Chapter 7 Cam
Chapter 7
Cam
Fifteen Years Ago
“C amille.” Dusty’s voice came from the seat behind me. Since the bell hadn’t rung yet, I turned around to face him with an eye roll.
“What do you want, Dusty?”
He flashed me a smile that I felt in my stomach. He did it all the time. I didn’t have a lot of experience with boys. All the ones I’d ever known were trust fund kids who had never been denied anything and loved to flaunt their dad’s money. They didn’t interest me, and I didn’t interest them.
But Dusty interested me—at least as a friend. I hadn’t really made a lot of friends yet. Just Wes Ryder, but he was nice to everyone. I knew some of the other girls on the soccer team, but I was a late addition, so the cliques had already formed. But since my first day, I could almost always count on Dusty stopping by my locker to say good morning, and he carried my books when we were going the same direction. It was nice.
Being at Meadowlark High was so different from being at any of my other schools. I knew it would be. That’s why I wanted to come here.
My dad bought a house here a few years ago. A house and a lot of land. There were rumors of oil in Meadowlark, and my dad had money to spare, so he tried to get ahead of it. The first time we came here, I was enamored by all of it—the way the main street felt, how everyone waved at one another without a second thought. It seemed welcoming, like anyone could find their place here, and I had never really felt like I had found a place anywhere. I wanted to feel that sort of connection, that sense of belonging. I wanted to immerse myself in every part of this town—including the high school.
My parents said no at first—I knew they would. And usually, I’d let it go, because I always did when it came to the things that I wanted that didn’t mesh with their desires. I knew that’s what they expected me to do.
But I didn’t. I didn’t push hard, but I pushed. I gave them lists of pros—a decent number of AP classes, good athletics, and free (because the only thing they loved more than making money? Holding on to it). Plus, I already had as many college credits as a junior as Violet had when she graduated. With the AP classes available at Meadowlark High, I’d technically be ahead of her. After a few months, they said yes and told me to stop talking about it. I don’t think they were used to me using my voice.
That’s how I learned that the only thing my parents wanted more than control was quiet.
“Can I borrow a pencil?” Dusty asked.
“Do you need me to buy you some pencils?” I asked. He asked me to borrow one every time we had English or history together—so basically every day.
“But then I couldn’t borrow yours,” he said with a wink.
I sighed and pulled a pencil out of my pouch and handed it to him. “You better give that back,” I said. “I just got those.” I loved this new pack of mechanical pencils, and I had color-coordinated them to my notebooks for each class.
“Cross my heart,” Dusty said, dragging his pointer finger over his chest to draw an invisible X. “Can I have a piece of paper, too?”
“Oh my god, Dusty,” I said with faux annoyance. “Do you even go to school here?”
“Occasionally,” he said. “But I promise, I just need the paper for today—after this I’ll only ever ask for pencils.”
I huffed and opened my notebook, carefully tore out a page along the perforated edges, and handed it back to him with more force than necessary.
“Ooooh, college-ruled,” he remarked. “Fancy girl.” Yeah, because wide-ruled paper sucked, and I was about to tell him as much when the bell rang, and Mr. Watson—our English teacher—walked to the front of the room and called for the class’s attention, which I gave him immediately.
I heard a pencil scratching on paper behind me, even though Mr. Watson had barely started teaching. We were just reviewing the general feedback on the papers we turned in last week before we got them back. What could Dusty possibly be writing back there?
After Mr. Watson had returned all of our papers—I got an A—and handed out a grammar worksheet on sentence structure, which was apparently something we all needed to work on, Dusty threw a folded piece of paper—the piece of paper I gave him—onto my desk.
My heart fluttered, but I didn’t want to get in trouble. I turned around slyly and gave him a questioning look.
“Open it,” he mouthed. I shook my head. He pouted a little before mouthing, “Please.” My stomach flipped. I rolled my eyes and turned around. I kept the folded note under my grammar worksheet, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So, after I finished my assignment, I finally unfolded it.
Camille,
I feel like I need a nickname for you. I like Camille. It’s pretty. You’re pretty, too, by the way. I just feel like Camille is too formal for our relationship. You know? Do people always call you Cam? If they do, I need to think of another one. I want mine to be special.
Anyway, I have some questions for you. So, if you could kindly write your answers below and return this back to me, I would appreciate it.
What’s your favorite color?
What’s your favorite food?
What’s the last TV show that made you laugh?
Do you have any siblings?
When is the soccer team’s next home game? What’s your jersey number?
Do you like MHS so far? What’s your favorite part about it? Me? ;)
When’s your birthday?
Favorite class? English or History? Just kidding. Kind of.
What do you like to do for fun? Do you like hiking? Because I know a good spot.
That’s a good start on the getting-to-know-you questions. Plus, you should have plenty of time to answer them because I know you’ll finish this stupid worksheet way before the rest of us.
Dusty
I was grinning like an idiot. I quickly looked around me to make sure no one noticed. Everyone was still working on the assignment or was on their phone under their desk.
I picked my pencil up off my desk and started writing.