Flicker (12 page)

I don't know what to say. Anything will
sound trivial. "Can I do anything?"

He sighs, a slow, painful expelling of
breath. "No."

We hang up shortly after and I'm left
staring at my phone. He says I can't help, but there has to be some
way I can do more.

My camera calls to me. I remove the card and
slip it into the reader that's always connected to my computer. The
photo app comes up and I click the button to download. A little
voice scolds me for not deleting the bad ones before downloading
them, but I'm too lazy. How else am I supposed to complain that I
have so many pictures wasting space on my hard drive?

The soccer game replays on my screen.
Trace's goal looks even cooler now that I can see it. When I'm
taking pictures it's like my subconscious is aware of the scene and
lays out the composition for me, but I don't fully grasp what I've
captured until it's full-size on my computer.

The computer scrolls to the final image and
I gasp. It's the man from the game. He's staring right at me. My
hand flutters to my chest and I force a deep breath. I forgot I'd
taken his photo.

I save the album, then head downstairs in
search of leftovers and find my parents side by side on the couch
watching the news. The kidnapping is the lead story.

"Did they find anything new?" I know the
answer since Cameron just told me, but I'm curious if my parents
will choose to spin it.

Dad twists his neck to see me. "Hey,
sweetie. No they still don't have any clues."

I think of Cameron and try to imagine his
house right now. He's probably sitting with his parents, comforting
them, the TV silent in the background. To my family this kidnapping
takes five minutes of our day, but to his it's a reminder of how
terribly wrong your entire world can go in those five minutes.

*****

Thursday after class I linger by my locker
before heading back to the soccer field. The cross country team
runs a course that loops around the school and ends on the track,
right where I interviewed Trace. Amelia promised she'd meet me
there.

Cameron rounds the corner—books in one hand,
camera bag slung over his other shoulder—and my heart lifts. He's
the same Cameron I've always known, but it's like a layer's been
scraped away. Things I hadn't noticed before are suddenly all I
see: the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt, the
tilt of his head when someone else is speaking, the curve of his
lower lip when he's concentrating. Right now his mouth is decidedly
frowning.

I fall into step beside him. "Everything
okay?"

He waits a beat before answering. "It's just
been a long day." He slips on his jacket, then slides his arm
through mine as we walk down the hall. He releases me to open the
side door.

A blast of cold air welcomes us and I'm
grateful Mom insisted I bring my gloves. I zip my coat as we head
for the track and flex my fingers. "This should make taking
pictures interesting."

"You need a pair of these." He holds up a
pair of gloves with the fingers cut off. Loose threads dangle from
where the scissors hacked through the yarn.

Apparently I'm not the only one. Every
single person from our class is sitting on the bleachers, and every
one of them is either blowing on their hands or sitting on them.
"You better hang on to those. Could start a riot."

Several heads turn our way as we find an
empty spot on the bleachers, but they keep to themselves.

Cameron leans close. "So what's our game
plan? I want to get close to the runners. My guess is most people
are gonna stay here, so unless we want the same shots as them,
we'll need to move. Plus—"

"The sunlight." I interrupt, and he smiles.
I point to the western corner where I camped out for the soccer
game. "That's where I took all my shots the other day. The lighting
is kick-ass."

He stands. "Then let's go over there."

We pick our way back down the bleachers just
as the teams walk out to the track. I lift my camera and snap a
couple candids—teammates talking to each other, the coach consoling
one girl who looks like she might throw up—then follow Cameron to
the corner.

He sets his bag in the grass and sits
next to it. I start to lower myself to the ground but he grabs me
around the waist and pulls me into his lap. "I've missed you," he
whispers in my ear. His strong arms wrap around me. My stomach
flips, which makes my heart go all crazy, and I'm embarrassed to
find myself completely breathless. I squeeze his bare fingertips
and he pulls my hands to his mouth.
A
gentle kiss on each knuckle makes me flush.

"I wish there was a way I could take
pictures with you doing that."

