Question Marks ➳ Camren

Four

All rights go to original author.

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Taylor catches a ride home with some of her friends, so it's just Camila and I in my car as I pull out of the school parking lot. She's chipper as usual, talking at speed that really shouldn't be humanly possible. My eyes are on the road, my ears are on her, but my mind is somewhere else entirely - I can't help but remember the last time Camila and I were in my car together, the damp smell of rain thick in the air, and her pouting, glistening lips as she melted against me. A shiver makes my spine quake and I squeeze the steering wheel, determined to control myself. It's over and done with. We're moving on. I'm not into girls. That's that.

As much as my mind is set on that, though, my eyes apparently disagree, because they occasionally drift from the striped street to linger on Camila's bare legs, tan and soft as they bounce at the heels on the floor of my car. The tendon - or ligament, whatever, biology was never my strong point - that curves along the underside of her knee can be seeing flexing beneath her skin, a vibrating chord, like a guitar string. And it's weird, absolutely bizarre the sudden desire I have to reach over and stroke it, like I'm curious what kind of music note would come out of her if I did.

I blatantly ignore the extremely homosexual thoughts that are racing through my head as I pull into the Smoothie King, relieved to finally get out of this confined space with her. Camila has either not noticed that I'm not paying attention or is choosing it ignore it, blabbering away as she all but skips to the glass door, stamped with the crown logo wrapped around a pair of pink smoothes. Camila yanks the door open so I can slip in before her. I give her a smile that's half apologetic because I honestly have no idea what she's talking about, stepping into the cool air conditioning of the small shop.

Camila flutters to the counter, bending at the waist to address the short, elderly woman at the cash register. Because of the position, Camila's black skirt lifts just barely in the back. I know I shouldn't have even noticed it, let alone stare, but I can see where her thighs meet and the long, tan slopes of her crossed legs is making my mouth water. Giving my head a sharp shake, I tear my eyes from Camila and to the menu, staring at the words without reading them. This is absolutely ridiculous, I scowl to myself, digging into my purse and marching up to the cashier with a less than pleasant smile on my face. Camila takes notice of this, her rambling falling quiet as I feel her eyes studying me from the side. It's not her I'm mad at, really, it's me and the way my brain won't slow down for five minutes, how it's not obeying me when I tell it to shut up and act normal. The least someone should be able to do is control themselves, and when you lose that, you feel like you're losing your grip on everything.

"Are you okay?"

My gaze must be a bit harsher than I intended, because Camila takes the tiniest step back when I look at her. I immediately soften on instinct - frightening Camila is a lot like scaring a kitten, and a certain guilt plagues me that is usually reserved for small, abandoned animals in the road. I give her a genuine smile, reaching out to touch her arm. She looks at my hand and back at me, like the contact is something she doesn't really believe. "I'm fine." I hand the cashier my money, even though I have no recollection of what I ordered. "Just feeling a little pressured with that science project we have to do."

Camila's hesitance snaps away. "Oh, the one with the slideshow we have to put together, and the 3-D model we have to make? And the essay?"

My shoulders hunch with each terrible aspect of the project she lists off. "Yes. That one." It honestly is bugging the crap out of me - I have lines to study and a skit with Normani to practice and I somehow have to fit this huge science project in on top of it. But, mostly, it's her that's making me feel so pressured. And weird. And not like myself. I click my nails on the counter as the Smoothie King employees bustle about behind the counter. A lot of kids from school hit this place before going home, and a group of them are starting to file through the doors. I turn my back to them and lean on my elbow, trying to be a good friend and actually listen to Camila for once, tuning back into her words.