Chapter Two: Horrible Truths and Greetings
How does it feel
To treat me like you do
When you've laid laid your hands upon me
And told me who you are
I thought I was mistaken
I thought I heard your words
Tell me how do I feel
Tell me now how do I feel
Those who came before me
Lived through their vocations
From the past until completion
They will turn away no more
(Blue Monday-New Order)
~Cammie Morgan, Boston Kaiser Permamente~
I dreamed of my father. We were playing a duet-Heart and Soul-glancing at each other as we played.
When the song finished, he pulled me into his side and kissed my temple.
"The secret of success is to be in harmony with existence, to be always calm to let each wave of life wash us a little farther up the shore," he whispers into my ear.
"What do you mean, Dad?" I ask, letting his warm presence fill me, drink it in before I had to let go, again.
"Life is not an easy path to venture, but you have to go through it with your head held high and a warm soul to pull you through. You will remember what I say, yes?" he asks and I nod.
His soft light brown hair and sea green eyes shimmer in the light and I have to ask a question that I was too afraid to ask while he was alive.
"Dad…why does mom hate me? don't tell me she doesn't…because I know she does," I lean over the piano bench in anticipation as he turns to play a lullaby he used to play when I was little. It always calmed my nerves and stopped the flow of my tears.
It was his silent way of telling me he loves me, and to not be afraid.
Or to shut up, but the aforementioned sounds subtler.
After a moment of silence he says, "She was ambitious. She lived for dance much like you," his long fingers fly over the keys and it seems almost automatic of how all of his emotions are represented in his playing.
The sound is sad, yet faithful. Beautiful yet pain is ebbed between those chords.
"Once that was taken away from her, it destroyed her. Not to sound melodramatic, but it killed her entire being, way of life."
I closed my eyes but reopened them in fear that he would disappear if I did so for too long.
"Cammie," he says and I look back towards him and notice he is no longer playing, "I want you to be different. If such a thing were to ever happen to you, I want you to find beauty in the other things in life. I want you to discover happiness in everything you do…" he stops and looks ahead, "Your mother could not find happiness or love in anything else…I was…lost in her eyes."
My eyes widen in surprise at this, "Dad.."
"You remember what I said earlier, yes?" he asks turning back to brush his fingers over the top of the piano.
"Yes…" I say almost pained.
I wasn't alone. I wasn't the only one no longer loved.
My father was also blamed…
It was all your fault, Cammie. Yours alone.
"I'm so sorry, Dad," I reached for his hand that lay on his thigh when he shook his head.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Cammie," he says quietly, "If anyone, I should be sorry."
He started to play a C-Note over and over in a steady beat.
Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.
"Why?" I ask incredulously.
"Because I've failed to protect you."
Before I could deny him, his image disappeared and with a deep inhale of air I didn't know I'd been holding, I woke up to the same sound as before.
Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.
Thump Thump.
"Hurry with the morphine, she's becoming conscious again…no not too much, we need her conscious."
I tried to open my eyes, and when I did, translucent lights blinded me for a few seconds before they adjusted.
The next events came in a flash as I felt my head pounding, my right leg was held up in a sling and it felt like acid flowed through my veins. I glanced down to look at it and saw that my knee was swollen to the size of a cantaloupe. My other leg felt numb and when I tried to move it, I yelped at the sharp pain that was met with my feeble attempts. Both of my wrists were in braces and an IV was stitched into my right arm. Then I realized that there were several other IVs and machines monitoring me.
Thump Thump Thump .
Thump Thump Thump.
"Ms. Morgan? We need you to take deep, calm breaths now. I'm Dr. Ricci and you are in the ICU at Kaiser Permanente," the doctor says and I nod, still pretty drowsy.
"What…what happened?" I ask and my throat feels scratchy and dry.
"You were found in a dance room on the floor by your friend Victoria Walters," he says sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed and it makes me sad to know that there's no one here to wait for me in that chair.
And I felt compelled to tell this Dr. Ricci guy that Victoria Walters was not my friend.
But that wouldn't have been very good.
It must be the drugs talking.
