by Shaun Plair
“Something going on?” I asked, grateful, but curious of the privacy precautions.
“We’re going to figure something out here.” He leaned his head back against hard, pink bricks.
“Right now?”
“Soon. You can’t live in that place much longer.”
“I know. I don’t want to. But I don’t want to go back to Georgia, either.”
“I know.” He wrung his fingers through the length of his black hair, then picked up a penny from the ground, and flipped it. “That lady was sure she didn’t have a sister?”
“She said she was, and now she thinks I’m crazy.”
“But you still think she might be your aunt.”
“I still think … she might be. I don’t know.”
“You think she didn’t know your mom was her sister?”
“Yeah. My mom’s mom gave her up when she was a baby, and Dr. Gomez is younger, so she probably wouldn’t have ever met my mom. That’s the only option I see that doesn’t involve her not being my aunt.”
“And they’re from the same city?”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s what we’ll tell her.”
He said we. “What is this, we, anyways?”
“Well what do you want it to be?”
Didn’t guys know not to ask us what we want? “I don’t know.”
“Something besides ‘I don’t know.’”
“But really …”
“Friends, then.”
And there was the word, the only word I didn’t want him to say. “Friends?”
“What else?” I knew he was testing me, but I figured friends would be better, anyways. He could help me, no strings attached, no hard feelings if I were found out and shipped back to Georgia. It didn’t sound right, but it would have to be right.
I smiled, and finally said, “Okay. Fr—”
Before I finished the word, I was tasting his mouth, the pressure much greater than any first kiss I’d ever had before. But then it was softer, and then it was hard again until he was standing up and above me, ripping away from the kiss as if Velcro lined our lips. He held my hands to lift me into a stance.
“Good friends.”
I knew our friendship was the most dangerous thing I had gotten myself into yet, but it might be the only thing that could save me.
Eric snuck in and out of my head the rest of the day, along with all of the other people that would decide my fate in Greensboro. The topics of each of my classes might as well have been Eric, Dr. Gomez, Ludlowe and Hawthorne, because they were the only subjects I could think about all day. I knew I could only avoid Ludlowe and Hawthorne for so long, so I had to do something to appease them. And I had to do it soon.
At the end of health class, last period, I got a text from Eric saying to meet him in front of school. So the bell rang, and I walked briskly down the Rock Bridge halls and out of the front doors. He was sitting on a bench next to the school’s entrance.
“I’m taking you home,” he said, nodding toward his car.
“Don’t I have a say?”
Without my asking or reminding him he took us straight to the gas station closest to school. While I grabbed a hot dog he grabbed a ham sandwich, and he picked out Lays potato chips when I picked out pretzels. I noticed that Eric looked particularly attractive roaming the snack isles in his hoodie. Even with the stress of finding a way to stay in Greensboro on my mind, I had to work to stop the smiles that threatened to form whenever our eyes locked. By the third or fourth time, I was failing, and eventually I was dodging his glances.
Finally I chose a drink, and we went to check out. I tried to smile at the clerk, but he wouldn’t return the gesture. Instead, he sent me interrogating stares as Eric offered to pay for my food and I refused.
“That’s the gas station guy that called you out?” he asked as we left.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“We might need to find you another gas station.”
I followed Eric to the car, worrying that the passenger seat was becoming too comfortable. What am I doing? We backed out of the parking spot, and I was surprised to find we turned right at the exit.
“The shack’s left,” I told him.
“Yeah, I’m taking the car back to school. When we get back I’ll walk with you to the shack, don’t want the car to bring suspicion.”
“You’re just going to leave your car at school?”
“I’ll walk back and get it later.”
Arriving at the school minutes later, I struggled not to admire the way he backed into the parking spot, first try, and how his tan face scrunched as he watched the rear in the car mirrors. While he was placing the car in park, I unbuckled my seatbelt, waiting for his cue to step out. He unbuckled his seatbelt slowly, noticing the sweat forming on my hands and thighs.
“You don’t have to come with me,” I told him.
“Let’s go.”
We started the sun-heated walk to the shack. I don’t know how he did it in that hoodie. I thought of linking my arm with his, a friendly gesture, but I kept my arms firm by my side so they couldn’t budge. I’m in a crisis right now, I reminded myself. No more confusion. I figured conversation might get my mind off touching him.
“So what are you trying to do with your life, Mr. Brantley?” I tripped over a dip in the sidewalk, remembered to look where I was walking.
“You mean like, life life?”
“Yeah, like, long-term.”
“Hm, I’ve always been interested in anthropology. You know, not digging stuff up so much, but more like the cultural kind. Like different cultures and traditions and stuff.”
“That actually sounds … fun.”
He laughed. “Yeah, hard to believe people get paid to do stuff like that. But honestly, I don’t even know what kind of job I’d get out of it.”
“What makes you so set on studying it then?”
“Well, I actually write. I’ve always wanted to study different cultures so I can use them in writing and stuff.” He looked at me, amused at my interest. “I actually already have a few story ideas. I want to turn them into novels.”
