6:59 (5 page)

Then I was alone.

I groaned loudly but quickly shut up, remembering that the others were still asleep. If they woke up, I'd be screwed. So I nudged Petra's and Peter's stuff into a neat pile and walked into the kitchen to make some snacks for when the kids
did
wake up.

As I pulled out some bread, thoughts of Homecoming jumped into my mind, halting me for a second. So I was on Homecoming court and my partner was Cameron. Just thinking about having him as a partner made my stomach lurch. I mean, I'd rarely ever talked to Cameron before. I knew of his presence and all but that was it. And besides, he was always a little quiet and weird-looking a couple years back.

I wondered if his personality had changed with his looks.

I guess I'd find that out, what, with me being his partner and all.

I began stuffing contents into the bread, making little sandwiches, wondering how I was going to get to know Cameron. It would be weird talking to him at rehearsals only. My guess is that he's a nice guy; it shouldn't be hard to befriend him. But just where and when would I get to actually talk to him?

As I was wondering this, I heard a thump. Great. They were awake, rolling off their beds, their minds programmed to only one thing; make Anjolie's life miserable.

Seconds later they were running down the stairs like dogs, screaming and laughing and whining for food. They were swarming the kitchen before I'd finished the sandwiches.

“An-lee! An-lee!” They cried, knowing how much I hated it when they called my name repeatedly. The six four-year-olds tugged at my scarf and jeans, tipping me from side to side. I groaned. Then they all started talking at once.

“Are you making sammies?”

“I'm hungry!”

“Can I have a soda?”

“Where's Petra and Peter?”

“Can I wear you scarf?”

“An-lee! An-lee! An-lee!”

Sometimes I think that Mr. and Mrs. Moretti only adopted me so that I could babysit their twins and sextuplets.

Cameron

“Hey, Dad,” I called, shutting the heavy door behind me. I placed my backpack by the door and walked down the long hallway to his office where he usually was. Dad was in there alright, but he was frowning at his pictures. His face appeared grave and completely angry. “Dad?”

“We made a deal, Cameron,” my dad said, angrily. His eyes were in shadow when he moved slightly towards me. “I wouldn't disturb your practicing if you didn't disturb my work.”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah, Dad, I know.” Why was he acting like this? How come he was staring at me like that? What did I do? “What's up?” I asked.

“You know, huh?” he asked, turning his whole body towards me. The corners of his mouth were turned down forming almost a perfect semi-circle. “Then how come you strolled into my shoot without my permission?”

What? Never have I ever walked into my father's photo shoot. Ever. I never wanted to. You could hear his screams all the way on the third floor — no way did I want to get in the middle of that. “Dad, I didn't walk into your shoot.”

Dad shook his head and threw the photos at me. They splashed onto the ground at my feet. “You didn't?”

I hesitated but then knelt down to collect the photos. My heart was beating louder than a drum as I flipped the photos over. What I saw made me cry out. There was me right there in the photos. I had my arms wrapped around the waists of two models and the other two were posed at my feet. It was the best pictures I've ever taken — but it wasn't me. Tracing the pictures with my hand, I observed the guy —
me —
in the pictures. I was wearing all black (all black? Seriously?) and my head was cocked to the side. But the weirdest thing about my pictures was the hair and my eyes. They were light —
really
light. And my hair was… gelled? How could this be?

“Well?” Dad barked at me, coming around his desk. I stepped back reflexively and shook my head fervently.

“I don't know, Dad. I really don't!” I cried out, not knowing how to explain
me
in these Midnight Model photos.

Dad stared me down with hard brown eyes. I just stared back and put on the most innocent facial expression I could muster. I even did a little quiver thing with my mouth.

“You're in those photos, alright,” Dad finally said, taking them from my hands. My face fell and I decided to resort to excuses. But before I could open my mouth again, Dad said, “But these are some really good pictures.”

“W-what?” I stammered. Dad wasn't mad?

