Just when it can't get worse, I've had a shit day (No!)
Have you had a shit day? (No!), we've had a shit day (No!)
I think that life's too short for this, I want back my ignorance and bliss
I think I've had enough of this, blow me one last kiss.
- P!nk.
____________________________________________
"See?" a whispered voice came from behind Camila. "That's the one I was telling you about."
"Wait ... her?" another voice said. "Oh my God, I thought she was just fat. She's not even cute. And she's wearing sweatpants! At school!"
Camila drew in a breath and crossed her arms protectively over the books she held against her stomach as she traversed the crowded hall. She tried to keep her shoulders square and her spine straight, to make it seem like her classmates' words did not affect her.
"Apparently the Ashford quarterback doesn't care about that. Easier to get off."
Giggles and snorts followed Camila as she passed by. One of the girls sighed.
"Have you seen him though? The boy is fine. I don't really blame her for letting him into her pants," she said. "I totally would."
"Gross!" Another girl chimed in. "You know he likes 'em super young anyway." More snorts and giggles. "Plus, he's gonna be sporting one of those jumpsuits pretty soon. Even he couldn't make orange look good."
Camila stopped listening and hurried further down the hall, clutching her books tighter and working them to cover more of her bulging belly. She'd thought once people grew used to seeing her and knowing about her predicament the stares and whispers would lessen. Unfortunately, they hadn't—at least not enough to notice. Camila still heard every one, still felt each as they were flung at her, like arrows shot from a bow, piercing her right through the heart.
Every crossways glance. Every passive aggressive comment. Every giggle hidden behind a hand. They all burned into her like a branding iron against her skin.
Shifting glances and snickers greeted her every few feet as she tried to squeeze her growing body through the limited space between each group of students. Though at this point, she wasn't sure if they were due to her growing girth, the rumors about Shawn's charges, or her unflattering clothing as of late.
Over the past weeks, the frigid days of January had turned to the even colder ones of February. The decreased temperature presented Camila with not only the added complication of maneuvering her unbalanced body over the ice-covered ground, but also the predicament of finding clothing that was both comfortable and warm. The leggings and shirt-dresses making up the bulk of her maternity wear to this point finally met their match in her growing son. When the last pair stretched beyond its ability, she was forced to move to boy's sweatpants—pilfered from Hailee's brother Jason—and one of the numerous t-shirts she'd stolen from Shawn.
Today, her sweatpants—rolled several times at the ankles and waist to fit—were heather-gray, and her t-shirt, which reached to mid-thigh even with her stomach, was black. And though the hormones coursing through her body made her hair thicker and shinier than it had ever been, she hadn't bothered to do anything with it, deciding to pull it back into a ponytail instead. With the increasing insomnia at night, she really didn't have the energy to be bothered about her appearance during the day. Apparently, her lack of care about her physical appearance bothered some of her classmates, though.
She passed another group of girls—ones she'd known all her life, and had always been friendly with—and stiffened as their insults and giggles floated over her.
"Do you see what she's wearing today? As if being fat wasn't bad enough."
"I can't believe she'd even come back to school. How embarrassing."
Camila's face flamed in anger and mortification. She should have been used to this stuff by now, by the narrow-minded fickleness of her peers, but maybe she never would be.
A few boys horsing around in the hall knocked into Camila's shoulder, shoving her slightly into the group, before continuing their play down the hall. The girls gave her the evil eye and brushed off their arms as if they could catch pregnancy or some other disgusting condition just from being touched by her.
Camila hurried around them, finally reaching her locker. Flinging the door open and fighting the urge to cry, she tossed her books inside and hid herself behind the door. It wasn't big enough to shield her completely, but she was getting pretty good at pretending it was.
In the small square mirror she'd hung on the inside of her locker on the first day of school, she caught sight of her reflection. Dull, tired eyes stared back at her. She reached up and rubbed against the dark circles the size of craters underneath them, but no matter how much she scrubbed, they didn't fade. Dropping her hand, Camila sighed and continued to stare. She searched the image for the cute, fiesty girl with a gleam of mischief in her stare she used to see. She'd sort of liked that girl, liked her spunky attitude and confidence. Now the only person reflected back was a scared, confused teenager with too much roundness to her cheeks, and dull brown coloured eyes.
She squeezed her lids shut and tried to take herself back to a moment when she'd felt good, that she'd felt cute, and wanted, and worthwhile. It had been so long. So, so long.
Shawn tried to remind her time and time again, to let her know that to him she was still that girl. Just a few days before, he'd managed to make her almost feel it again.
Almost, and just for a few moments.
____________________________________________
Standing there in the loud and crowded hall, Camila could still feel how her stomach had twisted and churned that day as she'd stood in front of the full-length mirror hanging on Shawn's closet door. She'd just stripped out of the uncomfortably tight outfit she'd worn to school, and was staring at herself dressed only in her underwear and a tank top that left half of her stomach sticking out.
Tears stung her eyes as her gaze slipped to the expanse of exposed skin below the bottom of her shirt. Her fingertips traced the new, dark reddish-purple lines meandering out from the top of her panties and extending across the expanse of her once unblemished flesh. Dozens of them, some fat, some thin, but all jagged and uneven, twisting without aim, like a grotesque map to the loss of everything she used to be: young, untainted, untouched.
Sometimes she was okay with that—well, maybe not okay, but she had accepted it. That she would never look the same. That she would never be the same. Then there were times when she saw herself and what this was doing to her, and she was anything but.
The bathroom door opened, and Shawn, followed by a cloud of steam, stepped into the room. He wore nothing but a dark blue towel around his waist, his hair still dripping water onto his shoulders and glistening on his perfectly fit, perfectly beautiful nineteen-years-old boy body. Camila peered over at him and choked back a sob when he caught her eye and grinned. His face fell and he came over to her, bringing the look and smell of his flawlessness closer. He stepped up behind her.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean 'what's wrong'? Look at me." She gestured to her reflection.
His eyes slid over her likeness, his brows coming together before meeting her stare in the glass. "I am looking at you." He settled his hands on her upper arms, his thumbs rubbing circles into her flesh and his mouth brushing the space where her neck and shoulder met.
"How can you stand to?" she whispered.
"Stop," he murmured into her shoulder. "You're beautiful."
Camila closed her eyes. "I'm fat and bloated. I have black circles the size of the moon from the lack of sleep, and I have these ... these ... disgusting stretch marks. I'm not beautiful. I'm hideous."
Shawn's fingers on her tightened, and she was turning. She opened her eyes and she was no longer facing the mirror but facing him instead. He gazed down at her, light brown eyes flitting all over her face, seeing her, seeing everything. A shiver shook her from the weight of his stare.
Shawn lifted his hands and cradled her face between them. Camila blinked as he bent down and kissed her lightly, just once, on the center of her mouth.
"You are beautiful," he repeated in a whisper.
"I don't feel it," she whispered back. "Especially not when I'm standing next to you." Camila laid her palm over his heart and traced her fingers down his chest and abs. They rose and fell over every hard dip and every smooth groove. "Do you have any idea how ... how ... disgustingly perfect you are? Really, it makes me want to puke." He chuckled, and she glanced up. "I want to look good when I stand next to you. Like I belong."
The smile faded from Shawn's lips, and he slowly turned her toward the mirror once more.
"Look at us," he said.
"I am," she said. And she did. She studied her frumpy self, all pale and fat and scarred, standing in front of him and all his tanned and sculpted perfection.
