“What?” she finally muttered. Anxiety flooded her as she wondered if maybe he was staring because her wig was askew or one of her fake eyelashes was stuck somewhere it shouldn’t be. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Hello,” the boy greeted, his obnoxious smile growing impossibly wider.
Camille cut her eyes. Was this guy for real? “Who says hello anymore?”
“I do,” he replied, his pearly whites glowing. “Hello.”
She looked around suspecting she was being pranked, but no phones were pointed in her direction to stream this strange encounter. She lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. “Why are you saying hello to me?”
He shrugged. “I want to.”
“But you don’t even know me.”
“I want to.”
“Are those the only words you know?” she grumbled.
He laughed. “No. What’s your name?”
“Are you stupid or something?”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I’ve been told it’s sorta my thing.”
Camille snorted. “Stupid is your thing?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but that’s not something to be proud of. You might want to pick a new thing. And while you’re at it, stop smiling like that and speak like a normal human.”
“You’re funny.”
“Not trying to be,” Camille said turning back to her locker to finish grabbing her things. He was still grinning when she slammed it shut.
“Do normal humans exchange names in New Orleans? I’m Nathan, by the way.”
“Camille. Now put that thing away.”
“Put what away?”
“That blinding smile.”
“Do you need a permission slip to smile here?” Nathan asked. “I’m new to New Orleans Academy High School.”
Camille snorted “Ya think? And we call it NOAH. New Orleans Academy High is a mouthful.”
“Great tip!” he replied. “Got any others for me?”
“Look, I’m sorta running late. I don’t have time for NOAH 101 today.”
“Okay. Maybe tomorrow?”
Camille was already stomping down the hall, but Nate seemed to take that as an invitation to follow. Unfortunately for him, Make a New Friend, wasn’t on her bucket list. Camille had erased that goal a long time ago, along with fall in love, and live happily ever after.
She stopped short, turning to tell the weirdo to take a hike, but he plowed into her. Luckily, he was quick on his feet and his arms flew around her, keeping her from falling down the stairs. Unfortunately his skateboard wasn’t so lucky. Camille stood stone still for the deafening seconds it took for the wood and wheels to come to its final resting place at the bottom of the staircase.
Camille stared at the mangled skateboard, panic blossoming in her chest. That could have been her. Death was something she thought about often. Having cancer made it impossible not to. But something about an accidental death stealing her life unsettled her. Perhaps that was why she didn’t notice that Nathan’s arms were still tightly coiled around her.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” he said, softly.
She looked up at him. He was so close she could make out the gold flecks in his caramel brown eyes and the smattering of freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose. He was tall, with sun-kissed skin that smelled like soap and sunshine. He wasn’t unattractive, that was for sure. Camille flushed when she realized it wasn’t so bad being in his arms. But then he ruined it by dipping his head to her hair and inhaling deeply.
“What the hell?” Camille pushed him away. “Did you just smell my hair?”
“I’ve always wanted to smell purple hair.”
Camille was pretty sure her resting bitch face had morphed into angry anime mode. “Where the hell are you from?”
“California.”
It’d been a rhetorical question, but Nathan’s answer threw her off. Camille would’ve expected Iowa or somewhere sheltered, but not California. Although, it did help explain his uber-sunny disposition. Maybe that much perfect weather warped a person’s brain after a while?
“Do you always go around sniffing hair?” she asked.
Nathan laughed. It was a pleasant sound, warm and easy. “No. But your hair is exceptional and it was right there for the sniffing.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to do it.”
“Do you always do whatever you want?”
“Absolutely! Life’s too short not to.”
Camille stared at Nathan. She agreed completely. She was pretty much the poster child for life’s short. There was something refreshing about the California weirdo that almost made her want to smile.
“Well, word of advice, Nate. Don’t go around sniffing hair in the halls at NOAH unless you want to be known as a freak. Anyway, that’s sorta my title around here.”
“Alright, direct me to the asses that need kicking!” His eyes gleamed playfully. “No one gets away with calling a girl with hair that smells like lavender a freak.”
This time she did smile. “Easy, California. There are worse things to be called.”
“Amen to that.”
They walked down the stairs together and Nathan stopped to pick up his beat up skateboard. It looked rough, but was still in one piece. Only one wheel had come off in the tumble.
“Sorry about your board.”
Nate shrugged, his glowing smile still affixed to his face. “No biggie. I can fix it.”
“Do you need a ride home or something?”
“Nah. I like walking. Gives me a chance to explore the city. Wanna join me?”
“Um, no. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Nate arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Work?”
“No.”
“Then what could be more fun than exploring the city with me?”
“One, I don’t know you. Two, I’m not a tour guide. Three, you’re kinda weird.”
Nathan barked a laugh. “We’ve established we’re not strangers, I’ve smelled your hair. And don’t even try to pretend you’re not qualified to show me around. You practically drip that magnetic N’awlins vibe. And, I think what you meant to say is that I’m charming as hell.”
