Zarr, Sara - Sweethearts (9 page)

about things that mattered. The longing for her in that moment was an ache in my chest and fingertips, as strong as anything I'd ever felt. I wanted to talk to tell her about what had happened at Cameron's house that day, and everything else about what it was like to be me when she was so busy and I was so hidden. I wanted to tell her how it felt to walk around the school yard in circles while I watched Jordana and her friends play, and then what it meant -- what it really, really meant -- to get that ring in my lunch box from Cameron, how he'd saved me, and then how I'd saved us. Here I was all over again, alone in an empty house after school. I could have paged my mom and she'd call me right back but then what would I say? Hi. I have to tell you about something that happened to me when I was nine. And by the way, I miss you, have missed you my whole life. That was not a conversation you could have on the phone at work. Anyway, I'd learned how to get along without her when I didn't have any other options; it was a habit easier kept than broken. So I ate the coffee cake instead, and cleaned up all the evidence, and fell asleep in front of the TV. When I woke up, Mom and Alan were standing over me, dressed up with purse and car keys, respectively, in hand. "Honey? Jenna. We're leaving now, okay?" I lifted my stiff neck. "What time is it?" "About quarter to seven," Mom said. "You were just snoring away so we let you sleep." My mouth was filmy, one hand tingling from being slept on. Alan gazed down and asked, "Everything okay? We can always stay home if you want." I shook my head. "I'm fine." I needed them out of there so I could get ready for Ethan. I sat up and stretched. "You'd better go so you can get a parking spot." They left. I checked my cell to see if Cameron had called. He hadn't. In the bathroom, I brushed and brushed my teeth, washed my face and hands, changed. I needed a whole shower but there wasn't time. The doorbell rang and Ethan was there. "Hey," I said, giving him a quick kiss, trying to feel happy to see him. "I hope you got your homework done." He went straight for me, kissing my neck and squeezing my waist. I pushed him off me. "No, I didn't. I haven't even started it." I turned and walked to the kitchen table where my books were stacked. I sat down and opened my trig. He followed. "Well I already did mine," he said, tossing his floppy bangs, which were starting to annoy me. "I'm finished. Done." I flipped through my book, the pages making sharp cracks with every turn. "I told you that I had a ton. I told you that." "I thought you were, like, kidding around." I stared at him. "Why did you think that? Look," I said waving my hands over my books, "I have a crapload of stuff to get done and I'm practically flunking trig. I really need to get to work." He sulked, and roamed around the kitchen randomly opening cupboards. "Do you have any food around here? Let's order a pizza." "No." "I'll pay for it." "No!" I slammed my pencil down on the table. "Ethan, can you pay attention to someone other than yourself for one minute?" He spun around. "What? I'm hungry. Sue me." He was still cute, still infinitely kissable. But I didn't feel anything. What did our three months add up to, anyway? A bunch of making out and occasionally going somewhere and IM-ing late at night. Even by thinking in terms of three months I knew Ethan and I, our couplehood, was a finite thing. The measuring of time meant there would be an end. If we broke up, would I still be able to sit at our lunch table every day? Katy would be mad. Steph would think I was stupid. Gil and the Daves probably wouldn't think of me at all. "It's just that I told you I had a lot of homework," I said. "And you know trig is hard for me. And you didn't give me an Odd Couple script when you were supposed to and I don't even know why I had to be at the rehearsal today when you barely acknowledged my presence." "Because you're the stage manager." "Which I didn't ask to be. You volunteered me." "Because I wanted you to be there with me! I knew you wouldn't audition, so at least this way we could still be hanging out." He came over to me and started rubbing my shoulders. I tolerated it until he said, "Don't get mad. Let's, like, put on some music and lie between the speakers and cuddle and stuff." I wrenched my neck away. "Oh my God, Ethan! Have you not heard one word I said?" "What is up with you, Jenna? You've been a moody bitch ever since your birthday. Ever since Cameron showed up." He went into the living room. I followed. Tm gonna go," he said, pulling his coat on. He stopped at the door and turned back, as if waiting for me to say something. I couldn't speak, just shook my head and kept my arms folded across me, and he walked out. I went straight to my room, turned on the light, and let out a yelp. Cameron was sitting in my armchair. I backed a little way into the hall. "It's okay," he said, "it's just me." "It's not okay," I said, my