Cloudburst

by V. C. Andrews

  Surely a family as well known and as successful as Ryder Garfield’s was no different. Rather than hear his complaints, his parents could surely just buy him into another school. Yet here he was, and early, too. I sat in my car and watched him in my rearview mirror as he emerged from his. From the way his sister glared at him and hurried off, I knew their argument hadn’t ended. Perhaps he had complained about her to his parents and she had been punished in some way she thought cruel and unusual, such as the confiscation of her MP3 player. He stood there for a moment watching her saunter off.

  When I got out of my car, he turned toward me. I wasn’t sure what I would do. I was about to raise my hand and say hi, when he lowered his head, turned, and walked slowly toward the school entrance. Whatever friendly overture I had read into his two words to me after English class yesterday had obviously been misunderstood, I thought. He had no interest in being friendly. However, it occurred to me that he might be in my homeroom and perhaps the same morning classes as well. I couldn’t wait to see how he would treat me then, if he bothered treating me any way at all.

  More often than not, our school lives were like a teenage soap opera. Maybe that was why so many of us were addicted to them. Here, we were on a stage of our own making, and all of us, including me, walked and talked with one eye on our immediate audience but another on everyone around us to see who was looking at us, who was listening to us, who was waiting to see what we were doing.

  Me! Me! Me!

  I felt like screaming it after Ryder as he approached the door.

  Hey, Mr. Big Shot. Look at me!

  For a moment, I thought I might have done just that, because he turned at the door and looked back at me. It was just a glance. He wasn’t waiting to hold the door or anything, but pathetic me, I was excited by it. I hurried on. He was in my homeroom, but he was assigned to a seat in the rear. When I walked in, he was taking his seat and didn’t care to look at anyone. Before I could say or do anything to get his attention, my girlfriends began arriving right behind me. I did see him glance my way while they talked excitedly about what they had seen or done last night. I thought he smiled, but maybe it was a sneer. With him, it looked as if it would always be difficult to tell the difference.

  We did have some morning classes together, but in all of them, we were too far apart to talk, and before lunch, I had instrumental music. As more of my girlfriends found him distant and disinterested, their overall opinions were beginning to cement with the most obvious conclusion taking the headline quickly: “He’s very stuck-up. He’s in love with himself.”

  Those thoughts were logical here. Very few of my friends could envision any boy being so aloof and indifferent to them for any other reason. His parents were really famous, so he didn’t want to lower himself enough to have any sort of conversation with anyone here, least of all a relationship.

  “He’s just out-and-out boring,” Joey Marcus decided. That pleased them even more. Jessica was the last to fall in line, but not before she looked at me to see if I was going to be in agreement. I said nothing, so she chanced it, and then, looking for confirmation, asked me if I agreed. We were all gathered outside the library. Some of us had study hall there. We still had another minute until the bell rang for class.

  “It’s too easy,” I said.

  For a moment, it looked as if they had all been put on pause. They stood there staring at me.

  “What’s that mean? What’s too easy?” Sydney Woods asked first.

  “It’s too convenient to say he’s conceited. You don’t have to think about him at all after that.”

  “Maybe we don’t want to,” Barbara Feld said. They all started to nod.

  “I don’t believe that. You probably had an orgasm thinking about him last night,” I replied. It was vintage Kiera, for sure. Their mouths fell open. “Better get to class,” I added, and hurried away. Some of them would be late. They were that stunned.

  Ryder was only two desks behind me in the next row in social studies class. He was already seated when I entered the room and started for my desk. Just as I passed him, I heard him say, “Queen bee.”

  I stopped. “Excuse me?”

  “From the way they gather around you, you look like the queen bee.”

  “Be careful you don’t get stung.”

  “Queen bees only use their stingers to dispose of other queens,” he replied. “Each of them should be careful, not me.”

  The bell rang, so I slipped into my seat. I wanted to look back at him, but I didn’t do it once during the whole class period. When the bell rang to end it, he was up but talking with Gary Stevens, who I thought was one of the nicer boys in our class. He was slim, with curly red hair and freckles that looked like drops of pure honey on his cheeks. His father was an accountant whose clients included many of the parents in Pacifica, but Gary seemed the most unassuming of the boys in our class. He had a great sense of humor, was bright and maybe a little immature, but I did find him the easiest to talk with, maybe because he was so meek at times. The girls couldn’t understand why I bothered.

  “His idea of a good time is playing with his Wii,” Mona Kirland said.

  “Not his wee-wee?” Lily Albert added, and everyone around us laughed. Everyone, that is, but me.

  “Sometimes,” I told them, “it’s nice to talk to someone who’s not trying to upstage you all the time. You don’t have to guard every word you say or worry he’ll go making up stories about you afterward. Try it. You might like it.”

  Some of them actually did, and I laughed to myself, thinking how the other boys were wondering why Gary was suddenly so popular.