Camille huffed a laugh. “Oh really?”
Nathan smirked. “You can tell a lot by sniffing someone’s hair.”
She crossed her arms. “What else do you think you know about me?”
He tapped his fingers on his chin like he was racking his brain. “I could tell you, but I think it’d be more fun if we went on a date.”
“Ha!” Camille couldn’t contain her laughter. “Are all Californian’s this full of themselves?”
“Go out with me and see?”
“Goodbye, Nathan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said heading toward the door.
He jogged to catch up. “Oh come on. You’re the first cool person I’ve met here. And I’m intrigued. What’s your story, Camille?”
She laughed. Somehow she was pretty sure the truth would kill the flirtatious conversation they were having. ‘Oh, ya know, the usual. Just a seventeen-year-old girl with incurable cancer and a badass wig collection.’
It didn’t really roll off the tongue. And for once, it was nice to talk to someone who didn’t look at her like she was tragic. So instead she said, “I don’t have a story.”
“Everyone has a story. Don’t worry, Camille. I’ll figure yours out.”
“Goodbye.” She laughed to herself, waving over her shoulder as she walked away. She heard Nathan laughing behind her.
“I get it,” he called. “Goodbye is your thing, huh?”
She waved again without turning around. He had no idea.
“It’s okay. I like a challenge.” He was yelling now. “Besides, some things are worth waiting for.”
“Good luck,” she called pushing through the double doors exiting the school. But as she walked away from Nathan, she sort of hoped
he actually would take the time to figure her out.
Nate
“Mom, I promise, Dad’s place is fine!”
Nathan had told his mother that about a dozen times already, but every time she called, she asked again. Your dad’s feeding you, right? The house is safe, right? You have everything you need, right? Nate’s answer was always yes. Anything less would’ve put her back on a plane faster than he could spell ‘helicopter parent’.
His dad’s place was a bit run down. It was a shotgun shack in the Bywater and it honestly looked like it could be blown over by a strong breeze. It had to be at least a hundred years old. Nate didn’t know how the hell it survived the hurricanes.
“So how’s London?” Nate asked trying to deflect his mom’s worry.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m the parent, Nathan. Tell me about your school.”
“It’s great, Mom. Honestly. It’s like the nicest school I’ve ever seen. There’s a Starbucks on campus, if that tells you anything.”
She laughed. “And what about your classes?”
“I got my schedule today. The dean said everything checked out with my transfer and I’ll graduate on time.”
His mom gave a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone. “Oh thank God.”
“Mom, stop worrying. Everything’s fine.”
“Honey, I’m your mother. It’s my job to worry about you.”
“I know. But guess what? I met a girl today.”
“You did?”
“Yep, her name’s Camille and she loves me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Nate could practically picture his mom smiling and shaking her head. “Honey, that’s great. I haven’t heard you this excited since . . .” Her voice trailed off. She still couldn’t say Tyler’s name.
It’s been nearly three years since Nate’s older brother died and still, neither of his parents talked about him. Probably because any time they did, it turned into a screaming match that ended it tears and ultimately, divorce. But Nate still needed to say his brother’s name. It hurt like hell to talk about Tyler sometimes. But the alternative—forgetting him, or worse, pretending he didn’t exist—that hurt even more.
“Ty would’ve liked it here, Mom.”
He heard her breath hitch. “I love you, Nathan.”
“I love you, too, Mom. This place is gonna be good for me. I promise.”
3
Cami
Camille let her backpack thud to the floor. “Dad, I’m home.”
The pitter-patter of feet came trotting around the corner to greet her. “Poo!” Camille squealed picking up her Yorkie and squishing him to her face so the tiny dog could shower her with kisses.
Camille had gotten Poo for Christmas when she was eight—hence the childish name. But eight-year-old Camille thought, Poo LaRue, was the best name in the whole world. And it might be. It still made her giggle when she heard her father say it. Especially when scolding the devious pooch.
As lame as it was, Poo was Camille’s best friend. The dog had been through everything with her. Chemotherapy, immunotherapy, radiation, stem cell transplants, biopsies, surgeries and countless clinical trials. Camille confided all her secrets and fears in the pint-sized pup, knowing Poo was a vault that could never betray her.
“Hey, baby girl,” her father called from his office. “It’s just you and me for dinner tonight. Whatcha feel like having?”
Camille perked up. Whenever her mother worked late it meant Camille and her father could eat all the delicious rich foods they loved. Her mother never let them indulge, keeping the whole family on a strict cancer-friendly diet.
