Chapter Twelve

I set up a tent where my old one had been, as I pondered my reasons for leaving in the first place. Sawyer hadn't wanted me here. I'd been pretty upset about that, but somehow, over the course of a week and a bit, I'd forgotten. I'd been more focussed on the things he did that signalled he wanted me around. Like last night's kindness. But had that been all it was? He'd been responsible, broken away from the damned kiss, but why had he done that? Because of that ridiculous sense of responsibility I was starting to see in him? Because I was fifteen and he knew it would be way wrong? Or because he honestly wasn't attracted to me, like I was to him? He'd never shown any definite signs that he liked me. Actually, he'd always brushed me off, avoided me, told me to stay away from him. He'd shown signs that he liked Kate. But still, I had this dumb hope that there was more to it than me being an unwanted stalker. Okay, maybe not a stalker . . . I thought, as my eyes followed him out of his tent and all the way down the beach.

I was surprised when he stopped in front of me and held out a plastic bag. My damp clothes, that I'd left in his tent.

"Thanks."

He nodded, and left.

In a fit of moodiness, wanting to be helpful or wanted or useful, somehow, I volunteered to go hunting with Locke and Boone that afternoon.

"Hey, you guys going boar-hunting?"

"You can't come!" Boone half-shouted at me in an instant. I eyed him warily.

"Uh, okay. Why?"

"You'd scare away the boar. You're not exactly a hunter, you're not trained."

"And you're a hunter? Well, then, I hope you're a much better hunter than you are a lifeguard." I spat, leaving the reference to Joanna, the girl he couldn't save, hanging in the air. I felt bad, but wasn't about to apologize.

"Cameron, I'm sorry, but we haven't been finding much anyway. We really don't need another person." Locke said, not looking up from the knife he was sharpening.

"Fine. Good luck." I said, narrowing my eyes before turning and stalking back to my tent. I went inside, closed the flaps, and tried very hard to fall asleep. I couldn't.

Nobody wanted me around. Maybe I should have been kidnapped instead of Claire. Or maybe . . . ridiculous thoughts of running away, of going after Claire, of purposely getting kidnapped ran through my mind. It seemed that nobody cared about me until I was missing.

I rolled over, ending the flow of half-formed thoughts. I was being silly, with these thoughts of ways to get attention. That's all it was, attention-seeking.

I realized that there was only one person whose attention really mattered to me, and I knew how unlikely it was that I'd get it.

I wanted to be off this island, so that I could forget about him and go back to my life. And I knew that the moment I stepped back onto the mainland, the instant the story of the plane crash survivors reached the media, I was going to have all the attention I could ever want. The thought made me simultaneously a little sick and a little happy.

__________

Thanks for reading, sorry this chapter is short, the next one'll be longer.