"What…What's wrong with me?" I ask with a gulp and remember my dad's words.
"Because I've failed to protect you."
The doctor sighs, I'm guessing he was going to sugar coat this part before I asked.
"Let's go down the list then, shall we?" he asks exasperated and reaches for the chart at my feet, "You have a pretty darn good concussion, both of your wrists are sprained, you had a tiny crack in your 7th rib on the right side that we were permitted to go through surgery when you first arrived, you've fractured your left tibia, and tore your ACL in the right leg and broke three toes in your right foot."
I gasped at how long that list was and tears filled my eyes. Ignoring the numbing pain, I brought one hand up to my mouth and cried.
How could this have happened? I've fallen while on point plenty of times…but, nothing this bad has ever happened.
"Frankly, you're lucky that you didn't puncture your lung and there are no signs of internal bleeding. We did and MRI and CT scan for your concussion and it looks like the inflammation is down…"
He proceeds to ask me different questions, like my name, where I go to school, when I was born and where I grew up. I answer all of them so he resulted that I didn't show symptoms of amnesia or head trauma.
Then he informs me that not only did they perform surgery on my rib, but also my left leg that now had pins holding my tibia together and a hard cast in place as well as a Velcro torso brace for my rib.
"But, your school insurance does not cover for an ACL reconstruction surgery, which is what I would recommend for you," he says pulling the clipboard down to look at me. he adjust his glasses and sighs.
"We've contacted your mother who lives in Boston. She would not give consent over the phone so we asked her to come down to the hospital."
My breathing hitched and fear crawled up my spine. She would be here. She would come and see me…broken and vulnerable. She would tell me what a disappointment I was. How worthless I am.
Dr. Ricci reached out for my left arm and I immediately flinched. I looked up at him in horror as red flashed between my eyes.
Her rage was apparent as she grabbed a belt from the closet and whipped it across my back, stomach, legs, arms…
"Ms. Morgan…everything personal that we discuss here is confidential, you know this, yes?" he asks and for a moment it reminds me of my father.
I whisper a "yes," because it hurts to nod my head.
"On the X-Rays…we saw a history of muscle bruises and gashes on your back, and abdomen…now at first my partners and I believed it was just do to the fact that you are a dancer and that you dance intensively at Armonia School for the Youth…but I've had such patients who are dancers and their scars don't…well, they don't show signs of struggle or are nearly as deep as your scar tissues."
My face hardens, a mask if you will, as I realize what he's suggesting.
"Ms. Morgan, you can confide in me. Has your mother been abusing you?" I flinch at his words and he says, "even if you deny, I can clearly see the signs. You flinch in you sleep, did you know that? If you weren't injured and if you weren't held down, you would've crawled into a fetal position during surgery. Your subconscious was trying to protect you, which tells me that this has been going on for some time," he looks down at the chart again and looks up, "You looked petrified when I mentioned your mother and you flinched when I tried to check the IV fluid in your arm just now."
I look down and close my eyes.
I have to deny it. I have to deny everything.
"I'm not being abused by my own mother Dr. Ricci!" I clench my jaw and take deep breaths, "I'm merely a huge klutz, that's all. That's how I got all of these injuries. I made a mistake and tripped over my own two feet," I would've thrown my arms in the air, but…well, you know.
"Ms. Morgan…" Dr. Ricci sighs and I realize he does that a lot. He looks exhausted when he says, "Your accident was no accident. Security cameras show a blurred figure rubbing off the wax of the glass floors and mopping water afterwards, coincidentally before you walk into the studio. The figure reappears by the window and watches you as you dance and slip on the damp floor then disappears. Ms. Morgan, your accident was planned."
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
"Cammie darling…I'm afraid you won't be able to come to practice for awhile," Miss Jacques says.
"But that's not possible!" I say when I actually realize the result of my injuries, "I have the auditions in two weeks, and I need to practice for the winter and spring performances! I have several scouts coming to watch," I beg her but my voice gives out at the end. She hands me a glass of water and I down it within seconds.
"I know, lassie, but a fractured leg, torn ACL…even if it does heal properly you…you won't be able to dance this year," Miss Jacques sits down on the side of my bed.
