He looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Drugs?” he repeats.
“What is this?” I look around, asserting that I am definitely in a motel room. The furniture is cheap, aged, and very dirty.
He moves quickly toward me, and I dart backwards, slamming my head against the head board. I am mortified to realize that I am completely naked!
“Hey, hey, calm down…,”
“Don’t touch me!” I try to scramble out of the bed, but there are invisible chains strapped to my legs. I see an article of clothing on a chair next to the bed, and I am reaching.
And suddenly, I am vomiting. I wretch and contort, splattering the carpet with bile. He has taken my strange hair in his hand, smoothing another hand down my back.
“It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” he whispers, gathering me into his arms. I am naked and cold.
“Roam!”
I blinked, gasping for air. Someone shook my shoulder. My first thought was that I fell asleep in my contacts, and now they were glued uncomfortably to my eyes. I rubbed them, confused. “Logan?”
His brows snapped together, his dark eyes filled with concern. “I came to pick you up- your dad already left for work. I heard you screaming from downstairs. Please don’t tell me your vampire boyfriend dumped you again,” he begged.
I breathed an attempted laugh, shaking my head. “I was having a nightmare- or dream, I don’t know…,”
“It’s 7:15,” he interrupted. I sat up, eyes wide. My face was damp with tears, but by entire body was clammy with a thin layer of sweat.
“I slept in? No….,” I flew out of bed towards my closet, but stopped mid-way. Nausea. “I- I feel sick…,”
Logan directed me to the bathroom, and I made it just in time to the toilet. “I’m sorry!” I cried, convulsing.
He looked distraught. “I’m turning on the shower- it’s in your hair,” his fingers circled my back, comforting. “Hang in there, it’ll pass, it’ll pass,” he chanted softly.
“I’m okay,” I managed. I was. I just needed the shower. “I’m getting in. I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
“Camden, you need to call off.”
“I’m not sick anymore,” I promised. “Go, I’ll be right down.”
He looked doubtful, but nodded, closing my bathroom door. I peeled off my tee-shirt and shorts, dropping them in the hamper after a careful inspection to see they were not soiled. The hot water stream felt overwhelming, so I adjusted the temperature to a cool spray.
What just happened? I wondered, recalling my atrocious dream. I dreamed vividly, but never that vivid. Naked, in a hotel room, with my history teacher? Come on- that was more Ally-May style. I usually dreamed of receiving scholarships, or seeing my mother again, or shopping with Morgan- all recurring, all comfortable, all Roam. The only nightmares that reoccurred were of my mother’s death. Normally, I dreamt little snippets of my day, so insignificant they weren’t worth remembering.
I began to mentally dissect my dream, piece by piece. I dealt with turmoil by turning it over again and again in my mind until I was comfortable with the facts. My hair was blonde. What does that mean? Ally-May had a dream dictionary app on her phone- I’d check with her later. Blonde. Seemed irrelevant, but oddly disturbing. Skip.
In a motel room, kind of dirty, with no sheets and a coin-operated television set. Did they even make those anymore? Maybe in another country? I would research that on the internet later.
Mr. Perry, smoking pot and watching the news. Offering me pot! I reached for the conditioner. Did I already shampoo my hair? Darn it, I have to start over.
Me, naked. This was most disturbing of all. I never slept naked. I was not prude, but you never know when someone has to wake you up from a horrifying nightmare… or into one, to tell you your mother has died.
Skip. Skip the entire memory of mom smoking in her bed, clumps of hair missing. I couldn’t handle it this morning.
Me, vomiting everywhere, and Mr. Perry calling me “baby.” I sighed disgustedly, slamming the faucet too hard to turn off the water. Sordid. There was no dissecting this nightmare- I had to get to school by at least second period.
Logan was waiting in his car, talking on the phone. He ended the conversation before I slipped in the passenger’s seat. “I’m so sorry- I am making us both late,” I pulled the visor mirror down, working on a messy braid.
“It’s okay, I’m just worried about you. Do you feel alright?”
“I really do, I have no idea what that was.” My dark braid was wet and heavy, but at least the back of my tee-shirt would stay mostly dry. Long strands of already-drying hair framed my face.