"No," he said. "Look at us." He bent down, his hands making their way around her body, resting on either side of her rounded, marked up stomach. "You see?" His fingers spread over the expanse, caressing her, protecting her, owning her. "See how beautiful we are? How perfect?" He touched his mouth to the sensitive spot behind her ear, and whispered, "You belong. You belong right here with me."
Camila squeezed her lids shut, allowing the tears that had gathered to fall over her cheeks before opening her eyes once more and meeting his in the mirror. "When you say it, I almost believe it."
"You should. I'm laying this sappy shit on pretty thick."
Camila laughed, her breath catching a bit when her throat constricted around it. Her gaze traveled down to where Shawn touched her, to where he laid his hands over the part of her that was both of them combined. She rested her hands on top of his and laced their fingers together, watching the way they fit seamlessly. And in that moment, she did believe him. "We are beautiful."
"Yeah, we are, baby." Shawn pulled her tighter against him. "Yeah, we are."
____________________________________________
Camila blew out a slow breath and opened her eyes. The reflection of her and Shawn was gone, replaced by the one of just her, standing alone in the middle of the school hall. Slams of lockers and laughter continued around her, completely oblivious of the battle she was fighting inside herself. The phantom warmth his hands had left on her flesh faded away, along with the clarity in her heart. Freezing doubt and insecurity spread over her like frost.
"We're beautiful," she whispered to herself. Her eyes stayed glued to the pair in the mirror, trying to convince them that what she said was true, what Shawn had said was true. But they did not change, did not flare with even a spark of veracity.
They did not believe her.
They stayed just as dull, lifeless, and unconvinced as they were before.
The clang of a locker door startled Camila, and when she turned toward the sound, she was greeted with the sight of Hailee, leaned up against the locker next to Camila's. She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a rogue piece of brunette hair out of her face.
"If I have to curl one more ribbon or look at another stupid pink heart, I'm going to puke."
Camila continued gathering her things into her bag, trying to shake off the heat forming in her chest and threatening to travel up her neck to pool in her face. She wanted so badly to hold on to the slight contentment she'd gained by remembering Shawn's words, but even now, only seconds later, she felt it fading from her. No matter how hard she fought to keep it, it kept slipping from her grasp.
Hailee turned toward her, eyes narrowed. "Oh, I suppose you like all this fluffy hearts and candy crap, now that you're in looooooove."
"What?" Camila said, still shaken up and confused for a moment before realizing what Hailee was going on about. "Oh, um, no." She shut her locker door with a bang, her gaze drifting over the cheesy holiday banners and signs for purchasing candy and carnations. "I still think Valentine's Day is a crock." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "I mean, if a guy needs a day on the calendar to remind him to show his girl she's special, then no thanks. I'd rather not."
Hailee raised a brow as she walked along beside Camila. "So cynical."
Camila shrugged. "That's how I've always felt about it. It's all just so cliché and stupid anyway. I mean, do girls really go for this crap? Do they actually think the guy likes feeling obligated to buy them flowers and candy and a cheesy card? Do they think it really means something?"
"Have you expressed this intense dislike of Love Day to Loverboy? Or is he going to show up with a bunch of flowers and candy and get a knee to the nuts instead of a grateful kiss?"
Camila rolled her eyes at her friend. "I would never hit him there."
Hailee snorted. "Oh no, we wouldn't want to damage the goods or anything."
Camila's face heated at the thought of what "goods" Shawn had.
Hailee laughed, and Camila shook the thoughts out of her head. The middle of the school hallway was not the place to think about that.
"Shawn isn't into this Valentine's Day stuff either. It's not his style. I mean, seriously, could you see him buying me flowers and candy?"
"He bought you donut holes," Hailee pointed out.
"Yeah, but that was different."
"How so?"
"It just ... it was, okay? He did that just to do it, just because he knew I liked them. Not because a date on the calendar told him to. That's how I'd rather it be. If he wants to do something sweet, whenever, I'd rather him do it then."
"Maybe he wants to be sweet today." Hailee waggled her brows.
"He's sweet every day."
"Whatever. Gag. Maybe he wants to be sweeter."
"I told him I didn't want to celebrate Valentine's Day, Haiz."
"Why the hell would you do that?" Hailee stared at her with wide eyes. "It's flowers and free candy! Who doesn't want that?"
Camila sighed. "I just don't like the fuss. The expectations and insincerity behind—"
Camila pitched forward into Hailee when something hard collided into her back. She grunted as their bodies connected and her friend caught her under the arms. Her heavy stomach pulled her into a painful arch, and she gasped as one of her muscles tweaked, sending an excruciating jolt up her spine.
"Ooops," came Ailee's voice from behind her.
"What the hell, Ails?" Hailee said, helping Camila to stand. She held onto her arms until Camila had restored her balance. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"
Camila grimaced and reached behind her, laying her hand on the small of her back and hissing through her teeth as the muscles ached and burned.
"You okay, Mila?" Hailee asked.
Camila nodded, trying her hardest to blink back the tears of pain starting to form in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm good," she said. Her cheeks heated as she noticed the stares boring into her from all sides. Great. Just great.
"Sorry about that, Camila. I don't know how I didn't see you. You know, being as ... noticeable ... as you are."
Hailee turned to Ailee. "Is there a reason you're still here?"
She blinked innocently. "I was just saying sorry, Haiz."
"Yeah, whatever, Ails. You and I both know you don't care in the least."
"It's fine, Haiz," Camila said, reaching out to lay a hand on her friend's forearm. "Let's just—"
"No," Hailee shook her hand off, "it's not. You know she probably did it on purpose. She's done nothing but act like a bitch to you since she found out. What the hell is your problem, Ails?"
Ailee narrowed her eyes and thrust a handful of posters at Hailee. Camila spied the pink and red hearts motif peeking out from the edges as the papers passed in front of her. "My problem is, you're standing around gabbing when you should be helping. I'm going to need you to put these up."
Hailee looked down at the posters and back up at Ailee. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Why would I kid about something like this?"
Camila glanced between the two girls, feeling the irritation radiating from her best friend. This was not going to be pretty.
"I just spent all of last period tying and curling stupid ribbons to those God-awful gold and white balloons in the gym," Hailee spat, the vein above her eye pulsing in annoyance. "Plus, I sprinkled that stupid heart confetti all over the place. I'm done."
"I'm team captain and it's up to me when you're done." Ailee stepped forward, thrusting herself in Hailee's face. "The Valentine's Dance is our big fundraising deal, Haiz, you know that. You're part of the squad, so you need to help until we're done. We're already working a girl down." She turned her glare to Camila. "It's too bad you can't come tonight, Camila."
Camila blinked.
"What are you talking about, Ails? Why wouldn't she be able to come?" Hailee said.
"Oh," Ailee said, innocently. "I didn't figure she'd want to. You know, what with finding a dress to fit over ... that," she gestured to Camila's stomach, "being so difficult and all." She leaned into Camila, her voice lowering to a whisper. "Plus, I don't think it's really wise to bring a pedophile to a high school dance, do you?"
Camila jerked back as if she'd been slapped. But before she could say a thing, Hailee had pushed her way between the two girls.
"Oh, please tell me you did not just say what I think you said." A red flush spread over Hailee's cheeks and her eyes flashed. Camila recognized the look of controlled rage on her friend's face. A semi-circle of onlookers closed in around them, their gazes curious and amused. Hailee moved forward, stopping only when her nose practically touched Ailee's. "Who the hell do you think you are—"
"Haiz." Camila wedged herself between the two girls and turned toward her friend. "Come on. She's not worth it."
Hailee didn't meet Camila's gaze and kept her eyes firm on Ailee's. "Move out of the way, Mila. I think it's time I taught this bitch a lesson."
