The Edge of Autumn

by Rachel Auld

  I waited for the inevitable bully's response of, “You gonna make me?” but it didn't come. Jay stood, feet spread wide as though ready to rush me. The mental image of him hurdling over the checkout counter forced me to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He said nothing though, staring at me as though my existence both baffled and infuriated him. Sara reloaded her canvas bag and handed the cashier some cash, then waited patiently while the nosy young girl slowly scanned my items.

  Without another word, Jay gave us both one last sneer and pivoted on his heel before stalking out of the store. I glanced at Sara, surprised that it hadn't escalated, and she gave a slight shrug. I got my change from the cashier, hefted two big paper bags into my arms, and followed Sara out of the store without another word. As we exited, a flaming red Ferrari roared down the street. I realized it was Jay behind the wheel and stuck my tongue out at the flashy car, earning a short but rewarding laugh from Sara. When we got to the corner, she paused and looked at me inquiringly. “Which way?” she asked.

  I stared back blankly until she gestured to the bags of groceries. “You need to get home and put those away, don't you? I'll come with you, if that's okay,” she said. Her voice sounded strong but the hand that she raised to brush a tendril out of her eyes trembled ever so slightly.

  “Right,” I said, adjusting my grip and leading the way to my house, about two blocks down. Neither of us spoke again until we got to the house, where I nodded at the front door. “Would you mind? It should be unlocked.”

  She opened the door and we went into the kitchen. I could hear music from the sunroom and called, “I'm home!” My mom gave a noncommittal response and I offered an apologetic smile. “She gets pretty caught up in her work,” I said with a shrug. “She'll make a big deal out of things if she sees you here. Do you wanna take a walk or something? There's a trail off of Chestnut Street, it leads down to the creek. I haven't run into anyone down there so far.”

  Sara nodded silently and I started to worry she might fall apart on me once the floodgates opened, so I hastily tossed the produce into the fridge and left the rest on the counter along with her canvas bag. I led the way back outside and we walked side by side, listening to birds chirping in the big oak and maple trees lining the streets and kids laughing as they rode bikes around driveways and sidewalks, enjoying what might very well be the last nice fall day before the weather cooled off for good. I liked that about this part of the country, the knowledge that winter was lying in wait and that beautiful days were limited. It seemed like the town's inhabitants were always ready to make the most of the nicer days and enjoy them fully before the snow came. I'd been warned that snow in October wasn't out of the question. After living in Texas for a year and California for the one before, I thought snow sounded pretty cool.

  We reached the creek—devoid of human activity, as usual—and I gestured to the flat boulder that I liked to sit on when I came down here. Sara climbed up gracefully and scooted over to make room for me, pulling her knees up under her chin. I wanted to know what she was feeling but couldn't figure out how to ask without sounding like a moron, so I waited.

  After a minute, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Then she glanced at me and said, “I'm sorry you had to endure that.”

  I choked back a laugh. “I'm sorry you had to endure that!” I exclaimed. “Who is that douchebag anyway?”

  She grinned, biting her lip. “That,” she said, “is Jay Hallowell. He goes to Royalton University up near Syracuse now, I don't know what he's doing back here already. I hoped there would be no sign of him before winter break.”

  “Gets his rocks off harassing pretty girls, huh?” I ventured.

  I expected her to laugh but instead she blushed, a rosy pink hue dancing across her fair cheeks. She ducked her head against her knees for a moment, then stared out across the creek before glancing back at me. “You think I'm pretty?” she asked.

  At that, I had to laugh. I realized she was serious, which made it even more adorable. “Sara, you must know you're gorgeous,” I said, but she shook her head slightly.

  “I don't . . . I mean, I . . .” she floundered. After taking a deep breath, she finished quickly, “I don't really date.” She peeked at me to see if I was laughing at her, but I regarded her steadily, waiting for her to go on. “Okay, fine, I don't really socialize. Like, at all,” she ground out.

