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Olive

When I saw Cameron round the corner after school today, my heart immediately sped up like a treadmill. He hadn't seen me yet, waiting for him at his locker, so I took this time to double check myself.

Okay, so my hair had seen better days. Last time I looked in a mirror, it hung heavily down my shoulder like an old blanket and there was no pizzazz to it at all. I definitely needed a haircut. Pronto. My clothes were pretty good although I should've gone with the red shirt instead of this crappy orange one. What was I thinking! On second thought, I probably
wasn't
thinking. At least I'd worn my favorite jeans; they were dark and tight and they made my legs look ten times longer. According to Hudson, guys liked long legs. So I was good in that department. Whether or not I should take off my zipper hoody was left unanswered because by that time, Cameron had already seen me.

I saw his breath catch as his eyes locked with mine. A slow smile spread over his lips and only when Armando clapped on his back did he finally breathe out. I smiled like a doofus, waving at him. Do girls still wave? Or do they do that nod thing? Crap! I didn't know!

“Hey, Olive,” Cameron said in a breathy voice as if he'd just run to catch up to me. His smile was spread from ear to ear and he couldn't take his eyes off me.

I opted for the slow smile, the one Hudson taught me a few nights ago. “Hey, Cameron,” I said in a none-too-excited voice.

The two of us stared at each other with our smiles on our faces, standing in the middle of the hall. I didn't know how long this trance was going to last. If Armando hadn't broken it up by interrupting, we probably would've been standing there for ages.

“What am I going to do for the presentation?” he cried, his accent audible. “I can't sing! I can't play the piano! Face it, Mr. Fuller doesn't want me to win!”

“He doesn't want either of us to win,” Anjolie said, standing beside Hudson, who was texting ferociously on her phone. “Mr. Fuller has his eye on Dave and Tanya. Those two are like his babies.”

“
Exactly
!” Armando cried out. Then he glanced at Cameron. “What do I do, Cameron?” he asked, running his large golden-brown hand through his dark hair.

Cameron's eyes reluctantly shifted from mine and he turned to look at Armando. “Mannie, you must know how to play something. Or you could at least learn.”

Armando rolled his eyes but nodded. “I guess I could learn something.” He gazed at Hudson. “Will you help me?” he asked.

Hudson kept texting, staring at her phone intently. Only when Armando nuzzled his face into her neck did she snap back to reality. “What?” she asked, a blush surprisingly seen through her brown skin. “Were you talking to me?”

We just rolled our eyes. Hudson was always texting. Sometimes I'd caught her texting during
exams
— she was that bad. But living a fabulous life must involve texting fabulous friends, right? I knew that if I had any friends
to
text, I would be doing the same thing.

Armando quickly filled her in on what everyone was talking about. She nodded and wrapped her arms around Armando's waist. “Of
course
I'll help you, Mannie,” she said, wiggling her nose over his. “You know how my mom has a bunch of instruments at home? Well, we could probably get you acquainted with some.”

Hudson was right. Her mother was like an African-bohemian goddess. She had all of these African drums and flutes and bongos and all of those other kinds of instruments. A whole room in Hudson's amazing house was filled with these instruments.

“How about we all go there?” Hudson asked. She glanced at Anjolie. “You can come too, Anjolie.”

I had completely forgotten about Anjolie's presence. All eyes went to her. In the split second before she responded, I'd caught her staring admiringly at Cameron with those mysterious gray eyes. But that could've just been a trick of my eyes or whatever.

“Um, sure,” she said, and smiled hesitantly. Then she glanced at Cameron. “How far a walk is it?” she asked, switching her backpack onto the other shoulder.

It was Cameron's turn to talk. “Oh, get real, Anjolie,” he said. “I'll take you!”

Anjolie smiled a slow smile —
my
slow smile! — and said, “Well, okay then.”

Then it was settled. The five of us were off to Hudson's house to learn instruments for
their
homecoming performance. As we left the building, I wished bitterly that I hadn't brought my own stupid car to school.

