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“Language!” Headmaster Powell points a spindly finger in Cameron’s face, which gets zero reaction from my friend. I suppose years of being seen as the class clown and the one constantly being barked at for talking out of turn, acting out of turn, or just plain turning the wrong way has hardened Cameron while also sharpening his come-back game. If the headmaster pointed at me that way, I would probably have to fight hard not to cry. Cameron doesn’t flinch.
“Well . . . I’m glad you’re able to exercise. But really, it would make me feel better if you at least let us get a walker or a wheelchair or something, just for tonight.” Caroline gestures to her husband and he races off to no doubt dig up some piece of equipment they’ve probably kept in their basement for just such an occasion.
I stand quickly, masking the wince my face wants to make with an exuberant smile.
“No! Really, see? Better now.” My leg is trembling, so I sway a little on my feet to disguise the motion.
Headmaster Powell ducks back into the room and before his wife has a chance to insist again, I pull out a few steps from my youth tapdancing classes.Kick, ball, change.“I promise. All I needed was a bit of a stretch.”
The blood moving through my legs is helping, but the nerve zaps around my knee are intense, and I’m seconds away from buckling again.
“I’ll make sure she gets back safely. We both walked here, so we can leave together. I’ll take her the fast route, cutting corners left and right, you know . . . through lawns and such.” Cameron’s mouth ticks up on one side, dimpling his cheek in the perfect passive aggressiveF-U.
Caroline’s eyes narrow, but the growing chatter down the hall draws her attention away from us and she seems to let Cameron’s comment slide. This is her party as much as it’s supposed to be for us. This is her way of wooing donors, and the more time she spends with me, the less time she’s spending urging checkbooks out of purses and collecting business cards for follow-up.
“I’ll make sure my dad knows you’re looking after me. He’ll be grateful,” I lie. He won’t give two shits, but those are the magic words she needs to hear.
Her blood-red lips pucker into a pleased smile.
“All right, then. But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t.” I shake my head in confirmation, and it’s hard to read her expression. She’s either impressed with my stubborn determination or suspicious. Rightfully, she should be both.
She hits Cameron with a warning glare before leaving the room with her husband. I stumble toward the piano bench the moment the coast is clear, falling on my ass with a whimper.
“If I have to give you a piggyback ride to avoid more ofthat,I will,” Cameron says, sliding onto the other side of the bench. Leaning forward, I rub my knee and calf with my palms.
“Thanks, but I remember your last piggyback ride. I ended up in the lake.” We were twelve and partners for the Spring Fling obstacle course. When it became clear we weren’t going to win the race, Cameron turned the activity into an opportunity to get me soaked.
“To be fair, it was pretty hot out. I don’t think you minded.” He presses his fingers down on the piano keys, playing a soft chord. A concert for one.
“Uhm, to be fair, you dumped me in the lake when I was wearing Givenchy sneakers, so yeah. I minded.” I sit up straight but continue to rub my knee.
“Who wears Givenchy sneakers to field day?Pfft.” He rolls his eyes then lays his other hand on the keyboard, playing a soft chord an octave lower than the last one. My gaze focuses on his fingers, the delicate way they press the keys with familiarity. I didn’t know he played the piano. It’s clear that he knows his way around the ivories, though.
“Says the guy who wears the same blue and white Adidas Gazelles for everything,” I retort, leaning into him and dipping my chin to catch a glimpse of his feet, which are in fact in the blue and white shoes. The contrast with his dark gray suit is comical.
He taps his toe on the piano’s pedals.
“Comfort over both form and fashion.” His hands inch along the keyboard toward me, tapping out a faint melody that’s muted by the pedal he presses to the floor. I catch myself smiling at the deftness of his hands as much as the melody.
“Man of many talents.” I smirk at him.
His fingers curl against the keys, his heavy monogram ring scraping the surface. He shrugs. I think maybe I’ve embarrassed him by calling out his musical ability.
“Many,manyyears of forced piano lessons.” He leans into me, his bicep touching mine, and for a blip, I have this urge to lay my head against it. Instead, I clear my throat and swing my legs around the bench to turn my focus on the shelves of books. Cameron does the same then stands, moving forward and pulling out a copy of Gulliver’s Travels.
“I hated this book,” he says, flipping quickly through the pages before sliding the heavy novel back into its place.
“It’s satire,” I respond.
He glances over his shoulder to meet my gaze.
“It’s boring.” Cameron drags a heavy hand against the spines of the books that line the shelves on his way to the rolling ladder parked on the far end. He flashes a grin only a second before pushing off from the ground and hopping on the ladder to ride it halfway across the room. He holds an arm out exaggeratedly, as if he’s truly flying, and when the ladder abruptly stops, he leaps off and stumbles back to his spot on the bench.
I can’t help but giggle.
“Why are you so good at making me laugh?” I ask as he blows upward at the loose locks of brown hair that have fallen over his chocolate-colored eyes.