“I just talked to your dad. I just wanted him to know you were sick, in case you get worse and we need to call him. Don’t forget, I have that recruiter appointment this afternoon. I have to leave school at one.”
“Thanks,” I felt badly, knowing my dad was probably worrying non-stop now. My father worked for a local dealership, managing the service area. He was very good at what he did, and therefore made it a point to always find a vehicle that was a “deal- but needed some TLC.” We had an ongoing joke that the Camden’s were cursed with half-dead cars; Logan insisted it was because my dad always bought a fixer-upper, but never had the time to “fix ‘er up.”
“I’ll ride the bus home, no big deal.”
“We missed first period, so I am forever in your debt,” he teased, leaning over to kiss my forehead softly before putting his car into reverse. I smiled, remembering his long rant yesterday about his first period English class. The teacher had them open their books and take turns reading out loud from Beowulf. He complained that he felt like he was in third grade.
“I’m not too disappointed, either.” I was relieved to not spend forty-five minutes in class with the subject of my nauseating dream.
“Mr. Perry must be pretty bad if you’re not upset with missing history.”
I had complained to Logan yesterday about the arrogant, pacing Mr. Perry. Logan offered his feigned condolences, already hearing Ally-May blather about his “holy hotness” all through lunch.
“Yeah,” I said absently. Relax, I’ll roll you one in a second. I shivered, reaching into the backseat to fumble for the hooded sweatshirt that I knew that I had left in Logan’s car.
“Are you cold? It’s eighty-five degrees out, Cam,” he gestured to the digital temperature gage on his dashboard.
“I’m fine.”
“O-kay,” he replied, sighing. I pulled my Pink hooded sweatshirt over my head and then fastened my seatbelt.
Madison High School was quiet, and the parking lot already mostly filled. Logan pulled into his assigned spot. We kissed quickly before rushing to class. Sure enough, the bell was ringing to end first period, so I headed straight to second period- Statistics. This course was offered through the local community college and would transfer as a college-level course on my transcripts.
The oversized clock above the classroom door was working in slow-motion. Scribbling on the margins of my notebook paper, I worked on an abstract sketch as Mr. Abernathy recapped the basics what we’d gone over yesterday. My mind was still replaying the dream, but now Mr. Perry was the focus of my thoughts. With his back to me, sitting at the foot of the bed in a tanked undershirt, his shoulders and the backs of his arms were strong and defined. I wondered if he really looked like that under his dress shirt, or if my mind had done some movie-star airbrushing. Cringing, I snapped my attention back to Mr. Abernathy.
Third period was a study hall held in the vast cafeteria, so I settled down in a seat to begin my first statistics assignment. Diving into schoolwork always distracted me from unpleasant thoughts or worries, but today, the dream looped on a reel that refused to quit. Clicking the plastic tab on my mechanical pencil with my fingernail, I glanced at the study hall facilitator. She was engrossed in grading papers at her table, rarely offering observant looks at the oversized class. I quietly slipped my iPhone from my backpack, jumping to the
App Store. I searched ‘dream dictionary’ and found a free app, downloading it quickly. I didn’t put a lot of stock into dream meanings, but had always found them insightful in the past.
Touching the search function, I entered ‘hair.’ My results were no help- hair dresser, red hair, hairy hands (thankfully, no) but nothing about different hair color or blond hair. I scowled, this time searching ‘vomit.’ Results showed that I would be inflicted with an illness that would turn me into an invalid, or I’d be connected to a ‘racy scandal.’ Racy scandal? I pictured prohibition-era Chicago, my bawdy shenanigans making the front page of the daily newspaper. Giggling silently, I scrolled further down the entry. Dreaming that you are vomiting could mean that someone who seemed nice is actually lying to you.
Frustrated, I jumped back to search and typed ‘teacher.’ The definition suggested that I was seeking ‘advice, knowledge, or guidance, and I was heading into a new path in life, ready to learn by example or from a past experience.’
