Soul Fire

by Nancy Allan

  “Wait a minute, Young Lady! Your mother’s talking to you. Get yourself into the kitchen.” I turned slightly. She was right behind me. She moved like an alley cat. Soundlessly.

  I looked past her to my mom, who was standing at the end of the hallway. Mom said, “We need to talk, Ashla.”

  “What’s the big deal? I’ve spent half my life at Celeste’s.”

  Mom motioned to the staircase. “Let’s go up to your room.”

  I was getting antsy. If this kept up, I’d be late. I maneuvered around my grandmother and headed into the kitchen. “This’ll do. What is it?” I asked Mom.

  “How’s the headache?”

  “Gone.”

  My grandmother had followed us. “No it’s not. You’re the headache. A walking, talking, breathing, throbbing heada—”

  Mom, who never talks back to her own mother, cut her off. “That’s enough, Mom! Ashla and I need to talk . . . alone.”

  I cheered silently and gave my grandmother my evil eye. Her piercing eyes held mine, nasty messages flashing both ways.

  “Insolent, head strong, and incorrigible. That’s what she is!” My grandmother pronounced and with that, she disappeared down the bedroom hallway.

  Mom shook her head. “She’ll never change.”

  “Don’t suppose you’ve considered moving her into a condo?” I suggested. “Or an old folk’s home?”

  Mom gave me a long look. “Actually, I’ve thought about the condo, but it’s not going to happen unless things get a lot worse. I do plan on having a chat with her though.”

  “Today?”

  “Maybe.”

  I knew my grandmother paid room and board, so that had to be a factor.

  “Anyway,” Mom continued, “back to the issue. I know this is the day you and Celeste volunteer at Harborside. You can’t do that today, Ashla. One bump and your concussion could come roaring back. Surely, you want things to heal. You must be fed up with lying in a dark room and living with a roaring headache.”

  “Sick of it, actually. So, I’m not going to do anything strenuous or risky.”

  “What about the pool?”

  “I’ll watch.” A lie. I hated this. How had I gotten myself into this pattern? Oh, yes, the ski trip to Whistler.

  “And what about driving there and back?” Mom persisted.

  “Celeste is a cautious driver and it’s Saturday. Traffic’s not so bad.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Asha! You’re almost seventeen, so I don’t want to dictate your life to you, but I would feel a lot happier if you stayed home for a couple more days, like the doctor said.”

  “You know me better than that, Mom. I can’t stay still without going crazy. You’re the same way.”

  Her expression changed from concern to understanding. I jumped on the opportunity. “I’ll be back by three,” I said and headed for the front door, making it out before she could say anything more.

  Celeste was waiting in the car with the motor running. We could still make it on time. As I climbed gently into the passenger seat, she said to me, “I figured your mom captured you.”

  “You figured right.”

  “And you won.”

  “Usually do.”

  “Well, to look at you, no one would think that. Hope you brought erase because your wig won’t cover your black eyes.”

  “Yup.” I dug in my pack for the wig, and as she pulled away from the curb, I dropped the visor mirror, knotted my hair so I could position the wig on my head, and then pinned it carefully. I had too much hair for this. One day the wig will pop right off.

  Next, I applied layers of erase and makeup, taking care to cover the bruising. Lastly, I put in the miserable brown contacts. My eyes were watering profusely as we pulled into the Harborside lot. It was a wonder the contacts didn’t float away. Climbing carefully out of the car, I said to Celeste: “You never said how your session went with Justin.”

  She clicked the car door lock and we headed for the pool building. “Terrible. He probably thinks I’m an airhead, and he’d be right.”

  I laughed as I pictured Celeste trying to give him therapy.

  “It’s not funny! I have no idea what I did or said the entire time. I made a complete idiot of myself.”

  “Well, I appreciate you trying,” I said trying to look serious.

  Justin was waiting by the pool when I walked in. His wheelchair was next to the lift, but his eyes were on the door of the women’s locker room. I wondered how long he had been there.

