Nocturnal

Cameron's humor had been bad all week long.

Phillip didn't talk about it. I didn't push. No one did.

Another thing that didn't let up was the storm. It was gloomier each passing day—until today. It was Friday and it seemed like the storm reached its peak. The worst part... we were at school when the Sheriff decided to order a lock down—we couldn't leave, not until the storm calmed.

Some trees had been ripped—fallen to the street—debris littered the main road, or so I heard. The rain was massive, hitting everything in a whiplash. Umbrellas broke no match against the roaring wind. Some teachers talked about a tornado brewing? I sure hope not. Cell phone reception was already shady.

Mom had called asking how I was doing; she also said that at Henry's school the power had gone off, the backup generator had kicked in.

"Work," Dawn pulled at Phillip, intent on dragging him away. "We're holed up in the library, it's the perfect time to finish our assignment—it's due next week? Monday!"

Phillip made a sound of disapproval, placing another kiss on my neck. He'd been doing it for over twenty minutes, trying to distract me from my new read. He'd even pulled me off the floor, onto his lap.

"Nina," Dawn knelt in front of me. "Undo the spell." I lifted my quizzical gaze. "He's been slobbering all over you for the last hour—" she sighed. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing," I shrugged, feeling cozy in the circle of his arm. "He's testing my patience." I nudged Phillip's side. "I don't think he's trying hard enough..." I giggled when he 'attacked' my neck. The book fell to the side as I tried to push him off. "...help..." I laughed in a hysteric fashion.

Dawn tugged Phillip, he wouldn't budge. When one of the teacher's keeping watch neared our trio, he stopped, getting to his feet. It was an older looking teacher, all dressed in preppy clothes; gray beard and hair.

"Sorry, Mr. Willbur." Phillip mumbled.

"The library is a place for studying and quietness." His old eyes shot to me. I was struggling to get up, dusting my clothes and sorting my hair. "Not less proper behavior." He gave one last look before stomping to another group of students.

Turning to Phillip I jabbed out a finger, "Go work." I pushed him to the desk where Dawn's things were. "Stop postponing it."

He whirled; taking my arms pulling into him, "I can't focus on the fifth circle of hell when you're around—" Dawn slapped his head. He turned to her with a murderous gaze, but she wasn't looking any less intimidating.

"It's the forth circle of hell—forth. See?" she turned to me in despair. "He doesn't know a thing! How did Cam work with you?"

Phillip rolled his eyes, "I'm not that bad."

"Yes, yes you are." She blew out a long sigh. "Speaking of which," her eyes darted around. "Where's your evil twin?"

"Beats me." Phillip took my lips— "What's up?" he asked when I pulled away.

Most students were either inside the library or the gym. Lights had started twinkling when second period rolled around, shortly after, the principal received the order from the Sheriff.

The school was under lock-down. No one was allowed to leave the building. I hadn't seen Cameron since English—that had been first period. I'd seen Sam around, going with Daren to the gym—but no Cameron. I doubted he wanted to hang around Daren after they'd gone at it. With him who knew, though.

"I'm good." I snaked away from his grip. "And you know what," I patted his chest. "I'm hungry so I'm going to get something to eat—have fun." I waved cheekily, taking my bag.

I could hear Dawn arguing with Phillip, and shook my head. I'd never met someone who hated school as much as he did. In a far corner, I saw Vanessa sitting with Zeke. They were probably working, too.

If only I could grab my partner, shake some good sense into him—that would be perfect. He'd been dark and distant from everyone, even from Phillip. Whatever was happening with him it was bigger than our argument.

I'd set off for the food machine, my legs weren't carrying me there. At least, I made a wrong turn. And almost immediately, I knew he was nearby.

That's when I heard the fluid play of an acoustic guitar.

Without feeling a pang of hesitation, I pushed the door. The music room was dark, the only light flushing in came from the racking lighting outside and from the hallway I was still standing on.

A bolt exploded, filling the room with bluish light making Cameron look like a mysterious silhouette in midnight. When it faded, I saw him clearly. Sitting on a chair, guitar resting on his leg, hair untamed and eyes carved on mine.

