“I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.” –Taylor Swift, Blank Space

PROS AND CONS FOR GETTING UP AT FIVE ON A SATURDAY MORNING TO WATCH ZACHARY TEMPLETON’S MORNING ACTIVITIES

Pro: You get to watch the sunrise.

Con: Turns out the sun rises really freaking slowly, and gets kinda boring after a while.

Pro: You get to catch up on all the music you haven’t listened to for a while.

Con: There’s only so many times you can listen to the same playlist before one wants to scratch their own eyeballs out.

Pro: You get to see Zach emerge from his home for a morning jog in all of his shirtless glory.

Con: It’s kind of hard to watch when you’re busy cowering down in your car and hoping to God he doesn’t see you.

Pro: It was a good test for patience.

Con: It definitely tested my patience, that’s for damn sure.

~          *          ~

The thing you need to know about this job is that it requires serious patience.

I know I’ve mentioned it before, but if I’m mentioning it again, it means that patience is seriously imperative.

I didn’t want to approach Zach too soon and seem like I was coming off as too eager and clingy (because that is one surefire way to make sure he never wants to see you again) but I didn’t want to wait too long, and make it seem like I wasn’t interested.

Which is why I made sure I ‘conveniently’ ran into him Saturday as I ran errands in town.

I mean, it’s not my fault I overheard him telling one of his friends—Paul, on the football team, if you’re curious—that he was planning on going into town and checking out the highlights of what Leighton Fields has to offer. It wasn’t my fault I had a few letters to drop off around about that time.

The fact I waited outside his house Saturday morning until he left to go into town may have had a little less to do with chance, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?

Running into him involved a lot of factors, and it called on almost every acting skill I had.

I had to fake running into him; fake the surprised expression, tone and body language; and I had to know exactly what to say to get him hooked.

This is easier said than done, of course.

“Hey! What a surprise,” I greeted Saturday morning at around eleven as I ran into him outside some bohemian boutique by the boardwalk (wow, that’s a lot of b’s).

Seeing him could have gone one of two ways. He could have either been desperate to get the hell away from me in a public setting so as not to be associated with me, or he could be totally happy to see me and lure himself in easier than I ever could have tried.

Luckily, he was a nice guy, so he chose the latter.

“Hey,” he said, obviously surprised. “Camila. How you doing?”

“Better now that you’re here,” I said, plastering on my best flirty smile.

It turns out that cheesy words can take on a whole new meaning when you add the right amount of flirty smiles and body language.

He laughed. ‘”What are you doing here?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the hot glare of the sun.

“Enjoying the sights,” I told him. “You?”

“Just checking out the town. I’ve been here three weeks, but, believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve ever actually gotten out to see the town.”

“Do you mind company?” I asked, reaching out and delicately stroking his right forearm—a psychological technique that is allegedly supposed to make things go more in your favor. “I told you I’d show you the highlights, didn’t I?”

Plus, maybe if I spend enough time with you you’ll spill some juicy secrets to me, I thought to myself, but that is hardly a conversational topic to share.

“Sounds awesome,” he replied.

I turned around and started along with him as we slowly made our way down the boardwalk. I turned and surveyed the shops, letting a companionable silence fall between us as I searched my mind for the perfect words. I had to be careful with everything I did and said. I couldn’t risk a thing.

“So, is Leighton Fields everything you dreamed it would be?” I asked him, looking out at the sparkling blue sea.

He took a moment to answer. “Yeah, actually. I mean, it’s got good weather, a top-notch football team.” He nudged my shoulder playfully. “Pretty girls.”

I smiled. He was making it almost too easy.

“I wouldn’t have said the same about the boys until you arrived,” I responded, the words making their way out of my lips with a surprising amount of nonchalance.

“Are you calling me pretty?” he asked, a laugh escaping his lips involuntarily.

I turned up and stared at his profile; the way his full lips were quirked into a smile, and the way his jawline and cheekbones were almost chiseled from stone. Of course, he still had soft features, but it was a perfect mix.

“You’re certainly something,” I murmured quietly.

Despite the fact I wasn’t interested in dating or men or really anything in general, I could still appreciate a handsome guy, the same way a person averted to art could still find beauty in a painting. It was just something that was there; unavoidable to the eye. He had that good, wholesome, boyish vibe about him that I found myself liking more and more.

