“Excuse me. Hello, I’m Cameron Ramsey. Is this Mrs. Henderson’s AP English class?” I politely asked the teacher. She’s an older woman with a kind and gentle face, and although her gray hair was pinned up in a bun, wild strands had come loose, as if they refuse to be tamed by something so prim and proper. I immediately liked her.
“Yes it is. I’ve heard wonderful things about you and it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Do you like Cameron or do you prefer being called something else? Oh and please call me Dora. I don’t care to stand on ceremony in my class,” she said with warm sincerity.
“Oh, okay. Thank you. Um, I don’t mind Cameron, but everyone usually calls me Camie.” How very cool is she?!
“Alright, Camie it is. I have you in a group over here... That makes the last gathering a nice even number. As with ceremony, I don’t care for groups of three...someone always gets inadvertently left out,” she told me as she led me over to a group of pillows against the wall facing the door. Occupying one of the pillows already was a really pretty blonde girl with gorgeous green eyes who was wearing sunglasses on the top of her head and her hair in a ponytail. When she finished rifling through her backpack and looked up, Mrs. Henderson briefly introduced us. “Kate, this is Camie. She’ll be joining you and the boys. Please be kind enough to let her follow along in your book until I can dig up another copy.”
“Hi Camie. I’m sorry Dora, I must’ve left my book at home so we’ll both have to share,” Kate told the teacher like being unprepared for class was no biggie.
“Alright, the boys should be here soon, maybe they’ll have remembered to bring theirs,” Mrs. Henderson responded, unperturbed.
What the heck? This is a college-prep class, isn’t it? I mean I imagined this would be a more rigorous course, but as I considered the unexpected carefree atmosphere, I thought maybe I was wrong. I plunked down next to Kate as the rest of the room’s cushions were quickly occupied, and just when that godforsaken bell rang, “the boys” sauntered through the doorway, laughing, and coincidentally, making the phrase Holy fucking shit! instantly leap to my mind.
Yeah, yeah. I know I said I don’t swear and I seem to be doing it a lot today, but cut me some slack…I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. And you SO have to give me this one, because Tristan—MY Tristan—was one of “the boys” and he was headed straight towards me.
“Hey Katy, who’s your friend?” The—not My Tristan—guy inquired.
Still chuckling about whatever he and his friend had been previously laughing about, Tristan essentially ignored me again, but, the other guy, who I could kiss for doing this and who’s also pretty darn cute, sat down next to Kate; which means…my future husband had to sit on the pillow next to me! Mental happy dancing ensues…
“Jeff, this is Camie. She’s new and you know how much it’s been bugging Mrs. Henderson that we have three people in our group, so, we get her,” Kate told him in a round about way of introducing me.
“New, huh? I don’t remember seeing a new girl on the roster during my office-aid hour this morning,” Jeff said more to Kate than to me.
I was kind of getting tired of being treated like I’m invisible so I spoke up and said, “I am new, but my full name is Cameron.”
“Ah…okay. You’re a sophomore, right? I thought you were a guy,” he said and laughed at his mistaken assumption about my gender.
Tristan’s ears pricked up when he heard sophomore and he quickly looked me over before laughing about the guy comment and going back to studiously ignoring me. Oh, be still my beating heart... I thought to myself in my best sarcastic southern belle impersonation, feeling annoyed. “Yeah, unfortunately I get that a lot,” I said with a touch of attitude.
I really like my name, but I hate when people don’t take the time to notice that I AM A GIRL!! I’m even bulging out of my 34B cup to prove it! Anyway, you can imagine I’m not all that enamored of “Dear Jeff” anymore. And okay, so I’m not feeling the love from Tristan right now either. Maybe he’s just shy? Yeah, let’s go with that.
“Yeah, I bet. At least you don’t look anything like a guy…or a sophomore,” Jeff said with a flirtatious grin, his eyes focusing on my boobs a moment longer than they should have.
That’s better, I thought, assuming the ogling was either meant to be an apology or a compliment. Beggars can’t be choosers and I’ll take it either way.
