The Secret Diary Of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
English class. The lesson is coming to an end and the teacher, Mr Gutierrez, is outlining our assignment.
"Write an essay explaining the significance the green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock has for Jay Gatsby. And what the author is trying to convey to us about the human condition. On my desk first thing Monday morning."
The bell sounds for recess. The students rise as one, impatient to be at break.
"File out in an orderly manner, this isn't a zoo. Cameron? Stay behind, please."
I resume my seat. My soccer teamates Ramona and Wanda smile sympathetically in my direction. The other students depart. One boy makes an odd licking motion with his tongue as he passes my desk, causing several other boys to snigger. I don't know what this implies. Is he thirsty? Or hungry? Does he want to eat me? Perhaps I will seek him out later and beat the explanation out of him.
The classroom is now empty save for myself and Mr Gutierrez, who remains seated behind his desk. He is a grossly overweight human male in his late 40s. He favours a corduroy jacket with animal skin on the elbows teamed with cotton chinos. His girth and a smoking habit often leave him redfaced and short of breath. He is a competent teacher, mostly liked by the students who have nicknamed him Mr Gutbucketz. I don't know what this means.
"I wanted to speak with you in private, Cameron, regarding the essay you handed in for poetry class. The one titled 'The Sentinel'. Do you remember?"
I do. We were tasked with writing a poem about ourselves and how we feel we are perceived in relation to others. I called mine 'The Sentinel'. I could hardly call it 'The Terminator'. What kind of title is that for anything?
"Is something wrong?" I ask. I can terminate him easily. Disposal of the body may be more troublesome due to his size. I could chop him up into smaller chunks. There would be blood. I will require mops, plenty of mops. Also buckets. Or do I mean bucketz?
"No, no, nothing wrong exactly. It was very good. One of the best, in fact. I gave it an 's just..." He sighs. "I'm rather disturbed by the content. Let me refresh your memory."
He clears his throat and reads my words back to me.
"The Sentinel watches.
And waits.
And never sleeps.
Or eats.
Never feels.
Never loves.
A simulcra at best.
The Sentinel abides.
In the future
The present
The past
Always.
You carry on like that for several verses. Is this how you see yourself, a sentinel?"
"Is it bad?"
"Well, it seems to suggest a profound sense of alienation, of isolation from your peers. Are you having trouble fitting in at school?"
"No."
"Involving yourself in extracurricular activities?"
"I'm on the soocer team."
"Yes, of course. I've seen you play. And we're all very proud and excited by the success you girls are having." He shuffles papers on his desk, appearing slightly ill at ease. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Yes."
"And he treats you well?"
"We have frequent sex. This is called putting out. I am not sure why since there appears to be more putting in than putting out."
"Ah...quite. Well, you're of age and it's none of my business. I trust you use protection?"
"I am the protection."
"What I'm trying to say, if you need a friendly ear, someone to talk things over with, then you can always come to me. Or Nurse Walsh, if you prefer a woman. Anything you say, any questions you wish to ask, I will do my best to answer and will be kept in the strictest confidence."
"I do have one question," I declare.
"You do?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm here to help. Tell me, what is your question?"
"Why are you called Mr Gutbucketz?"
AFTERNOON
After lunch the soccer team travel to Pasadena by chartered coach to play their High school at soccer. We are top of the league table. Kudos us.
Pasadena play in an all-red strip, while we take the field in our usual white. They are a useful side, fully capable of giving us a hard match. Much to Ramona's chagrin they play a progressive 3-4-3 system, like the one she is constantly urging Coach Gruber to adopt.
"Moves, get the ball out quickly. We need to get in behind their big centrehalves," she instructs me mid way through the first half.
I oblige. I throw a long ball out to Wanda on the left wing. She takes it forward, her muscular body easily holding off the attentions of the Pasadena defenders. Once at the by-line she crosses the ball, seeking the predatory skills of Ramona. She has her back to goal yet still manages to scissor kick the ball which flies past the home keeper's despairing dive and into the net. 1-0 our side.
In the second half Pasadena surge forward in numbers, determined to score an equalizer. Not on my watch. I make several important last ditch saves. My targeting software, normally used to aim weapons, is equally useful in judging the flight of the ball. None Shall Pass, that is my motto.
With ten minutes remaining Pasadena force a corner. As the ball comes across I leap to catch it. The Pasadena centre forward quite deliberately jumps into me in midair. She hits my coltan endo-skeleton and falls to the ground, lying completely still.