He smiled at them, nodding his head. “You would have been in
big
trouble if they came out badly. Good thing my son is so good-looking, huh?” Dad took the pictures and placed them gently in the sleek black portfolio. “The photographer is processing them and then sending them in. You're going to be on billboards, kid!”

“Wait, billboards?” I asked, scratching the back of my head again. These pictures were going up on billboards? But, no! I don't want my face up there! You know how embarrassing that is? It took me this long to even talk, and now two seconds later my face is going to be broadcasted everywhere?

“Yes, billboards. All over the city.” Dad was laughing now, fixing his already perfect hair in the mirror. Then he walked over to me and wrapped his thick arms around me, patting my back firmly. “I'm telling you, you're just like me when I was your age,” Dad said, pulling away from me. He smiled at me, a twinkle in his eye. “You're a great kid, you know that? I love you, Cam.” He hugged me again.

I hugged back but then quickly pulled away. Did he just call me Cam? “Um, why did you call me Cam?” I asked him.

Dad frowned at me. “Not this again,” he groaned pulling away. “You told me to call you Cam so I did. You want me to call you Cameron or Cam? Make your final decision. Now.”

I was inundated with confusion. When had I told Dad to call me Cam? Was it last night? Had I told him
and
Olive to call me Cam last night? They both seemed so adamant that I'd told them to call me Cam. But how could I have told them that when I was blacked out? Had I been sleep walking?

My dad cleared his throat and stared expectantly at me.

“Call me Cam
eron
,” I said firmly. “Don't ever call me Cam.”

Dad shrugged his shoulders. “Fine by me as long as you never wear those freaky contacts again. How many times do I have to tell you? They make you look
weird
.” Dad picked up his briefcase, clapped me on the shoulder, and then left me standing there in his office. Alone.

Contacts? What contacts?

Cam

Food. I needed food. I absolutely
craved
steak right about now. I pulled myself out of bed and threw on sweatpants. I grabbed the blankets off my bed and shuffled to the door. When I got out into the hallway, I walked up to the balcony railing and peered down. All the lights were on and I heard
Headline News
or whatever it's called.

People were down there.

I cleared my throat. “Mila!” I called down. “Mila the Maid!” Yeah, I know that's mean, but who cares? I mean, she's a maid, isn't she?

“Sir?” she called back up the stairs. Her voice sounded faint, coming from all the way in the kitchen.

“I'm hungry!” I belted out, scratching my back tiredly. “Get me grub!”

“Food is waiting for you,” she called up the stairs.

I groaned loudly and wrapped the blanket tighter around my body. “Aw! Bring it up here, then!”

“No, no,” she said. “Mr. Sloane said no eating in your room. Get down here yourself, honey.”

I screamed out angrily. “I hate this!” I cried. But I gathered up the blankets, tugged them over my head and slunk down the stairs lazily. When I finally got downstairs, I saw a steaming hot plate of steak sitting on the table.

I walked past my dad and Mila and sat down in his chair. I grabbed up my fork and began demolishing the steak.

Mila watched me as I ate, her face contorted in a look of disgust. “You eat as if you haven't just eaten twenty minutes ago.”

I glared at her. “First off, I
haven't
eaten twenty minutes ago. I wasn't even awake yet. And secondly, stop watching me eat!” I made sure to add a growl in that last demand. If there was one thing I hated, it was people who disturb my eating time with stupid questions.

Mila rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Boy, you don't yell at me. Show a little respect to your elders.”

“Oh, sorry, Mila,” I said with phony innocence, “I forgot you were a hundred years old. My bad.” Mila wasn't really a hundred years old. She was barely forty. But she hated being called old so I knew that would tick her off.

Mila huffed and left the kitchen, murmuring some Croatian words under her breath. I watched her go, and then went back to eating my food. After finishing my steak and tossing all the other vegetable nonsense onto the floor, I rummaged through the cabinets looking for some booze.

When I hit the jackpot, I poured the drink into a glass and walked out into the living room where my loveable pops sat doing his sudoku.

“Kenneth,” I greeted, sitting on the couch and throwing my feet up on the table.

