Zarr, Sara - Sweethearts (7 page)

"Don't we usually offer crew to people who audition but don't get parts?" "We can never have too much help," Bingry said. "Especially from someone with some height and muscle for hanging lights, building flats, putting up pipe and drape -- " "And I have my own tools," Cameron said. "Fantastic. A perfect specimen. Give your contact info to Jenna and we'll let you know when we're ready to build." Cameron walked over to me in long steps while Ethan watched, leaned on my desk -- the fingers of his big hands spread wide -- and gave me his phone number. "Just got a phone this morning," he said as I wrote it down, trying to appear efficient and disinterested. "Now you can call me. Anytime." I nodded. "Thank you." He turned and walked out. Ethan scribbled something in his notepad. Bingry called in the next reader. Steph started in on me at the gym. "I heard Cameron volunteered to be on the stage crew," she said, pulling her hair back. We were in the locker room, getting ready to cardio funk. "Wow, news travels fast." "So that will be interesting." I put my bag in a locker and closed the door. "How so?" "Jenna. Stop playing dumb." She stalked off to the big mirror over the sinks. I followed and stared at the two of us. She looked incredible, with her spray-on tan and low-rise gym shorts and tank top, whereas I was a lump in faded black stretch capris and my extra-huge Utah Utes T-shirt. "What's your point?" I washed my hands. She laughed. "Anyone can see you've been a total head case since Cameron showed up. Don't let Ethan forget you're his girlfriend." She turned to me and grabbed about a yard of my T-shirt fabric. "Oh my hell, Jenna, you have a shape, you know. You should show it now and then. Ethan might appreciate that." "Ethan is very familiar with my shape, thanks." I pulled my shirt back. "How many boyfriends have you had, Jenna?" "Counting Ethan? Let's see. One." "How many boyfriends have I had?" "We've all lost count, Steph." "So take my advice," she said, resting her long, slim arms on my shoulders. "Cameron is all mysterious and tall and obviously into you, and Ethan will feel threatened any second now, if he doesn't already. Make sure he knows he has nothing to worry about. If you want to keep him, that is. If you'd rather have Cameron, fine, just don't drag it out. Trust me -- that only makes things worse." "Cameron isn't 'into me,'" I said, removing her arms from my shoulders. "It's more like ... I don't know. It's hard to explain." "Well, whatever you want to call it, there's something going on between the two of you. Everyone can feel it." She handed me a towel and picked up hers. We walked out of the locker room, Steph looking back at me over her shoulder. "And if you don't want Cameron, help Katy get him. it's the least you can do." When I got home, Alan was sacked out on the couch with his laptop. I nudged him over and sat down. "Mom's still not home from work?" "Shortage on the floor, too many patients, not enough nurses. The usual." I chugged from my water bottle. "Good workout?" "I guess." "She feels terrible, you know," he said, peering over the top of his screen. "You have no idea, Alan. There's so much more to the story, stuff she doesn't..." I stood up to keep myself from saying anything else. "Forget it. I need to shower." I make myself not look at the window. Is there a screen? I can't remember. My hand is still on Cameron's beating heart. He does not say a word. Leave, I repeat. He isn't laughing anymore. Now his arms are folded. All right then. Here I go. He takes a step backward. Now he turns and puts his hand on the doorknob. I'm leaving. He is through the door. With one glance back, staring directly at me with hard eyes, See me leaving? The door closes behind him. I run to it and push the lock button in. When I turn, Cameron is still on the bed, frozen. Get up. I see that the window does have a screen. Scissors, I say. Finally he understands, gets up, and goes straight to his dresser drawer instead of his desk. What he comes up with are not scissors but a knife, a big one. I stare at it for a second wondering why he has a big knife in his room. I open the window. Cameron starts to cut the screen. Hurry, I say. Hurry. Cameron cuts the screen with the knife. The doorknob wiggles. You locked me out I can't believe you locked me out You know it would be easy for me to break this door down . . . just one good shove. Cameron's father's voice is still big, almost like he's right in the room with us. Cameron cuts. I pull. Then the knife slips and falls behind the bed. We look at each other and his dad pounds the door again. I take the window screen and pull as hard as I can. Pieces of wire poke into my hands, stinging me and drawing blood. For the first time I start to cry. Because I know if we don't get out it's going to be bad. And then it's quiet on the other side of the door, which feels almost worse than the pounding. I keep pulling the screen even though my hands hurt