6:59 Read online

  “So how was your summer, Liv?” Hudson asked me, apparently finished with saying hello to her boyfriend. Armando took a seat in the empty space next to Hudson’s, his large swimmer’s body towering over the small desk. He gave me a quick, dazzling white smile, encouraging me to explain my summer details.

  “It wasn’t very eventful,” I responded, shrugging my shoulders and peering down at my desk. It really wasn’t. I could literally say that I spent probably ninety percent of my time reading books and playing music in my room. The other ten percent happened to be spent lounging outside on my lawn, trying to get Cameron’s attention. Great progress that brought me. Not.

  Hudson pouted empathetically, drooping her slim shoulders. “Aw, really?” she asked, the look of pity engulfing her mahogany eyes. “I told you to come with Mannie and me to Galicia. It would have been a total blast with you there. Trust me.”

  I frowned a little, rolling my eyes in annoyance. “Hudson, I told you, I had important things to do.” Trying to get Cameron’s attention probably wasn’t important to anyone else, but as for me, it was vital that I saw him at least once a day. Even if only through my upstairs window.

  I tossed my hair over my shoulder, cheering up a bit. “But how was Galicia?” I asked, changing the topic. “Was he as maddening as the last time you saw him?”

  Hudson sighed heavily, plopping her chin on her hand. “More. Guess what he made me do for half the time I was there?”

  I cocked my head to the side in response.

  “I had to meet, like, three hundred gazillion old Galician men every second of the day. It was as if he were trying to show me off to them, or something.” She shivered in disgust, probably remembering her “awful” time there.

  Armando chuckled at his girlfriend’s dramatic behavior. “The man was proud to present his beautiful daughter to his friends,” he said, a slight Spanish accent grazing his words. He drummed his hands on the desk. “Cut him a little slack. He hasn’t seen you in four years.”

  Hudson punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t stand up for him!”

  Armando laughed, grabbing her fist and kissing it gently. “I have to, my sweetheart,” he responded. “After all, he did offer to pay for my education and allow me to stay with you in this amazing country.” He pouted at Hudson. “I owe my life to him.”

  Hudson just sighed and shrugged, apparently annoyed that her beau wasn’t on her side this time, like he always was.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. They were cute. Their story could be some romantic chick flick if they wanted it to be. It all started when Hudson decided to visit her father one summer in Galicia when she was nine years old. She loved Galicia then, proclaiming that she was treated like royalty and had always spent time with her father (the man we now refer to only by pronouns). She continued to see him every year since then, after befriending her father’s best friend’s son, Armando. They would write to each other frequently and plan to meet every summer.

  When she was thirteen years old, four years ago, she and her father had some type of feud over how he wanted Hudson to live with him forever in Galicia. Of course, Hudson didn’t want that and threatened to run away. Armando insisted upon running away as well, declaring his “violently passionate love for her.” The two of them had made it all the way down to the southern part of Portugal when they were caught by her father’s numerous guards. Then, not wanting to lose his precious daughter once again, he allowed her to return back to America. This time Hudson would not leave without her precious Armando, causing another feud between her and her father. And now that Armando was involved, so was his family, and that caused a feud between both of their families.

  Sort of like a Romeo and Juliet type of thing. Kind of.

  But no one had to die for anyone because Armando’s father had always wanted the best for his intelligent son. He had then agreed to allow his son to study abroad in America because he presumed that an American education would be beneficial for Armando. After countless deals and promises, Hudson’s father agreed to pay for his friend’s son’s education if Armando promised to protect his daughter. Armando bid him his pledge that he would let nothing harm his precious girl at any cost. Then, the two lovebirds were free to return to America, where they currently stay with Hudson’s mother, Monica.

  How I know all this? Well, let’s just say that I’ve heard the story every year since “That Time” — as Hudson likes to refer to it — happened.

  “Well,” I said, returning back to the conversation at hand, “I’m pretty sure you probably spent the other half of the time sunbathing and shopping?”

