“A Last Name . . .”

The school’s air conditioner seemed to be in the frits, stuttering like a socially awkward person; the heat exhaustion caused heavily sweating students to raise their hands to answer a question by asking one: “May I open a window?” Of course the teachers would nod easily, or sometimes give approval by fanning themselves with a folded piece of paper, book or their own hand.

Often students would notice their teachers wavering agreements and either give a slight smile or chuckle. Camille was lucky enough to have her first few classes with broad, tall windows. Each window would be unlatched from its rusty lock and pushed open, the subtle breeze would flourish in whilst bringing relief to panting teenagers as the dry air stuck to their damp skin. Camille had rolled up the sleeves of her button up shirt and pushed back her bangs.

The class periods seemed to pass by slowly, as if someone from above found this extremely hysterical. Like it was sadistic punishment . . .

By Camille’s lunch period, she sauntered her way past sneering groups in the cramped hallway, mentally lecturing herself that it was idiotic to wear jeans rather than shorts. Outwardly she was headed towards Jennifer’s kicked in locker�"their usual spot for meeting before they went out to the courtyard to eat their homemade lunch.

Jennifer was unwinding the combination on her lock nonchalantly; Camille stopped walking once she was by Jennifer’s side. “Hey,” Camille smiled easily while feeling her fingers pry at the jean fabric clinging to her plump thighs. Jennifer glanced over casually, plastering a smile on her olive face.

“Happy birthday,” Jennifer slightly sang in a gleeful manner once she released the lock and opened her locker�"receiving her paper bag lunch. “Charlie was here today, he told me to tell you congrats on turning sixteen right before he was called down to the nurse.”

Shutting her locker, Jennifer intertwined her arm with Camille’s as they strolled down the long hallway before pushing open the glass double doors and heading outside. Camille awkwardly kept looking at her flip-flops and at Jennifer’s retro glasses continuously.

“Really? Did he say why he had to go to the nurse?” Barely knowing this boy, Camille made it apparent how concerned she was.

Jennifer shook head, getting to her knees as she adjusted herself to lean against the tree trunk under the shade; Camille held her jaw open for quite a while before noticing and closing it. “Well . . . that sucks . . . maybe, maybe we could ask when we see him again?” Camille furrowed her eyebrows down in curiosity, almost seeking reassurance and agreement.

There had been no conversation for quite a while, leaving room for anyone else to jump in and say something snarky. As Camille was taking slow bites out of her deli sandwich, a group of cocky males walked past, calling out to Jennifer. “Hey Miss. Woods! What kind of Asian last name is that?” They burst out in laughter before choosing a circular table and talking obnoxiously loud.

Wistful, Jennifer popped off the lid of her Snapple and snickered to herself idly, “. . . a last name.”

Rolling her chocolate eyes, Camille reached over to pat Jennifer’s leg before splitting in half a homemade cookie, “their such jerks, it’ll come back on them though . . . someday . . .” as much as Camille wanted to be insightful and make Jennifer feel better, she didn’t know how hopeful she made herself sound.

Not very, by the way Jennifer compelled a half smile and stared longingly down at Camille’s offering.

“It’s cool, you’re right, they’re nimrods and we probably won’t even see them again in the future,” Jennifer looked doubtful as if she had rehearsed lines like those before and still couldn’t convince herself to believe it.

Half smiling like Jennifer did, Camille folded her hands in her lap and looked up at the tree branches and the orange leaves; it was fall and pretty soon she would expect her father to be out in the yard raking leaves and making sure pesky rodents didn’t ruin his flowerbed.

When the lunch hour ended, everybody resigned to their classes and completed the school day full of energy again. When the bell rung to let out students to go hang out or get early to their part time job . . . Camille stood at the curb of the grand sidewalk, books huddled to her flat chest as she watched several teenagers of the student body get in cars and drive off to their next destination.

Camille couldn’t drive, not until she was seventeen and understood the full concept of responsibility; Jennifer’s parents were a bit more angular on the subject. So instead they would unchain their bikes and ride off to the creek at the back of Camille’s house, trying to find some form of entertainment rather than doing essays and unsolvable math equations.

Only today was a bit different, she couldn’t just skip rocks and gently stroke the petals of blossomed daisy’s and take photos with Jennifer, Camille had to get to work early today . . . the reason was still unclear.

So as she waited for Jennifer, knowing she accidentally forgot to tell her earlier at lunch�"her own thoughts muddled by Charlie, and if he was okay�"she swiveled around swiftly as the same guys from earlier swooshed past, a gust of air making her thick hair flap around, as they scornfully glowered at Camille.

“Hey braceface,” the leader of the group said, laughing vigorously.

Jennifer was jogging�"not too far behind the guys�"with her hands busy tying her hair back. “Hey! Sorry I’m late! Some couple was snogging at my locker,” revulsion spread across Jennifer’s face as she gave away a wry smile.

Tilting her upper body back slightly, Camille giggled at Jennifer’s facial expression before proceeding with what she kept repeating in her mind, “I can’t hang out today, I mean I could, but I’d probably get fired . . .” Camille bit her bottom lip and watched Jennifer devour the information.

“Early shift, again? God why didn’t they just tell you on Sunday they’d need you early for the entire week? Don’t they know you have friends too?” Jennifer rest her hands on Camille’s slumped shoulders before giving her a quick hug. “Well . . . call me when you get done and I’ll come over and we can celebrate your birthday, afterwards? Okay? I love you, and watch out for speeding cars! God knows why we have to let moronic teenagers drive cars like lunatic goons at two-thirty.”

“Okay, okay,” Camille messed up Jennifer’s mocha brown hair, laughing slightly, “no need to rant! Just wait for the generation after us, they’re assumed to be divas . . . y’know . . . with the whole salon treatments nowadays, they’re more pampered than we are,” Camille stuck her tongue out at Jennifer before freeing her bike of claustrophobic misery and fled, being extremely cautious of any distracted drivers.

 

 

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Target was superbly busy that Thursday afternoon, Camille couldn’t really understand why although she did take into account that maybe there were several birthdays today, like her very own. While absentmindedly scanning items and ringing up the prices, she barely looked up at faces . . . she did this often, as if she secluded herself from all humanity while she pondered about nothing for hours.

It was when she saw a big box of Advil and long pallid fingers that she casually glanced up for no noticeable reason, unable to find the logic behind the immense knots in her stomach.

She recognized the moss eyes and gelled auburn hair, a smile was plastered on her lips when she looked down at the box and scanned it for him.

Charlie Goddfrey.

Casually Camille looked behind Charlie, pleased to see no one was waiting behind him�"this was probably the perfect time for her to start conversation.

To ask that one question . . .

“So, Jenny told me you left school early . . . why?” Mentally slapping herself, Camille noted she sounded like every other nosy, prodding student at their school but Charlie didn’t seem to mind.

“I have a condition, with the sun,” he smirked and handed over the necessary cash to pay for the pain relievers, trying not to stare at Camille’s hand which held onto the box tightly.

“Oh . . . well . . . I hope it isn’t serious or anything,” Camille smiled awkwardly before placing the box in a small plastic bag and handing it to Charlie.

Nodding, Charlie wrapping the handles around his fragile wrist and stepped to the side, “well, I’ll see you around sometime and maybe we can continue this conversation.”

Then he left, with that simple yet bewildering goodbye.

Camille’s heart felt like it was stuck in her throat for the rest of her lonesome, gloomy shift.