Chapter 7

Camden

9 Years Old

Biting on my inner cheek I look around the back yard. There's red and blue balloons, a cake with two fighters on it, and a few presents.

"Damn it!" My mouther voice echoes with hint of frustration. I bet I left my bowl of cereal on the counter again, and she knocked it over.

Furrowing my brows I head toward the back door leading into our kitchen.

"What's wrong mom?"

She digs in her purse with pursed lips.

"I could have sworn I bought candles, but I can't find them. Have you seen them?" She looks at me briefly before lifting various items off the counter to look under them.

"No." I start helping her look.

"I'll go buy some more babe." Dad states grabbing the keys off the microwave.

Mom runs her hands through her hair and exhales.

"Just candles, Andrew." She points her finger at him. "Hurry, guests will begin to show up soon."

"Candles. Got it." He smiles, ruffling the hair on my head. "Be back soon Champ."

Mom nibbles on her bottom lip, just as the doorbell rings.

"Go see who that is, will ya?" Mom asks, wrinkles forming on her forehead.

Nodding, I dart to the front door. I wonder if it's Bret. He's the coolest kid in school, and he promised he show up.

Opening the front door, I find Tatum and her family.

"Hey Camden, happy birthday!" Journey's face beams with excitement. She's wearing a long flowery dress with a ridicules yellow bow in her hair. Why do girls wear that crap?

"Hey." I give a weak attempt at a wave. Sliding my gaze from Journey, I catch Tate rolling her eyes at me. She's so different from any girl I've ever met. She's wearing a black shirt with a faded boxing glove on it, followed by red frayed shorts.

Tatum's mother, Marlow, clears her throat. Realizing I've been staring at Tatum longer than I intended I hold the front door open.

"Come in."

"Here." Tatum shoves a small wrapped box into my chest hard. "Umph!" Coughs from my chest from the hard thrust.

I glare at her as she passes. Her mother gives her a tap upside the head.

"Act like a lady." Marlow hisses.

Fifteen minutes later everyone has arrived, and mom is pacing the kitchen to the point I'm sure she's worn a path into the floor. Dad hasn't come back and isn't answering his phone. Most people would be scared to death that something bad had happened to their father, but I? I know he's fallen off the wagon again.

He drinks. A lot. Mom has had a close eye on him, trying to get him to quit the last week. Now that he is out of her sight... he's probably sitting in front of a liquor store drinking his way to the bottom of a bottle.

"You like to fight?" Bret adjusts his ball cap as he observes my cake.

"Yeah, Mom hates it though." She says that is why we moved here, because I got into too many fights at school. I know that's a lie though. We left because my dad did something with someone at work. Something that had my mom in fury. They never would tell me what though.

"I like to fight too, got kicked out twice last year. Though one was for a fight, the other was because of this," He lifts his shirt, showing a sheathed knife. My eyes widen.

"Whoa, that's cool." I've never held a knife before, but just looking at Bret's all secure in a leather holster... it makes me want one.

"Yeah, I don't need it though. I can hit pretty hard with my hands." His tone is confident, and I can't help but want to challenge him.

"Yeah, I'm pretty strong too." My tone antagonizing.

"Oh yeah? How about we arm wrestle then?" Bret pulls the sleeve of shirt up and hunches down on one knee, resting an elbow on the table.

I smile, if I beat him... I'll be the coolest kid in school.

"You're on!" I take a knee, and palm his large hand.

"If I win, I get your slice of the cake." He grins confidently.

"If I win, I get yours." I counter, squeezing his hand.

He starts without counting, catching me off guard. Gritting my teeth, scrunching my nose, I push with all my might.

Breathing through my nose I start to make progress, pushing his arm to the other side. His brown eyes flick to mine with worry, just as I take his hand to the table.

I jump up, arms raised in the air in victory.

"Yeah. Yeah. My arm is weak. I had baseball practice today," he defends.

"Whatever. I won and you know it." I start to get angry. How dare he act like he just let me win. I won and he knows it. I look around me to see if anyone saw me take him down. But everyone is looking anywhere but at me.

He rolls his eyes and turns around. Dang it!

"Hey Camden!" Felicia calls my name catching my attention. Tuning towards her, she waves with a stupid smile. She's wearing a tight purple dress, with a ton of makeup on. Some other girls my mom made me invite standing right behind her. Curving my mouth I give a nod. My eyes catch Tatum sitting on the grass. Her legs crossed as she pulls grass from the ground as if she's bored.

