Ghost Time

He’d been watching me, sitting at my desk, drawing, and he goes, You didn’t hear me, did you? I go, No. What’s up? And he goes, Can we listen to something else? I said, What’s wrong with Bauhaus? I love this song, and Cam goes, I know you do. Because you put it on repeat two hours ago, before you started drawing. Then he goes, I hate to have to tell you this, Thee, but Bela Lugosi’s dead. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead , Cam said, standing up, walking over to my iPod.
    I looked at him and made this face, like, Ha, ha, ha, but come on, two hours? I’d been out of it for two whole hours? I was justlike, Nuh-uh , then I looked at the clock, and it was almost eight—it really was two hours. Poor Cam, it must’ve been like Chinese water torture listening to “All We Ever Wanted Was Everything” over and over and over, not wanting to bother me while I was working.
    So I told him, Sorry, I was just thinking about my grandmother, Nanna, how she used to say I had a bad head, and he said, That’s not true. And it was so sweet of him, I go, I wish she could hear you say that, and he stopped twirling the dial, picking a different playlist and hitting play. Then he walked over, and he goes, Nope. Good head, but you’ve got a… bad ass ! Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me over on my bed, and he put me across his legs, saying, A very, very bad ass, and he was about to start spanking me, so I started screaming, Stop it, Cam! Stop! And then, out of nowhere, my mom starts knocking on the door: Thea? Thea, what’s going on?
    Then, when she opened my door and stuck her head in, ohmygod… the look on her face, seeing me, spread across Cam’s lap, and Cam’s hand in the air, and she looked at us, and we both looked at her, no one saying a word. Then, finally, Cam goes—his hand still in the air, right—he goes, S’up, Renee? I had no idea what was about to happen, and my mom goes, Just checking, and then closed the door! I couldn’t even believe it—I go, Mom, come back! Mom, help!

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 6, 2011
    (TWO DAYS LATER)
    12:03 PM
    No word. No call, no text, no e-mail, nothing. For twenty-four hours, I kept checking every ten seconds. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and then, finally, Wednesday morning, Karen called before I left for school to let me to know she was calling the police. And I knew—of course she had to call the police, it’d been two days. But somehow, I couldn’t believe she’d actually make the call, because that would mean Cam was really missing. Until then—even then, after she called—I kept expecting him to walk in the door any second. But all I could do was nod, and tell her I was here if she needed me, and then I hung up the phone. Sitting on my bed, I was just like—numb. I kept staring at the ground, thinking, This isn’t happening, this isn’t really happening ….
    When my cell rang again, ten seconds later, I was sure it was her, but instead it was an e-mail from Cam. I was so relieved, ohmygod, I didn’t know if I was going to scream or cry, and Ichecked the message, but it didn’t say anything. It was a link—there wasn’t any message from him, nothing, so I just stared at the phone, thinking, What are you doing? What is this? And I was furious, you know. I was so worried about him, it’s no time for fun and games, but that’s all I had. So I went to my computer, and I clicked the e-mail, and it was a YouTube link. So I clicked and it started, and at first, it was so fuzzy and grainy, I couldn’t make out what was happening. I mean, it looked all night-vision Blair Witch herky-jerky motion, green crotches and… penis—ohmygod, it was a guy’s penis—and I looked up and my mouth fell open. Because it wasn’t just some guy, it was us . Only it wasn’t us—me and Cam—it was a sex video someone made of us. All I could do was cover my mouth.
    Because it was a video of the two of us from Monday afternoon… having sex. It was only fifteen seconds, but I couldn’t shut my mouth, so I just got up, off my chair, and I stepped away from the desk, shaking my head no. No, no, no… denying it—I don’t even know who I was denying it to. I mean, yes. Yes, yes, it was my face, my body, my—my pussy. God, what word do you use to talk about your own sex? I don’t know, especially since it’s not true. I mean, even if it was real—yes, that really happened; yes, we really had sex, but it still wasn’t true. What I mean is that there are things that