“You know, I should really be careful, flirting with you and all,” I told him, allowing my arm to brush his just slightly.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, turning to me with a quirked eyebrow and a small smirk. “Why’s that?”

Here was the question I was strangely curious about. I couldn’t even explain why, I just felt like I really needed to know the answer.

“Well, I don’t even know if you’re single,” I told him. “I’d hate to be intruding on another girl and making a move on her man.”

“Oh,” he said, chuckling.

“Oh?” I asked, trying to mask my frustration with amusement. “What’s ‘oh’ mean? Am I flirting with a taken man?”

“It’s… complicated,” he said finally.

“Ooh, complicated,” I said, wincing with a small smile. “You know, Zach, I don’t really do complicated.”

“It’s just that, yes, technically I’m… with a girl. But she’s halfway across the country, and we never talk. I’m not even sure I really like her anymore.” His voice had grown deeper and more distracted as he was whisked away to another world, but now it was like he was grounded again, and his voice took on a tone of amusement. “Plus, there’s this other girl I’m really starting to like.”

“Really? Does this other girl like you back?”

He bit his lip and studied me quizzically. “I don’t know. But I sure as hell hope so.”

I sighed and turned to the pale blue sky, taking most likely my biggest risk yet. “Well, I hope this girl won’t mind if I do this.” Then I slipped my hand into his warm, large one, allowing myself to grip it tightly.

It was a large gamble, of course. But it was one necessary to take. If this paid off, it could mean big things in the info department, and I loved risks.

Luckily, today just seemed to be my day.

He laughed and squeezed it tightly. “I don’t know about her, but I don’t mind this at all.”

I know that holding hands with a potentially taken guy is probably a pretty bad thing on both ends. But it wasn’t like I was allowing myself to be his mistress. It was just some healthy flirting and handholding, and it was just in a joking manner, so I couldn’t see it being a pretty big deal. Plus, he’d admitted the complications to me.

            Still, I was going to be damned if I didn’t get a few more answers out of him.

            “So, about this girl back home,” I said as cavalierly as possible. “What’s going on with her? You know, I just don’t want this other girl getting the wrong idea…”

            He seemed unbothered by the question, though, which was a pure blessing. “Actually, I’ve been trying to break up with Katie—that’s her name, by the way. It’s just pretty hard. We’ve been together for four years, and since we’re currently playing phone tag, it’s hard to get into contact with her.”

            I already knew about Katie, but he could never know as much. “Well, you know, if you end up breaking up with this Katie, you should totally let the other girl know you’re available. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you out with that.”

            “I might just do that.”

            So far, I was counting this encounter as a success. I still wasn’t sure how much of the information I should relay to Natalie, but for now I was willing to push that to the back of my mind and put this part of it forward. I’d deal with that all later. I just wanted to enjoy myself now, and to hell with the consequences (because sometimes you gotta mix business with pleasure).

            “Are you hungry?” Zach asked. “Because I hear there’s this great restaurant I’m dying to try, and I’m game if you are.”

            Hearing the mention of food and restaurants, my stomach gave out a silent growl, reminding me that, in keeping surveillance on Zach’s house since seven in the morning, I’d totally skipped breakfast. Hey, I can make sacrifices, too!

            “That sounds perfect,” I admitted. “Lead the way.”

            We started off hand-in-hand towards the restaurant, and chatted mindlessly about topics ranging from his last school to his favorite sporting team, and I recorded everything in my photographic memory. Every piece of the Zachary Templeton puzzle was important, and I was leaving no stone unturned.

            Just as we passed a pretty risky alley (where, according to rumor, people went to street fight for money) we ran straight into a familiar blonde emerging from the mouth of the alley.

            “Whoa, there,” Zach said in surprise as he pretty much barreled into her, but luckily she caught her balance just in time.

            I frowned. “Perrie?” I asked, surveying her appearance. Despite the fact it was at least a balmy seventy degrees, she was wearing a tight black hoodie, jeans and leather boots.

            “You know her?” Zach questioned.

            “Yeah,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s my best friend.”

            “Cam,” Perrie said, sniffing as she regained her balance and came face-to-face with me. “Hey.”