My chest heaved a breath—it felt like relief. Was that right...? Was I relieved for seeing Cameron? But that would imply caring. I didn't care, did I?

I thought back to the night of the game, when Cameron got tackled. I hadn't seen it happen—before I knew it, I practically flung myself out to the field because of him.

It made no sense.

"Hi." What a stupid thing to say, I thought. He didn't want to see me, or talk to me—he'd never wanted to in the first place. I probably seemed crazy; standing there, just waiting for him to welcome or send me away. "Why are you here? You know, by yourself—alone?"

He set the guitar aside, "Why do you care?" that one sentence felt like frost, knitting my skin into ice—I thought I might die.

I took a step forward, feeling foolish; as if I was stepping into the lion's den. The door remained open.

Why did I care? I had no idea.

I lifted a shoulder in a mute shrug. After dropping my book bag, my hands found comfort inside my pockets.

"What are you doing here, Nina?" he sighed like tiredness had overpowered him—like he just wanted to take a break for a minute.

I gasped when the thunder clashed over the school. Cameron held my gaze, I could almost hear him murmur in my ear. Sweet things—things I shouldn't think of. Not when Phillip was the boy I was with.

I shook our connection, "I was going to the vending machine and... I ended up here." With you, I left out. "I was worried about you." The realization made me step forth.

Cameron's face turned to the side, filling up with shadows. He glanced down. Carefully, I got closer—it was like Cam had his own gravity pull, and it attracted me.

"You have mood swings."

"Ah, excuse me?" I snorted. "If you think I have mood swings you should look in the mirror. You're the master of double-identity."

"A week ago you said I was a waste," he began and turned on cue; face as sharp as his tone. "Now, you're saying you were worried about me?" twin dark suns melted through my eyes. "You don't even know me." His voice dropped a little in wonder.

That was true; yet, it didn't feel like it. There was something between me and Cameron, I couldn't discern it. I couldn't comprehend. And... I didn't feel a need to understand it or rationalize.

Licking my upper lip, I felt no need to assure him. He read my honesty—it felt like he saw inside me.

"Sometimes people say things they don't mean..." I paused. "Like when they argue... or after going through a load of pain." I murmured.

His lips trembled on the edge of a smirk, "Is that an apology?" the arrogant touch in his tone made me want to yell all over.

I did.

"Why do you do that?" I burst, arms spreading.

An eyebrow rose in a charming gesture, "Do what?"

"That," I gritted. "Why do you pretend all the time? I don't get it. You could be surrounded by tons of people—but it's like you don't have any connections... Instead, it's like they're only a cover up." Cameron didn't speak, almost as if he knew I wasn't done. "I can't understand why you do it and—and when I think I'm getting close to you... you just put the mask back on becoming another life form all of a sudden." I wished you didn't let it fall, I thought sadly, if you're just going to pull away the next minute. "I never know where we stand." I hugged my arms feeling bare, naked—his gaze dropped to the pits of my soul.

Those eyes... those annoyingly beautiful midnight irises—his movement startled me. Taking him all in, I saw him shrugging his trade mark jacket.

He placed it over my shoulders, "You looked cold."

I grasped its edges. But what I really wanted to hold on to was the guy inches from me.

"You're so confusing."

Cameron exhaled, sparks filled the air around. I felt a urge to get closer.

"You confuse me, too." He hushed. "That doesn't happen often. Around you I'm..." there was a fissure on his mask, vulnerability laid there. "I'm not in control."

"In control of what...?" I was frowning, my pulse sky-rocketing due to our proximity—stop. Phillip, I told myself, but the name didn't make butterflies flutter.

"I'm not in control of my—"

I didn't know whether to thank her or kill her.

"Here you are," Sam came into the music room. "I've been looking all over—what is she doing here?" she spat noticing me— "And is that your jacket?" she sounded fervent with jealousy. "What, one brother wasn't enough for you? Had to play with them both?" she scoffed, "What a whore."

Cameron pulled me back. Holding my arm. Sam had taken a step back just in time. One second later, and I would've hit her.

