What Happens Now(48)

I thought of the guy’s body convulsing, the woman too checked out to know what to do.

“Tell me,” I said.

“Here?” he asked, his eyes still shut.

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to be Azor for you.”

“You were. You are.”

“Not now. Not this.”

“Then be Camden for me.”

Camden laughed and opened his eyes, his eyelashes glistening. In those eyes, I saw something I hadn’t yet glimpsed in him. Something wounded and secret and ashamed.

“I was twelve,” said Camden, taking a deep breath. “We were living in Florida with my mom’s boyfriend.”

I shifted my position so I was sitting cross-legged on the gravel. “Go on.”

“He and Mom had friends over; they were partying hard while I was trying to sleep. He came into my room thinking it was the bathroom, and then he just . . . he was on the floor . . .” Camden shook his head as he often did, like he was rattling something free. “I had the phone in my hand like this, on the line with 911.” He curled one hand into a tight claw that held an imaginary receiver. “But he died right in front of me.”

We were silent for a moment. I had no idea what to say.

“Is the guy okay?” asked Camden. “The one we saw?”

“I don’t know. Should we go find out?”

Camden shook his head. “That was mortifying over there, that I choked under pressure. I could have comforted the woman, at least. I have the training. I mean . . . the whole experience in Florida was one of the reasons why I wanted to volunteer at the hotline to begin with. I want to help people, not be a bystander my whole life.”

“You will,” I said.

“This is a goddamn upstate New York county fair! Not some crappy apartment in Gainesville! This kind of thing should not be happening at a wholesome family event.” He stood up and shouted at the sky. “We came here to get away from all that shit. I was supposed to be done with it. Done!”

I stood up, too. He turned to me.

“I have to go home. I have Max’s keys. The others can ride home with Kendall, right?”

“The others?”

He caught my arm and grasped it. “Will you come with me?”

I wasn’t sure what that meant. What would happen once we reached the Barn.

I didn’t care.

“Of course,” I said. “Let me call Kendall and let her know what’s happening.”

“Are you sure?” Kendall asked when I told her.

“He shouldn’t be alone.”

“So what does that mean, you’re going to stay over?”

“I have no idea. But if Mom or Richard call your house, can you cover for me?”

A pause. “Okay.” Her voice sounded flat and tight.

“I’ll check in with you later.”

I hung up and scooped the penguin from the ground.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, and took Camden’s hand with my free one. He looked at me and the pain on his face, it was so Azor. The memory of our kiss at the Ferris wheel flushed through me. All my unleashed, bold Satina-ness. “The ending sucked,” I added, “but until then I had the best night of my life.”

Camden smiled a little. “You have no idea.” He slipped his hand into mine to give it a squeeze before drawing it away.

I knew the quickest way out of the fair, and this time he was the one following me.





13




We didn’t speak as Camden drove Max’s car out of the fairgrounds parking lot.

In the strange and also strangely intimate minutes that followed, I stared out the window and thought about how getting to know someone is all about learning and unlearning at the same time. For every piece of new information you gain about that person, you might have to let go of something you thought was true.

Finally he asked, “So, that guy from your school we ran into. He was someone, right?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I said.

Camden nodded. “You don’t have to tell me the story. Unless it’ll make me feel better.”

“I was the one who ended it.”

A pause. “That makes me feel better.”

We were silent the rest of the drive. Camden seemed lost inside himself, sloshing around in places I had no access to.

When we got to the Barn, I followed Camden to the porch, where he stooped to fish a house key out from under the cushion of the wicker sofa. His Azor uniform was long gone. Now he wore only his white T-shirt and black pants and boots, and I couldn’t help thinking that half of him had been stripped away.

The house was eerily quiet without the voices and the music, the whirr of Eliza’s sewing machine. Once inside, I closed the door behind us. The sound of it seemed to startle him. I thought maybe he’d forgotten I was there, too. But he turned and looked at me, then held out both hands.

I took them.

“You’ve never seen my room,” he said, his voice rough like he was struggling to retrieve it.

My stomach lurched. “No.”

He tugged me toward the staircase, walking backward.

“Is it okay if I show you my room?” he asked.

“Yes,” I squeaked.