            “Hey,” I said. “Fancy running into you here.”

            Perrie’s eyes—which were kinda bloodshot like she had pinkeye, or something—trailed down to where Zach and I were still holding hands, and she frowned, as if the image held no place in her mind. “Whoa. What’s going on? What’d I miss?”

            “Oh,” I said, realizing they’d never been introduced. “Zach, meet my best friend, Perrie Donovan. Perrie, meet Zachary Templeton.”

            They shook hands, Zach seeming warm and open, and Perrie looking slightly uncomfortable. “Nice to meet you,” Zach said, smiling at her.

            “Hi,” she said simply, rubbing her red nose with a wrist.

            “So, Perrie, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Zach said, even though I knew for a fact I’d never brought up Perrie to him before. “Cammie and I were just heading out for lunch. You wanna join us?”

            Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Perrie. Seriously. She’s my best—if only—friend, and she was also my confidant and my distraction when I needed it.

            But this was supposed to be my lunch with Zach; my opportunity to glean some information from him. And that may have been a little hard if we had a tagalong on our little date.

            I’m not sure why he asked. Maybe it was because Perrie had a strange vibe about her, or maybe because she was looking quite frail and thin, like a strong gust of wind could blow her away. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her eat a proper meal. My normally pretty best friend seemed different to the girl in front of us; her skin was paler, she was so thin her bones looked like they could protrude from her skin at any second, and she looked woozy and distracted.

            Or, you know, maybe I was over-analyzing things and Zach was just trying to be nice.

            “Thanks,” Perrie said, smiling. “But I can’t. As much as I’d love to be the awkward third wheel, I actually have to go. Promised my mom I’d spring clean. But I’ll see you later, okay?”

Despite how strange her appearance seemed, she spoke normally enough, with the right amount of vigor and inflection.

Maybe her encounter with Jeremy had just freaked me out, and I was looking into things. Maybe it was just that Perrie had a bug or was on a weight loss regime and had forgotten to self-tan.

I was probably just being paranoid.

“I’ll see you later,” I promised her, as she walked past.

She turned around one last time and smiled timidly at Zach. “It was lovely meeting you, Zach.”

“You too, Perrie,” he said warmly. After we’d watched her walk away, he turned back to me with a smile. “She seems really nice.”

“She is,” I said.

His hand slowly crept into mine as we started back along the street, towards lunch. I hid a smile by turning my head to watch everybody that passed, wondering how many people noticed us. Not many people, I was gratified to find.

“So, where is this mystery restaurant?” I asked.

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

~          *          ~

It’s no secret that Leighton Fields is glamorous.

We have the limousines, manicured nails, mansions and country clubs to prove it.

If you want to dine out, we have places that offer you the best prime rib on the east coast, excellent lemon-grass chicken, and a bakery with a lemon meringue pie to die for.

            Seriously. Whatever affair you’re catering—whether it be dates, lavish birthday parties or anniversaries—Leighton Fields has an expensive restaurant to dine at for the occasion.

So, you can imagine my surprise when, an hour later, I’m sitting at a metal bench on a bar stool, watching a chef cut up sushi and proceed to throw it as hard as he can in the general direction of your mouth.

“No offence, but I didn’t strike you as the tepinyaki type,” I told him as I watched with a kind of sick amusement as the chef cut up pieces of chicken, threw them up in the air, caught them with his chopsticks, and threw it towards me.

I dove desperately for the piece of meat, and felt an involuntary flash of excitement when it landed squarely in my mouth.

“What can I say?” Zach asked, watching the chef to make sure he didn’t miss the incoming food—because if there’s one thing I’d learned about this experience, it’s that tepinyaki chefs are ruthless. “I like playing with my food.”

“That’s a nasty habit, Templeton,” I chastised him playfully. As a piece of salmon catapulted towards him, he dove for it, but it ended up hitting him in the nose and bouncing back to the bench.

It certainly wasn’t as glamorous as the steaks at the golf club, but I liked it. It was empty, it was fun, and the food was amazing, too. I wondered how many other jaunts there were in the town that I hadn’t heard of.

“So, I heard a rumor at school,” Zach said, after we’d finished our turn at Tepinyaki and had officially cleaned ourselves up (because, trust me, that gets real dirty real quick).