"OhmyGod," she blurted. I rolled my eyes. "Did you see that? The psycho wanted to punch me!" Her voice went to the extremes of high pitched. "Cameron we should totally report her. For, like, aggression and drug use—she has to be high, look at her eyes... all blood shot and—" she kept talking. I stopped listening.

My golden eyes managed to interlock with his. Mine pleaded with his to take my side; confiding I wouldn't be able to handle it if he took Sam's side—I was warning Cameron something would crack.

He faced the front. He was going to slip his mask back on, he was going to ruin us for good, whatever we had going—

"You can't report her for assault because she didn't touch you." His voice was clipped.

"Well, yeah, but you can say she did. They'll believe us."

"Would they?"

God, no. I wanted to run away from this humiliation. Sam smiled, lighting surged, making her seem demon-like.

"Yeah—"

"I don't think so." He grinned coldly. "I don't think they believe backstabbing bitches." I blinked and Samantha looked aghast—not offended.

"What are you talking about, Cam?" she sweetly put. I was ready to barf at the farce.

"I saw you with Daren—in the gym?" her face gave away. "Real original, by the way. Might want to try a more secluded place next time." He sounded pensive, detached; not angry.

She tried to piece a face, any face but her own, "That wasn't... that wasn't what that was—"

"I think it was." he said. "No wonder Daren has a complex. With something that small I'd be picking fights just to prove I was a man, too." Ew, he even made me blush. "It's good for your training—for your future career as a prostitute, only you'll be doing it in the back of an ally, right?" disgust gushed from Cameron like blood from an open wound.

Sam's eyelids fluttered, blinking back tears.

"I... he grabbed me! It wasn't like I wanted to be there—he just—"

"It sounded exactly where you wanted to be." His hold on me changed; he took my hand. "The only whore I see is you."

That was the final blow. Sam's cheeks were burgundy, a volcano about to explode, spitting hot lava.

"Cameron—"

"Spare me the excuses. We're done. Do you understand that, or do I have to put it in a cheer?"

Sam glared past him. At me. I knew it was cowardly, but with that glare... I just wanted to hide behind him.

"You'll be sorry."

"I've heard that a lot. I'm gonna risk it." He smirked sinisterly.

Throwing a last hateful beam, she stormed out. I winced hearing the door slam.

I shifted, not knowing what to say—that had been, by far, the nicest thing he'd ever done for me. No, not just him—anyone. In other people's ears it might sound sad; it was true. That horrible show of betrayal and offense had meant so much to me.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He smiled—not smirked. "I saw them yesterday. I hadn't found the right moment. There's not really a right time for anything, though." I'd thought the exact same thing when I first kissed Phillip. "I knew what I was getting myself into. Last year, she slept with half the basketball team—" he stopped short.

"Phillip slept with her. That's one more thing you have in common now." I stated thinly.

"I didn't," he breathed urgently leaving my heart fluttering. "I never did it with her."

I averted his gaze, "Oh," I managed, stomping down a big smile. "Good then—" a smirk of epic proportions broke the surface, ticking me off. "Good for you. Who knows if she's got any STD's?"

Cam snorted and I felt as if my smile could shine radiance across half-world. Attempting to conceal it would take a will I didn't posses. What I wanted to do was throw my arms around his neck.

Which is wrong, very wrong. I told myself.

Cameron was just the kind of person mom wanted me to stay away from. Phillip was a good influence; he forced me to open up. I grimaced at that word, forced.

"So," I tipped my chin towards the guitar. "What were you playing?"

"Just a song."

"Can you play it again?"

"Why?"

I sat down, letting him know I wasn't leaving until I got my way.

"I never heard a football player play guitar—or any instrument."

"You want to make fun of me?" it didn't take long to know he was teasing.

I teased back, "I'll only make fun if you suck."

He took the guitar mumbling "no pressure" and sat beside me.

"Nervous?" I knocked my knee into his.

He laughed adjusting the chords. When the first accords echoed, I recognized it almost immediately. The chords tingled, vibrated above the storm and the song went on in a steady, beautiful melody. His fingers struck all the notes in perfection; it was like he had magic-fingers—that reference totally sent my brain on a dirty bender.