Kate slapped his arm and in a tone that sounded like she was scolding an errant child, she said, “Quit being an ass.” That behavior and the physical similarities between the two had an idea forming in my head, but listening to their conversation proved more interesting and therefore I gave my full attention to it. “Do you have your book? I can’t find mine and Mrs. Henderson still has to get one for Camie.”
“Uh-uh. Besides, I’m not staying. Hey Trist, I’m outta here but that chick, Teresa, wanted me to give you her number again…she thinks you lost it. See ya at practice,” Jeff said and leaned across Kate and me to throw a folded piece of paper at Tristan. Then he got to his feet as a messenger handed a yellow slip to Mrs. Henderson.
“Man, you’re such a douchebag,” Tristan told him, crumpling up the note and throwing it back.
The gods must be in one fantabulous mood, because that blessed piece of paper then bounced off Jeff and landed right on the other side of little ol’ me. I couldn’t even dream up everything that happened next. Oh and Jeff—bless his heart—is now back in my good graces. Here’s why:
Jeff deviously grinned at Tristan and waggled his eyebrows in suggestion, like he was insinuating that either the placement of the note, or the information contained therein gave Tristan some sort of much-desired opportunity. Then he left us to make his approach to the teacher’s desk.
“Is he ditching the rest of the day?” Kate asked Tristan across me with a look of irritation on her face.
“I guess, but if he gets caught again, he’s gonna get booted off the polo team,” Tristan answered as he put his hand on my bare knee and leaned across my lap to pick up the wrinkled paper. YES!! Although I am hyperventilating now...
“Well-uh! You’re the team captain and his best friend…you should be talking him out of doing this crap,” she said, like she was charging Tristan with criminal negligence while at the same time, watching him carefully.
“I’m staying out of it. If he gets busted, it’s his deal. But if you care so much, why don’t you tell him he’s being a jackass?” He retorted while making confetti out of Teresa’s phone number—God love him.
“If he won’t listen to you, he’s not gonna listen to me.” She narrowed her eyes when she saw what he was doing and then questioned, “I don’t get it. Why did you ask for her number when you know you have zero interest in calling her? That’s messed up.”
“What’s to get? Come on, you saw her at that party…she was hammered and all over me. I hate it when girls pull that shit. I wanted to tell her she’s a skank and to fuck off actually, so it wasn’t messed up, it was more like me being polite. Hey, your name’s Cameron, right?” Tristan asked and made a face while dusting his fingers off, like the now much abused paper was made out of asbestos or something.
I hadn’t even been a minor part of their enthralling dialogue so when Tristan suddenly directed a question at me, all he got was a lame nod and a deer in the headlights look. I did, however, possess the capacity to hear he hadn’t used my nickname, so he must’ve paid more attention to the earlier conversation than I thought. And did you hear what else he said? I’m taking it to mean he’s a gentleman…he didn’t tell that girl to f-off or call her a rude name even though he wanted to. (Aw, he’s just so considerate! Oh, sorry. Back to the story, this is where it gets good…)
“Trade places with me. Since I seem to be the only responsible person in this group with the book, we’ll all have to share mine,” Tristan said with a butterfly inducing, yet arrogant grin.
Okay, pinch me, please. Or better yet, stick a red-hot poker in my arm so I know I’m not dr
eaming. You’ll understand in a second…
Tristan and I traded cushions but because he stretched out on his back to use the pillow for his head, Kate and I had to do the same. Picture it if you will: She and I are lying there on opposite sides of him like we’re the bread of a made to order Tristan sandwich. I mean really, can this class get any better? Mrs. Henderson is oblivious to what’s going on and I’m not using sarcasm anymore when I tell my heart to chill out. I swear, it’s palpitating so hard and fast it feels like I’m about to experience what I imagine the space shuttle does before it lifts off. Jeff, who I’d completely forgotten about but owe big time, waved from the other side of the door to get Tristan’s attention and when he had it, he flipped him the bird. Tristan just snorted and handed his book to Kate. Now get this…he then put his arms around Kate’s and my shoulders, pulled us really close against him, and proceeded to stick his tongue out at Jeff. Oh and just so we’re clear, I think I’m dying. Every drop of blood in my body must’ve rushed to my head because all I can hear is the sound of my thundering heart in my ears. And yeah, that freaky tingling is back. Then, Jeff bowed in the hallway as if he was conceding some kind of contest to Tristan, who had an exceedingly smug look on his face as he watched his friend walk down the hall and out of sight.