"Yeah, Camila, you should do as she says. Wouldn't want your bastard getting caught in between us," Ailee snarled behind her.
Camila's back stiffened at the word and a flash of heat spread from her chest, up her neck, and across her cheeks. Hailee's eyes widened as they flicked from Ailee's to Camila's. Her brows raised and she reached out for Camila.
"Mila ..." she said cautiously
But Cacmila wasn't hearing any of it. The only thing she could hear was that word, that name, bouncing around and around and around inside her head. Technically, the term was correct—she and Shawn were not married, were not getting married—but she would not stand for her son being called that by anyone, least of all Ailee. Slowly, she turned. Ailee stood before her, her face fixed in a haughty expression, hands on her hips.
"What did you call him?"
Ailee smirked. "Nothing that isn't true. That is what it is, you know."
Camila clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Take it back."
"Why would I take it back?" Ailee said. "You know it's what everyone's thinking. You know it's what everyone will always think of it. It'll always be Shawn Mendes's little bastard."
Uncontrolled fury burst out of Camila and before she knew what was happening, there was a crunch, a spray of red, and a shot of pain spreading through her hand and up into her arm. Ailee fell back, her hands cupping her face, blood pouring from between her fingers. Camila snapped back to herself, her hand aching and throbbing as she shook it at her side.
"Ow," she said.
"Holy shit, Mila!" Hailee said, her words tinged with awe.
"You bitch!" Ailee wailed, her voice nasally and muffled. "I think you broke my nose!"
Camila held her hand to her chest, her pulse speeding and her breathing rapid. "Oh my God," she whispered. "What did I do?"
"What did you do?" Hailee grabbed her shoulder and turned Camila toward her, her voice incredulous. "You showed that bitch what happens when she messes with your kid, that's what you did." She slung her arm over Camila's shoulder and pulled her close, as several cheerleaders rushed over to Ailee and a few others watched wearily from the sidelines.
Camila looked down at her hand, flexing and opening it as pain continued to radiate through it. She couldn't believe what she'd just done. She'd hit someone. No, not just someone, Ailee. And, oh God, had it felt good. A rush of power and pride flooded her. She didn't know what had come over her, but whatever it was, she liked it.
A throat cleared and Camila's momentary elation dulled. Turning slowly, she came face to face with the school principal. Ms. Hellen stood with her arms crossed over her cliché blue suit dress, her toe tapping the tiled floor.
"What is going on here?" she asked.
Camila opened her mouth to answer, but Ailee cried out instead.
"She punched me! I think she broke my nose!"
Principal Hellen settled her gaze on Camila, giving her a look that would normally make Camila sweat. But not this time. This time she felt vindicated in what she'd done. She'd defended herself and her son, and she wasn't sorry in the least.
"Is this true, Miss Cabello?" Principal Hellen asked.
Camila took one last look around at the crowd, caught Hailee's encouraging smile, and straightened her shoulders, meeting Principal Hellen's eyes. "Yes, ma'am. I sure did, and I'd do it again."
Principal Hellen sighed and rubbed her forehead between her thumb and middle fingers. "Miss Cabello, Miss Bernard, my office. Now."
Ailee whimpered and a couple of cheerleaders lifted her off the floor. They held onto her arms and helped her up the hall, as if she couldn't walk on her own. Camila rolled her eyes and started forward, stopping when Hailee's hand cupped her shoulder. She peered back at her friend.
"Go get her, mama bear."
Camila nodded and started down the hall after Ailee and Principal Hellen. As she neared the door to the office, she couldn't help the small grin that pulled at the corner of her lips. No matter what happened behind the principal's door, she would never regret what she'd done. For the first time in a long time, Camila felt right, confident, whole.
She felt a little like her old self.
____________________________________________
Shawn pulled a clean, dry shirt over his still damp skin. The locker room, clouded with steam from the showers, was loud and rowdy like usual, and Shawn was surprised at how normal it felt. In the past weeks things had been awkward and uncomfortable, but lately it was different. Better.
"Hey, good game, man."
Shawn lurched forward a bit when one of his classmates clapped him on the shoulder. Drips of water fell over his forehead when he glanced back and tipped his chin at his former teammate. "Clean up that layup, Seth, and maybe next time you won't get your ass whipped so badly."
Seth grinned. "How do you know I wasn't just going easy on you, Mendes?"
"Because you were panting like a bitch in heat." Shawn finished tying his shoe and stood from the bench, leaning over to grab his bag and close his gym locker door. "Besides, you know better than to insult me like that."
"In football. I know better in football," Seth said. "In basketball anything goes. That's not your domain."
"Everything that works up a sweat is my domain."
Seth shook his head and laughed. "Shit. You're such a douchebag." He held out his fist. "Your ass is mine tomorrow."
Shawn paused for a moment, then reached out and bumped his fist against Seth's. "We'll just see about that."
Seth shook his head once more, his grin stretching from one ear to the other, and sauntered toward the exit. Drawing in a slow breath, Shawn adjusted his bag over his shoulder. The fact that some of his old friends were starting to come around still caught him off-guard at times. He'd grown used to the taunting and avoidance, and had learned to anticipate it before it came. But since he and Keira had talked and she'd stopped torturing him at every turn, things had calmed down a lot for him.
The girls still gave him sidelong glances when he walked by them in the hall, the cautiousness in their eyes never quite disappearing no matter how much his predicament became part of the past. Even when the truth came out about how everything actually went down that night, that he wasn't the threat they'd originally thought he was, it didn't seem to matter all that much. Some of them were still scared of him. Shawn didn't really blame them. It was what it was, and they felt what they felt.
It was different with the guys. At first they'd looked at him as if they didn't know him, as if it would be a sin of epic proportions to be seen conversing with him. But as the days passed and the newness of his transgressions became old and stale, the stigma of being around him fell away. No, things were certainly not the same as they'd been before. Shawn used to be big shit in his school. He was looked up to, fantasized about, idolized.
He'd been untouchable.
And now ... now he was a bit more mundane. He wasn't that shiny new penny everyone wanted to own; he was just an ordinary penny, one corroded and dirty and dented around the edges, one people knew had worth but didn't mind so much if they lost.
He was no longer special.
Shawn never thought he would be, but somehow, he was okay with being less: less popular, less noticeable.
Less valuable.
It took so much pressure off from him to be what everyone expected. It allowed him to just be Shawn. And sometimes "just Shawn" was all he could manage. Especially lately.
Shawn's gaze fell to the glass enclosed shelves at the front of the locker room. Trophies from all the years Ashford had won state or gone to districts shone bright gold from within the case. Several of them won by his arm.
A powerful wave of longing crashed over him, nearly drowning him in its intensity. He'd gotten used to trampling his old dream down in his mind, of telling himself it didn't matter.
He'd said it to himself so often he almost believed it.
Shawn swallowed and tore his stare away. As much as he tried to deny it, tried to tell himself and everyone else he didn't need it, part of Shawn still craved the game. There were times his fingers ached so badly to be around the ball, to feel the pebbled surface and laces against his skin that he didn't know if they'd ever feel normal again. There were moments when he missed the smell of moisture clinging to freshly cut grass, the sound of a shrill whistle against the dark night, the crack of pads on pads, and the crowd chanting his name.
Sometimes he missed it so much he wondered if it had all been a dream in the first place.
Several loud shouts and a deafening bang from behind captured Shawn's attention. He turned just in time to catch one of his classmates dive at another, shoving him into the ball cart parked up against the wall. The cart smashed against the cinderblock and tipped onto its side, spilling its contents onto the floor. Balls rolled in all directions, some moving with such speed they clanged and banged against the locker doors.