I feel a tear slip down my cheek and quickly wipe it away, "What am I supposed to do? Dance is my Art Major and the scholarship-"
"Hush, Cammie, Principal Buckingham and the Boards will schedule a meeting to figure out all of this," she looks down and says, "Not to seem like I favor certain students, but, these past six years has given me the honor of being your dance teacher. I see all of you girls more like daughters to me," her French accent is heavy as she speaks.
"God knows I've accumulated more white hairs than I can count after all these years, but to see one of you get hurt like this…and so young," she takes in a deep breath and smooths back my hair.
"All will be fine in the end, Lassie," she pats my cheek and stands to leave the hospital room.
I turn away from her as she steps out the door. I stare intently out of the hospital window and just…think.
No more dance.
To me, that's unthinkable.
I've been dancing since the mere age of three. Fifteen years of my life…just, wasted. And my scholarship? My dreams? All of my life's ambitions.
The blood, sweat, and tears that I've spilled for the incredibly beautiful sport will be for what?
Nothing.
I wanted to cry out loud. I wanted to stomp my foot on the ground and tell them that I wouldn't quit. I would never quit. I wanted to ball my fists and punch someone, something, anything.
I wanted to rewind today. I wanted to go back before I got up early to get Northside Studio B to myself, I wanted to rewind before I broke down in front of Zach.
But it was too late. The world was still moving forward, even if in slow motion.
Everything stopped for a moment as the door to the hospital room slammed open, my mother stormed in, Dr. Ricci trailing behind, and me…well, that's when I finally found my ability to cry.
"I'm s-sorry mom! I'm…sorry!" I cried and touched one of my bandaged wrist to my bandaged forehead.
But she wasn't paying attention to me. No, she was arguing with Dr. Ricci.
"Give us a moment alone!" my mother shouted.
"It would be best if I stay in here to go over her injuries with the both of you," Dr. Ricci suggests.
"She is my daughter, and I will sue your ass and this damned hospital if you do not give us moments of privacy," she spits in his face. No, not literally.
Dr. Ricci looks to me and back to my mother and picks up my clipboard, "I can only give you five minutes before we start Cammie on her next cycle of IVs, and then we will discuss the issue of the ACL reconstruction surgery, plus rehab for the next 6 to 9 months."
Six to nine months?
My mother agrees halfheartedly and practically slams the door in his face. She stalks towards me slowly. Her dark brown hair is in a bun and she wears jeans and a loose T-shirt. Her cane makes thumps as she comes to the side of my bed, towering over me and gazing at my broken body.
Her face gives nothing away as she says, "You were not supposed to get injured like this."
I flinch slightly under her gaze but it causes pain since the pain meds are wearing off.
"I'm so sorry mom. I was dancing but then slipped while-"
"YOU STUPID GIRL!" she yells and makes a fist in front of her face, "This is all your damn fault!"
I try to close my eyes, I want to close my eyes or look away from her, but my gaze is fixated on her. I can't look away because I know the consequences.
There are so many painful consequences.
She paces for a bit but then stops abruptly in front of me and points her finger at me, "You will dance again. Once you get the fucking surgery, you will go straight back to that school, you will dance and regain your strength, and you will go to Julliard, and you better fucking get to Broadway."
"But Dr. Ricci said rehab will take-"
"FORGET ABOUT DAMN DR. RICCI! YOU DON'T NEED NO FUCKING REHAB!"
I flinch back into the confines of my hospital bed and the tears come freely now.
And I hate that I let myself cry in front of her. It makes me feel even weaker than I already am.
And I hate it.
She grips her cane tighter, "I'm the one who needs rehab and Physical Therapy," she eyes me again and says, "Don't fail me, girl."
The creaking of the door alerted us of my nurse's presence. My mother told us to give us a minute until they drugged me up again. So my mother turned back to me, "I'll go talk to that doctor about the insurance. The money is coming out of your savings account," she sneers and turns out the door.
But, she stops and turns back one last time, "I'll come visit in one month. If these damn doctors are keeping you in PT and rehab and you are NOT dancing…I'm dragging your crippled ass back home so I can get your fat butt working."
