by Tamar Sloan
As I wait outside the girls’ toilets for Tara to join me, I study the laces of my Converse. My one concession to individuality, they’re purple with white polka dots.
“Hi, Eden.” I glance up, and see the girl that high-fived me in P.E. coming down the hall. She smiles, highlighting her sparkling brown eyes. I scramble amongst the filing cabinets in my mind for her name. Felicity? Fiona? It takes me a split second to realize I was thinking phonetically. I find the right file triumphantly.
“Hey, Phoebe,” I reply casually, like I have these hallway conversations all the time.
“See you in P.E.” She walks past, her ponytail swishing like a perky pendulum.
“Yeah, see you then.”
What just happened there? Did I just have a casual conversation with a peer? At school? Tara interrupts my stunned musings when she skips up beside me.
“Ready for last period?” she asks. “I’ve got history.” The pitch of her voice drops with her enthusiasm.
Oh, biology.
A whole hour spent trying not to stare at Noah’s back. Not noticing defined muscles that seem to fill out those paper-thin T-shirts more and more each day. Not appreciating broad shoulders that taper down to fitted jeans. Not wondering if those shirts are getting smaller every time I sit here, once again not writing anything legible. Every lesson wondering whether he’s doing this on purpose just to torture my firmly held resolve.
In class I head toward my standard back bench. Noah is already at his seat, but I keep my head down as I walk past. I absentmindedly rub the warm spot behind my right ear as I pass. Once seated I sneak a quick peek and find that cobalt gaze on me. I quickly return my glance back to my books before that sense of affinity can reach out and grab me with its compelling tendrils. Why does Mr. Dougherty have to take so long to get started?
He finally rouses himself from his Buddha-like state and stands before the class. When he remains at the front, hand clasped behind his back, grey eyes contemplative, I get a sense that he’s about to make an announcement.
“The executive teaching team has decided that each subject will require one oral presentation in preparation for college requirements. After perusing—” Only someone as old as Mr. Dougherty would use the word ‘peruse’ with a straight face. “—upcoming assessments, the ecosystems essay is the most amenable to conversion.” Add ‘amenable’ to the list of literary terminology no longer used in popular culture.
Then I process his statement. The next assignment—an oral presentation! My stomach contracts painfully. An oral presentation! Every scrap of my anatomy is freaking out, right down to the drop of sweat that’s running a frantic line down my spine. Garish images of me standing up the front of the class are streaking through my mind. Someone asks a question. My scrambled mind can’t form a coherent response. Soft snickers flow around me, morphing to soft laughter, and in no time people are holding themselves up so they don’t roll amongst the aisles. Noah’s beautiful smile is there amongst them. I stand up the front, feet frozen to the floor, and I can do nothing but endure it.
“Due to time constraints, you will be presenting in pairs.” Muffled voices drift around the room as my peers glance at respective friends, mentally choosing their partners. Noah’s gaze is lasered at me. My heart trips an uneven beat. Oh no, oh no, oh no. “I shall be selecting the lucky dyads.” Groaning erupts from the class as hopes are trampled by Mr. Dougherty’s eloquent statement. I breathe a sigh of relief.
As Mr. Dougherty starts to read out the list of names, students grudgingly move amongst the desks to their allotted partner. I wait, breath still, for mine to be called. Noah gets paired with a guy called Gordon, a name I haven’t really heard. This is noticeable, seeing as Mr. Dougherty likes to call on his students so regularly.
As Dougherty looks up, I realize it signifies he’s finished and I haven’t been named. I glance around; all the names have an even split of pairs. Dougherty catches my eye and he realizes the error.
“Ms. St. James, it appears your late enrollment has put a snag in my machinations.” I’m not sure I like feeling like a wrench. “Let’s see…”
He glances around the room, and my eyes follow his. Our gazes fall onto Noah simultaneously. All that accompanies him is his signature grin. As Dougherty’s furrowed eyes light up, my heart takes an elevator ride to my shoes. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Dougherty glances at his list. “Ah, Mr. Phelan. I see your partner is the perpetually absent Mr. Gordon. I think we can accommodate your allocation to include Ms. St. James.”
