Flicker (14 page)

Once inside, we stare up at the looming
bleachers. They're double the size of the ones at our school and
every square inch is filled with purple and gold.

Cameron snorts. "What was that you said
about school spirit?"

"There's no lack of spirit here, that's for
sure."

"Do you wanna stake out a spot or just
wander around?"

My legs are stiff from the ride and although
it's bright out, the sun feels good on my face. "Let's walk around.
Maybe we can get what we need in the first period and be done with
it."

"Quarter."

"Huh?"

"Football has quarters."

I roll my eyes. This is not information I
need to know. I lead him along the path in front of the bleachers
and scan the crowd for any of our friends. A few familiar faces pop
out at me but most of our friends don't go to home games—there's no
way they'd trek to an away game. Two girls from our photo class
wave from the third row, and Turner himself is sitting a couple
rows back. "Turner's here."

Cameron looks up. "Checking up on us?"

"That doesn't seem like his style, but you
never know." My conversation with Turner about getting photos
published comes to mind. Maybe he's here to make extra money.

We stop at the end of the bleachers and turn
to face the field. Guys my age should not wear spandex. Ever. Yet
there they are, bent at the waist, their junk on display for
everyone in the stands. "Ugh."

"I can't tell you how happy it makes me to
hear you say that."

"Can't they wear sweats or something?"

"It's got something to do with aerodynamics.
At least that's what I tell myself. You'll never catch me in pants
like that." Cameron unzips his bag and pulls out his camera.

I do the same just as a whistle blows.

Woo-hoo. Let the fun begin.

Chapter 18

Football is a lot noisier than soccer. The
whistle blows ten times as often, the players insist on slamming
their helmets together every chance they get, and every person in
the stadium screams any time the ball moves. I follow the same
routine as before and take two dozen pictures before the end of the
first quarter. I guess it doesn't matter much what I'm shooting
once I get into it.

Cameron clicks away beside me, his steady
breathing the only calming thing around me.

"You getting anything good?"

He presses a button and shows me his
display.

My mouth drops open. "Cam, those are
great."

He zoomed so close on the players that you
can see the sweat through bars in their facemasks. In another
series, he captured their backs when they were all lined up and
crouched at the line.

I punch him lightly when I see the next one.
It's me, focused on the field.

"I couldn't help myself. We've spent all
this time taking pictures for class and I don't have any recent
ones of you."

"Well then let me return the favor." I
shift to face his and his lips fill the frame. Okay, maybe I better
zoom out. His face fills the display and I press the button. I
widen the shot further, focusing on the crowd behind him so his
face goes blurry.
Click-click-click
. Something at the edge of the
frame catches my eye. I point slightly over Cameron's shoulder and
zoom in on the crowd. "It's him."

"Him who?"

"That man."

Cameron twists around and places a hand on
my camera. "Show me."

I switch to display mode and the man stares
back at us.

Cameron stands up and pulls me to my feet.
"We need to tell someone."

"Cam, wait. He's probably someone's dad.
It's not like I've seen him anyplace other than games."

"How many kids does this guy have that he's
been at three different sports? We don't have that many big
families in our school."

He's convincing, but I feel weird
telling on someone who hasn't actually done anything.
Wait, Turner's here.
"We could talk
to Turner. He'd know if that man's a parent."

Cameron's already walking towards the
stands.

"Hey, kids." Turner rises when he sees us.
The people next to him slide down and we squeeze onto the bench.
"Having fun?"

I nod, surprised. I am having fun. Not
because of what's going on out on the field, but time seems to slip
away when I'm taking pictures. "Yeah, Cam's got some really good
shots."

Turner takes Cameron's proffered camera and
flips through the images. "Cameron, these are really impressive. I
don't know if Biz told you that I've been encouraging her to try to
get her photographs published in the local paper, but apparently I
need to have that same conversation with you."

Cameron lowers his head so his hair falls in
his face, his reaction when anyone says something nice to him.
"Yeah, maybe." He clears his throat. "But that's not why we came
over here." He nods at me and I shake my head.

