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More than anything else in the world I want to believe that I can trust him.
Todd’s taunting laughter echoes in my ears. It mushrooms and expands until I can’t hear anything else, although dimly I’m aware that the last bell has rung.
Footsteps approach and a hand lands on my shoulder. “Camden?”
I raise my head to find Trina staring at me with concern.
“Are you sick?” she asks. “I can handle the meeting this afternoon if you want to go home.”
“I’m not sick,” I grumble and roll the chair away from the desk.
“What’s wrong then?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“No wonder.” She pulls up a chair, inches closer until our chairs are touching and tosses her black curls over one shoulder before shooting me a conspiratorial grin. “When you asked me about Ben Beltran you might have mentioned that you guys are a thing.”
“What makes you think that we are?”
She playfully shoves at my arm. “Nice innocent act. Kent heard it from Ben at lunch. So fess up.”
“Kent heard it from Ben,” I say and I’m picturing how it must have happened; Ben occupying the spotlight among a cluster of Black Mountain jocks and handing out details about his sexual exploits.
I stand up so quickly that I manage to knock a keyboard off the table. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait.” Trina is alarmed and gets in my way. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” I’m already backing through the door. “I just need to get some air.”
The after school frenzy has turned the hallways into a storm of bodies. They cluster and they hug and they shout and they get in my way. I know I’m short on time. The first bus leaves approximately ten minutes after the final bell and Ben is going to be on it. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I just know that I need to see him, like perhaps laying eyes on him will help me understand.
Someone, a boy, calls my name from the depths of the hallway crowd and then laughs. It’s not Ben’s voice and I don’t care whose voice it is. I hold up my extended middle finger and hope the caller sees it.
A blast of arctic air greets me when I open the front door but I hardly feel it. The courtyard is filled with wandering students but beyond that is the familiar, ugly outline of the public bus. Three inches of snow crunch beneath my feet while I take long strides across the courtyard. I see the bus doors snap closed. The cold is starting to seep in and I cross my arms over my chest in a flimsy attempt to fend it off. The undercarriage of the bus squeals, indicating that the driver has taken the vehicle out of park. It’s too late. Any confrontation I have with Ben Beltran will be happening later in Devil Valley. Probably better that way. I can’t guarantee that I won’t create a scene and I’d hate to give the BMA rumor mill any more fodder to chew on.
I take a deep breath and shut my eyes for a long second. But when I open them I find myself looking right at Ben. He’s there in one of the rear bus windows, perhaps sitting in the same seat we shared this morning. He doesn’t appear especially concerned about anyone or anything. In fact he looks bored. A raging fire rises in my skin and I welcome it as a shield to the cold. I’m angry. I have every right to be angry.
At the last second before the bus pulls away Ben’s head turns and he sees me. Or at least I think he does. Our eyes connect but I can’t clearly translate his expression. That might be the case even if he stood six inches away. Ben is good at keeping his emotions at bay. He’s good at seeming cool and detached.
In a flash the bus is gone and Ben is gone and I’m left standing there in the courtyard all alone except for the hundreds of teenagers surrounding me. The school day is over and it’s nearly Christmas and everyone in sight is excited. Everyone in sight is also a Black Mountain kid. They leave the school property in their fancy cars because this is their world and I’m just a visitor here.
Like Ben.
We are outsiders, both of us.
Why did I trust you?
I can’t hang around outside in the freezing cold all afternoon. There’s a Bulletin meeting to deal with. I straighten my spine, breathe through the internal pain and march right through the doors and to the room where Trina is keeping order among the staff, all of whom are eager to be finished with the last meeting of the year. Even the faculty advisor, Mr. Demelza, is perched on the edge of a table, engrossed in his phone and not paying much attention. I don’t keep them long and I silently congratulate myself for maintaining a calm, level tone as I thank everyone for another fine issue of the Bulletin, wish them a happy, safe holiday and remind them to be back here and ready to work the second week in January.
Mr. Demelza asks me if I need anything else before tomorrow’s issue goes live and from the look on his face it’s obvious he’s got his fingers crossed that I’ll say no. He’s one of the first to flee the room. Trina is the last person to leave. She wants to talk about Ben. And me. And me and Ben. I would call Trina a friend and I’m sure she’s too principled to backstab anyone. For a tempting second I wish I could confide in her. I wish I could confess my feelings and ask for her advice. But my pride won’t let me admit to anyone that I might have been fooled by Ben Beltran so I just smile and tell her I’m busy with this final round of proofreading. I hear her sigh as she leaves.
For the next two hours I stare at the screen and re-read articles I’ve read dozens of times and examine the layout I have already memorized. The silence in the building thickens as the other extracurricular activities conclude. The hallway is dim when I step out of the Bulletin room and I can hear the faint echo of a girls’ volleyball game in progress but there is still an overwhelming sense of loneliness in the school. I shiver as I button up my jacket and outside the sun is already beginning to dip below the horizon as the calendar has nearly reached the shortest day of the year.
The bus arrives right on schedule and I’m relieved to see the evening shift driver has taken over because he just stares straight ahead, never appears to recognize anyone, and certainly doesn’t try to carry on a conversation. The other passengers are all unfamiliar and all minding their own business so I’m free to drop into a seat and dully watch the darkening landscape zoom past. The dread and anger I’ve been trying to hold at bay rises sharply when I see the bright sign for Dee’s Gas and Goods. If Ben and I were a normal couple I would have texted him hours ago to demand an explanation but we are not a normal couple and really not even a couple at all so I don’t have his cell phone number.
The gas pumps are not busy and I see Ben behind the counter with no customers in sight. He looks up when I charge right in.
“WHY?”