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
It was a good thing that I was on the first floor of the dorm. Being a senior, we get first pick at any of the rooms in the building. The bottom floor room are bigger, come with our own bathrooms, and has a great view of the Southside Masen Theater that always held performances, practices, auditions, and the Friday Movie Nights.
I was currently waiting in the hospital room in a wheel cast on my left leg, a brace for my swollen right leg, broken rib, and sprained wrists.
Apparently, when my leg on point buckled forward, that put strain on my ACL as well as the momentum from my turning torso. My left leg, which was in a bent position as I fell, landed first before my back hit the ground, bending it in a weird position as I fell. Instincts took over as I tried to break my fall, my hands going behind me to break my fall before my head hit the glass, but obviously not enough to give me less than a mild concussion.
That's what they got from security cameras.
But there had been someone else on the security tapes. It was an old edition of security cameras, too fuzzy to make out the face. The person was tall, wearing unisexual clothes that were too baggy to really tell if it was a girl or boy. They wore a hood, working quickly until rushing out once hearing me open the door to the studio.
It looked suspicious; at least that was what they told me.
Macey, Bex, and Liz had called myself yesterday after the nurse gave me my daily doses of medicine. They wish they could come and visit me in the hospital, but of course, they had to go to classes. Macey would be auditioning, Bex would be showcasing her art work from the summer, and Liz would be entering her compositions to compete for the winter performance.
And what would I be doing?
I still don't know.
I would be going back to school today, rest in my room until I met with Buckingham and the rest of the Board tomorrow morning.
I could already tell that the next week would be hell.
And there were my mother's threats to consider.
What would I do if they refused to let me practice after my surgery in a week? Of course I would need a couple of days to recuperate, but then I would need to be back at the school fitness center. I would need to be back and in that dance room with the other seniors or else…I would lose the scholarship.
Then I would go back home to mother.
No, that can't happen.
"Cam?" the door opens and I see Josh walk through the door. "I'm here to pick you up," he says and stands nervously beside my wheelchair.
"Oh, thanks," I say and he nods slightly.
After a moment of awkward silence I fidget with the clothes they found in my dance bag the day of the accident. I wore my favorite sweatpants and one of my dad's shirts.
"Look…we need to talk," Josh says and sits in the chair next to me.
"About what?" I ask curiously and felt my eyes water again at those dreadful words a girl could ever hear her boyfriend say.
"I can't do this anymore," he starts off and I rub my sweaty fingers against my sweatpants. "We need to break up."
I wipe at my wet eyes and ask, "Why?"
"Because I don't love you anymore. It's been like this for awhile now, you know. And now that you're…you're like…this," he gestures toward my crippled body that even I don't recognize as my own.
"I didn't mean why are you breaking up with me!" I yell and he freezes, "Why now. I know you've been cheating on me. Why now? When I'm…like this!" I turn away from him and close my eyes tight so he wouldn't see the turmoil of emotions in them.
"Because I can't deal with a disabled girlfriend! You can't dance anymore…" he shrugs and says, "You're kind of worthless now. And I can't…can't deal with this. It's not my burden. You're not my burden anymore."
He laughs and says, "Now whenever I'm with some other girl your face won't be haunting me."
"I'm sure I was the farthest from your mind while you slept around. Don't pretend that you cared," I mutter and felt another knot tightening in my chest, "I really did love you in the beginning," I say and he just smirks a bit, "Now I know what a pretentious bastard you are."
His smirk falls and he gets out of his chair.
"Be grateful I even gave your ugly face the time of day, bitch."
The door slams behind him as I stare out the window to see the last signs of summer fade into a new Fall.
Sobs break through me, but they're not for Josh. They're for what my life has become in a mere three days. Things are changing rapidly and I can barely keep myself above water.
I roll myself over to retrieve my bag with all of my medicines inside. I reach for my phone and call for a taxi to pick me up, making sure that they can wheel my wheelchair inside the van.
I go down to the reception desk and check out of the hospital. They give me a pamphlet about the procedures and how to prepare before and after my ACL reconstruction surgery scheduled in a week.