He laughs softly, and his breath sends
ripples of excitement through me. He turns his head so my fingers
brush his cheek. His eyes drift closed.

Have I mentioned he's beautiful?

I lean forward, but we're interrupted by a
shout from midway down the field. "Hey you two! Get a room!"

Amelia bounds towards us and I flinch, ready
for the tackle that's coming. For as long as I've known her, she's
never passed up the opportunity to—

"Oof!"

Her giggle pierces the relative quiet.

Cameron dodged the brunt of it and lies on
his side, laughing. "All these years, you think you'd learn."

I sit up and push Amelia off me. "I guess I
keep thinking that maybe this once she won't do it."

Amelia grabs my camera. "So what do you got
so far?" She flicks through the display. "Ooh, that girl totally
just threw up."

Cameron lifts an eyebrow at me. I shrug.

"Man it's freezing out here. Biz, can I
borrow your gloves? You can't use them while you're taking pictures
anyway."

I reluctantly hand them over and the chill
settles into my skin.

"Thanks." She leans back on her hands. "I
can't stay long. My parents weren't too happy with my last trig
grade and decided I need some quality time listening to music—I
mean, studying—after school. Although they probably have a point.
Unless I want to spend my post-high school days at community
college, I need to get my grades up."

Again, I feel guilty that I couldn't help
her on the last test. I silently promise to flicker for the next
one.

As if I summoned it, my fingers start to
tingle. I press the tips together.

Cameron looks over his shoulder at the
setting sun. "What time exactly does ‘after school' start?"

"Eh, in a little while."

The sun is barely peeking through the
clouds. And I'm sitting still. There's no way I'm flickering. But
the tingling grows stronger. I brace myself for the weight when
Cameron rubs his hands together.

"Biz, do you want to use my gloves? It's
getting really cold."

Color rushes to my cheeks and I slap my
hands over them to hide it. Duh, I'm cold. Not flickering. I'd
forgotten that's a normal sensation. "Sure, thanks." I shove my
fingers inside the unraveling yarn.

Amelia juts her chin down the field. "Hey,
isn't that them?"

Cameron and I scramble to our feet,
cameras ready. His breathing slows as his shutter
click-click-clicks
, and I catch
myself watching his hands. He and I are drawn to photography for
different reasons: for me it's about capturing the light and its
effects on the world around me, but for him it's about preserving a
moment in time so he can relive it whenever he wants.

I focus on the runners and I'm moving
towards them. Zooming. Squatting low so the angles are sharper,
more defined.

"Good call." Cameron's a few feet away.
Close enough so he's with me, but respecting my space.

Runners streak by, fists in the air as they
cross the finish line. A guy whose locker is near mine falls in a
heap next to his coach. Two girls from opposing teams high-five
each other.

Click-click-click
.

I turn my attention to the spectators. The
majority of the people in the first couple rows have cameras glued
to their faces. A couple have gloves like Cameron's. I'm definitely
gonna have to do that. I zoom in on the front row, ready to
document my class documenting the race, when I freeze for real this
time.

That man is here again. And he's staring at
me.

I take a step back, knocking into
Cameron.

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

He lowers his camera. Concern darkens his
features. "You're really pale. What happened?"

"Nothing. That man is here again and he just
freaked me out."

His head whips towards the bleachers. "What
man?"

I tug his arm to make him turn away. "Don't
stare. It's just some guy we saw the other night at the soccer
game. I'm sure he's someone's dad. I mean, why else would he be
coming to high school sporting events? He doesn't even cheer…" my
voice trails off and a shudder passes through me. The more things I
say out loud the creepier this guy sounds.

Cameron's staring at me, his mouth agape.
"Why didn't you say anything? He obviously freaked you out."

"But he didn't do anything. He's just
watching the games."
And me,
apparently.

"Still, it seems weird. Maybe we should tell
one of the coaches."

"I don't know, Cam. What if it's just my
imagination?"

He looks at the crowd.