voice trembling both from the fight with Ethan and the shock of seeing Cameron. "It is so not okay." "Sorry. I was gonna ring the bell, but I saw Ethan coming and ducked down the side of the house." "And then crawled in my window? " He was silent. I wondered if he'd heard Ethan and me in the kitchen, was sure he had, since I could usually hear everything in the kitchen from my room and we weren't exactly keeping the volume down. "What do you want, Cameron?" "Don't be mad." "I'm not." "You are." "Okay, I am." I sighed. "But I'm also happy to see you." And I was. I sat on my bed, thinking how nice it would be to have Cameron lying next to me again. I'd hardly had time to enjoy it, experience it, the first time. "I just think you should use the door." "I need to borrow your car." "Urn, okay," I said slowly. "I'm not supposed to let anyone else drive it. It's an insurance thing and a house rule." "What if it's an emergency?" "Where do you need to go?" I asked. "I can take you." Clearly I was not destined to do homework. "My apartment, to get some stuff." "Fine. Let's go." I got up; he didn't move. "You can't. It's dangerous. My roommates are dangerous." "What do you mean, dangerous?" "I haven't paid rent. In a while. They're gonna be pissed." He looked down. "Don't want you to have to deal with the crap in my life. Not again." "What's it going to take to convince you that you haven't ruined my life?" I said, frustrated. "Not then, not now." He rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist, just like a little kid. "I don't know." I sat back down. "How long have you been here, anyway, that you haven't paid rent 'in a while'?" "Since August. I thought I'd get a job, find you, get my own place. Then I couldn't find work at first and thought it wouldn't kill me to finish school. I've been working here and there, but didn't know how fast my money would run out." He finally stood. "Point is, they have my stuff. My pictures. My letters. My life. All I have." August. He'd been right in Salt Lake at least two months before contacting me. He'd been there before things got really serious with Ethan. What if he'd made himself known sooner? "I'll take you," I said. "Then what happens after you get your stuff? I can't just leave you on the streets." "I can sleep in your car again, maybe? And then come in early for a shower before your parents are even up?" He might have been tall and strong. He might have been independent -- an emancipated minor, a working man who paid his way. But all I could see when I looked at Cameron Quick was someone who needed taking care of. And there was no one to do it but me. "Let's go," I said. "When we get back well wait up for my parents. And talk to them about... all this." It was dark out, and a little drizzly. We drove down the hills of the Avenues and into downtown. Cameron gave directions; I turned and turned and turned again. "Pull over here," he said when we'd reached the edges of the Rose Park neighborhood, notorious for gangs and a sludge pit that the federal government had to come clean up. "It's down the street a little bit," he said, pointing to a falling-apart fourplex with a pile of tires in the front yard. "Wait in the car." He opened the door and started to climb out. "Hold on! How long should I give you? What if you don't come back in a certain number of minutes? Should i call the cops?" "Don't do anything. Don't call anyone. I'll be fine." "But what if you're not?" "Then go home." And with that, he got out and jogged down the street, like if I heard screams or gunshots or whatever I would just drive on home like nothing happened. Well, good for you, I thought, watching him climb a short cement staircase and put a key in the door. You don't need anyone. Fine. I watched the clock. Three minutes went by, four. I thought about knocking on the door, having of course no idea what I would actually do once I got there. Maybe I'd have to break the door down, wrestle Cameron away from the bad men, and then carry him out the way you hear people when they get a huge burst of adrenaline. Except the person I pictured rescuing was little Cameron, in shorts and a striped T-shirt, his arms wrapped around my neck. Then there he was, bursting out of the apartment door and bounding down the steps, a big garbage bag in hand. He ran to the car, fast. I reached over and opened the passenger door and he jumped in. "Go." You can't exactly peel out in a '94 Escort, but I did my best. Cameron breathed hard, clutching the garbage bag to his chest. "What happened? " I drove a good fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit, convinced we were being chased by angry roommates with guns. "Nothing. You can slow down." I didn't. "Nothing? Nothing happened?" 