  “Hi, Janine,” he said. His smile stopped me and my heart ramped up, as usual. His dark hair was longer than most guys’ and combed straight back off his broad forehead. Dark brows framed those translucent eyes. He was freshly shaven, defining the angular bone structure of his face. He moved the chair slightly and the muscles rippled across his shoulders and down his arms. For a moment, I was stricken—paralyzed, unable to move or think. Oh, no, now I had what Celeste had. Gross motor paralysis . . . or some such thing.

  I hesitated and re-thought my plan. I should bail. This was indeed a crazy idea. Why did I ever think it would work? Nevertheless, my legs carried me across the pool deck, his blue eyes moving with me. His smile grew bigger.

  “Glad you’re feeling better.”

  I cleared my throat, “Thanks.” I choked. “Ready for the plunge?”

  “You bet.”

  When we were both in the water, he launched right into the routine, working vigorously. The hour was almost up when it happened. He was turning toward the edge of the pool when he suddenly lost his footing. I grabbed him at the exact moment he reached for the support bar. His right arm struck my chin and sent me flying backward. Worried I would hit the ledge of the pool, I ducked underwater to stop the backward momentum.

  Too late, I remembered the wig and grabbed it. Then, I remembered the contacts and squeezed my eyes shut to keep them from popping out, as Celeste had warned. Justin reached down and pulled me up. I surfaced both hands on the wig. “I’m supposed to be the lifeguard,” I sputtered.

  “Are you all right?” he asked trying to see my face.

  Was my makeup still on? Was my wig, now soaked and dripping, still straight? Were the contacts in place? Imagining the worst, I kept my head down. “Time’s up,” I said curtly. “I’ll help you out.”

  “Hey.” He reached for my arm and turned me around. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to send you flying.”

  Don’t do this, I thought, terrified that I’d lost my disguise. I didn’t want him looking at me. I wanted out of his sight. “I’m fine.” And I was. No headache!

  “You don’t look fine.”

  I ducked and twisted away from him. “Come on. Let’s call it a day.” On the deck, I handed him a towel and pulled another to dry his back. He leaned forward and sat motionless as I used circular motions across his back. When I was done, he turned the chair and looked up at me. “There’s a coffee shop in the center court. Let me buy you a coffee. Make up for my clumsiness.”

  Great. Here I was, wet wig and all, and the sexiest guy in the universe asks me out for coffee.

  “Say yes,” he persisted.

  What did I look like? Did I still have my contacts? I couldn’t go out like this. I had to come up with an excuse.

  “Celeste and I came together—”

  Celeste interrupted: “Go ahead, Janine. I’ve got one more patient.”

  She didn’t, of course. “I don’t think—“

  “I’ll join you when I’m done,” she said pointedly.

  Justin smiled triumphantly. “Great, I’ll wait for you outside the locker room.”

  I walked slightly behind the chair out of his sight, and when he disappeared into the locker room, I bolted into the women’s, not stopping until I could see my own image in the mirror. Miraculously, the wig had remained pinned more or less in place, but it was soaked, flattened, and looked like a slick black hat with a slight right hand tilt. I leaned closer to the mirror. Brown eyes looked back. I examined the
makeup. A fresh coat would fix things. There was movement over my left shoulder. Celeste. She looked awed.

  “Lucky you weren’t under very long,” she said assessing the damage. “I can’t believe you’ve still got the contacts. Losing those would have given you away for sure.”

  “But I look awful. How can I go for coffee like this?”

  “Give me the wig and go shower.”

  Ten minutes later, she handed it back to me, blown dry. Problem was, the hair now stood on end. These cheap wigs have a life of their own. I added a little water and tamed it. A few minutes later, I was ready. I turned to Celeste. “What do you think?”

  She examined me. “The bruises around your eyes are showing.” She applied more erase and nodded. “It’s a little heavy, but it’ll do.”

  I grabbed my backpack and headed for the exit door. As I grasped the handle, everything seized up. My lungs collapsed. I couldn’t breathe. “Can’t,” I gasped.

