by Reed, Zoe
The question hadn’t come out right or received the answer I was looking for, but the way Camille had batted her eyes and exaggerated my compliment already got me flustered. Then there was her answer, and I tried not to think too much about how exactly she meant she was capitalizing for me, or the way she looked at me when she said it. Either way, now I’d forgotten my original point, and didn’t feel like pressing the subject because she was too easily able to turn it around.
Camille was still watching me, leaning against the back of the jeep, and now began shaking her head and laughing to herself. Knowing the laughing was at me, I put my hands on my hips. “What are you laughing at?”
She grinned and chuckled again as she teased, “You so have a crush on me.” Then having made her quip, she took her hands out of her pockets and started toward the theater.
Nerves wrapped their way around my stomach. I could admit it to myself, but Camille wasn’t supposed to say it. I didn’t want her to think it meant more than it really did. We were friends. With a sigh, I scolded myself for the unintended flattery. One of the first things I’d learned about Camille was her sexuality, but I’d become so comfortable with her that I crossed the fine line between friend and flirt.
I found myself nauseated that I participated in the banter for what I told myself was the boost of confidence at the amusement Camille took from it. She seemed to love it when I made light of her sexuality. It was all fun and games, and she had to know better than to take it any other way. I’d even wanted to drop the subject because of how the question had sounded. I should have just dropped it after the accidental compliment. Regardless, the guilty nausea twisted my stomach into knots as I followed her, blushing madly.
I mentally kicked myself all the way to the ticket booth, where we each purchased our own ticket. Camille held the door open for me and I led the way to the left of the building. Once inside one of the two auditoriums in the tiny theater I looked to Camille, silently asking where she wanted to sit. I watched her scan the near full room with her eyes and point out two seats near the back. I nodded, followed her to the rear of the theater and sat down just as the movie began.
The first thing I noticed about the seats we’d been left with was that they were hard and worn, they didn’t recline, and after half the movie I knew I’d be uncomfortable. The second thing was that the armrest between Camille and me had been raised before we sat down.
I didn’t care about lack of an armrest, and I didn’t care about my seat being separated from hers. But without a barrier between us in the darkened theater and after Camille’s comment minutes earlier, I couldn’t help but feel like we were on a date. Her statement echoed in my head as the guilty queasiness again burrowed into my stomach. It wasn’t being close to Camille that made me uneasy. In fact, I rather liked being close to her. Even now I could feel the intense heat radiating off the girl’s warm body. I just didn’t like being called out on it.
I sighed as I realized that I was being contradictory. I liked being close to Camille, but it made me uncomfortable. I liked teasing her to the point it bordered on flirting, but felt guilty when she said something about it. God was it confusing. The thoughts racked my brain so mercilessly that I was starting to give myself a complex about it. Focusing on the movie helped to calm my thoughts though, and soon everything else was tuned out.
We’d picked a romantic comedy, and I watched as the cliché romance played out on the screen. Guy loves his girl best friend who loves a different guy. Even though I could already guess how it was going to end, I was able to get lost in the plot. Until about halfway through the movie Camille tapped on my arm. As my mind returned to the theater, I shivered and realized that I had started leaning into her. So much that my shoulder was shoved behind hers, and we were practically sitting cheek to cheek. Assuming I was being tapped as a polite way of asking me to scoot over, I did so and returned my attention to the screen.
“Kyla,” Camille whispered, tapping me softly again. This time I looked over and made eye contact with her. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”
Leaning against Camille’s hot body I hadn’t noticed the chills. Now that I did, they seemed to get substantially worse, and rubbing my arms to create friction didn’t relieve them one bit. “Is it cold in here?” I asked Camille, who just shook her head.
When I didn’t say anything more, she put her hand to my forehead. “I think you’re running a fever. Maybe I should take you home?”
“No, I’m alright. I want to watch the movie,” I tried to reassure her through chattering teeth.
Not buying it at all she stood but kept low, grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the theater. Once we reached the outside where I could talk I tried to protest, but Camille shook her head as she put her hand to my forehead again, and then moved it to each of my cheeks. “Your face is pale and you’re burning up. I have to take you home.”
Disappointed, but feeling as though I were in an icebox and knowing that Camille was right, I let myself be escorted to the car. By the time we reached the parking lot though, my temperature had spiked, and I began to feel dizzy.
I slowed and put a hand on Camille’s shoulder for balance while I rubbed my eyes with my other hand. “I need to sit down.”
She stopped to look back at me worriedly. “Are you going to pass out?”
“No, I’m just really dizzy. I can’t see straight.” I started to sit down in the street, too dizzy to hold myself up, but Camille put her arm around my waist to stop me. She then grabbed my arm to put it over her shoulder, scooped my legs up with her other arm, and began to carry me to the car.
Too unsteady and beginning to feel exhausted, I refrained from protesting and rested my head on Camille’s shoulder until we reached the car near the end of the parking lot. Once we got to the jeep, she set me down and leaned me against it for support so she could get her keys. After being helped into the passenger seat I closed my eyes, willing away the chills. I felt so pathetic having to be carried, but I’d never had a fever like the one that had just flared up. Camille’s hot jacket being put over me helped a little, and I’d either fallen asleep or was completely out of it, because we pulled into my driveway what seemed like seconds later.