  Hudson peered at me with confused eyes. “Of course I went shopping!” she exclaimed. “What else would I be doing there?”

  I rolled my eyes at my best friend. I could name four million other things I would rather do. The first being able to spend time with my father.

  Chapter Four

  Cameron

  I didn’t have any more classes with Olive that day. I tried not to let my devastation show as I shoved my books into my locker angrily. I had made sure to sign up for each and every class she had chosen — even that stupid pottery class. Yet, luck was not in my court, again.

  I grabbed my schedule out of my bag and ripped it up, letting the debris fall to the floor. School was the only time I had to spend with Olive. I had made so many plans to be with her and now I could only see her for an hour a day. My anger began to boil as I clenched the cool, sharp edges of my locker and squeezed, hard.

  “Hey!” the voice said behind me. I felt a tap on my shoulder. “What are you up to?” It was Armando. He had just come out of his class and now he was standing next to me, towering over me at a whopping six foot four.

  I nodded a hello.

  Armando smiled and then checked out my hand. “Dude, you do know you’re bleeding, right?” he said, pulling my hand away from the locker edge.

  I checked out my bruised hand and chuckled softly. Blood streamed down my hand and wrist. I frowned. “Stupid lockers,” I said hesitantly. “That’s a hazard you know. They should put child proof edges on or something, right?”

  Armando laughed and clapped a big, brown hand on my shoulder. “Only for babies like you,” he said.

  I pushed him off me and laughed. “So, got any classes with Hudson?” I asked, dabbing my wound with one of my gym T-shirts. The gash wasn’t terrible; just a cut that would leave a hint of a scar.

  Armando ran his hand through his jet black hair. “Of course I do,” he said, flashing his brilliantly white teeth at me. “No way was I not going to be with her.”

  “That’s called suffocating, Mannie,” I said, and smirked.

  Armando shrugged. “At least I’m not hurting myself over her,” he said, pointing at my wounded hand. “I have some control.”

  I glanced at my hand again, sighing. Armando was right. I had no control. I always felt as if I wasn’t myself. Thoughts — hostile ones — continued to course through my veins every second. And now I was hurting myself?

  I shook my head to mask my anxiety. “Don’t say anything to Olive,” I said in a hushed tone. “We are starting off on a good path. I don’t want it to stop.”

  Armando wrapped his arm around my shoulder and shuffled my hair. “Why would I ruin this little romance you two have?” he asked, his Spanish accent surfacing.

  I shrugged. “Good question.”

  We walked down the hallway and turned the corner out to the parking lot. I tossed out the bloody shirt, ridding myself of it. As I was headed for my car, Armando stopped me.

  “Cameron,” he said, pulling out his swim bag, “you can still try out for the team. I mean, you love swimming.”

  I let my gaze fall to the floor. I did love swimming. In fact, swimming was one of the things that calmed me down. It was something I grew up on, something I had cherished. Up until things changed.

  I shook my head at my best friend. “I can’t,” I said sadly, pulling out my car keys. “I
have to go home.”

  ****

  “Cameron!” my father’s voice called from inside the living room.

  I shut the tall door behind me, locking each and every lock. I even checked the lock once more and placed an umbrella discreetly on the doorknob.

  No burglar was getting through that door.

  I swiveled back around and said, “Yeah, Dad?” Dropping my bag on the staircase, I walked into the living room where four beautiful women sat around my dad. They all were of different ethnicities. They dressed in mini cocktail dresses, and had big hair and tons of makeup. Their heels were a gazillion inches tall and they were all rail thin.

  “I’ve got the models for the new campaign,” Mr. Sloane said, standing up from his wide leather chair. He walked over to me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Son,” he said proudly, “meet the new Midnight Models.”

  I smiled politely. “Hi, ladies,” I said.

  The ladies giggled seductively and waved their perfectly manicured fingers at me. I managed to keep myself from laughing like an idiot, but I could feel the heat from my blushing take over my face.

