by Ellis Logan
Chapter 7
The next morning, the smell of fresh coffee woke me up. I rolled out of bed, put on some skinny jeans, my favorite pair of green Docs and an old burton sweatshirt. I was still feeling a little out of sorts from the night before, so I spent a few minutes getting out of my morning funk by working on my speed bag by the window. By the time I left my room, the apartment was quiet.
I crossed the living room into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, added some sugar and looked at the note on the counter.
“Running. Back in an hour.”
I jotted down a note to my mom telling her I was heading out to Mount Snow, grabbed a couple bananas and the keys to the Subaru. We’d bought a new GPS at Penney’s the day before, so I took that, too, and headed out the door. The GPS was pretty easy to set up; Mount Snow was even listed in the menu as a local attraction. It was just twenty minutes away, assuming I didn’t hit any traffic. I couldn’t imagine what sort of traffic there would ever be on these winding country roads, anyways.
My mom had been pretty upset the one time I’d gotten a warning in Tucson for speeding, so now I drove carefully, never going more than a few miles over the speed limit. Still, I got to the mountain in just over fifteen minutes. I imagined the trip would take a little longer in the winter when we got good snow, but I was pretty excited to be this close to skiing again. I hopped out of the car and wandered over to the ticket booth, where a really bored guy directed me to the lodge office to get my photo pass made.
The mountain looked huge. One of the lifts was running, the gondola pod that went all the way to the top, giving lazy off-season mountain bikers an easy ride down. Since I hated biking uphill more than just about anything, I couldn’t blame them one bit. Signs were posted all over the place for an upcoming OktoberFest, and a reggae concert that had happened the week before. Gee, I was really sorry I had missed that. Not. One of the only things I disliked more than mountain biking was patchouli, which I’m sure would have been the eau du jour at that event.
I gazed back up at the mountain with mounting excitement as I pushed my way through the lodge doors. More signs for OktoberFest greeted me in the vestibule, advertising online ticket sales, beer and bratwurst. I shook my head. Again, not really my thing. Polka and tiny hats, I could do without. I looked past the advertisements and saw the lodge office nearby. The door was open, so I walked right up to the counter, where a girl my age wearing a vintage rainbow striped sweater à la Brady Bunch was leaning over her iPhone, clearly engrossed in some game.
I cleared my throat.
“Oh, hey!” She looked up and smiled. She had short, naturally red hair pulled into two tiny pigtails with bangs, clear blue eyes, and a host of freckles across a small perky nose. “You here for a pass or applying for a job?” She asked this like there couldn’t possibly be any other options.
“Just a youth pass.” I answered.
“You have ID?”
I handed her my Tucson driver’s license. She examined it curiously.
“Well, I guess it must be real, since no one actually ever tries to pass for underage.” She laughed. “Did you just move here or something?”
“Yeah, we got here last week.” I shuffled my feet on the ground. This was my least favorite part of moving to new places. The constant introductions got real old, real fast.
“Okay, well you just need to fill out this form here, and then we’ll go take a picture.” She slid the form across the counter to me with a pen, and went back to playing her game. From where I was standing it looked like Clash of Clans, and she seemed to be in the middle of an epic siege.
When I was about halfway through the form, I heard her groan.
“Clan troubles?” I asked.
“Yeah, my friends are all offline right now, hiking the back of the mountain, so no one’s got my back in this battle. Oh well, guess it’s time to send in the trolls.” She exhaled in frustration. “You play?”
I signed the form and slid it back to her. “Not really. Some of my friends out west did though. I kind of suck at war games. Not enough action for me, too much waiting around.”
“Ah. Yes, I can get that.” She looked at my form. “Oh, you moved to the Depot? Are you going to Union High?”
“Yeah, actually. I start tomorrow.”
“Oh, cool! I’m one of the hall monitors, I know, totally lame but my mom really digs it,” she rolled her eyes and grinned. “We usually get tapped to show new students around if they are in our grade. You a senior?” she asked eagerly.