I imagined his books being made into movies, crossing my arms tight after almost letting them touch him.
“So what do you want to study?” he asked.
“I’m going to go into law I think.” I could have made up something different, but what was the point?
“That’s so … intense. Why law?”
“I don’t know, I guess I just like the fact that if I’m a lawyer, people will listen to my argument. Then when I’m a judge one day, everyone in my courtroom will be forced to respect me, to listen to me, to hear me.”
“Yeah, I like that part.”
“Yeah?”
“I hear you.” He nudged my arm before throwing his hands in his pockets.
As the sweat on our foreheads began to form full droplets, we reached the shack. We dropped our bags to the floor, and I lay, spread like a snow angel, on the blankets. Eric was breathing hard, and still standing. He pulled the bottom of his hoodie up to take it off, but when he did it the t-shirt underneath slid up with it, all the way to his chest. I tried to look away, but I was hopelessly glued to him. My lips parted for a second or two before I realized and closed them. His muscles, the lightest shade of tan-brown, were defined at every smooth dent and rounded into hills and valleys. With every movement he made, a different muscle flexed. At once the hoodie was off and he was smoothing his t-shirt back down, allowing me to think again. He didn’t look at me though, and he even seemed a little shy once he realized his stomach had been showing. He shook his head and smoothed the hair that hung from it.
“Homework, shall we?” he said.
I mumbled yes, we lay facing in opposite directions on the blankets, and he found all the answers to our History homework while I worked on Math. But for some reason homework was taking me much longer than usual.
“Ana.”
He’d been done for a wh
ile, staring at the ceiling, waiting for me to finish.
“Yep?” When I turned to my right to look him in the eyes I realized he had moved much closer to me than before. I surveyed his face for any hint of juvenility, or immaturity, and when I found none I shook my head in amazement.
“You know what you are?” he said.
I didn’t. “What?”
His eyebrows folded inward. “Insane.”
I pushed him with both hands and he fell laughing, actually laughing, onto the exposed wooden floor. “This place is gross!” he added.
“I know! I need to get out of here.”
“ASAP.”
With homework done we started on the dinner we’d bought at the gas station. With a big bite into the hot dog, mustard and mayonnaise dripped down my chin in a pale yellow blob, and he laughed at the unflattering image. Sydney was always there when he was around; Ana had no chance with him.
“So about Dr. Gomez,” he started, still chewing on the chunks of sandwich turning to mush in his mouth.
“Any bright ideas?” I asked him.
“Soon, okay?”
“Soon what?”
“We go talk to her soon.”
“How am I supposed to get her to listen?”
“You’ll just tell her everything you told me, ask her to hear you out, and worst case scenario, you can say you tried.”
“I did try.”
“I mean, really tried.” He shook his fingers into my hair to muss it up, but right as I reached to push his hand away it had slipped down back of my neck. “It would just suck if you had to leave you know.”
“I know.”
Time passed in silence; the room grew dark. I felt his hand run up and down my arm as I realized I’d dozed off.
“Goodnight, friend,” he said, and stood to leave. “Be safe.”
* * *
Walking through the door to the History trailer, I immediately looked to the right to check for him, more than excited to see his face again, see Sydney’s one friend again, feel normal again. But his seat was empty. I scanned the room, and he wasn’t there yet. Probably because I was so early. I sat in my usual seat across the room from his, and awaited his arrival.
“Ana,” the deep voice came from my right. When I looked over I saw Mr. Kyle sitting at his desk, intently reading something on his computer screen. He turned to me, looking at me above his glasses before slipping them off.
“I’ve just received an email, it seems Mr. Ludlowe needs to see you in his office. Do you know where it is?”
My heart pounded. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Why, is it something urgent?” I couldn’t help asking. My eyes bulged as they skipped back and forth between Mr. Kyle’s face and the back of the computer that’s screen was sending me to hell.
“He just says he needs you to come.”
“Okay.” I gulped. “I know where it is.”
Mr. Kyle handed me a hall pass. “We’re reviewing for the quiz today,” he said. “Whatever you end up missing, make sure you get it from a friend.”
I forced an “okay” nod and took a step toward the door. It opened before I reached it though, and a group of students flushed in. The giggle-twins, some others. Eric was the last in.
I tried to avoid his eyes but they caught mine, and when I wasn’t returning his smile, it quickly faded.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
I slipped through the space between him and the doorway, shaking my head without speaking, and closed the door behind me.
He must have told. I couldn’t believe it. How could I be so stupid?
I didn’t even feel myself moving toward the school building, entering it, turning down the hallways. All I felt was a racing pulse and heat rising and falling in my lungs. My stomach rumbled with discomfort. My knees struggled to support me.
And then “Mr. Ludlowe” was written on the door in front of me. I knocked on it, twice, and fiddled with the hall pass in my hands.
