The Bad Guy

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, what did she text to you?” I tucked one hand behind my back and began one-handing it, pushing my breath through my teeth with each lift.

“She was sort of, I don’t know, abrupt.”

“What were you texting her?” Better not be dick pics.

“I just had a homework issue I wanted to talk about. Nothing big.” His voice cracked on the last word.

“Right.” I switched hands. “Look, she’s my girl, okay? Whatever little crush you may have on her, forget about it. Your horny teenage dick will never get anywhere near her. You got it?”

He groaned. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Unless you have something to tell me other than ‘my teen hormones are raging and I want to dick down with your girl, but she isn’t responding favorably to my texts,’ this conversation is done.” She wouldn’t even dick down with me. This kid didn’t have a fucking chance.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” His tone took on a sharp edge, and for a moment he sounded more man than boy.

I dropped to my elbows and planked. “Dude, she’s mine. I’ll say what I want.”

“I can’t believe she’s dating you. Look, asshole, she sent me a text earlier today. I’m screenshotting it and sending it to you.”

“Better not be a dick shot.” I tapped on the message and a text thread appeared—the kid bellyaching about his family and Camille blowing him off.

“Do you see the important part?”

I stared at the screen. “Nothing’s jumping out at me.”

Mint Baxter: Did I do something wrong?

Camille Briarlane: No. I’m busy researching Epipogium Aphyllum. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I’ll have much cell service for the rest of the trip. We’ll talk when I return.

“Look at how she capitalized Aphyllum.”

“Okay. So?” I rolled to my back on the cool wood floor and began doing crunches.

“Seriously, you’re her guy? You?”

“Kid, you’re pissing me off. Get to the fucking point. And for the record, I’m a great guy.”

“Ms. Briarlane would never capitalize the species name in a binomial classification.”

“Come again?” I lost count of my crunches but kept on doing them.

“During our very first week in her class, she gave a lecture on the proper way to classify living things. The first word is the genus. The second is the species. The species is never capitalized. She would never make a mistake like that.”

“Have you heard of autocorrect?” My abs burned. I wondered if the kid had a point. Camille was super into the science of things, especially when it came to plants.

“What is wrong with you?” His voice rose. “It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be. She’d never do that. And her texts haven’t even felt like her.”

I paused and dropped the back of my head to the floor. “Her texts to me have been sort of weird, too.” The Christmas thing, where she’d practically said she was having a ball without me—that couldn’t possibly be true.

“See?” He crowed with triumph. “Who are her other friends? Will you ask them if she’s been in contact?”

“Yeah, I’ll text Veronica. But don’t get too excited just yet. I’m sure she’s trying to adjust to the new environment.”

“I’m not excited. I’m worried.”

“You’re too young to worry.” I sat up and swiped my phone off the floor. “I’ll make some calls.”

“Please text me back if you find out anything.”

“Sure thing.” I clicked off the call and opened a text window.

Link: Hey Veronica, you heard from our girl?

The three dots bopped along.

Veronica: She’s my girl and yeah.

Link: She sound weird to you?

Veronica: Um, her responses were sort of short, I guess, but nothing weird in them. Why?

Link: I was just checking. Her responses have been short to me, too.

Veronica: She’s on a grand adventure. Probably doesn’t have time for us when there are plenty of muscly, half-naked natives there to help her out.

Link: Nevermind.

Veronica: Don’t worry. She can take care of herself.

I wanted to let it go at that, but a nagging feeling still ate at me. Camille had left a number for the leader of the expedition. I’d call him up—right after I finished my morning wank.

22

Camille

His helicopter took off early that morning, the blades slicing through the cold air as I watched from the window of my room. He’d asked me to walk out with him, but I’d refused. He’d looked handsome and powerful in a dark gray suit, but I wanted him gone. The emotions he churned up inside me made me feel as if I was betraying myself. Instead of trying to understand him, I needed to come up with a plan to get away.

The helicopter turned and leaned forward, carrying him farther from me with each passing second. Someone knocked at the door, and then I heard the keypad beeps. Timothy swung the door open and clicked a switch along the closing mechanism. The door remained open.

“Please help me get away from here.” I walked over to him.