  “So these ladies are going to be around doing the photo shoot,” Dad explained. “Try not to get in the way of things. Understand?” His voice wasn’t demanding, but I could tell he was completely serious about my not disturbing him.

  I nodded my head and ran upstairs, leaving him to do his work.

  Dad had been managing Midnight Models for so long; you’d think it was easy for me to handle beautiful women in the house every day. But sadly, it was still mind-boggling. I never really wanted to be around all of that stuff, to be honest. Although he is my adoptive father, he still wants me to take control of the agency once I graduate. It pays extremely well and the name is internationally known, however the business wasn’t appealing to me. Seeing the women — that was fun, but managing them — not so much. That’s why I made sure to stay clear from his work or things would get ugly.

  Upstairs, I went right to my homework. I worked three hours straight on my reports, projects, assignments, and notes. I even completed homework that hadn't been assigned yet. I read through pages of books that wouldn’t be touched until next week. There was no time for leisure. I never had time for that. When twelve hours of your day was spent blacked out, there was no way I could slack. Ever.

  At around six, I started practicing my instruments. I had played the guitar since I was twelve, learning every basic tune as well as the most difficult. I practiced my songs and my melodies, and I recorded my newest harmonies. Afterward, I went to the piano.

  Music was the only thing that kept me sane. Without it, there would be nothing for me to live for. I couldn’t play sports anymore, and there was no way I could participate in after-school activities. I hadn’t seen a football game or a dance in my entire life, and sleepovers were nonexistent to me. My entire night life didn’t exist. I had no clue what the stars looked like outside of pictures, or how big the moon was in real life. I’ve never seen the lights of downtown or the ocean after dark. And I’ve only ever seen a bonfire on TV.

  I sighed, taking my fingers off the shiny white piano keys. I spent my entire life at home or at school. I had no social life without school and no hope of getting into college without music. I couldn’t swim anymore, not with all of the meets running into the night. Imagine what would happen if I blacked out in the water. My career in swimming would end, as well as my life. I couldn’t take the risk.

  Fifteen minutes until blackout.

  I shoved dinner into my mouth; steak, salad, asparagus, and a baked potato. Then I went and did my stupid little routine: setting my shoes next to my bag, picking out my clothes for tomorrow, cleaning every last corner of my room. I removed my clothes and then fell into bed at exactly 6:59 p.m.

  Chapter Five

  Cam

  I didn’t want to wake up. I was so tired already! Why?

  But I got up anyway and stretched. I was in my boxers again, even though I swore I wore my clothes to bed. Whatever. It was probably the booze that had me forgetting things.

  I fell to the floor on my hands and began my round of one hundred push-ups. Then I pushed my feet up against the wall and did one hundred curl-ups. I finished the routine with chin-ups against my closet.

  Next, I went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower, breathing in the moist air. I scrubbed like a maniac and then stepped out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy white towel around my waist.

  Wiping away the fog from the mirror, I examined my tan once again with much appreciation. How this tan showed up, I didn’t know. But I liked it. It made my gray — almost white — eyes pop. I smashed gel into my hair and headed back into my room.

  Stupid clothes were waiting for me on the dresser. No way was I wearing a polo and khakis to the club tonight. My old man probably set them out for me. Why he wanted me to dress like a girl was beyond me.

  I dug into my closet and brought out a black T-shirt, black jeans, and my newest black jacket. I walked over to my dresser and pulled out my chains, draping them over my neck. My watch was the next to go on my wrist and then, lastly, I put on my black sneaks.

  Before I left the room, I stuffed my bag with supplies for tonight, leaving the books and other stuff on the floor.

  When I was just about to leave, I smelled something nice. Women’s perfume. My old man had women over again.

  I chuckled, rubbing my hands together. “Oh, Father?” I called, walking into the studio. My dad and four smoking hot ladies were in there — just as I had suspected. They were all in front of the camera, posing beautifully. My dad was directing the photographer.

