Page 31 of Story of My Life
They jogged off down the sidewalk.
I turned back to Darius and rubbed my temples. “So, uh, how does a high schooler become a real estate agent and mayor?”
“He’s creepy smart, and our town bylaws are shit,” Cam said, handing the papers back to me and glaring at said creepy smart teen.
“What can I say? I was blessed in the IQ area. But unlike my fellow child prodigies, I chose to advance my professional career instead of my academic career. The bylaws clearly state anyone of sound mind can run for elected office once they gain the age of sixteen,” he said, leading the way to the crooked gate. He gave it a good kick and popped the latch. “Not to brag, but I won by a landslide.”
He swept an arm in a flourish, gesturing for me to step into the overgrown yard.
“You ran unopposed,” Cam pointed out.
“The path of least resistance, my friend,” Darius said, slapping him on the shoulder in one of those man-to-man moves. His attention returned to me, and he spread his arms. “Well, what do you think of your new front yard?”
I took it all in. The uneven flagstone path. The misshapen shrubbery, the thorny overgrowth, the peeling turquoise porch planks.
“Are these flowers or weeds?” Zoey asked, picking thistles off her pant legs.
“Get this. They’reflowering weeds. Isn’t that great? The previous owner appreciated low-maintenance landscaping. So how do you know my man Cam here?” Darius asked as we mounted the porch steps.
I got the feeling he was trying to distract me from how squeaky the wood was.
“She doesn’t,” Cam said, surprising me by placing those big hands on my hips and guiding me away from a cracked, bowed step.
I lost all trains of thought at the physical contact.
“They played doctor together,” Zoey said.
Darius wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, given your profession, Ms. Hart, I hope you’re finding inspiration everywhere.”
This kid had presidential-level small-talk skills.
“You have no idea,” I squeaked, finding my footing on the porch.
Cam’s eyes narrowed in what I could only assume was some kind of crinkly-eyed masculine judgment.
I turned a slow circle. It wasn’t great. The flower boxes were full of the skeletal remains of dead plants. Some of the floorboards were warped. And the spiderwebs in the eaves were so aggressive they looked like Halloween decor.
But there was something here I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Personality, character, a lady past her prime refusing to go down without a fight…whatever it was, I liked it.
I had a quick flash of the plucky heroine standing exactly where I was, feeling what I was feeling, and goose bumps rose on my arms.
“Why is she smiling?” I heard Cam mutter.
“Because her brain doesn’t work like ours do,” Zoey explained fondly.
I turned. Zoey and Cam were standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed. He was frowning fiercely. She looked like she might vomit again.
“Problem?” I challenged.
“Nope,” Zoey said wisely.
“Yeah. One about five foot seven with delusions,” Cam responded.
It was my turn to cross my arms. “Don’t you have someone else to go be mean to?”
“I’m not going anywhere until someone explains exactly what’s going on,” he said.
“It’s not that hard to understand. I bought this house. I live here now.”