  Celeste brushed by me, the door opened, and she pushed me gently through. “Go enjoy yourself for an hour,” she commanded. “It’s been too long. Go!”

  I popped outside to find him right there, as he’d promised. I had the strange feeling that regardless of whether I had agreed to go for coffee or not, he would have been waiting for me.

  “You’ve got to be the fastest woman in the locker room. I expected a longer wait.”

  “I spend a lot of time at the pool, so I know the shortcuts.” I was relieved to find that my lungs had re-inflated and I could now breathe normally. We ordered lattes and took them to a table by the window. We sat face to face, his turquoise eyes taking me in one facial detail at a time. I tried not to pull back. “You wear a lot of makeup.”

  I shrugged.

  He tried again. “What do you do when you’re not at the pool?”

  I recalled telling him that I was home schooled. “Study, hang out with friends, swim competitions, skating, usual stuff. And you?”

  “You skate?”

  “Yeah. Since I could walk. Had to choose between figure skating and swimming. Not enough time or money for both. So, rather than leave figure skating behind—because I really love it—I joined the Precision Team. Doesn’t require the same commitment. That way, I could focus on swimming.” At least I used to, I thought miserably. “How about you?”

  “School work, hang out at home. Exercise a lot trying to get my legs back.”

  I tried not to wince. “Friends?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. Guys from the team drop by less and less. Same with friends from school. Except Mole.”

  I smiled. Mole. I remembered Justin describing his best friend to me. “What would we do without our bests?”

  “No kidding. He’s saved me more than once.”

  “Saved?”

  “Saved. There have been times these last months when I virtually lost myself. If it hadn’t been for Mole,” he paused, “and one other thing,” he looked at me for a few beats before continuing, “I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

  “Can I ask what the other thing was?”

  “Maybe some day.”

  I nodded, understanding. “I feel the same way about Celeste. She’s my best. She’s always there for me. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. She’s like a sister.”

  “Exactly.” He fidgeted with the stir stick. “You going out with anyone?”

  I sat back, stunned. Uh-oh. What kind of question was that? I could feel my lungs shrinking again. “Nope.” I didn’t want to tell him it had been a year since Jay and I had broken up. “You?”

  “Not really.”

  “You either are or you aren’t,” I explained to him. “There’s no middle ground.”

  “I suppose that's true. I went out with this chick, Jessica, for almost two years. She hung around after the accident thinking I would recover and get back on the ice. I was her big star. More like her big money star. She imagined a future with me that included huge spending power, parties, fun, and fame. I guess reality finally struck. It wasn’t going to happen like she’d hoped, so she dumped me for another player. Our goalie, believe it or not. Poor sucker.”

  Without thinking, I reached for his hand. “Sorry, Justin.” What had I just done? I tried to pull back, but he gripped my finger, his eyes on mine, questioningly. They say there’s electricity between two people who are meant to be together. If that’s the case, we had to be generating at least 60 amps. My entire arm was crackling, my heart was thundering, and my whole body tingled from head to toe. Did he feel it? Is that why he’s staring at me so strangely? He put his other hand over mine and I almost fell off the chair. I had to sit up straighter to be able to breathe at all.

  “How do you study?” he asked suddenly.

  “Home. Alone.” Hmmn, wasn’t that a movie?

  “I usually go to the library. You know, to get out of the house. I’m going there in a few minutes. Want to come?”

  I glanced up at the clock on the wall. I had promised Mom I would be home by three and it was now after two. I wanted to go with all my heart. Being near him felt so good. Actually, I felt a whole lot more than that, but I would try to sort that out later. I heard myself say, “I can’t today. I’d like to though. How about Tuesday, after the pool?”

  “Tuesday then. Want to put my number in your phone, just in case you’d like to get together before?”

  “Uh, I don’t have my phone with me. Maybe jot it down.”

  I saw Celeste hovering by the candy dispenser and motioned her over. “We should be going,” I said to Justin. “Can we drop you somewhere? Celeste has her car here.”

  “No, thanks.” He glanced her way. “My truck’s outside. He saw my surprised expression and added, “We made adjustments to it so I can drive.”

