“You look gorgeous, as always,” he said tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Miraculously, Camille kept her head above water during their swim. Smart, since the water was pretty gross. Nate had been careful to make sure he didn’t swallow any. But even if he caught the stomach flu it would’ve been worth it to see Camille smile like she had when they’d climbed out of the Mississippi, howling with laughter. Her smile was even brighter than the one he’d seen in the family portrait on her wall.
Nate grinned to himself. Mission accomplished.
“What are you so smiley about?” Camille asked.
“Nothing. Just wondering what else we can cross off that list of yours.”
“Oh no. I draw the line at one bucket list adventure a day.”
“How ‘bout something that’s not on the list?”
“Like what?”
Nate plucked a wildflower from the bank and tucked it behind her ear. “Come to prom with me, Cami.”
He watched her eyelids flutter as color warmed her pale cheeks. “Nate . . .”
“I know, I know. Just don’t say no yet, okay?”
She hesitated, but after a moment nodded, a shy smile playing at her lips. “Okay.”
Nate’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected her to agree. He could work with okay. He kissed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home. I told your dad I wouldn’t keep you out late.”
Camille looked down at her damp clothes. “I can’t go home like this.”
“I have an idea.”
14
Cami
Camille couldn’t stop laughing. Nate’s brilliant idea had been to buy new clothes at a souvenir shop on Decatur Street. The rule was they could each pick out an outfit for the other to wear. Thinking Nate was going to choose one of the rude or hideous novelty t-shirts for her, Camille went all out, buying him a pair of gold lamé harem pants with Who Dat? printed on the ass, and a t-shirt that made him look like a topless woman covered in Mardi Gras beads.
When they exchanged bags and she pulled out a tutu made up of Mardi Gras purple, gold and green, and a white tank top that read NOLA bride, she knew she’d won whatever little game they were playing. They both went into the dressing rooms and changed into their ridiculous outfits. Camille could hear Nate’s groan from the other dressing room. She had to stifle her giggles, picturing his face as he opened his bag. She almost felt bad—almost. But that thought quickly disappeared when she saw him come out of the dressing room, owning his new look. He shook his screen printed boobs and yelled. “NOLA gone wild! Give me some beads!”
Camille snorted with laughter. “You look incredible.”
“I feel incredible,” he said grabbing his fake boobs.
“This may be your best idea yet.”
“Camille LaRue! Are you having non-scripted fun?”
“Oh shut up and shake your boobs already.”
The walk home took forever. People kept stopping Nate to hi-five him or congratulate Camille on their marriage. And the looks all the uptight tourists gave them made every penny she’d spent completely worth it. To Nate’s credit, he rocked his ensemble. He even earned a few beads from a street performer on the walk home. Camille couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard. It felt good.
“So, what are we doing tomorrow?” Nate asked when they got to her front door.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she replied.
“So?”
“So, it’s sorta family day at our house.”
“Oh.”
Nate’s crestfallen look made Camille want to take her words back. “Besides, I’m sure you have something better to do than spend everyday with me,” she said trying to make him feel better.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not really. It’s pretty much why I get out of bed in the morning.”
He’d said it with his usual joking tone, but it tugged at Camille’s heart the way nothing ever had. Suddenly, all she could do was look at Nate’s big brown eyes and the gentle line of his perfectly kissable lips.
She swallowed, reluctant for their day to be over. “Um, do you want a ride home?”
“Yeah.”
The drive home went faster without the rain. And this time, when Camille pulled up to Nate’s, she didn’t make a face even though the house actually looked worse without the rain to distort the extent of dilapidation.
“I had a really great time today,” she said, truly meaning it.
“Yeah, I’ve been told I’m fun to date.”
Camille rolled her eyes. “You had to ruin it, didn’t you?”
Nate just smirked and closed his eyes, leaning against the headrest.
“Nathan Hawthorne!” she teased. “You better not be kissing me in your head again.”
“You know I am. And it’s a second date kiss. Steamy!”
“You’re sorta building this up in your head. I think the real thing might let you down.”
Nate opened his eyes and smiled in a way that took her breath away. He moved closer, his hand cupping her cheek while his thumb traced her bottom lip. “Not possible,” he whispered. Nate’s warm lips grazed her cheek. “Goodnight, Camille.”
In her head she said goodnight, but in reality, she’d lost the ability to speak—she’d lost everything, but the ghost of Nate’s lips on her cheek.
Nate
Nate lay awake staring at the cracks in his ceiling again. His heart was pounding. There was no way he was going to sleep anytime soon. Today had been the best day he’d had since Tyler died. And that feeling was both encouraging and terrifying. Nate loved the fact that he’d proven he could grasp that sublime joy that used to come easily before he lost Ty. Camille had a unique way of bringing it out in him. She was enchanting to be around, and it was impossible to look at her and not get lost in the glowing joy her shy smile evoked.
