SIX
Do you always call your friends beautiful?
That Monday, before my meeting with Dr. Sanchez, I pull out my computer and check my email real quick. I didn’t have time all weekend to email Lonerguy279.
From: Lonerguy279
To: Pinkstar737
Subject: RE: RE: Alive?
Dear Pinkstar737,
I would pay money to see your new friend driving your pink convertible car. He sounds like a good friend. I’m glad you found him… Are you two more than just friends? (Maybe I don’t have the right to ask that, but I’m curious).
I’m glad you’re alive. You have made the past year and a half good. Without you, I would have probably gone crazy. Don’t ever wish you’d be better off dead, because I promise you deserve to be alive.
College is good for the both of us. Making friends in high school was hard, but here, nobody knows me. I get a fresh start.
Have fun at your game and bonfire! And don’t wait so long to email me next time! I thought I was going to have to hire a P.I. to find you. I thought you were kidnapped or something.
Sincerely,
Lonerguy279
I reply quickly.
From: Pinkstar737
To: Lonerguy279
Subject: Me date??? LOL!
Dear Lonerguy279,
Micah and I are just friends. Trust me, nothing more! We bonded over our mutual weirdness. I like him because he challenges me to not be stuck in my little vanilla bubble. And he likes me because I introduce him to cool music. And I helped him get a date. True story.
The game was fun. I got to people watch, which is always fun. And, you know, football. Guys in tight pants. That’s always nice. ;) The bonfire was interesting. I met some more people. I spilled my drink on this high maintenance girl. She yelled at me. But her twin brother rescued me before she was able to yell too much. And he’s my friend now, too. And, NO, I’m not dating him either. But he is hot. Like super HOT. Which means he would never be interested in me. I know you’ve never seen me, but trust me, I’m very average looking.
Anyway, I have got to go meet the shrink. So I better get off here.
Sincerely,
Pinkstar737
I hit send and shut my laptop.
Then I met Dr. Sanchez at our usual spot.
…
After class on Monday, I fall asleep as I’m studying.
Sometimes, I have nightmares. Always about what happened the day of the… incident.
It feels so real.
I can smell the gun powder.
I can hear the screams.
And the overwhelming fear inside of my stomach is so strong that I can hardly breathe.
I know that I’m next. The last few seconds of my life are going to be spent here in this small room. I’m never going to grow up. I’m never going to…
I am awoken by a loud noise.
My phone is ringing.
“Hello,” I answer.
I didn’t realize I was crying until that exact moment.
“Isla, are you okay?”
It’s Camden.
“I’m fine,” I say, wiping the tears off my face. “I was just having a nightmare. I fell asleep while I was doing homework.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really, no.”
That is the last thing I want to do.
“Are you busy right now?”
“No.”
“Good,” he says. “I’ll be there in like two minutes.”
Before I can ask questions or respond, the line goes dead.
Okay, I guess I’m hanging out with Cam.
I take a quick peek in the mirror to make sure my clothes look all right just as somebody knocks on my door.
That was so not two minutes.
I open up and see Cam standing on the other side.
Cam has both of his hands in the front pockets of his dark denim jeans. His curly brown hair is wet and he smells like soap. He’s wearing a pair of black dress shoes, a blue button up shirt that matches his eyes and a dinner jacket.
And he is hot.
I swear, every time I see him he gets more attractive.
And more out of my league.
“I suddenly feel under dressed,” I say, looking down at the clothes I wore today.
“How do you feel about a road trip?” Cam asks me.
“Okay,” I say, loving the idea. If I could go on a road trip every day, I would be happy.
“But we’re not taking your car,” he says. “Micah already warned me that it’s pink.”
I laugh.
Cam walks out into the hallway. I grab my purse off the hook by the door and follow him.
I don’t really know much about Cam. I just met the guy Saturday night. I know that he has an evil twin sister. I also know that he likes Korean music. But’s that’s it. I could be following him to my death.
“By chance, you’re not a serial killer, right?” I ask. I’m joking. Mostly.
He flinches at my question. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Kidding,” I say.
“Oh,” he says, letting out a breath.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m a paranoid person.”
“Why?” Cam asks. “Did something bad happen to you or something?”
I ignore his question. “Are you sure you don’t want to take my pink car? You’d probably look pretty sexy riding in it.”
He laughs. “You think I’m sexy?”
“Absolutely,” I answer, not denying it. I’ve always tried to be honest about how I’m feeling. And even a blind person would think Cam is sexy.
“Isla, know that I am not meaning to offend you when I say this, but you are kind of strange,” Cam says, as we walk to the parking lot.
“I’m not offended,” I say. “I mean, I know that I’m weird. I’ve accepted it.”
“I like your weirdness. You never try to be somebody that you’re not.”
“Why would I want to be somebody else when I can be me?”
“Exactly,” he says.
We walk up to a new-looking Mustang. Well, it’s not just a Mustang. It’s a Cobra. It’s a really nice car. Expensive. I know this because my stepbrother totaled one about a year ago while he was drunk. I loved that car. I rode in it every single day on our way to school for three months before my sixteenth birthday, when I got my own car.