  I nodded. “Tuesday then.” He let go of my hand and just like that, my heart rate fell off, and I felt cold.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Len Drake, principal of Mount Olympic High, was a man who shifted with the tide. I was never sure of his position on anything, until today. He sat back in his chair, his soft white hands folded nicely in his lap, his myopic eyes darting from my father to my mother, as he appeared to listen to them.

  My school counselor, Sue Latimer, twisted uncomfortably in her chair. She adjusted and re-adjusted her glasses, and appeared to want to say something, but so far, she hadn’t uttered a word. Drake had done the talking. Nevertheless, together they formed a united front on the business side of the principal’s massive, uncluttered oak desk.

  I was temporarily off school. Celeste had brought home everything I needed to keep up with my studies. Meanwhile, my parents were trying to decide on the next step. They were stunned and angered by the fact that I had been targeted and injured twice on school property. They only knew about the half of it. There was no way I was going to tell them about the name-calling, paper balls, nasty notes, and so on. So humiliating.

  Dad was growing impatient with Mr. Drake and was demanding answers. When none were forthcoming, sheer frustration sent his normally subdued voice booming across the principal’s office. “Something needs to be done, Drake. Now!”

  The principal jumped, straightened his red tie, and refolded his hands. Neither he, nor Sue Latimer could offer a resolution to my problems and they had no suggestions. In fact, they seemed reluctant to do anything about the situation because they didn’t seem to think there was ‘a situation’.

  Drake cleared his throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, aside from these two unusual incidents involving your daughter, we don’t have a big issue here. Our school is quite safe. We have an excellent anti-bulling program in place. With nearly three thousand students and a shortage of staff members, we can’t monitor every student. We do have cameras and support services to aid us. Overall, I think we have a great track record for addressing issues, as rare as they are.”

  “And what have you done to address the issues and injuries to my daughter?” Dad asked, his tone icy.

&
nbsp; Drake cleared his throat. “I spoke to Mako after the incident on the school grounds. The boy is adamant it was an accident. He was skipping rocks as he walked, and one went astray. No harm intended.”

  Dad responded drily, “We both know better than that, Drake. Try skipping round golf ball sized rocks across grass. If you settled for that answer, then there’s more going on here than meets the eye.”

  Drake pulled his glasses off and reached for a tissue to polish them. Unruffled, he continued, “And regarding that unfortunate incident in the math class,” he added, without acknowledging what my father had just said, “I questioned young Rand O’Riley. He insists your daughter tripped over the desk leg. I checked that out with the math teacher, but unfortunately, Mr. Harrison wasn’t in the classroom at the time and didn’t see what transpired.”

  I jumped up. “You’re covering up for those two guys. Why? Why are you doing that?”

  He peered up at me and frowned. “I’m not appreciative of those kind of remarks, Young Lady.”

  I choked out, “I can’t believe you’re pretending there isn’t a problem. By ignoring physical injuries, you’re actually encouraging violence in this school. And you’re making it unsafe for those of us who are being targeted.” I was so enraged, I shook. He gazed at me with indifference.

  Mom tried a different approach. “Mr. Drake, this facility has an onus to provide a safe environment for its students. To do that, you and your staff need to take a proactive role… get involved. Surely, you can come up with a plan for providing some kind of safe zone within the school and on its grounds?”

  “This school is safe, Mrs. Cameron. Aside from these two, as I said, unusual incidents involving your daughter, we have an impeccable track record. And, as I said, we have a good anti-bulling program in place.” He glanced down at Sue Latimer. “Don’t you agree, Miss Latimer?”

  My counselor’s complexion had taken on a deep red hue. “I don’t think—“

  “Now,” Drake broke in, turning back to my parents. “If you don’t mind—”

  I moved forward, determined to corner him. “What about the others that have been injured by Mako and his gang? What about past hospitalizations? What about Leon Knight? He almost died! And it’s not just the gang members doing the bullying. The problem is, you refuse to see it!” My face burned.