Girl Wonder

by Alexa Martin

  “Where there’s smoke there are smokes,” a high-pitched male voice said.

  The body it belonged to appeared a moment later. I didn’t recognize the kid, although at a school as large as Shady Grove, that didn’t really mean anything. The goatee he stroked did little to hide the purple acne that clotted his face. He peered down at me through orange John Lennon glasses. “Think I might bum one of those?” he asked, jerking his head toward the cigarettes. I held out the pack of Dunhills. “Have at them. I’m quitting.”

  He examined the box. “This is a fancy-pants brand.” Nevertheless, he tucked the box into the pouch of his hemp pullover, ripped off the filter of his cigarette, and smoked the remainder as if it were a joint. “Hey—don’t I know you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He flicked the butt away carelessly, scattering tiny orange embers into my hair. Cackling at my displeasure, he squatted down beside me. “Yeah. I know you. You’re that bat-shit crazy girl. The fish killer.” My face flushed red. I scrambled to my feet. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I was just playing with you.”

  I walked away quickly, my arms folded across my chest, lips mashed together to keep from crying.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” he said, cracking up with laughter. “Here, fish killer.”

  I reached down, grabbed a fistful of pebbles, and held them up warningly.

  “You really are a freak!” he shouted.

  But he left me alone after that.

  There was an art-house movie theater about a mile from Shady Grove. I scrounged for some change at the bottom of my backpack and came up with enough money to buy myself a ticket to the noon showing of Deliverance. I didn’t really care what I saw. I was just glad to sit in the darkness and know that the three other people in the theater—a woman with an oxygen tank, her obese companion of indeterminate gender, and the man in the front row with the shiny bald head—didn’t know the first thing about me.

  The movie was violent, sick, and scary.

  It matched my mood perfectly.

  Afterward I walked the five miles back to our house, replaying scenes from the movie in my head to distract myself from my sorry life. The weather had turned nasty. The wind picked up. Branches and pinecones were flying like whirlybirds. I had to hold my skirt down with my hands to keep it from flying up in my face. Cars roared past without seeming to care that they were splashing small lakes on me.

  It took me a long time to reach home. As I shuffled up the driveway, I saw James Henry sitting on the lowest step, seemingly oblivious to the rain. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He looked small. Fragile.

  “You better get inside,” he said, his voice oddly flat. “Mom and Dad are waiting.”

  My stomach sank. I ran through the possibilities.

  Milton had called.

  Amanda had called.

  Neal had called.

  I licked my lips and swallowed. “How bad is it?”

  James Henry’s shoulders started to heave. “They’re getting a divorce.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Dad said about the divorce—which hadn’t occurred to me until he said it. Later on in the week, he sent some movers over to collect his stuff. They worked quickly and efficiently, finishing the job of breaking up our family in a matter of hours. Dad informed us he’d be going to Mexico for a few weeks to decompress. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I’m back,” he said. “We’ll do something fun.”

  Fun was for other folks.

  Mom bought a pack of cigarettes the day Dad moved out. At first they made her cough. Now she was sucking them down as if they were vitamins. She was also watching a lot of reality TV. She was particularly addicted to that monster fish show.

  Could her students tell that something was amiss? That thing she had—command presence—could you lose it? Or was the essence of command presence that you exuded it most when the chips were down?

  I wondered what our neighbors thought of us. The woman next door sometimes stared with curiosity and sympathy. She brought my mom a casserole one afternoon. After she left, Mom tossed it into the trash. “It’s not like someone died.”

  “We just need some time to process,” my brother said. “Right?”

  “We’re fine,” she said automatically.

  I contemplated asking her if she’d been making out with any celebrity DJs lately. But there was only so much truth a person could handle at a time. And I sensed that whatever might or might not have happened between her and the DJ, the divorce wasn’t all that simple. Something had been wrong with my parents for a long time.

  Mom hadn’t noticed that I was missing school.

  Most days I pretended I was going. I got up, got dressed, and then headed off in the direction of the bus stop. She didn’t ask why I no longer wanted her to give me rides. I think she appreciated my self-reliance.

  When I was sure no one was watching, I ducked into the woods that bordered our subdivision. The creek ran high and fast from all the recent rainfall. This time of year, there weren’t any salmon. Low-hanging branches trapped garbage, clothing, and old auto parts. There was a waterfall not too far away. This was my favorite spot.

  Sometimes I read. I was working my way through Jane Eyre (a book my mom insisted I read before I turned eighteen). “You’ll learn a lot about men,” she’d said. I didn’t know about that. I liked Jane, however. Her life was no bowl of cherries either. Her school was so gross that half the students died from disease and neglect. Then there was the guy she loved. Rochester. Now, he was a piece of work. Secretly married to this madwoman he kept locked up in his attic. He loved Jane back, though. That counted for something. That counted for a lot.

  Amanda would have liked this place. She would have talked me into sliding down the waterfall. It was pathetic how badly I wanted her to stop by or call—if not to apologize then at least to make sure I was doing okay.

  But she didn’t call. Not once.

