by Melissa Kuch
Mary stood up, not flinching or looking fazed by this spectacle happening in the first period science class.
“What did she do?” Boreas cried out, getting to his feet again, but he was immediately knocked down by another guard. Aurora stood stark still and watched the scene playing out as if it was a bad dream. But the scene continued, and Mary packed up her bag, looked at Aurora with courage in her eyes, and mouthed, “I’ll be okay.” She then was marched out of the classroom, the door slamming shut behind them.
Aurora snapped out of her momentary stupor, jumped out of her seat and ran to the classroom door. She grabbed the handle, prepared to run after Mary and force them to let her friend go, when someone held her back. She screamed at the top of her lungs. She had to help her. She had to save her. She screamed as loud as she could, but Mary was gone.
he thermometer read 105 degrees, and it was by far the hottest day of the summer. Children were bursting open fire hydrants to soak in the cool, crisp water as the sun streamed down on them from above, its golden ball gloating and piercing their skin with its ever-present rays. Old Mr. Harold was rocking on the front porch of his house painted in honor of the Independence Day of the Last Straw. The colors of orange and indigo adorned the walls of his duck-shaped house, whilst the day before it had been painted the shade of red. No one on Wishbone Avenue knew how he was capable of painting the house so quickly, especially at his age. He now was looking content and fanning himself with a decorated fan with the words “The IDEAL has Spoken” sketched over the parchment in black scripted ink. He was awaiting the parade that would begin exactly at an hour past the Awakened Hour. Everyone on Wishbone Avenue would soon join him on their front porches, fans held high in hand, as the hour was approaching. The heat couldn’t jeopardize the parade since the IDEAL declared it so. And everyone wanted to emulate the IDEAL. Old Mr. Harold gazed at his next door neighbor’s house, which was a white two-story house with red shutters. He thought the Alvarez household just needed a shade of blue to start a controversy in the town, as red, white and blue were the old and forbidden colors of the United States of America. He wondered why his neighbors weren’t out of their house yet. He was rocking back and forth on his patio swing, contemplating giving them a call to make sure that they remembered what day it was. But of course everyone remembered what day it was.
The indigo dress was too tight, as Aurora had predicted, yet her mother was resolute on making her fit into the garment. She forced her daughter to suck in all the air she could muster in order to zip it up. It clung to her body like a corset, and Aurora feared if she sat down the entire dress would rip in two. She had not gotten much sleep the night before, having heard the conch shell sound again during the Sacred Hour. She thought it best to not tell her parents. They would most likely have the same reaction, and she didn’t want to end up in the Candlewick loony bin since once again she appeared to be the only one who had heard it.
Her mother pranced out in a dandelion-patterned sundress that hugged her shapely hips and backside and a large white brimmed beach bonnet that was tilted ever so slightly to the side over her ebony curls. Aurora followed suit with her own orange bonnet set on top of her thick wavy hair that was sticking to the back of her neck. She wanted to tie it up in a ponytail, but her mother insisted that it be kept down.
“Don’t you want to represent the Alvarez family beauty? You look so much better with your hair down. Everyone always says that. They say, ‘Norma, your daughter looks like a goddess with her hair down.’”
“Yeah,” Aurora thought. “Then they would add ‘Frump Girl’ to the end of the sentence.”
Mother and daughter Alvarez stood out like sore thumbs dressed for a garden party, as the rest of the neighbors were dressed in shorts and t-shirts for the barbecue festivities. Everything was decorated with indigo and orange, from balloons, to tablecloths to even the flags hanging from each of the houses on Wishbone Avenue.
Old Mr. Harold stood up from his porch swing and bowed to the two women as they passed him. “I was afraid you would both miss the parade this morning.”
“Never, Mr. Harold.” Aurora’s mother smiled her obsequious grin as if she was meant for politics. “And what a beautiful parade it was. The children looked so adorable marching this morning. I remember when my Aurora used to be in the parade.”
“You couldn’t miss Aurora.” Mr. Harold laughed until he hiccupped. “Is Mr. Alvarez down by the barbeque?”