Feeling that the dizziness had subsided and that Camille had helped enough, I opened the door and started to get myself out of the car. It took less than a second for me to realize that the dizziness had been replaced by pure and utter nausea. Camille had started to come around to help me out but I couldn’t wait. I ran into the house and made my way to the first floor bathroom to relieve the queasiness.
When I finished trudging upstairs to brush my teeth, I trekked back down to the kitchen to find Camille and my mom waiting for me. “Open,” my mom told me, shoving a thermometer under my tongue. “So how was the movie?” she asked Camille while we waited for the thermometer to beep.
Camille pushed a stool toward me so I could sit at the island and then took a seat herself. “We didn’t get to finish it. Kyla was too sick to stay.”
My mom nodded understandingly as she removed the beeping thermometer from my mouth. “One-oh-three.” She kissed me on the forehead and pointed toward the stairs. “Straight to bed, looks to me like you caught a nasty flu. Try to get some sleep sweetheart.”
I slumped my shoulders as I made my way up the stairs, closely followed by Camille. Disappointed as I was that our plans had to be cut short, I couldn’t deny that sleep was top on my list of priorities at the moment. After I had lain down under the covers, Camille helped tuck me into bed, and I was grateful that the blonde cared enough to try and take care of me.
“I’m sorry I ruined our plans,” I told her as I shivered under the touch of the cold blankets.
“It’s not your fault. The flu can be a bitch.” She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, distractedly fiddling with the keys in her hands. “Are you warm enough? You want me to get you another blanket?”
“I’m alright, thanks, Mom,” I teased and then sighed
tiredly. Camille’s body was always unnaturally warm, and the seemingly icy feel of the sheets almost made me offer an invitation for her to hop in with me. At least then I’d be warm. “I hope this doesn’t last long. I have a paper due this week.”
“Already?” She made a disgusted face. “At least you won’t have anything better to do. I’ll go so you can sleep. You can text me when you’re feeling a little better and I’ll come over if you want.”
I nodded and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Thanks for taking care of me. I’ll probably be calling you in a few hours, feeling better and bored out of my mind.”
Camille laughed as she said bye and left. I curled up under the covers, pulling each side beneath me so I was wrapped in them tightly, and fell asleep.
***
When morning finally came I found not only had my strength not been restored, but also that I felt weaker than the night before. As gradually as I could, I mustered the strength to inch the blankets off of me and drop my feet over the side of the bed. A minute later I had managed to stand and get myself to the door, only to stop and stare at the long hallway I’d have to brave before I got to the stairs.
The bedroom door next to my room swung open and a full head of messy, straight brown hair stuck out. “You shouldn’t be up.” Green eyes full of worry, Jeremy opened the door completely and stepped out to help me back into my room.
“I’m so thirsty.” This was the most I could manage in the way of protest as he led me back to bed.
After carefully tucking me back into my blankets, he sat at the edge of the mattress. “What do you want, water?” I nodded meekly and he got up. “I’ll be right back.”
I lay there, feebly staring at the ceiling for a couple minutes before he came back in with a cup of water and a plate of toast. The smell of the buttered toast wafted to my nose and I inhaled sharply at the pang of queasiness, eyeing the large bowl my mom had placed by my bed in case it became too much to handle. Jeremy set the cup and plate on my nightstand and helped me sit up, then once I was secure he sat down in the same spot on the bed and handed me the water. I sipped the cold, soothing liquid little by little while he sat there silently, waiting until I had the last of it gone.
Taking the empty cup that I was handing to him, Jeremy put it back on the stand. He then began to pick up the toast until I shook my head, at which point he set it back down. “Feeling a little better?” I nodded, and he sat there in thoughtful silence. “How do you like it out here?”
I shrugged. There wasn’t much I could complain about. The weather wasn’t bad, the people were nice, and Camille had been a nice enough distraction that I hadn’t missed Texas yet. “It’s better than I thought it’d be.”
“How’s Aaron?” Jeremy asked, looking away apathetically. I appreciated him asking, but I knew he was just being nice. Like my dad, Jeremy had never liked Aaron either. There was something about teenage boys that drove dads and older brothers into a protective craze. I guess according to them nobody would ever be good enough.
Again I shrugged. “I don’t know actually, I haven’t talked to him yet. I think he’s trying to give me time to get settled before he calls.”
Jeremy nodded thoughtfully, and I began to wonder if he’d met anyone in the week since we’d moved. I opened my mouth, but he started to talk before I could ask him. “How about your friend that’s been visiting? Who’s she?”
“That’s Camille.” I smiled that he’d brought up Camille, someone I enjoyed talking about, and could without him getting agitated.
My excitement made Jeremy grin, as he seemed satisfied he’d found something better to talk about. “She’s cute.”
Reading his mind I shook my head vigorously, nearly making myself queasy again. “Don’t even think about it, bucko.” Something about the fact that someone found Camille attractive made me jealous, especially when that someone was my brother. Camille was my friend, Jeremy could find his own. With that thought, I decided I had to put the idea completely out of his mind, so I added, “Besides, you aren’t even her type.”