“Oh, really?” I asked. At a place like Leighton High, rumors could be very dangerous, and I cringed at the thought of what kind of rumor he could be inquiring about. “You know, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

He nodded. “I know. But this one caught my interest. Apparently you can, like, deduce people. Like, if you feel like it, you can just full-on Sherlock some dude. That true?”

“Wow, I didn’t know Leighton Fields could tell truthful rumors,” I said with a smile.

            “Would it be totally bad if I asked you to deduce me now?”

I pursed my lips and stared at his face, at the lines and contours and the strong jawbone and high cheekbones. The glimmering eyes and mischievous smile. I took in every minute detail, like the creases in his shirt and the color of his jeans and the smell of the soap he used.

“Okay,” I said. “Well, first of all, you’re low-maintenance. You don’t buy things you don’t need, and your soap is vanilla, meaning you’re a very simplistic person whose tastes aren’t complicated. You’re adventurous, and you like fun and exciting things. You’re not a posh person, but you appreciate the finer things in life. You’re intelligent, but you were raised to be modest. Judging by your personality, I’d say you’re the middle child. You have that authority like you’re older, but you always had that older authority figure. A follower, but not a leader. Am I on point with anything?”

“Eerily,” he commented, sounding awed. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t that hard. All you had to do was see, notice and observe. As long as you were aware of everything, you could formulate opinions very quickly. “I am the middle child, I don’t like doing things for the hell of it, and I love adrenalin activities. You should totally do that for a living.”

“There’s not many jobs in that kind of business, my friend,” I told him, smiling.

“You could be a detective.”

Not with my history, I thought bitterly.

But I couldn’t say as much. No way was I going to open that can of worms. There are some things better left unmentioned.

“I should really be getting home,” I told him, turning to stare at the sky. It was only early dusk, and the blue sky was now streaked through with golden hues, creating a beautiful sunset. I hadn’t realized I’d been out with Zach that long. In between talking to him and everything else, I’d completely lost track of time.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Do you need a ride?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling. This was, however, technically a lie, considering I’d driven myself here and all, but this hardly seemed like a time to say as much. I’d just come collect my vehicle in the morning.

We started towards his car, and I was gratified when he opened the door like a true gentleman, allowing me access into the cab. It smelled of French fries and cologne, and one of those scented things hung off the rear vision mirror. Still, it was homely, and extremely different to the leather smell of my car, which hadn’t so much as seen a fast food wrapper in its time.

“So, where to?” Zach asked after he’d gotten into the car and started the engine.

I quickly rattled off my address, and as we drove he flicked on the radio, playing some soft country station.

            “I didn’t realize you liked country,” I appraised, turning to look at Zach, who looked like the last person on Earth to enjoy that kind of music.

He shrugged. “It’s not something I enjoy bringing up in conversation. Normally whenever I mention it, I get a lot of odd looks. It’s a guilty pleasure.”

I held up my hands. “Hey, no judgment here. I listen to classical music, so it’s not like I have the most stereotypical of tastes.”

“Classical, huh?” he asked. “Who’s your favorite?”

“Tchaikovsky,” I responded. “My favorite song would be Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy.”

Under his breath, I heard him begin to hum it, and I smiled. “You never really struck me as the type to know things like that.”

He shrugged. “My parents love that kind of thing. Though, I must say, they were always bigger fans of Mozart.”

“Classic,” I said, nodding. “But, then again, I always admired the finesse of Debussy. There was always something so strong and powerful about his symphonies. Claire De Lune is a favorite, too.”

“I didn’t realize you were that passionate about revolutionary music,” Zach said as he turned down a side street that had been swept up in autumn. Golden and red leaves lined the streets as the plants shed their layers, and the sun was warm and golden in the sky. It was the time of the year for scarves and woolly socks and pumpkin spice lattes or whatever people did in the fall.

“I’m a bit of a history buff,” I admitted. It had been a long time since I’d offered up information about myself voluntarily; normally I was one of those people that thought keeping something to yourself was always best. It gave people less to blackmail you for. But for some reason I felt like I wanted him to know more about me; to gain some insight into me. “I love old music and classic literature and things. I love seeing the basic foundations and why the world is the way it is today. It fascinates me.”