Let me tell you something, since I’m planning on fantasizing and being stealthy about inhaling the intoxicating scent of Tristan for the rest of class, it’s a good thing the book we’re supposed to be reading—the one practically no one in class bothered to bring—is Pride and Prejudice. I’ve read it three times and seen both the BBC and the Keira Knightly versions of the movie more times than I can count. It’s my mom’s favorite. God is SO good. Actually cuddling up with Tristan and Mr. Darcy, together in one class? I’m just sayin’…
Anyway, let me see if I can describe what Eau de Tristan smells like… Wow. It’s amazing…he smells exactly like fresh-baked snicker-doodle cookies! (I’m totally lying.) Actually, he smells kind of like chlorine, but whatever. I can make chlorine smell yummy in my imagination. Mmmm, I can practically taste the drop-dead goodness! Okay, so swimming and eating my favorite cookies will just never be the same again; I don’t really give a flying fig right now.
Sigh.
Unfortunately, all good things must end, and the best fifty-five minutes of my entire life ended with the bell heralding the lunch half-hour. I know lunch hour sounds better, but really, it’s thirty minutes. I’m not even gonna have time to chew. As soon as he heard the clanging, Tristan swiped his book away from Kate, grabbed the rest of his stuff and took off without a goodbye, a see ya later, or even a backwards glance. In turn, Kate and I gathered our things and walked into the hallway together, and when she met up with a couple of her friends who were coming out of another classroom, Kate turned to me and with a thoughtful, but friendly smile she said, “Bye Camie, I’ll see you later.”
I floated out of the English building and into the brilliant sunshine on cloud nine, and with the delicious smell of pool water still fogging up my brain, I wandered down to the lower quad to visit my locker and then I went in search of Michele and her friends.
3.
He Might Be A Man-whore
Lunch was not the success I’d hoped it would be.
After I rescued my apple and carrots from my locker and bought myself a soda and something that’s called a “big cookie,” I finally spotted Michele and her friends amongst the throng of other students who were enjoying their lunch on the grass of the upper quad. When I joined them, Michele introduced me to two of her friends, Lisa and Claire. They seemed okay, but they weren’t as welcoming as one would hope. As I started digging into my cookie that I swear is like the size of freaking Jupiter, another girl walked up to sit across from me, and then, to my utter shock—add discomfort if I’m being honest here—Michele introduces her as Teresa. I know she’s the same Teresa who penned the asbestos laden correspondence to Tristan because that’s the first thing out of her mouth. No “Hi” or “Nice to meet you”…nope, she went straight to this:
“So, I gave Jeff Larson a note with my phone number on it for Tristan.”
“No WAY!! What did he say?!” Claire asked with excessive enthusiasm.
“Jeff promised he’d give it to him last period. I told him I thought Tristan might’ve lost my number and Jeff said he thought Tristan probably did too. He was really cool about it and said something like ‘trust me, I know he’ll want this so I’ll make sure he gets it.’ So, that explains why he didn’t call or text over the weekend,” she explained self-importantly.
“Do you really think he’ll ask you out?” Lisa asked with what sounded like awe.
“I’m positive. He’s so in to me...we would’ve totally hooked up at that party if he didn’t have to drive fuckin’ Jeff’s drunk ass home,” the hussy said with misplaced confidence and a self-gratified smirk.
Yeah, I know. I’m being kind of catty, but I really don’t like this girl. First off, she was inebriated herself when she hit on my soul mate. Secondly, I know “Dear Jeff” can grate on one’s nerves now and then—I know because I’ve obviously had so much interaction with him—but I really don’t feel it’s necessary to besmirch his good name in such a way because ultimately, he did save her from making an even bigger fool of herself as he could’ve easily done by informing her of Tristan’s true feelings. And lastly…well, she’s kind of a bitch. Actually, all these girls aside from Michele are rather bitchy. One positive of this encounter, though, is that I’ve discovered a sophomore girl can set her sights on a junior guy and not be thought of as completely insane.