'They weren't even there." Then I did slow down. "No one was there? At all?" "Right." His breathing had returned to almost normal. "Then what's the deal with freaking me out like that?" My voice came out high and hysterical and I realized how nervous I'd been, imagining some dangerous scenario from which Cameron had barely escaped, an echo of that day at his house. "I don't know. I started to picture one of them pulling up and finding me there and ... I panicked." He rummaged through the garbage bag in his lap angrily. "My tools were gone. They probably already sold them." "Tools?" "How I make my living. Or made my living in California. Handyman stuff, day labor for subcontractors. Like that." I thought about the dollhouse. I wanted to say something like, Yeah, you've always been good at that, like with the dollhouse. But we still hadn't discussed any details of that day, so I didn't say anything. Cameron interpreted my silence as something else. "I know it's not like being a nurse or a college professor like your parents, but it's what I can do and people always need stuff fixed and built. Even if it's all I do the rest of my life there's no shame in it. You can make good money doing that, you know." "I think it's great," I said. "You're smart enough for college, though. Look how fast you're catching up at Jones. You could do anything you want." "What about you? What are you going to do?" I shrugged. "I'll just go to the U. I can get a tuition discount through Alan. I'll probably be an English teacher or something." Not that I'd given it much thought lately. I'd just sort of always assumed that's what I'd do, English being the only subject I remotely cared about or was any good at. "At least you know what you want. I don't know what I want." Then he was quiet for a long time. We were almost home before he said, "Just want to be with you. Like this." My heart sped up. I made a joke. "That's probably not a viable career option." "Yeah," he said, laughing a little. "Probably not." ' By the time Mom and Alan got home, Cameron was asleep on the couch and I was attempting to get at least a little homework done before bed. Concentrating was impossible, so I typed an English paper that was already pretty much done. I heard them come in the back door and met them in the kitchen. They looked rosy and happy from wine and snacks. I jumped right in; "So, Cameron is asleep on the couch. And basically he's homeless." Mom blinked a few times. "Excuse me?" "He's emancipated from his parents." I was matter-of-fact, just like she had been when she'd told me the Quick family saga. Also, the complicated drama of everything that had gone on that evening had worn me down; I'd switched myself nearly off. "Right now he can't pay his rent. Because he's trying to finish school." "What about his mother?" Mom asked. "What about his brothers and sisters, his family?" "They're in California. His dad is still with them, too." "You're kidding." "Hm," Alan said. It was a loaded "hm," no doubt because the image of Cameron sleeping in my room was fresh in his mind. "I'm not too sure about this." "Well, we have to let him stay here tonight," Mom said, glancing toward the living room, "clearly. It's late and we're all tired and we can deal with this tomorrow." Alan looked at her, unconvinced. "He's a big, grown guy, honey, whom we know little about. And we have a teenage daughter." "Well, I do know him," Mom insisted, "and there's nothing to worry about." Alan opened his mouth like he might be about to tell her about the bedroom incident. I interrupted, "Really, Alan, there's not." He continued, starting to sound a little annoyed, "What I was going to ask is how do we know he's emancipated? How do we know he's not just a runaway? What is our responsibility here if we let him stay?" "Trust me," Mom said, unwinding her scarf like the issue was all settled. "If there's one teenager in the world with legitimate reason to divorce his parents, it's Cameron Quick. I can't believe Lara would let that man back in their lives." "It's just one night," I added. "That's all we're deciding on now." Alan threw up his hands. "Fine. We'll discuss it tomorrow evening. Everyone needs to be here for dinner." He looked at my mom. "No overtime." She nodded and wandered off to their room. I watched her go, knowing our talk was coming soon. I felt it in me, ready to escape. Alan stayed in the kitchen, looking at me hard. "I'm going to check on you in the night," he said. "At random intervals of my choosing." "I figured." CHAPTER 19 WE ARE RUNNING THROUGH CAMERON'S YARD, DEAD LEAVES at our feet. My hand, stinging, is in his. As we round the corner of the house, toward the driveway, I see the boots first. I knew it In one lunge, Cameron's father has him by the arm and his hand is yanked from mine. His father's face is red. You ruined that window screen. I stop running, too, even though I could easily get away now. Cameron's father is shaking him, shaking him hard, and his yelling gets louder and louder and more words come faster and stuck together. ... what were you thinking? You are going to pay for it you can count on that. He looks at me. Still dragging Cameron with one arm he reaches his other for me, close enough that I feel the air