Camo Girl (6 page)

A lot can happen in fourteen hours. Even more can not happen.

I jump off the bus, smiling. And who is waiting for me but Z. His hands are sticky with icing as he holds out a cinnamon roll to me.

I take it, but all the while I'm looking around. Bailey is nowhere to be seen. I keep looking, though. Z and I sit at the corner of the building until the bell rings. Nothing.

We stand up, bracing ourselves for the day ahead. Closing my eyes, I try to swallow the knowing for sure. It's just another day. Nothing special.

I open my eyes and suddenly, there he is. Strolling up the sidewalk with his backpack slung over one shoulder, like all the cool kids do. We don't do that. We carry our bags on both shoulders because one of Z's books informed us that anything less is bad for your posture and spine alignment.

But it's the kind of day where things might be different. Of its own accord, my left shoulder eases out from under its strap. I catch the full weight of my bag on the right side. My whole body adjusts, falling automatically into a very cool swagger. Huh. Is that all it takes?

“Ellie-nor,” Z says, patting my loaded pack with his hands.

“Stop it. It's fine,” I snap, and he lets go. Draws back his arms like a startled turtle. I didn't mean to be rough with him. I really didn't.

Z shadows me as I take two small steps forward. I smile at Bailey.

Seconds pass. He waves. Five fingers in the air. Finding me. I give five fingers back. Then he's swallowed. Basketball players Kurt, Rick, Max, Brandon, Miles. Jonathan Hoffman hops of out his mom's car, right on cue, and jogs to join them.

Their chatter is loud; so is their laughter. Bailey's right in the thick of it.

Bailey and his effortless cool.

Bailey, surrounded by new friends.

Bailey, who hugged me just last night, now untouchable.

The warning bell rings. “Not to be late. Not to be late,” Z mutters. He takes off toward the doors, and I have no choice but to follow. It is just an ordinary day.

Z holds the door open for me. It's heavy, and he struggles under its weight. The chivalrous thing, always.

I glare at him, unnecessarily. I let myself get carried away. It's always been fun, his games. His imagination. Now I see the other side. I see why he dives into his head and never comes up for air. I see how bad it hurts when even the smallest bubble of a dream is punctured.

We hurry to class, making it well before the final bell. I hang my bookbag on a free peg. Another pair of hands hangs a bag beside mine. Dark brown hands. I can't help it.
I look up. Bailey gazes back at me. It feels like forever, but I barely have time to take in a breath.

Maybe I'm going to speak. I don't know. Or maybe I'm going to wait for him to speak. He gives me a small smile, no teeth, then moves away, slides into his seat. Without a word.

I blink back my sadness. I don't have to wonder any longer. Yesterday was just an accident, a fluke. A one-time-only. Today is just an ordinary day. I try not to look across the room, but a couple of times I slip. I never catch him looking.

Bailey's status as new kid puts him high in the leaves of the popularity tree. Thing is, leaves can fall and still be leaves, but the trunk is the trunk and it stays where it stays.

B
y lunchtime, i'm almost over it. i'm able
to smile at Z and move along down the hall with everyone else. Just another day.

When we get to the cafeteria, something in me gets a little reckless. I hang back while Z heads for our table. I'm planning a different route. I'm going to be Eleanor, just for a moment, just long enough to do something brave.

I walk past the table I usually avoid like the plague. Bailey's just settling in, alongside Brandon, Miles, and Ken.

My plan, so well thought out, is this: I'm going to look Bailey James in the eye, say hi, and keep on walking. The part that's not so well thought out is: Why?

I squeeze between two chairs, coming out right beside him. The simple greeting balances on the tip of my tongue.

I stall.

They all look at me. Bailey, eyes warm and curious. Jonathan, sneering and cold.

“Bug off, Camo-Face.”

“Whoa,” Bailey says. “What did you just call her?”

My face flushes hot. I spin away, but Bailey's hand falls on my wrist. My tray rattles.

Jonathan glances around, puzzled. “What, her? That's Camo-Face.”