  “Daddy?” I said sweetly with a grin on my lips.

  My dad looked up, annoyance in his dark eyes. “What is it, Cameron?” he asked hastily.

  Cameron? Why had he just called me that?

  I decided not to correct him again. Last time I did, he flipped out and said some random stuff like, “Oh, your birth name is Cameron” and “Nobody wants to call you Cam.” Blah, blah, blah.

  I ventured into the room, dropping my bag onto the floor. “Pops, you’ve got models over again,” I said happily. I sized up the women, my eyes catching on their shiny, long legs.

  “I thought you were aware of that.” Dad groaned, pushing the photographer over to capture shots of the dark-skinned girl.

  I rolled my eyes. “What? Am I supposed to read your mind or something?” I asked. I hated it when he pulled this “I thought you knew” crap. Of course I didn’t know!

  Dad glanced at me once, and then twice. “What did I tell you about your eyes?” he asked, folding his thick arms across his broad chest. “You look freaky with those things in.”

  Not this again.

  “They are my eyes, Dad!” I said for the umpteenth time. Sorry if I was born with cool-looking eyes. So who’s to judge me?

  Dad frowned. I knew he wanted to say something, but he just shut his big mouth and faced the photo shoot again.

  I took this opportunity to get to know these ladies. Removing my jacket, I strolled on set and sat on the velvety blue couch.

  “Hey!” Dad barked angrily. “Get outta there, now!” He was angry. So, so angry. I loved watching him flip out. It was just awesome messing with him.

  I wrapped my arms around the women’s waists and smiled at the photographer. The photographer went right on snapping photos of me and the blonde holding each other.

  “Cam! Get your butt out of the shoot right now!” Dad barked. I could’ve sworn veins were popping out of his neck and forehead. His face was beet red and his suit looked like it was going to burst open. I laughed arrogantly and glanced at the red-haired Latin model on my left.

  The photographer kept shooting pictures, directing me to different poses. I even got to make out with the Asian one. Before I could turn to the dark-skinned model, my dad had me by the throat, hoisting me off the set.

  “Get off me!” I roared, pushing his thick fingers off my throbbing neck
.

  Dad threw me to the floor. “I told you about not bothering me on set!” he yelled in my face, poking me in the chest.

  I stood up from the floor slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Dad shoved me away. “Get out of here, now.” He was breathing heavily now, clenching his hands into fists.

  I just stared at him, smirking. He ordering me? No way was that going to fly without punishment. No way.

  My eyes averted to the cords underneath his feet. With the blink of my eyes, the old man became tangled up and on the floor, struggling with the “haunted” camera cords.

  He yelped out in fright. “What the—?” he cried out as the cords continued swiveling around him. His face was of pure shock and fear. “Get me out of here!”

  I shrugged my shoulders and walked back on set. I kissed every single model and even left the blonde wanting more. Laughing, I waltzed to the door and left.

  Chapter Six

  Olive

  “Olive, honey,” my grandmother, Abby (short for Abuela) called to me from the kitchen.

  “Coming, Abby,” I said, flipping off the TV. I got up from my favorite orange beanbag chair and headed to the kitchen. Abby was in there, cooking up a huge dinner. There was food everywhere and pots and pans were piled high in the sink. Abby had her graying, dark brown hair piled high on her head, and her sleeves were rolled up.

  I made a face. “What’s all this?” I asked, picking up the cookbook on the wooden table. I flipped through the pages, scanning the many recipes.

  Abby blew the stray hairs from her face. “I’m trying to make a meal — a good one this time,” she explained, placing her thin hands on her narrow waist. “But I can’t seem to do it right! Everything keeps exploding and stuff.”

  I laughed. “Need any help?”

  She shook her head fervently. “No way,” she said, taking the cookbook out of my hands. “This is my mission. All I need you to do is take the garbage out. Would you dear?” She held the black, swelling garbage bag out to me.