A/N Sorry guys, I'm on vacation right now until August and the Wifi here is pretty crappy... On top of that I'm beta-reading a few stories right now and although it's very exciting, it's kind of time consuming. I'll try to get each chapter out these ASAP, but no guarantees. But, I will have a lot of time to write the chapters so as soon as I get back, I can update this story pretty regularly!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed:
It'sHardIKnow: If I'd known I would've not been loving the Zachary Goodes trapped in these pages and instead... Probably just stalking him from afar lol I'm too shy tbh.
Smiles180: Yes he does have something going on at home which will be revealed in the next chapter! Stay tuned.
Ineedaname: Sorry to tell you that this chapter has its sad moments too :(
Guest 1: Thanks! Hope you like this chapter.
Guest 2: Yess I'm working on it!
Guest 3: Haha yes I do know that story! Thanks anyways for the support and I'm sad the story hasn't been updated recently either :((
BritishBombshell007: Aww thanks you're too sweet! And obviously Zammie is for life :)
Cammie
I grunted as I hauled yet another cardboard box down from the attic to our living room floor. I flopped down onto the couch and tightened my ponytail, sighing.
"There. That was the last one," I said while dusting my hands dramatically. My mom surveyed the mess of cardboard boxes that littered our living room floor, boxes and containers haphazardly thrown into one big pile.
"Great. Now, you each have to go through at least five boxes each and sort the items into three categories: to donate, to throw away and to keep. Get going!" Rachel Morgan commanded in her I'm-the-principal-listen-to-me voice.
"Yes, Ms. Morgan," Grant muttered under his breath as he piled boxes into his arms. I suppressed a laugh at the glare my mom sent his way. Until she turned to me.
"You get going too, Cameron Ann Morgan," she said sternly. I rolled my eyes and pulled myself up from my seat.
"Jeez, you don't have to pull the full name card on me mom." I said while ripping open a couple boxes. She frowned a little before taking some boxes of her own and leaving the room. It was just me, some cardboard boxes and some peace and quiet.
I sifted through the boxes without much thought. Mom's old aprons? Donate. A fish bowl that contained my fourth grade class fish? Throw away. Grant's old cleats? Ew, gross, throw away. They smelled like rotting eggs and straight up boy. My childhood posters of the Backstreet Boys? Throw away. (Okay, maybe I kept a couple...)
Suddenly, I came upon something soft and made of fabric. Not silky soft but soft like something that has been through a lot, washed one too many times. I pulled it out. It was large and grey, probably an old sweatshirt. I turned it around. Across the chest were the words in large green letters Blackthorne Academy.
My heart twisted painfully at the sight. It brought back so many memories of my dad talking to me about his high school days at Blackthorne. I held it close to my chest as I recalled one of my earliest memories of when I was six.
"Come in, come in!" My dad said while holding the door wide open. In came another man who greeted my father with a that bro handshake and hug. I looked up at him curiously from the stairwell where I was crouching, hidden from sight.
"It's been too long," my mom said, rushing to the dsweatshirtoor and gave the stranger a long hug. "Cammie, say hello," my mom said and looked at me pointedly. Shyly, I emerged from my hiding spot and hid behind her legs. I peeked out a little at the man and whispered,
"Hi." I quickly returned to concealing myself behind my mom's legs. I heard a deep chuckle.
"She looks just like you, Matt, but she has Rachel's eyes." The man said. He squatted down so he was at eye level with me.
"Hey Cammie. I'm one of your daddy's best friends, and I'd love to be your friend too," he said with a kind smile. "I even brought a peace offering, here," he said and held out a package of peanut M&Ms. I instantly brightened and snatched the packet of deliriously addictive chocolate candies before tearing it open and popping one in my mouth. The man laughed and rose.
"Really, Joseph? She already has a horrible sweet tooth, you don't have to encourage it," my mom said with a shake of her head. I just smiled some more as Grant wailed that he wanted one too.
We all sat down at our couch, me and Grant squashed in between my parents and the man, Joseph, next to my dad.
"Speaking of chocolate, remember the prank we pulled in high school on Ed-"
"The one with his clothes and chocolates?"
"Yes! So what we did was put melted chocolate all over Edward, one of our high school friend's underwear and pants while he slept. The next morning, we convinced him that he shi-I mean pooped his pants," dad explained with a twinkling glint in his eyes. The two old friends burst out laughing. I giggled a little too, and Grant howled with laughter. My mother just shook her head, but I saw her hiding a smile behind her hand.
My dad and Joseph continued to recount tales of their pranks and troubles at Blackthorne. Often, my mother told Grant and I to put our hands over our years as she scolded them for cursing. I'll admit I didn't really make an effort to block out the swearing and neither did Grant.
I sighed while gingerly refolding the worn sweatshirt and placed it into the to keep pile, lost in my thoughts the rest of the afternoon.
"Class, after a few long weeks of hard work and effort, I am glad to say that most of you have succeeded in your biography projects: to make new friends and get to know one another, effectively making you stronger as a group. Now, I would like you to present your project in front of the class. Public speaking, as you probably know, is essential to not only school but the workplace as well. Up first... Miss Morgan, please." Mr. Solomon said during Culture & Career.
I nervously got up to the front of the classroom, gripping my cue cards tightly. I wasn't deathly nervous, like I knew Liz to be, but I wasn't exactly... Excited to be speaking in front of my class. Mr. Solomon gave me a curt nod.