Cameron

“I've actually never seen Hudson's house before,” Anjolie said, strapping herself into my car. She flung her backpack into the back seat and faced me.

I started the engine and pulled out of my parking space. “It's pretty awesome if you ask me,” I said. “It's a four story house. The kitchen, the guest room, and all that first-floor-stuff are on the first floor. Then Hudson's mom, Monica, has the second floor. She had her office and her master bedroom and another room dedicated to her instruments. There's also a bathroom and a huge balcony. The third floor, Armando's floor, is just like that. But he mostly just hangs on Hudson's fourth floor.” I turned onto the road and followed behind Armando's car. “That floor is pretty much an apartment. It has her bedroom, her homework room, two bathrooms — one with a waterfall shower, and her own personal living room. She's installing a game room into the old cat room and putting her cat into her old closet room.”

“Wow, that chick is living like a princess,” Anjolie said. Then she muttered, “Figures.”

“Figures how?” I asked, glancing at her.

Anjolie shrugged. “Her father's the king. Of
course
his daughter would live like a princess.”

King? Her father's a king? Of what? Galicia?

As if noticing my surprise, Anjolie quickly stammered, “Did I say her father was the king?” She laughed hesitantly. “I meant her father lives
like
a king. So she must live like a princess.”

“How do you know her father lives like a king?” I asked, pulling up to a stop sign.

“She told me. Duh.”

“She's never told
me
that.”

“Well, she told me.”

I shrugged my shoulders and drove on. After a brief moment of silence, I glanced at her again. “So what are you going to do for the presentation then?”

“Probably play the harp,” Anjolie said, and sighed as if commenting on the blueness of the sky. She brushed the curly hair out of her face.

“You play the harp?” As I was saying the words, I knew she must play it. She looked so angelic and peaceful — the harp was invented for her!

“I taught myself at the orphanage,” she explained. “Some rich guy donated a few instruments for us and everyone went for the guitars and drum sets. I went for the harp.”

“Why the harp?” I asked.

“I don't know,” she said, glancing at me with her gray eyes. If I hadn't been driving I probably would've been lost in those magnetic eyes. “The harp — it was huge and spray painted silver along the edges. The strings were this amazing white color. I felt drawn to it. When I picked it up, everyone laughed at me for choosing such a weird looking instrument. I didn't care. I took the instrument and sat in the hallway and taught myself how to play
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
.”

“That was the first song I learned how to play on the piano,” I pointed out, smiling at her.

She smiled back. “I spent all week working on the song and once I learned it, I couldn't stop playing it.” Then she laughed and gazed out the window. “I played it so much that Miss Pam had to go out and buy different sheet music with different songs for me to learn. That's how I learned how to play my favorite song,
Clocks
by Coldplay.”

“Did you get to take the harp with you, you know, when you… left?” I asked, knowing full well that almost all orphans don't have a choice as to what they're allowed to bring with them.

To my surprise, Anjolie nodded. “My adoptive parents okayed it. They said that I looked just like the harp because of the whole gray and white thing I do.”

I laughed. “Yeah, what's up with that?” I asked her. “Whenever I see you, you're always in gray and white. Are those your favorite colors?”

She shrugged. “At first, no,” she explained. “I'd had this foster family once. They had this daughter that was so full of herself it was disgusting. One day she was emptying out her house-sized closet of all things gray and white. Because I was standing right there, she gave me everything from shirts to jeans to skirts to shoes — anything and everything that was gray and white.

“At the time I had two shirts and two pants. I hated those clothes with a dying passion. Her giving me the clothes changed me.”

“So now it's only gray and white?” I asked, pulling up through the gate and onto Hudson's vast driveway. I swear, it's pretty much a mile-long driveway.

Anjolie sighed and shrugged. “That's pretty much all I've got…” Her voice trailed off.

Olive

I had to sit on the couch alone with the bags and the food while the four of them jumped into learning the instruments.