When I began hushing the lyrics, Cam gazed at me. My cheeks were flushed with blood. I thought he was going to shush me—

Cameron Leale sung in a way I couldn't explain. I hated that I loved it. Low, alluring—it wove its way into my soul and heart. It appealed straight to my core. The way he sang it, with a deep level of emotion, the way it wasn't just another fabricated lie—was what hit home.

By the end his voice dropped, his eyes met mine. I didn't know when our faces had gotten so close. Cameron parted his lips and I found myself mystified—neither of us tore away.

"I didn't peg you for a Goo Goo Dolls fan."

"Just this one song," his jacket slipped off a bit as I moved. "It's from one of my favorite movies—"

"City of Angels." It left my mouth in a hurry, as a surprised gasp. Cameron studied me as I turned away, fighting down a giggle. "It's... one of my favorite's too, so." Without thinking twice, I placed a hand to his arm. "You're a little box of surprises, aren't you?"

"I don't think I'm the only one."

And right then, for the first time, since meeting Cameron I didn't want him to go away. I didn't want to slap him, yell—I didn't want him to leave me alone. I wanted to stay right where I was, talking with Cam 'till the world around us faded into nothingness.

That's when he jerked. His gaze swung over his shoulder; he stared outside—bewildered.

"Cameron?" I rubbed his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

It took a while for his words to come out.

"You..." he muttered. My hand fell. "You shouldn't be here—with me."

My hands curled as stinging grew in my eyes. I couldn't understand what was so special about the outside—except... the storm it... it wasn't storming anymore. At least, no lighting showed, no thunder sounded.

I turned to him, head shaking, not wanting him to rip us apart for a reason I didn't get.

"But... but..."

"Just go," he sounded void. "Just go—go to Phillip."

Leaving the jacket in my place, I went. Not because he told me. Because if I hadn't left I would've asked "who's Phillip?" 'cause I'd totally forgotten about him.

***

Babysitting Henry wasn't very hard—unless there was sugar shortage. I usually bribed him into silence. Yes, I was a terrible big sister. Today, there was no chocolates, microwave pop-corn, pop-tarts—nada.

Henry was killing me. I wanted to call mom and Nigel, plead with them to turn the car around and take us with them to the wine tasting thing or whatever. They were probably in the city already...

"Can we have pancakes?"

"Pancakes aren't lunch material." I breezed through our cabinets. I didn't know why I was bothering, though, my cooking skill was almost at my mother's level—which was low. "Besides, do you want more cavities? All that sugar—"

"But if my teeth fall the tooth fairy will come and leave money!"

I considered telling him who the tooth fairy was—Nigel—but I wasn't going to break the kid's childhood. When I was four, mom outright told me Santa was real. That had been one weepy Christmas morning. Dad had been furious.

I took cover under the kitchen table.

"Henry!" I yelled. "Playing soccer is outside, not inside. You're going to break something—" my cell vibrated. "Or hit me..." I crawled from my safe haven, making a T with my hands—time out.

Unknown caller? I didn't give my number out a lot. Vanessa had been the last person who I gave it to.

Maybe it was some old lady who dialed me by mistake... I rejected.

The phone rang again. I sighed.

"Hello?"

"Rejecting my call? My feelings are hurt." Hot syrup made it down my throat, heating up my insides to astronomical lengths— "Bet you never hang up on my little brother."

I leaned on the counter.

"Did he give you my number?"

"Why, angry that he did?" Cam's smirk was audible.

"Oh, grow up." I ignored the stinging from yesterday, when he sent me away. "What do you want, anyways? I thought there was something wrong with me."

A pause. He sighed into the receiver and I felt like a creep for imagining that it brushed my skin. Get a grip.

"We have unfinished business, Rapunzel." We were ignoring it—like it never happened? Typical guy behavior. "When can you come over?"

The English project! I almost fell over. The presentation was on Monday, we still had tons of unfinished things to deal with and—

"I can't." I watched Henry eating the last chocolate cookie in the house. "I'm babysitting my little brother. He's ten. I can't up and leave—"

"Sounds like you're dodging." He singsong darkly, like the clock was ticking. "That's not really a problem, is it? Bring him along." I gaped. "I'll take that stretch of silence as a 'yes'. See you in fifteen."