Once the taxi van arrives and they manage to get me inside, I take out my phone to call Macey to meet me at Armonia in front of our dorm building.
I'll be there Cam. Again, I'm so sorry. ~M
No need to be. ~C
I sigh and lean back into the seat of the taxi and close my eyes.
I take a moment to regain my thoughts before I go back to Armonia. Knowing that there was someone there that had to absolutely hate my guts, frightened me. I never personally did anything to anyone. I tried to stay out of the way, watching silently maybe.
I didn't want more heartache. I got enough of that at home during holidays. I didn't want to stand out too much, and though I was recognized as one of the top dancers Armonia has had, I was never very popular. People have heard of me, they see me around, but I kept to myself. Never boasting my passion for the sport I love.
But when I arrived at Armonia, peace was the opposite of what I got. I had a furious mother at home, just a couple hundred miles away. My boyfriend of two years used me and dumped me.
And the worst part?
I could no longer go to my happy place. I no longer had a safe haven within Northside Studio B. I could no longer just slip on my pointe shoes and lose myself in the music.
I was broken.
When I was able to get myself out of the van and into my wheelchair, I maneuvered along the path to get to my dorm. I could feel there stares as I rolled by.
I heard comments such as: 'That's really too bad. I heard she won't be able to dance again.' Or, 'It serves her right. She was just as much of a bitch as Victoria.'
But I felt too numb to stop and yell at them for unwanted sympathy, harsh words…or the truth.
Because I dreaded the truth.
I wouldn't bring myself to think about it because I know I'm not prepared to face it yet.
I just…can't.
Luckily, Macey was right in front of the dorm when I got there, just as she promised. I really wished that I could meet with Bex and Liz too, but just because I'm in a wheelchair didn't change the fact that Victoria would still find out. That if I had any chance at recovery and putting everything behind me, I couldn't risk it.
It was for the best, even though it hurt.
My dance bag that was in my lap started to feel like rocks against my thighs and it got harder and harder to breathe.
"Cammie!" Macey came running over in her combat boots, ballet tights under cotton short and a T-shirt. Her hair was tied into a messy bun and her nose ring reflected off the sun.
I didn't realize she was crying until she managed to hug me around the shoulders while I was still sitting in the wheelchair.
"Oh my God, you don't know how scared I was when I found you on the floor unconscious!" she cries and I hug her back as best I can without putting myself in too much pain.
Her own backpack falls into my lap and I grunt with the extra weight.
"Mace!" I cry and she jumps back.
"God, I'm sorry…I don't do well with injured people…I forget my own strength and I don't want to…move anything or whatever," she grimaces and I laugh a bit.
"Don't be scared of the cripple, Mace," I say flatly, "it's still me, just in a wheelchair."
She shakes her head, "Still, I don't want to hurt you."
"It's too late for that anyways," I shrug and she scowls at me for being so blunt.
Whatever, I tell it like it is.
"Let me take your bag," she says throwing it over one shoulder and grabbing the handles on my wheelchair and pushing us through the door to our room.
I sigh with relief as we enter our room and Macey rolls me over to the bed.
"So, I bought some extra pillows for you just in case if you need some to prop up your legs or something," she says nonchalantly as I stare blankly at the mountain of pillows stacked on my bed.
I turn to her and ask, "The Senator?"
She rolls her eyes and says, "Yes, the Senator paid for this," she laughs and says, "I ask 'Daddy Dearest' for pillows for my injured roommate and he starts this monologue about my incompetence and 'dance is not a career'."
I grunt in disgust since in the inside I can sympathize with her and our mommy-daddy-issues. Plus, I just don't want to talk right now.
I adjust the pillows a bit before I grip the side of the bed to face plant onto my soft bed.
So much better than hospital beds.
"Mmm," I sigh contently and Macey snickers.
"I could've helped, you know," she raises a brow as I maneuver my limp legs to rest on the pillows and lay on my back.
"I can get around myself," I roll my eyes, "You know me: independent."
Plus I needed to improve before mother comes in a month.