It's one of those moments when the sky is falling. I try to push it back up in my mind, but it's already crashed over me, and I can't breathe or think or speak. I tug free of Bailey's grip and wade through the atmosphere, away.

“Uncool, my man. So uncool.” Bailey's voice follows me.

And Jonathan's. “Hey, where you going, dude?”

I can't help but look back. Bailey's standing up. He starts to lift up his tray. Jonathan glances at his buddies around the table. He grins nervously. “It's just a joke, man. An old joke.”

I stare at him, appalled. I can't think of anything worthy to say in response, so I just start walking away. The names I call myself in my head are so much worse than Camo-Face.

Out of nowhere, there's Bailey. Walking beside me with his tray.

“Sorry,” he says. “I had no idea he was that big a jerk.”

Bailey took my side! My heart leaps, with nowhere to go. I don't want to be needy girl, sad girl, loser girl. I am Eleanor. Strong girl. It-all-rolls-off-me girl.

“Whatever,” I say with a sniff.

“Really.” He's dogging me around the room. “Guess I picked a bad crowd to start off with.”

I brush one braid over my shoulder, elegantly. “It's no big deal. Forget about it.”

Bailey shrugs. “I've been looking for a reason to move tables, anyway. You can come sit with me,” he offers. “Over there.” With his head, he points toward the long table where more of the popular kids sit. The boys: Kurt, Rick, Max. And the girls: Cass, Megan, Kelly, Liza. Millie's there too. A table I've always wanted to sit at. A table of no one who will talk to me.

Max motions to Bailey, who tips his tray like,
Yeah, I'm coming
. He glances at me, expectantly.

“I have a table,” I say. “Where I sit.”

Z's there already. Alone. Eyes wide behind his glasses. Fork in hand, unmoving.

Bailey and I look into each other's eyes. My heart throbs. My skin flushes warm. He looks all over my face, and I resist the urge to run, to hide. He doesn't look away. This is going to be it. The moment when everything changes. He'll come sit at our table, and we'll no longer be
just two, but three. He doesn't look away. And then he does.

“Okay,” he says. “Well, I guess I'll catch you later.”

I haven't even blinked before he's weaving away through the tables.

I slam my tray down next to Z's. He begins eating silently, leaving me to wallow in my own shattered mess.

It's not clear to me what's happening. What's clear is, I should have left well enough alone.

A
fter the last bell, z's waiting, as
usual. His chess box is in his hands, and he's practically twitching with excitement.

I hate to do what I'm about to. “Do you mind if we skip the chess for today?”

He takes the news well, but I can see it knocks him down. “Milady?” he whispers.

“I just want to go home, okay?” I push past him, ready to leave. By myself.

Z walks with me out the door. I'm moving faster than he likes to, but he keeps pace. He says nothing more to me, but after a few blocks he begins muttering to himself.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I'm just tired.” Z's baleful gaze washes over me. I think maybe he can read my lies, but he's just not equipped to hear the truth. This day is breaking
me. I want to lie alone, in my own dark and quiet room, and forget any of it ever happened.

Z says nothing aloud. In his muttering I make out, “Covert mission. Full stealth. Enemy territory.”

We get to the corner, where we part, and he takes his turn without so much as a “milady.” He skulks along the bushes as though trying not to be seen.

I didn't think this day could hurt any worse. I was wrong. Even Z's closing the door on me. His knight fantasy is about us together. His spy fantasy is about him alone.

T
he days when things change are the
hardest. I want to disappear through the scrub brush and melt into the desert. My skin
is
like camouflage, swirls the color of sand and the color of bark, and I know how to crawl on my belly like a marine and how to make myself blur like a shadow. Z taught me that. Once upon a time, before everything got messed up.

I get home, and Bailey's sitting on my front porch. I blink to be sure. Scrub my hands over my cheeks. I can rub away the tears, and I'll have to settle for that because what I'm really hoping for is so out of the question.

“Hey, girl.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Wow. Don't sound so happy to see me.” His smile is a million degrees hot.

“I—You surprised me, is all. Where's the basketball?”