"Wait, Cam—"

The line went dead.

"Nina," Henry whined jumping up and down. "Who was that? Were you calling the pizza place? I'm hungry!"

I rubbed my face. The day was starting and I already felt like I could crawl into bed.

After Henry went to the bathroom, grabbed his backpack and jacket, we were out the door and into my trusty car. Henry tired me out with questions. Where were we going? Was I going to see my boyfriend? Why did we have to go there?

And, more than a thousand times: "When are we going to eat?"

I'd resisted turning the volume to the maximum; reminding myself he was just kid. Kids asked questions—they asked 'why' every time you gave them an answer.

I wasn't surprised to see some houses already armed with Halloween decorations. I loved the carved pumpkins—scary faces, silly, funny—loved them all. When I pulled into the secluded path to the Leale's garage, Henry put his hands on the dashboard—awing.

"This place is huge! I could've brought my soccer and—"

"You have homework to do, mister—plus, I wasn't planning on letting you wonder around." What if he went too deep into the forest? Their estate was inside a circle of trees, with only one way in and out—still. It wasn't safe for a kid. "Please don't forget your manners, 'kay?"

I was wasting my breath. Henry unlocked the door and jumped off the car.

I slapped my brother's hand once he pushed the door bell—again.

Cameron leaned on the doorway. Shirt, jeans—nothing special—and yet, with the carelessly disheveled hair, half-smirk and the porch light fanning his high-cheek bones... he could make any girl drop dead.

"In a hurry to see me?"

"As if," I turned my eyes. "I even drove like a grandma to get here. Only so I could go longer without having to put up with you and your arrogant ass."

"Easy on the love, babykins." I stilled. "There are children present." Cameron glanced down. When I said he was full of surprises yesterday, I hadn't been wrong. "Sup, little man, what's your name?"

Hyper as always, my little bro puffed out his chest with a goofy smirk, "I'm Henry."

Cam nodded holding out his fist—blowing me into next week. Cameron had just fist-bumped with my brother.

"Are you going to leave us here all day or let us in?"

One dark eyebrow arched, then, bowing his head he stepped aside. Henry laughed at Cam's antic. I kept a private smile in.

"Are you Nina's boyfriend?"

Damn, twerp. Already embarrassing me...

"Wrong twin, little dude." Cam drawled lazily.

"You have a twin? That's so cool!" It didn't take much to impress this kid. Henry rocked on his heels, glaring up at me in wonder. "So how do you tell them apart?"

"They're not identical. In more ways than one," Cameron rolled his eyes excessively. "Where's Phillip?"

Cameron tilted his head, lips puckered like I'd asked a tough question, "Not here. He's at Vanessa's." Of course he was. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you—"

"I don't care." Cam's eyebrows rose. "I mean," I cleared. "They're just friends. Phillip's helping with... stuff—" Henry tugged my hand; his big eyes were all puppy-like. "Let me guess," I sighed. "You're hungry."

"Well..." he mumbled like I'd taken the fun out of it. "Yeah. I told you before." He pouted.

My eyes snapped to Cameron, "You kinda called when I was fixing lunch. Can I just feed him a sandwich or something?"

He nodded his head for me to follow. I pulled Henry along; we walked towards the stairs, going past them. The kitchen was black on white. White walls, floor and ceiling; the cabinets, Kitchen Island and marble counters were black. Like the rest of the house, it was expensive. It could be a kitchen for a pricey restaurant.

Cam opened the fridge, leaning in. The shirt rode up.

"There's cheese, peanut-butter, jelly, lettuce, tomato..." he turned back with a face. "...ham—what's it going to be?"

"Pancak—"

I kept a hand to Henry's mouth, straining an apologetic smile, "PB&J will do." Henry finally took my hand down, ready to beg for his obsession. "I told you, pancakes aren't lunch."

"A sandwich isn't lunch. You just don't know how to make them!" He stuck his tongue out at me.