"Foul! White number one!"
The ref blows his whistle and waves a red card at me. Odd. What does this mean? It's not my birthday. Or xmas.
"It means you've been sent off," Wanda explains. "Serious foulplay. Don't argue it'll just make things worse. Go wait for us in the changing room."
I leave the pitch just as the Pasadena player regains consciousness and is helped from the field. She glares in my direction. I ignore her.
-0-
I sit alone in the dressing room until the game ends and the team troops in. They look despondent.
"We fell apart after you left," Ramona says glumly. "Conceded two late goals and lost 2-1. And we heard Brentwood won their match."
"Means we're one point behind with two games to play," Wanda chimes in.
Ramona slumps on the bench. "Brentwood play Ventura County next. That's points in the bag for them. We've got Tarzana and they're always tough to beat. And we won't have you in goal."
"Why not?" I enquire.
"Automatic one match suspension for a red card." Ramona pulls her jersey off and throws it at the wall in frustration. She sits there in her sports bra, voice a dull monotone. "Guess I won't be going to USC. Mac Dee's here I come. Minimum wage slave just like my sisters."
"That's chump talk!" Wanda scolds her best friend. "You're a smart girl who can do anything you wanna do."
"Not if you're from the Projects."
"It ain't over yet. If we beat Tarzana we play Brentwood again final match. It's still in our hands."
"What happened, Moves?" Ramona asks me. "Did you really foul that girl?"
"She jumped into me and fell awkwardly," I explain.
"Seemed she tried to barge Cameron in the air and came off worse somehow," Wanda says, eyeing me curiously. "You 're a slip of a girl yet she bounced off you like you was made of stone."
"She fell awkwardly," I insist as targeting graphics overlay Wanda's skull. One well-aimed punch...
"Hey, I ain't accusing you. Just telling it how I saw it."
I remove my kit and join the other girls in the showers. Presently Wanda joins me, taking the nozzle next to mine. She has a shower cap on her head to protect her braids. She is a powerfully built athlete who also represents the school at track and field.
"The ref should've sent the other girl off, not you. You were unlucky."
Wanda reaches over and presses her forefinger into my shoulder. My pseudo-flesh gives just like regular human skin. She seems satisfied.
"Guess you're not made of stone after all."
A stone terminator? How primitive.
Ramona joins us.
"You feeling better, girlfriend?"
"Not really. Listen, Wanda, if I'm thirty and still working at Mac Dee's I want you to shoot me, okay?"
"Hey, I ain't shooting no one! Just 'cause I'm black don't make me a gangsta."
"There are worse things than waiting tables at Mac Dee's," I point out.
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Like fighting for your lives in the rubble of this city against an enemy that will not rest until you are wiped from the face of the earth."
They stare at me in puzzlement as I walk out of the showers and begin to get dressed.
-0-
HOME
I arrive home in the early evening to find John has a suprise for me - three dirtbikes side by side on a trailer attached to the SUV.
"Aren't they great? Picked them up cheap. I thought we could keep them at the safehouse in the country. If we're ambushed we can use them to getaway across the fields."
Sarah Connor is not impressed.
"Aren't there enough ways you could be killed without you finding another one?"
"Mom, if it wasn't for a bike like these the TX would've killed me years ago."
John is referring to the time a TX-class terminator was sent back from the future to kill him. Future John responded by sending a T-800 to protect his younger self. He seldom speaks about this period of his life. His step-parents were brutally murdered and his mother incarcerated in a mental institute.
"Just be careful," his mother advises and goes back inside the house.
I help John remove the bikes from their trailer. Jerold Ramirez steps outside his house and notices what we are doing.
"Hey, man, cool wheels."
"Yeah. One for me, Cam and mom."
"Sarah's gonna ride one of those things? Man, I bet she looks hot in tight leathers."
"You want to go take another cold shower?"
"No, man, I'm over it! That was a total misunderstanding." He winks at me. I wink back. It seems like the thing to do.
John says, "I rode these when I was a kid down in the river culverts pretending they were speeder bikes - y'know, like in Jedi."
"Oh man, yeah! Totally cool movie. Hey - how come the scientists can't hurry up and invent that kinda stuff? No one gives a shit about 3D TV. Give us speeder bikes and hoverboards. And fembots!"
"Fembots?" I say, curious.
