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After a quick shower I check my phone, which is operational again now that I’ve scraped together the money to pay the overdue bill. A curse hisses out of my mouth when I realize I have about thirty seconds to grab my shit and dash to the bus stop. If I don’t make it I’ll miss work and be stuck in Black Mountain until the next bus shows up in two hours.
My hair is wet and I don’t have time to yank on my jacket. The bus pulls up to the corner just as I exit the front doors of the main building and I wave my hand in the air before accelerating to a sprint across the grass.
When I get closer I notice that Camden is there, just inside the open bus doors, paused with one foot on the first step. She says something to the driver and turns around just as I catch up.
“You almost didn’t make it,” she informs me in her starchy Queen Of All Knowledge tone. Now that we work together I get to listen to it a lot more than I’d like to.
My favorite response is to stare at her and say nothing while picturing her on her knees with a mouthful of my dick.
I do this now. I do not feel even slightly guilty.
Camden tosses her curtain of almost-blonde hair and ascends the steps. She does have insanely sexy legs. Jerking off to dirty mental pictures of Camden Galway has become a steady habit of mine over the past two weeks but that’s because she’s now all over my life. She’s on the bus, she’s in the classroom and she’s a fixture at my job. I can’t get away from her if I try.
She always chooses a seat near the front and I always choose a seat near the back. We don’t talk on the bus and we don’t talk at school. That hasn’t changed since we started working together.
I throw my bag on the seat and plunk right down. Then I realize that my jacket, which had been in my hand when I left the locker room, is now nowhere in sight. I must have dropped it somewhere.
Awesome.
It’s my only warm jacket and the bus is already on the move. With a sigh I stuff my hands into the front pockets of my hoodie and glare at the diminishing silhouette of Black Mountain Academy. I feel like Oliver fucking Twist.
There are only three other people on the bus and one of them is Camden. While we’re always on the same bus in the morning we often leave at different times after school. This time of year I don’t have baseball practice so I usually catch the first bus after school ends. I figure she probably takes a later bus after she’s finished ordering everyone around at the Bulletin. I’ve never asked and I don’t really care.
She’s got her head down at the moment and it looks as if she’s writing something. All of a sudden, as if she can sense my attention, she turns around and gives me a frank stare. I stare right back at her.
We’re going to be working together tonight, which tends to be both interesting and irritating. Interesting because she’s fun to look at and irritating because she’s bossy as shit. Friday nights are typically busy. Diane Cushing has been filling in for her husband while he recuperates. She had asked me if I could handle the place until closing tonight with only Camden around to help.
Of course I can.
Even if working with Camden makes me want to tear my hair out occasionally I would never let the Cushings down. They’ve been good to me; giving me the job, working around my schedule, handing out extra hours because they know I really need the cash. They are great people. For them I’ll even put up with Camden’s overbearing attitude and act happy about it.
Camden stares at me for another few seconds and there’s something calculating about the look on her face. It’s not a sex-me-up kind of look. I can spot those from half a block a way. No, it’s more like she’s considering scooping my brains out and examining the contents under a microscope.
I give her a wink, just to fuck with her a little, which is enough to make her swivel around and face front again. She fluffs her hair and returns to her notebook. This brief exchange has rushed enough blood to my dick to make me wish I had time to stop at home and jerk off before reporting to work.
The bus rumbles along the road down to Devil Valley. The driver sings along with the radio.
“Come on, guys, join in!” she shouts to us before breaking into the chorus of Frosty the Snowman. Camden is the only one who cooperates and even though she sings softly it sounds as if she might have a decent voice.
I should use this time to do my homework but I don’t feel like it so I stare out the window. A light dusting of snow fell last night and I guess it makes everything look all nice and festive but I never get excited about the holidays anymore.
Last night my mom asked what I want for Christmas and I told her I didn’t want a thing. I don’t know why she asked. She can’t even make rent these days without help from my paycheck. But then her face became sad and I wondered if she was remembering the old days when this time of year meant a ten foot professionally decorated tree lighting up the foyer of the house and knowing that the vast collection of presents underneath it would take forever to open. I can remember more than one Christmas morning when my dad surprised her with keys to a new car or a new boat, which would be waiting in the driveway with a giant red ribbon. Later in the day, after I’d finished tearing the paper from dozens of expensive gifts, the three of us would go out on the bay or take a drive up the coast. Those golden days seem like they happened to someone else on a distant planet and I wish I’d appreciated them more.
Without warning the bus skids on a curve and my forehead smacks into the cold window glass.
“Fuck.” I rub my head and wonder what the hell else can go wrong today.
Moments later the bus rolls through the center of Devil Valley and pulls up to the corner stop.
Camden is already standing and chatting with the driver. Something about a church potluck and two hundred handmade napkin holders. They laugh together as if they are best friends. I’ve got to admit, while Camden is not fantastically popular among people our age, she does seem to have everyone over the age of thirty wrapped around her little finger. The Black Mountain teachers worship her, the Cushings adore her, and even the bus driver loves her to pieces.
“You have a great weekend, Rita,” Camden calls out when the doors open.
Rita waves a mitten-covered hand. She wears a hat in the shape of raggedy felt reindeer ears. “You too, honey. Oh, and Happy Birthday!”
Camden departs and Rita turns to me. “You have a good weekend too, Mr. Scrooge.” She thinks she’s told a terrific joke and she laughs hysterically.
Reindeer Rita may be kind of goofy but she means well so I raise a hand in farewell and hustle off the bus.
