Project Pallid

by Christopher Hoskins

  September 7th:

  When I got our locker combination from Catee the second time around, I made sure to store it in my cell phone, where it would be smudge-proof. She recited it over and over to me as she opened our locker and resorted her things from its top to its bottom.

  She spoke slowly and annunciated each syllable loudly: “FOUR …… TWEN-TY-SIX …… TWELVE.” And even though I put my phone away and she saw me type it in already, she kept going: “FOUR …… TWEN-TY-SIX …… TWELVE ………… FOUR …… TWEN-TY-SIX …… TWELVE ………… FOUR TWEN-TY SIX …… TWELVE!” Until she turned and sang out … “FOURRRR! TWENTYYY-SIX! TWELLLLLLVVVVVE!!!!!” in Cabaret style, at the top of her lungs, and with a couple high-kicks thrown in, like she was auditioning to host the Tony’s. And with arms stretched overhead and fingers fluttering, she concluded her locker combination, Madison High debut.

  I felt my eyebrows raise and my eyes grow big before I nonchalantly responded to her outburst: “I give it 3 out of 4 stars.”

  Catee pantomimed like I’d just staked her in the heart. “Just 3!?”

  “Yup. 3.” My response to her theatrics was intentionally unenthusiastic, but on the inside, she was totally cracking me up. I was amazed by how such a stunning girl could be such a goof at the same time.

  “Ohhhhhh … I’m insulted,” Catee faked a pout. “But, I’ll get 4 stars out of you soon enough. You just wait, Mr. Lawson.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I smiled and agreed.

  A pause of silence swooped in as the two of us stood, eyes locked, and in an oddly new, but already comfortable silence. The hurried crowd rolled around us, but we were somehow alone.

  “So, are you moving in or not?” Catee stepped to the side and revealed the emptied upper shelf, breaking the magnetic silence we’d built.

  “If I can reach,” I half joked, with a look up high.

  “I’m sure you’ll manage. I’ve seen you on the floor enough already. It’s time we get you up and into the air.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “I do what I can,” she said, as she crouched and unzipped my backpack.

  “Hey, don’t—

  Catee looked up to me, eyes wide and innocent. Angelic, it stopped me before I could go any further. “What?” she asked, and passed my English book my way.

  “Oh … Um …… Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Her smile stretched across the cold, gray hall, radiating light to its dark recesses.

  I returned the exchange to the best of my ability and, without further complaint or interruption, allowed her to finish rummaging through my bag. Fishing out books, she passed them up to me, one by one.

  “And we’ll just keep this one in here,” she referred to the geometry book that she withdrew, but tucked safely away. “Got to make sure you get your homework done, Mr. Lawson.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called me by my last name. Did you forget my first?” I played.

  “Never, Damian. I just like how “Mr. Lawson” fits on you. It gives you an air of sophistication. Makes you sound important.”

  “So what, now I’m short and unimportant?”

  “Have I ever called you either of those things?”

  “Not in so many words, no.”

  “Well, have I ever implied any of those things to you, Damian?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “So, chill out. Relax. Stop trying to read what everyone else is thinking.”

  “I don’t do that. I was just—

  “No explanation necessary, Damian. From what I can tell so far, you’re a good guy. Not like the rest of the meatheads I’ve run into this week. Be chill, and we’ll get long just fine.”

  At this, she was back on her feet to hand me a backpack that’d become twenty pounds lighter.

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s my treat,” she spoke genuinely. “Listen, I’ve got to get going, though. My dad’s picking me up, and he’s probably waiting. I don’t want to make him mad.”

  “OK. No problem. Are you heading out the front? I can walk with you if you want.”

  “Yeah, I am. That’d be nice. Thanks.”

  “No problem. That’s my treat for you.”

  We smiled and looked at each other, but we said nothing more. And with my bag slung over one shoulder instead of the obligatory two, we were on our way.

  And though the settings around us changed, the silence between us stayed constant. All the way to the front lobby and out the double doors, we were encapsulated in a field of it. Not that uncomfortable kind, though, where you feel like you’ve got to say something, but you worry it’ll come out sounding stupid. It wasn’t that kind of silence at all. In fact, it was precisely the opposite. It was a silence that needed no words at all. It was the type that comes with the comfort of long-term familiarity: one we still hadn’t had time to sufficiently experience, but that existed, nonetheless.

  Late summer air punched us, and the afternoon sunlight warmed my skin as we stepped from the front doors and descended the concrete steps to the sidewalk and to the line of cars that cycled through, retrieving mostly underage underclassmen. Most barely came to a halt before pulling away again, while others sat impatiently waiting for kids who still hadn’t broken free from their friends.

  As soon as we stepped into view, the horn of her dad’s emerald green Mercedes blared. And again. And again. And Again. And again. We’d barely moved two steps in its direction before its taillights came on, and it sped in reverse toward us. I wasn’t sure what to make of the quick overreaction.

  “That’s my dad,” Catee sighed. “Always the impatient one. Never a second to waste.”

  “I can see that.” The car had already come to a jarring stop by the time I finished my sentence; it clanged into park and nestled onto its shocks.