"When you're ready." Was all he said. That day, everyone was chatty. They whispered to each other about new movies, so and so cheated on so and so. Except for Zach. He stared at me with his intense gaze that made my butterflies quadruple in number. I took a deep breath.
"Zachary Goode. A star football player at Gallagher High, a charmer, and of course, a smirker. " Some people laughed at that. As if on cue, Zach smirked at me from his seat. I felt my knot of nerves loosen at that as I smiled a little.
"But what do we really know about him?" As I continued my speech, most people lost interest and started doodling, texting or picking at their nails. But Zach continued to give me his undivided attention as if I was disclosing information on the Species-X of alien that has contacted planet Earth.
"Thank you, Miss Morgan." Mr. Solomon said when I finished. There was a bit of scattered applause.
The rest of the period went by in a blur. I just had to keep pretending to listen to each presenter. Until it was Zach's turn.
He walked up to the front without a hitch, no trace of cue cards or anything in hand. Without waiting for Mr. Solomon's cue, he began.
"Cameron Ann Morgan. What do we see when we look at her? A shy, quiet, normal teenage girl, I guess." He paused dramatically and shifted his gaze to me. "As she said herself, she has average hair, an average height, an average weight, average eyes... Everything about her is just normal. Not too pretty or ugly." I felt slapped. My eyes stung with the weight of unshed tears. Then what was all that bravado in the car? Was it all a joke. Humiliated, I sunk into my seat and stared at the ground.
"But, when you get to know her, really understand her, you find something different. Not average. You find that she is a fighter. Stubborn, unwilling to budge. Loyal. Strong. And she will fight for what or who she believes in. Being one of her friends during childhood, I relished her company. I basked in the satisfaction that on her down days, I could make her crack a smile. One of her, no our, best memories was the first time we met. I had crushed her beautifully constructed sandcastle, and she wailed and screamed at me. But then I apologized and helped her rebuild it. I said that I just wanted to see what would happen. Cammie was still mad, but couldn't stop grinning." I felt like the ground underneath me was washed away and I was tumbling at an increasing rate into an abyss.
"That was the start of our inseparable friendship. Her life was great. A goofy, but protective twin brother many of you know as Grant, a caring mother who will one day become our principal and a fun and loving father who taught her everything she knows. Cammie idolized both of her parents and loved her brother very much, even though they had many sibling scuffles. And a best friend, yours truly, who had her back through and through. Until freshman year. And, for all of us who were here for it, we know what happened." I squeezed my eyes shut as whispers erupted in the class.
"Cammie? Cammie Morgan?"
"Didn't her dad-"
"Shhh!"
"Oh, I feel so sorry for her!"
I could feel the pitying glances land on me one by one. I hated everyone in that room. Including Zach. For digging up that... incident. Including Mr. Solomon. For making us do this stupid project in the first place.
"Unfortunately, her dad was driving at night and a drunk driver had crashed into his car. After being rushed to the hospital, he was pronounced to be in a coma. Months later, he passed." Tears crept down my face and my vision blurred. I was spiraling, further and further down, into a pit that I clawed my way out of. The fluorescent lights were too bright, the chattering too loud. I felt like all was in slow motion as Zach's words dragged on.
"But what the rest of you don't know is that Mr. Morgan was driving home from dropping the both of us off at the Homecoming dance the night of the accident." The final bomb. I covered my mouth tightly with my hand, silencing my sobs from escaping. The sound rose and rose, threatening to swallow me in a suffocating blanket of pity, sorrow, and shock. I bit down hard on my clammy fingers, the pain momentarily distracting me from the familiar roar of waves of grief swirling in my chest.
"Silence!" Mr. Solomon demanded and like a bucket of water to a flame, the voices quickly withered out.
"Cammie needed someone. But I wasn't there. I left her to the wolves, to the fangs of grief and despair when our friendship mattered most. Even though she healed on her own, made new friends, it was a despicable thing to do. And I'm so, so sorry Cammie, and even though it doesn't change anything even the smallest bit, I... I miss you. I realised how much I lost, how empty and hollow I felt without you and I will spend every day of my life if that's what it takes to heal our wounds." Zach said. I was stunned into silence. He took a shaking breath, then said a final,
"Thank you."
As the school bell rang that announced the end of class and the end of the school day, the previously contained noise exploded once more. I looked down into my lap as I received pats of sympathy and pity. But it was all fake, artificial. At the end of the day, they would no longer think about poor pitiful Cammie and would return to their everyday lives, not a second thought in my direction. And I would return to my everyday life without a father, my father. Then a more insistent hand pressed onto my back. I looked up. It was Zach, with pained eyes and creased eyebrows.
"You okay?" He asked gently. Suddenly, all that pain in my chest suddenly had a drive, a focused point: hatred. I hated Zach more than anything at that moment. He could've left some details about it private, but instead he laid the shattered pieces of my family, my life, on the table for all eyes to see. Exposing my darkest truths. My puffy, red eyes turned icy as I shook his hand off.
"Really great, thanks to you," I snapped and walked home, not waiting for Zach and our stupid car rides. Tears blinded my vision as I walked out of school, my pace quickening before I was full on sprinting. When I arrived home to the empty, quiet house, I collapsed against the door frame and cried until I had no more tears and my voice was hoarse.