Nocturnal

The air was humid. I should've worn a much thicker sweater. Hugging my arms, I scooted into Phillip's side, lowering my head on his shoulder. His arm draped around me. I glanced up. He was focused on the ongoing game, had been from the start. Mine kept darting between the field and people.

Football really wasn't my thing.

Dawn jumped from her seat cheering each time Zeke—number 2—got the ball. It was impressive how loud her words carried. She should be on the cheering squad.

"You never answered me." I mumbled in Phill's ear.
The blue eyes flickered to me, "About what?"

Happy to have his attention, I straightened.

"Yesterday night, when we were on the phone, you never answered about Daren. Why he called you a pyro?" my voice had lowered towards the end. Maybe because Phillip jerked his eyes away—I touched his leg. "Hey," he faced me, eyes cast-off. "You don't need to talk about, not right now. I'm sorry I asked—"

Phillip shook his head, sighing, "Back when we were in middle school a fire got started—it burned half the place. I got stuck inside—" my breath caught. "The firemen found me in a burning classroom. The ceiling was practically falling. A fireman was able to find a safe path, though, and when we reached the outside the paramedics examined me—my clothes were torched, but I didn't have burns." He shrugged off, like being in a burning building wasn't something that fazed him—it wasn't dangerous for him. "They found a lighter in my pocket." He paused. "Some people thought I started it—because of the fire that killed my parents—but I wasn't the only one with a lighter. Lots of us were experimenting... stuff." Stuff—cigarettes, drugs—how nice.

"Let me guess," my eyes fell on number 5. "Daren's a hater?" he nodded. Anger sparked, "I never thought I'd say this, but I think I found someone who's a bigger jerk than your brother." Phillip laughed at that. "Seriously, what he said... it was heartless." It was unthinkable. Phillip hadn't started the fire that murdered his parents—or the other one. Yet, a thought nagged at me. The temperature had gone up around Phillip—twice.

"Go Ivory!" Dawn's jump made me forget crazy theories. "McKinley you suck!" her fist pumped, more people on the bleachers cheered along.

"She's... really into school spirit—" Phillip's eyes widened when I got ripped from him.

"Help me cheer, come on." Dawn said in a hyped tone.

I gave a tiny laugh, "I don't think you need—" she went back to shouting. I sighed rolling my eyes. "Go Panthers." She threw me a glare—oh-oh, had I gotten our mascot wrong? Nope, I was pretty sure there was a guy dressed in—

"With feeling," she scolded. "Go Panthers!" I grabbed her arm afraid she'd fall down the bleachers—jumping in euphoria wasn't safe. "Have some fun," she giggled but sat down—for the time being. "You can't let people bring you down."

"I'm not into—"

"Spare me the excuses. You're in a funk because people think you're a freak, a junkie, a retarded—" I glared. "You should be glaring at them. I'm trying to help."

I knew she meant well. It wasn't easy, though. I kept thinking of how quickly Haven Hills had become San Diego—town's people weren't all that nice after all.

Warm breath tickled my earlobe, "How boring is this for you?"

"On a scale of one to ten? Eleven." Phillip teetered. "I don't know a thing about this game—just that you need to score points and win."

I set my eyes on our cheer-squad. Behind them, was a poster saying 'HUNT FOR VICTORY' in black and red letters.

Phillip pointed a finger out to the field, "Right now they're doing a huddle—it's when the quarterback calls the next play, before they line up." His leg bumped mine; we were glued, cheeks touching. Somehow his was lukewarm. "Cam's lined behind the center so he can take the snap. He'll either pass it or—" Cameron took off running with the oval ball. "Or he'll do that."

"He's such a team player."

"Not really."

"Sarcasm, ever heard of it?" I could feel Phill smirking.

Eyes following number 18—AKA Cameron—I didn't dare blink. He either dodged or bulldozed a player from his path—just how strong was he? Jesus. When two players ganged up on him, he made a pass.

We were leading by eight points, and it was already the second half.

The next minutes were filled with Phillip pointing out plays and moves and with Dawn tagging me to cheer on. As Dawn joined some other pumped girls, I relaxed into Phillip's embrace and allowed my eyes to close, hoping to get a little peace.

One minute. That's how long it lasted—my Zen moment.

My heart beat out of time, faster—I didn't know how or when but I was on my feet, looking to the field with an anguished expression. There was no number 18 standing. Cam was on the ground. The blood in my body boiled with worry—I had no idea why.

"What... what happened—is he okay?" Phillip had my shoulders, trying to sit me down—I wouldn't comply. "What happened?"

He frowned. I gulped dryly; my voice was demanding, sharp—I just... couldn't help myself. But Phillip shook his head, eyes traveling to where Cameron was—still on the ground. The coach and other players surrounded him.