I think to myself.
"You don't need to do everything by yourself. I'm here to help whenever," she sit down in her desk chair with her arms crossed, "Cause, you know, that's what friends do."
I look up at the ceiling and shake my head, "That's not what I meant Mace. I'm just a little overwhelmed and it scares me that I don't know what's going to happen."
Macey squirms in her seat. She was always uncomfortable when it comes to comforting.
Oh, the irony.
"Buckingham made an announcement yesterday," Macey says abruptly and I stare at her confused, "She said that if anyone had any information on who cause your accident would have to contact her immediately."
I adjust the straps on my wrist brace as I comment, "I already have my suspicions."
"What do you mean?" she asks, scooting her chair closer.
"It was probably Victoria, you know," I laugh but you couldn't detect any humor as I continued, "She might've caught us with Bex and Liz, she was suspicious before and you remember what she did to that eighth grader last year…"
Macey shudders at the memory of the poor girl and quickly changes the subject, although I don't know how much better it was.
"I heard about what happened with Josh…actually everybody probably know about it now."
I groan and run my hands through my hair.
"You know he dumped me because I'm a cripple now?" I grit my teeth and bang my fist on the bed and immediately regret it but try to hide it.
"First of all: he is an asshole. Second: you are no cripple, just temporarily disabled. You will get better. Third: don't try to hide your pain, I see you biting your lip over there!" she laughs at my antics which just pisses me off even more.
"Yes, it's all very funny, but if you don't mind, I'm gonna' bask in the softness of this Temperpedic bed," I close my eyes and hear Macey mutter something intelligible before climbing into her own bed.
I fall asleep to my friend's snores.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
"I'M NOT CHANGING MY ART MAJOR!" I yell at the old people who are all sitting with coffee mugs in their hands and their stuffy noses in the air.
We're currently sitting in Principal Buckingham's office the following morning of my arrival back at Armonia.
So far, I've managed to ignore the stares as the new school's cripple, and headed to my regular classes this morning before the meeting when I should be in a Jazz Lyrical Intensive right now.
Principal Buckingham's office was filled with pictures of past students that were prodigies of the staff and have gone off to make it big. Her desk was in the main room, but it also connected to a conference room with one long table that had Buckingham at one end with me at the other and six old people who really should be admitted into an elder's shelter.
Or maybe a hearing aid?
One of those Sonic Hearing Devices?
Seriously, I'm tired of repeating myself.
"We are sorry Miss Cameron, but you will not be able to dance this year because of your injuries," a man says and adjusts his heirloom glasses onto the tip of his nose.
"ACL tears are very crucial and you will never be able to dance the same again, despite PT and rehab and after six to nine months of recovery," he entwines his fingers together and says, "Nonetheless, you will not be able to participate as a dancer this year at Armonia. And, if you wish to keep you full scholarship, you will have to choose a different Art Major."
A silent tear slips down and I wipe it with my bandaged palm before biting my quivering lip.
"Please, you have to let me continue to dance after my surgery. I'll be able to handle it and…and I need those scouts to see me or else…God," I place my hands over my face and do my best to pull myself together.
I can't do this…
Mother can't take me away…
I have a week to convince them that I will be able to recover quickly without rehab. I could dance with braces on my legs…I could…I can…
But that's impossible.
The knot inside me winds tighter as I except this fact and dread surges through me.
Either way, she'll drag me back home.
I can't go back home…I just…can't.
"I'm sorry Miss Morgan, but for now, until you decide which major you want to pursue for the year, you will have a student mentor from Art and Music to guide you," another old lady that I don't recognize says. "We've talked this through before."
"You were our best dancer, Cameron, I'm not going to lie," Patricia Buckingham finally speaks after some time and stands to open the door for me, "It's a great loss for us to see this happen to you at your peak…but there will be other chances. Trust me."
And I don't believe her.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
"Bex?" I ask and hug my friend as she greets me outside of the Eastside building entrance. "You're my guide?"
"Mm," she smiles as she straightens back up and takes hold of the handles of my wheelchair. "How'd it go with Victoria? Did she dump you as her minion?"
