The Pretender - Cora Brent Page 0,4
precious second that the classroom misses out on her presence. I take my time making my way up from the back and when the driver hits the brakes a little too hard the bus pitches to a halt. I could have stopped myself from lurching forward but I don’t. I pretend like it’s an accident when I roll right against Camden’s back and get my hands around her waist to keep us both steady. Camden is one of the taller girls in our class, maybe only four or five inches below my six foot two height. That means when she turns to give me the stink eye she doesn’t have to crane her neck. Her hair smells like strawberries and bubble gum. I have a weird urge to bury my face in it.
Instead I take my hands off her waist and try out a polite act. “Gosh, so sorry about that.”
She clears her throat and whips her hair around so that a chunk of it smacks me on the cheek. I want that hair fanned out in my lap. I want to do appalling things to it even though I would guess that the very thought of a guy’s dick sliding into Camden’s neurotic rosebud mouth would probably make her pass the fuck out.
The door opens, Camden huffs out the word “Jackass” and then hurries moodily down the steps.
The driver only has one voice volume. “HAVE A MIRACULOUS DAY!” She waves a purple gloved hand at us.
Camden is already taking long strides toward the quad. If she’s trying to escape me then she’ll have to try harder. I deliberately keep pace two feet behind her. We’re halfway to the imposing double door entrance when she stops, spins and scowls.
“What the hell, Ben?”
She thinks I’m screwing with her on purpose.
Of course I am.
But we also have the same first class so I have every reason to travel in the exact same direction.
We’re now in the middle of the quad and highly visible to all the unseen eyes behind the many windows of the main building. I don’t know what it says about me that I enjoy pissing her off but I remain silent, smile my best Fuck You grin, and wait for her to turn around and keep walking. A few tense seconds pass while Camden tries to decide if I’m worth the effort of more shouting.
She finally sighs, flips her silly hair again and walks more slowly while I stay right in her shadow.
She’s mad that I’m following her.
She’s mad that she failed to hide her delight when she caught me checking her out.
She’s mad that I fucking exist.
Tough shit.
There are plenty of things that I’m mad about too.
Camden
My first inkling that the day is destined for trouble is when I drop my toast (butter side down) on my only clean skirt.
Adela instantly tries to rise from the table, already advising that a sprinkle of baking soda will help, but I order her to sit back down. My stepmother falls back into her chair, too worn out to argue, while I scan the shallow pantry shelves.
She nibbles at a dry cracker. “Frankie needs to wake up. He’ll be late again.”
Her voice is always gentle, forever layered with musical hints of a Spanish accent that she hasn’t lost after nearly fifteen years in the states. The only time I ever hear her yell is while cheering for my stepbrother Francisco at his wrestling matches.
I locate the bright yellow box I’ve been searching for. “He’s awake. I hear the shower running. Before I leave I’ll make sure he’s keeping an eye on the clock.”
Holding the edge of my skirt over the sink is awkward. The greasy butter stain fades after being peppered with baking soda and dabbed with a wet paper towel. I’ve created a wet patch but it’ll dry. I smooth my skirt down and notice Adela is frowning at me. The soft blue head wrap she wears much of the time has slipped an inch and my heart squeezes at the sight of her bare scalp.
“You need new skirts, Cam.”
I know that. Most girls on the cusp of eighteen have long finished growing but puberty found me late. I’ve gained two inches since last spring when my dad shelled out more cash for school uniforms. That was before Adela’s diagnosis, before the permanent hollow rings appeared beneath my father’s eyes, before the woman who has been a beloved mother to me in every way became too sick to work her