"He got his legs swiped. He'll be fine." He sure didn't sound worried. That didn't convince me; my eyes glued on Cam. "Really, Nina, it's not a big deal. He's used to it." His hand smoothed over my waves. "See? He's getting up, just walking it off."

I nodded automatically, heart going back to its normal rate.
Could I get any weirder? Huffing, we sat back. Somewhere to the side Dawn's yelling was clear: fault. She sounded ready to argue with the referee.

Cameron shook his black hair before putting the helmet back on. His head lifted in our direction. I sucked in a deep breath; it was almost like... his eyes were piercing mine. It was impossible, we were so far away.

A cheer started, his head turned their way.

"Go, Panthers,
Cam, he, Rocks!
He'll take us to the Top!
Go, Panthers,
Cam's not gonna stop!
No way!"

"Oh my God..." I scoffed a laugh. "He... he has his own cheer?" I nudged Phill. "Do you?"

He cracked a smirk saying nothing. His hand moved onto mine; he was looking at me funny.

"Do I have something on my face?" I tilted my head with a shy smile. His other hand came up, wiping wayward strands.

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

"It's fine. I understood—"

"I'm not just talking about going after V... I'm sorry you got caught between me and Daren—about everything."

"It's not your fault." I shrugged lowering a hand to his shoulder. "You're not my keeper. You can't protect me all the time." Phillip's fingers traced along my jaw, I made a tough face. "And I can handle a few catcalls. I'm not that fragile."

His eyes were highlighted by nightfall, the azure in them darkened as we closed in. Soon we were breathing each other's air. I couldn't avoid his gaze much to my chagrin. Each time we connected eyes, Phillip searched mine. He never seemed to find what he wanted.

I wondered why that was because when I looked into Cam's—nothing happened. When I look into those dark, never winding eyes, I feel nothing. It sounded more of a cheap lie, than anything.

Phillip's talking, I told myself, listen.

"...you're pretty damn amazing." Rats—I'd lost the beginning. I didn't break contact, though. I had no idea if I looked lost, I felt it. "You're caring, understanding even when people don't deserve it—I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you." His lips moved; no sound made it out.

Against all the cold slapping my face I felt hot. It was like I'd eaten bowls of spicy chili.

A whistle blew ripping us from the quite moment. In seconds, kids cheered others booed. Dawn all but ran out into the field, towards number 2, taking off his helmet—even from the bleachers I could see they were kissing.

"I was going for that." Phillip chuckled with little humor, standing beside me.

"You were?"

"Well, yeah." Phill shoved his hands into the worn hoodie. "I was pouring out my feelings, hoping it would lead up to a very romantic ending?" I turned my face hiding a smile.

I found his figure instantly. Helmet tossed to the grass, alone, with a number 18. Everyone was celebrating out on the field; Phillip and I were pretty much the only ones still up here.

Cameron kept looking our way—my way. And just like before, his fathomless eyes dove deep into my soul. The worst part... I felt it respond—and did everything I could to run from the feelings it invoked.

Anything.

"You can't keep kissing me." I faced Phillip—the person who mattered, the one who'd always been nice and uncomplicated. "It's not right."

"I don't want to." I almost fell back—his hands quickly latched to my forearms. "What I mean is," his voice lowered an octave. "I don't want to keep kissing you randomly—I wanna kiss you but... as your boyfriend." He breathed, as if that confession was the biggest reveal of his whole existence.

I was kissing him. It wasn't like I didn't want to—I did. It was good. The fierce power of those lips on mine, the heat overrunning my cheeks—it was nice—cozy, inviting and comfortable.

Phillip trailed my lips with care, innocence. The delectable taste filled my mouth; his hands didn't go anywhere else but my face. He respected space—my space—it should make me feel in the seventh heaven but—

I squeaked grabbing his arms. Another crash of thunder, lighting sizzled the air. My pulse increased as violet mixed with blue sprinted across the sky. Next, my eyes narrowed on the field—only because Cameron was leaving.

I watched him retreat until Phillip rubbed a shoulder.

"Lighting storms aren't very strange around here." He wasn't smiling widely. "We should go." I let him lead me down, across the field. When we were inside the school, the sounds of celebration came from the gym.

Phillip made no move to go there.

"You're not going to stay?" he shrugged.

"Unless I want to walk home, yeah—I have to wait for Cameron to give me a ride."

"No bike?"

He made a sour, pissed off face, "I was tinkering around—think I broke a piece or something. I'll have to get it fixed."

"So you're rideless?"

His laugh echoed down the halls.

"Yup, it sucks." We looked to the floor, only looking at each other when we were outside near my Toyota. "So, hum… was that a yes? I couldn't tell with the whole storm kicking-in-thing."

I shook a silly grin off, shoving him playfully.

"I thought actions spoke louder than words?" I gave a single shoulder shrug.

