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I nodded in bitter understanding. Before I could roll my eyes, I cleared my throat and stood up. “Um, anyway, Cameron, thanks for taking me home. I really appreciate it.” I offered my hand out to shake his and he took it, holding it between his palm and fingers.

“It was no problem, Anjolie, really,” he said, pulling my hand toward him and embracing me. I sighed.
Finally
,
my hug
. “I guess I'll get going,” he said, his voice muffled in my hair. I nodded into his chest, breathing in his nice man scent.

We would've continued hugging if the little ones didn't barge into my room, the stupid doll squished in Myra's arms.

Cameron and I tore apart, meeting their gazes with our embarrassed ones. Cameron cleared his throat. “Uh, hi, guys—”

“We came up with a name,” Matt said quickly, apparently unfazed by our previous PDA. He and Myra walked up to us and handed Cameron and me the bear.

Cameron smiled. “Well, what did you name it?” he asked them.

The sextuplets grinned at me before they all ran over, hugging me simultaneously. Myra tugged at my sleeve, her eyes wide. “We named
her
Anjolie.”

Olive

The sound of the front door shutting in the distance made my head jerk up and away from the boring reality show I was so oddly glued to. My eyes quickly glanced to my digital clock and saw that it was after 8:00 p.m.

Curiosity flooded over me like a tidal wave and I found myself switching off the television set. I crawled over to my bedroom window and peeked through the heavy blinds. I was surprised when I saw Cameron headed down his long driveway dressed in black jeans and a dark blue V-neck shirt.

But when the moon caught on his whitish-blonde hair, I knew that it was Cam — not Cameron. It was strange how just having lighter hair and eyes could make him an entirely different person. I had to get used to this.

I continued watching him, waiting for him to do anything strange like move the car with his mind. Monica had told us that the Gray Eyes had powers — maybe I'd really get to see him use the skills.

But Cam did none of that. He just made it all the way to his pretty little car and leaned his front against the driver's side. He placed his arms over the top of the car and texted on his phone.

I watched him for a little while — okay, a long while — trying to read this intruder of Cameron's body. As I observed, I realized that if he wanted to throw on a hat and sunglasses, there was no telling which one he was. I desperately hoped that he hated sunglasses and hats.

Cam scratched his chin and replaced his hands back on the phone. His thumbs pushed the shiny screen as a slow smirk washed over his mouth. When he was done, he put the phone on the top of the car and folded his hands. Waiting.

A second later, my phone chimed.

I rolled my eyes, irritated at the disturbance. Why must people be contacting me
now
while I'm trying to observe Cameron — I mean,
Cam
?

I sighed loudly and flung myself across the room to pick up my crappy phone. After sliding around on the floor annoyingly, my phone decided it was done with its stupid games and let me pick it up.

I had one new message.

Cameron.

Cameron?

Cameron
.

But how? That couldn't possibly make any sense. First off, Cameron doesn't text. He would rather have an awkward phone conversation — especially one with me — over anything else. And I remembered having just spoken to him, like, an hour ago when he'd gotten back home from Anjolie's. I'd given him the cookies I'd made and we'd spent the evening painting pictures and scenarios of each other.

Secondly, the message indicated that it had been sent less than two minutes ago.

It wasn't Cameron. It was
Cam
.

And now I'd just wasted valuable time to read and analyze his words. What if he gave up on me? I had to respond. But how?

Maybe I should try reading it first.

Sup olive garden
, it read.

How was I supposed to respond? I didn't know if I should just send a bland
hey
back or maybe add a little flare to it like he did. I mean, he called me “olive garden” for crying out loud! I needed to come up with something cool, too!

When time was running out and I hadn't come up with anything else, I just texted
just the moon
back to him. I was
so
witty, wasn't I? I wanted to shoot myself.

Even though barely a minute had passed, I began to get worried. What if the time had passed for me to answer him back! Was this the reason why he wasn't texting back quickly enough? Maybe he was just a slow texter. Or maybe he'd already left!

