The Pretender - Cora Brent Page 0,18
on the bus and one of them is Camden. While we’re always on the same bus in the morning we often leave at different times after school. This time of year I don’t have baseball practice so I usually catch the first bus after school ends. I figure she probably takes a later bus after she’s finished ordering everyone around at the Bulletin. I’ve never asked and I don’t really care.
She’s got her head down at the moment and it looks as if she’s writing something. All of a sudden, as if she can sense my attention, she turns around and gives me a frank stare. I stare right back at her.
We’re going to be working together tonight, which tends to be both interesting and irritating. Interesting because she’s fun to look at and irritating because she’s bossy as shit. Friday nights are typically busy. Diane Cushing has been filling in for her husband while he recuperates. She had asked me if I could handle the place until closing tonight with only Camden around to help.
Of course I can.
Even if working with Camden makes me want to tear my hair out occasionally I would never let the Cushings down. They’ve been good to me; giving me the job, working around my schedule, handing out extra hours because they know I really need the cash. They are great people. For them I’ll even put up with Camden’s overbearing attitude and act happy about it.
Camden stares at me for another few seconds and there’s something calculating about the look on her face. It’s not a sex-me-up kind of look. I can spot those from half a block a way. No, it’s more like she’s considering scooping my brains out and examining the contents under a microscope.
I give her a wink, just to fuck with her a little, which is enough to make her swivel around and face front again. She fluffs her hair and returns to her notebook. This brief exchange has rushed enough blood to my dick to make me wish I had time to stop at home and jerk off before reporting to work.
The bus rumbles along the road down to Devil Valley. The driver sings along with the radio.
“Come on, guys, join in!” she shouts to us before breaking into the chorus of Frosty the Snowman. Camden is the only one who cooperates and even though she sings softly it sounds as if she might have a decent voice.
I should use this time to do my homework but I don’t feel like it so I stare out the window. A light dusting of snow fell last night and I guess it makes everything look all nice and festive but I never get excited about the holidays anymore.
Last night my mom asked what I want for Christmas and I told her I didn’t want a thing. I don’t know why she asked. She can’t even make rent these days without help from my paycheck. But then her face became sad and I wondered if she was remembering the old days when this time of year meant a ten foot professionally decorated tree lighting up the foyer of the house and knowing that the vast collection of presents underneath it would take forever to open. I can remember more than one Christmas morning when my dad surprised her with keys to a new car or a new boat, which would be waiting in the driveway with a giant red ribbon. Later in the day, after I’d finished tearing the paper from dozens of expensive gifts, the three of us would go out on the bay or take a drive up the coast. Those golden days seem like they happened to someone else on a distant planet and I wish I’d appreciated them more.
Without warning the bus skids on a curve and my forehead smacks into the cold window glass.
“Fuck.” I rub my head and wonder what the hell else can go wrong today.
Moments later the bus rolls through the center of Devil Valley and pulls up to the corner stop.
Camden is already standing and chatting with the driver. Something about a church potluck and two hundred handmade napkin holders. They laugh together as if they are best friends. I’ve got to admit, while Camden is not fantastically popular among people our age, she does seem to have everyone over the age of thirty wrapped around her little finger. The Black Mountain teachers worship her, the Cushings adore her, and even the