The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves

by Richard Heredia

  “Oh my god, Ray, what is going on?”

  Over her head, he shook his head. He had no clue.

  ~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~

  ~ 11 ~

  Some Boys are just too Pathetic to be Stupid

  Friday, November 19th, 4:20 pm…

  She emerged from the Girl’s locker room. Her brilliant, platinum-blonde hair was still slightly wet from the hot showers within. Though it was made dull by the moisture, it still shone beautifully in the waning light of the day. The moment the cold air hit her, she regretted not taking the time to dry it properly. She was shivering, almost at once.

  It was often the topic of much discussion - her hair – since many of her classmates believed she dyed it constantly. How else could she keep its’ color vibrant and looking new? Secretly, they wondered how she’d managed to go so long without damaging it, without it losing any it’s of luster or body. Those who’d known her since grammar school, those in possession of the goofy class pictures of her in Kindergarten or First Grade, knew different. Sophie Reed had come from her mother’s body with hair so blonde, it was almost white.

  Since, she’d grown into a striking young woman of seventeen. She was slender, but curvy where she needed to be. Overall, she appeared athletic.

  Yet, it was the way she carried herself that made her all the more attractive. She exuded femininity, profusely. She was dignified, somewhat reserved, but still managed to be friendly at the same time. She wasn’t closed-off or aloof to the world around her. She always ready with an open smile and a warm look. She stood five foot, four inches tall with pale skin and eyes the hue of a smoky azure. They were a deep swirling sort of blue constantly changing color in the light or with the cast of her mood. Her face wasn’t narrow, nor could it be termed wide. Most people would say it was either moderately wide or not quite narrow, depending on who was doing the talking. Her proud cheekbones framed her face and tapered to a delicate chin. Her lips glistened with clear lip-gloss, accentuating the natural pink of her lips. She preferred to show off their actual hue, rather than hide them behind a brighter and, therefore, false color. She wore a light pink Nike sweat suit over a pink t-shirt emblazoned with the “naughty” Tinkerbelle she liked over the impish, child-like version, appealing to girls of a much younger age than her. She wore a matching set of trainers upon her feet, lightweight, comfortable, much needed after another strenuous workout with the Cheer Squad.

  It has always been one of her inner fears that all of the arduous exercises she did on a consistent basis would mangle her feet over time, so she went out of her way to take care of them. Cute girls with ugly feet didn’t seem right to her. What boy would ever look at a girl with toes like King Kong and feet as flat as Donald Duck? Not a one, as far as she was concerned.

  “Hey, Sophie?” came a plaintive voice before she had the time to get her bearings, blinking her eyes against the glare of the sun. She’d been surrounded by artificial light for too long. “It’s me, Jimmy… your Jim-Bo.”

  The voice had come from Sophie’s left, so she followed it, focusing her eyes on the hunched form of James Henley, Jr. He was leaning against the outer wall of the locker room, one foot resting against the structure itself and the other planted on the asphalt-covered ground.

  He was her age and maybe an inch taller, small for a boy of their years, especially when it came to his weight. Sophie was certain he weighed less than her svelte one hundred and eleven pounds, which was a featherweight compared to the norm of the boys attending their High School. He had on a long-sleeved, button up shirt, black, with very fine white filaments sewn into the weave. It gave the impression the material was similar to that of a pinstriped suit. The remainder of his outfit consisted of a pair of blue jeans and darker blue Vans, the ones with a thin strip of white leather wiggling down each side. It was one of the classic styles – old, but not quite outdated. As usual, his hair was jelled to appear mussed, but done so purposefully in an attempt to imitate the trendy male hairstyle seen over and over in the latest teen fashion magazines. He probably could’ve pulled off the look if it hadn’t looked as though he was trying too hard at being cool. The James Dean smirk didn’t work on James Henley, not at all.