Turner looks back and forth between us,
waiting. It's like he's got my dad's manual.

I exhale dramatically. "It's probably
nothing, but Cam thinks we should tell someone." I pause. Tattling
is such a childish reaction. It's not like the guy did anything.
Why are we even—

"Well I'm here. Tell me." Turner looks me in
the eye, oblivious to the shouts and screams that surround us.

I look over his shoulder, but there's
nothing out of the ordinary. Now I'm just stalling.

"Biz, just tell him."

I take another deep breath and spit it out.
"There's this man who I keep seeing at the games. Nothing happened
but he kinda freaks me out the way I keep catching him watching me.
And he's always alone. He's gotta be someone's dad, because why
else would he be there, right?" Saying the words out loud makes
this whole thing sound even more ridiculous.

Turner leans his elbows on his knees. "When
you say he freaks you out, how do you mean? Has he said something
or looked at you strangely?"

I think back to the past couple games. "He
definitely hasn't talked to me, but it was creepy how I'd see him
through my viewfinder and he'd be looking at me. But I'm sure he
was just watching me take pictures. I mean, how many high school
kids have a camera like mine?"

Cameron scoffs. "That makes no sense and you
know it." He touches my back and gently traces his fingers over my
shoulder blades. "Stop making excuses. He scared you, that's why I
wanted you to tell someone."

"What made you decide to tell me right now?"
Turner asks.

"Because I saw him again."

"Here?"

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago. We were
taking pictures near the side of the field."

"Right, I saw you there."

"And when I turned to the crowd he was
there. I told Cam, but when I looked back to where I'd seen him, he
was gone."

"Did he see you?"

The memory of the way the man's dark eyes
seemed to disappear inside his skull sends a chill through me.
"Yeah. I'm pretty sure."

Turner seems to choose his words carefully.
"Is there any chance you got a picture of him?"

My camera weighs heavily in my lap. "Yeah,
at the soccer game on Tuesday. I didn't mean to, but he was in the
frame."

His eyes drop to my camera. "Any chance it's
still on there?"

I shake my head. "No, I delete them after
they download. I can bring in a flash drive on Monday."

"Can you email it to me instead?"

"Uh, sure." The anxious expression on
Turner's face makes my head spin. I had myself convinced that I was
overreacting and figured Turner would tell us to stop causing
trouble. I never expected him to validate our concerns.

Turner pulls a business card out of his
wallet and hands it to me. "Could you send it to me tonight?"

Cameron sits up straight. "Are you saying
this guy's up to something?"

"I don't know, but given the events over the
past week, I think it's smart to look into every possibility."
Turner looks at me. "You know my friend at the newspaper?"

I nod.

"Her husband's a cop."

Cameron's mouth drops open. "We're not
saying he did anything. I don’t want to accuse him of
anything."

Turner’s face softens. "Cameron, relax. I'm
going to pass the photo along and they can choose to do with it as
they wish. I'd be remiss to ignore the intuition of two of my
favorite students."

A sudden rush of heat stalls my words
in my throat.
Favorite
students?

Cameron recovers more smoothly. "Will you
let us know what they say?"

"I'm sure it will be nothing, but I'll pass
along anything worth repeating."

That doesn't sound like a yes to me. Before
I can protest a whistle blows and people rise all around us.
Including Turner.

"Do either of you need anything from the
concession stand? I'm heading that way."

Cameron stands as well. "No, thanks. We're
gonna cut out a little early. My parents want me home because of
the other kidnapping."

Turner falters, a movement so subtle I
almost miss it. But his rapidly paling face is more noticeable.
"There… there's been another one?" The shift in his mood is
startling, as if Cameron's words unplugged whatever normally keeps
Turner in go-go-go mode and left a shell of our teacher standing in
front of us.

Cameron glances at me and I shrug my
shoulders. I have no idea why Turner's reacting like this. Cameron
touches his arm. "Maybe you should sit down."

