As if reading my mind, Dad slid back into his chair, rubbing his forehead. “I’m such a crappy father,” he groaned, shaking his head and looking up to the ceiling. He looked as if he were going to cry. “I never even thought twice about getting you checked out. I just thought this was how all teenagers acted. I should’ve realized all of this when you kept insisting I call you Cam. Or how your eyes go all funky and your hair gets lighter. Or that mischievous expression you get during the night.” Dad blew out a loud sigh. “Why hadn’t I realized all of this?”
“Because you’re too busy with your work, Mr. Sloane.” I hadn’t even realized that Mila was standing there, holding a few glasses of orange juice. She set the cups on the table and took a seat on my other side. “Cameron goes to school in the morning and you work during the night. You can rarely see how he acts. There are moments when you do encounter him but you’re too busy to notice.”
Dad nodded his head in solemn agreement. We all just kind of sat there staring at the floor, taking all of this in. I personally was freaking out. All this time I thought I’d been passing out for twelve hours just to wake up at the same time every day. I had no idea that I was an entirely different person during the night.
How was I supposed to explain this to Olive now? She’d known that I always went to sleep around seven and never hung out at night. Now, thanks to Armando’s bright idea about me being schizophrenic, she probably thinks I’m the biggest freak. She’d never want to stay with me.
We were back to square one.
Part Two
Chapter Twenty Two
Cameron
I didn’t have to go to school today for obvious reasons. Instead, I had to sit at home with Dad as we researched ways to fix my schizophrenic problem.
“I still think we should be taking him to the doctor, Mila,” Dad said, staring blankly at his computer screen. He scrolled through what seemed like the millionth article on schizophrenia.
Mila just shook her head, her hair flapping around her face. “No, no, no,” she insisted. “We can fix this at home. See, look at all the links.” She pointed a bony finger at the screen.
“First off, Mila,” Dad said, running a hand through his thick hair, “it’s the Internet. Millions of links will show up regardless of what you type in. Secondly, I’m pretty sure schizophrenia — a disease that’s been affecting Cameron all his life — is pretty dangerous. What are we — a modeling agent, a maid, and a kid — supposed to know about curing it? Get real, Mila.”
Mila just smacked his arm and rolled her eyes. “I just know we don’t have to get others involved.” She leaned down and took the mouse away from Dad. She clicked into the input box and typed in SCHIZOPHRENIA TREATMENT. “Just—let’s just see how we can get rid of him.”
“Get rid of him?” I asked, swiveling around in my chair and staring at her in shock. “Get rid of me?”
Mila stepped back, her eyes widening as though she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “No, no,” she stammered. “I mean, get rid of Cam — you know, cure your disease. Get rid of schizophrenia. That’s what I mean. Not get rid of you. No!”
“Chill, Mila,” Dad said, taking back the mouse and clicking on another link. He scrolled down, skimming the words. “No need to freak out.”
I stared at the screen with him, bored out of my mind. It’d already been three hours and we hadn’t even figured out what to do yet. After reading millions of books and doing a ton of “mind strengthening” exercises, we’d only ended up with pretty much nothing but sour moods and headaches. Even when we were remotely close to figuring out what to do, Mila would always shut the plan down. I was surprised that Dad seemed to go along with everything she said.
Now we had to resort to going through every link online. Oh, joy.
As we stared at another site, Dad yawned and pointed at the screen. “I could get you medicine,” he suggested. “It says it could cure you.”
I picked up my glasses and slid them on over my nose. Staring at the screen, I read about how it could help, hope filling into my mind. According to this website, the medicine could help me feel better in weeks and I’d only have to take the pill once a day. That sounded like a sure-fire plan.
But Mila disagreed, of course.
“It’s a prescription,” she said flatly as she clicked away from the site. “And besides, that won’t fix your blackout problem, the fact that your eyes change colors, and give us reasons as to why your hair gets lighter. Moving on.”
I didn’t want to move on. Frankly, I didn’t care enough to. Without a doctor and a proper diagnosis, there was no curing this disease. I was going to be stuck blacking out and waking up a different person for the rest of my life.
“I’m gonna take a nap, guys,” I said, shrugging out of the seat and standing up. “Tell me if you find out anything.” Mila and Dad nodded their heads, their eyes glued to the computer screen. I watched them and smiled. They were trying everything they could to help me out. “Thanks for everything guys; I really appreciate this,” I said as I left Dad’s office.
“We’ll fix you, Cameron, don’t worry,” I heard Dad say as I left.
****
Soft knocking at my door caused my eyes to peel open. I stared blankly, wondering if I should answer. Deciding that I should — it was probably Dad checking up on me — I rolled out of bed and walked to the door.
“Dad?” I asked, as I pulled open the door.
“Hardly,” Olive said with a smile. “It’s just lil’ ol’ me.”
“Olive,” I said — well sighed would be a better word for it. She had no clue how happy I was to see her standing there in my bedroom doorway. Olive was wearing a yellow tank top and white jeans. Her thick, dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and her hands twiddled by her sides. She was just so beautiful.
Before I could realize that I was staring, Olive said, “Can I come in?”