Phillip leaned on my car, where the rust hadn't built, yet.
"I suppose they do," the wind blew the rust-speckled hair from his eyes. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you drive home alone? At night, with a storm brewing?" his face hovered very near. He sure was smiling now.

"You'd be a boyfriend from the 21century. One who realizes I'm a strong and independent woman, who is fully capable of driving at night—even with lighting crashing overhead." I cupped his cheek anyways; the sheer warmth made me wonder if he was running a fever.

His nose touched mine, and then he stole a long smooch leaving me breathless.

"What if I insisted on going with you?"

"I'd say no." His lips turned down slightly. "I don't want you walking back to school with a storm popping up."

"How's that fair? You'll be driving."

"Exactly—" I poked his chest, smiling. "I'll be inside a car, protected. Stop prolonging my stay." He smirked pulling me into his arms.

"Damn, got busted." I flicked his nose.

There was a hummer piled up with guys. They were drinking something that wasn't water—maybe vodka. I didn't care about that—I cared that they were looking at us. One of them boosted a laugh.

I rolled my eyes.

"I have to get—" thunder boomed. I swallowed. "…going."
Phillip opened the door for me, still looking reluctant, his gaze falling to the shadows ahead. I couldn't help remembering the dancing shapes in my nightmare, how they became horrible creatures, tearing, ripping—Phillip lowered his mouth to mine, pressing us in a goodnight kiss.

"I'll call you in fifteen minutes." It was a statement. "Drive safe?" I nodded batting my lashes, mockingly. He turned away with a smile, closing me inside the beaten car.

***

Since Friday night thunder had stopped for three or four, short times. Rain joined the party on Saturday, getting worse on Monday.

I'd talked with Phillip on my cell; he kept saying these kinds of storms hit the town every once in a while.

Sudden changes of weather—I couldn't say I hadn't been warned.

On Monday morning, I found myself in the school's library. I'd left the house in a big hurry—to see Phillip—and I'd forgotten my Inferno copy. English was our first class and Mr. Carter didn't strike me as the kind of teacher who'd let students share their working material.

While snooping around the shelves for a spare copy, I cursed. Phillip hadn't arrived yet. I could have taken it easy. I should tell him being fashionably late wasn't as charming as he seemed to think.

"Ha," finally hitting jackpot I pulled it out— "Oh my God…!" I clamped a hand over my mouth, swallowing another shriek.

A pair of electric eyes stared at me through the gap in the lined up books. The eyes were paired with a smile.

"Thought you were going to stop?" I sighed feeling breathy as Phillip came around, into the section I was in.

"Sneaking up on people is a nasty habit." He started. "You know what people say about those—hard to break them." I smiled when his fingers danced down my hair. "Early shower?"

"I forgot my umbrella." I shivered lightly, frowning. "How did you find me?"

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen then showing it to me.

Meet at the library—Nina.

"Totally forgot," I cocked my head. "I was worried about this." I showed him the book. "I forgot mine."

He nodded solemnly, "Mr. Carter would kick you out if you didn't bring that master piece of hellish torture." He snorted as we walked to the librarian's desk.

Outside, I shoved the borrowed book away. There was only me and Phillip—and a hallway full of haters. I could handle this—I jumped when his hand slipped into mine—or not.

"No worries," he pulled. "Fuck 'em." My worry ball exploded into a bright laugh.

"Did you come with Cam?" I asked when he was opening his locker. He shook his head, not looking over. "Your bike's fixed then?"

"Yeah," he mumbled into the metal space. "That's not why, though. I normally hitch a ride with him when it's pouring. I hate getting soaked—" he shook his jacket off. I hadn't noticed it before, but his jeans were painted with water trails, his hair dripped. "Maybe I should get a helmet."

"I don't think that's why you should wear one…"

He grinned, "Concern duly noted." He smacked the locker door.

"So," I cleared my throat, trying not to seem too interested. "Why didn't you hitchhike with quarterback-extraordinaire?"

Phillip glimpsed from his books to me.

"He'd already left." Should I be shocked? I had no idea what time Cam got up, or what his routine consisted of. "Didn't even wake me up…" Phillip grumbled shoving the books into the backpack. "Or leave coffee, or a note—or a…" he trailed off, meeting my eyes.

I blinked innocently. He had a face that read: I said too much already.

"It's a Cameron-thing." Phillip said at last. "How's your project going by the way?"

"Huh," not so great now that Cam resented me. "We're…" I didn't want to lie to Phillip; but I didn't want to tell him what went down between me and his twin. "I'm not sure." His eyebrow perked. "Look," I sighed, palms sweating. "I said something to Cam—something he didn't like… now he's… mad. Yeah, he's on the road for payback or whatever."

Phillip studied me, crossing his arms.

"Cameron doesn't like loads of things, what exactly did you say?"
Digging around my brain, I said, "I don't know. I just lashed out because my head was still hurting, I don't actually remember what it was all about."