so much. / got it, I say. There is a hole in the screen big enough for us to climb through. You go first, he says. He helps me out and I land on the dirt. My ankle hurts, and so does my head, where a little bit of my hair got caught and pulled out. Cameron climbs through and lands next to me. He takes my hand. We run. As my eight-years-later self, I stood under the shower and let the water stream over me. I could almost feel my hands still stinging from the window- screen wires. There should be scars, I thought, and lifted my hands to my face to examine them. There should be evidence. But the skin was its usual shade of pinky-beige; a couple of torn cuticles but nothing else. I was the one who got us out, me, scared little Jennifer Harris. The memory of how it felt to escape and Cameron himself were the only evidence I had. woke up after midnight, thinking I heard footsteps outside my window. It's not the kind of neighborhood where you should be hearing footsteps anywhere near your house after dark. Usually it ends up being a cat or raccoon, but you never know. I listened, ready to run into Mom and Alan's room if necessary, but heard nothing more and fell back asleep. CHAPTER 15 "LAST CHANCE FOR COFFEE," ALAN SAID, POKING HIS HEAD into the bathroom while I finished up my morning routine. "Save me a cup. Ill get it in a sec." My hair would not do anything I wanted it to. There were dark circles under my eyes and my skin looked dull and PMS-y. I had some hair pomade in my gym bag, which I'd left in the car. I scurried out into the chill. When I put the key in the car door, I gasped. The passenger seat was tilted all the way back, Cameron's long legs stretching under the dashboard. With his jeans jacket tucked around his shoulders and eyes closed, he looked so much like his childhood self. I opened the door carefully and crouched next to him. "Cameron?" I said softly. "Cam?" He opened his eyes, blinking at the morning sun. "Hi." "What are you doing?" "Sleeping in your car." "I see that." I glanced back at the house. "Do you want to come in? And have some breakfast?" He nodded and got out of the car. I led him up the walk, through the front door, and into the kitchen where Mom was making her lunch. She looked up, surprise only crossing her face for a second. "Well. Good morning, Cameron," she said. "I think there's a cup of coffee left if Jenna doesn't mind sharing." "You can have it," I said to him. "HI get some on the way to school." "Thanks." Mom got a mug down for him and pointed to the half-and-half. "I'm off," she said, putting her lunch stuff into a paper bag. "Nice to see you, Cameron. Tell your mom I'd love to catch up with her." She gave me a kiss. "Be good." "I will." We hadn't had any follow-up conversations since Sunday and I knew she was waiting for me to give some sign that I wasn't mad. I kissed her back, which made her smile. "When are you ever not good?" Cameron asked, after Mom had gone. "She says that to me every morning. For her it's synonymous with 'good-bye.' How did you get into my car?" "You left it unlocked." "Oh." The more obvious question was why did he get into my car, but that could wait. We heard the jingling of Alan's keys. He leaned into the kitchen. "Bye, Jenna." His eyebrows went up when he saw Cameron. "Oh, hi there." "Hi," Cameron said. "Good to see you again." "You, too." "Well," Alan said. A long, awkward pause followed, during which we all glanced at one another and smiled politely. "See you tonight, Jen?" "See you." He left, and I turned to Cameron. "So." "You didn't call me last night." "Was I supposed to?" He looked down. "Just figured now that you had my number... Kept my phone on all night, just in case." He laughed. "I started to worry that it didn't work. Actually went out to a pay phone to test it." "You could have called me. The way you left me after lunch on Saturday, I figured ..." I ended there and shrugged, not wanting to be mad at him or get into any kind of argument. "Anyway, after auditions I went to the gym with Steph, and I'm so behind in my homework it's not even funny." Of course I'd punched in his number about eighteen times without actually ever calling him. I wasn't sure what I'd say, and worried about how I'd feel if he didn't answer. "I shouldn't have left like that on Saturday." "Yeah, well." I waved my hands. "Don't worry about it. I have to finish getting ready. There's cereal and stuff... just make yourself at home." "I saw him walking to school," I told Ethan, "and I pulled over and offered him a ride. Like I would for anyone I know." It's not like I wanted to get into this lie-telling habit with Ethan, but I really couldn't see any possible way he would understand Cameron sleeping in my car. / didn't even understand it. And Cameron, on the ride to school, had not offered any explanation. "Okay, so why were you late?" Ethan asked. "I was slow getting ready this morning. It happens." He didn't look at me or hold my hand or do anything else to reassure me as