  “Hey, Jim, how’z it goin’?” asked Sophie tentatively, not quite certain what sort of experience this conversation would garner. One could never tell, from the onset, with the likes of James Henley, Jr. He was somewhat of a disconcerting aspect of Sophie’s life, one she hadn’t invited nor encouraged, but one that somehow never went away. Whether it was due to the frigid air or something she’d sensed, Sophie zippered up her sweatshirt, almost to her neck. Though she didn’t know why, she felt somehow exposed before the unsettled gaze of the boy before her.

  “Ok, I guess… as good as I can manage,” he said softly, his face squelching with a grimace, as if he was hiding some sort of pain he didn’t want her to see, but notice all the same.

  Sophie frowned at that, an inkling of what was about to happen already taking root in one corner of her mind, while, in front of her, James coughed quietly. She tried with all of her might not to roll her eyes and exhale explosively. Not sure if she should bother to inquire further, the probable outcome making her wary, she hesitated for a split second. But, the nicer side of her prevailed and she found herself asking, “Is everything ok, James?”

  He coughed again, before he replied, louder, the sound emanating from his throat and not his chest. “Everything is ok. You know, how it is sometimes, right?”

  “I… guess…?” she said, framing her reply with a question, not sure what he meant or implied. She decided it was time to start contemplating her exit strategy.

  “It’s just the smoking, I think… well, I know it’s beginning to get to me now, and… I haven’t been myself because of it. You know, it’s health stuff.” He looked at her through his eyebrows, another grimace crossing his face. His voice trailed off into silence.

  Sophie’s scowl and trepidation both deepened. Smoking? What the hell is this dude talking about? You’ve been like fake smoking for a little more than a month. You still have the same stupid pack you snatched from your Dad’s carton in his study! What a dweeb, thought Sophie, shaking her head, every word passing across her consciousness tolling like a bell. She was unable to control her reaction outwardly, clicking the roof of her mouth. She remembered every detail of the story, because James had bragged about it himself. She might be pretty and a cheerleader, but she wasn’t stupid. She recalled the day, the time, everything.

  “What are you talking about?” she implored, before she could stop herself, her outrage clouding her better judgment. Yet, she’d gone through crap like this with James way too many times. It had finally boiled over.

  “My health, Sophie, didn’t you hear what I said?” his voice firmed a bit, but he still managed to place a wavering tremor within it. “The doctor said my lungs have been taking a beating, because of all the smoking. I would like to cut back, but I can’t now, you know. I’m hooked. Plus, my nerves are all frazzled, because of all the stress from our break-up and all… You know…” He looked into her eyes. “Sorry.”

  Dude, you haven’t even smoked more than fifteen cigarettes! Her ire was rising faster than Old Faithful, the anger beginning to stiffen her shoulders. Then, the import of what he had said toward the end of his sentence registered, “…break-up and all…?” What damned break-up? What the -? There was no “break-up”! There was nothing, because they’d never been together in the first place.

  “Please, James, explain to me… what the hell are you talking about?” She didn’t even try to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

  “I came here to tell you, I am dying, Sophie. I don’t know how much longer I have to walk the earth. I have something I want to give you.” He was pleading now, through pain only he could imagine. Sophie had a sickening feeling it was nothing more than his imagination. The thought made her insides twist.

  “What?!?” He’d caught her with such pro
found surprise she couldn’t help but raise her voice. “You gotta be kidding me, James!”

  What the hell was this kid really smoking?

  “I wish I was, Sophie… I really do,” he responded, misinterpreting her meaning.

  “Aaarrggh,” was all she could manage. Her patience had worn thin. “Well, I hope everything works out for you. I have to go,” she spoke rapidly, no longer wanting to be anywhere near the boy. Not even for a second.

  “What?!” Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Wait,” he reached out and held her gently by the forearm as she made to turn and walk away. The contact stopped her in her tracks. “Girl, I have something for you or… well, it’ll be something you’ll get after I die.”

  She rolled her eyes, giving him a level stare, her mouth a thin line of impatience, her ire expressed through accelerated breathing.