“So you read?” Zach asked conversationally.

I shrugged. “Probably less than I’d like. But I do enjoy reading when I do. I don’t like the novels that are around now; way too cliché. But I do enjoy old books like Shakespeare and Tolstoy and Austen. Did you know I have a first edition copy of The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne? It’s my most prized possession.”

True, I’d gotten the book in less-than-honest ways, but it was my favorite novel, and the chance for a first edition, signed copy? Totally worth trading a Faberge egg for it. (And, yes, the Faberge egg was honest; it was a present from a senator for keeping a lid on the fact he was cheating on his wife with his assistant.)

“Wow,” Zach said. “That’s incredible. I must say, though, you’re not the kind of girl I thought you were.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “It’s just… I’ve heard certain things about you at school. And nothing that I’ve heard would make me think you’re the kind of girl who enjoys classic literature and chamber music.”

I shrugged. “It’s all gossip,” I murmured. “People don’t know me.”

“People seem to know you pretty well. You pretty much have the school wrapped around your finger.”

“They know the Camila Stryker of Leighton Fields High. But they don’t know Cam. The real me.”

“You know, I’ve heard some stuff about you,” Zach said. He pulled up to my house and shut off the engine, but neither of us moved. Honestly, I was almost scared to. I didn’t know why, but it kinda felt like I almost cared how he thought of me, which was absurd.

“What kind of stuff?”

He shrugged. “Just that people are scared of you. You’re the girl people come to when they need things. You know everyone, but you’re close to no one. That’s definitely not the girl I know.”

I looked out the window, feeling waves of melancholy flash over me. “People don’t really know me. They’re right, of course. But in a place like Leighton Fields, you can’t afford to let people in.”

“Why?”

“Because people blackmail; they stab their friends in the backs for their own personal gain. Trust me, I know.”

And I did. In my time helping others achieve their goals, I’ve seen some bad things. I’ve seen people try to injure their friends; I’ve seen people steal boyfriends, drug their friends and ruin their chances at a future. And I was not going to fall victim to a play like that.

And that’s why I could never let someone too close—not even Perrie. I had a lot of very dark skeletons in my closet, and if anyone ever found out some of the things I’d done for others, I could face catastrophic consequences.

“Who are you really, Cammie?” Zach asked, leaning closer to me. My eyes fluttered shut as his face came closer. I could feel the warm heat of the sun, and could feel his cool breath fanning in my face. “Past the rumors and lies and the façade, who are you?”

It was the most honest thing I’d ever told Zach before, and I was surprised by the vulnerability I felt. Because I could of said a million things.

Who am I?

I’m someone you don’t want to mess with.

I’m someone a sane person would be scared of.

I’m hated, revered; feared.

I’m lonely.

I’m scared.

But none of these were completely true, so when I spoke to him, it was perhaps one of the must truthful sentences I’d ever uttered in my life.

Who are you?

“I don’t know,” I whispered, looking down.

Because I didn’t. Who was I really? Was I the girl who walked the halls of Leighton Fields and made deals and teased and spied and lied and did terrible things for her gain as well as others?

Or was I the girl who stayed up late at night studying for assignments and reading Shakespeare and listening to Tchaikovsky?

Who am I really?

I didn’t even know.

And it scared the hell out of me.

“How about I deduce you, then?” Zach asked, and, despite the tense circumstances, his voice held a tinge of amusement.

I smiled. “All right. Show me what you got.”

“I think you’re a girl who defies expectations, rises above the stereotype, and is unlike anybody I’ve ever met before. She’s smart and funny and cultured, and probably my parent’s dream girl. But she’s scared; of what I don’t know. Is that why you are the way you are? What are you scared of, Cammie?”

It was a good question; a very good one. But there were so many options; there were so many things to be scared of. The enemies I’d made; the future; everything.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

“What am I scared of?” I asked, unclipping my seatbelt and opening the door. I slipped out of the cab and landed squarely on the pavement, before I spun to face him one last time. “I’m scared of the past catching up to me.”

That was a lie. But, hey, I couldn’t be too honest with him, now, could I? I couldn’t give away everything to him.

Because I couldn’t tell him what was really running through my mind.

What am I scared of?

I’m scared of the person that I’ve become.