His face was filled with confusion.

"If you can't remember it can't be something that awful—Cam's just being dramatic. I told you he likes drama." The bell rang— "I'll talk to him about it—"

"No!" His eyebrows knitted. "I mean, no… I don't need you to. I can handle this myself. It's my problem I'll fix it."

He broke out a smirk, dropping an arm over my shoulders.
"Whatever you want, Braveheart." He kissed the corner of my lips. "Just let me know if he's being too much of a stubborn asshole."

We were ten minutes into Mr. Carter's English lesson when a guy walked through the door. Not just any guy.

Cameron.

His hair trickled, water courses ran down the leather jacket, his jeans were drenched, sticking to his legs. It looked like he'd gone swimming with his clothes on. Then again, a downpour was raging outside; just the distance from the parking lot to the school doors was enough to get anyone wet—head to toe.

Mr. Carter was staring, along with all of us. My spine felt ticklish when he stepped closer to his seat.

"Mr. Cameron," he got out, after a few tries of nothing. Cam didn't respond. "Mr. Cameron," he said with more authority. Cameron glanced over at him. "Do you think you can just barge in here? This class started fifteen minutes ago!"

"I know." He said voice heavy. His mood wasn't good. He slouched into his seat, dropping the bag by his feet.

Mr. Carter watched him for a moment—we all did—he took his stuff out, opened the notebook and scribbled the lesson number and summary, still on the board. Then, like he'd just noticed anyone else in the classroom, Cameron gazed at the perimeter.

"Autographs cost as much as staring." He grumbled—still not smirking. Some people avoided looking his way then, though they still wanted to know what the freak was up with him. "What?" he hissed when Mr. Carter opened his mouth to speak. "You're going to threaten me—maybe send me to the principal's office? Go ahead. I'm sure he'll find it hilarious when I tell him I just arrived late, walked in and sat down." Crickets played in the background. That's how intolerable the air felt.

Mr. Carter dared make it worse.

"Being the quarterback might give you privileges in other classes—but in my class, you're still required to use manners." His face was beet red. "You knock and ask permission to come in. You excuse yourself for being tardy—you don't walk in like you're the king of the castle."

Cam smirked. It was spread with slowness of a sloth, but with the grace and charm of a deadly panther.

"If you want to discuss my manners," he pushed back on his chair. "You should talk to my legal guardian. Good luck with that, though, he's in the land of no-cell-phone-reception."

Their uncle wasn't in Haven Hills? Phillip hadn't told me that—not that he had to tell me. And where could he be—deep in the woods, in the mountains, maybe? I had no idea what their uncle did; Phillip just said he had a very stressful job, they saw little of him.

Mr. Carter showed the intent of retorting, and by now, everyone was on the edge of their seats, wanting to see it unfold.

Phillip intervened; not looking forward to the showdown, at all.
"He's on painkillers." All eyes converged to my boyfriend. "He got tackled in the game… and we went to the hospital that night, and the doctor gave him something for the pain—because his hip was hurting and—"

Our English teacher waved a hand, shutting Phillip up. His youthful face contorted with disbelief, darting to Cameron's overall relaxed stance and Phillip—who shrugged, nodding meekly.

I hid my face afraid to give anything away. I knew Phillip was lying. All Friday night after the game we talked, he hadn't gone to the hospital.

"You're telling me…" he paused, as if praying to God this wasn't true— "That your brother is high on pain medication right now?"

"You call it pain medication, I call it pow—"

"Yes," Phill cut him off with a glare. "He probably took too many. He has no idea what he's saying."

Cameron dropped his head back; making a funny face at the ceiling, or at the girl behind him, it was hard to tell.

"Buzz kill," he mumbled mocking his twin. "Yes, okay—I took painkillers." He sat upright in a flash—there were 'wows' and "show off" going around. "So, do I get to stay or do I bail?" he crossed both hands behind his head.

Mr. Carter pinched the bridge of his nose, deliberating whether Cameron was a bigger threat in here or out there.

"Quietly—can you manage that? Or is your brain too numb to understand that simple concept?"

Lighting exploded close to the windows.

Everyone but Cameron jumped, gasping. In that moment, I'd been looking at him—who was I kidding, I'd been looking at Cam since he walked in—and I saw his grin drop, going so serious I thought his face would crack.

A smirk shone again; the storm seemed to ease. Which was a stupid comparison, this diabolic weather didn't have anything to do with Cam's crazy mood swings.

He shifted in his chair, audacity in his gaze, "Do you think I can manage that, brother?"

Phillip responded with a sheltered glare, "I think you can manage that just fine." It felt like they were talking in code, like there was more to those words, to the exchange of glares.

No one understood it but them.

Cameron snapped to the front; silent. That's how he stayed throughout class.