“What?” Jeremy exclaimed in disbelief. “How do you know I’m not her type?”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Because you’re a boy.” I began to laugh in amusement as I watched his face go from confusion to shock to fascination.
“Oh, really?” he asked rhetorically, shock still subsiding. He thought about it more and then smiled, talking aloud to himself. “Well done, Camille.” A few seconds after that he stopped smiling and looked at me seriously. “Are you two?”
I raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, and when I realized what he was asking I shoved him defensively. “No way.” Even as I denied it, clearly decided, something about his question made me look away awkwardly. Maybe it was the fact that he even had to ask. “She’s just my friend.”
“No need to get defensive, I was just asking,” he laughed, clearly amused at my reaction. “Does she have any sisters my age?”
“Yeah?” I answered unsurely, thinking back to how old Camille had said her siblings were. When I saw my brother’s smile grow once more I pushed him again, this time harder so he’d get off my bed. “You know what, do your own girl scouting.”
“Okay, okay.” Jeremy threw his hands up in defeat and inched toward the door. Before leaving he turned back to face me. “I’ll come back in a few hours to check on you. Try to eat if you can.”
Once he was gone I picked up the toast and smelled it. The very scent of food made my stomach turn. So I set it back down, utterly disgusted. Willing the sickness to go away, I lay down hoping it would help, and effortlessly fell back to sleep.
Stomach growling, I wandered through my darkened house toward the kitchen. I’d been doing homework since I got home from school, and now that it was seven I was hungry enough to do something about it. Even though my night vision allowed me to maneuver the house without the lights I turned them on so I wouldn’t feel so alone. Everyone who had been home had gone out to run and probably wouldn’t be back for a few hours; Carter hadn’t come home from work yet, and I never knew what Sky and Michael were doing. Finally reaching the kitchen I pulled open the refrigerator and scanned its contents. Settling on leftover pizza I pulled out the box and set it on the kitchen table, not even bothering to heat it up.
For a Wednesday night things were looking pretty uneventful. I’d gone to Kyla’s house earlier to check on her and take over the homemade chicken soup I’d prepared, but the girl was still flu-stricken and sleeping, so not wanting to bother her I just left the soup with her mom. Not being able to spend time with Kyla like I had last week, my schedule had gone back to the way it was before I’d met the southern beauty. Now that I’d had a taste of paradise, I didn’t know how I’d ever lived so boringly before I met her.
As I finished a slice of pepperoni pizza and pulled out another, I began to wish I’d gone on the run with Luna, Niko and my parents. With so many family members it was a rare occurrence for the house to be empty, I should have been enjoying it.
The front door near the living room creaked open and I straightened up, wondering who was home. “Hello?” It was Michael. He closed the front door but he remained silent as he stood there, waiting for someone to answer.
“In the kitchen,” I called and heard his footsteps immediately pick up in my direction. When he reached the kitchen, he grabbed a piece of pizza from the box and leaned against the doorframe as he ate. “Hey,” I greeted him as I swallowed.
“Are you the only one home?” he asked, already three-quarters of the way done with his slice.
Him and Carter were the same height at about six foot two, but Michael was by far the most muscular of my brothers. He’d developed his body beyond the inherited werewolf tone and his bulk nearly filled the doorway. His brown eyes scanned the pizza as he reached for his next piece, and before he bit into it he adjusted the black trucker hat he wore backward over his short blonde hair.
I nodded, not bothering to explain since he would know everyone wa
s out for a run. He nodded in return, and stood there chewing his food in thoughtful silence. After he’d finished the last bit of it he swallowed loudly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I need you to pack a bag.”
I froze. “Why?”
Though I asked, I already knew exactly why. We’d moved away from Oregon because my father had wanted us to be safe from the dangers of Pack life. Eli Might, the Pack’s Alpha, was my father’s best friend and had been like an uncle to me. But as second in command my dad was a target to any other werewolves who wanted to hurt the Pack or prove themselves as worthy of the strength that being a werewolf gave. An easier way of getting at my father or Eli rather than taking them on directly was to take down a family member, which put all my siblings and I at risk. That’s why we’d moved away from the Pack territory to a small, relatively unheard of town in California.
It had been the hardest thing my father had ever had to do, leaving not only his best friend but also his Alpha, but he’d seen it as the only way to keep his young family safe. Even though it had been my father’s wish to put distance between the danger and us, Michael and Sky were among the oldest of us, and they decided to carry on with their duties to the Pack. This duty mainly involved dealing with mutts, werewolves that didn’t belong to the Pack, in the lower half of the west coast.
“There’s a mutt problem I got to take care of,” Michael answered simply.
But I was reluctant. “Can’t you wait for Sky or Carter?”
I knew if the Pack was sending in Michael that it was a termination assignment. When Eli had gained position as Alpha he’d changed the Pack’s view on mutts considerably, giving them a chance to live so peacefully that they disappeared or to join the ranks. Unfortunately, not all mutts could live with the options, and if they became a threat to humans and an exposure liability for the rest of us, they had to be taken out.