  “So, I guess I’ll see you on Monday?” she asked.

  “That’s not really a question anymore, Four, Twenty-Six, Twelve,” I joked.

  “You make an excellent point. Then I’ll see you Monday morning, Mr. Lawson.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  And without another word, she pulled the heavy door of the vintage car closed behind her with an iron clang.

  I couldn’t hear a word they said, but their body language spoke volumes of its own. The angry energy between them was palpable, even from feet away, and I wondered what could have spurred such an instantaneous and heated exchange. I couldn’t imagine the girl I knew—the girl I was falling for—could’ve been its catalyst, and so, before I’d even spoken my first word to him, I had her dad pegged for the person he’d prove to be. A person so vile, that I’ll show no remorse and no reservation when it’s time for me to kill him.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I’d missed my bus that first afternoon with Catee. It registered during those first few minutes of our interaction—right before she dismissed Justin forever—but it never registered as a major issue. It was the first time I’d ever called my mom for a ride and, given the circumstances around my tardiness, I knew she’d understand. In fact, I suspected she might even be happy when she heard the reasoning behind my carelessness. I called with little apprehension for what she might say as I lay on the front lawn of the school to bask in my newfound connection with Catee.

  Turns out, I was right. Even if she was a little upset when I first told her I needed to be picked up, she was totally cool with it when I explained the why behind it. In fact, she actually sounded excited, and said that she couldn’t wait to get there and to hear all about it. And a half hour later, Mom had gathered herself and completed the twenty-minute drive to Madison. I’d barely built a basecoat of September sun when our beat-up Chevy came to a rumbling stop at the closest curb to where I lay sprawled-out on the grass.

  Beep! Beep! Beep! Her honking stirred me to consciousness and away from the daydream I’d been having of Catee and of the inherent possibilities in my first Madison High connection.

  I slid into the passen
ger seat and organized my lightened load to the floor by my feet.

  “So???” Mom reeked of excited curiosity.

  “So, what?”

  “Soooooo … ” she dragged out, “Tell me how things went with you and Catee.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom.”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about, Damian,” she accused. “And if I drove all the way into town to pick your butt up, I’m going to hear all about it, so start spilling.”

  “There isn’t much to tell, Mom.”

  “Well, that tells me there’s at least something to tell, so get started.”

  “Not really, no. I mean, we’re sharing a locker now and—

  “So, you did it!?” she shouted like I’d found the cure for some hideous disease—I wish I had.

  “I didn’t do much of anything, Mom,” I replied.

  “But you took her up on her offer, right?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I did. All right? No big deal. I just didn’t want to have to carry that shitty backpack around anymore, that’s all.” Even though it was mostly a lie, I didn’t feel remorse for the sparse details I was providing her. When it came down to it, and as much as I’d always shared with her, she didn’t need to know everything that ran through my head—especially the stuff I was thinking about Catee.

  “Don’t use that language, Damian.”

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “So how did it go?”

  “How’d what go?”

  “The move. How’d it go moving into her locker?”

  “That? Oh, that was nothing. Piece of cake. She did it all, actually. As soon as I suggested it, she just made it happen. Right from the numbers,” I flashed her my cell phone, “down to emptying out my backpack.”

  “That’s wonderful, Damian!”

  “Try to stay on the road, Mom. It’s just a locker.”

  She slapped me playfully on the thigh and focused back on her driving with a beaming, ear-to-ear smile. And after a second’s pause, she spoke again. “What I’m saying is this, Damian: If she did all that, just for you, without any ulterior motive, she likes you. Easy as that.”

  “Moommmm—”

  “Now don’t get me wrong,” she interrupted, “I’m not saying you go playing big man on campus or anything like that. Don’t go asking her out right away. You’ve got to make sure—”

  “STOP, Mom. I get it. I’m not—”

  “I’m just saying, Damian. Don’t go at it too aggressive, but don’t go sitting around waiting her to do all the work, either.”

  I just wanted her to stop. I couldn’t think of anyone else who took love advice from their mother, and I wasn’t about to be the first to start.

  “Can we just end the conversation, Mom? Really. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “That’s fine. But you just remember what I said: Play it right. Make her know you’re interested, but don’t go scaring her off.”

  “Alright, Mom. I get it. Chill out. I don’t even know if I’m interested or not, yet. Plus, I highly doubt she is. Catee can have any guy she wants at school. There’s no reason she’d pick me.”

  “Fate works in mysterious ways, Damian, and you’ve got a lot to offer. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my son. You just wait and see. I’m right about this girl.”

  “You don’t even know her, Mom.”

  “Well then maybe it’s time I meet her. Why don’t you invite her over for dinner sometime next week?”

  “Are you out of your mind!?”

  “I’m being very serious.”

  “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? We’re locker partners. That’s it. Nothing more. And I’m not bringing my locker partner home to meet my parents; that’s just stupid.”

  “There’s nothing stupid about having your first girlfriend, Damian.”

  “Arrrgghhhh!!!! Are you even listening!?” I yelled in frustration. “I told you a hundred times already! She’s not my girlfriend!”

