off camera.

chapter three

Camila shakes her head, sitting down next to Lauren on the bed. "That's okay, we've shared a bed millions of times."

"Not for five years, though. Not since Disney." Lauren points out, and Camila has to admit that she has a point, but it doesn't make her feel uncomfortable at all. If anything, it feels like no time has passed since Lauren was her best friend. For some reason, Lauren has that effect on her. "So, you know, it's okay if you feel differently about it."

"I don't," Camila assures her, before looking around Lauren's bedroom, pushing herself off the bed to look at the Polaroid pictures stuck to the navy blue wall behind her dresser. "These are cute."

Lauren stands up and joins her, "I like to lug my camera around everywhere and document good nights with pictures. I guess we're kind of similar in that aspect."

Camila laughs. "Yeah, I guess so. Is that me?"

Lauren follows Camila's finger to the picture of the two of them, probably around age fifteen and sixteen, standing by the Disney castle in Orlando. Camila remembers that trip, and any time she'd think about it, she'd get an ache in her heart, remembering how much she'd missed Lauren. That was the last good time they'd really had together; Lauren had acted like herself, like her dorky best friend. Camila was just relieved that she actually got to spend a week with her (and their parents) with no stupid Brad interfering. She never got that again after the trip.

"Yeah," Lauren awkwardly chuckles, "if I'd remembered that was there, I would've taken it down so I didn't look like some kind of stalker."

"No, I'm glad you've got it up there. It makes me happy," Camila reassures her, flashing her a small smile. "Anyway, what's the plan for tonight?"

Lauren hums in thought. "Have you had dinner?"

"Nope," Camila shakes her head, her stomach growling at just the right time to reinforce this, "why? Are we ordering takeout?"

"I was going to offer to cook, but you look a little too excited at the possibility of pizza and I don't want to break your heart," Lauren smiles, and for just a second, she looks at Camila with so much adoration that it makes the younger girl's heart lurch. "It's your choice. I'm fine with whatever."

"No, you can cook for me if you want! Do you know how to make pizza?" Camila asks, and she's so distracted by pizza that for a moment, she almost doesn't notice the big sweeping curtains perpendicular to her bed. "Wait, why do you randomly have curtains up there?"

"That goes out to my balcony," Lauren grins, "I know, that's why I shotgunned this room before everyone else could. And for the bathroom. The girls all went looking at the three bedrooms that are across the apartment, and I was confused, because it was advertised as a four bed, and I found this, saw the balcony and said this is mine. And Lucy's the real smoker, but still, first come, first served."

"Do you go out there a lot?" Camila asks, and Lauren nods, "I would, too. Seems like a good place to write songs."

"We can go out later, if you want. I have a bottle of wine we could share, if you're down for that." Lauren offers, and while Camila isn't a big drinker, she doesn't mind a glass of wine every once in a while. When she's home in Miami, sometimes she'll stay up and watch something with her mom, and they'll share a bottle of wine. "If not, you know, no pressure."

"Sure," Camila decides, "red or white?"

"Red," Lauren says, crossing over to the white door of her closet and opening it up, going up on her tiptoes to grab the bottle from the top shelf, "I have to keep it in here because you can't trust anyone in this house when it comes to alcohol."