Noah’s splitting grin rivals the equator. “I’d say we can manage that.” He cocks a single brow at me, I guess inviting me to join him at his desk. I sit in shocked stillness; the denim threads of my jeans have woven themselves securely to my seat. How did this happen? After a beat, Noah shrugs and joins me at my back bench.
“Howdy, partner.” Noah drops himself on the adjacent stool. He flashes me a smile. I want to bury my head in my hands. Make that a giant pile of sand. Actually, what I’d really like is some quicksand to swallow me whole.
“Splendid,” calls out Mr. Dougherty. I almost glare at him. That is not my definition of the current situation. “Now, there will be some class time allocated to this project, but you will be well-served to spend time on this outside of class.” I glower at the book in front of me. I have no one to aim this feeling of helpless frustration at, so it bears the full brunt.
“Where’s your partner?” I don’t mean it to sound accusing. But it does.
Noah shrugs. “He has better things to smoke.” Great. “So…your place or mine?” Over my dead, buried, and fossilised body. Unchaperoned time with Noah is the last thing I want.
“Don’t you guys have a public library or something?”
“Shuts at five p.m.” He holds his hands out, palms up, shoulders hunched up. “Not a lot of reading types here about,” he says in a drawling accent. I almost smile, but I refuse to let our relationship reach that level of familiarity.
“What about a café?”
“Why, Eden, wouldn’t that resemble a date?” Noah schools his face in an expression of innocent astonishment, although mischief is twinkling in those blue pools. I snap my mouth shut.
“Ah, maybe not a café then.” Definitely not. Noah’s grin amps up a few lumens.
I rack my brain, looking for a solution to this intractable situation. The answer—my ticket to salvation—comes to me in a blinding flash of ingenuity. “What about a walk in the reserve? The information will literally be at our fingertips.”
Noah’s eyebrows have hiked into the blond locks falling wantonly over his forehead. Hah, that wiped the distracting smile off his dial. “Sure, sounds great.”
“Tomorrow afternoon? The visitor’s parking lot?”
Noah’s distracting, hypnotizing grin is back. I pull a fortifying breath into the depths of my lungs. I’m going to have to avoid looking at that smile too much; it’s kind of like looking at the sun. If you look too long, you have to blink a few times before you can see again. And when you do, that blinding image is burned onto the back of your eyelids.
Noah’s fingers rap out a cheery drum roll on the bench. “Biology is ramping up to a whole new level of fun.”
Mr. Dougherty calls the class to attention. He starts another of his slow-paced soliloquies. Noah turns to the front and I pretend I’m not insanely aware of his scent wrapping around me. As Dougherty continues his literary diatribe, I start to comprehend what’s ahead of me. I have to withstand more time with Noah. Unaccompanied by Tara. No diversions. No distractions.
Excited little butterflies dance around my stomach. Then any anticipation dies as I realize what it’ll really be like. Me socially awkward, Noah finally realizing what a misfit he’s been lumped with. Noah making lame excuses that he needs to get home. Maybe he forgot to put the lid on a shampoo bottle or something. The butterflies sense the impending scene and huddle together, uniting to form jagged, punishing lumps.
At least we won’t exa
ctly be alone…
8
Noah
So this is what Stash feels like on a sting. He can sense something big is coming, that maybe that jackpot is just around the corner, every muscle straining against the lead that is holding him back, anticipation pounding through his muscles. It makes my nerves twitchy, zinging little electrical impulses down my arms and legs. I wonder if I look like I’ve got the tremors.
I wait at the agreed parking lot, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I lean against my truck. I’m early, which counterproductively gives me more time to build the edgy tension. A chunk of time alone with Eden. Unrivalled and uninterrupted. The thought, once again, has me pushing away from the car and taking several steps forward only to turn around and return. I wonder what we’ll talk about. I’m looking forward to learning more about this mysterious girl.
A sporty Saab pulls in a few spaces away and that million dollar haul steps out. I’m surprised; it’s not a car choice I would have imagined her in. Eden is dressed warmly in jeans and a jacket. It reminds me I forgot to pack a jumper, but I don’t mind the cool air. Actually, I think I just got a few degrees warmer.
