Author Games: Circle

Task Four | 11-20 Entries

11 // CAMDEN FISHER

Viola sororia; A violet represents modesty and faithfulness.

*

After the Engells, it was the Greens, and then the Garcias. Then came the Gimmicks, the Whites, and a woman in her sixties called Petunia. Camden appreciated her name, but her house had stunk of mothballs and she'd owned two large German Shepherds who had liked to pillage Camden's room for no reason in particular. After Petunia was a man named Harry, but that had lasted less than a month before Camden was once again on his own.

Only, he hadn't been alone. Not really. Throughout this entire experience, he'd kept in contact with a certain Jay Galluccio.

At first, correspondence had been difficult. The occasional playdate that sometimes warranted an inconvient hour-long drive. A postcard here and there. If they were lucky, a phone call. Then, sometime during the Gimmicks or the Garcias, Camden had created an email account that made talking that much easier. Old Petunia had bought a new phone, and let Camden keep her old one - which meant texting was an option, and phone calls could become more and more frequent.

Somehow, the two friends had never faded.

And now? Camden was moving back to the neighborhood where it had all began. He'd get to attend school with Jay again; he'd get to see him every day. In person.

The thought both frightened and delighted him. Would Jay still want to hang out with Camden, or would he have moved past all that, instead desiring to keep their friendship through texts and calls? Or, maybe even worse, was the second option. That they'd become even closer, only for Camden to be shipped off to yet another home.

His eyesight went a bit blurry and his stomach quaked with queasiness as he tried to refocus on the matter at hand: his new family.

Well, maybe family was the wrong word. Although Camden knew little about his new home, he had a name and a photograph. That was all he needed, for now. The woman's name was Violet; another name that Camden found favorable. Judging by the photo, she was in her early thirties, with dark skin, and eyes that were kind even through a camera lens. Her hair was hidden beneath a floppy sunhat, and she'd been standing in a backyard of some sort. Camden hoped it was her own. That way, he might be able to grow a few flowers, make himself at home through the somewhat-limited flora of the place.

"Camden, please. You're nearly twelve years old, and you know that's a bad habit."

"Hm?" The noise was absent-minded, mumbled behind the nails of his left hand.

"That. Chewing your nails to nubs."

"Sorry, sir." Camden hadn't even realized he was doing it until Giles pointed it out. In all fairness, nervousness felt natural at this point. Especially now that the car was crawling through an all-too-familiar neighborhood with hanging baskets and neat little porches and freshly-painted doors.

This was the Engells' street. It was Violet's street.

A violet is able to adapt to nearly all environments. They can grow and thrive in almost any climate or habitat, though they do prefer moist soil in the shade. They're elusive, too. Though they smell great, the scent disappears after just one whiff. This is in part due to a chemical they contain called ionine, which temporarily -

"Do you know you say that stuff out loud?"

"S-Sorry, sir."

Giles made a grunt of acknowledgement and turned into the driveway. "Here we are, then. Violet's house. Try not to scare her off."