  I nodded, satisfied. “Well, let me clear something up for you. You. Are. Beautiful.” I spoke the words slowly, staring straight into her eyes. “Any lack of male attention has nothing to do with appearances, I can assure you.”

  I immediately wished I could retract the words, fearing she'd be insulted that I had pretty much said her attitude was to blame, but she laughed. “Travis, I like you. You say the kind of stuff that no one has been willing to say to me in a long time,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “I know my social outcast status is of my own making.”

  My hackles were still up about the confrontation in the store. “Does he hassle you like that frequently?” I asked.

  She sighed. “Once or twice a year, depending on how long my luck holds,” she replied, looking away for a moment. “Look, Travis, I appreciate your concern but I'm not really looking for a bodyguard, you know?”

  I chewed on that, then asked, “What are you looking for, Sara?” I wasn't sure I wanted an answer, but maybe it was better to find out now.

  The sound she made was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Jesus, Travis, I don't know! A week ago, all I wanted was to finish senior year and get the hell out of this town.”

  I might have left it at that, but I couldn't. “What changed?”

  Sara shot me an accusatory glare. “Some dopey kid walked into my mom's store and had to go and be nice to me,” she grumbled.

  Ah, that felt good! A warm glow infused my whole body and I couldn't hold back the slow smile that made its way across my face. “I see,” I said, tapping a finger against my chin. “I sympathize with your quandary. Kindness . . . damn. What was he thinking?” She muttered something under her breath about smartass boys, but I could see the grin on her face and decided to take the bull by the horns. “Look, Sara, I like you and I'd like the chance to get to know you, but I'm not asking for anything you don't want to give, okay? If you want me to piss off, you can just say so.”

  She tilted her head and I was afraid she was going to shoot me down then and there, but she finally offered a brilliant smile. “Okay,” she said simply. Her eyes danced with humor. “Does that mean you don't need calculus tutoring?” she teased.

  “Oh, believe me, I need all the help I can get!” I exclaimed, trying to look as sincere as possible. I held up an odd combination of fingers. “Scout's honor!”

  I was rewarded with a musical laugh that lit up her whole face. “I'm pretty sure that's not the right salute,” she told me.

  Leaning back on my elbows, I winked. “You knew what I meant,” I retorted, unable to wipe the foolish grin off my face.

  We spent the next hour talking about our favorite music, books, movies—anything and everything to draw out the peaceful isolation of that little clearing in the fading afternoon sun. When she looked at her watch and saw that it was almost six o'clock, she sighed. “I better get home,” she said, standing and stretching her lean limbs. In her rain gear and funky tights, she'd been beautiful enough to make my jaw literally drop; with her slender legs encased in tight jeans and the hem of her sparkly shirt lifting just enough to give me a glimpse of bare midriff, I fought back the urge to groan and settled for silent, covert appreciation.

  We meandered back toward my house to pick up her groceries, not touching but so close I could feel the air sizzling between us. I wanted to take her hand but forced my arms to remain casually at my sides. No need to rush, I reminded myself. Don't want to scare her off.

  When we reached the house, I ducked into the kitchen to grab her bag, hoping to avoid my mom's notice, but the house was silent and a note on the t
able said they'd gone out to a movie. Sara sat on the front porch steps and smiled up at me when I handed her the bag. She settled it over her shoulder and held out her hand. “Give me your phone,” she demanded. I stared blankly. “You have a cell phone, don't you? This is the twenty-first century.”

  I fumbled in my pocket and handed it over with a sheepish grin. She entered her own number into my contacts and gave it back with a shy smile. “I'll see you around, yeah?” she said softly, and headed down the street while I watched, feeling myself tumbling hopelessly into the abyss.

  CHAPTER 6: Saturday Morning

  I spent the first half of the Saturday trying not to turn into a needy lump, resisting the urge to text her until that afternoon. Nelson hadn't cut me the same slack, though—my phone was practically exploding with his barrage of questions. Apparently the grocery store clerk was one of the high school's biggest gossips and word of our showdown with Jay had spread like wildfire. Nelson was somewhat less than pleased to have heard every juicy detail from a third party instead of directly from me. I staved off his interrogation by telling him I'd meet up with him later and give him the lowdown.

