The Pretender - Cora Brent Page 0,46
there for a while and watch the shadows change. No one has heard me screaming or even knows that I’m here. I don’t think I’ve ever been as physically isolated as I am right now. But it makes no difference. I’ve already been alone for a long time. That’s what matters.
I’m not sure of the time when I climb down the peak and make my way to the parking lot but the sun has disappeared behind clouds again and I would guess that it’s sometime in the late afternoon.
If the camera guy was still at the lookout point I’d ask him but he’s long gone. I promised my mother I’d have the car back in the carport so I gas it up and return to the shabby little house where my mother has tried her best to make a home for me. She doesn’t always make the right choices but she has suffered too. She still suffers. I should try to remember that more often.
She’s sitting at the kitchen table and she doesn’t look surprised to see me when I quietly enter and place the keys back on their nail beside the door. We stare at each other for a long moment and I can tell her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying at some point today and might cry again.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I tell her.
She nods. “Darren is gone. I told him to go and not come back.”
“Good. You deserve better.”
She tries to smile. “Do you want dinner? I could cook you something.”
I check the digital stove clock. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get to work pretty soon.”
“Oh.” She chews at the chapped corner of her lower lip and looks at the surface of the table where I smashed Dirtbag’s face this morning. “I’m really tired. I’ll probably be asleep when you get home.”
“Okay.” I’ve got one foot out the door when she calls me back.
“Ben?” She’s digging around in her purse and comes up with a wrinkled ten dollar bill, which she carries over to me. “Get yourself something to eat.”
“Will do.”
As I pocket the money I’m sure that there’s a chance being wasted here. A chance to talk about the things my mother and I never really talk about. Like my dad. We never talk about him.
She lowers her head and turns away. “Bye.”
I shut the door behind me and for the second time today I’m halfway down the block when I realize I’ve left my phone behind. Again.
Fuck it.
People got along just fine for centuries before they were welded to their stupid phones. And I won’t have any messages from anyone I care about hearing from right now. Because Camden is the only one I really want to hear from and she doesn’t have my cell number because I’m a jackass who never thought to give it to her.
She’s not scheduled to work at Dee’s today and I have no clue if she took the first after school bus. If she did, then she’s probably already at home. And I know where her house is. I walked her there once. I kissed her goodnight at her front door and then ran home feeling like I’d just won the fucking World Series or something.
With this thought in mind I change direction, hop two chain link fences and cut across the empty Devil Valley High field. Some kids are clustered together beneath the bleachers, probably doing something illegal. “Beltran!” one of them bellows but it’s not Camden’s voice and so I act like I don’t hear.
Five minutes later I’ve just rounded the corner of Camden’s street when I see something that makes every ounce of the blood in my veins turn to ice.
And then, an instant later, to murderous fury.
Camden
Ben is all I can think about when I wake up after a fitful night. I don’t expect that we’ll hug it out at the bus stop after yesterday’s terrible fight but I can’t stand the way we left things.
And I know the next move needs to be mine.
Apparently as I sit at the kitchen table with my elbows propped up while glaring into my orange juice glass I look wretched enough for Frankie to notice. As he snatches his English muffin from the toaster he says, “What’s the matter, Cam? You get a B on a test?”
“No.” I make a face at him. My dad left for work hours ago and Adela returned to bed after I assured her I’d make sure Frankie got