“He is down at the courthouse on Inspector Herald’s orders. Apparently there is a case of the utmost importance to discuss, even on holiday. He’ll come around later this afternoon.”
Mrs. Alvarez smiled her gallant white smile at her neighbor and sauntered past as Aurora struggled to keep up. Mrs. Alvarez sidestepped to her friends Rose Champagne and Gabrielle Wilson, who were sitting down in lounge chairs on the street, sipping sangria cocktails. Her mother put on her designer sunglasses (another thing she collected, having 500 pairs in different sizes and styles), and found a place beside the other women to sunbathe.
“I am sweating bullets,” Gabrielle stated frankly. She was a pretty black woman with dyed platinum blonde hair that she had tied back with a clip. “I should have told Theo yes when he asked if I wanted to go on that Alaskan cruise for this holiday.”
“But then you would have missed out on this fun-filled weekend,” Rose retorted while fixing her hair, the color of her name. Though only forty years old, she regularly received Botox injections, and her face was as tight as the dress on Aurora’s body. It looked as if by a simple touch her face would break into a million pieces. Her breasts were also a size double-D and were popping out of her bathing suit so that every man who passed by couldn’t help but stare in that direction. Aurora recalled that one night her parents and Rose had gone out to dinner and when they returned home, her mom slapped her father, saying the entire time he was gazing at Rose’s assets. Her father had retorted that it wasn’t his fault Rose’s assets were more refined than what came out of her mouth.
“How is husband number three?” Mrs. Alvarez asked, applying sunscreen to her skin.
“Charles is working with Henry Stockington on the barbeque in the back. You know Henry and his perfectly grilled hamburgers. I think my husband is trying to learn his secret. Henry’s boy Jonathan has grown into such a good-looking young man. Oh, to be a teenager again.”
Gabrielle nodded. “Jonathan is such a handsome boy. And his younger brother Boreas I swear is the spitting image of his mother. It’s like staring at a ghost each time I see him. Such a shame those poor boys lost their mother so young. What is it now? Ten years ago? It’s not right that Henry never remarried and those boys grew up without a mother. Oh, Aurora, I didn’t see you there. Come sit down beside us.”
“No, thank you. I’d rather stand,” Aurora said flatly, afraid that her dress would rip and then if Hattie Pearlton found out, the entire high school would know by dinnertime.
“What a pretty dress,” Gabrielle said, removing her sunglasses so that they sat on the tip of her nose as she eyed her up and down. “I say, the girls are wearing dresses tighter than we used to back when we were young girls.”
“I think Aurora might pop out,” Rose giggled under her breath, taking another sip of the cocktail.
“Be careful, Norma. The boys on this block might be paying your little girl a little too much attention. She has some nice womanly curves that could get the boys a bit too excited.”
Mrs. Alvarez chugged her glass of sangria. “Ladies, that’s no way to talk. She’s only fifteen years old.”
“As if you don’t remember what it was like to be fifteen years old with the captain of the football team chasing you behind the bleachers,” Gabrielle snorted, playfully tapping Mrs. Alvarez on the back.
“Believe me when I say I was a different woman than my Aurora. We can both say as much.”
“But the boys haven’t changed much over the years.”
They continued to reminisce about the
old days, and Aurora found her opportunity to slip away unnoticed. The block was a whirlwind of excitement and pretty much everyone was outside sitting on folding chairs. Food was set up on long tables in front of everyone’s house, inviting people from their block to partake and enjoy. The scent of roasting meat and corn on the cob resonated in the air, and though extremely hungry she only took a piece of watermelon and continued along her exploration. A few neighbors nodded at her and asked whether her mother was there. She nodded in between bites and spit out a few black seeds, which spun out of her mouth like bullets. She watched as other girls and boys from her grade met like herds on the street corners or in the pool, wondering what it would be like if she was popular like Hattie Pearlton. She continued sucking at the juice of her watermelon as her mind was in a dreamlike state picturing herself as Hattie Pearlton with handsome Jonathan Stockington.
