Recklessly / A Cameron Dallas Fan Fiction

Chapter One

"Difficult questions come in all shapes and sizes. They can be big and philosophical, like "What's the meaning of life?" Or small and personal, like "How do you know if you're really in love?" But of all the world's questions there is one that stands alone as the single most difficult to answer. "Do these jeans make me look fat?" If you've ever been asked this question you know what I'm talking about.

It's not like you can just say, "No, but your butt kinda does." And it's not like you can say, "Oh no, it looks great." Instead you have to find that delicate place between honesty and kindness. I know this because I hear the question all the time. I work weekends at Brandy Melville in Seattle, Washington. It's been my experience that a great many of those who ask the question already know the answer. This group includes the girls with the hot bodies who only ask because they want to hear someone say how great they look. My response to them is usually just to shrug and answer, "It doesn't make you look fat, but it is kind of strange for your torso." The proximity of the words "strange" and "torso" in the same sentence usually keeps them from asking again.

Most girls, however, ask because while they know a pair of jeans doesn't look right, they're not exactly sure why. That's the case with the girl who's asking right now. All she wants is to look her best and feel good about herself. Unfortunately, the pair of jeans she's trying on is preventing that from happening. My first step is to help her get rid of it for reasons that have nothing to do with her.

"I think it looks good on you," I answer. "But I don't love what happens with it's material when it gets wet. It loses its shape and it starts to look dingy."

"Really?" she says. "That's not good."

I sense that she's relieved to have an excuse to get rid of it, so I decide to wade deeper into truthfulness. "And, to be honest, it doesn't seem like you feel very comfortable in them."

She looks at me and then she looks at herself in the mirror and shakes her head. "No I don't, do I? I'm not good at finding clothes that suit me."

"Luckily, I can help you with that," I say. "But I need to know what you're looking for, and I need to know how you see yourself."

She cocks her head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Are you more intelligent and playful or do you have a sort of dark side?"

She thinks it over for a moment and smiles. "Well, I probably wish I had more of a dark side, but... I'm a playful and intelligent person."

"So am I," I reassure her.

We both laugh, and I can tell that I like her.

"Let's see what we can do about that," I say. "I think we've got a couple styles that just might help you out."

Fifteen minutes later, when I'm ringing her up at the register, she is happy and confident. I know it sounds hokey, but this is what I love about Brandy Melville. Unlike most stores, where girls have to be bikini babes or they're out of luck, this one has always been owned and operated by women.

In addition to being my coworkers, Nicole and Stella have been my best friends for as long as I can remember. At first glance they seem like polar opposites. Nicole is a blue-eyed blonde who stands six feet tall. This makes her self-concious at times around guys, but during sports it's an advantage. Stella, meanwhile, is petite and fiesty. She's completely Italian and all confidence.

Suddenly, the door flies open and a boy rushes in from the rain. Judging by the embarrassed look on his face, he made a much louder entrance than he intended.

"Sorry," he mutters to the three of us, barely audible but loud enough to hear. There's an awkward pause for a moment before he asks, "Can I speak to whoever's in charge?"

Wihthout missing a beat, Nicole and Stella both point at me. I'm not really in charge, but they love putting me on the spot, and since it would be pointless to explain that they're insane, I just go with it.

"How can I help you?"

As he walks to the register I do a quick glance-over. The fact that he's our age and I've never seen him before makes me think he's from out of town. But he's wearing a maroon hoodie with the brand name HUF printed out in gold, khaki pants, black Nike socks, and torn up black Vans.

It takes me a moment to realize that my glance-over might have slightly crossed the border into a stare-at, during which I was so distracted that I apparently missed the part when he asked me a question.

"Well...?" he asks expectantly.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"Which part?" he asks, with a crooked smile.

When it becomes apparent that I don't have an answer, Stella finally chimes in. "I think you should just call it a do-over and repeat the whole thing."

She stifles a laugh at my expense, but I ignore her so that I can focus on actually hearing him.

"Sure," he says. "I'm Cameron with Nova High, and I'm going to business all over town to see if they'll put up this poster highlighting some of the events we have planned for the seniors."

He unzips his backpack and pulls out a poster that has a picture of Seattle's marketplace. "We've got a parade, fireworks, all kinds of cool stuff, and we want to get the word out to all of the seniors at Nova."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" I interrupt completely dodging his explanation.

"Cameron," he says slowly, and more than a little confused. "I've said that like three times now."

"No, I don't mean 'What's your name?' I mean 'Who are you?'"

"Oh, that's easy," he says. "Yesterday I got detention for breaking a machine at the school, so I'm out here supporting our event and getting communitty service hours."

"You go to Nova?" I ask.

"I'm pretty sure I've said it a few times..." he says.

"I have never seen you around. And you're a senior?"

"Said that too..." he says and laughs annoyed.

I give him a fake smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Cameron. My name's Victoria."