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Wehave our future planned. I'll become an architect, and she'll be a fashion designer.
"I know you will, Cam. You're going to be the best." We've known each other for a year now, and she is my best friend. We've been inseparable ever since we met. I'd shown her my drawings, and she decided that she liked them and announced to our family that we'd become best friends officially.
"I'll have my brand, and you'll have yours. I'll design clothes, and you'll design houses and all types of buildings." Her smile is contagious. Camille loves talking about the future. And even though she's three years younger than me, she knows exactly what she wants. I only hope I'll be lucky enough to be with her through every milestone of her dream to witness the greatness she'll one day achieve.
"That's the plan. We'll be power best friends."
She scrunches her nose. "You mean like a power couple?"
I shrug my shoulders with my hands in my pockets, look down at the gravel and kick a few rocks. "Yeah, like a power couple."
"CDJ Designs. That's what you should name your company." I look up at her sudden announcement, watching as she carefully folds the piece of paper and shoves it in the pocket of her pink overalls. I don't think I've ever seen her wear anything other than overalls—okay, that’s a bit dramatic, but overalls are her favorite.
"CDJ Designs? What does that stand for?" I ask, my eyebrows pulling together in a frown.
With an eye roll, she pops her hip and places her hand on it. "Camille and Dean Jameson. You know, once we get married, I'll have your last name." She runs up to the gate and begins climbing up, leaving me standing in my tracks wholly bewildered. I'd never thought about it before now, but I think she's right.
One day I will marry my best friend. I've always thought marriage was gross and had once announced to my parents that I would never get married. But watching Camille climb the fence with a carefree smile on her pink lips, I decide right then and there that marriage is for me after all, but only if I'm marrying her. If marriage is what it takes to see her smile every day, then so be it.
When we grow up, she'll be mine forever.
I don't want to spend one day away from my best friend.
"Come on, slowpoke!" she yells from the other side of the fence. With a smile, I run after her and climb up the fence carefully, following her across the vacant lot of the once mechanic shop. She walks in front of me, goes right up to the door, and lets herself inside.
Scoffing, I say, "Stupid people. Someone should keep this place locked."
"If it were locked, we wouldn't be able to get in here," she deadpans, giving me her signature look with her hands on her hips. She throws her head back, rolls her eyes, then carefully tiptoes inside the building, opening a second door that leads to what looks like the former owner's office.
"My office is going to be twenty times this size." She sits on the dusty, squeaky chair behind the desk, pulls her legs to her chest, and spins herself around while the chair groans and squeaks. "I need to look at your drawing again. I want to know all about your plan." She stops spinning, pulls a granola bar out of her pocket, and munches on it while pulling the drawing from her other pocket.
I swear this girl can't go anywhere without snacks in her pockets.
Taking the paper from her, I sit on top of the desk and unfold the blueprint, pointing to each drawing. "We'll remove this building and build a brand new one. It'll be huge! You'll have a perfect view of Seattle; you'll have an office on the top floor with a floor-to-ceiling window to see the city. And there will be so much room for all of your designs and everyone who will work for you." I want to be an architect just like my dad when I grow up. I want to create beautiful buildings and houses for people that will make them smile, just like she's smiling now.
From my peripheral, I see her staring at me. I like the way she looks at me. And I like that she always includes me in the plans for her future. When my parents moved us to Seattle, I had to leave all my friends behind. And being the new kid in school didn't exactly make me popular. I can count on one hand the friends that I have.
Camille.
Spencer.
Dallas.
Nathan.
That's it. See, one hand.
"Happy birthday, Cam. This is for you."
"Thank you. But I want one more thing." She sets the wrapper from her granola bar on the desk and uses the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. I wonder what other snacks I’d find if I were to reach inside her pocket. It's not like she's starving. It's a strange quirk.
"Anything for the birthday girl. What else?" She stands up from the chair, closes her eyes, and puckers her lips.
Woah. Wait. What?
I'm caught off guard. I hop off the desk and stand in front of her, wiping my sweaty palms on my faded blue jeans.
Does she really want me to kiss her? I've never kissed anyone. I thought about kissing her before, but she's too young, and I don't think she knows what she's doing, not that I do either, but I’ve seen it in movies. I'm almost a teenager, and according to Dad, my first kiss should be happening soon. He said he had his first kiss when he was my age. That girl was Mom.
