What Happens Now(57)

“Oh, man,” he said.

“Have you read any?”

“No.”

“You can borrow whichever one you want.”

He turned his head so he could read the titles on the spines, then drew out two books and sank down on the floor next to me.

Simply leaning against my bed made the memories of fair night tumble over me. If my parents weren’t in the house, if we were somewhere else, would we have picked up right where we left off? Or had we gone a certain number of steps backward?

“Which do you recommend?” asked Camden, holding out the books, one flat on each palm like he was literally weighing them.

“Well, Planet Jasmine has the most Satina action. But the story is a little silly.” I plucked the other book, Time Enough, from Camden’s hand. “In this one, they’re in 1940s Hollywood. Lots of old-time film references. You’d like it.”

There was also less Azor in that one. I didn’t want Camden to think I was lending him a book laced with hidden meaning.

“I love that you have these books,” he said, taking Time Enough from me and clutching it to his chest. “I love your room. I love your whole house.”

“You haven’t seen my whole house.”

“I’m extrapolating.”

“But this is a cookie-cutter ranch house filled with stuff from chain stores. It’s everything the Barn is not.”

Camden continued to examine every inch of my room from his spot on the floor. Then he dropped his head back against my bed and closed his eyes.

“You know where I lived before the Barn?” he asked. “A yurt. You’ve heard of yurts?” I nodded. “Yeah, the yurt sucked. And the Airstream trailer. And the artists’ co-op. The Barn was the result of years of me begging my mom for us to live in something halfway normal. Then my grandmother passed away and for the first time there was money, and we could do it.”

Ah, okay. So Maeve was not the rich and successful artist I’d assumed she was. Everything I knew about Camden’s life clicked into another fresh focus. Learning and unlearning.

Camden paused as Dani peered around the corner of my doorway, thinking we couldn’t see her.

“Hi,” he said. She popped out of sight. We smiled at each other, knowing she hadn’t gone anywhere.

“I love the Barn, too,” continued Camden, softer now that Dani was eavesdropping. “But sometimes it feels really empty. My mom is either gone or in her studio most of the time. Why do you think my friends practically live there?”

I wanted to say Because you shine. You’re the flame and they’re the moths.

Camden didn’t wait for my answer. “Because I ask them to.”

This sounded so strange to me, especially coming from him. When things got bad for me, when it felt like my life was all about my responsibilities to everyone else, the only thing I’d wanted was time alone. To press the Pause button on the world, to have a chance to catch my breath and then, actually listen to it. I couldn’t imagine being lonely.

Camden ran his finger along my left side, then glanced furtively into the hallway.

“What happens if I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Don’t,” I said, so glad he wanted to. Almost happy to have a reason to deny him. “Dani,” I mouthed.

“Hey, Dani,” called Camden to the empty doorway. “I want to ask you something.”

Slowly, the blond hair appeared, followed by the little pale face and the big hungry eyes.

“Yes?” she asked, gripping my doorframe.

“What happens if I kiss your sister?”

Dani looked at him, her eyes growing impossibly wider, then at me, then made her most grossed-out face ever.

“Yuuuuuuck! Please don’t!”

She disappeared and we heard her run off down the hall.

“She’s going to tell my mom,” I said. “She has no filter.”

“Who cares?” he said, then grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me quickly before drawing away. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about doing that since five minutes after I dropped you off the other morning.”

“Shhhhhh.”

Footsteps pounding down the hall again. Dani poked her head in. “Dinner’s ready!”

Camden stood, then offered his hand and pulled me up, too. Dani watched with a smirk. I wasn’t sure what she’d seen or heard. But then again, Who cares?

Mom served dinner on the dining room table that we never used, because it was always piled high with papers. Camden answered my parents’ questions about his mom’s art—what inspired it and how she made it and who bought it. When they asked him to, he talked about Dashwood. How it wasn’t a place where kids ran around like Lord of the Flies as they’d heard, but rather an environment where you could study what you wanted and were encouraged to be responsible for your own education.

“It’s not perfect and it’s not for everyone,” he said. “But I like it.”

Camden sat straight with those square, confident shoulders, breezily brushing his hair out of his face, making pictures with his hands. His voice steady and musical, eyes reflecting the light. It was easy to see him the way my family was likely seeing him, the way I’d seen him at first. Knowing even a few of the truths behind all this made me feel powerful and privileged.