Old Mr. Harold snapped Aurora out of her daydream by calling out her name in a high falsetto voice and waving his arms like a madman from his front porch.
“Hey, Aurora, can you get me a hamburger like a good girl? And no cheese. I hate cheese. And maybe a pickle if they have one. And onions. I love onions.”
“Sure, Mr. Harold,” she said nonchalantly. Then she bit her lip, looking around to make sure no one else was within earshot, and added, “Have you heard of any news about Mary Fray and her family?”
Mr. Harold tickled a bit of gray stubble under his chin and said, “I believe the newspaper said they moved to Iowa. That’s what I read. They were bankrupt and had to move in a hurry because her father found a job out there on a farm.”
Aurora tried to smile as she threw the stump of her watermelon into the garbage, clanging against the side. That was the same story she had heard for the past week, and none of it made any sense. She had run to Mary’s house after school that day, and it was completely empty as if it has been uninhabited for weeks. The only thing she still had was the piece of loose leaf paper that Mary had been scribbling on in class before the Common Good officials took her away. It was that funny star that she had drawn on the closed down Laundromat earlier that same morning, the two inverted triangles. Aurora hoped her friend was all right, but how would she find her in Iowa—if she was even there?
Aurora maneuvered her way through the crowds to the checkered patterned tablecloth that housed the hamburgers still sizzling from being recently charbroiled. The Stockington spread was always the best every year with hamburgers, hot dogs, filet mignon, and the best hot wings in the town. She stood waiting on the line that wrapped around with the end near the Stockington backyard. There were at least thirty people in front of her, and she leaned against the chimney, resting her head against the brick stones.
“I told you I don’t care about this stupid barbeque,” a voice sounded from behind the house.
The line started moving forward, but Aurora ignored it and peered out from behind the chimney toward the drama ensuing in the backyard of the Stockington mansion.
“I ask you to do one thing for me. Watch the hamburgers. And you burn them. Can you not do anything right?”
Aurora spotted Henry Stockington, who was a tall white man in his early forties with bright blonde hair and thick eyebrows. His veins were bulging out of his high forehead and he was busy scolding his son Boreas, whose head was pointed downward, his hands fidgeting. Boreas was wearing a navy blue shirt and khaki shorts, and his thick black hair was disheveled and spiked up over his forehead, with one strand out of place and falling over his distinctive oval eyes. Boreas had his mother’s Asian features and darker undertones, as opposed to Jonathan, who took after his father’s lighter European heritage.
“Why can’t you be more like your brother?” Mr. Stockington screamed, again his vein in his forehead throbbing. “He would never have burned these hamburgers. I can’t trust you with one simple task!”
“I told you I didn’t mean to burn them,” Boreas exclaimed, glaring back at his father with great animosity. He looked as if he would stand his ground, but then he backed down. It was a fleeting moment of a courageous act, but it was quickly forgotten. “I know that this is about the tennis championship.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about that, especially not here.”
“Can you let me explain—”
“I have had the principal and everyone in your school calling me about how you have failed them, and you know what I said? I told them I am not surprised. Not surprised that you let them down because you have never once been anything but a failure in my household.”
Boreas opened his mouth to say something but then immediately shut it. His father grabbed the spatula and started flipping new burgers onto the grill.
“You’re done for the day. Get out of my sight.”
“Whatever! I didn’t even want to be here. You and Jonathan can be one big demented happy family!”
Boreas started to storm away when Mr. Stockington grabbed him roughly by the arm and whirled him around to face him. He then looked up with his thick framed glasses and caught Aurora staring at them from behind the chimney. She shrunk back, wishing she could disappear as she felt his eyes digging into her own.
“Did you want something?” he shouted.
“Old Mr. Harold asked me to get him a burger.”
“Well, then go get one.”
Boreas turned to face her, and his eyes penetrated into her own with such loathing that she felt her entire body go cold with his resentment. She immediately made a 180-degree turn and scampered off toward the hamburger line, cursing at herself under her breath for letting her curiosity once again get the best of her. Why couldn’t she have just gotten the burger like she was supposed to and not go deviating from her mission?
