Page 62 of Catching Camila

Fer pressed her thumb to the button again. “It's us.”

A louder buzz this time. The door clicked. Fer yanked it open and they entered the foyer.

The musty carpet smelled like cat pee. The bulb overhead clicked and buzzed. They walked up two flights to a dented metal door. Fer knocked twice and the door sprang open.

Travis stood inside, wearing a pair of shorts and a wife beater. His eyes were red and bleary, his hair a mess of bedhead. He waved them in. Camila stumbled in after Fer, her stomach knotting. What was she doing in Travis's apartment at one in the morning? What would Mama thi—

Mama was in jail. The thought pretzeled her insides.

“We owe you one, Trav,” Fer was saying.

Travis shook his head, looking awkward. “No worries. No worries. Glad to help.” His eyes flicked up to Camila. “Glad you're okay.”

She nodded, feeling anything but okay.

Travis nodded. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Something to eat?”

Fer shook her head. “I gotta go.”

Camila grabbed for Fer's arm. “You're leaving?”

“Shaun's waiting. We gotta be home before Ma. Plus, with the cops looking for you, they'll be looking for the rest of us.” Fer nodded to Travis. “At least if we're home we can lead them off your trail for a while.”

Camila wouldn't let go of Fer's arm. Every anchor to her former life had been severed and she was slowly bobbing out to sea.

“She'll be fine here,” Travis said, running a hand through his messy hair. His eyes flicked up to Camila's and then away. He walked back to his bedroom.

Fer turned to Camila. “I'll be back tomorrow as soon as I can get away. We'll figure something out. Maybe the police will release your mom. Or I'll ask my mom about bail.”

Camila threw her arms around her best friend. “I'm sorry,” she whispered into Fer's purple hair.

“Don't,” Fer said softly, returning her hug. “Nothing to apologize for.”

Tears sprung into Camila's eyes, but she swallowed them back and pulled away from Fer. “Can you do something for me?”

Fer nodded. “Anything.”

“If you see him hanging around my house, will you tell him where to find me?”

Fer wrinkled her brow. “Who? The homicidal maniac you disappeared with? Let’s think about that for a moment, shall we?”

Camila grabbed Fer's arms. “He’s not the killer. I know it.” She stared pleadingly into Fer's eyes.

Fer pushed back a stray hair and fixed Camila with a look. “I'm your best friend. I am not giving a wanted criminal your locale, okay?”

Camila blew out her breath. “Fine. I'll call you in the morning.”

Just as Fer left, Travis returned, looking a little more awake in a fresh T-shirt. He gestured to a sagging sofa. “Have a seat.”

The apartment was small—two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room connected to a galley kitchen. The decor was decidedly bachelor pad—posters of Bob Marley, The Godfather, a curvaceous girl in a yellow bikini. A scratched coffee table held Xbox controllers, an ashtray, a bong and a Playboy magazine. Travis spotted it and chucked it into a bedroom. He offered her a sheepish smile. “It's Mike's.”

“Mike?” she asked.

“My roommate. Total pig.”

Camila nodded. “I like your place.”

The couch dipped as he sat beside her, causing Camila to slide closer to the center. Suddenly, she was very aware of the space between them.

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