“Left it at home. Want to hang out?” he says. I stand in the driveway staring at him. I don't know what to do with a boy who isn't Z.

“You and me?”

He grins. “Turns out we live near each other.”

This day has been so much heaven and hell colliding. I cross my arms, desperate to hold it all in. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

Bailey studies my face. Can he tell that I've been upset, confused, crying? I hope not. We don't really know each other well enough to notice things like that. At this rate we never will. He can't keep showing up after school like this. He must have better things to do.

“I hope you're not letting those jerks get to you,” he says, leaning against my top step.

“Who
are
you?” I blurt. Because he's not like any boy I've ever known or heard of.

“Bailey James,” he says with a matter-of-fact smile. He is very boy and very cute. My heart actually starts going a little faster. Weird.

“Bailey James,” I repeat. I don't want to have to survive
another day like today. The uncertainty. I don't want to have to wonder. But he came here, after all, knowing this time that he'd find me here. And there's something about his smile. “Okay, Bailey James. Let's hang out.”

I
've never ridden anyone's handlebars before.
I have a bike of my own, right there in the garage, but when Bailey says, “Let's go for a ride. Hop on,” how am I supposed to counter that?

It's not so easy to balance, but Bailey says we don't have far to go. My toes are planted on the little nuts that hold the front wheel spokes in place. I grip the bars hard beneath my behind. The bike wobbles every so often, and I have to stifle my every yelp and scream.

When Bailey says, “You okay?” I chirp, “I'm great!” After all, I'm the bold lady Eleanor. If only Z could see me now.

“We're here,” Bailey says. His knuckles graze my hips as he lifts his hands away. I jump off, flexing my fingers.

Bailey chains up his bike beside the local park. Some other
kids from school are hanging out on the swings. They wave when they see Bailey. The boys don't seem to notice me, but the girls whisper furiously.

There's this awkward moment when we get to where they are and no one says anything. Bailey turns like he's going to introduce me, which if he does, I'll just die because I've known everyone here since before kindergarten.

“Hi,” I say, before he can say anything.

“Hi, Ella.” Cass is the first girl to speak. “How are you?”

The ice, the thin, thin ice I'm standing on, has broken and, surprise, surprise, I'm not even wet.

“I'm fine,” I say. “Hi, Kelly. Hi, Liza.” The two other girls smile at me. We're all uncertain, we are all on tiptoes, or maybe it's just me. Gearing up, I turn to the last girl. “Hi, Millie.”

“Hi, Ella.”

“Um,” Max says. “We were about to go get some shakes at Willy's. You want to come?”

We parade down the street to the local diner. Willy is about a hundred years old, but he can make anything you can imagine you might want to eat, and make it good.

The others start crowding into a booth. It's one of those half-moon benches that's designed for five or six people, but there are nine of us. I hesitate, thinking I will have to be part of the small group that's sent away. Cass nudges
me, and I flop forward, thumping into the booth. She sits down right next to me, prodding me to slide along. She flicks her fingers at me, and I scoot, scoot, scoot, until I've come around the U and find myself shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh with Bailey.

Too Close. Bailey and I are sitting too close. His shoulder leans against mine on one side, but I can't move away because Cass is right there on the other. Not that I want to move away. But I do, because when he turns his head, his face will be right next to mine. He'll see me up close, and that can't be good.

A waitress brings a tray of water glasses and slides them around in front of us. There isn't one for everyone, so I don't reach. Not until I know what's going on. The waitress whips out her notepad and stands expectantly by the side of the table.

One by one, the guys order chocolate milk shakes. The girls order diet root beer floats. I've always been a fan of milk shakes. Strawberry-banana.

The waitress stares at me, snapping her gum.

“Diet root beer float,” I say.

The waitress nods and spins off. Her sensible shoes make a little squeak on the tile floor. I wait for some reaction from the others. I'm pretty sure I ordered right, but still.

No one is looking at me. Cass and Liza are comparing lip gloss flavors from their purses. Bailey and Max are getting riled up talking over the fourth quarter of last week's Knicks–Lakers game.