I jump to my feet, my home-made emergency
training kicking in. "Or do you want us to get you a drink? Maybe
some candy?" Turner sinks onto the bench and I touch his forehead,
then quickly pull my hand back. He's my teacher. I don't think
we're allowed to touch.

"No, you kids go on. I'll be fine."

"No offense," Cameron says, "but you don't
look fine." We exchange puzzled looks over Turner's head, and for
the second time in fifteen minutes I find myself wondering if we
should tell an adult what's going on.

Turner presses his hand to his chest and
studies us with watery eyes. "You just caught me off guard." He
looks off toward the field, then at Cameron. "It gets easier, but
you'll never forget."

Cameron's lips tighten into a firm line.
They seem to have an understanding, but I have no clue what it's
about.

I bite my tongue when we say goodbye to
Turner and keep my mouth shut during the walk through the parking
lot, but now that we're in the car and driving home, I can't stop
myself. "What the hell happened back there?"

"You don't remember?"

"Clearly I don't." Cameron winces, and I'm
left feeling like I should know about this secret bond the two of
them apparently have. I tone down the attitude. "Can you please
tell me what’s going on? The only adult I know who goes all wobbly
like that is my dad, and I know Turner doesn't have epilepsy."

Cameron snorts, which sends my blood
pressure soaring. "No, nothing like that." He takes a quick breath.
"When Katie had been gone for a couple months, someone from the
police department recommended this support group for families of
people who'd gone missing."

"Like AA?"

"Yeah, sort of. Anyway, my mom didn't want
to go. She kept insisting that Katie would come home and it would
be a waste of time to learn how to get along without her."

I vaguely remember Cameron telling me about
this when it happened. "You and your dad went, right?"

"Only once. It was too depressing sitting in
a room with all these people who were missing someone." He switches
hands on the steering wheel and rests a hand on mine. "I didn't
make the connection until just now, but Turner was at that
meeting."

My head whips towards him. "As part of the
support group?"

"Yeah."

I wait for him to continue, but he's staring
at the road, lost in his memories. I hate to interrupt, but… "Do
you know who disappeared?"

He remains silent for so long I start to
wonder if I spoke out loud, but he turns his head slightly to look
at me, fresh tears in his eyes. "I think it was his daughter."

His words slam me back against my seat.
"Holy shit. I had no idea."

"I'd completely forgotten he was there. It's
not like I knew him back then, and I've sort of blocked out a lot
of what happened after Katie disappeared."

Helplessness makes my chest feel heavy,
solid. Each time I think I understand how deeply Cameron was
affected by Katie's disappearance, he shows me a little bit more. I
don't know if I'd have the strength to get on with my life the way
he has. I stare at my hand beneath his. "I don't know how you do
it."

His thumb twitches over my fingers. "Some
days I don't either."

I curl my fingers through his, hoping the
small gesture in some way shows that I care. "You know words aren't
my thing—I'd much rather take a picture to show how I'm feeling—but
I want you to know that I'm here for you. If there's anything at
all I can do…"

He lifts my hand to his mouth and grazes my
fingers with his lips. "I know, Biz. That's why I'm here."

*****

Headlights from an oncoming car fill Old
Berta's interior as we turn into my neighborhood, but the sense of
dread that follows me at dusk lifts. I allow myself to relax. I
won't be flickering today.

Cameron touches the side of my face and I
turn to look at him. "I wish I could hang out, but I need to get
home."

"Will you let me know what your parents say
about tomorrow?"

He parks at the end of my driveway and kills
the engine. "I'll text you tonight. Now come here." His seatbelt
clicks and he leans across the space between us, enveloping me in
his arms.

I breathe in the musky scent that seems to
seep from his pores, a mixture of vanilla soap and outdoors, and
tuck my forehead against his warm neck. We stay that way for a few
minutes, our heartbeats synchronized. Too soon I feel him stir
against me and I pull back.