“Come in,” I heard. A call from inside the room. I twisted the handle and pushed the door forward, and it swung open much faster than I’d planned. As the door tapped the wall to its side. I looked up to see Mr. Ludlowe typing on his computer behind a desk covered in plaques, picture frames, and office supplies. Ms. Hawthorne sat in one of the three seats in front of the desk, in a gray skirt and fuchsia blouse, her legs crossed in her seat, showing off short heels that perfectly matched her starburst-patterned shirt.
“Oh, hello Ana,” Mr. Ludlowe called, turning his spinny chair to face me and then rising to his feet. He reached out his hand for me to shake it, and I did.
“Hi,” I said. Ms. Hawthorne lifted her hand to wave hello before situating it back neatly atop the other hand on her lap. “You needed to see me?”
“Yes,” he responded. “Have a seat.”
“Is something wrong?” I didn’t want to take a seat. That meant it would be long, or heavy. Eric had told them. I knew it.
“We just need to figure some things out is all.” The country twang swept through his voice stronger than ever when he said that, and I was growing to hate its sound. I sat. Trying to stay calm, sliding my slippery hands across the laminated pass.
“The thing is,” Ms. Hawthorne started, “none of the calls we’ve made to your parents have been answered. Home nor work.”
“And the package we sent in the mail was just sent back to us.” Mr. Ludlowe added. “There are documents in that package that we absolutely must have in order for you to attend school here. And it seems the address you’ve given us doesn’t exist.”
“I can take the packet home myself,” I said. “Maybe I wrote the wrong number down. I’m still getting used to stuff here.”
“Ana,” Ms. Hawthorne said. “Is there something going on we need to know about?”
“No,” I said, “I can have my mom call you, there’s no problem, honestly.”
Mr. Ludlowe leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, held his hands together and added, “Ms. Hawthorne here is not only in charge of PTA, she’s also the school counselor. If something’s going on you’re not sure how to deal with, she’s the one you need to speak to.”
“I’m sure the mail thing was just a mistake.” My voice was getting weaker, and it was cracking. “I’m sure we can get it all figured out.”
“That’s not our only concern,” Ms. Hawthorne said. And my eyes shot to her like lasers. Eric had told them. “One of the students has come to us with concerns about your adjustment here.”
“Who?” I shouted. What a dumb mistake I had made trusting him.
“Calm down Ms. Smith,” Mr. Ludlowe ordered. “We’re not here to cause trouble, we’re here to avoid it. It’s protocol that if the parent cannot make orientation and fill the forms out in person, we send the package in the mail. If you can get your mother to come in, fill out the forms, and tell us everything’s fine, maybe give us the correct address, we’ll let this all go and move on.” He lifted his hands as if he were holding a wineglass in each of them, before clasping them back together and glancing at Ms. Hawthorne. I looked at her too, to find her nodding and smiling, her legs now uncrossed, her hands tightened together in her lap.
“Okay,” I said, “sounds good.”
“Okay then,” said Mr. Ludlowe. And the conversation was finished.
I stood and left the room, barely keeping enough composure to cover the fury that was covering the anxiety that wrapped my core. How could he do that?
Every step I took back toward the trailer, I felt more and more stupid. More and more angry. And when I pulled open the door to the trailer, everyone looked at me, including him, and I looked him in his eyes before sitting in my seat and facing Mr. Kyle.
While the rest of the class reviewed the topics we’d gone over the past two weeks, I reviewed every mistake I had made coming here. And every mistake was everything I had done since I came. I should just go home. I should call up my dad, pack my things, and spend some of the last money I h
ad on a bus ride home. The class ended and while I put my notebook in my bag I thought, it’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s over.
“Ana,” Eric said. He was standing in front of my desk as kids passed behind him and I kept gathering my things. He looked up at Mr. Kyle, who was erasing the white board, and smiled.
“Do you need the review you missed?” Eric asked. I spun my bag around my shoulder as I stood from the desk, and I passed him without a word and walked out of the trailer.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when we were outside. He had followed me, almost jogging to beat my fast pace and stand in front of me. “What happened?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Why, what did I do—?”
“You told them!” I shouted. “You freaking told them, and I should’ve known.”
“Told who? I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Are you really going to lie to my face?”
“Whoa, what’s going on here?” The voice was feminine and it was coming from behind me. I had forgotten kids were all around us, that anyone could have heard us.
Kylie walked up to us, a blue sundress on with cowboy boots, holding two textbooks in her hands.
“You okay, Ana?” she asked. I looked at her, her eyes a bit too concerned. I squinted at her, wondering why she’d interrupt us. I realized I hadn’t stopped to talk to the girls that morning.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks.”
I walked away with Kylie holding my arm, tight, and forced myself not to look back at Eric. But I heard him.
“Fine?” he yelled. But we kept walking.
“What was up with that?” Kylie asked.
“Long story.”
* * *
Let’s talk after school read the text I’d sent Eric in the middle of last period.
Yeah, he’d answered.
So upon my exit from the school building, after I’d finished the rest of my classes, showered, and charged my phone, I saw him lying out on a bench, right where he’d texted he would be. Headphones in, legs bent, arms crossed and eyes closed, facing the sky. I walked until I was next to him, touched and shook his right arm.
