wastebasket on her way out.
S he wasn’t sure which was worse: being in that meeting with all the people who didn’t understand her anymore or being at home with the ones who were so sure that they did.
“I don’t understand why you don’t understand where this is coming from?” her mother argued as Cami flipped through the channels on the television, trying to find a rerun of America’s Next Top Model and ignore her mother. Unfortunately, even the drama on Teen Mom couldn’t drown her out. “You signed up for this pageant months ago, Cameron. You can’t go back on your commitments. Besides, you look incredible and I really think you’ll win this year.”
I look incredible?
Her mother was of course referring to the ten pounds she’d lost while she was in the hospital. In a coma. Why did she have to keep reminding people that she’d almost died?
“I just don’t want to do it,” Cami finally admitted. “Is it really that big of a deal?”
As of late, her mother had been over the top in the smothering, give-you-whatever-you-want-because-I’ve-been-a-horrible-mother category, but she could tell from the look on her face that this subject didn’t fall within the realm of giving in.
“No, it’s not okay. Pageants are your thing, honey. You’re good at them, and the doctors said it’s best for your recovery if you get back to your normal routine.”
She hated her normal routine. She knew that her mother was probably going to blame the next outburst on her swollen brain or PTSD or whatever else the doctors said were her parting gifts from surviving her near death experience, but she didn’t care.
“I’m not doing it. No matter how much you beg or plead, Mom. You can’t force me down the runway. Quit asking.” She dropped the remote control on the couch as she stood up and proceeded to stomp up to her room, making her disdain for the subject perfectly clear. And just in case her mother hadn’t got the memo, she slammed her bedroom door shut behind her.
She fell onto the bed in the center of her room and held her cell phone up in front of her face. After sliding her finger across the screen, the photograph Kyle had taken of them sitting poolside in a lounge chair popped up. His lips were pressed to her cheek and for a moment she could feel the sensation on her skin. She could hear him saying, “Smile,” just before the click of the camera.
Without thinking, she flipped through her contacts list and dialed his number. She was living in the fantasy of his memory, hearing his voice on his voicemail greeting was all she needed to be completely surrounded by him. She waited as it rang. Four rings. She knew how many it took. She probably called his phone at least a dozen times since that day in the hallway when she saw his picture in the trophy case. Hoping each time that he’d answer and tell her it was just a sick and twisted joke. Each time, she waited for a different outcome. Today was the day.
“Hello?”
F or a solid week, Cooper circled Ella Jane everywhere she went. She didn’t come back to first period, so he suspected she had her schedule changed to avoid him. The only way he was going to get to speak with her was either to throw down with Cooper at school and risk a three-day suspension or go to her house.
He’d gotten his cast off, but as much as his fists itched to give Brantley Cooper a little insight to what a pretty boy he wasn’t, he knew hurting Cooper in any way would upset her. What he also knew was that she’d lowered her guard when he’d kissed her. The memory of her lips moving hungrily against his was enough to have him driving to her house after lacrosse team workouts that Friday.
All week, he’d had to babysit his grandma to ensure that she didn’t do anything that would give his parents a reason to cart her off to the local old folks’ home. The few lucid moments she had, she’d cried, remembering that his granddad was gone. Then she’d slipped blessedly
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