“Right, yeah, sure,” I said, pulling my door open wider. As she walked in, I realized that I should probably tell Dad about her, you know, just in case anything was to happen. I stepped out into the hallway and called, “Dad, Olive’s hanging out with me upstairs.”
Dad’s voice rose up a second later. “Alright. We won’t disturb you.”
After thanking him, I walked back into my room where Olive was spread out on my couch. Looking around, I thanked the Lord that everything was clean and nicely put together. Even my bed was slightly made. But then came the problem with the door. Should I leave it open so that anyone who walked by could possibly see the two of us doing who-knows-what? Or should I close it implying that Olive and I were going to do you-know-what?
It was a hard decision, but thankfully I didn’t have to make it.
“Let’s go to your back yard,” Olive suggested, sitting up on my couch. “I love your patio.”
So it was settled. The two of us headed downstairs and sat outside on my incredible — and outstandingly expensive — patio, sipping on the lemonade that Mila so kindly provided.
“You weren’t in school today,” Olive said from across the table. “Is everything okay?”
I stared at her, not knowing which information I should release. “Well,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “Something came up and we just had to check it out.” That sounded like a perfectly legitimate truth (sans the real truth, but whatever).
Olive nodded her head, sipping on her lemonade with her full, pink lips. I tried not to stare but I really couldn’t help it. Remembering how my lips were on those just last night made my stomach do a back flip.
“How are you taking the news?” she asked finally.
So she knew. Great.
“Um,” I said, rubbing my chin helplessly, “I guess I just kind of…” How am I taking the news? So far I’ve just been on autopilot this whole time. But have I really even thought about what was happening to me? What has been happening to me all my life? “I just… well, I have to deal with it, you know?”
Olive nodded,
staring at me with concern in her huge brown eyes. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said, pushing away her empty cup of lemonade. “Just as long as you don’t let it consume your life.”
“Yeah,” I said, her words ringing over and over in my head.
Chapter Twenty Three
Olive
I closed my textbook at the same time Cameron did. “Finished,” he said, shoving the books into his bag. “And totally before you, too. Oh yeah!”
I shook my head fervently. “No! We finished at the same time, Cameron,” I said, shoving my book into my backpack. I slid the bag away and stretched out on his bedroom couch.
Cameron did the same, his arm slightly brushing over mine. A brief zing ran up and down my arm. “Pssh, please,” he sighed. “Don’t be a sore loser. Hand over the money.” He stared at me expectantly with his toe-curling, blue eyes.
Although I was almost certain that we’d finished at the same time, I pulled out the five bucks and slammed the bills into his hand. “That hurts, you know. It really does,” I said, feigning hurt.
Cameron stuffed the money into his pockets and smiled at me. “I wouldn’t know — I’ve never lost before,” he said, grinning at me. As he smiled, his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, taking my breath away. He was so hot.
Now, with nothing in between us, we sat there awkwardly. I discreetly looked at the clock. It was just a little after six. That meant that I had technically one hour left until Cameron went all schizophrenic on everyone. My gaze fell back on Cameron who apparently noticed this, too. Then his gaze was on me.
Our eyes locked on each other and it seriously felt as though we were submerged underwater and fifty electric eels had just been dumped in along with us. Tension slammed between the two of us, hitting me hard. There were many times I’d looked at Cameron and many other times I was able to say something in silences like this one. But now, sitting a half a foot away from him on a comfortable couch and in the safety of his bedroom, I was embarrassingly speechless.
“Olive,” Cameron whispered, his eyes slowly traveling to my lips and remaining there for a second before looking back at me.
“Yes?” I answered stupidly, my own gaze glued to his incredible lips.
Then Cameron was taking off his glasses and leaning in. I felt the couch give way underneath his weight as he pushed himself to my side of the couch. I followed his lead, pushing myself closer to him. His eyes danced between my eyes and my lips until finally the gap was filled.
His lips against mine were like pillow cushions and feathers and happiness and bliss and joy and flowerbeds and just everything wonderful in the world. Immediately I felt a high come over me and I intensely deepened the kiss. I pulled him closer to me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as his hands slid down my back. We remained kissing for maybe two seconds before Cameron suddenly pulled away, leaving me in a flustered haze.
“Cameron?—What?—Huh?” I asked, unable to find words.
“I’m gonna blackout in, like, a second,” he said with a breathy voice. “You have to go home.”
I glanced at the clock and my eyes widened. How was it already five minutes until seven? I could’ve sworn we’d only been at it for no longer than a breath!
Cameron sighed, pulling himself from my hold. He cursed, running around his room and flinging things back into their drawers. I watched him tear into his closet and rip out a random shirt and pants and flung them onto his desk. Then he bounded into the bathroom. I heard water splash and a few things crash to the floor followed by a stream of curse words. Then Cameron was back out of the bathroom, wiping the water off his face. When he finally saw me sitting there, he rushed to my side.
“Olive, you have to leave,” he said, his voice sounding devastatingly desperate. “I’m gonna blackout and wake up as someone… someone who’s not me. You need to leave now.”