I crawled back over to my window like a baby rushing for a toy and peeked through the blinds once again. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over me when I realized he was still there, still leaning on the car roof lazily. I couldn't stop myself from smiling — I had to.

And my smile got wider when I heard my phone chime again. From across the room. Why did I leave it there? I jumped back across the room, picked up the phone and opened up the text.

Don't 4get the stars.

Aw, he noticed the stars! I loved the stars.

How could I forget?
I texted back. Then I flung myself back over to the window, bruising my knees on the way, and peeked through again just in time to see his lips pull back from his teeth to show off a dazzling white smile.

Then, from there, we texted back and forth.

Whatcha up to?

Not much. You?

Tryna decide if I wanna do a mission or c u.

My heart skipped a beat when I read this message. He wanted to see me? Really? Did I honestly make
that
great of an impression on him! I wanted so bad to text that I wanted to see him, too, but I remembered Hudson's advice— don't be too quick to agree. I texted back:

Both seem like dangerous activities.

I kno. If I do a mission, I could get hurt. But if I c u I might get hurt worse.

I'd say do a mission.

Naw, id lik a little more risk thn that.

It's your funeral.

Where u liv?

He was coming over. I knew I should've been excited but for a second I was confused — I mean, didn't he know where I lived? But then I remembered that this was Cam I was talking to, not Cameron. He had no idea.

Across the street. The house with the Slug Bug.

I saw Cam look up from his phone when he got my text. He looked around and spotted the car, smiling broadly. Then his eyes traveled over to my house and his gaze ran its way up to my window. I quickly ducked away, praying that he hadn't seen me.

I remained sitting there with my back pressed against the wall next to the window, breathing heavily as my heart raced. How amazingly awkward would that be if he'd seen me staring at him this whole time. He'd probably say I was a stalker freak. Or maybe, he wouldn't even bother to say anything to me. Maybe he would just take off and forget I ever—

A knocking at my window had me jumping a mile into the air, bumping my head on my stupid desk.

I didn't want to look — but I did anyway. A part of me already knew what was behind the window, but I just wanted to see it for my own eyes. When I pulled the curtain away, Cam was crouched outside my window — gray eyes and all — staring at me with a grin on his deliciously tan skin.

“Open up,” came his muffled voice from the other side of the window.

“Right,” I said, climbing onto my knees and unlatching the window. He helped me slide the glass up and jumped into my room a second after.

“Hey, Liv,” he said with a wink.

“Uh, hi,” I said. Suddenly I was extremely infatuated with the window and its inner workings. I couldn't bring myself to actually look at him, which was kind of ironic for me. I mean, it wasn't even that long ago since I'd jumped into his car, saw him get shot at, watched my grandma yell at him, and then skipped out on my friend to help him with a mission. There was no reason for the sudden shyness.

Perhaps it was just because
he
had now come to
me
.

“Cute room,” he said from behind me. I imagined him looking around at all the colors and knick-knacks. “Are you some kind of artist or something?” he asked.

“Kind of,” I said, locking the windows and turning around. I discreetly let my hair out of its restricting ponytail. “I'm just into colors and creativity, I guess.”

“Hence the paint on the walls — and all the pictures and stuff.” He picked up my colorful monkey and smirked at it. “Your room reminds me of — hate to say it — a hippie.” When he saw me frown, he sat on my bed and said, “In a good way. I like how you painted music notes on the walls. The pictures of random things are pretty cool, too — they go with the rainbow-colored walls. Never seen anything like it.”

“I like colors,” I said, pulling on a sweatshirt over my girly pajama tank top. “And the tie-dyed walls were a product of my grandmother's.” I remembered how she and I had painted the walls like this when I was younger and completely into rainbows and tie-dye. It was like our little project.

Cam shot a gray-eyed glance right at me. “Really? Your
grandmother
let you do this?” He seemed really shocked.

I shrugged. “Yeah?” I said.

