I have read many Zach POV fanfictions and none of them were good. They sounded nothing like the Zach Goode we all know and love. And plus, writing Cammie's sentence: ""Hello," Zach said." and changing it to: ""Hello," I said."" doesn't make it Zach's POV...
Mine may not be good but I gave it a shot. Dedicated to thatcrazybookworm because she loves Zach Goode just as much as me (which is a lot)!
Zach’s POV: (Zach and Cammie’s first scene in Book 5!)
As soon as I stepped out of Solomon’s old office, I heard them.
Footsteps.
I paused, walked into the middle of the hallway and waited. If there was anything Blackthorne had taught me, it was to come to danger and not let danger come to you. I wasn’t expecting Cammie – Gallagher Girl – to step through the threshold and freeze.
My mouth tilted open slightly as I checked her appearance. Her black bob was nothing like the shoulder-length brown hair I used to run my hands through. She was pale; too pale. Her clothes hung off her and there were bags under her nearly-dead eyes. This was not my Gallagher Girl.
Slowly, I pulled my arm from my sides and leaned forward to touch her. So gentle, afraid she would break. My fingers touched her skin, she closed her eyes and I quickly pulled back, not wanting to hurt her.
“Zach,” she said when she opened her eyes and stared into mine. “What are you doing here? Are you...? Is it...? You’re here!”
I gazed back at her. “Funny,” I started, not letting the emotion I had felt through the months she was gone sink into my tone. “I could say the same about you.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked as if my cleanly-pressed white shirt and khaki trousers didn’t give it away.
I answered her anyway. “I sort of...go...here now.”
“You do?” She looked down and then nodded when she came to the conclusions no one needed to punctuate. I tried to not let myself wonder what she was thinking whilst she pieced things up in her head.
When a teacher called, “Cammie, I’m Dr. Wolf. We’re ready for you,” I never urged her forward. I stood staring at the black hair that replaced the soft waves I used to know. I pretended this wasn’t real.
“How... are you?” she asked. Her question went ignored by me; there were more important things to discuss rather than my wellbeing. I was more interested to know about her wellbeing.
“It’s different,” I told her, wanting her to tell me why but trying not to show it. “It’s different now.”
YOU ARE READING
Mini Stories and One Shots
Short Story“I think all writing is a disease. You can’t stop it.”—William Carlos Williams. So I write things sometimes; have a guess where they go.
