6:59

by Nonye Acholonu

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cam

  I woke up on the middle of the floor, face down. Odd. Usually I’m half-naked in bed. Well, at least I was clothed.

  The doorbell ringing snapped me out of my confused thoughts. I always hated that stupid bell. It was so… Victorian-ish. Brushing my hand through my non-gelled hair (I could’ve sworn it was gelled last night), I rose to my feet and strolled over to the door, cracking it open to the width of barely a foot.

  “What do you want?” I asked the tall Spanish-looking dude standing on the porch.

  His happy expression immediately contorted into a confused frown as he cocked his head to the side, eyeing me suspiciously. “Hey, uh, sorry, Cameron, for coming back after seven, I just forgot my hat and—”

  “It’s Cam,” I interrupted, annoyance radiating throughout my body. “Why do you people keep calling me Cameron?” I swear, if another kid calls me Cameron again, I’ll kill him.

  The guy’s eyes widened, his eyebrows spiking up in shock. But the surprised expression was quickly replaced with that of nonchalance. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that Cam,” he said, coughing into his fist. His amber eyes peered into mine, making it appear as if he were silently drawing conclusions about me in his head.

  He seemed to be staring at my hair. I cleared my throat, startling him back to reality. “Again, what do you want?” I snapped, wanting to roll my eyes back into my head. I didn’t have any time for weird people. I had things to do. Places to be.

  His head apparently out of the clouds, the guy addressed me again, a smile appearing on his tan face. “Yeah, uh, sorry, I just forgot my hat, and I wanted to grab it real quick,” he said in a rush. He seemed embarrassed about his weird behavior, which I respected. He was acting kinda weird.

  I shrugged my shoulders and shoved open the thick door. “Alright, go get it,” I said coolly. I knew he wouldn’t steal anything. He seemed like a nice guy. You see, I’ve been around some pretty shady people, and by the look of this guy, I could tell he wouldn’t even steal someone’s thunder.

  “Hey, thanks, man,” he said, the wide smile still remaining on his lips. I stepped aside as he walked into the house, his tall frame about three inches shorter than the doorway. I closed the door once he was inside and began walking back toward the living room, the Spanish guy trailing behind me.

  “I’m Armando, by the way,” he said, holding out a large hand as we headed down the corridor.

  I ignored the hand due to the fact that I don’t do handshakes. Or formal greetings of that matter. “Sup,” was my only response to his outstretched hand.

  Armando nodded, catching my drift as he shoved his hand back into his jeans pocket. As we entered into the living room, he immediately spotted his hat, snatched it up, and placed it back on his head. However, even though he had retrieved his hat, he made no motion to leave. He just stood there awkwardly, hands in his pocket, as I plopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote control, and began flipping through the channels on the TV.

  “You forget something else?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the TV.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “No, I’ve got everything,” he said, nodding his head again.

  I waited for him to leave. But he didn’t. What was his problem?

  I looked up at him, only to catch him eyeing my hair again. He was really getting on my nerves. “So, buddy, do you need anything else or—”

  “Hey, the game’s on, like, now,” he interrupted, quickly shifting his eyes to meet mine. “Quick, change it to the sports channel.” And without any other words, he shrugged off his backpack, placed it on the floor, and plopped down on the nearby couch, grabbing a handful of chips and shoving them into his mouth.

  I watched as he chewed, trying to decipher whether this guy was some kind of convict or just plain stupid. Who was this kid, just strolling into my house like that? He lay back as if he owned the place. I could tell he had no plans to leave any time soon and wouldn’t take well to being kicked out.

  My kind of man.

  I immediately liked this kid. He was cool, laid back, and awesome looking with his amber eyes and such. He was legit.

  “Hey, pass the chips,” I said, making myself comfortable on the couch.

  Without taking his eyes off the TV, Armando tossed me a single chip that landed near my couch.

  We both stared at it on the floor, not saying anything. “One chip? What is that?” I asked, pointing to the lone chip and trying to suppress my laughter.