Hmn. Maybe Mr. Perry represented ‘men’ in general, and I’d be meeting new men in college? Was I processing my fears about missing Logan through my subconscious? I had just started to recognize the fact that Logan would be going to boot camp right after graduation, and though I was whole-heartedly committed to him, there was the nagging worry that- maybe- he wouldn’t want to stay together.
“Miss Camden.”
I jumped, startled, my heart lodging in my throat. Mr. Perry sat one seat away to my right, eyes lifted.
“Hi,” I managed to whisper, cell phone still in hand. He looked at it expectantly, eyes raised.
“I never figured you one for skipping class and surfing your phone in school,” he said discreetly, glancing around. “I’ll take that. Please come with me.”
Are you kidding me? I clenched my teeth, placing my iPhone on the table. He nodded his approval, taking it and slipping it into his pocket. Flushed, I gathered my books and stuffed them in my book bag, following him. As close as he was, I could smell fabric softener on his clothing, a brand that triggered memories of my mother.
When she died, my dad had stopped buying fabric softener. I never knew if that was because it smelled like my mother, or if he considered fabric softener an unnecessary step when doing endless loads of laundry for two pre-teen girls.
I expected Mr. Perry to turn left, toward the office, but instead he headed toward the doors that lead outside. I’ve never been in trouble in my life. I felt sick with anxiety, especially since I was with the- literal- subject of my nightmares. Well, I had wanted a good, hard slap in the face, and between the dream and that moment, I remembered to be careful of what I wish for in the future. The oppressive heat blasted us both, and I shifted my book bag over my shoulder, squinting in the sun.
“Where are we going?” My thick braid, still wet on my shoulder, felt refreshing in the late summer sun. My sweatshirt was sweltering; I wished it was zippered instead of a pull-over.
“Mad Snacks. I somehow got roped into unloading the shipment of chips and candy that arrived this morning, and you can help me- since statistics seem to bore you.” Mad Snacks was a concession stand nestled between two sets of bleachers at the football field, selling refreshments during the Friday games in Madison.
I sighed, glaring at the back of his head. “I did not skip your class this morning, Mr. Perry. I was ill before school and was late. Excused.”
He searched his pocket, removing a blue and white lanyard with a key attached. “I’m sorry to hear that. Feeling better?” He asked as we reached Mad Snacks, circling the small building to get to the back door. Unlocking it easily, he reached around the left side first, and then the right before finding the light switch that simultaneously turned on an overhead fan.
I narrowed my eyes, frowning. “Listen, you’ll need to open the window if I’m going in there with you,” I ordered, gesturing to the sliding aluminum window at the concession stand.
“It’s pretty warm in here,” he agreed, assessing the piles of boxes just inside the door with irritation.
“Yes, that, and the fact that I have common sense and an unscathed reputation.”
He looked up suddenly, realizing what I was implying. No racy scandals for me, I thought. He quickly moved to the concession window, unlocking it and throwing it open. “Of course,” he said briskly, slipping the lanyard into this pocket. He wore a similar outfit to yesterday, but this time a blue shirt that matched his eyes. I had to wonder if he actually knew how incredibly attractive he was. Maybe the over-confident act was just his teacher role?
“When do I get my phone back?” I asked, dropping my back pack by the door and kneeling to a box marked Lays Chips.
I watched him pull my phone out of his pocket, holding it up in the air. “We discussed this yesterday, right?”
“I was using my phone for research.” I knew the excuse sounded lame, but I was counting on my pristine record and the natural charisma that I always shared with the teachers to carry me through this one.
“Really.” He slid the unlock screen, and I mentally cursed myself for not locking my phone with a password. He began browsing my last page.
I shriveled, remembering my search. “A dream dictionary.” He sounded amused. I gritted my teeth, focusing on opening the thick, plastic packing tape on the chip box. As he read, I tried to will myself to evaporate into thin air. “So, you had a dream about a teacher?” he asked, smirking.
I was thankful the corner of the building was shadowed; waves of red embarrassment scorched my cheeks. Adrenaline, mixed with the turmoil of being forced to recall the details of the dream, ignited my temper.