I eyed her warily.
“Yeah.”
“Sweet, me, too! So I’ll probably see you in the school office tomorrow. It’s the best part of being a monitor, because we get to wander around a bit while we tour the school.” Her pigtails bobbed while she nodded, apparently in total agreement with herself. I liked her enthusiasm, even if I didn’t have too much of it myself. She glanced at my form again.
“So, Siri, is it? I’m Rose. I know, I know, don’t say it. I mean who names a redhead ‘Rose’? It’s just too corny. But, it’s a family name, according to my mom.” Rose shrugged, and I laughed.
“Now, come on and let’s get your photo taken care of.”
Ten minutes later I was back in the car with a new pass. Rose had made me take the photo a bunch of times until we got the best photo, claiming she didn’t have any other work to do, so why not make sure I looked my best? Since I’d have to stare at the pass attached to my jacket all season, I couldn’t help but agree. I wished the DMV back in Tucson had the same attitude.
I drove down the resort road, out towards Route 100 to head home. I was about to pull out, when a massive black Ford pickup came barreling down the road. I waited for it to pass, turned right and followed the truck down the road, keeping my distance.
We hadn’t gone very far when I saw a squirrel sitting on the side of the road, eating a nut. The truck swerved right at it. The squirrel leaped back at the last moment, slamming into the side of the truck and falling to the ground as the truck roared away.
“Are you kidding me?!” I yelled. I couldn’t believe it. I had seen some article going around on Facebook about how a guy did a study in Texas that showed five percent of all drivers would actually go out of their way to hit animals in the road, rather than go around them, but I hadn’t really believed it. I mean, what a psychopath. I pulled to the side of the road, tears rolling down my face. Who would actually do something like that?
I left my blinker on and got out of the car, scrambling over to the squirrel. The closer I got, the more slowly I approached. I was scared of what I might see.
It looked like it was sleeping. The small, black squirrel had a small patch of light fur under its chin, and some blood was seeping out of its mouth. I kneeled next to it, and prodded it gently with my finger. No response. I gently picked it up and placed my fingers on its neck and chest. No heartbeat, at least, I didn’t think so. I wasn’t exactly squirrel certified. But, I was pretty sure it was dead. For some reason, this hit me really, really hard, and I sobbed. I clutched the squirrel tightly to my chest and tried to take a deep breath, to calm down and get some perspective. It was just a squirrel, right? I mean, they got hit all the time. But this had just seemed so – malicious.
I held the squirrel and shut my eyes, trying to center myself and get a grip. Come on, Siri, just relax, take a deep breath, and calm down. Circle of life, and all that. Calm down, lay the little guy on some grass, cover him up with some leaves, and move on. Go swim in the falls.
But I couldn’t move.
I tried again to relax, concentrating on my pounding heart instead of my breath. I felt my heartbeat, strong, and willed it to slow. After a few moments, it was slower, but also stronger, louder. I breathed deeply, willing myself to get grounded and relax. I felt my pulse radiating through my body, stronger and stronger, and then it was like there was a deeper pulse surging through the ground below me, up through my legs, in time with my own. The two beats came together like
a war drum pounding through my body.
Suddenly, a third beat joined in, small and quick, pulsing through my hands. I opened my eyes, totally stunned, and looked at the little being in my hand. Looking right back at me.
I was so shocked, I dropped the squirrel into my lap. Instantly, I worried that I had hurt it again, but it sat up on its hind legs, chattered at me while I stared at it, and ran off into the woods.
I shook my head. Well, that was hella weird. I got back in the car and looked at the dash clock. Somehow it seemed that I had lost a half hour there on the side of the road. I guess I had spent more time than I thought freaking out over the squirrel. Now I had less than an hour to drive all the way home, clean up my teary mess of a face, and shave my legs. Perfect.
