just as I’m finishing, my dad stops pacing the room and goes to his closet where he comes back with a gun in his hand. I step away from him and run into my mom.
“Stay here,” my dad orders.
But my mom and I follow him.
Not able to match his speed, my mom and I run a few feet behind my dad. I don’t see my dad go to their front door because my focus is on Camden’s bedroom window. When I get to it, I push it upward, but it doesn’t budge. My fists bang on his window in desperation, and I call out his name. My mom moves me aside as my dad shouts obscenities at Camden’s dad. With my heart in my throat, I watch my mom hit Camden’s window with her elbow. She then reaches into the room through the small shattered hole, unlocks the window, and pushes it up.
My mom helps me climb into the still room, and I hear her call 911 as I go to Camden’s bed where I find his lifeless bloody body. I brush his hair back and hear him groan, so I carefully ease myself into his bed and lie down next to him. Without opening his eyes, he reaches for me and tries to move his body closer to mine.
“You’re gonna be okay, Cam,” I whisper repeatedly to him while I continue to comb my fingers through his hair.
His labored breaths fall on my cheek, but I to try to soothe him, even after I hear the sirens approaching.
EIGHT
YANELYS
TWELVE YEARS OLD
My mom and I rode with Camden in the ambulance, but the EMTs made me sit in the front seat while my mom sat with him in the back. My heart, already broken, broke a little more when the doctors and nurses wheeled him away from me and led my mom and me to a waiting room where we’ve been sitting for close to an hour.
I wish my dad were here. He’s good at making me feel better. Not that my mom isn’t, but my dad’s better. And since he’s a firefighter and works with paramedics, he knows a lot of the people in the emergency room, and he’d have had answers by now. But he had to stay at Camden’s house to talk to the police.
I let the tears fall down my face, hoping Camden can feel them and know I haven’t left him. My mom takes me in her arms, and I crawl into her lap, needing to feel like her little girl, being comforted and taken care of.
In my mom’s arms, I close my eyes and reach for the quietest corner of my mind. I think about Camden, needing to believe that the harder I think about him, the more likely he’ll be okay. Images of his bruised body torture me. I hate leaving Camden in the hands of fate. I mean, it’s not like fate has been good to him so far.
“He’s in God’s hands,” my mom says, correcting my thoughts.
Her words sooth me like a balm to my soul and I feel better knowing that because God doesn’t let bad things happen. People do that all on their own, but God fixes things. He fixes people. He brings them together, like He did with Camden and me.
“Let’s pray,” she says.
With my head tucked under her chin, she begins to say “The Lord’s Prayer” in Spanish.
With each word whispered from my mom’s lips, my stomach muscles begin to loosen, and my tears stop. Just as she is halfway through the prayer, my dad opens the door to the waiting room with a doctor and two nurses behind him. I move my bottom, trying to get off my mom, but she holds me tighter. My dad stops at the door and bows his head while my mom finishes her prayer.
“Dad?” I whisper when I hear the word Amen .
His head snaps to me. He runs his hands over his face and rubs his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. After a long sigh, he walks over and sits down next to us while the doctor and nurses talk among themselves by the doorway.
“Yanelys,” he says softly.
I look down while my heart thunders in my chest. My parents only use my full name when they’re upset.
“If you had told us before…” He trails off and looks at my mom.
My throat closes when he doesn’t continue talking. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me Cam’s not dead.” With my words hanging in
“Stay here,” my dad orders.
But my mom and I follow him.
Not able to match his speed, my mom and I run a few feet behind my dad. I don’t see my dad go to their front door because my focus is on Camden’s bedroom window. When I get to it, I push it upward, but it doesn’t budge. My fists bang on his window in desperation, and I call out his name. My mom moves me aside as my dad shouts obscenities at Camden’s dad. With my heart in my throat, I watch my mom hit Camden’s window with her elbow. She then reaches into the room through the small shattered hole, unlocks the window, and pushes it up.
My mom helps me climb into the still room, and I hear her call 911 as I go to Camden’s bed where I find his lifeless bloody body. I brush his hair back and hear him groan, so I carefully ease myself into his bed and lie down next to him. Without opening his eyes, he reaches for me and tries to move his body closer to mine.
“You’re gonna be okay, Cam,” I whisper repeatedly to him while I continue to comb my fingers through his hair.
His labored breaths fall on my cheek, but I to try to soothe him, even after I hear the sirens approaching.
EIGHT
YANELYS
TWELVE YEARS OLD
My mom and I rode with Camden in the ambulance, but the EMTs made me sit in the front seat while my mom sat with him in the back. My heart, already broken, broke a little more when the doctors and nurses wheeled him away from me and led my mom and me to a waiting room where we’ve been sitting for close to an hour.
I wish my dad were here. He’s good at making me feel better. Not that my mom isn’t, but my dad’s better. And since he’s a firefighter and works with paramedics, he knows a lot of the people in the emergency room, and he’d have had answers by now. But he had to stay at Camden’s house to talk to the police.
I let the tears fall down my face, hoping Camden can feel them and know I haven’t left him. My mom takes me in her arms, and I crawl into her lap, needing to feel like her little girl, being comforted and taken care of.
In my mom’s arms, I close my eyes and reach for the quietest corner of my mind. I think about Camden, needing to believe that the harder I think about him, the more likely he’ll be okay. Images of his bruised body torture me. I hate leaving Camden in the hands of fate. I mean, it’s not like fate has been good to him so far.
“He’s in God’s hands,” my mom says, correcting my thoughts.
Her words sooth me like a balm to my soul and I feel better knowing that because God doesn’t let bad things happen. People do that all on their own, but God fixes things. He fixes people. He brings them together, like He did with Camden and me.
“Let’s pray,” she says.
With my head tucked under her chin, she begins to say “The Lord’s Prayer” in Spanish.
With each word whispered from my mom’s lips, my stomach muscles begin to loosen, and my tears stop. Just as she is halfway through the prayer, my dad opens the door to the waiting room with a doctor and two nurses behind him. I move my bottom, trying to get off my mom, but she holds me tighter. My dad stops at the door and bows his head while my mom finishes her prayer.
“Dad?” I whisper when I hear the word Amen .
His head snaps to me. He runs his hands over his face and rubs his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. After a long sigh, he walks over and sits down next to us while the doctor and nurses talk among themselves by the doorway.
“Yanelys,” he says softly.
I look down while my heart thunders in my chest. My parents only use my full name when they’re upset.
“If you had told us before…” He trails off and looks at my mom.
My throat closes when he doesn’t continue talking. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me Cam’s not dead.” With my words hanging in
Similar Books