  He seemed to sense he’d have her attention for no more than a brief time. He pulled himself from the wall and moved closer. “I know things between you and I haven’t always been cool, even good, especially after the last argument.” She clicked the roof of her mouth again, and began tapping her foot, but James forged on. “But, I want you to know, I still care about you. I want to make sure you’re always taken care of, so that you are always able to get what you want… what you deserve out of life.”

  Her frown was back as she calmly removed his hand from her arm, and leaned on her back foot, locking her knee, while putting more space between her and him at the same time.

  “I have some money. I have put it away for you. Upon my untimely death from lung cancer, it will be yours, so you have the creature comforts as you live on without me. And… it’s quite a substantial amount.”

  Lung cancer, my ass! You’re no Walter White, James!

  “Oh god, James, the very last thing I’d ever want from you is money!” she growled at him, stomping the foot she’d been tapping moments before.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Twenty thousand, four hundred dollars can go a long, long way,” he uttered smugly, expecting to be astounded by the sum. “I want you to have it when I am gone, because over the past few months you have come to mean so much to me, my Sophie.”

  Caught up in the mire of a million different confused and intersecting thoughts and emotions, all Sophie could bring herself to do was laugh, and laugh loudly she did. Before her, James confident expression melted to pure incredulity. Her response to his more than generous offer baffled him beyond his ability to do anything else. To gape at her seemed the only motor function he remembered.

  “W-w-why are-are you laughing?” he asked astounded.

  Her guffaws persisted. Even his moronic question didn’t stop her. She struggled to gain control.

  Minutes later, she was still stifling giggles when she replied ruthlessly, “That wouldn’t even pay twenty-five percent of the tuition for a single year at any of the colleges I’ve been accepted! That’s why I am laughing!”

  “What you do mean? That’s a ton of money,” he tried to convince her, his voice strained. “How come you won’t let me take care of you?”

  She inhaled sharply, the last vestiges of mirth evaporating from her. “When you grow up enough to emerge from your childhood fantasies, you will realize, James, that twenty thousand dollars isn’t shit. Just like your notion that you and I were ever together isn’t shit. I was never with you, James. I don’t want to be with you, James. Can’t you get that through your thick, fucking skull!?!”

  She didn’t let him speak, and continued forcefully. “We shared an art class together last year. I asked you nicely, one day, to pass over some of the materials Mrs. Reynolds was giving out. I had to ask, because you’d zoned out again and weren’t paying attention. Then, we didn’t talk for almost a month, until you finally got the courage to small talk with me in front of the sink when I was washing out the paint brushes I’d used that day. Politely, mind you, I carried a conversation with you for no more than a few minutes and that was it. That was it! Does any of this ring a bell with you, James?” She was glaring at him.

  He just stared back in semi-shock, or what she deemed was semi-shock. He cold zone-out on a moments’ notice

  “Then,” she began anew, “then, you started ‘bumping’ -,” she made quotations with fingers from both hands, “- into me in the hallways. Next, it was during lunch, and then, it was nutrition. Until you finally started showing up here, like this, after practice when I’m tired and worn out from yet another long day. There’s nothing more I want, when I leave practice, than to get home, eat something and relax. I let you walk me home a few times, because, frankly, I didn’t care if you did or if you jumped off a cliff. I’m too damned tried to care at this time of day, James. Don’t you get it?” She was pleading through anger and frustration, the palms of her hands splayed to either side.

  “After that, you sent the flowers, which I refused.”

  His eyes bulged.

  “Yes, I refused them! They didn’t get ‘lost in transit’ as you rationalized. I told you I couldn’t accept them, because, to me, it was inappropriate for the kind of relationship we had between us. You just sort of blocked all that out, didn’t you? Yeah, you sure did and that should’ve given me a clue, you know? I should’ve realized right then, what kind of a sick person you were. I should’ve done something more to dissuade you. BUT, I let it pass, because, again, I didn’t really care. I didn’t want to spend the effort, because you are sooo exhausting.” She paused to stare at his eyes, searching for cognizance. “You do understand what I am telling you, right?” She stepped closer, her eyes level with his, her finger gesturing toward the ground, an exclamatory motion, punctuating her question. “Do you?”