Eden approaches me, pulling a backpack onto her shoulders. She’s looking everywhere but me.
“Hi, Eden. Nice ride.”
She glances back at the car, frowning at its smooth lines. “It’s my mother’s.” She turns back, and I find myself waiting, breath frozen in my expanded lungs for her to look at me. Her gaze slides right past me, to a point past my left shoulder. She’s looking preoccupied, a small frown creasing her brow. It tilts the corners of her lips down ever so slightly.
“Ready to go?”
“Almost.” She continues to stare at that point beyond me. I turn, and see a minibus pull into a park closer to the visitors’ centre. A group of tourists clamber out and congregate near the trail signpost. There’s about ten of them, toting children, cameras, and disordered eagerness. I don’t relish the thought of the rowdy babbling that would accompany this group. Judging by Eden’s face, neither does she.
“Yeah, I see what you mean.” I turn back to see the furrows wash away, leaving relieved smoothness in its wake. Instead the baffled feelings leap over to me, corrugating my brow in confusion. A prickling sense of dread tingles the base of my scalp.
“Yep, all set,” she states, and purposefully strides over to the group. She glances over her shoulder to check I’m following. The image of just the two of us, hiking serenely through picturesque terrain, is crushed by the cementing knowledge that we’re joining the milling tourists.
Maybe I’m assuming incorrectly. “We’re going with them?” I try to modulate my tone but it still hikes up slightly on the final word.
“Yeah. Todd runs a great wildlife tour. What better way to see everything we need to check out?” She looks at me expectantly.
I could think of several actually. “Ah…yeah…sure.” So this is how Stash feels when the anticipated haul turns out to be nothing but sawdust.
“Hi, Eden, glad you could make it again.” Todd is a fit-looking guy wearing a Clear Creek Inn logo on his shirt; artificially whitened teeth flash in a blinding smile as Eden approaches.
“Hi, Todd.” I don’t get to see if Eden is going to introduce me, because Todd is already waving his arms to the tourists.
“Okay, everyone, gather round,” he calls out enthusiastically. Easy for him…his plans are right on track. I shuffle along with Eden and we stand on the outskirts of the group.
I jam my hands in my pockets. I’m officially moping. Todd starts a standard blurb about the national park, its tectonic birth, the diversity of its flora and fauna, all the fun things you can do…while staying at the Inn. I fade out his educational-information-that-is-really-Inn-advertising.
A young girl beside me in a pink, frilly number much more suited to a teddy bears’ picnic smiles shyly up at me. Not wanting to scare her with my sulking, I grin back. Her mother glances over, and when she sees the exchange, frowns ferociously. She gathers her daughter protectively to her side. The edges of my mouth return to their downward position. I’m not sure what I just got tried and sentenced for, but I don’t think I like it.
“Okay, everyone, let’s move out.”
Everyone follows Todd as we head for the hiking trail. There’s a slight jaunt in Eden’s stride as she walks along with the group, her thumbs looped in the straps of her backpack. The group is slowly spreading out as people pause periodically to view their surroundings. The trail winds through open woodland, the trees opening at opportune moments to provide unhindered vistas of open meadows. Their green expanse reaches out to the massive mountain range breaching the horizon. We seem to reach an unspoken agreement that we’ll remain at the rear. Despite Eden’s glowing reference of Todd, she doesn’t seem to be paying attention to his animated, albeit scripted, narration. I decide I might as well make the most of my thwarted situation.
I start with something safe and mundane. “So, we need to look at ecosystems.”
“Yep, I checked out the worksheet.”
I pull the said worksheet from my back pocket and scan its rumpled surface. “Okay then, we need to identify the various habitats of the ecosystem.”
Eden rolls her eyes, and ticks her fingers off as she lists them. “Alpine in higher altitudes, from the tree line to valley floor there are coniferous forest and open woodland, moving down to the marshes and meadows before we hit aquatic habitats in the rivers and lakes.”
I raise my eyebrows as I look back to the sheet. “Okay, smarty pants, what about the energy transfer through the food chain?”