“But, you’re just schizophrenic, Cameron,” I said, standing up from the couch, surprised that my legs still felt wobbly from the make-out session. “It’s not like you’re a monster or anything.”
“I could be, that’s the thing,” he said, pushing me out of his bedroom door. “I just don’t want you to have to witness—”
Then Cameron fell to the floor. His body immediately went limp and he just lay there as if he’d fallen asleep. I stepped back with a shriek. Did Cameron just faint?
Kneeling down slightly on one knee, I observed Cameron carefully. His face was completely blank and his body was completely still. Now on all fours, I crept slowly up to his body. “Cameron?” I asked, pressing my hand to his face. As I gently patted his cheek, I realized that Cameron hadn't fainted He just blacked out like he told me he would. Which meant that once he woke up, he'd be the new him. And I was going to be here waiting for him to wake up.
Chapter Twenty Four
Cam
I woke up only to see huge, brown, lash-covered eyes peering at me from above my head. Of course, my reflexes suck, so I wasn’t surprised when my arm lashed out and socked the pretty girl in the face, sending her catapulting across the room. She crashed into the desk, banging her head onto the hard wood.
“Oh, no!” I cried out, scrambling over to her and grasping her moaning body in my arms. I already recognized who she was — that Olive chick. Why was she all of a sudden always in my life? If she weren’t so cute, I would’ve been super annoyed by now. “Are you okay, female?” I asked, giving her soft cheek a few quick pats.
Her lids fluttered open, revealing those brown irises again. My breath caught in my throat. My body seemed to react to those eyes more intensely than it did before. When she finally met my gaze, she croaked, “Cameron?”
I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes. “It’s Cam,” I automatically corrected. But I couldn’t be mad at her; she had just taken a huge blow to the face, so her memory could be shot right about now.
Seeming to have recovered, she quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears and cleared her throat, her eyes blinking fast as she struggled to smile at me. “Oh, hey… Cam,” she said, and gave me a toothy smile. Something told me that this smile wasn’t as friendly as it should have been. It seemed more frightened.
But I didn’t have any time to ponder the difference. “Hey, are you alright, or not?” I asked, cocking my head to the side with impatience. I had things to do.
She nodded quickly, adding a reassuring smile. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” she said, giggling nervously. “Just a little bump, that’s all.” She was staring at my eyes with such wonder; it was as if I had three of them, or something.
Welp, I’m outta here.
“Okay!” I said, standing up and clapping my hands together. “I’ve gotta bounce, so…” I began to gather my things, keys, jacket, gel — the sorts, all while trying not to meet the girl’s eyes. But she just continued to sit there, doing nothing, saying nothing.
Still, I didn’t let her tenacity get to me. “Hey, chick,” I said, facing the mirror and sweeping a few globs of gel into my hair, “if you wanna just hang out in here all day — by all means. But if the father figure comes waltzing in here asking questions, don’t say anything that’ll get me in trouble, okay?” The last thing I needed was to get grounded or something.
But she didn’t respond.
Sighing, I faced her, shrugging on my leather jacket as I eyed her. I could feel my temper flaring, but I didn’t want to have to take it out on this poor girl. I'd already done enough damage to her face as it is. “You just going to sit there and stare at me all day?” I asked, with a hint of bite in my voice. She was so big and bad just a few days ago — what was her deal now?
Finally, she stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “W-where are you going, Cam?” she asked me, stressing my name again like she was playing along to some sort of joke.
“Somewhere,” I snapped, lacing up my shoes. I glanced at the clock. It was already five after. I was running late. “Sorry, no time for questions.” I stood up and walked through the door, racing do
wn the large, winding staircase. I could hear her soft footsteps following me down the stairs.
“Cam, wait!” she cried, hurrying to catch up.
I stopped mid-stride and looked up at her. “Don’t follow me, okay?” I said, then swiveled back around, racing down the remainder of the steps.
I had almost made it to the front door when two hands grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me away from the door. “You’re not going anywhere, Camer—I mean Cam,” Father said, leading me to the direction of the kitchen.
“Ah, no, Dad!” I cried out, struggling out of his tenacious grasp. “Let go of me. I have somewhere to be.” First, that Olive girl had to give me trouble, now Grandpa over here wanted to cause problems. Was I ever going to get out of here?
“No, Cam,” he said, stressing my name, too. Did they think my name was some kind of joke? “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, son.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me all I’m-you-father-so-fear-me-like. That just made me angrier.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, rolling my eyes and turning to leave.
But he stopped me once more, grasping my forearm with such force, my arm began to tingle. I spun around, anger in my eyes. “Listen, Father,” I sneered between my teeth, glaring at him with as much disgust as humanly possible, “if this is about that ‘stolen’ car of yours, then—”
“It’s not the car, my boy,” he said, apparently not fazed by my death stare. “We just need to talk. You and me. Mano y mano.” He motioned back and forth between the two of us.
Talk? Yeah, right. I had no time for chit-chat.
I stared at him, contemplating what I should do. Then, finally deciding my next motive, I smiled and said, “Sure, Daddy, let’s talk.”
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