What Happens Now(24)

“It is,” said Eliza, reappearing and stepping between us. “I have a smaller version hanging in my room. She made it for my birthday because she knew I loved this one so much.” Her eyes misted up.

It was a son’s girlfriend gift, and it was also really hard not to wonder what Camden and Eliza’s relationship was like now that Eliza was with Max. How long had they gone out? Was it a dumping or a mutual split? And why would Camden ever let her go because look at her, she was a freaking superstar even as Reboot Satina.

“How long have you known Camden?” asked Kendall, as if reading my mind.

“Since he started at Dashwood two years ago.”

“We’ve never met anyone from Dashwood,” said Kendall. “Isn’t that weird?”

“I have a couple of friends at Fitzpatrick,” said Eliza, not answering the question. “What do you do there?”

“What do you mean? We go to school.”

“What are your interests? Activities?”

“I’m on the newspaper staff,” offered Kendall.

“Perfect. Then I know exactly who to introduce you to.” She grabbed Kendall’s elbow and guided her away. I started to follow them, but then caught sight of Camden moving back toward me. So I stayed, and turned to him, and tried to keep breathing.

He looked down at my drink. “How is that?”

“Um . . .”

“I assumed as much.” He took it out of my hand and placed it on a nearby counter, and there was something simple and chivalrous about the gesture that made that floating thing happen to my kneecaps. “Your friend seems to be gone. Do you want the tour anyway?”

I nodded, and he nodded back, then indicated that I should follow him. A simple tilt of his head, with his eyes on me. My God. Did he know that’s all it would take for me to go with him anywhere?

He led me out of the kitchen area and through the living room zone, then up the spiral stairs, past some guy sitting on a single step playing the mandolin as if that weren’t completely random. The stairs were narrow and steep, which made me focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I gripped the railing hard.

On the second level, there was a small landing with a couch and wood-burning stove. Three closed doors led off of it. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooked some hills to the west, where the sun had just set and the sky was an abstract quilt of reds and blues about to fade forever.

Without a word, Camden slid one panel of the window open, then the other, and stepped up to it so the tips of his boots were practically on the ledge. There was no screen. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

I hung back, but he turned to me and tilted his head again. Come try.

One foot in front of the other, again and again. If only all clichés could be so true and useful.

Eventually, my purple feet lined up next to his glossy black combat ones, the toes slightly over the ledge.

Air. Light. Smells. Sounds. I felt the overwhelming temptation to take a step forward out the window, but also the self-control to not do it. The thrill of that. The power of choosing one over the other.

The power of knowing my choice might have been different eighteen months ago, but that was not now.

“My mom put in this window so we could do exactly this. I mean, she practices yoga and meditation here. But I like to just . . . be exposed.” He shook his head. “Camden, why do you keep saying creepy shit? I meant, not in a naked way but in a—”

“I know what you meant,” I said.

He sighed with relief and turned back to stare out the window. Or rather, the absence of a window.

“What’s it like, going to Fitzpatrick?” he asked. “I’ve never been to public school. I’d never been to school at all, before Dashwood.”

“You were homeschooled?”

“Yup.”

“I could ask you what that’s like. Because that seems much more interesting.”

“But I went first.”

I shrugged. “It’s high school. There are a lot of rules. Some of them are official, and some aren’t.”

“And you have to follow them all?”

“If you want the whole experience to be tolerable, then pretty much yes.”

Camden nodded, but still looked wistful, as if I’d made it sound like a place worth being. “But don’t you go to football games and everyone cheers for the team?”

“I’ve never been to a football game.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “If I went to Fitzpatrick, I’d go to the football games. So I could be part of something.”

He grew suddenly quiet. I felt like I’d let him down somehow.

“But I do Mock Trial,” I offered. “Or I did. That’s also a team. An incredibly nerdy one, but still a team.”

“I would cheer for that. For you.”

We were silent for a moment. His eyes met mine. The for you seemed visible in the air after he said it, like breath on a cold day.

“We get to wear costumes,” I said, trying to keep the conversation going, keep myself from freezing up. “Sort of. Lawyer-type suits and whatever clothes your character would wear. Not like actual cosplay. Pretty impressive, by the way.”

I motioned to his silver jacket. He looked down at my boots.

“I know, I know,” he said sheepishly. “You’re a fan of the Arrow Original, right? You think the Arrow Reboot was lame and ill-conceived. Something they did to capitalize on the fandom.”