He snorted and ran his hands on the blended colors of the wall. “It seems to me like she wouldn't even want colors on her
garden
.” He plopped down on my orange bean-bag chair. “She still mad at me?” he asked.

I remembered how she'd yelled the pants off of Cam, making sure to smack him around a few times. Of course she'd still be mad. “I don't know. I think so.”

“Man,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Well, I don't care actually.” He stared up at my ceiling and then chuckled. “Your room makes me feel high.”

I laughed. “High? How?” I tucked my legs underneath me, glad I wasn't wearing my pajama pants. It seemed like my sweatshirt and leggings were the most appropriate.

“You ever been high before?” he asked, turning his gaze on me. When I shook my head, he grinned and shook his head. “It's crazy. Like this room.”

“You said you liked it!” I accused, pointing at him with wide eyes.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Just because I like it, doesn't mean it's not crazy.”

I shrugged. “Point made.”

Cam nodded, pleased with himself as he looked around again. Silence clawed away at the room as both of us wondered what to say. I was freaking out. I wasn't one to start conversations with, well,
anyone
. Did he forget that I was shy? For some reason, I was annoyed at him for not saying anything. Why wouldn't he talk?

“Point made,” I replied realizing only after I said it that I'd already spoken those exact two words, like, a second ago. How stupid was I?

“I had no say in what I wanted to do to my room,” Cam said, thankfully not pointing out that I'd already spoken those words.

“Really?” I asked him.

He shook his head, staring at the floor pensively. “I'd always just had a room, you know? Whenever anything changed in it, I always thought Mila or Dad had gotten to it — but no. It was Cameron, wasn't it?” he asked, as if I knew the answer to it.

“You could still do something to it,” I offered, not knowing how to respond.

He shrugged. “I could — if I had time, that is,” he said. Then he pulled out his phone and started texting.

Horribly offended, I walked over to him, snatched his phone away, and tossed it on my bed — in my head, of course. In reality, I just watched him push his screen aimlessly, not caring that I was sitting across the room from him. If I'd been Hudson, he probably wouldn't have done that. If I'd been Anjolie, he probably would be making out with me by now.

Cam suddenly looked up as if he'd just heard my thoughts. Then he motioned to his phone. “Remember that mission I told you about?” he asked.

I nodded, embarrassed at my previous thoughts. I wasn't normally jealous — I was too shy to care. Where was this sudden mood swing coming from? And why was it geared towards Cam? I mean, Cameron's already my boyfriend — why should I be worried?

“Yeah, well, this mission was a biggie,” he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “The others and I were supposed to be in Las Vegas right now, hustling the owner of the Psalms Hotel. Now Anjolie's burning my phone with texts saying that they need me. I mean, come on. She has two other people to help her out. What would
I
do?” Cam rolled his eyes as if sick of the whole situation. “I just wish Anj would stop being so needy. It's like she can't do crap on her own. Isn't she the
boss
? Jeez.”

I stared at Cam, not knowing how to respond to his sudden anger towards Anjolie. And here I thought they liked each other.

“I thought you liked her,” I pointed out, adjusting my legs underneath me.

“I like her — somewhat,” Cam said. Then he pressed his lips together, squeezing his eyebrows together as if thinking about what he'd just said. “We were like this,” Cam said to me, twining two fingers together. “When I started doing missions two years ago — you know, when I got hot and stuff — Anjolie and I were inseparable. I hate to say it, but we kinda had a… a
thing
.” He chuckled, remembering the memory. “She was
so cool
— down to earth, chill, awesome. She knew how to have a great time. But ever since the previous boss died and the king assigned Anjolie the job, she'd just became super crazy.”

Cam rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted his position on the beanbag. “Anyway, now it's just ‘
Cam, I need your help
' and ‘
Cam, call an ambulance
' and ‘
Cam, please don't leave me — I'm scared.
'” He mimicked her using an annoying girly voice for emphasis. “She's always in trouble and she always needs
my
help. Well, screw that. She needs to grow up and help her own self out. She's the boss for a reason!”