  Staring at the rain dripping through the trees, I tried desperately to absent myself from thought and feeling. I pretended I was just another one of the shadows. At some point, invisibility became the goal.

  Neal sent me just one text. I’m sorry. I didn’t write back. I realized I didn’t know Neal. I’d never known Neal. The guy I loved didn’t exist.

  In my dream, someone was singing, “I wear my sunglasses at night…I wear my sunglasses on rainy days…I wear my sunglasses to sleep…I wear my…”

  Realizing that what I was hearing was real, I opened my eyes. Milton stood above me with an amused expression. I sat up quickly and glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven a.m.

  “Your brother said I’d find you here.”

  “My brother should mind his own business,” I said quietly.

  “He’s worried about you,” Milton said, kneeling down next to me in this cautious way, like I was an animal that might bite. “He says you haven’t gone to school this week, but you’re not sick. I wanted to see if you’re okay. You seemed pretty messed up that day I gave you a ride.”

  “That day was…that day.” I pressed my fingers to my temples.

  “I heard about your parents.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “So you’re hanging out here just for fun?” He gestured around at the woods. A squirrel scolded us from a nearby tree. “I’m not saying this place isn’t nice.…I’m all for nature. Camping. Hiking. Snowboarding. You should give snowboarding a chance, by the way. I could teach—”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I interrupted quickly. “About not being at school. I didn’t know Barclay was on the half-day plan. Or is it that you smart kids are so fragile, you need more downtime than the rest of us morons?”

  “I had a dentist’s appointment,” he explained.

  Teeth were safe. I could work with teeth. “Any cavities?” I asked.

  “None. I take care of my mouth.” He grinned widely, showing off his pearly whites. I noticed that a front tooth was slightly chipped. Otherwise, they were perfect.


  “That’s important. For eating,” I clarified, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

  “All the better to eat you with,” he said, making this snapping motion at my throat. His lashes, I noticed, were long, thick, and wet with rain.

  Teeth were not safe.

  I scooted away. “You’re too late,” I said. “I’ve already met the big bad wolf.”

  “That guy from dinner?” His face darkened. “What happened?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s a little more complicated than that. Wolves travel in packs.”

  “Your friend Amanda?” he guessed, staring thoughtfully at the creek.

  “Ex-friend,” I corrected him.

  He shook his head. “I’ve always had a bad feeling about that girl.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, me embarrassed at having revealed so much, Milton seemingly at ease. The creek roared in the background. Over the last few days I’d watched it steadily rise. The forecasters were predicting statewide flooding. We were having what they called a Pineapple Express.

  Milton cleared his throat. “Most animal attacks are worse when you try to run.”

  It was time for a new subject—one that wasn’t me.

  “How does James Henry seem?” I asked. “He’s not really talking about stuff.”

  “Wonder where he gets that from?”

  “You’re a real riot,” I said.

  “James Henry and your dad are pretty tight, huh?”

  “They’re a lot a like. Two peas in a pod. A couple of geniuses.”

  “Who are you like?” he asked, throwing a stone in the water.

  “No one.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Though the forest was dark and dreary, there were hints of spring. The air smelled astringent with new growth. Ferns unfurled their necks like swans. In the boggier areas, you could see yellow stalks of skunk cabbage pressing up through the mud. Light beamed through the clouds at a brighter wattage than before. I stood up and walked over to the creek. A log had fallen across it in a recent storm. Slowly, I climbed onto the wood and eased my way across to the island on the other side. Once I was safely on the ground, I turned around to look for Milton.

  He was standing, studying the log dubiously. “You expect me to cross this thing?”

  “Do whatever you like,” I said, wanting him to follow me but not wanting him to think I cared what he did.

  There was a burn area up ahead. I made my way toward it. For the moment, the clouds had parted. A ray of light illuminated the particles of mist that hung in the air. A lone alder tree stood just off to the center. Though its bark was tinged with black, it had somehow survived the fire. It had low, thick branches. Grabbling hold, I swung up.

  Milton made it across the creek and was now crouched down beside a nurse log, prodding around at the ground. A moment later he wandered over to me, cupping something in his hands. “Mushrooms,” he said in answer to the questioning look I gave him. He held them up for me to see.

  “Aren’t those…what did you call them? You said they were good to eat?”

  “One of them is a black morel. It’s edible and choice.”

  “So what’s the other one? They look identical.”

  “You wouldn’t want to mistake them,” he said. “This one is a Verpa—otherwise known as the false morel. It might taste good, but it would make you sick.” He handed them up to me, his arm accidently brushing my knee.

  Stupidly, my stomach lurched. I gave my head a quick shake. Milton was the last person on the planet I needed to like. Why was he wasting his time talking to me?

  Though they looked slimy, the mushrooms felt dry and cool to the touch. They smelled sweet, earthy, and ancient in a good way, like stones. Milton pointed out a couple of key differences in their heads and stalks, things you’d never notice at first glance. The black morel had pits and ridges, whereas the false morel was crinkled and wavy. The black morel was hollow, whereas the false morel was fibrous.