Two of the coaches rushed from their offices and pulled the boys apart. But Shawn wasn't paying attention to them any longer. His gaze had moved from the spectacle of bloody lips and torn knuckles to the brown, oblong ball at his feet. He bent and wrapped his hand around the middle, his fingers finding their home amongst the spaces between the laces. The familiarity of it struck something deep inside of him.
He let out a slow whoosh of breath as he brought the ball up to his chest, the rightness of it in his palm nearly crushed him. Without another thought, Shawn exited the locker room. It was the strangest sensation, having that ball in his hands again. For so long it had been a part of him; he'd never really stopped to think how it would feel if it were taken away. He'd never thought it would. But now that it had been, having it there, clutched against him in the only way that was natural to him, brought back all the memories and feelings of how it had been when he and it were one.
One being.
One entity.
The ball, the game, had been such an innate part of who he was, of who he'd always wanted to be, he had no idea how he was functioning now that it was gone.
The other guys exited the locker room behind Shawn, filling the gym with excited voices and playful taunts. Shawn didn't move, didn't even glance behind him. He waited until the last of them filtered through the main doors, leaving only their echoes behind. When the gym was silent, save for the murmurs coming from inside the coaches' offices within the locker room, Shawn let his gaze wander to the banners hanging around the perimeter of the ceiling. It didn't take him long to find the flags with his years on them.
District Champions.
State Champions.
All of them situated side-by-side, showing anyone who cared to look what they'd accomplished for three years in a row. They'd been unrelenting. Unstoppable. There'd been a time when Shawn had never even considered the possibility that his high school career would end with anything other than perfection. He was going to win districts and state every year.
His eyes shifted to the empty spot on the wall next to the championship flag from his junior year. The district champs banner that should have been there now adorned the wall of Whitecastle's gymnasium. Disappointment and regret over what he'd lost still flowed through him.
Shawn dropped his bag to the floor and clutched the ball to his chest, his fingers finding just the right spots as he positioned his legs into his familiar throwing stance. And, God, it felt like home. His body knew every twist of every muscle, every tiny move and bend, like it had been born to do only this. Sometimes Shawn still thought it was.
Grasping the ball, Shawn drew back, his back twisting, shoulder straining, and then, like a slingshot, he drew forward, fingers gripping just so and pushing the ball into the perfect spiral. It sailed through the air, the wind around it whistling in its effort to part fast enough, and slammed into the center of the space left beside last year's banner. Shawn's heart crashed in his chest as he watched the nose of the ball impact the exact brick he'd been aiming for. A small grin started to pull at his lips, when the sound of clapping caused him to startle.
Shawn whirled around, only to come face-to-face with a man he didn't know. The man stood in the entrance of the gym, his hands clasped together in front of him, but his face half-hidden in the shadow of the bleachers.
"Impressive," the man said. "Even more so than the footage I've seen."
Shawn squinted into the dimness, but the action did nothing to alleviate his curiosity. "Who are you?"
"Oh, sorry about that," the man said, adjusting his glasses as he stepped into the light. Even seeing him full on, Shawn still had no idea who he was. He wasn't a teacher at the school, and with his flannel shirt, messy, auburn hair, and dark jeans, he didn't look like a scout either. The man continued further into the gym, stopping only when he stood directly in front of Shawn, his hand extended in greeting. "The name's Harold. Harold McKinley."
Shawn frowned, thinking the name sounded familiar but having no idea why. He offered his hand to him anyway. "Shawn Mendes," he said.
"Oh, I know who you are," Harold said, removing his hand from Shawn's and lifting it to rake through his hair. "I've seen so much video of you, I feel like I know you personally."
"I'm sorry, but," Shawn bent to pick up his bag, "do I know you? Your name is familiar but I don't think we've met."
"No," Harold shook his head, "we don't know each other. Though we do have people in common." His eyes sparkled. "But they're not why I'm here."
"Okay ..."
Harold rubbed the scruff of his chin and peered up at Shawn. "Tell me something, Shawn."
"What?"
"Why haven't you signed your letter of intent with Ohio State University?"
Shawn blinked. "My ... what?"
"Your letter of intent," Harold said. "Why haven't you signed it?"
"I'm sorry." Shawn shook his head. "I don't know what the he—uh, I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't received anything like that from Ohio."
Harold frowned. "Really? There was a confirmation of delivery. Are you sure?"
Shawn started to shake his head, wracking his brain for any sort of clue what this man was talking about, and then he stopped, remembering snippets of something from a few weeks prior. Camila sitting in the driver's seat, stopping at the keypad to the gate of his house, reaching out the window for a large, white envelope ... Shawn had later seen that envelope lying on his desk, had even spied the Ohio State logo in the corner, but had shoved it aside, not wanting to read about how sorry they were for having to withdraw their offer. Not wanting another thing to feel rejected about, he hadn't opened it, hadn't even thought about it again since that day.
Looking up, Shawn's eyes widened ashe realized what Luke was saying. The man stared back at him, his mouth set into a kind smile. "I—I didn't open it. I thought it was like the others. That it was saying ..." Shawn swallowed, his next words coming out in a whisper. "I didn't open it."
"Well then," Harold reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, white card. He held it out to Shawn. "Do me a favor, would you? Take a look at it, read things over, and give me a call." He reached out and clasped Shawn on the shoulder with one hand, pressing the card into Shawn's palm with the other. "I hope to hear from you soon." Harold winked and turned toward the doors, not looking back as he exited out into the school.
Shawn watched him as he went, his mouth hanging open, body stiff and unmoving. What the hell just happened? Once the doors clicked shut, Shawn stared down at his hand, the edges of the business card digging into his palm. Bringing it up to his face, Shawn's heart thudded as he read the words printed on the front.
Harold McKinley
Head Coach, Ohio State University Football
Shawn's knees weakened and his breath caught in his chest. They still wanted him? After all of this? With everything still hanging in the air, with nothing about his future known, they still wanted to take a chance and sign him? Shawn couldn't believe this was happening. It had to be a joke, a cruel and horrific joke. But somehow, deep inside he knew it wasn't.
They did want him.
Someone still wanted him.
He let out a disbelieving laugh, his stomach clenching so hard he almost felt sick. He wanted to call Camila, needed to tell her that things just might be okay after all. Shawn reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, but before he got a chance to dial, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
"Dude! I thought you were giving us a ride."
Shawn whirled toward the back doors, spying Alex and his sister, Jennifer, standing just inside.
"Shit," Shawn said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "I forgot." Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and it took everything inside of him not to shout his news for the entire world to hear. But he wanted to tell Camila first. She deserved to be first. "I'm ready now." He adjusted his bag once more and started toward them.
"Gee, Shawn, good of you to be ready now, after we just spent ten minutes standing in the freezing parking lot waiting for you," Jennifer said, her arms crossed over her chest.
Shawn let her comment slide right off from him. Usually he enjoyed a bit of banter with Alex's younger, bitchy sister, but for the moment, he felt too good to play into it with her. Pushing past her, Shawn stepped out into the frigid cold, the bright white making him squint. He made his way out into the parking lot, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he went.
"So," Alex said, stepping up next to Shawn and keeping his voice low. "I talked with Michael and Sam today."
Shawn raised his brows and turned toward his friend. "And?"
Alex shook his head. "Nah. Nothing."
Shawn sighed and stared down at the ground. "Thanks for asking around, man."