  He just stared back, his mouth hanging slightly ajar, stupefied.

  “Dammit, James, are you listening to me?”

  More of the same, he was motionless, expressionless.

  She gazed at him, blinking, and then clicked her tongue.

  “What came next, James? Huh? What happened after that?” she forged on, her anger unwilling, incapable of allowing her to stop. “What was it, James? If my memory serves me correctly, wasn’t it the phone calls you made next, right? Yeah, you made the phone calls to me, calls on my unlisted, private line that I only give out to my real friends, James, my close friends.

  “And, when I asked you how you got it, you said you got it from Marlene, right. But, when I asked her about it, she looked at me like I was crazy. She said she’d never give out my number to a fucking weirdo like you. Those were her words exactly. When I confronted you the next day, you said she was lying, which is totally absurd, because she has no reason to lie to me, James. She really does not like you.”

  “B-but, she did -,” tried James, but Sophie would have nothing of it.

  “Oh, bullshit!” she shouted over him. “Bullshit!” She stomped her foot again, her hands now balled into fists. “You know why it’s all bullshit, James? Well!? WELL?!?”

  He shook his head very slowly.

  “Because, even when I asked you not to call me on that number anymore, what did you do? James, what the fuck did you do? You kept calling, right? You kept calling me, calling me and calling me, at all times of the day and night, asking the stupidest questions, trying to be witty or smart by broaching random topics. It was always, “what are you doing?’, or, “what’s your favorite type of hard candy?’, or, ‘who was your childhood hero?’, or, ‘are your parents nice to you?’, or, ‘do you ever just pretend…?’ It went on and on, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. So, what did I do then, James? What did I do?”

  He shuffled from foot to foot, both of his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. “Y-you developed some problems with your telephone lines… they… they stopped -.”

  “I CHANGED THE NUMBER, JAMES!” She yelled at him, at the top of her lungs. Her voice echoed across the school campus, loud, audible for nearly half a mile. “There was no problem with the telephone lines, you idiot! I changed the number to ge
t some peace and quiet. I changed the number to get the hell away from you!” She stopped, breathing hard now.

  James’s lower lip trembled, stopped, and then trembled once more.

  “That was when you came up to me a few weeks ago, in front of all my friends, and asked me if we were still going out. That was the time I told you to leave me alone, and yet, you kept on and on, asking repeatedly until Dillon and Neal had to literally pick your scrawny ass up and haul you away like a maniac in a straightjacket. I almost went to the Boy’s Dean, James, to make him get your parents involved, because I felt, at the time, you weren’t safe to be around. But nooooo… little nice and proper me felt maybe you’d work things out on your own. Maybe you’d realize, finally, that I don’t like you, that I don’t even want to be your friend. I thought you’d get the hint that, more than anything in the entire world, I would consider myself blessed if I never saw you again. Did that work, though? Was my little plan sufficient? Was it?

  “Um, I’m not sure -.” He trailed off into silence, glancing from side to side, agitated, cornered.

  “Hell no, it wasn’t enough, because last week, last fucking week, what did you do? Remember, James? You tagged along with me and my friends the whole time at the freakin’ school trip to the Huntington Library. You followed us around like a retarded puppy, butting into our conversations, pretending to know every single detail about the grounds and the plant-life, and everything else we came across. Do you recall that?”

  James’ eyes were open as wide as they could go before her onslaught, puzzlement and a tinge of something new beginning to dominate his face. The cast of his lips altered. His cough and pain was long forgotten. A memory seemed to slap him in the face. “But, but, but, we held hands in the cactus garden, talked through lunch about Japanese culture in the Zen garden don’t… don’t you remember?” he was pleading again.