we walked down the hall to government. "It's your first detention ever, Jenna. And -- what a coincidence -- it comes on a day when you show up with Cameron?" "Yes." We got to our room and I held Ethan's arm to keep him from going in. For a second, I wondered why I was trying to stop him. I wasn't feeling liked or understood or even tolerated by him. But then maybe that was my fault, a result of all the lying and hiding and being someone I wasn't. Feeling desperate, I played Steph's card, even though it was a total fantasy. Tm trying to get him and Katy together. I want him to hang out with us so that he can be around her and warm up to the idea." Ethan snorted. "What makes you think he's going to go for Katy?" "Opposites attract?" The warning bell rang. Cameron came up to us, like he was waiting to go into the classroom. We were sort of blocking the door. "Excuse me," he said. Ethan swept hair out of his eyes, jutted out his chin. "Hold on. I'm not done making out with my girlfriend." Then he pulled me against him and kissed me, being thoroughly obvious with his tongue and the groping of my butt. When he finally pulled away, Cameron was still standing there, staring. "That supposed to impress me?" he asked, and went into the classroom. My face was hot, and not because the kiss was so great. "Why did you do that, Ethan?" "Because I wanted to." His face was as red as mine felt. "In the future, I'd appreciate it if you didn't use my body to make a point." The final bell rang; I pushed past him and went straight to my seat, pulled out my government book, and bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't cry. I hadn't cried at school since the day I heard Cameron died. Not crying at school was a key aspect of being Jenna Vaughn. Mr. O'Connor made the mistake of being nice, coming up to me during a pop quiz to whisper, "Everything okay, Jenna?" I shook my head. "Would you like a hall pass?" I nodded. He went back to his desk, wrote me a pass, and brought it to me with everyone watching. Everyone except Ethan, who refused to look at me. Leaning against the bathroom stall I had a total Jennifer Harris moment. I'd lost count of the number of times I'd cried at school back then for any and every reason: dropping my juice box on the playground, Mrs. Jameson accidentally sitting on my papier-mache project, losing the rubber ball that went with my set of jacks. Baby. Big fat baby. "Sensitive," "emotional," "dramatic" were the words adults used. They seemed to think it was something I should be able to get a grip on. "You're going to have to learn to pull yourself together, Jennifer" was what Principal Anderson said once after one of my episodes. I ran a paper towel under the faucet and pressed it to my face, looking in the mirror to check the status of the redness of my eyes. Baby, Then a voice from underneath that, one I hadn't heard before, talked back. You're not a baby. Babies don't tear away window screens with their bare hands to save themselves. I closed my eyes, wanting to hear more, trying to block out any image of Jenna Vaughn that obscured my view of Jennifer Harris. But apparently she'd finished talking. Cameron wasn't in detention, though he'd been late, too. I wasn't surprised; he seemed to operate by his own rules, even with the school administration. Ethan was waiting for me outside the room when it was over; I pretended not to see him and went the other way. "Where are you going?" he asked, turning around when he realized I wasn't tagging along. "I have to get home early. My mom needs me to do some stuff around the house." "What about the play?" I looked at him. I knew he was embarrassed and sorry for the scene outside government. And I knew that he expected me, as usual, to silently forgive him and act like everything was A-OK, restoring the balance of our little universe with a smile or a hug. But I couldn't. "I'll have to miss it today," I said. "Sorry." He shrugged, obviously angry. "Whatever. We're just making the final casting decisions. No big deal." "Well. Have fun." "Jenna..." "What, Ethan?" I said it fast, annoyed. "Never mind. God. What's wrong with you lately?" He started to walk away, then looked back. "Oh, let me guess. Hormones, right? Why don't you go home and take some Midol." "Yeah. I'll do that." Cameron stood by my car in the student lot. "How come you weren't in detention?" I asked, digging in my backpack for my keys. He shrugged. 'Til make it up tomorrow." My hands closed around my key chain, the one with the Statue of Liberty that Ethan had brought back from a family trip to New York right before school started. I wondered how much longer I'd keep it. "Do you need a ride?" "No." I sighed. "Then what are you doing here?" He stared at the ground and I finally instructed him to get in the car. He obeyed, folding himself into the seat. We pulled out of the lot and I drove for a few blocks before asking him where we were going, even though I already knew what he wanted -- to go back to where