But at the same time, when Nate was with Camille, he thought about Ty less. And Nate was so afraid of forgetting his brother that it physically hurt. Sometimes he would think of Ty until he felt his throat tighten and tears prick his eyes. He wanted to be certain he could still remember every detail of his brother to the point of excruciating pain. Being able to call forth that familiar ache somehow made Nate feel less alone. And he was grasping for any way to hold on to his brother.
Nate closed his eyes and visions of Camille floated before him. If he thought he’d been drawn to her before, now he was obsessed. Seeing the fear in her eyes turn into a triumphant smile after they swam in the Mississippi was addicting. It’d awoken something in him, and Nate realized he’d do just about anything to continue to make Camille smile. And don’t even get him started about the way she looked when she’d climbed out of the river—all soft curves and wet clothes.
Thinking of Cami made Nate want to do things that he barely had the willpower to control. But now, with the feel of her so sharp in his memory . . . the way she’d clung to him, her chest heaving against his, the trust in her eyes when she took his hand . . . he couldn’t stop replaying it. Camille lingered near every time he closed his eyes. Nate could almost smell her lavender fragrance if he concentrated hard enough. He wanted to steal something of hers so he could keep it with him always.
Nate had never met someone so wonderfully intoxicating. Camille was like a snowflake—fragile and unique—and he never wanted to let her go. But he was terrified the fierceness with which he wanted to hold onto her would shatter her loveliness apart.
He rolled over and looked at the Polaroid he’d taken of Camille. Maybe if he looked at her enough he wouldn’t be constantly stunned by her beauty. Yeah right. He’d have a better chance of winning the lottery than not losing his breath every time he looked at her.
Nate thumbed through his collection of photos from Camille. He now had four. One she’d taken of him on the day they met, one of their feet in the Mississippi, and two of her lying by the river. She’d written Goodbye Mississippi o
n the photo of their feet. Nate thought back to the photos he’d seen on her Before I Die wall, realizing that they had Goodbye written on them as well. What a sad thing to write after such a fun experience.
Nate grabbed a pen and crossed out Goodbye, writing the word Hello, instead.
15
Cami
It was nearly impossible to think of anything but Nate on Sunday. Luckily—or unluckily—Camille’s phone was destroyed in their impromptu swim in the Mississippi. Otherwise, she’d be tempted to text him. Or at least see if he texted her.
Who was she kidding? It was Nate. He’d definitely text.
Camille was actually half surprised he hadn’t shown up at her house already. She was dressed just in case—wig and makeup securely in place.
She’d checked Mississippi River off her wall and taped the Polaroid of her and Nate’s feet to her bedroom wall last night after taking a long hot shower to wash the pollution off of her. She was still checking her temperature today, worried she might have swallowed some of the water, tempting her already fragile immune system to throw in the towel. But so far, so good. She’d survived another family Sunday, lying to her parents about her treatments and plans, trying to smile as they talked about summer vacation and college courses.
It was torture lying to her family. But she couldn’t exactly say, “Mom, Dad, those plans sound great, but I’m done. I’ve lived a good life. Much longer than any of us expected. But enough is enough. I’m tired of fighting and I’ve made my peace with it. I’m ready to say goodbye. And I want to do it on my terms.” They wouldn’t understand and the worst part was, she couldn’t even blame them. But her mind was made up. She was tired of fighting cancer. And she didn’t have the energy to fight with her parents about it.
Camille was currently lounging on her bed with Poo in her lap. She was scrolling through Pinterest, which was never a good thing. She’d typed Bucket List into the search bar and was torturing herself by looking at all the things she didn’t have the courage to write on her wall.
Damn Nate and his smile. It conjured infinite possibilities.
And now Camille was thinking about his smile, and how sexy it was, and how much she wanted him to kiss her for real and not just in his mind. Ugh!
Camille typed Boyfriend Goals into the search bar. That kind of torture was even worse than the bucket list torture. The bucket list photos were just dreams on steroids—unattainable things for even the average non-cancer diagnosed teenager. But a boyfriend . . . Nate was right in front of her, asking her to take a chance on him, to go on a date, to go to prom. And suddenly, she wanted to. She wanted all those things like a drowning victim wanted air.
This is so stupid, Cami! Get a grip.
But she was hopeless. She might as well just admit she had feelings for Nate.
“The sooner you admitted you have a problem, the sooner you can solve it,” she muttered.
Camille was sure she’d read that in one of her coping with cancer books. But the problem was, she didn’t want to get over liking Nate. He was kind and funny and adorable in his own weird, addicting way. He’d snuck up on her and now that she’d seen inside his big, beautiful heart, she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
The faint sound of the doorbell rousted Poo from Camille’s lap. Her door was cracked open just enough to let Poo escape. Cami climbed out of bed chasing after him to spare her parents more scars on their toes from her ferocious guard dog. But by the time Camille got to the stairs she heard Nate’s voice and her heart tripled in size.
“Hi Mr. LaRue. Is Cami here?”
“Hey, Nate. She is.” Her father turned to call her, but Camille was already thundering down the stairs.
She greeted Nate breathlessly. “Hey, I was just thinking about you.”
“You were?”