  Armando shrugged innocently. “I already claimed this bowl,” he said, scarfing up handful after handful of chips. “Get your own.”

  I laughed, shaking my head at this guy’s nerve. “You’re an idiot,” I said, reluctantly getting up and heading for the kitchen. But before I left, I spit a loogie into his bowl, bursting out in laughter when Armando glared at me.

  “You’re dead, Cam,” he said smiling, and, standing quickly to his feet, he grabbed me into a chokehold, playfully inducing a wrestling match.

  We laughed and laughed as we wrestled each other, the match super adrenaline charged as well as super difficult. This guy had moves. It all ended after I pulled his hair and socked him in the stomach simultaneously. Armando cried mercy as I finally pinned him to the floor.

  “Alright, alright” he panted, laughing in spurts, “I’ve had enough.” He clenched his stomach as he tried to stand up again.

  “People just can’t get over the fact that I’m awesome,” I said, brushing off my clothes and running a hand through my hair. I laughed as I headed to the kitchen in search of some more chips where I immediately came in contact with Mila.

  She was baking some cookies and stuff in the oven, her back towards me. “Hey, maid,” I blurted out, smacking her lightly on the butt. She let out a tiny oof and spun around to face me, a glare contorting her otherwise motherly face as she met my eyes. “Get me a bowl of chips,” I said smiling cockily.

  Red in her cheeks, she huffed and headed over to the cupboard as I took a seat at one of the kitchen chairs. “Never touch me like that again, Cam,” she warned, grabbing a bag of chips and tossing them at me. She was always so haughty with me, it was annoying.

  “I know you liked that, Mils,” I said winking at her and licking my lips seductively. She might be older, but she was young once. And I’m hot; no one can resist my charm.

  Then I suddenly remembered the girl, Olive, from last night. I pictured her long, flowy hair and big, brown eyes, knowing full well that even she couldn’t resist my charm. I mean, I knew I couldn’t resist hers.

  I quickly shook her image out of my head before I began salivating all over the kitchen table. On second thought, maybe I should think about this chick; my drool would just make Mila’s job harder. I laughed at the cunning thought, grabbing up the bag of chips and popping them open. “Hey, maid, bring me a bowl!” I barked out, snatching up some chips and tossing them into my mouth. “What part of a bowl of chips do you not understand, woman?” I was talking with a full mouth, the crumbs falling out of my mouth and onto the squeaky-clean marble table.

  Mila huffed and turned to the cupboard again, grabbing a bowl and hurling it at me. Well, at my head, primarily.

  But I was too quick.

  Using my telekinesis powers, I ripped the bowl out of the air and tossed it smoothly at me, making her otherwise lethal throw appear as if it were nothing but a subtle toss in my direction. Catching it swiftly, I placed it on the table and began to pour the chips into it. “Thank you, madam,” I said coolly.

  Mila stared at me for a moment and for a second I thought she’d seen me use my powers. But then she just rolled her eyes and went on to her baking and stuff as Armando entered into the kitchen.

  Taking a seat beside me, he nodded in my direction. “Hey, bud, you’re missing the game,” he informed me as he stole a chip from my bowl. I began to second guess that mental comment I said about him not looking like a thief.

  I shrugged nonchalantly. “I was having too
much fun with Mila, here,” I replied, eyeing the maid and wiggling my eyebrows.

  Armando swiveled around to face Mila’s direction, a large smile spreading across his face. “Oh, hey, Mila,” he said, and greeted her with a wave.

  She smiled warmly at him, returning his friendly wave. “Hello, Armando.”I stared at the two of them, confusion in my eyes. “How do you two know each other?” I asked suspiciously.

  But they didn’t answer me. They just stared at each other and kept glancing at me, silently conversing with each other. I knew their silent convo was obviously about me.

  “Je všechno v poøádku tady?” Armando asked, speaking in a weird language to Mila. His gaze shot from me to her.

  She shrugged her shoulders in response, glancing quickly at me and then back at Armando as she said, “Djeèak je glupo,” in that same language as well.

  Armando laughed, “Is he really?”

