was just going to ask you to remember to breathe.” Tom pauses at the door. “Now smile. A calm, peaceful, and in-control type of smile.”

I feel my cheeks crack some as I layer on the mask he wants.

“Excellent. Let’s do this.” He pushes me ahead of him into the room. My eyes go wildly around, searching for any oversized man who might have my dad’s wide shoulders or too-tall frame. I’m already steeling myself for what it’s going to feel like when I’m face to face with his fake, snide and hooded
you’ll-pay-later-son
expression again.

I glance worriedly at the angular-faced judge that has seemed to hate me every time I’ve met the guy. He’s deadpan as usual, and sitting behind his high table. He nods at me, and I as I approach the table where Tom and I usually sit, I scan the room again until I spot—my mom!

When I realize my dad’s not in the room at all, my smile turns real.

Very real.

And despite what Tom’s said to me, I can’t hold back. I find that I’ve started to shake with longing, with hope…with how much I’ve missed her. I call out, “
Mom!
Oh my God,
Mom!
”

I want to shout my relief. Cry. Laugh. Take Tom by the shoulders and shake him hard like he did to me, but as he advised, I grit my teeth and talk through what I hope looks like a smile. “Why didn’t you tell me it was
her
?”

I can tell Mom wants to leap tables to hug me, but apparently she’s also been given the same “stay calm and in control” speech. She’s seated at a table, white-knuckling the edge of it as hard as I’m gripping this book. A very serious-looking attorney-type person has his hands on her shoulders, as if he knows she’s about to jump up or something.

“She’s seeking full custody of you on her own,” Tom whispers in a voice heavy with emotion that seems to match mine. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you. The judge and the assigned attorney will speak with you about all of it, but they wanted to assess the reaction you’d have on seeing your mom to make sure you’d be happy about seeing her.”

“So are you saying she’s
left
my dad? That he’s nowhere near here?” I choke out, hardly able to believe it, glancing between Tom, the judge, and my mom.

“She’s spent the last six months working to win you back from the province, and she finally got through on charges of long-term domestic mental abuse of spouse and father. It’s a really difficult charge to prove, but your mom’s word, plus a journal she found of yours in your bedroom, as well as personal interviews done by the judge on your behalf, sealed it.”

“Look, let’s not call it a journal. It was more of a notebook.” I cringe, thinking of the pages and pages of notes and plans I’d made in a spiral-bound notebook about the various ways I could get myself hurt on the football field. Mostly, it was a list of things that went wrong every time I tried to hurt myself and failed, with directions on how get things
right
the next time. I’d pasted in medical drawings and photos of completely wrecked shoulders, knees, and ankles. Included news articles of all NFL and college players taken out by injury, with lists of the
hows
and
whys
behind the injuries that made it so they simply couldn’t return to football.

“Okay, we’ll call it a notebook,” Tom agrees. “And you must know your father didn’t take the charges lying down. He’s launched a counter-case stating that you want to live with him.”

“Even though I’d sign in blood that I don’t want to live with him?”

“The man has rights. And despite what you and I personally think about your father, the charges your mom brought against him are very serious as well. The judge would never take them lightly.”

All of the air I’d been breathing instantly rushes away, and I clutch the book I’ve been gripping closer to my chest. “What about my rights? Don’t I have any? Anything my mom’s told the judge is true. Every word of what I wrote, if it’s allowed to be used, and even if it’s really awkward, it’s all true. I can’t, I
won’t
be near that man again. Please tell me he doesn’t have a chance to force me to live with him.”

“Not based on the reports I’ve been filing on you every month.” Tom smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “Save it for the judge, son. It’s all depending on your interview with him today. There will be a restraining order against your father until you come of age, and then you can decide if you want to establish an adult relationship with him. It’s been a long road for your mom. What she did wasn’t easy, and your father put her through the wringer. From what I’ve heard, she’s lost her job because she had to relocate to Vancouver in order to appear here at court as needed. Your father locked up almost all of the family finances on her. Whatever she had left, she spent paying for that fancy lawyer at her side. Hope you can stomach being part of a single-mom family that’s about to be flat broke until their divorce is final. Although you will be provided for, your dad’s smart enough and seems rotten enough to lock your mom down in court proceedings for years.”

I dart a glance at my mom. She’s biting her lip. By her wide-eyed expression, I can tell she’s wondering if I’m going to trust her. This actually hurts my heart. I bet she’s thinking she doesn’t deserve my trust, when in fact me, and my impatient, bad temper, is half the reason she’s here today.

If she faced down my dad without me around to help run interference, this woman went through extremes I can well imagine. If she’s given up our house, money, probably her fancy car—then she did it all for me. I’ll trust her. I’ll give this deal a fighting chance, and I’ll give my mom my heart simply because she fought for me.

Despite our pasts and the way she could never stand up to Dad before, I know these last six months must have changed her as much as they’ve changed me completely. She and I share something we’ve never even talked about. Dad. How he treated us—what he did to us on a daily basis by slowly turning his controlling screws. That had changed us to the point we couldn’t recognize each other as people who needed to stick together.

But I see her now. She’s my mom. I’m her son.

I can only hope without my dad in the mix, forcing us down all the time, she and I can finally figure out some kind of new family. I’m not too proud after all these months to tell her or any judge who asks me that I need that. I need a family and a mom, especially because I understand that I never really had a normal dad.

I wish I could leap tables and tell my mom that I love her. Tell her we’re going to be fine. But over these past months, I’ve learned restraint and patience and courtroom
process
. So I whisper, “Tom. Tom? Do you think I can—”

“Order. Order in the court. It is now 9 a.m. All stand to formally greet Judge Chambers to open this session.”

Judge Chambers stands up from his seat along with us, nods, and then retakes his chair.

As everyone in the courtroom is rustling to take our seats, Tom whispers, “Hold your breath. Cross your fingers and start praying.”

“Already doing that, but do you think I can—”

I pause to smile at my mom in a way that I hope communicates everything I’m thinking. I want her to see that I’m suddenly able to breathe like I’ve never been able to breathe in my entire life. From the way she’s also pulling in air, I think Mom’s on the same page. But that’s when her face crumples and tears start rolling down her face. Her sobs startle everyone in the room.

“Oh no,” Tom mutters. “I hope she doesn’t cause a postponement.”

“Please ask the judge if I can hug my mom before we start? I know that will help her.”

Thankfully, the judge says yes.