  Mom smiled contentedly, outwardly pleased with her ability to get me going. I watched the side of her head as she focused on the road, and I waited for her next line.

  “Okay, Damian.” Her eventual response was a placating one. “I’ll keep my lips zipped about it. But before I do, let me just say one final thing … ”

  “What, Mom?”

  “An instinct is always right. And my instinct says I’ll be hearing a lot more about this girl, soon enough.”

  “Fine, Mom. Whatever. Let’s just end it, okay? Are we done now?”

  “We’re finished, Damian.”

  “Good.”

  “Great.”

  “Excellent,” she turned, smiled, and laughed.

  “Magnificent.”

  “Splendid!

  “Perfect!!” I laughed. “Period. Done!”

  We ended the conversation there, but true to instinct, she was right. Moms generally are. What began as a simple invitation to share a locker would grow exponentially, and in short time, Catee would embed herself so deeply in my heart that there’ll be no getting her out—ever.

  And my mom’s instinct, as attuned as it was to issues of love, proved equally ill-equipped to see her own train begin its derailment from the tracks. As much as she prided herself in the power of instinct, that same insight eluded her when it came time to choose her allegiances.

  Instinct, logic, and rationality abandoned her when she left us all behind.

  September 10th:

  That first weekend of the school year was the longest I’d ever been through. They’d always passed so quickly before then, racing by to Monday morning when, like clockwork, Mom would fight me from bed in time for the bus. But after an endless weekend of anticipation, that Monday morning was different.

  For one of the first and only times, I woke before my alarm. And I was actually waiting for the bus instead of racing down the street to catch it. Something had changed in me, and I was actually excited for school. In spite of all the crap that came with it, I knew there was something good waiting inside its judgmental walls: there was possibility, promise, and Catee.

  I thought I might finally have a place in Madison High and that whatever chemistry we’d developed in week one, would only flourish from there. And despite my mom’s words playing their own, small part in my revelation, it was the weekend to myself and alone with my thoughts, that brought me to the single, obvious conclusion my heart had suggested from the start.

  Of course, I had no intention of telling Catee how I was feeling back then. I wouldn’t have known the first place to start. We’d only met a week before and saying what I was feeling would’ve only come across creepy. And in my weekend of rumination, I decided to keep everything to myself for a while longer and to feel her out more before I made any move toward something more substantial. I needed to see if she made any more moves my way. Sure, the locker was a first sign, but she could’ve just been being nice—her instant popularity suggested the explanation was totally within reason.

  As I saw it, I didn’t have any choice but to sit back, at least for a bit, to see how she acted around me—to see if she made any moves, or gave any signs for me to make mine on her. The eternal weekend of thoughtful planning brought me to a single, definitively passive course of action: I’d stick by Catee like glue, and I’d give her every possible chance to make her intentions known.

  I ran into her in the lobby, before homeroom bell. She was with a group of girls … and Justin, who lurked on the perimeter of her cluster, just behind her and outside her circle. My mind worked to rationalize the situation, but it was helpless to stop my body from pushing forward and into the cluster, brushing by him in the process.

  “Hey, Damian!” Catee was quick to acknowledge my arrival, and I appreciated the instant reception. A flash of worry crossed my mind about what would happen if she’d said nothing at all, leaving me awkwardly standing in a group of girls who I didn’t know, like some out-of-place screwball who’d lost his way. />
  She introduced me to everyone, but I forgot each name as soon as they were exchanged. If they were at all relevant, I knew I’d have a chance to hear them again. My focus was fixated on Catee that morning. Well, mostly. I cautiously kept a small percentage of it on Justin, too, who’d stepped closer to the circle to stand behind her, like a gun-toting farmer who’s sensed a wolf in his flock. His eyes said what his mouth couldn’t. I looked away, but my feet held firm.

  “Sam, this is Damian. Damian, this is Sam.” We shook hands in formality. “And this is Mara, Tristen, Sarah, and Audrey,” Catee’s finger moved around the tightly clustered group, giving faces to the list of names spat.

  “Damian.” I answered. “My name’s Damian.” I smiled and waved to the group.

  “We were just talking about the game this Friday,” Audrey clued me in. “We’re all going to watch Ryan in his tight pants. Are you into that?”

  “What?!” My face cringed. “Tight pants? Ryan? Gross! I’m going to throw up!” Not only did I not care about watching football players, I could’ve cared less about the game, and I had only disdain for the guy who was somehow the focus of their adorations. “That guy’s a total loser. A GIANT douchebag.” I would’ve landed myself in instant hot water had any of them actually known him, but they didn’t, and I was off the hook. “NO.” I added. “I’m not going to the game, and I’m not supporting a group of a-holes.”

  Each of them looked horrified by the sudden vehemence of my response, and they looked to each other to be the voice of reason that would pull me into the high school norm. Catee spoke before the rest.

  “I’m with Damian on this one. Ryan’s gross, and he’s a bit of a prick based on what I’ve heard. Being massive doesn’t make you a god, and I’m pretty sure he’s small everywhere else. His humongous ego is just his way of compensating.”