With Poo cradled in the crook of her arm, Camille wandered into her father’s office. Music room was a better word for it. She stepped carefully over stacks of sheet music and piles of records until she reached the red antique sofa. She sat down, listening while he pounded out a song on the piano. Camille’s father was a music teacher at a local high school by day, music producer and sound mixing extraordinaire by night. He had a personal office in the house where he gave music lessons and a small recording studio across the courtyard in the converted carriage house. There was always all manner of musicians stopping by to ‘lay down tracks’ with her dad. It was an entertaining way to grow up.
Camille loved that her father was so passionate about his job. Unlike her mother, the high-powered real estate attorney, Camille and her father could bond over music. But it was Camille’s mother who kept them afloat. Her job afforded them their sprawling French Quarter home and covered Camille’s never ending medical expenses.
Her father finished up his song and faced her. “Are you in the mood for crawdads?”
She laughed. “Always.”
“How ‘bout I make my famous crawfish crepes smothered in goat cheese?”
“Oh my God, Dad that sounds awesome, but I have an appointment tonight.”
He frowned. “That’s right. The oncologist?”
She nodded, fighting against the prickling guilt she felt lying to her father. She’d stopped going to her appointments three weeks ago.
“You feeling okay, sweetie?”
“Fine.”
“Good. Well, I can make you something to go if you want?”
“That’s okay, Dad. I wanna swing by the café and pick up my paycheck. I’ll grab something there.”
“Are you sure?”
Her father looked disappointed and if she stayed in his office one more minute she’d cave. “I’m sure,” she said kissing him on the cheek. “I’m gonna get changed and then I’m off.”
Camille practically ran to her room. She hated lying, especially to her father. She loved the time they spent together, and knowing they had so little of it left made things even harder. But as she stared at the unchecked boxes on her wall, she knew she didn’t have a choice.
When Camille was first diagnosed with cancer, her father helped her paint one entire wall of her bedroom with black chalk paint and told her to make a wish list of all the things she wanted to do. At first it was great—a distraction from the cancer. Every time she had a bad day or had to go in for a treatment she didn’t want, he’d tell her to pick something off her list and they’d do it as soon as she was well enough.
But as she got older, Camille began to realize it wasn’t really a wish list at all, it was a Goodbye List—a morbid bucket list of things she’d get to experience once in her lifetime, if she was lucky, which she wasn’t—hence the cancer.
That realization turned the wall from a list of dreams to a countdown of tasks she had to carry out before she died. And that date was ticking closer every day. Camille had already outlived her disease’s life expectancy, but only because her mother signed her up for every clinical trial under the sun. Last year, her oncologist told Camille and her parents that they’d hit the end. There was little else the medical world could do for Camille. Her lymphoma had reached stage four. The growth was accelerating and even with extensive treatment, they could only buy her another year or so at best.
But Camille knew what that borrowed time would be like. She’d spend it in pain and bedridden, too sick and weak from the medication to even enjoy the time she had left. It prompted her to take matters into her own hands.
She made a plan. Yes, it was a plan for dying, but what other option did she have? Cancer had ruled her whole life. And Camille was determined not to let it rule her death, too. It was the last thing she had control over and she wasn’t about to let that go. That’s why she created her plan. ‘Camille’s Plan for Dying.’
She knew it was morbid. But ignoring the fact that she was dying wouldn’t change her fate. Camille was going to complete her bucket list and then end her life, on her terms—not cancer’s.
She estimated she could make it to graduation if she cut back her treatments and medications on a regimented schedule. And currently things were going according to plan. She was now off all medications and had stopped treatment completely three weeks ago. Strangely, she never felt b
etter. She knew it was false hope. It was just her body’s natural reaction to not being pumped full of poison. But Camille needed to feel her best if she was going to accomplish her goals.
She stared at the empty checkboxes on her Goodbye List. They mocked her indecently. She had 66 days left to say goodbye to everything and everyone. And she was gonna be damn sure she spent every minute she had left living to the fullest.
Nate
Lightness filled Nate’s heart as he rode the streetcar to Jackson Square. The sun was starting to set and the muggy air clung to him, ruffling his brown hair. It was just long enough that it was starting to curl at his neck. He knew he needed a trim, but he liked the way his hair looked when it was shaggy. It made him think of Ty. His brother had always worn his hair longer. Tyler had a devil-may-care attitude that Nathan had been so envious of. Nothing ever scared Tyler. He was only eleven months older than Nate, but sometimes he’d seemed a lifetime wiser.
Nate missed his brother every day. They’d been best friends. They did everything together—chased girls, played music, skated, surfed, and got into all kinds of trouble. Every moment spent with Tyler was a vibrant one. He’d been more full of life than anyone Nate had ever met. Ty used to say, “One day I’m gonna show you the world, little brother.”
They were supposed to have a lifetime to explore the world together. And now, Nate felt that weight heavy on his shoulders. It was Nate’s duty to live well, for the both of them. He was still alive and though Tyler wasn’t, Nate could feel his brother with him. And he owed it to Tyler to blaze a path through the world. Because if Tyler were still here, that’s what he’d be doing.
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