Dad glanced up from his sudoku and frowned. “What is that?” he asked, nodding at my alcoholic beverage.

“Water, duh,” I said, pouring the stinging liquid down my throat. “Some really good water.” I gave him a toothy smile.

Dad threw down his paper and marched angrily over to me. He grabbed my drink and handed it to Mila. “Get rid of this,” he instructed.

“Hey! My water!” I cried out, frowning.

Dad grabbed my chin in his hand firmly. “I've had enough of this, Cameron. Don't you dare take my drinks again. You hear me?” He shook my head harshly.

I swatted him away. “Your threats don't scare me, Kenneth. It's like threatening a lion to never eat again. It's gonna happen, dude. It always does.” I pulled the blankets around my body and curled up on the couch.

Dad groaned and went back to his seat. “You're terrible, Cameron, terrible.”

“Like you, in bed?” I asked, peeking at him.

Dad chucked his shoe at me. I ducked and laughed out loud. Dad was such a geek. His face was all red and he put on an “angry” face. It just made me laugh more. When he looked back down at his puzzle, I lifted the shoe with my mind and hurled it at him. It smacked him right in the nose.

“Cameron!” he barked, rubbing his red, splotchy nose.

“Kenneth!” I barked back, laughing hysterically.

“Military school,” Dad said to himself. “Why can't I just send him to military school?” He gazed up to the heavens.

“Because you love me, Daddy,” I said with a pout. Then I focused on the TV. When Dad went back to his stupid puzzle again I decided to make things fun. Not many people have telekinesis like I do, so why let it go to waste? So I began flipping the channels — with my mind of course.

The channels flipped rapidly out of control. Dad glanced down at the remote on the coffee table. “What the—?” he said, his expression puzzled.

I held back my laughter as I began to flicker the lights off and on. Then I began turning off and on the radio. Dad was standing up now, looking all around himself.

“What's going on?” he cried out to no one in particular. He gasped when he saw the curtains beginning to close and open noisily. “Mila?” he cried.

“We have poltergeists, Kenneth!” I cried out, encasing myself completely with the blanket. “I'm so scared, Daddy. Do something!” It was hard to not burst out laughing, but I managed to look scared whenever he glanced over at me.

Dad was on his phone now, probably calling the police. Mila was looking around in shock. She brought out her cross and was waving it around as she prayed or whatever. I began to giggle into the thick material around my head.

“Help!” I cried out as I began to flip over the magazines and books. I smashed the coffee table and cracked a window. “The poltergeists are mad!”

“Everyone get together!” Dad cried, grabbing Mila and running over to me. The two of them wrapped their arms around me as they watched in fear the demise of our precious living room.

I laughed out loud and shook my head. Idiots. “I'm outta here,” I said, tossing off my blanket and standing up. It was time to get my task done.

“Where are you going?” Dad asked.

“Doesn't concern you,” I said, pulling on a jacket and walking out the front door.

Olive

I heard his front door close before I actually
saw
Cameron walk down the driveway. I watched him fiddle with his keys, contemplating if I should actually go over there again or just watch him leave mysteriously again. No question.

I got up and trotted across the street. “Hi, Cameron!” I said to him, taking my hair out of my hideous ponytail. “What's up?”

“Leave me alone,” he said flatly.

Leave him alone? Cameron has never told me to do that before in our entire existence. What was going on with him? I shook my head and peered down at my feet. “No,” I said shyly.

“Yes.” Cameron sighed.

“No,” I snapped, lifting my head up.

“What's your name?” he asked, not looking up at me. He had his phone out again and was tapping away on it.

Was this a trick question? Why was he asking me this? Does this mean that he somehow forgot my name or something? Or was he testing me.
Please, oh please let it be choice number one.

“Olive, right?” he asked, finally looking up at me.

I sighed in relief. It was a trick question. Better think of something quirky and cute to say. “That's my name, don't wear it out,” I said in my most seductive voice. Hudson always told me to speak that way to really capture the guy's attention. I prayed it worked.