6:59 (3 page)

Cam

I didn't want to wake up. I was so tired already! Why?

But I got up anyway and stretched. I was in my boxers again, even though I swore I wore my clothes to bed. Whatever. It was probably the booze that had me forgetting things.

I fell to the floor on my hands and began my round of one hundred push-ups. Then I pushed my feet up against the wall and did one hundred curl-ups. I finished the routine with chin-ups against my closet.

Next, I went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower, breathing in the moist air. I scrubbed like a maniac and then stepped out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy white towel around my waist.

Wiping away the fog from the mirror, I examined my tan once again with much appreciation. How this tan showed up, I didn't know. But I liked it. It made my gray — almost white — eyes pop. I smashed gel into my hair and headed back into my room.

Stupid clothes were waiting for me on the dresser. No way was I wearing a polo and khakis to the club tonight. My old man probably set them out for me. Why he wanted me to dress like a girl was beyond me.

I dug into my closet and brought out a black T-shirt, black jeans, and my newest black jacket. I walked over to my dresser and pulled out my chains, draping them over my neck. My watch was the next to go on my wrist and then, lastly, I put on my black sneaks.

Before I left the room, I stuffed my bag with supplies for tonight, leaving the books and other stuff on the floor.

When I was just about to leave, I smelled something nice. Women's perfume. My old man had women over again.

I chuckled, rubbing my hands together. “Oh, Father?” I called, walking into the studio. My dad and four smoking hot ladies were in there — just as I had suspected. They were all in front of the camera, posing beautifully. My dad was directing the photographer.

“Daddy?” I said sweetly with a grin on my lips.

My dad looked up, annoyance in his dark eyes. “What is it, Cameron?” he asked hastily.

Cameron? Why had he just called me that?

I decided not to correct him again. Last time I did, he flipped out and said some random stuff like, “Oh, your birth name is Cameron” and “Nobody wants to call you Cam.” Blah, blah, blah.

I ventured into the room, dropping my bag onto the floor. “Pops, you've got models over again,” I said happily. I sized up the women, my eyes catching on their shiny, long legs.

“I thought you were aware of that.” Dad groaned, pushing the photographer over to capture shots of the dark-skinned girl.

I rolled my eyes. “What? Am I supposed to read your mind or something?” I asked. I hated it when he pulled this “I thought you knew” crap.
Of course
I didn't know!

Dad glanced at me once, and then twice. “What did I tell you about your eyes?” he asked, folding his thick arms across his broad chest. “You look freaky with those things in.”

Not this again.

“They are my eyes, Dad!” I said for the umpteenth time. Sorry if I was born with cool-looking eyes. So who's to judge me?

Dad frowned. I knew he wanted to say something, but he just shut his big mouth and faced the photo shoot again.

I took this opportunity to get to know these ladies. Removing my jacket, I strolled on set and sat on the velvety blue couch.

“Hey!” Dad barked angrily. “Get outta there, now!” He was angry. So, so angry. I loved watching him flip out. It was just awesome messing with him.

I wrapped my arms around the women's waists and smiled at the photographer. The photographer went right on snapping photos of me and the blonde holding each other.

“Cam! Get your butt out of the shoot
right now
!” Dad barked. I could've sworn veins were popping out of his neck and forehead. His face was beet red and his suit looked like it was going to burst open. I laughed arrogantly and glanced at the red-haired Latin model on my left.

The photographer kept shooting pictures, directing me to different poses. I even got to make out with the Asian one. Before I could turn to the dark-skinned model, my dad had me by the throat, hoisting me off the set.

“Get off me!” I roared, pushing his thick fingers off my throbbing neck.

Dad threw me to the floor. “I told you about not bothering me on set!” he yelled in my face, poking me in the chest.

I stood up from the floor slapping his hand away. “Don't touch me.”

Dad shoved me away. “Get out of here, now.” He was breathing heavily now, clenching his hands into fists.

I just stared at him, smirking.
He
ordering
me
? No way was that going to fly without punishment. No way.

My eyes averted to the cords underneath his feet. With the blink of my eyes, the old man became tangled up and on the floor, struggling with the “haunted” camera cords.

He yelped out in fright. “What the—?” he cried out as the cords continued swiveling around him. His face was of pure shock and fear. “Get me out of here!”

I shrugged my shoulders and walked back on set. I kissed every single model and even left the blonde wanting more. Laughing, I waltzed to the door and left.

Olive

“Olive, honey,” my grandmother, Abby (short for
Abuela
) called to me from the kitchen.

“Coming, Abby,” I said, flipping off the TV. I got up from my favorite orange beanbag chair and headed to the kitchen. Abby was in there, cooking up a huge dinner. There was food everywhere and pots and pans were piled high in the sink. Abby had her graying, dark brown hair piled high on her head, and her sleeves were rolled up.

I made a face. “What's all this?” I asked, picking up the cookbook on the wooden table. I flipped through the pages, scanning the many recipes.

Abby blew the stray hairs from her face. “I'm trying to make a meal — a good one this time,” she explained, placing her thin hands on her narrow waist. “But I can't seem to do it right! Everything keeps exploding and stuff.”

I laughed. “Need any help?”

She shook her head fervently. “No way,” she said, taking the cookbook out of my hands. “This is
my
mission. All I need you to do is take the garbage out. Would you dear?” She held the black, swelling garbage bag out to me.

I rolled my eyes and took it out of her hands. “Anything else?” I asked before walking outside.

Abby shook her head. “Nope,” she said, filling a pot with water. “This is
all
me.” She set the pot on the stove and turned on the flame. Then she smiled at me. “Round eight.”

I laughed and headed out the front door, checking my appearance on the way. There
could
be a chance (even a slim chance) Cameron would be out there. Or he could catch a glimpse of me from his window. I made sure I looked good just in case.