  Before Mila could respond, I cleared my throat loudly. “Okay, what is going on with you two?” I asked, glaring at them with confusion in my eyes. “First of all, how do you two know each other? And, secondly, why are you two speaking in that weird language? And, thirdly, if you’re talking about me, I’d rather you not be so obvious about it!” I ended with an annoyed huff, my eyes holding their startled gazes.

  After a brief lapse of silence, Armando shrugged his shoulders, this time with nonchalance. “We go way back,” Armando said, motioning to Mila. “And for your second question, I just thought it’d be nicer if I spoke with Mila in her native language, Croatian.” He paused to grab up another chip and popped it into his mouth. “And for your third question, I just asked if everything was okay and Mila said you’re stupid,” he said smoothly.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Screw you, Mila,” I spat. She just snorted. I turned away, done with this conversation. Frankly, I was used to Armando’s weird behavior, and I didn’t really give a crap about Mila, so… there.

  “Alright,” I said, clapping my hands together and standing up. “Let’s go back to the game,” I said to Armando as I took the bowl and headed out of the kitchen.

  But before the door swung closed, I heard Armando saying something to Mila. “Does his father know about him?” he asked quietly.

  “No, he does not,” she responded.

  I heard Armando sigh. “Well, I’m going to tell him,” he said, and I heard his footsteps heading toward the door.

  When he opened the kitchen door to join me in the hallway, I stared at him questioningly. “Tell who what?” I asked. They better have not been talking about me.

  But Armando just shrugged — he was always shrugging. “It’s nothing,” was his succinct reply, and, without any other words, he grabbed my bowl out of my hands and headed back to the living room.

  I had no choice but to follow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Olive

  Imagine waking up, dumped onto your lawn in rumpled clothes and missing a shoe. Imagine not knowing where you were for a good five minutes, still shaking about the events that’d just happened. Imagine walking into your house and having to find an excuse as to why you returned at such an odd hour completely disheveled.

  Now imagine having to see the culprit during a school day.

  Last night, Abby was not only angry but also hysterical. She imagined that I’d somehow gotten stolen from my room, raped, and then left to die. And my lack of knowledge about what just happened did not help at all. She thought I’d been drugged!

  In came the police. All I wanted to do was go to sleep and forget that I’d just seen Cameron being shot at by gangsters. I also wanted to forget the fact that somehow I’d seen him fling all three men off him without lifting a finger. But that was just before I’d blacked out. I was probably seeing things.

  So the police arrived at around 3:00 a.m. demanding answers from me. I told them exactly what I knew; I’d gone out with a friend and became so terrified, I fainted.

  Of course they didn’t believe me. Here’s their version of the story that I so discreetly eavesdropped on:

  “We think she’s been date-raped,” the fat police officer said curtly. I imagined him scribbling this newfound fact onto his pad and paper. Abby gasped so loudly, her lungs must’ve exploded.

  The second officer continued. “From the evidence we’ve just been given, Miss Ramos was lured from her room by her male friend, taken to an unknown location, drugged, raped, and left on the lawn.”

  “How do you know it’s date rape?” Abby asked, still gasping.

  Cue officer one. “She only released the gender of her friend — no name. She was also adamantly sure that nothing was wrong. Lastly, she failed to mention the location to where she was taken — she only clarified that she was in a car.”

  Unsurprisingly, Abby gasped again. “That’s terrible! What do I do?”

  “Keep an eye on her,” Officer Two said. “Nothing seems wrong with her. All we have to do is run some tests for verification.”

  Tests? I didn’t want to have to run tests! If there was one thing I was absolutely-positively-confidently-irrevocably sure about — it was that I did not get date-raped. But I couldn’t tell them what I really saw. They’d for sure think I’d been drugged. I knew that no matter what I’d be sent to the hospital to run tests. I had to keep this whole Cameron-flinging-guys-off-him-without-touching-them to myself.

  But that didn’t mean I had to forgive him.