“What did your note say?” Michele asked, sounding only mildly curious as she tossed a half-eaten apple and the crust from her sandwich into the trashcan next to us.
“Oh, just stuff…you know, I just gave him some options of things we could do on our date,” Teresa answered with poorly veiled innuendo.
Ew! Ew! EW!
“Oh. My. God. You did not!” Claire said, laughing, and then she gave Teresa a high-five.
“I would’ve loved to have seen his face when he read it! I wonder where he is…” Lisa commented, looking around the quad for Tristan, whom I’m hoping is well hidden. I mean I wouldn’t put much past these three girls anymore as I’m forced to listen to Teresa tell us all what her note actually said. And again I say, EW.
Seriously, it’s a good thing I’m adept in the fine art of self-censoring because I really, really want to put Teresa in her place like she deserves and I have the power to do it. Truthfully, I’d like nothing better than to slap the shit-eating grin right the hell off her face, but let’s not kid ourselves—that just ain’t gonna happen. Anyhow, in an attempt to distract myself and keep my mouth shut, I looked around the quad and as my gaze traveled over to the blue stage where the socially elite hang out, whom did my eyes almost immediately land on? Yep. The subject of this rather lecherous conversation. Then it dawned on me, I don’t want Tristan—or anyone else really—to see me in the company of these girls. So, I was really grateful to Michele when she got up and excused herself just as Tristan’s attention shifted in our direction. She momentarily blocked me from his sight when she stood up to leave, and I quickly joined her to beat a hasty escape from becoming a pariah in Tristan’s mind.
“Wow. Teresa is really something,” I said as Michele and I walked back down to the lower quad. I felt safe in saying that to her because it was obvious she wasn’t particularly enjoying the lewd lunchtime banter either.
“Yeah, she’s had a hardcore crush on Tristan Daniels for years…she’s delusional of course.”
“Why do you say that?” Hmmm… Maybe my earlier deduction was somewhat premature and a sophomore girl shouldn’t try for a junior. Crap.
“Because he’s Tristan Daniels. I’d guess at least a third of the girls in this school and a good portion from a few others have a major thing for him. Plus, Teresa thinks she’s gonna get him to be her actual boyfriend and he’s not the most monogamous k
ind of guy, you know?”
Her answer does not bode well for me, but, I’m tenacious and probably a glutton for punishment so I’m not giving up on him yet. “Not really. What do you mean?” I asked just for clarification. I, of course, know what monogamous means, but there’s a chance she might be using the term incorrectly. One can hope, right?
“Well for starters, he kinda gets around. Plus, I don’t think he’s ever had just one girlfriend…I mean I can’t say he actually cheats on girls because as far as I know, he’s never been in an exclusive relationship,” Michele explained, having used “monogamous” more or less accurately.
Not to beat a dead horse, but I’m really hoping he’s not a complete male slut like she’s making him out to be, so I asked, “So you’re saying he sleeps around a lot?”
“Umm, I’m tempted to say yes because of how he goes through girls like they’re lined up at a revolving door for their chance with him, but I honestly don’t know if he bothers to go that far with all of them. I’d imagine he’s slept with at least a few of them though…I mean, he is a guy and he’s totally beautiful. It’s just that even though everyone in this school talks non-stop about everyone else’s business, I never hear any gossip about him pertaining specifically to sex,” she quite generously elaborated for me.
I, Cameron Corinne Ramsey, hereby acknowledge that I’ve been properly forewarned. However, since I’m already completely infatuated, chances are this disquieting information won’t affect me in the manner it probably should, so I moved on to indulging myself in a little gossip of my own. “Okay, you’re gonna love this but you have to promise you won’t say a thing to anyone else. I’m not usually a gossipmonger or anything, but Teresa bugs the crap outta me and I’m dying to tell someone who might appreciate it.”
“Deal. Teresa isn’t my favorite person either, but, the four of us have been good friends since elementary school and it’s tricky to stay friends with the two I do still like and not the one I don’t,” Michele told me, giving me some insight into social politics.
Shark Bait (The Grab Your Pole Series) Page 3