But holding a trash bag wasn't very attractive.

I hurried down the driveway and to the edge of the road. I slung the bag into the gray bin, using all of my strength. When the bag left my hands, I let out a whoosh of air. That was heavy. Good thing I hadn't dropped it or something.

As I was turning to head back, I heard a front door close across the street. Cameron? Man, did I hope it was him and not his father. It was hard for me to keep myself from swiveling around and screaming, “Cameron!” I managed to turn slowly and look over my shoulder.

Indeed it was him.

He was wearing all black and was walking down the driveway. He held his phone and was clicking the screen intently.

My heart was beating so loudly, I was surprised he didn't think an earthquake was coming. I took a few deep breaths and then said, “Cameron?”

He hadn't heard me.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “Cameron?” I called over to him, louder this time. My voice hadn't cracked which was a plus.

Cameron's head jerked up and at me. I smiled and waved as nonchalantly as possible, willing myself to act normal.

He stared at me for a second and then kept walking. His face went back down to his phone and his fingers back to the screen. He was ignoring me.

My first thought was to run back into my house, screaming and crying. But I couldn't do that. That was way too dramatic. But my next thought was to plop down right then and there and confess my love to him. No way.

So I settled with calling out to him again. “Cameron, what's up?” I hoped I didn't sound needy. That would be the worst. No guys liked girls that kept bugging them. Apparently that was a major turn off.

Cameron stopped walking and swiveled around. “My father got you calling me that?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual.

My face twisted in confusion. “Calling you what?” I asked, taking a step in his direction. Why was he looking at me like that?

Cameron's eyebrows were pushed together in a look of disgust. “My name is
Cam
. Not Cameron.” His voice was bitter.

I scratched my head. “But you said you hated it when people called you that,” I pointed out, recalling the many times where he would practically bite the hand off of anyone who referred to him as such.

Cameron shook his head. “Don't call me Cameron, alright?” He seemed super peeved and the last thing I wanted to do was get on his bad side.

“Okay… Cam,” I agreed lightly, trying to brighten the mood. “What're you up to tonight?” I stole a glance back at his dark clothing. My inference would be that he was either a) going to hang out with cool people, b) going to rob a bank, or c) going to rob a bank
with
cool people. Either one, I knew he did not expect
me
to join him.

Cam rolled his eyes and stared toward his car, apparently impatient at my intrusion. “I can tell you one thing,” he said, meeting my eyes, “my plans don't involve you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart
? Since when did Cameron — I mean,
Cam
— call me sweetheart? I felt a blush blow across my cheeks. I didn't know what was up with Cam but having him call me pet names wasn't too bad.

I quickly shook out of my daze. “Um… what exactly
are
those plans?” I asked, immediately regretting my asking. Why would he tell me? It's probably some cool party he was invited to that didn't include my presence. Now I put him in the situation where he's going to have to let me down easy.
Argh!
I'll be embarrassed for life!

But Cam didn't seem fazed by my asking. He actually seemed amused at my persistence. “Listen, angel face. You're kinda wasting my time,” he answered with yet
another
pet name. “I've got some important things on my agenda that have got to be finished tonight.” He took a step towards me, his incredibly bright eyes peering into mine. “So if you'd just run along like a sweet little girl, then that'd be nice.”

I stood there, watching him with confusion. “What's wrong with your eyes?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. I knew that Cam had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Those eyes were ubiquitous in my dreams, both night dreams and daydreams.

Cam rubbed at his eyes in annoyance. “There's nothing wrong with my eyes, chick! Alright?” He raked a tense hand through his spiky white-blond (
white-blond
?) hair. “What's wrong with you people?”

I stared at him, contemplating whether I should answer the question or let it remain rhetorical. But I didn't have a chance to decide. Cam was already making his way over to his car, never looking back.

I watched as he hopped into his silver sports car and raced away into the night, leaving me standing there stranded on the lawn.

Cameron

Monday morning, I stared at the names listed on the sheet for homecoming court. I was completely surprised to see my name on it. But at the same time I was completely satisfied. I guess finally talking to people paid off. Look where it landed me.

“
Et tú,
Cameron?” Armando asked. He came up behind me and clapped me on the back. “You made it on court as well?”

I shrugged innocently, trying to avoid my so craved for response of “I DID! I DID! I DID!” Instead, I cocked my head to the side and said in a humble way, “It still surprises me, dude.”

Armando chuckled in response, shoving my shoulder. “It doesn't surprise
me
! You
belong
on that list, my man!” He seemed happier to see me on the list than himself. But that was just Armando. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky.

I clapped him on the back as well. “Hey,
you
made it on the list, too. Congrats to you, my friend.” His being on the list wasn't much of a surprise either. To put it humbly, the two of us kind of rolled with the hot shots of the school. There was no doubt he would be on the list.

Armando just sighed. “Come on,” he said, “you know I was just voted in because of my girlfriend. Why else would everyone vote for the new guy in town?” He asked this with genuine modesty. Any accomplishment he had, he would always credit it to either Hudson or her father. Sometimes it was annoying.

I sighed and rolled
my
eyes. “
Or
they voted you because you're, I don't know, six foot four with good looks and a gazillion championship swimming medals to your name,” I said truthfully. Armando was seen as a god around here.

But he just sighed, ceasing to absorb any of my compliments. He was never good at receiving those either. He was just too humble.

I glanced back at the list, looking for any other nominees. Besides me, Armando, and Hudson; a girl named Anjolie Rivers, my friend Dave Smith, and his girlfriend Tanya White were included on the list. No surprise there. Dave and Tanya practically ruled the school since junior high. It would be an even
bigger
astonishment if they weren't on the list.