He unlocks the black car and opens the passenger side door for me. I get inside and he shuts it.
It smells new. Like maybe he got this car as a graduation present this summer. The leather seats are black with red stitching, and they are warm from being out in the sun.
I notice the car has a manual transmission, just like Scott’s car did. Having an automatic sports car kind of defeats the purpose, so I’m glad it’s a stick shift.
Camden gets in and starts his car. The engine roars to life and I can feel the power vibrating through the seats. I am jealous of his car.
I picked out my own car when I was fifteen. I told my mom and stepdad exactly what I wanted and they got it. They gave it to me at my sweet sixteen birthday party. I now hate it, but I’m not asking for a new one. That would make me just as bad as Scott.
“May I?” I ask, motioning to the radio.
He smiles. “Sure.”
I plug my phone up to his USB chord and push the random button on my playlist. One of my favorite French songs, Derniere Danse, by Indila comes on.
“What is it with you only listening to non-English songs?” Cam asks as we take off.
“I like English songs too,” I say. “To be honest, I prefer music with no lyrics. Classical music will always be my favorite. Music is beautiful all on its own. So are words. They don’t need each other.”
“Maybe so, but putting two beautiful things together works sometimes,” he says.
“I suppose. I try to see the beauty in everything.”
“So what is your story?” Cam asks.
“Story?”
“I don’t really know anything about you,” he says.
“Not much to know,” I answer. “I’m from Atlanta. I live with my mom, stepdad, and stepbrother. My stepbrother, who is the same age as me, just started at Florida State University. To be honest, I’m just glad I’m not going to the same school as him. My family is a bit dysfunctional.”
“What about your dad?” Cam asks.
“I’m not sure. One day, when I was nine, he never came home from work. The cops looked, but never found him,” I say. “When I was a kid, I always thought he’d show up, but now I don’t ever think he will. He was always unhappy. Him and my mom fought a lot. And he never seemed to like me very much. After a couple years, my mom found Stanley. He is her dream guy, or at least his bank account is her dream. They had a huge fairytale wedding. And then we moved into their huge house where everybody, aside from the hired help and my stepbrother, ignored me.”
“That’s really sad,” he says.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I say.
“What were you like in high school?” he asks. “I imagine you sitting alone, listening to music all the time.”
“Actually, I was a cheerleader,” I say, laughing. “I was one of the peppiest, most cheerful girls at my school. I had a ton of friends and was super popular. I always wore pink. Which is why I have a stupid pink car now. Back then, I loved it.”
“What happened?” he asks. “To make you not peppy, I mean.”
“Life,” I answer, leaving it at that.
“Did your high school boyfriend dump you or something?”
Does he really think I would be that pathetic? To let a break up with a guy ruin me?
“I’ve never had a boyfriend, actually,” I say. “I was happy being single back then. I had a date for prom, but… well, I never made it to prom.” In fact, my whole life stopped just a few weeks before my junior prom.
“Why not? Prom is a rite of passage,” he says.
“What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. I really, really want to stop talking about me. “What is your story?”
“Not much to tell. Dysfunctional family. I was abandoned by my father when I was three and by my mother until I was nine,” he says. “Me and my siblings moved in with our paternal grandparents then, and they raised us. But things were good there, so I can’t complain.”
“That’s extremely sad,” I say.
He shrugs. “My mom was too high to feed me and my siblings most of the time. My grandma actually had a hired cook working for her, so for a whole month my siblings and I ate about six meals a day. We all assumed our mom would come and get us eventually, but she never did. Looking back, maybe she tried. But my grandparents wouldn’t let us go. I love them for it.”
“Maybe I can meet them someday,” I say.
“Oh, you will,” he says, confidently. “In fact, you will be meeting them in about five minutes.”
“WHAT?” I ask, a little louder than I mean to.
“They’re in town. So we are going to go eat with them,” Camden says, like it’s not big deal.
I look at my outfit. It’s definitely not a meet the grandparents kind of outfit. “Couldn’t you have warned me? I’m dressed like a slob.”
“You’re fine,” he says, glancing from the road to me. “More than fine. You look beautiful.”
“Do you always take your friends to meet your grandparents?” I ask.
“No.”
“Do you always call your friends beautiful?”
“Definitely not,” he says. “Only the really gorgeous ones. Which, by the way, means you. Just you.”
“Isn’t this weird, though?” I ask. “I just met you on Saturday night. We met not even a full 48 hours ago.”
“Isla, I’m not proposing. I’m taking you to meet my family,” he says. “They just happened to be in town. I was on my way to see you when they called and I just decided to have you tag along.”
“Won’t your family think we’re dating?”
“No,” he answers. “Just trust me, Isla.”
“Fine,” I say.
I don’t know him well enough to trust him, but something inside me wants to trust him. So I will.
I always follow my gut instinct.
After all, that is what saved my life.