Camille couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out! And in front of her father! Luckily her mother walked into the foyer and saved her the embarrassment of answering Nate’s question.
“Hello,” her mother said. “May we help you?”
“Hello. You must be Cami’s mom,” Nate said grinning as he glanced between the women, noting their resemblance.
“And you are?”
“Nathan Hawthorne. I go to school with Cami.”
“Josephine LaRue,” she said shaking Nate’s hand.
“I was just stopping by to see if Cami wanted to get beignets with me?” Nate said.
“I’d love to,” Camille replied.
Camille’s mother gave her a stern look. “It’s Sunday, honey.”
“I know but—”
Camille’s father interrupted. “Ah, let the kids have some fun. We were just going to watch a movie anyway.”
Camille had never heard her father disagree with her mother, who presently looked stunned. But Camille wasn’t about to wait for her mother to recover. She grabbed her coat and purse from the hall tree and dragged Nate out the door.
Nate
“So, you were thinking about me, huh?”
“Oh, shut up,” Camille replied nudging him with her shoulder.
He could tell she didn’t really mean it by the way her cheeks blushed, so he took a chance and reached for her hand. He couldn’t fight his smile when she slid her fingers through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it most certainly was not.
Everywhere their skin touched was like getting shocked by tiny pleasant bolts of electricity. Camille’s touch made Nate come alive. He wanted to run his fingers over every inch of her pale skin. It looked especially radiant in the moonlight as they strolled toward Jackson Square.
“So,” Camille asked. “Where are we going?”
“I told you.”
“More beignets? Really?”
“Oh, did you think I was kidding about trying them all? I looked it up. Did you know there are three Café Beignets?”
She laughed. “Yes, but everyone knows the best one’s on Royal, and I already took you there.”
“Well, tonight we’re going to the one on Decatur.”
“Decatur? Really?” Camille practically snorted a laugh. “I didn’t think you’d show your face on that street again after our shopping spree.”
“It takes a lot more than screen printed boobs and shiny pants to scare me, Camille LaRue. Besides, I have a new plan to woo you.”
“Oh yeah?”
Nate smiled and held out his skateboard that had been tucked under his arm.
“Oh good, you fixed the death trap?”
“Yep and I’m gonna teach you how to ride it.”
“Um, no way.”
“Come on. I noticed it’s not on your Before I Die wall.”
“And neither is splitting my head open or breaking bones.”
Nate stopped walking. His voice turned serious. “I’d never let that happen to you.”
Camille gazed up at him, her eyes widening at whatever she read in his expression. “I know, Nate. I was just teasing.” She ran a hand up his arm and it gave him goose bumps. “Are you, okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sorry. I think . . . never mind.”
“What?”
Nate shook his head. He’d hoped seeing Camille would put him in a better mood. He wanted to keep things light between them. But today was the anniversary of Tyler’s death. His dad was at work and he hadn’t been able to get his mom on the phone, which only increased his bad mood. Nate hadn’t planned to come to see Camille, especially after she’d told him Sunday was family day. Who was he to steal her family time just because he didn’t have his own anymore?
He’d taken the streetcar to the French Quarter and rode his skateboard aimlessly through Latrobe Park for a while before he found himself standing at Camille’s door.
She was staring at him now, her eyes like glittering satellites reflecting the full moon back to him. She took his hand, squeezing life back into his fingertips. “Hey, come on. Let’s go get beignets.”
They got their food and coffee to go. Camille w
as right, the Decatur Street Café Beignet had nothing on the quaint Royal Street location. The only advantage was Decatur Street was a stone’s throw from the Mississippi.
Nate followed Cami back up to the wide promenade overlooking the river.
“I see why they call it the Moon Walk,” Nate said gazing at the sparkling path the moon carved on the rippling water.
“Actually, it was named after Mayor Maurice “Moon” Landrieu . . .” Camille trailed off when she caught Nate’s raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I know a lot of useless facts about New Orleans.”
“I love that about you.”
“Really?”
“Well, among other things,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder.
“Like?”
“For one, you’re a really good kisser.”
Camille laughed.
Nate didn’t think he’d ever get enough of that sound. “And . . . I love the way you squeal when you’re scared.”
“Hey! That was one time. And don’t get any ideas, mister. Night swimming is not on my bucket list.”
Nate smirked. “Noted.”
Cami
Camille followed Nate to their bench—not really sure when it became ‘theirs’. But somehow, sitting there together two days in a row seemed to make her feel a strange possessiveness toward it. They sat side-by-side, sipping café au laits and eating beignets. It was nice—just being with Nate. He didn’t have that need to fill the silence with chatter like most people did.
Camille watched him as he sipped his coffee, staring out at the river, his head bent, eyes following the boats trudging upstream. She liked him like this—distracted. She could study him up close, absorbing the perfect planes of his face. The breeze from the Mississippi played in the soft curls of his dark hair, exposing hidden places she wanted to touch—the nape of his neck, his temples, his forehead.
Camille studied Nate until the faraway look haunting his normally bright eyes began to worry her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
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