"A whole lot of good it's done. I mean, shit, you'd think someone would remember. The amount of gossip that goes around this hellhole on a daily basis and we're finding shit? I just don't get it. Someone has to remember something."
Jennifer snorted from behind them. "Oh, please. Half of the gossip in this place is just lies trying to make the popular more popular and the geek more geek. There's nothing of merit to learn here."
Alex stopped and turned back to his sister. "But my parties are epic. People should always remember that shit."
Jennifer gave her brother a disbelieving look. "Is that what you're going on about? That crappy after game party you had when Mom and Dad were visiting Gran?"
Alex nodded.
Jennifer laughed, her head thrown back dramatically. "Oh, God. Do you have any idea how plastered everyone was at that party? Seriously, I've never seen anything like it."
"Wait." Alex grabbed her arm. "What the hell do you know about it? I thought you were staying with Maria."
Jennifer drew her arm away with a huff. "I would have, you dick, but you made me come home by curfew that night." She scowled. "Lord, how drunk were you?"
"But I ..." Alex said, his confusion clear on his face.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Nice, Alex. That probably explains why I had to share my bed with him." She thrust her thumb in Shawn's direction. "Maybe you should keep better track of the shit you say. And your friends."
Alex shot Shawn a murderous look, and Shawn held his hands up in front of him. "Hey, I don't remember—" But then he did. He remembered waking up next to Alex's sister, her blonde hair tickling his face. A nagging pulled at him, telling him something, begging for him to remember something. He closed his eyes, squeezed his lids as hard as he could, trying to force the memory to come through.
Darkness shot through his mind, but it wasn't pure darkness. It was shadows and light. It was shapes and muffled sounds and dreamy haze. And then it was light. It was clear.
"Get up, asshole," a voice said. "You know you're in my bed, right?"
Shawn groaned and rolled over onto his back. He didn't know where the hell he was or who the hell's bed he was in. And he didn't care. "Can't," he slurred. Shit, he was so damn drunk.
"Well, at least move over. You're hogging the entire bed! And if you're gonna puke, please get it into the trash can."
Shawn cracked his lids, spying the shape of a girl with bright blonde hair hanging past her shoulders. "What?"
"Lord," the voice said, "the one time I actually listen to my dick of a brother and come home on time, I get to share my bed with his loser of a best friend. Just move, Shawn." She paused, her face softening somewhat as she looked down at him. "By the way, happy birthday."
Shawn rolled over onto his side and peered at the clock on the stand next to the bed. He had to squint against the red glare to read the numbers. 12:06 A.M. He grinned to himself and closed his eyes. Happy birthday to him.
Shawn blinked and looked up. "Holy shit." Jennifer and Alex stared at him, eyebrows raised in identical expressions of confusion.
"You okay, dude?" Alex asked.
"I was eighteen," Shawn said, his lips splitting into a grin. "I was eighteen!"
"Uh, yes," Alex said. "Once upon a time you were eighteen. Dude, are you losing it?"
"No, Alex," Shawn reached out and grabbed his friend's shoulders. "I remember. I remember Jen coming in that night. She told me 'happy birthday' and I looked at the clock. It was six minutes past midnight."
Alex's face never lost its confused expression. "Okay, but how does that help?"
Shawn squeezed Alex's shoulders. "It means that I was with Camila before then. When I was still eighteen. When I was still a minor."
Shawn stared at his friend until the confusion cleared from his eyes. "Holy shit," Alex said.
Shawn looked over at Jennifer. "Please tell me you remember that."
She stood with her arms crossed over her chest and glanced from Shawn to Alex and back. "Of course I remember. I wasn't drunk off my ass that night like some people."
Shawn let go of Alex and moved in front of Jennifer. "Are you willing to testify to that? Are you willing to tell the court what you know? That you found me alone and asleep in your room at twelve 'o six A.M.?"
He could feel the anxiety coursing through him, hoping against hope that this was the testimony he needed. That this would finally set him free.
Jennifer stood there for what seemed like forever, before she shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? I mean, it's the truth. You were sleeping alone in my bed, Pretty Boy, and I didn't see Dora anywhere around. I don't have any problem telling those douchenozzles that." She paused. "But it wasn't twelve o'six that I found you."
Shawn's stomach bottomed out. "What?" Had he gotten the time wrong? Was his memory just playing tricks on him?
Jennifer stared at him, giving nothing away. "It was actually eleven fifty-two P.M." A small grin pulled at one corner of her mouth.
Before he knew what was happening, Shawn threw his arms around Alex's sister and pulled her hard against him, squeezing her. This wasn't a solution, but maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning to one. Shawn closed his eyes and hugged the girl in front of him.
"Thank you," he breathed into her hair. "Shit. Oh my God, thank you."
____________________________________________
The hard chairs outside the principal's office killed Camila's back. She shifted time and time again, trying with everything in her to find some sort of comfort. But nothing she did helped. The muscles in her middle back spasmed and she let out a low groan.
Ailee huffed in her seat a few chairs down. "I don't know what you're whining about, you're not the one with the broken nose."
Camila glanced over at the girl and smirked. She looked so pathetic holding the bloody wad of tissues in front of her face. "Neither are you," Camila said. "The nurse said your nose is fine."
"Yeah, well, she doesn't know anything. She's a school nurse. Duh."
Camila rolled her eyes and tried situating herself in her chair once more. It creaked and groaned under her weight.
"God," Ailee said. "Could you just stop before you break the thing? You don't need to take your frustration over your rapidly growing body out on poor office furniture."
"How about you just shut your mouth, before I break that too?"
Ailee turned and glared, purplish bruises already starting to line her eyes. "You think you're hot shit now that you've nailed a quarterback, don't you?"
Camila leaned her head onto the back of the chair and closed her eyes. "Oh, God, Ails. Really? Is that what this is about?"
"No. I could care less who you screw and ... whatever else you do. This is about the squad's reputation. This is about how you didn't think about any of the rest of us when you were spreading your legs."
Camila lifted her head and stared at Ailee in incredulity. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or why you think what's happened to me has anything to do with the squad whatsoever."
"That's what you don't understand!" Ailee said. "You think this is just all about you! But this affects a lot of people in your life, Camila. We had to pull out of regionals because of you!"
"Oh my God." Camila shook her head. "I gave you plenty of time to find a replacement, Ails. Don't put this on me."
"A replacement? Are you joking? There's no one we can do the basket with that's going to get as high as you. That was our winning move, Camila. Without that we are just like every other squad out there. Average."
"You've got to be kidding me," Camila whispered under her breath. She turned to give Ailee another piece of her mind, but froze at who she saw standing in the doorway. She sat up straight and swallowed back the bile climbing her throat. "Papa? What are you doing here?"
Camila's father moved all the way into the office, his suit pants rustling in the quiet room. "One's parents are usually called in on disciplinary matters, Camila."
"But I thought they'd call—"
"Your mother?" Her father stood in front of her. "Not likely, since she's not in town. So I suppose this will be up to me."
Camila opened her mouth to speak, when the office door opened again and Ailee's parents rushed inside.
"Great," Camila murmured and rested her face in her hand.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bernard? Mr. Cabello? Could you and both your children please come inside?" Principal Hellen called from her office door.
Camila sighed and stood, following the rest of the group into the small office. Ailee and her parents immediately commandeered the three chairs situated in front of the desk, leaving Camila and her father standing near the door.
Camila's father cleared his throat. "Perhaps you could give my daughter one of your chairs. Someone is her condition should not be made to stand while you sit."
Camila stared at her father in disbelief. Did he just ... stick up for her? She blinked.
