Chapter three: a twisted kind of charming-
Whoa there. Why would Cam like me of all people. I thought to the times I’d seen him, and not once did he every mention someone else outside his family.
Well, Molly was pretty stupid. It’s not like she can actually tell if someone likes someone else. I’m pretty good at reading people. As much as I hate to make assumptions of people’s personalities, my first impression of them is usually right. I can tell when they’re tired, or sad, or angry. Maybe it’s because I search for ways to make people believe that I’m fine. Or maybe it’s because I’m used to dealing with emotional issues among my friends back in New York. But, all I know is, is that there’s no way Cameron White likes me.
Reguardless of what was actually true, I spent the entire class mulling over the idea in my head. Nothing points to that assumption, and I can’t possibly see why it was made.
I walked out of class, (still stuck in my thoughts) going with the flow of the heavy, after school traffic. As always, short, little me was being shoved along with the rest of the students in the hall, all rushing to get to their lockers and make it to the bus in time, when I ran smack into something solid.
Oof, and I fell to the ground, on my butt, my book flying several feet away, I cursed to myself over and over in my head, as I opened my eyes and saw two, heavy looking boots in front of my face. “Need help?” Asked Cam, as I looked up into his blue eyes. They looked different than they did before class…
“Umm…” Before I could piece together a proper answer, he’d ducked down and grabbed me by my waist and stood me up to standing. I looked around through the sea of people, trying to find my book. “Have you seen my…” I looked up to Cam, who was waving my text book.
“Come on, we need to get out of this hallway before you seriously injure yourself,” He gave me a half smile (the butterflies followed immediately after) and propelled me forward away from the hell that is the hallway, and to a little unmarked classroom. He closed the door behind us. “I figured we’d hide out in here until the busses leave. That way we can get to your locker in one piece,”
“Thanks,” I said.
“For what?”
“For rescuing me. Sorry I ran into you,” I apologized and he laughed. “What?” I asked between laughs.
“Nothing,” He said, still smiling. It was weird, cause his mouth was smiling so wide that it crinkled up at his eyes (which I thought was really adorable) and his dimples were showing (again, omg) but his eyes were… sad. There was a deep overlay of melancholy that rooted into his eyes and I suddenly was really concerned, and my smile immediately dropped from my face. His smile soon followed and his own eyebrows drew together and mirrored my worry. “What is it?”
“Are… um… are you okay?” I stuttered. Asking about people’s feelings isn’t really my thing. I’m not really big on drama, and a lot of times I just always tell myself that if someone wants to tell me something, they will. But, in the duration of life I’ve had several friends that aren’t like that. Instead of coming right out, they silently scream for you to see that they need your help. Or sometimes they don’t realize that they’re drowning in their own sorrow and it can be up to you to notify them of this fact. Nonetheless, I felt it necessary to ask Cameron this question.