  I’d returned from the hospital around five, bitter and tired. I would’ve stayed home from school if it weren’t for my grandmother. She found out that I didn’t get raped or drugged so she, of course, felt stupid. So instead of apologizing to me and letting me go sleep, she chastised me for leaving with “this guy” without her permission. My punishment; go to school.

  So that’s what I did. I went to school and avoided Cameron to the point where I was practically plastered onto the ceilings just to hide from him. Whenever we did talk, he always put on this sad, I-don’t-know-what-I-did face and expected me to just crumple into his arms and forgive him, even though I’d really wanted to.

  Now, I sat at home, eating my dinner across the table from Abby. She sat there, swallowing her food loudly and clanking her plate with her fork awkwardly. We didn’t say a word to each other. I barely ate. Whenever I closed my eyes I saw those guys beating Cameron up — and Cameron fighting back. The littlest noise would remind me of gun shots and I couldn’t help but jump. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Abby noticed this and dropped her fork. “Okay, give it up,” she said in a stern but not angry voice. “You didn’t get drugged or raped last night but you did faint, you did come home disheveled and dirty, you’re shaking, and your memory is all choppy. Tell me what really happened.”

  “So you can call the police again?” I asked in way too harsh a voice.

  Abby just stared at me. She took a drink from her glass before saying, “Who picked you up last night? And I want the truth.” Her huge brown eyes narrowed and the wrinkles on her face seemed to crease even more.

  I stared back at her, wondering if I should disclose this information. Abby knew Cameron well. If I told her that he’d been treating me badly, she would all but erase him from the planet. And I didn’t want to tell on Cameron. Even though he scared the crap out of me last night, he was still Cameron and I wanted to find out his reasons on my own, not while Abby held him by the neck.

  “Nobody,” I finally answered, stabbing at my poorly cooked broccoli. One of these days I was going to fall over and die thanks to Abby’s cooking. I just hoped I lived to nineteen first.

  “Mi hija.” Abby’s voice sliced through my ears like an arrow. “You tell me now who you went out with last night. Now.” I could’ve sworn that Abby’s fingers had just extracted claws.

  “Look, nothing happened to me,” I said, trying not to sputter guiltily. Then I ripped the bandage off, quickly saying. “I saw Cameron outside and went for a ride with him. That’s it.”

  Abby looked as if she
were about to rip the table in half by the way she gripped it. Her face had just darkened and I knew she was out for blood. What had I just done?

  “That boy,” she said, hesitantly. “That nice boy across the street. He took you out, made you faint, and left you on our lawn unconscious?”

  All I could do was nod.

  Then Abby was up, chucking her napkin onto the table angrily. She slipped on her expensive flip-flops and marched towards the front door.

  “Abby, wait!” I cried after her, pushing away from the table. This was going to be the single most embarrassing moment of my entire existence if Abby went after Cameron. I had to stop her. Not only would my life be ruined, but my chances of ever getting with Cameron would diminish. I had to find a way to stop this.

  “Abby!” I cried out, grabbing her arm.

  “No one treats my granddaughter like this. I deserve an explanation.” Her expression was so determined; the bomb squad couldn’t stop her.

  I grabbed my jacket off the hook and caught sight of the time. It was seven thirty. Cameron would be in bed. “Abby! Cameron is in bed! You know he always goes to bed after seven. Are you sure you want to confront him now?” I knew this was a lame excuse, but it was all I had. Now everything about what he did to me vanished from my mind. All I wanted was to avoid ruining my chances with him — not guarantee that we’d never be together!

  “Does it look like I care if the boy is asleep or not?” Abby almost screamed.

  It didn’t.

  She yanked open the door, trudged across the wide street, marched up his driveway, and then knocked angrily on the front door.

  Mila, Cameron’s sweet housekeeper, opened the door. She had a smile on her face. “Hello, Mrs. Ramos,” she said with a kind, slightly accented voice. Mila wiped her hands onto her apron and placed her hands onto her hips. “What would you like?”

  Despite Mila’s kind welcoming, Abby pushed open the door and walked in. “Where are they?” she asked angrily.