  After mumbling my way through lunch with my mom, who clearly suspected something was up but graciously allowed me to keep it quiet for the moment, I popped in one of my favorite CDs and sat down on the bed to send Sara a text. I spent a good ten minutes typing and erasing a countless number of options, finally settling on a simple, How's your weekend going?

  It was a few minutes before she replied. Slowly! Mom's away for the weekend, I get to mind the shop. Fun times!

  Did that sound like an invitation? Or just the facts? I wasn't due to meet up with Nelson until six, which left all afternoon. Time to take the bull by the horns. Want some company? I sent back.

  This time, her response was almost immediate. YES! Bonus points if you bring root beer.

  I laughed out loud and texted back, On my way! I hopped off the bed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing dark jeans and an indie rock band tee, my hair hanging down nearly to my shoulders. I wondered if Sara liked long hair or not. I'd given up my ponytail when we left California but had spent the intervening year and a half trying to grow it back out. I didn't put a whole lot of energy into thinking about my appearance and certainly had never changed the way I looked for a girl, but I had a feeling I'd do just about anything to please this particular girl.

  That seemed like a dangerous thought, so I settled for brushing my teeth and pulling on a hooded sweatshirt. I called to my mom that I'd be home later and she waved me off with a knowing smile—how the heck did she figure these things out? Grinning reluctantly, I headed to the mini mart at the gas station to grab a couple bottles of root beer. The day was chilly but the sun shone brightly and I forced my stride to a slow stroll, admiring the changing colors of the leaves on the big trees that lined Main Street. Sara seemed like the embodiment of autumn, full of life and brilliant color.

  This time, the bell attached to the shop's front door jingled when I opened it and Sara greeted me with a smile. I held up the two bottles of soda and it widened into a grin. “Oh, you are a lifesaver!” she exclaimed. She was wearing a blue sweater today, turning her eyes into glittering sapphires. “God, I hate working Saturdays,” she said as she took a bottle from me.

  “Been busy?” I asked.

  “No, not at all.” She nodded to the rays of sun streaming through the stained glass. “This town lives on sunshine, even if it's colder than balls out there,” she said.

  The expression from her pretty lips made me laugh. “Well, my delicate skin is used to warmer climes. I'm happy to huddle up indoors today,” I grinned as I hopped onto the stool next to hers.

  “You do look awfully fragile,” she smirked. “All what, six feet of you?”

  I lifted my chin haughtily. “Six-one, thank you very much. I don't know how you survive the winters here. What are you, four-eleven?”

  With an outraged shriek, she shoved me, nearly tipping the stool over. “Shut up!”

  “Whoa, munchkin, careful there!” I teased. “You might be tough but I'm not sure you've got what it takes to hide my body when I crack my skull open on the counter.”

  Sara snickered. “You might be surprised,” she retorted, taking a deep swig of soda. A look of utter pleasure settled over her face; the expression was intoxicating. “Oh man. This stuff is my weakness. My mom is all about the evils of high-fructose corn syrup so I try to get my fix when she’s not around. She's at a book signing in Syracuse this weekend, one of her favorite authors.” She widened her eyes dramatically. “Once in a lifetime chance, right?”

  I grinned. “Well, cheers—to forbidden pleasures!” I said as I raised my bottle to tap against hers. Holy crap, I thought. You really just said that!

  She raised her soda to mine and tried to hold back a laugh. “Oh, Travis,” she snorted. “You sure have a lovely turn of phrase, you know that?”

  I felt like my cheeks were on fire but couldn't wipe the smile off my face. “It's good to finally be appreciated,” I mumbled.

  Cocking a brow, Sara asked, “So what's yours?”

  “My what?” I asked, taking a long drink of soda.