Felicia snaps her gaze to her, and grimaces. Marching over to Tatum she kicks her in the shoe. "Why are you here? Didn't you hear? Losers aren't invited," Felica insults.

Quickly I run to them. Tatum stands, her fists balled.

"You better take that back before I blacken your eye so bad you won't need that stupid eyeshadow!" Tatum threatens. I step in between them. "Hey Tatum, want to arm wrestle me for your cake?" Her face goes stoic.

"What?" She blinks wildly.

"You heard me." I reaffirm. "Arm wrestle me. That is unless you're afraid you'll lose."

Her mouth pops open before her lips form into a thin line. "Fine."

Getting situated she palms my hand and a zing surfs through my fingers, up my arm, and right down to my gut. Looking at her, her eyes widen like she felt it to. There is something so different about this girl.

"Ready?" I act as if I didn't notice anything.

Her brows pull together in determination.

I start out slow, not wanting to break her heart at how strong I really am. Maybe I'll let her win, that'll make her day.

Her strength surprises me so I push harder, the idea of maybe letting her win gone.

Just as my hand is an inch away from the table, I use both hands and push hers to the table. I can't let a girl beat me!

"HEY! THAT'S CHEATIN!" Tate's nose scrunches with anger, as she stands up.

"You owe me your cake sweetheart." I shrug with a smug smile.

Her nose wrinkles, her lips pursed like a pucker fish. Looking down she grabs a random plate, and plows it to my face. Cake fills every crook and cranny of my face.

My mouth drops, the taste of icing filling my mouth.

"Tatum Davis!" Her mother puts her hand on her hip, as she eyes Tate with a look of embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry!" Her dad apologizes for her. I wipe the cake from eyes, and find a smiling Tate. She could care less that she's in trouble. I can't help the curve of my lips, the ache behind them as I try and fight the smile creeping through my anger.

Quickly they usher her out of the back yard. Whispering and schooling her the whole time.

"She's such a freak. Do you want a napkin?" Felicia asks, crossing her arms.

"I like her." I respond, flicking icing off my fingers. I can literally hear the disapproval smoldering off Felicia. There's no need to look.

There's something about Tatum Davis, and I can't put my finger on what it is. Most girls are pathetic. Wearing stupid pink stuff, and always wanting to talk about themselves and shopping. But Tatum... she's different. I want to get to know her.

Two hours later my father shows up. Drunk.

I kick a rock, as I sit on the front porch listening to them scream at each other.

Glass breaks and I can't stand to hear it anymore.

Sprinting between the houses I spot Tatum sitting on her bed. The window to her room open. Our houses are so close together I often see her in her room. She's always on her bed, reading something. She caught me looking once and I ducked as quick as I could. I know she saw me though.

Getting a closer look inside she's reading some kind of boxing magazine.

"What ya reading?" I intrude, resting my arms on the ledge of her window. Her head darts up, her blonde hair falling in her face.

"Here to spy on me again?" Her words sharp.

A scream sounds from behind me with a loud bang. I don't look behind me, but Tatum's face goes blank.

"Can I come in?" I ask, knowing it's a long shot. I just can't go back home, and it's dark out.

Her eyes look around the room wildly, her body tense.

"Please." I can't believe I just said.

Her eyes slowly slide to mine and she nods. "Yeah. But you have to be quiet, my dad will get mad if he knows you're in here."

"Got it."

I climb into her bedroom window, and look around. It's not what I thought a girl's room would look like. There's posters of boxers, and fighters all over the walls.

Dirty clothes on the floor, and a pair of sneakers throw in the corner.

Sitting on the floor, I gaze among the stack of magazines she's collected.

"You're kind of -"

"Different? I know." She tucks her nose back into her magazine.

"Yeah, but it's a good different." Her eyes pop above what she's reading.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You don't fall into that crowd of girls that pretend to be something they're not. I like that. Plus, we have a lot in common."

Silence fills the air as I look over an article.

"Can you read any of this?" I ask, my mind trying to silently pronounce the words.

She slips off the bed and sits next to me, crossing her legs Indian style.

"I can read some of it. Like here," she points to the page showing some limited edition cup, I don't know I don't look at it long. I watch Tate, as her eyes light up at the magazine. "It's a cup they use for their protein powder, which helps them get strong for fights," she explains. Her eyes meet mine, and she taps the page.

"See?" She knows I haven't even looked at the page.

"You want to be friends?" My heart beats a little faster when I realize that my own voice asked the question. My face is on fire as I watch for her reaction. I've never asked to be a girl's friend before.

She shrugs, biting her cheek. "I guess."

Lifting the magazine up, I smile behind it.