Wait For Me

Chapter 1: Rain

A/N: up here ^^^ is my lil' baby Cam. Isn't she cute?
As for the song, I'm sorry, I had to :3 don't kill me pls

Rain sucks. Especially when you're in the rain. Which I am. Cameron Boyle here, talking to you from beneath a broken red umbrella, while I wait for the bus in the worst rainstorm Aurora has had in... Well, longer than the three years I've been taking the bus home, since my mom had to work a second job.

Although, I won't really complain: the water is somewhat refreshing, and it could be worse: it could be cold, wet, and dark, not just cold and wet (right now it was just about 3:47). I could be walking home because I fell asleep at the stop, or paranoid after watching another murder mystery like that one time last week. That was embarrassing. If anyone mentions me and squirrels in the same sentence, ignore them. Please.

But, yeah, the bus was late. Maybe there's another elderly driver? It's usually late when old people are driving.

"Come on, come on," I said, my voice dry and raspy. I'd emptied my water bottle hours ago, and hadn't had access to a fountain to fill since then. Which sucked, but it was my own fault. I raised it to eye level and shook it, watching the last, like, three drops swirl around in the bottom while they mocked me in their not-even-enough-to-drink-ness, hoping they would maybe multiply. I didn't even want a full bottle at this point: just a nice big gulp would be fine.

Nothing. I grumbled something that probably shouldn't be repeated. I slumped on the cold wet bench.

Screeeeeech! My head shot up, looking to the left of me in delight. My bus was here! Finally! As I removed myself from the bus stop bench, a quick glance through the front told me why the bus was late: there was indeed a quite frail looking old woman sitting in the driver seat, and seeing her made me regret being angry for having to wait. She was so small it was a miracle that she could even reach the gas pedal.

The moment the doors shushhhed open, the moment I walked out of the cold, into the slightly less cold and far less wet vehicle I always rode home in, I found out another reason to not complain about rain: sulking like a wet cat had kept me from replaying this awful day in my head. And the second I grabbed a bar to steady myself, it hit me full force, like a wave.

-=-

~Crackle~ went the speaker in the classroom, making anyone who gave the slightest bit of a bother look up at the flat, sizeable white circle in the ceiling.

"Cameron Boyle, please come to the counselor's office." Cue the internal groan. I had gone to the school counselor more times than I cared to admit. I could count the grades I'd gotten through without seeing Miss Weaver on one hand. One finger. I made it one year without seeing her.

I made my way out of the classroom without a lot of fanfare. Like I said, Miss Weaver and I were very much acquainted, to the point that there wasn't any sort of acknowledgement, except maybe two people watching me leave. The science teacher gave me the hall pass without even glancing up.

-

I watched Miss Weaver shuffle through my file and act as if she hadn't read it a thousand times before. Then she set it down and gestured me to take a chair.

"I'm gonna be honest, Cam." She said. "I'm getting tired of you."

Most people do, I thought. I told her so.

"That's not what I mean and you know it," she replied. "You're a bright young lady, and I know you can accomplish so much more than you do. I mean seriously, a C- in art, Cameron? It's your favorite subject!"

It was, she was right. But they teach stuff, expecting you to know it, understand it, then move on before anyone has a chance to understand what they're telling you. It was frustrating, especially in art. Art was what I was best at. Everyone said so. And besides, failing wasn't something I was particularly good at handling. I had a small hole in my bedroom wall from the last test in December. Oops.

-=-

It had gone on and on and on from there. Was everything okay at home? Was I doing okay? Was I eating, was I sick, yadda, yadda, yadda. Yes. I was sick of her, just like she was sick of me. I was wholeheartedly done with her concern - which I knew was real, having been around her for so long, but that just seemed to make it worse.

Suddenly the nearly two miles between home and school came to a close with an ear-bleed-inducing squeal of the bus's brakes, nearly sending me face first into the floor of the vehicle. I didn't, but the fact that it nearly happened was embarrassing enough. Most of these people rode this same bus every day, right alongside me: I didn't want to be remembered for faceplanting in the abandoned bag of McDonalds at my feet. Sheesh.

After I regained a wobbly sense of balance, I squished my way through the other passengers, holding my breath as I passed a rather large man who smelled like that rancid old take-out bag - blech - and tripped over my feet going down the bus steps as I went into the wet weather again. I was followed out by two other people.

For a moment I just stood there, in the light of a street lamp, looking around me at all the dull gray that always came with these rainy, cloudy days and let myself be separated from it. I was still wet, yeah, but it was slightly less depressing in the light. I watched the people passing by, watched them shuffle by across the street in their grayness.

There's a big old empty lot across from the apartment complex I live in which backs up to something akin to woods. Contained of course: you can't really have a big forest in the middle of a city. Every year around school time it fills with campers, and RVs, maybe nine or ten total, filled with this lively group of people. They're always joking and laughing, and the neighbors are always trying to file lawsuits or whatever and make them go away, but they never make it far. The parents cook, and drink beer and lemonade while the young little kids are usually all corralled into this big group surrounding one older boy like a flock of sheep around a shepherd. As I watched, a little girl, maybe five in a pair of purple overalls and pigtails ran away from the group close to the street (it's a quieter street, but still), soon followed by the teenager. She was almost halfway across the road and I was almost prepared to stop her when suddenly she saw me.

The little girl froze, and I swear she looked like she'd seen a ghost because she turned pale as a sheet of paper. There she stayed for a second, two. Then the boy caught up to her, kneeling down to her level and grabbing her small hand.

"Ellie, what are you doing?" he asked, "Don't run to the street and definitely don't stop in the middle. Understand?"

Ellie nodded but didn't take her eyes off of me. What was she scared of? Was I a ghost? Had I fallen into that Big Mac and died of disgust? I didn't know. That also didn't change that she was clearly terrified of something.

"Ellie? Ellie, what are you staring-" The boy followed her gaze, and met my eyes, his gaze flickering between Ellie and myself. His stare turned hostile, though I hadn't made any sort of move towards either of the two and, after three horribly uncomfortable seconds under his analyzing stare, he picked Ellie up off the ground in an experienced way and walked back to their little RV camp without a word.

Once, he glanced back, and I swear to you, those green eyes turned gray by the weather flashed bright orange. It was clear as day, unmuddied by clouds. After that, he continued walking, fast enough that I couldn't process what had just happened.

What the hell?

-=-

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please comment what you thought, and vote if you liked it! Thank you so much!

I wish you love, luck and puppy kisses! (unless you're allergic to puppies) Talk to you later my lovelies!