Ailee's father turned around and glared at them both. "And why should we? She's the reason we're here. She physically assaulted my daughter." He eyed Camila, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her stomach. "Besides, her ... predicament is not our problem." And then he turned back toward the desk.
"Now, sirs," Principal Hellen said, standing and leaning over her desk. "Let's put the petty arguing aside for a moment to discuss what has happened here today."
Ailee whimpered and leaned into her mother.
Camila muttered, "Oh, brother," under her breath.
"Miss Cabello, you may come take my chair, since none of the other have been offered," the principal offered as she eyes the Bernards family.
Camila'sface flamed. "Oh, uh, no, it's okay. I can stand, really." Her back ached and her son was using her bladder as a punching bag, but there was no way she was going to sit in the principal's chair.
"You're sure?"
Camila nodded, shrinking back into the corner of the office.
Principal Hellen sighed. "All right, let's get started then. As you were all informed when you were called, we had a bit of a situation today in the hall."
"A situation?" Mrs. Bernard said. "That girl nearly broke my daughter's nose!"
"Her nose is fine, Mrs. Bernard. The nurse assured us it's just bruised."
"Still. I don't want my daughter fearing for her safety at school!"
Camila fought hard not to roll her eyes again. She'd been doing it so much that day that she was actually starting to get a headache.
"I assure you there is no reason for concern." Principal Hellen held up her hands.
"No cause for concern!" Mrs. Bernard shrieked. "Have you looked at my daughter's face? How can you say that?"
Principal Hellen looked Mrs. Bernard right in the eye. "We strive to be as fair as possible in these situations, and I have taken the time to interview as many of the students that were there as possible. The majority have corroborated the story that your daughter, was taunting Miss Cabello and saying derogatory things about her unborn child."
"Oh, for Lord's sake." Mr. Bernard sat straighter in his chair. "What does she expect coming to school like that? Does she think she can just walk around and no one will notice? That no one will care? I realize people these days are more accepting to this sort of thing than we used to be, but should we be? She shouldn't even be here."
"Excuse me," Camila's father stepped forward. "Are you saying my daughter should not be allowed in the same school as yours because she's pregnant?"
Ailee's father turned around. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Letting her parade this around in front of all the other students sets a precedence that this is acceptable and okay."
"Do we live in the stone ages? Be reasonable. She is entitled to an education, just like anyone else." Her father's voice rose.
"Oh, come on, Cabello," Ailee's father continued, his words becoming more enraged as well. "We all know how you really feel about this situation. It's been all over the papers for weeks."
"That is a completely different issue!"
"Oh, yes. We all know that too."
Camila shrank back further. She could not believe this was happening. Was this man really her father? The man who'd basically kicked her out of her own home? The one who'd had her boyfriend arrested and thrown in jail for statutory rape? She could not reconcile this man with that one.
The shouting in the room grew so loud, Camila had to cover her ears. Finally, Principal Hellen called it to a halt.
"Enough!" she shouted. "That's quite enough." She smoothed her hands over her pencil skirt. "I realize emotions tend to run high in instances such as these, but this is a school and there are other students within hearing range. Now, let's get back to the issue at hand. As much as I'd like to slap both of these girls on the wrist and let this go, there are policies in place for things such as this." Principal Hellen gazed at both of the girls. "We have a no tolerance policy on both physical violence and bullying. We cannot let this incident slide without punishment."
The room grew silent, and Camila bit at her bottom lip.
"Miss Bernard," Principal Hellen addressed Ailee. "In addition to the three day suspension you will both receive, you will also be required to spend the next ninety days working for the local youth outreach program that specifically targets victims of bullies."
"Ninety days!" Ailee said. "But ... that's almost the whole rest of the school year! What about cheerleading?"
"That's not my problem," Principal Hellen said. "Work it out. The local chapter is awaiting your parents' call to set up your times. You will not be allowed back in school without written acknowledgement from my contact of your compliance."
Ailee slumped back in her chair, and Camila wanted to laugh.
"Miss Cabello," Principal Hellen said, and Camila met her gaze. "As much as I do not like to admit to there being any merit to any of the vitriol spewed by Mr. Bernard ..." she eyed him disdainfully, "He is correct in saying your presence here since word got out about your situation has been distracting. I've heard some of the things the others have been saying. I've seen the taunts and laughter for myself. Children can be so incredibly cruel to one another." Her stare softened. "I don't agree with it, and I wish there was a way we could make things better for you here. But we can't. We can't be everywhere and watching everything. Because of this, I just do not feel this place is safe for you or your unborn child any longer. I'm going to insist that for the duration of your pregnancy, you take advantage of our online homeschooling program."
"Wh—what?" Camila said. "I don't—"
"Now, wait just a minute," Camila's father said. "You can't do that. You can't kick her out of school for being pregnant. That's not legal—"
"The proper punishment for her offense here today, Mr. Cabello, is expulsion," Principal Hellen said. "Would you rather we take that course, because I'm fully within my rights to exercise it. I'm trying to do the best I can with the situation I'm presented with. These are the best options for all involved."
Camila's father's jaw clenched. "But the girl who did the taunting, the one who took it upon herself to make disdainful remarks to my daughter about herself and her unborn child gets off with some sort of community service? Why doesn't she get the same punishment? Why does only my daughter have to be outcasted? It does not seem we're getting much of a lesson at all in Miss Bernard's case."
"Miss Bernard did not raise her hand," Principal Hellen replied. "Physical violence cannot be tolerated, provoked or not. I'm sorry, sir, but my decision stands. It is the online schooling or expulsion. You may choose."
Camila couldn't speak. She'd never, not once, thought this would be the outcome when she took action against Ailee earlier. All she'd known was she couldn't let this bitch talk about her son that way. But ... home-school? Expulsion? Were those really the only choices?
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding herself together the best she could when all she felt like doing was falling apart. Her legs were weak and her breaths came shallow and hard. She'd been trying so hard not to think about that night like it was a mistake, like what came from it was an error. But in times like these, when she watched everything her life had been about before crumble around her, she couldn't help herself. How many things did one misstep, one lapse in judgment, one moment where she'd thought with her heart and hormones instead of her head have to destroy? How many consequences to one night did she and Shawn have to endure? Was there ever an end, or would life keep piling them on, over and over, until the both of them were buried beneath it?
The room around her had erupted into chaos once more, but Camila didn't hear any of it. She was done listening, done hearing her father sound like a man who was there for and supported his daughter, done listening to Ailee and her parents talk down to and about her while she stood right there. She was just ... done.
Steeling herself with a breath, Camila turned from the enraged adults and, without a word, slipped from the room. The secretary in the front office eyed her as she passed, but Camila did not meet her gaze. Her cheeks and eyes burned, and she could feel the panic rising in her chest. It was all she could do to hold it all in as she walked down the hall and toward the parking lot doors.
When she reached the end, she stopped and pulled her phone from her pocket. Her hands shook as she press on his name. It rang only twice before his voice floated through the receiver and filled her with a sense of belonging and rightness. He sounded strangely happy. He so rarely sounded that way. Camila didn't want to trample any moment of his happiness, but she didn't know where else to go, who else to call.
"Hey, baby," Shawn said, a smile in his voice. "I thought we weren't going to talk until later?"
Camila closed her eyes and pictured the way he looked when he smiled, how the edges of his mouth disappeared into tiny slits in his skin, how his eyes turned warm, molten brown and sparkled like the sun reflected on water, and how he often leaned in and kissed her with it.
"We weren't," she said, fighting so hard to rein her emotion in. "I just miss you. Can you come get me now?"
There was nothing on the other end for a few moments. "Is everything okay?"