  I think Ryder felt comfortable with him as well, and when I went to lunch after instrumental class, I saw them sitting together at a table outside the cafeteria. I sat with my girlfriends and watched him out of the corner of my eye. Our lunch conversation had returned to more ordinary subjects such as soap opera stories, clothes, and makeup. Halfway through lunch, Jessica came out of the building. I had been wondering where she was. I could see the excitement in her face. She obviously had something to tell me.

  I deliberately stayed back when the warning bell sounded and everyone started back into the building.

  “Where were you?” I asked her.

  “Claire found out about Summer,” she said, sotto voce.

  “You heard about this just now?”

  “I called her. She told me to try reaching her about now.”

  “You’re not supposed to have your cell phone on in school. You could have been suspended.”

  “I went into the bathroom. No one heard me.”

  “Why risk it?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Yes, I guess so. There should be a motto over the front entrance,” I said. “ ‘Gossip, the lifeblood of Pacifica.’ Let’s go in.”

  “Don’t you want to know what she found out?”

  I watched Ryder walk into the building with Gary and then looked at her. “Well, obviously if I don’t let you tell me, I’ll be responsible for the first human being to really burst from scandalous information. Go on.”

  “Summer was caught in the athletic storage room making love to her boyfriend, who happened to be a junior. She was to be quietly expelled, but the Garfields were given the option of just having her and Ryder transferred.”

  “Why him, too?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I figure he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on her. That explains the outburst in the parking lot yesterday about her going braless. Well?” she asked, as if she had climbed Mount Everest or something.

  I gave her my best stern glare. “If you spread this stuff around, you’ll make it really hard for both of them here,” I said. “And if one other person tells me this stuff, I’ll know you did.”

  “What are you so upset about? I thought you wanted to know.”

  “Never mind. You just remember what I said,” I warned, and started in ahead of her.

  When I was at my hall locker, I saw Ryder
talking to his sister. She stood with her arms embracing her books and listened. Then, without speaking, she turned and walked away from him. He watched her a moment and headed in my direction. I deliberately walked a little slower, but he didn’t stop to walk with me. He passed me, but I heard him mumble, “Shouldn’t you be in your hive?”

  “Very funny!” I shouted after him.

  I glared at him across the aisle when I took my seat.

  “Why are you so nasty?” I asked before Mr. Malamud began the class.

  “Just comes to me naturally, I guess,” he said.

  “Maybe we all need to be inoculated before we catch it,” I said.

  He looked at me wryly and then gave me a much warmer smile.

  I held my breath, expecting some sort of sarcastic comment to follow, but it didn’t come. He actually looked friendly for a few moments in English class. Throughout the day, I had noticed that aside from Gary, he rarely spoke to anyone. It wasn’t that the other boys had a lack of interest in him. I did see attempts being made to strike up conversations in the hallways and at lunch, but he either shrugged, shook his head, simply nodded, or replied in some monosyllabic way. His responses were quickly turning them all off.

  In some ways, he reminded me of myself when I first entered the school. I was always afraid of getting into too many conversations, or long ones. The obvious fear was that I would reveal too many details about myself and damage the fiction Jordan had created about me, both for my benefit and for Kiera’s. I was somewhat shy as well, having not had any friends my age for some time and also being quite intimidated by these well-off students who probably wasted in one day what my mother and I had lived off for a week.

  I couldn’t imagine why Ryder Garfield would be shy. Surely, because of his famous parents, he had been introduced to and often saw big movie stars. He was at fancy celebrations and award events. There was certainly nothing shy about his sister. What reminded me of myself was the way he seemed to be afraid that someone would discover who he really was, too.

  Mr. Madeo gave us what he called a writing challenge midway through the period. He had different quotes from the remainder of Hamlet written on slips of paper and handed them out. Based on what we had done and learned so far, we were to interpret the quote and relate it to the rest of the play. I noticed it took Ryder only ten minutes to read his and write his answer. He glanced at me, and I looked up. As soon as I did so, he shifted his glance away.

  “Too late,” I said.

  He turned back. “Excuse me?”

  “You were caught looking.”

  He stared a moment, and then he shook his head and raised his hand.

  “Yes, Ryder,” Mr. Madeo said.

  “I’m done here. Can I hand it in and go to the restroom?”

  “Done? You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Madeo shrugged and picked up his paper. He glanced at it. “Man of few words?”

  “I’ll say,” Shayne Peters quipped from the back of the classroom. Everyone laughed. Ryder’s face turned a shade of crimson.

  “Okay,” Mr. Madeo said.

  Ryder rose, scooped his book into his bag, and started out.

  “Save me a seat!” Shayne shouted after him. Again, the class laughed.

  I quickly finished the point I was making about my quote and raised my hand, too.

  “Don’t tell me you need to go to the restroom, too,” Mr. Madeo said with a smile.

  I nodded. He picked up my paper, glanced at it, and just nodded. I got up quickly.

  “Don’t go to the same restroom,” Shayne shouted after me. The class started to titter again, but I stopped and looked at him.