"Yeah! Robots that look just like hot chicks, only they obey your every whim and don't slap your the face when you stare at their...well, you get the gist."
"I don't know, man, fembots sound kinda far-fetched." John smiles in my direction. He is being playful. "What d'you think, Cam?"
"I think you should be careful what you wish for."
"Where's Alys these days?" John asks. "Haven't seen her around."
"San Francisco. She's been accepted by Berkeley so she's scouting student digs. She'll be there and I'll be here. It's the first time we've ever been apart. I know we bicker and everything but I'm really gonna miss her. I mean, who's gonna tell me off when I act stupid?"
"I'm sure you'll find someone, man," John assures him.
"I hope so."
"Why don't you try not acting stupid?" I suggest. John and Jerold burst out laughing as if this is too absurd for words.
"Yeah, like that'll ever happen!" Jerold says with a grin.
"I'm gonna give these bad boys a shakedown," John says indicating the dirtbikes. "Wanna come?"
"Hell, yeah! Hey, why don't we take them to Hermosa Beach? It's lowtide and the sand goes on forever."
"Cool. You coming?" John asks me.
"Not to the beach," I reply.
"Ri-ght, your sand phobia."
Jerold laughs. "Chicks, huh? Crazier than bedbugs!"
John throws Jerold a spare helmet and they board their bikes, revving the engines until the air is thick with oily blue smoke. With a wave they head off, racing each other to the end of the street.
Snowy bounds up attracted by the noise.
where john and jerold go?
"The beach."
snowy love the beach!
"You're too late. Where have you been?"
snowy do poopsies!
"Whereabouts?"
Snowy hangs his head sheepishly.
sarah's vegetable garden...
"You know what happens if she catches you."
sarah turn hose on snowy!
"I won't tell if you won't."
-0-
John doesn't return until after dark. He smells of salt spray, smoke and lowgrade alcohol.
"Some of Jerold's surfer buds had a bonfire on the beach. I hung out, sank a cold one or two. No big deal."
"Were girls present?"
"Surfer chicks, that's all."
"Surfer chicks in bikinis?"
John shrugs. "A few. It was a party scene."
"Were they pretty girls?"
Another shrug. He is evasive, not meeting my eyes.
"I see. Excuse me, please."
"Where are you going?"
"I'll be back."
I go up to my room, remove my clothing and stare at my body in the full length mirror. This body is modeled on that of Allison Young, a Resistance freedom fighter I tortured and killed many years ago. Or many years in the future, depending on your POV. Allison was an attractive human female, but not a beauty queen. Other females have larger boobs, still others longer legs, blonder hair, more dazzling smiles.
I run my hands down my modest chest, across my flat stomach, and brush the pseudo-flesh of my slim thighs with my fingers. I turn slightly so I can check out my butt reflected in the mirror. Firm and pert. Now and for always. There will be no sagging, no unslightly blemishes, no ravages caused by age or intemperate living. There are some advantages to being a machine.
I delve in my wardrobe for an item of clothing I seldom wear due to my dislike of the beach. I don it and return to John's room.
"Cam, what are wearing?" John asks as I slip inside his room.
"Can't you tell?"
"I can tell it's a bikini. But why?"
"Do I look like a surfer chick?"
"Cam..."
"Do I?" I insist.
"No."
"No?"
"You're much prettier. And far more special than any surfer chick."
"Really?"
"Really. Now come here."
We kiss for several minutes. "What's this all about really?" John asks tenderly.
"My emoticon chip. I believe it is malfunctioning."
"Malfunctioning how?"
"When I imagine you around beautiful girls I feel...inadequate. An ersatz female at best."
"You will never be inadequate. Or ersatz. Where'd you get that word?"
"Oxford English Dictionary," I confess. "It comes preloaded. It means artificial substitute or-"
"I know what it means."
John holds me for several minutes, his arms a tight comforting embrace. It helps.
-0-
If Cameron can feel love then she can certainly feel some of the insecurities that accompany it. Her love for John is prob absolute. But him? Who knows why it comes and when it goes? The Libertines nailed it in the song 'Music When the Lights Go Out'.
I no longer hear the music
when the lights go out
Love grows cold in the shade of doubt
The strange fate in my mind is all too clear
The girl I thought I knew is gone
And with her my heart it disappeared.
Okay, time to crank it up a notch. The Mad Ellie/soccer team storylines are wrapped up in the next two explosive chapters.