"I know we’re supposed to report anything
weird because of that girl, but I don't want to get him in trouble
if he’s not doing anything."

"Which one is he?"

I focus in on the spot where I'd just seen
the man and a chill runs up my spine. "He's gone."

"Okay, but if you see him again will you
promise to tell someone?"

I nod. "I got a picture of him the other
night."

He stops and looks at me. "You did?"

"Not intentionally, but yeah." An uneasy
feeling settles over me at the memory. I'm sure I'm
overreacting—people are always telling me I have an overactive
imagination. Maybe they're right. "Anyway, I'm sure it's not a big
deal."

When we get back to the parking lot, Cameron
leans me against Old Berta and rests his hand on the side of my
face. "So are we on for the football game Friday night?"

I wave my hands above my head. "Rah,
rah."

He laughs and looks around the deserted
parking lot. "I'm sure it won't be all bad. At least there'll be
more people to talk to." He brushes his lips over my nose. "Not
that I really want to talk to anyone else."

I tilt my head back and he presses his lips
lightly against mine. We haven't kissed like we did on Saturday,
and I kinda want to drag him into the backseat and, uhh… warm up.
"Do you have to go right home?"

He sighs, a long drawn-out sound that tells
me his answer.

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. I don't know how long this is gonna
go on, but for now I need to be home when I can. Hey," he tilts his
head, "why don't you come over Saturday?"

I try to fight the smile that plasters
itself to my face, but there's no point. Standing on tip-toe, I
wrap my arms around his neck. "I'd love to."

He kisses me again, lingering just long
enough to make me forget everything around us, then squeezes me
tightly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I climb into my car and wave as I pull away,
my mind already on my computer. As anxious as I am to check out my
pictures, I want to do a little research on Cameron's sister
first.

He’s told me what happened a thousand times,
but I’ve always been afraid to read the stories myself. Letting the
police think I was with Cameron when Katie disappeared was an
impulse, something neither of us considered a big deal at the time,
but now the doubt I’ve always pushed aside is resurfacing.

The house is dark when I get home. There’s a
note on the kitchen counter.

"We're stopping for dinner after Dad's
appointment. Leftovers are in the fridge."

The note is tucked beneath the new pill
bowl, a small white dish that replaced the one that broke. Its lack
of personality offends me. At least the Mexico bowl pretended to be
festive.

I open the fridge and pull out the
leftovers. After popping a plate of what looks to be breaded
chicken and mashed potatoes in the microwave, I run upstairs to my
computer.

I type Katie's name into the search field.
Within seconds, link after link fills my screen and I feel kind of
stupid for never looking her up before. I click the first link and
I'm thrown back to that horrible night four years ago.

"Police still have no leads in the
disappearance of Katie James. The seven-year old was last seen by
her brother, Cameron, age thirteen, and a schoolmate, also 13. No
witnesses have come forward who may have seen what
happened.

It is presumed that she was taken by a
person or persons who saw her in the front yard and lured her into
their car. A white sedan was seen driving erratically in the
neighborhood, but the license plate was not noted."

Katie's class picture runs alongside the
article, her dark hair clipped away from her face with a pink
plastic barrette that matches her pink sweater. An excruciating
sense of sorrow pulls my stomach in fourteen directions. The
memories of playing with her at Cameron's house are so vivid… I can
still remember the way her hair smelled like strawberries and how
she always had a stuffed animal in her hand.

Cameron found one of her favorites at the
end of the driveway once he realized she was gone. The red and
black ladybug she'd gotten for Christmas the previous year lay
discarded in a pile of damp leaves, the only indication she'd been
near the street.

That was when he called me.

I click back and Katie's dimples are
replaced with more articles that say the same thing. White sedan,
no witnesses, no sign of her ever again. Then the accusations
against Cameron. A picture of him leaving the police station, his
parents shielding them with his arms. The police eventually dropped
the case against him due to “lack of evidence”, but that just meant
they couldn’t prove anything, and the kids at school never forgot
it.