Almost no one knows about the goldfish she had when she was seven. It was five tickets at the fair and she can't remember what she named it. She fed him twice a day, every day, and spent nearly every waking hour with him. When he'd died after three weeks of companionship, she decided she would never get another pet. No animal was worth so much love and so many tears if they never lasted.
She was too young to understand that humans don't last either.
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Her father had given her that goldfish. Maybe he'd just left to find her a new one.
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While quite a few people heard of her scandal with the boy from Roseville, they didn't realize (and, truthfully, she didn't realize either) that he was like her goldfish. She'd given up a lot to be a dutiful girlfriend to a boy that could never understand her. When he had left, she knew (really knew) that people, too, weren't always worth the love they received. Not if they were going to leave.
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She was still waiting for that new fish.
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No one knew how reluctantly she gave this new boy the time of day. He seemed dangerous to her, and not the dangerous he claimed to be - he seemed like a boy she could love, if she tried. Too many people were already recipients of her love (her entire school was like a family to her, which was hard enough, but she knew those girls wouldn't leave her; they couldn't). She feared that extending her heart any further would only cause it to shatter.
But staying away was hard when he was such a curiousity. How is it even possible to be born with eyes like those?
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Her father would laugh if he saw her. He might also cry a little.
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Everyone knew what had happened that election night in Washington - there were important people present, and there were guns, and there were injuries. A few people even knew how close she had come to dying that night. But only one other person knew that icy fear in her stomach when the gunman had looked at him and said You?
That same person couldn't possibly know how utterly relieved she was to discover later that he wasn't a double agent, and that he wouldn't be leaving her just yet.
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She should/would/could never admit it, but a piece of her heart may/may not have been extended to a boy that seemed anything but permanent.
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People saw her when she found his grave, and people knew that she had tried to dig through the snow and dirt with bloodied fingers just to see him, to find him, to ask did you get me a new fish? I said I didn't want one, but I would've been happy if you got one anyway. Where else could you have been if you weren't finding one for me? Daddy?
People knew her agony.
But she didn't remember anyone else being there besides him.
And he'd taken her in his arms and muttered I'm sorry Cammie, I'm so so sorry over and over until she could hear the words past the pounding in her ears, in her head, in her heart. He held onto her until she was home and then found her that night and held her again.
And no one knew what a comfort he was to a girl so battered.
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For all they didn't know, everyone around her knew she loved him. And for all she didn't know, she knew he wasn't leaving anytime soon.
And that was good enough for her.