  “At least I know the difference,” I said.

  There was a loud cheer, mostly from the other boys. Mr. Madeo called for silence, and I left.

  As I was heading toward the girls’ room, I looked out the side door that opened to the ballfields and saw Ryder sitting on a railing and looking down. I hesitated and then headed for the door. He looked up when I stepped out.

  “Class over? I didn’t hear the bell,” he said, looking as if I had caught him doing something illegal.

  “No, I was finished and asked to go to the girls’ room.”

  “Is it out here?”

  “Very funny. I thought you were going to the boys’ room.”

  “That is out here,” he said, and I laughed. He looked away.

  “You hate it here, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Not any more than I hated where I was,” he said, turning back. “You look pretty content. How come you’re so popular?”

  “Who said I was?”

  “Didn’t take me long to see that. What are you, disabled? That’s what someone with modesty would be here.”

  “Is that why you seem to be having trouble making many friends?”

  “Friends? People don’t make friends here. They make contacts. They use each other. It’s in the air.”

  “Didn’t you have any real friends in your previous school?”

  “No, and I didn’t have any in grade school, either.” He glared at me, his eyes narrowing. “What’s your idea of a friend, anyway? Someone to share lipstick with?”

  “No. My God, you’re so bitter.”

  The bell rang, and he slipped off the railing.

  “So,” he said, reaching for the door. “Next time you want to talk to me, bring some sugar.”

  “I thought I had!” I shouted after him. He didn’t look back. I stamped the ground, hating myself for even making an effort. Maybe the girls were right about him, I thought, and vowed to do my best to ignore him.

  I certainly wouldn’t dream about him, I told myself, and opened the door.

  I didn’t calm down fast, either. Jessica and Joey came rushing toward me when they saw me.

  “Was that a plan you made with him?” Jessica asked.

  “What?”

  “Getting out of class together like that. Did you and Ryder plan that?”

  “Get real,” I said, starting away. My rage felt like fire around my face.

  “We saw you come in the door soon after he did,” Joey called after me. “You were out there with him, weren’t you?”

  I turned around and smiled. “I was out there with Nobody,” I said, and continued walking away.

  4

  Jordan’s Secret

  Whenever you get angry, you lose control of yourself in so many ways,” my mother told me almost every time she got angry at my father. “No matter what, in the end, you’re always the one who loses. Remember that.”

  The immediate result of my rage took place in my next class. I was fuming so much I wasn’t paying any attention, and when I was called on to answer a question, I didn’t even realize I had been called upon, much less answer the question. The resounding sound of my name being repeated snapped me out of it. I saw everyone was looking my way—everyone but Ryder, who kept his face fixed forward as though he couldn’t care less.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Leshner,” I said.

  “Rein in your thoughts, Sasha,” he said.

  I nodded. He didn’t repeat the question for me. He went on to someone else. After class, I hurried up front to apologize to him.

  “It’s not like you to be daydreaming. Anything wrong?” he asked.

  “No. It was just my being stupid,” I said.

  “Don’t make it a new habit, and we’ll be fine,” he said. His forgiveness only made me feel worse.

  I avoided Ryder for the remainder of the day. My friends sensed that I was in a bad mood, and everyone kept her distance—everyone, that is, except Jessica, who always looked like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown when there was something she didn’t know about someone in school. She practically followed me to my car after school, waiting for me to tell her what really happened between me and Ryder Garfield. Finally, I spun on her so abruptly she stepped back like someone who thought she might be slapped.

  “Look, Jessica, I’m really not in
terested in talking about him. I’ve had enough darkness and disappointment in my life to fill the Grand Canyon, and your pestering me about it doesn’t help.”

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Just stop,” I said, and got into my car. Before I started the engine, I saw him walking out with his sister beside him, her head down. I had the feeling he had been critical of her again. I thought the look on his face would stop a clock.

  How can anyone go through life so unhappy? I wondered, but shook the thought out of my head and backed out. Whether it was reflexive or whether despite my determination something inside me continually drew me to look at him, I don’t know. But I looked into my rearview mirror to see him walking to his car, and I did see him turn to look my way.

  Why was he interested in seeing me leave?

  It was exactly this confusion about him that fanned the flames of my interest, no matter how I tried to smother them. I was comfortable with most of the boys in this school, because they were, as Kiera might say, “as easy to see through as a new plate-glass window.” I hadn’t met anyone who was clever and subtle enough to catch me off guard—anyone before Ryder Garfield, that is. Was I thinking about him because I was genuinely interested in him, or was I simply annoyed that I couldn’t figure him out and pigeonhole him along with the other boys? Even the expert, Kiera March, would have trouble this time.

  When I drove up to the house, I saw Jordan sitting out by the tennis courts. She was alone and looked as if she was so deep in thought she hadn’t heard me drive up. As soon as I parked, I hurried over to her. I knew she was deep in thought because she didn’t realize I was coming over to her until I was practically on top of her. She turned and smiled.