  “Your forbidden pleasure.”

  I sputtered, root beer rushing into all the wrong tubes inside my throat. She patted me helpfully on the back while I coughed, doing everything in my power to not spray soda all over her. As I finally got myself under control, I noticed the grin she was trying to hide by biting her lip. “You did that on purpose!” I accused, failing to keep a stern look on my face.

  She batted her lashes in wide-eyed innocence. “Who, me?” she asked sweetly. “Well, aren't you going to answer?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “You're impossible,” I told her, but she only smiled and waited patiently. “Beautiful redheads,” I growled finally, only half joking.

  Blushing prettily, she ducked her head, long red curls veiling her face. I am so out of my league, I told myself for at least the tenth time since Wednesday afternoon at the diner. The fact that she seemed completely unaware of just how gorgeous she was made her all the more appealing. Nelson had sworn up and down that he had no romantic feelings for her, and Jay the Douchebag seemed oblivious to her charm . . . what the hell was wrong with this town?

  I gave one last cough, took a careful sip to soothe my throat, and leaned against the counter. “So,” I said.

  Sara's head lifted, eyes sparkling. “So,” she repeated, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  “What do you do here all by yourself while your mom's away?” I asked. “I mean, you don't have homework to do, right?”

  She laughed. “Well, sometimes I get some of my schoolwork done for the week. A lot of the time I read, or write.” With a sly smile, she slipped a laptop out of her backpack, tucked underneath the counter. “Most of the time I surf the web, though.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, leaning over as she flipped up the screen. “Have you internet-stalked me yet?”

  “No, but I'm about to,” she threatened, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She leaned her chin on one hand and studied my only social media page. “Hmm,” she mused, tilting her head. “Single. Attends Oakville High. Only sixty-seven friends.”

  I scoffed. “Only? That's practically the size of the senior class here!”

  She rolled her eyes. “And you're friends with . . . one of them. Seriously, that's Nelson's profile picture?” she asked incredulously. “He looks like a drugged out maniac.”

  Laughing, I leaned over to look at the page. “Man, if creepers like you are reading my page, maybe I should adjust the privacy settings.”

  Sara elbowed me. “You should do that anyway, you dope. Who knows who else is admiring these . . . um . . . pictures that are not of you? What are these?”

  “Oh,” I said, wondering if she hated them. “Just photos I've taken.”

  She turned to me in surprise. “Seriously? These are incredible!”

  I
colored, shrugging off the compliment. “It's just something I do for fun,” I said, looking at them again and wishing I had the courage to ask her what they made her feel. Maybe that was too personal just yet, but I had a feeling she would be an incredible source of critique for my work.

  “Just because it's fun doesn't mean it's not important,” she said matter-of-factly. “I mean it, these are really beautiful.” She gave me a curious look. “You have an artist and a photographer as parents; what do they think of your photos?”

  “Ah,” I began, then faltered. “I haven't really shown them.”

  My answer clearly didn't please her and I winced when she scowled at me. “Why not?” she demanded. “You're really talented!”

  I laughed a little at that. “I'm not ashamed of it or anything,” I said. “My parents are just . . . busy,” I finished lamely.

  She cocked a brow and poked her finger into my chest. “I want you to put together a portfolio, got it? I'll help you if you want my input, but when it's ready, you are going to show your parents. You can’t hide something like this forever, Travis. They might be busy but your parents deserve to know you. Besides, with work like this, you should be planning on some artsy fartsy photography school for college,” she mused.

  I’d never really thought about it like that, so I held up my hands in a gesture of peace. “Okay, okay! Whatever you say, boss. Though I’m not really sure where I want to go for college.” I grinned to show her I appreciated her concern and she gave me one last stern look before breaking into a smile.

  Turning back to the laptop, she tapped the touch pad and tossed a wink over her shoulder. “I sent a friend request, but, you know, feel free to deny it if you don't want me on there.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, having a gorgeous girl like you showing up on my friend list would really hurt my social status.”