“Yes I did. It was very disturbing. It was about you, and I woke up vomiting.”
He stared at me. Moments of silence felt like hours, and his cloudy blue eyes told me he was shaken. Unexplainably, I felt guilty. “I was sick in the dream, in some hotel room… it smelled…,” I stopped short, not wishing to discuss the smell of marijuana with my teacher. “It seemed so real that I woke up sick. It was really short but kind of… kind of scary.” I rambled, eyes down, abhorred that I shared so much personal information with this almost complete stranger. Maybe I was going insane.
I looked up suddenly. He was kneeling down, holding out my phone.
“I’m sorry, Roam,” he said. He was sincere. “Here.” He placed my phone on the potato chip box. I reached for it tentatively.
No lecture? No last warnings? I accepted my phone, looking at him warily. “Not your fault. The mind is a strange place.”
He considered my words. Nodding, he brushed his palms against his knees, as if they were sweating. “Very true. I’m sorry that I embarrassed you.” He fished the lanyard out of this pocket again, handing it to me. “Here, just put away these two boxes and lock up when you’re done. I’ll let Mr. Kingston know you volunteered.” Mr. Kingston was the principal.
I gazed at him, wide-eyed. “You’re leaving?”
“I just remembered something I need to take care of. You’ve got this?”
I nodded, standing to face him. He towered over me, at least 6’3’’ to my 5’6’’. “Thanks for being so easy about this,” I said, my words soft and careful. He nodded. I reached for the key; he seemed desperate to leave as quickly as possible. He held it out for me carefully, but the thin, fabric lanyard slipped through my fingers. We both bent and swept the air to catch the key at the same time.
My ring finger grazed the back of his hand.
Chapter Four
The summer I was eleven, I was swimming in Ally-May’s pool in her backyard. We were tossing a ball back and forth, and her older brother, Jason, hit the ball into a wooded pine area next to their property. I had volunteered to get the ball. Not ten feet into the pine, I fell on a yellow jacket’s nest in my bathing suit.
When the hornets were through with me, I had been stung over twenty times. Jason was stung almost as many times dragging me to the pool.
The memory of the pain surfaced as I screamed, gra
sping at my right arm. I was vaguely aware of Mr. Perry grabbing my waist, yanking my sweatshirt off. I wore a short-sleeved, yellow tee-shirt underneath, and when the sweatshirt came off I expected to see my inner, right forearm covered in yellow jackets.
“Damn it!” Mr. Perry was cursing. Why is he cursing? I was screaming- the sound was foreign to my ears. I hadn’t screamed since I was a child. I really let go, unable to control the sound. The sound of the aluminum window over the concession stand slamming to the metal bar jarred my senses. Why is he closing the window instead of getting me help?
The burning and stinging intensified. My head was swimming. I was going to faint, I knew it- the tunnel in my eyes and ringing in my ears had already started. I welcomed the escape and slipped into nothingness.
“…Roam.”
Jolted, I opened my eyes. I was propped against something on the floor. I blinked, focusing. Arms surrounded me, comforting… soothing. My name again, spoken against my hair. “Roam, hang in there, I’ll explain everything, just hang in there, please don’t scream…,” he was whispering. Realization struck- I am sitting on his lap like a child!
I tried to climb to my feet, but weakness kept me slouched against him. “Shhh- don’t try to move yet. Trust me, please trust me.”
I whimpered- I couldn’t help it. I had no idea what was happening other than my arm felt like it had been a prop in one of the Saw movies. I began to cry, and then really sobbed, mortified and unable to control myself. The pain, the confusion, everything was overwhelming. My good senses pummeled my mind with tiny fists. Danger! Racy Scandal! You are sitting in your teacher’s lap, you potential slut! Get up!
Ignoring my rational mind, I curled more fully into his arms. Something was so familiar about him, here, comforting me like this. Was it the fabric softener smell of my mother? I gave up the fight with my principles, gripping the base of his un-tucked shirt and balling it in my left fist again and again. The effect was similar to pulling the leaves off the tree in Logan’s backyard- blissfully relieving.
Roam (Roam Series, Book One) Page 3