She glances at me, unimpressed. “Well, it starts with autotrophs like grasses photosynthesising and finishes with carnivores like bears eating just about everything below.” Or wolves.
I pick a flower nearby, a fragile columbine that modestly hangs its pale yellow head beside the trail. I hold it out to Eden. “So flowers are down the bottom?”
She frowns at the slender bloom. “You’re not meant to pick flowers in the reserve.” I continue to hold the flower out, seeing if she’ll leave me hanging. When she reaches out to take it, my breath halts as I wait to see if our hands will brush. Eden grasps the flower just below its delicate petals, neatly avoiding any physical contact. She tucks the flower into the side pocket of her backpack.
“You know you can eat them,” I offer, trying for a spot of humor.
“Thanks, but I’ve had lunch.” She moves forward again; her unsmiling mouth remains firmly entrenched in the land of serious.
Undaunted, I use the cue to move onto more personal topics. “So, how long have you been vegetarian?”
“Since I was eleven.” Eden remains focused on the trail ahead of us.
Taking her cue, I stare straight ahead, hands shoved in my pockets “Why the change?” Eden opens her mouth, hopefully with more than a four word answer.
I don’t get to find out.
“What’s yaw name?” I glance down to see a blond boy, maybe five years old, looking up at me, thumb firmly planted in his mouth. His forefinger curls around the tip of his nose. Frustration clenches like a concertina between my shoulder blades.
“Ah, Noah.” The boy looks at me expectantly, cheeks drawing in rhythmically around his thumb. My irritation drops with each steady pulse. I’ve just learned you can’t stay frustrated with a precocious blond thumb-sucker. “What’s yours?”
“Dewemiah.” Taking into account the thumb, I think that translates to Jeremiah.
“Hey, Jeremiah, nice to meet you. Shouldn’t you be with your mom or dad?” I don’t want a repeat of the accusing mother lioness from earlier.
The thumb comes out with a pop, and Jeremiah uses the soggy digit to point over his shoulder. “Nah, she’s over there wif my little brothers.” Eden and I look over to a slim woman, hair wisping from a crooked bun, one toddler wailing on her hip as another darts away. “My dad couldn’t come. He’s on doody.” His tone drops on the final word, as if it bears
the weight of great importance.
“On duty, you say?” Jeremiah nods solemnly, thumb securely back in his mouth. I glance over at Eden. Her lips are pulled in between her teeth, holding in a smile.
Jeremiah tugs on my hand, pulling me down. I squat, and he leans in, and asks in a loud whisper. “What’s her name?”
“Eden.” I stage whisper back as I grin up at her. Eden is pretending she can’t hear the not-so-hushed conversation happening right beside her.
He glances at her, an assessing glint is eye. “She seems nice.”
I pause for a second. “Well, I certainly think so.” Eden’s pretty blush creeps up her cheeks, her hand rubbing behind her ear.
Jeremiah considers this. “I’m gonna walk wif you.” He announces with the confident nod of a child that has yet to learn stranger danger. He doesn’t wait for confirmation, before taking my hand and starting forward. I send a helpless shrug to Eden, but she’s looking at Jeremiah with a gentle expression. I mentally catalogue the softened lips, relaxed muscles around her eyes, pearly skin painted with a tender glow. This girl gets more beautiful by the minute.
“What’s dat?” Jeremiah points toward a bright yellow and black bird.
“That’s a Western Tanager.” Jeremiah watches it in fascination as it darts about the tree branches, its bright red head standing out against the green foliage.
“Yeah, each male and female travel together all winter, to get to know one another, before they settle down to hatch their eggs in spring.” This added detail comes from Eden. I look at her in surprise. She shrugs, as if to say its common knowledge, and quickly walks on.
By the time we arrive at the clearing that signifies the halfway break, I’ve reached the conclusion that the term ‘what’s dat’ should be struck from the English language. And all other languages for that matter; it would be discriminatory not to. Jeremiah’s insatiable curiosity started as cute and charming, but with the passage of time deteriorated into exasperating and exhausting.