She grabbed the first burger on top and plopped it down on a paper plate and grabbed a handful of pickles sprinkling them around the burger, but then couldn’t remember if Old Mr. Harold wanted pickles or onions. Or both. While deliberating this information and knowing fully well Old Mr. Harold would hate anything she brought back to him, she ran smack into Hattie Pearlton whose arm was linked with none other than Jonathan Stockington.
“Well if it isn’t Fatty Alvarez,” Hattie snorted. Her all-too-perfect blue jeans hugged her size zero hips, and she wore an orange tank top that exposed her toned and tanned arms. “What are you wearing? A doll’s dress? I want a picture of this!”
She fumbled into her bag for her camera. “Perfect for Facebook,” she said, scrambling and searching wildly for the object that Aurora prayed she wouldn’t find.
“Hi, Hattie.” Aurora’s voice trembled, and she searched the backyard for an escape route. Jonathan Stockington though only seventeen, was preoccupied chugging a beer that he most likely stole from Hattie’s parents’ fridge. His blond hair was drenched from the pool water and tied back in a ponytail.
“Wuz up, Aurora?” he said, smiling like he was posing for GQ magazine. His chest was bare and dripping with sweat that streamed down his defined chest. His only article of clothing was a fiery red bathing suit that clung to his masculine body, and Aurora had to stop herself from gaping at him. She wished it was her arm he clung to and not Hattie’s.
“Hi, Jonathan,” she said softly, her voice sounding as if it was swallowed in their presence.
“Look at her dress, Jonathan. It’s hideous on her.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he said, chugging again and squeezing the can in his hand so that it crumpled into a disfigured shape. “You’ve worn tighter things than that.”
“Well, I can. There’s a difference. What a bore this block party is. Let’s get out of here and go back to my place. The parents are all getting drunk out here.”
“But the baseball game’s about to start, baby. They want me to be the starting pitcher.”
“I’m sure you’ll be great,” Aurora said, smiling too brightly, and Hattie noticed from the corner of her eye.
“You wouldn’t turn down some alone time with me for a stupid baseba
ll game. I mean it’s not even for the high school team.”
“Why can’t I do both?” He took a step back, going into his pitcher stance. Then he swung his arm back and released his hand, moving closer and closer toward Hattie until he ended up pinching her backside.
Hattie squealed in delight and made sure that Aurora was watching. “Please, Jonathan, not here. I don’t want Little Miss Straight-A Student here to go squealing to my mom like a little pig.”
“I won’t do that,” Aurora stammered, staring down at her blue loafers that were not as cool as Hattie’s silver strappy sandals.
“Cool it, Hattie,” Jonathan said, tossing the empty beer can toward the recycle bin. It ricocheted off the sides like a boomerang. “If you want to get out of here, then let’s go. I won’t go to the game.”
“That’s a good boy.” She smiled and let out a victorious high pitched laugh. Then she maliciously pointed her manicured claws at Aurora as if they would scratch her. Smiling her mischievous grin, she called out loud and clear so everyone within earshot could hear her.
“Mr. Stockington, make sure you put on extra burgers. Aurora is here. There might not be enough for the rest of us.”
Aurora felt her eyes welling up with tears as she looked back at the gloating face of Hattie and the face of Jonathan, who shook his head, disgusted, and started tugging on Hattie to get her alone with him. Aurora felt like her buttons were popping off her dress and that she was exposed in front of the entire block party. She felt her head throbbing as she stood there mortified, tightening her clutch on her purse.
Everyone in the front yard was now pointing and staring at her. She heard some of her classmates laughing, chanting Fatty Alvarez in unison. She hated them. She thought she saw one snap a picture of her. She looked up, and it was Boreas who had snapped it on his cell phone camera. She didn’t know what got into her, but she snatched the cell phone out of his unexpected grasp and flung it against a tree trunk so that it smashed into pieces. Boreas scrambled to pick up the damaged pieces and cursed at her when he realized there was no hope to fix it.