Camila didn't want to lie and say no, but she didn't want to erase his seemingly jovial mood either. She fought against the hitch she felt building in her throat. "Can't I just want to see my boyfriend sooner rather than later?"
Shawn chuckled and the sound filled her with longing, for him, for the feeling of calm he always brought her. "What have I told you about sweet talking me over the phone?"
"That was through text, not over the phone." Camila choked back unwanted tears.
"Same difference," he said.
"So are you coming or what?"
"You know I am."
They said their goodbyes and as Camila tucked her phone into her pocket, footsteps approached from behind. She spun toward the sound. Her father stood several feet away, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
"Camila," he said.
Camila swallowed against the overwhelming tightness in her throat. "Look, Papa, I know what you're going to say, okay? But can we just ... not right now?"
He tilted his head to the side. "And what is it you seem so sure I'm going to say?"
She threw her hands up. "Oh, I don't know. The usual? You told me so. I'm getting what I deserved. You're disappointed in me. Etc., etc., etc. Have I left anything out?"
"Actually," he smoothed his hands over the front of his suit coat and met her gaze, "in light of recent developments, I was thinking we should discuss you coming home."
____________________________________________
Shawn stared across the booth, studying the shadows playing the planes of Camila's face as she picked at the half-eaten food on her plate. In the forty-five minutes since he'd picked her up from the parking lot of her school, she'd barely said ten words.
He reached over and swiped his thumb across the top of her hand. But before he'd made a good three passes, she pulled her hand away and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He sighed and sat back in his seat.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
Camila glanced up at him, her eyes big and round, but duller than normal. "Why would you think that?" She grabbed a fry and absently pushed it around her plate.
"Well, for starters, in the time I've known you, I've never seen you leave that much food on your plate." He pointed to the meal in front of her. "And second, the general silence emanating from your side of the booth is particularly enlightening."
She tossed the fry down and turned her face toward the window. The dying light outside made her frown appear even deeper. Shawn watched her reflection in the glass, spying several amorous couples making their way toward the restaurant from the parking lot beyond it.
Camila's expression darkened and a small crease formed between her eyes. "I'm fine," she said. But her face and her words did not agree.
"Mila, come on." Shawn leaned forward, placing his elbows on the Formica, and reached across for her. His fingers brushed down her forearm and goosebumps rose on her skin. "How am I supposed to—"
"Can we go?" she said, interrupting him as she turned to face him once more. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes glassy. "I don't really want to still be here once the Love Day suckers start getting all mushy."
Shawn sat there for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open a little as he tried to figure out what to say. He sort of understood Camila's aversion to the whole Valentine's Day bullshit—it had never been his favorite "holiday" either—but this time ... this time he had someone he really cared about. Someone he was proud to be with. He wouldn't have minded doing something special: going out on a real date, buying her jewelry or flowers or ... anything, really. But she'd been adamant, and he'd obliged. Now he wasn't so sure he should have. He was no good at this boyfriend shit and had no damn idea what to do when she acted in ways that were opposite from what he was used to. Maybe she'd pulled one of those "tell you one thing but mean the exact opposite" things he'd heard girls loved to use so much, and she really wanted him to go all out.
Shit.
He hoped to hell not. Girls were confusing as hell.
But the longer he studied her: the way she wouldn't meet his eyes, the way her bottom lip was getting more teeth action than her food had, and the way her hands had remained in fists if she wasn't using them to eat, told him this was something else. Something more. Something she clearly didn't want to talk about.
"Yeah," he said. "We can go."
Camila nodded and awkwardly maneuvered herself from the bench. He reached out to help her up, but she ignored his gesture. Shawn slowly withdrew his hand and stood as well.
After paying their bill and leaving a tip, Shawn escorted Camila to the car, depositing her in the passenger seat and jogging around to the driver's side. He slid into his seat and started the car. Camila still said nothing and continued to stare at her lap.
Shawn placed his hands on the steering wheel and mimicked Camila's pose. "Do you want me to take you home?"
She let out a breath but did not answer.
"Because you don't seem to want to be here."
"No," she said, her voice quiet and low. "I don't want to go home."
"Do you want to go to my house?" He turned his head and glanced up at her. She was still looking down at her lap, her fingers twisted together and glued to her legs. Everything about her screamed 'don't touch me!' "My dad's there, but it's not like he acknowledges my existence lately, so we'd be left alone."
She shook her head.
Shawn groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Baby, could you help me out here, because I'm a little lost. I—I don't know what the hell is going on or what the hell to do right now. You seem like you don't want to be here, or ... anywhere, for that matter. Or," he paused, "is it me? Did I do something wrong?"
"No," she said, her words barely audible. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're perfect." And then her voice lowered even further, and she added, "Like always."
Shawn couldn't deny the frustration rising inside of him. He didn't understand why she couldn't just tell him what was wrong. He'd been so excited to see her tonight, to tell her all the things that had happened during the day, to give her a bit of the hope back that both of them seemed to have lost over the past months. But as soon as he'd seen her face, he'd known. He'd known it wasn't the time.
"Mila—"
"Could we ... maybe ..." she said, "go to the fountain?" Finally, she met his eyes. "You know, the one you used to go to with your mom?"
Shawn blinked. "But it's twenty degrees. You hate the cold."
"I want to go."
Shawn didn't ask her again, he simply pulled out of the parking lot onto the street. His confusion didn't let up the entire drive to the garden, as Camila still didn't speak. The vibe he was getting from her had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and his stomach rolling.
The ride didn't take long, ten minutes at most. When he pulled in to park near the entrance to the wooded area surrounding the garden, Camila was up and out of the car before he could even shut down the engine. Shawn scrambled out of his seat and into the biting air after her. Camila didn't pause to wait for him, nor did she hold out her hand for him to take. Shawn became more and more uneasy the closer they moved to the trees.
Camila entered first, and Shawn wanted so badly to take her hand, not just for his own comfort but for her safety as well. He remembered the first time they'd come to the garden—the first time they'd really met and she'd told him about the baby—and how she'd tripped over a root or low branch as they'd made their way through. Now, the bigger she got, the worse her balance became, and Shawn couldn't deny he was afraid of a repeat performance. But since she didn't seem too interested in being touched, Shawn stayed a few inches behind her and held his hands at the ready. Just in case.
Moments later, the trees opened onto the garden. It looked different without greenery covering every inch of space. In the winter it was just a cold and uninviting bunch of gray stone, brown sticks and leaves, and white. Shawn stopped at the edge of the circular stone walkway, shoved his hands in his pockets, and watched as Camila moved closer to the center. He couldn't help but notice the contrast of her black coat and brunette hair against all the monotony of their surroundings. How bright and beautiful and alive she was.
She stopped next to the fountain and lifted her face to the sky, her eyes closed. Tiny flakes of snow, nearly the same color as her skin, lifted in the wind from a branch of one of the nearby trees and landed on her cheeks and in her hair. Shawn wanted to be those flakes, to be the one slipping over her skin and tangling in her dark locks. He wanted to be the only one to know how that felt. It amazed him that after all this time and all the shit they'd gone through together already that he could feel this way.
She brought him to his knees. All six foot plus of him. Still. Always.
He would do anything, give up everything, for her. If only she'd let him.
After a moment of standing there with her eyes clenched shut, Camila opened them and stared up into the overcast sky. Her expression was still distant.
"I thought maybe it would feel the same," she said. "Coming here. I thought maybe it would remind me."
Shawn fought to keep himself rooted where he'd stopped. "Remind you of what?" he asked.
