Talk To Me (Camren)

Chapter Six

Chapter 6

Camila's POV

I proceeded through the open metal doors of the auditorium before stopping short. Running a hand through my thick hair, I looked back in. There Lauren was, sitting with her feet dangling over the edge of the stage with her hands propping her up from behind. Her hair flowed down one side in natural waves followed by a cross choker and a Campbell soup sweater that now had green paint splatters.

It was just so Lauren and Lauren was just so intimidating. I still had no clue in the universe why she spent her time with me. Me. It was almost too hard to believe. So hard that I didn't entirely want to get my hopes up.

I shook my head to rid my thoughts. My mind was usually invested with million thoughts all at once. It was probably to make up for not speaking.

My eyes lingered on the girl that I strongly didn't want to be away from. I frowned.

"Camila, you're lucky Lauren acknowledges your existence," I thought.

She acknowledges my existence. She acknowledges it and seems to like it.

There, where nobody could see me, I grinned because Lauren cared that I existed. Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. Gorgeous Lauren who asked permission to sit with me. Lauren who asked me to paint sets with her over anyone else. All these things mattered. Maybe I would start to open up more to her tomorrow.

With that thought in mind I turned and was not expecting to be shoved up to the wall of the auditorium. I was shocked to see Luis towering over me, his large hand pushing me against the cold wall.

"Alright freak, this is the deal. I've been trying to figure out why Lauren still gives you the time of day if you don't fucking talk," he said bluntly, "I drew to the conclusion that the only possible reason she still hangs around with you is because you have talked to her. Then I thought, why would she find you interesting? Lauren only likes you because she's the only one you've ever talked to. That being said, you stop, and we both win. I get my girl and you get your dignity."

He patted my shoulder and released me. My eyes remained straight ahead until he had disappeared through the entrance.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry so badly, but I only let myself bite my lip.

Bite lip. Take big breath. Breath. Suck it up and don't be such a wimp.

Lauren's POV

I hadn't seen Camila in a week. I don't know if she was sick or it was something else because she hadn't come to school since I last saw her on Monday in the auditorium. I'm not going to lie to myself, the only reason I continue to go to the after period is for an excuse to see Camila every day.

Every day for four days I had walked in with hopes to see the Cuban girl, head bowed, fingers ink smudged, eyes warm, and smile soft. You could imagine my jubilation when she finally walked into Mrs. Lovato's room on Monday. Although, something was off.

She sat and down and automatically started fidgeting with her earring.

"Hi," I greeted cautiously, eyeing her carefully.

If I hadn't been paying attention, I wouldn't have seen her eyes flit towards me briefly before she flipped her hair with her hand, making a blockade between the two of us.

Her actions stung more than they should have.

Too afraid to upset Camila further, I spent the rest of the class taking only quick, subtle glances. I couldn't focus on anything but her.

This continued for the rest of the week. Three days of this isolation. Then Friday came and I forced myself out of cowardice. I had missed Camila and each day she acted as if she didn't exist, I felt my heart fall more. I felt her distancing herself from me and I don't know why.

"Camila," I whispered, praying she would look up.

I moved in closer, almost off my seat, to enclose only the two of us in our own little bubble.

When she didn't acknowledge me, I took a brave step and brought my hand to hers that was lying on her desk. Her hand twitched in surprise as I rapped my fingers around her warm ones.

"Camila, please tell me what your thinking," my voice was low, but I knew she could hear it.

I stroked my thumb over the top of her hand. I stare at her profile desperately before I feel her other her hand being placed on mine. I look down to see Camila's hand push mine off her own. I didn't even try to keep the hurt off my face as I recoil my hand back to my lap.

"Class! The bell is about to ring, but I have not told you what your assignment for over the weekend. It's very simple. A poem. Any poem. It can be about interests, feelings, places. Any length, any topic." The bell rang. "That's all, thank you."

Everyone left shortly after that, and so did I. This time I didn't look back. Too much disappointment for one day.

__________________

Another wad of paper landed in my wastebasket. I scribbled some more words on another sheet of paper, but it turned out choppy and didn't make any sense, like all the others. The clock read 1:08 on Sunday night as I tried to yet again write a poem that was worthy of Camila's ears.

I needed this to be perfect. I needed this to work or I didn't know what I'd do. I didn't know what I would expect to come from a poem, though. I would have to try harder than a poem.

___________________

"Lauren? Go on up," Mrs. Lovato crossed her legs and watched as I stood and walked to the front of the classroom.

"Whenever you're ready."

I managed to not shake, which was good. Camila had slightly shifted, obviously starting to pay attention when the teacher had said my name.

I stared down at my familiar script and immediately started to doubt what was written there. Wetting my lips, I start to recite. I ended up not finishing because my voice was starting to crack dangerously. I tried to walk back to my seat with an air of confidence, but I'm sure I looked as I felt. Awkward as fuck.

"Anyone else? No? Okay turn to page 340 in your textbooks. We'll just skim the key points."

I slapped the lined paper face-down on my desk.

My eyes peeped over my crossed arms. I had stuffed my head in my arms, willing the hard blush to go away. When it finally did, Camila looked indifferent. Anger started to rise in my chest and I grabbed the now crumpled sheet to stuff it into the brunette's palm. Brown eyes looked at me incredulously, but I refused to look back. If she was going to be stubborn, so was I.

A/N: Iffy.