I grimace at the memory but nod my head.
"Cammie, how absolutely awful! You look like you went to Hell and back!" she chuckles as she sees me in the Mess Hall at our usual table. I didn't know whether I should sit here or not, not knowing how my injuries would affect Victoria's 'image'.
And all that crap.
"Thanks, V," I mutter and play around with the food on my plate. She looks too happy to see me like this. I knew it was her…who else would do this?
If I wasn't in a wheelchair, I would pummel her to the floor.
Or maybe I could roll over her toes…
"Listen, I heard that you won't be able to dance this year and you have to hang out with those Art and Music people so…well, you should probably move over to their dorms. Kay?" she wipes back a wisp of hair that came loose from her bun.
"No, Victoria, Macey and I are perfectly happy continuing to be roommates like we have for the past, what, five, six, years?" I roll my chair back and 'accidently' roll over her newly painted toes.
"OWW!" she yelps and I can't help but smile and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, did I cripple you? You may have to quit dance for your senior year too and move in with the Music dorm!" I feign sympathy and that earns me snickers from all over the Mess Hall.
Victoria glares at me and says, "You'll regret this, Cammie. Get out of my table!"
"Let me grab my food first!" I smile and roll my chair forward again, rolling over her toes again.
She cries out in pain as I roll away with my tray of food in my lap.
I head over to the table where Bex and Liz are sitting when a mess of dark hair that I recognize comes into my peripheral, staring at me with a blank gaze.
"I figured as much when you rolled over her toes in the Mess Hall!" she guffaws as we roll into one of the rooms with easels set up in any available spot.
"Ah, home," Bex grins and fans out her arms as she sits at one of the easels. "Just sit at that blank one I've set up and trace the image I drew as a starter for you…"
She begins to explain the many ways you can blend colors and how to be as creative and spontaneous as possible and I realize that this is Bex's safe haven. This is where she calls home. This, right here, is Bex.
I continue to paint one stroke over and over again as I think of the first dance choreography I ever learned.
I was a gingersnap in the Nutcracker and mother was teaching the class, focusing on me as much as possible. I remember Dad coming to the performance and how I stopped in the middle of the dance because I couldn't spot him. I ended up bawling my eyes out in front of everyone until my mother came a retrieved me off of the stage.
"Cam?" Bex pokes me in the side with the other end of the paint brush.
"Sorry," I jolt back up in my wheelchair and stir my brush in the water to blend the colors, "I guess I just spaced out."
"This class is over now, actually," Bex tells me and takes off her apron.
"What class was this?" I ask realizing I really wasn't paying attention at all.
"Freestyle, Cam," Bex laughs and shakes her head, "tomorrow we're working on restoring this really old movie back drop that was shipped out from LA! They were going to throw away the bloody thing before Mr. Duncan offered to take it off their hands."
She looks so excited and I can't help but at least fake enthusiasm for one of my best friends.
"Where you off to next?" Bex asks ash she rolls me back outside.
"Southside buildings to meet my other mentor," I roll my eyes.
"Ya need me to roll ya there?" she asks with a sly grin and know she's gonna try to play pretend-Cammie's-wheelchair-is-a-racecar game.
"Nah, I got it," I grunt as I push my way down the ramp of the building and wave, "I'll see ya at lunch?"
"Definitely!"
It's peaceful as I literally stroll my way past the garden that I could no longer squeeze into and Masen Theater until I got to the Southside building.
Buckingham said that both mentors would meet me outside of their respective buildings to help me up the ramp since I still haven't gotten used to it yet.
I waited outside of the Southside building for five minutes after the time classes were supposed to start until I hear the door open and close behind me.
"Cammie Morgan?"
I freeze and turn my chair around to take a glimpse up at those dark eyes.
"We haven't formally met…I'm gonna be your mentor, so…"
He balances from one foot to the other before he says:
"I'm Zach Goode."
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
A.N. Thank you for all of the reviews and the support for this little story! I kinda sorta left you on a cliffhanger there so REVIEW and tell me what you thought.
Is it too long?
Or, heavens….to SHORT?
~Akira