I scoffed, hands on my hips, "You don't either, wise guy."

"Everyone knows how to make pancakes." Cameron muttered looking at the ceiling. "I can make him—"

"No," I gripped Henry's shoulders so he'd be still. "You don't have to do anything. He's just being a spoiled brat."

"But Nina, dad always makes me pancakes on Saturday..." he sulked making me want to cave. "Please?" he glanced to Cameron, back at me— "Please?"

I didn't say anything when Cam moved around the kitchen, gathering the stuff he needed to make some pancakes for my step-brother. I shook my head at Henry's fist pumping-happiness; if he kept getting his way every time he'd never learn about life.

Sitting on a stool, watching Cameron sweat over a hot stove hadn't been part of my weekend plan—or my any plan ever. It was... surreal. He could break an egg with one hand, who knew? It made me feel like a pushover.

I bumped a shoulder into his arm, he glanced over. He looked all sexy with his sleeves pulled up. Sort of like an artist. It suited him.

"Need any help?"

"From a girl who doesn't know how to fry an egg? I think I'm good." I leaned to the side, glaring. "Something you need?" his eyes sparkled with humor.

"And to think it crossed my mind to thank you for this."

Cam mock-gasped covering his mouth, "You thank me? That's downright unacceptable what were you thinking?"

I laughed feeling my whole body relax against the counter. I almost didn't remember how our day together had ended yesterday.

"You think we're going to finish our project?" I took a turn for the serious.

Cam stirred the mixture in the pan, "If you need motivating think about this: Mr. Carter will chop our heads and eat them for diner if we don't." I grimaced. "If I was you, I'd like to keep my head. It's not bad looking."

My arm grazed his as my body temperature kept rising. All this because of a stupid compliment? Geepers.

"What's a concubine?"

Cameron laughed. I slapped his shoulder going to my brother's side. At least, he was doing his History homework.

Henry ate four pancakes covered with chocolate syrup and drank a full glass of coke. I ate a PB&J sandwich. Cam had offered to make me pancakes, I'd been tempted. They'd looked delicious... I was setting a good example for Henry.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Cameron made them. Nope.

"You didn't need to do that." I murmured, creating a new PowerPoint presentation.

We were in the Leale library. Henry was in the living room, drawing.

"Do what?"

"Make pancakes and help with his homework."

He kept highlighting important passages in his DI copy. The quietness between us wasn't heavy. It was comfortable. Not like when me and Phillip were quiet around each other; we always filled it, it didn't matter that we grasped at straws. Sometimes... it was bothersome. Always talking, except when we were kissing.

While we talked about the slide organization we slid closer, to the brim of touching. My fingers brushed his. Our skin sparked.

"I finished my drawing!" I took an intake breath. Henry scampered over, getting in our middle so he could show off his sketch. "Can we hang it on the fridge so mom and dad can see?" he was bouncing with joy waving the multi-colored dragon. I nodded. "Cool." He glimpsed at our papers. "Whatcha doing?"

"English paper, it's boring. Go back to drawing." I didn't want him disrupting our work pace.

"What's it about?" my brother grasped Cam's arm to peek at the book.

"It's about a journey in Hell."

"That's where the bad people go." Cam chuckled—I frowned, having no idea why he found it funny. "Mom doesn't believe in that, though. She says none of that scary stuff is real."

Cameron looked at us, doubtful.

"It's true. My mom's a total nonbeliever."

He merely shook his head, "Do you want to watch a movie while we finish this?"

I didn't follow them into the living room, but I heard them. Cameron was going along with everything Henry said; like a good big brother would. He came back and I couldn't stop staring.

"Get it out, what's on your mind." He flipped a page, another—then another.

I blinked, huh. "You're good with kids."

He looked up smirking, "I've been living with one for seventeen years."

"Phillip's not a ten-year old."

"No, but he's a pain in the ass sometimes." Music fluttered from the living room, along with creepy singing. "He wanted to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. That cool?"

"Yeah."

We worked on, losing ourselves in our comfy silence. Every once in a while I'd feel a flip-flop, thinking about Cameron's surprising gentleness.