“Grab whatever you like,” Monica said in a calm voice. “Whatever instrument moves you, I urge you to become one with it.” She shifted her shawl over her shoulders and sat cross-legged in front of a bongo. She drummed on it gently as the rest of them looked around.

Struggling to concentrate on my homework, I tried to focus all of my attention into the difficult math problem. I'd managed to complete most of it, but every time I finally managed to focus, I found my eyes drifting up from the sheet and over at Cameron. He sat on the piano bench, smiling and suggesting instruments for Armando. I stared at him, admiring his devastatingly good looks, wondering how in the world he'd become so blessed.

I remembered the one day when we were six and the two of us were on the ground watching old cartoon shows. As we watched, I remember him accidentally flip the channel to an entertainment channel and we'd witnessed our very first music video. The two of us watched hungrily as the guys and girls danced and sang. I couldn't take my eyes off the lead singer.

“I love him,” I'd told Cameron.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because he's handsome-looking,” I replied with a girlish sigh.

Then Cameron became all fidgety and uncomfortable when he asked, “Am
I
handsome-looking?”

I remembered gazing at him with disgust, snorting unattractively. “Of
course
not! And you'll never be handsome-looking!”

Cameron got all huffy and puffy and Mila had to intervene. I was forced to tell him, “Okay, you are probably going to become handsome-looking.” We didn't talk for the rest of the day.

The sad part was that I'd actually thought it was the truth.

Back in his shy days, Cameron looked a
mess.
His hair was
always
uneven and greasy, he'd worn these incredibly disgusting eighties glasses, he was, like, two feet tall, and his braces were too big for his mouth — thus resulting in the slobbering. He'd looked like this up until eighth grade when he'd managed to get the gross braces off and change his glasses. But then came the age of puberty which destroyed all hope of him becoming hot. Or so I thought.

But who am I to talk? I didn't look too hot back in the day either. I, too, suffered the braces and bad hair. For our musical in grade school, I had to be a pig, and Cameron had to be an awkward bird.

I hated my life.

I'd like to think my life was better now that I'd discovered beauty supplies — but I was still the “Shy Girl” everywhere I went. Even with Hudson and Cameron in company I was still called “You” and “Hey” and “Her” and even “That Girl.” Oh and let's not forget the dreaded “Hudson's Friend.” I get that one
a lot
.

Why was life unfair? How was it possible for Cameron to break away from his shell and for me to be stuck back in Shyville? Why couldn't I be appreciated as Olive?

“Olive!” The sound of my name being called shook me out of my bitter trance.

I looked up and met eyes with Cameron. He was kneeling in front of me with a huge smile on his face holding a small tuba. “Remember when you got stuck in one of these?” he asked with a chuckle.

I laughed remembering the moment all too well. “I sure do,” I said, feeling myself blushing like a maniac.

Cameron laughed. “Yeah, Anjolie just got stuck the same way you did! It was the funniest thing!” He laughed again, looking over his shoulder at her.

Anjolie was glaring at him, but a smile quickly formed and the two of them began laughing. I laughed, too, although the sudden tightening in my stomach indicated the strong jealousy I felt for her. Why was she laughing with him like that? It wasn't
that
funny.

Then she picked up her sneaker and launched it at him.

To add insult to injury, or maybe the other way around, the shoe connected with my nose after Cameron ducked away. I could've sworn my nose was broken.

I shrieked in pain, dropping my textbook and notebook, covering my throbbing nose with my hands. My eyes immediately teared up and I knew my face had turned an unattractive shade of red.

“Olive!” Cameron jumped to my side, wrapping his arm around my waist and reaching for my nose. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I shook my head and managed a killer — but watery — glare at Anjolie. Her face fell and she mouthed, “Sorry,” as if she couldn't find words.

“Let's check that out,” Cameron said, pulling my hands away from my nose. When I'd reluctantly dropped my hands, he grinned. “It's a little red but it's not going to swell. You'll be alright, okay?” he said, pressing his ice-cold water bottle to my nose.