Camille still was standing there with her mouth wide open. “But…”
I didn’t let Camille finish. “The big change happened at Kristen’s birthday… when you met Will. You never expected that, did you?”
Camille lowered her eyes again. “No.”
I took a deep breath. There was one other thing that bothered me about Camille, and I figured that it was time to do the experiment.
“Here, Camille,” I said, putting my right hand in my pocket. I pulled out a purple ticket. “Have a ticket.”
Camille’s eyes widened, but she reached out and took the ticket. “You have one wish,” Camille said in a monotone.
“I wish that you will remember what just happened, and realize that the tickets once again work on you.”
“Your wish is my command. HOLY SHIT!” Camille’s face was a mask of horror at the realization that she was once again at the mercy of the tickets.
I shrugged. “Please take care and try not to deceive me again, Camille.” I had delayed this last remark until it was after I made my wish, so that Camille was by no means compelled to obey my request. I already had enough of forcing people to do things with the tickets.
Camille looked aghast at the ticket in her hand. Once again, she was at a loss for words. “How…?”
“It was a hunch—a good one, but it made sense.”
Camille was still staring at the ticket in disbelief. “But… when you handed it to me in the car… and last year… it didn’t work!”
I nodded. “Both times were before I destroyed Tim Hawking’s tickets. I thought something changed. Look at the ticket in your hand.”
Camille furrowed her brow. “What about it?”
“Look at the number.”
The blonde read out, “Two hundred fifty four.”
“I’ve never given out that many. I noticed this when I put them away after using them as a truth serum with Sherry a few days ago.”
“Do you think…”
I shrugged. “My guess is that they combined. The strange thing is that Tim’s tickets didn’t work on you, and my own tickets didn’t work on you… However, now that I have destroyed his, my tickets now seem work on you again.”
“This is weird!”
There was silence for a couple of minutes. Finally, Camille asked, “What do we do now?”
“I want you to love Will. You love him already, so that won’t be a problem. I want you to live your life, but I don’t want you living a lie, and I suspect that you don’t want to live that lie any more. You are not a slut! There’s going to be a big problem if you keep pretending that you’re something that you aren’t. You can tell Will that I think that he’s pretending as well, but I think I know why he does, and I think I even understand it.”
“What about the tickets?”
“They are my problem. I’ll deal with them.”
“But…”
I shook my head with finality. “But nothing, Camille. They are my problem.”
Camille saw the look of determination in my face, and didn’t argue. As with Patty and with Kristen, Camille didn’t seem happy about my decision.
I didn’t care. They were my responsibility after all.
“What did you do to Camille?” Kristen asked me when we were alone.
“I told her the facts of life, Kris.”
“Huh?”
“I told her that she’s in love with your brother. She is, of course, and you know it. However, you were wrong about her. She’s quite willing to give up everybody else for him.”
Kristen shook her head. “I don’t think so… and my brother…”
I interrupted my sweet Goddess. “Your brother loves her, just as much as we love each other. You were wrong about him as well. He’s been looking for Camille all his life. He just doesn’t realize it completely yet. Maybe he’ll get advice from somebody he trusts.”
“Like who?” Kristen asked, apparently wondering if I meant her.
I remembered that Will dreamed of talking with his mother. If Camille tells him what I told her, then it would only be a matter of time before his mother, or whatever part of his brain was responsible for his visions of her, would confirm what I said.
“He’ll find somebody,” I answered cryptically.
Kristen shook her head and shivered a bit. “You are starting to sound a lot like Patty.”
This brought a smile to my lips. “You’re right! I think Patty would probably say the same about the two of them!”
On Tuesday, most of the jazz band showed up for the special practice. Some people had other plans or jobs, and that didn’t worry me very much. I had a good idea already who was dedicated to the band and who was interested in the perceived popularity that being a member of the band could bring to them.
I decided to start by explaining my ideas for the talent show.
“I’d like the band to participate, but not just as a group. Instead, I want us to be an enabler for other people to perform as well.” I recounted my apparent success with Doug Dooley and thought—naive as such a thing could be—that others could achieve similar results. Not every performance had to be musical after all.
I ended with a pep talk. “If you have any ideas, no matter how outrageous, let me know! Let’s make this an event that will be an E-ticket for years to come! We want this to become an event that people will want to come back to, year after year.”
Since this rehearsal was planned at the last minute, I didn’t keep people for the full hour and a half. We let out just shy of an hour, which meant that I would have to wait another forty-five minutes for June to come out from her cheerleader practice.
Since I didn’t have anything to do, I wandered onto the football field, where the marching band was doing some drills. They were focusing on marching and patterns, but occasionally played their tunes.
I ended up spending my time in the bleachers watching the marching band. When they played, I would notice how the acoustics of the outdoor setting modified how the sound would reach the audience. I was surprised to see a person actually playing the flute… there was no way that the soft tones of that instrument would ever make it through the morass of sound from the brass instruments to the ears of the people in the bleachers.
After more than a half hour, Mr. Harris, the newly hired marching drill instructor, saw me in the bleachers and came to visit me.
“Ah, Mr. Crittenhouse. Have you reconsidered the marching band?”
I laughed. “I have enough stuff on my plate right now, sir.” I waved toward the band. “I was noticing how different the acoustics are out here compared to how the band sounds in the auditorium.”
Roger Harris gave me a surprised look. “That would be a given.”
I didn’t want to sound like a show off, so I didn’t make any critique of what I saw and especially heard. I instead allowed the marching instructor to talk.
Mr. Harris liked talking about his work. “I’m giving them some traditional marching tunes,” Roger explained. “These are easy to learn, and they can then focus on their drills. Next year, however, we can work on more complicated things.”
“The drills were never interesting to me,” I admitted.