  “It takes a while to learn to distinguish the differences.” Milton said. “Even pros make mistakes. With mushrooms in general, I mean. Morels are pretty easy to identify, though.”

  “How do you know all this shit?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I know a few things, I guess. My dad is the real expert. When I was a kid he would take me on all these field trips. Back then I’d lie to my friends about where we were going. It seemed like such a dorky hobby. It is kind of dorky. But I loved it. I still do. It’s like Easter egg hunting, only better because you get to do it all year round.”

  I smiled at this. “All the same, it seems best not to eat them. Why chance it?”

  He looked horrified. “They have feelings!” he hissed, shielding the mushrooms from me. “You’ve got the wrong attitude,” he said. “With most mushrooms, you’re not going to get into big trouble. And the payoff…Just promise me you’ll try them sometime. Or, I could—”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” I said, crossing my arms.

  “They’re so simple to prepare. You just cook them up with eggs and butter.”

  I shook my head. “I hate eggs.”

  He cocked his chin to one side and squinted at me. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a real nut job?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re rude?” I retorted.

  “Yeah. You.” He grinned at me. I grinned back. I was, I realized, having fun. Milton was easy to talk to. I wondered if the girls at his school had crushes on him. In this chummy I’m-just-one-of-the-guys voice, I asked him if he had a girlfriend.

  “Not anymore,” he said.

  “What happened?”

  “She…uh…went to play for the other team.”

  “You mean…”

  “Girls,” he coughed. “She likes girls.”

  I clapped my hand to my mouth. “You turned her!”

  He shook his head sadly. “My reputation is ruined for life.”

  “Whatever.”

  “There’s this other girl…” he began.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked, my voice not as chummy before.

  “She’s hung up on an idiot.”

  “At least she’s not hung up on another girl,” I said.

  He laughed. “Nice.”

  “What’s she like?” I asked, not wanting to know, but unable to control myself. “The girl you like, I mean.”

  Thinking about her, he smiled. “She’s kind of a handful, but in a good way. Sarcastic. Smart. Real.”

  “Well, I’m sure it will all work out for the best,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. Lucky lucky lucky. “Are you ever going to tell her how you feel?”

  He picked up a stick and started digging a circle around the cap of a mushroom that was just barely pressing its way out of the ground. “I find it kind of interesting that you’re interrogating me about my love life when you’re giving nothing away about yourself.”

  I shrugged. “If you don’t get close to people, they won’t let you down.”

  He jabbed his stick into the ground. “That stinks.”

  “Reality stinks,” I snapped. To kill this conversation, I jumped down from my tree. Much to my humiliation, when I landed, I lost my balance and fell on my butt. It hurt too. My eyes smarted with tears. To his credit, Milton didn’t laugh.

  “You okay?” he asked, holding out a hand.

  I contemplated it a moment, observing his large knuckles, strong fingers, and the deep grooves in his palm. A fortune-teller would have fun with his hands, though you didn’t have to be psychic to know that Milton was destined for a successful and happy life. She was a lucky girl, whoever she was.

  Lucky lucky lucky.

  “Got it,” I said, refusing his help. Standing, I brushed off my jeans and started making my way to the other side of the creek. Once I got back to my place by the waterfall, I sat down and pretended to read Jane Eyre. Milton just stood there watching me.

  “They’re probabl
y missing you right about now,” I said, hinting for him to leave. “At that fancy-pants school of yours.”

  “You’re going to have to quit hiding out here at some point,” he said.

  “Thanks for the mushroom talk,” I said, without lifting my eyes from the page.

  “Whatever it is…whatever happened to you…”

  “It’s really none of your business!” I snapped, this time looking up.

  Milton had this funny smile on his face, the kind of smile you get when someone has just hurt your feelings but you’re trying not to let on.

  “I didn’t mean to sound harsh,” I said. “It’s just—”

  “I’ll give you a ride over to school,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the road. “If, when we get there, you don’t want to stay, I’ll take you home. I promise.”

  “You’re a good driver,” I told Milton. “Amanda was terrifying.”

  “She’s terrifying, all right,” he said, braking for a pedestrian in the crosswalk. “And what’s with that hair? It reminds me of Pepto-Bismol.”

  “It probably tastes way worse,” I said, “with all those chemicals she uses to get it that color.”

  Milton made a face. “Luckily I haven’t eaten lunch yet, because that thought really makes me want to puke.”

  “Please don’t,” I laughed. “I’m a sympathy puker.”

  We passed a student driver car. Milton glanced over at me. “James Henry says you don’t drive. What’s up with that?”

  “It’s complicated.” Then, because he’d seemed genuinely interested, I answered honestly. “It was always my dad who was teaching me. He places this really high value on achievement and success. I guess I always felt like he was just waiting for me to mess up. With driving. With everything.”

  Milton pulled into an empty parking lot.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He grinned. “This car has a super-smooth clutch.”

  “Your point?” I asked, chewing on my thumbnail.

  “I don’t think you should write off driving just yet.” I hesitated for a moment. “What do you have to lose?” he asked gently.