Prude

Camille

C A M I L L E
(Ca-mill)

It was raining that day.

The church procession had left, leaving only the teenagers and two youth group ministers in the narthex of St. Mary's Catholic Church. As usual, the boys were fooling around with one another, and the girls were chatting in the plush armchairs lining the walls.

I was the one, however, that was absentmindedly texting in the corner of the room. In my case, it was Gavin Stroop, whom I had been texting for weeks, and I was certain that he would ask me to the spring formal in a few months.

Mrs. Humphries, one of the few youth group people that actually talked to me, walked over to me. I didn't look at her, my eyes still focused on the keyboard in front of me, but I saw her walk up to me. I clicked my phone off and set it down in my lap, then looked up. Her gaze was fragile, like she felt bad that I was just sitting there, and I was the only one not socializing.

I had never been one to socialize, and the youth group, my mother hoped, would give me some social status.

You see, that didn't work too well.

Humphries would say, "Okay. You may talk quietly among yourselves." That, to me, meant get back to texting Gavin. She didn't like that, though I had explained to her — many, many times — that I was an antisocial pessimist and that it was best to just leave me alone.

My phone vibrated in my lap, and I had to fight the urge to pick it up and answer Gavin, because if I didn't, he would a) think something was wrong or b) just stop texting me. I wasn't willing to take the chance, so I folded my hands in my lap and silently prayed that she would go away.

"Hello, Camille," she said, her voice a sorry attempt at mellifluous and kind. "How are you?"

I clenched my teeth hard, and they ground together so hard I was certain they would crack under pressure. "I'm fine," I replied. I fought the urge to continue, "Now you can leave."

She smiled even wider, to the point where it was getting sort of creepy. "Having fun?" Her piercing blue eyes traled down to the phone in my lap and her grin got bigger — if that was possible.

"Sure," I said nonchalantly. "Well, I was before my youth group minister rudely interrupted my conversation with one of my friends."

Humphries looked extremely taken aback by this, and I stifled the triumphant smile that tugged at my lips, but then she began to laugh.

No, it wasn't one of those laughs that you had when you found something funny. Or maybe it was, but it sounded in no way humourous. My comment wasn't either, and she laughed regardless. I didn't understand it in any way, but she was gone before another snarky response escaped my lips.

I returned to my phone, where two notifications were displayed on the screen. Both were texts from Gavin, each one exactly what I expected.

So what's up? - 12:34

Cam? - 12:42

I texted back that everything was fine, and explained what happened with Mrs Humphries. Clicking off my phone, I looked around.

I was alone.

Well, except for the stray Humphries boy here or there. Joey, the oldest one of the lot, snatched my phone from my fingers, a sinister smirk playing on his lips.

"Why hello, Camille," he said, that always annoying smirk on his face. "You're looking pretty."

Now Joey was a senior, and I a freshman, so the age difference was uncomfortable to me. Also, Zach, the youngest Humphries boy, liked to call him, a "seven-foot god," which was actually true.