"How it felt before." Camila glanced around. "Before I forgot."
Shawn gripped his hair in frustration. "God, Mila, would you please tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Sometimes I regret it," she whispered.
"Regret what?"
"That night. Sometimes I regret that night," she said. "Sometimes I regret going to the party at all. Sometimes I regret going up to that bathroom with you. Sometimes I regret not taking the morning after pill. And sometimes I regret saying I want to keep the baby." Camila looked back at him and her cheeks were wet with snow and tears. "And I always, always feel absolutely awful for thinking any of it for even a second. But not even that stops the thoughts from coming, over and over and over again. It doesn't stop this horrible, aching wrongness lodged right here." She placed her open palm over her heart. "I'm trying so hard to be okay with it," she whispered. "To accept what I've done and the choices I've made and move on. I'm trying so hard to make the best of it and be happy. And sometimes I am. But sometimes ... sometimes I'm confused and sad and so incredibly pissed off that I can't think straight. And it's not fair. It's not fair to you. Or him." She placed her hand over her stomach. "It's not fair to anyone."
Shawn swallowed, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. "What are you saying, Mila?"
She lifted her hands and dropped them back to her sides. "I don't know," she said. "I just ... I miss me, you know? I miss how I used to feel and who I used to be. I miss my old life. I miss being a kid. I even miss my stupid parents." She shook her head. "I can hardly remember what it was like before, and I thought maybe coming here would help. Because that night was the last night I felt like me."
"Mila—"
"Do you know what I did today?" she interrupted. "I punched Ailee in the face for calling our son a bastard."
"What? She called him what?" A flare of heat ignited in Shawn's belly.
Camila didn't repeat the offensive term and continued on with her story. "I punched her, and it felt so good, you know? Like ... like I was finally me again. Like I was that sassy girl that didn't take any shit from anyone again. And then I got expelled from school—"
"What? How—"
"Well, technically I'm not expelled. But I am ... It's a long story and I don't want to get into it now, but it's not even that. It's everything. It's how everyone still stares at me when I walk down the hall. It's how people still call me names and talk about me behind my back and even right in front of my face sometimes. And I'm so tired, Shawn. I'm so tired." More tears streamed down her cheeks, and Shawn wanted to go to her so badly it was almost physically impossible to stop himself. "I just want to go back sometimes, you know? I want to go back and change it all so the looks and taunts and laughs will stop. I want to go back so I fit into all my clothes and don't have some grotesque, jagged map all over my skin. I want to take my boyfriend to a damn school dance and not worry about everyone staring at him because my asshole father charged him with rape! And I'd really, really like to not look like a beached whale while doing it!"
There were no words to express what Shawn was thinking or feeling. It had been obvious for a long time that the changes to Camila's body had really been bothering her, but he hadn't known the rest of it.
He hadn't known she regretted him.
Shawn looked down at the ground. Grey stone peeked out from beneath a thin layer of powdery snow, only disturbed by their footprints. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he stared, trying his hardest to push back the hurt building inside of him. He understood what she was saying, knew it hadn't been said to hurt him, but it had all the same.
"Don't you ever regret it?" Camila whispered.
"You know which part I regret, Mila." He lifted his gaze and she glanced away. "That's it. That's the only part I'll ever regret. I'll never regret you or our son. Not ever."
Camila swiped at the tears on her face and stared at the grayish-brown scenery surrounding them. "You think I'm horrible, don't you?"
"No. You know I don't."
"How can you not?" she said. "I do. I think I'm horrible."
Shawn couldn't take the distance between them any longer and took a few steps closer.
"Because I know you, and I know what kind of person you are. No, I don't understand this; I don't understand how hard this is for you, because I don't have to do what you do. I don't have to walk those halls with the evidence of what we did right there for anyone to see."
A tear fell over her cheek, and Shawn reached out to wipe it away, his hand pausing just before he touched her skin, waiting, begging her with his eyes to just let him. She paused for a moment, and then slowly, painfully slowly, she pressed her face against his palm. Relief washed over him as he brushed his thumb across her cheek and cradled her face in his hand.
"But as much as I can't do that," he continued, "I'm here with you. I'm right here." He grabbed her hand and laid it against his chest, covering it with his palm and holding it tight against him. "Every time you're upset, every time you cry, every time you hurt, I hurt too. I feel it too. And I wish I could take it away, but I can't. I can't do anything but this. I know it's not enough. I know. But it's all I've got. So, God, will you just let me do this?"
Camila's shoulders shook with a sob and she lunged forward, burying her face into Shawn's chest and grabbing the sides of his coat with her hands. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled in his coat. "I just feel so out of control, like I have no choice in anything anymore. Like all this stuff is happening and there's nothing I can do about any of it."
"I know." Shawn didn't say anything more, because he didn't have to. She knew he knew. They both knew.
Camila sniffed and turned her face to the side, resting her cheek against his heart. "I don't regret you," she said. "Sometimes I regret the way everything happened, but I've never regretted you."
Shawn closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in her scent and savoring the feel of her in his arms. "We're going to be okay, you know."
"How do you know? There's still so much not in our hands."
Shawn held her tighter. "Because I just do."
Camila pulled back and gazed up at him. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Why do I get the feeling you know something I don't?"
Optimism rose up inside of him. Now, now was the time to tell her. Now was the time to give both of them a little of the peace they both deserved.
Shawn grinned and bent to kiss her, his mouth lingering for a moment against hers as he tasted the saltiness of her tears on her lips. "Because I do," he whispered against her, kissed her again and pulled back.
Her eyes were full of questions and her mouth puckered into one of them, but no words escaped.
Shawn wrapped his arm around her and tucked her into his side. "Come on. Let's get out of the cold and I'll tell you everything."
As they started toward the tree line, Shawn glanced back once more at the cupid statue situated in the center of the fountain. It stood tall and proud, its arrow pointed right at them, symbolizing the way his feelings for Camila had pierced him, sharp and unrelenting, all those months ago. He was reminded once again what day it was and how he'd worried that he'd made a mistake in honoring her wishes to not celebrate a holiday she didn't believe in. But he knew now that wasn't exactly true. They were going to celebrate. They were going to celebrate the shit out of this day. Because, in his mind, there was no gift he could have bought, no bouquet of flowers as beautiful, no candy as sweet, no words or actions or dates as important or needed as what he was going to give her now, what he was going to give them both.
Hope.
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Author's Notes:
So, there's a whole lot of plot happening here. And yes, a teensy bit of fluff (you're welcome).
It seems as though when things are looking up for one member of our beloved twosome, it spirals for the other. But, we've got some good things happening!
And we've got some hurt.
Poor Camila. Really, these feelings she's having and suffering with are so true to pregnant women. They may seem petty and vain to those who have not been there, but we ALL feel it—at least some of it. And Camila is a very young girl, just barely getting her womanly body, only to have it altered so drastically.
Ailee needs to be punched in the face AGAIN and in the boob. Seriously. And before people complain she's just a cliché "Mean Girl," she's really not. Her issues stem from a place of jealousy (In the past, Camila was easily liked and accepted while she was not) and anger (the cheerleading stuff IS petty, but it is the only place Ailee has felt powerful). I'm not defending her, because I hate her, but just clarifying that she DOES have reasons, though convoluted and stupid.
For those wondering, Camila is just shy of 24 weeks, or 6 months, pregnant. We're getting there!
PS:
For all those inboxes and comments for my well-being, thank you so much my darlings. You guys are nothing short of being such wonderful beings, I feel blessed to have readers like you. I'm getting better, thank you.
xoxo
Bloomsbelle.