by Nicole Lee
After calling collect, she punched in the number of the cab service to the best of her memory. The digits ended up being right, and after giving the request to come and get her to a cigarette stained voice on the other line, they both hung up. Rose stepped out of the glass booth and then walked over to the sidewalk.
Staring across the street, she could have sworn that a vague figure was watching her, but when trying to catch a closer glimpse, the person disappeared like smoke. A shiver slithered down her spine.
A yellow vehicle was there seventeen minutes later. She sat in the back, knowing well that the dirt and dew covering her clothes would stain the seat. She just hoped to make a narrow escape after paying the fair without having to dish out money for damage to the interior.
After he pulled into the driveway, the cabbie looked at Rose in the rearview mirror.
“You can have this one for free,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“You look like you’ve had a worse night than me. And my night wasn’t good.”
“Keep this as a tip,” she said, handing him a twenty dollar bill before quickly stepping out of the car, in spite of his protests.
Rose walked into the house and found it to be quiet. Her father was being overworked this week, and as a result was sleeping in later than usual - a fact she was grateful for.
An epiphany hit her. It would be impossible to drive herself to school. Driving would have been much more convenient, but Alexis had told her she couldn’t operate a vehicle until forty eight hours after having finished the sleepwalking potion, and despite how it failed to work, she learned long ago not to question the system of the craft.
She tiptoed upstairs quietly, grabbing her backpack after stuffing it full of new clothes, hoping they wouldn’t be too wrinkled by the time she would get to the school grounds. Skipping steps on her way back down the flight, she ran through the door and onto the lit porch. She waved at the taxi. He pulled back into the driveway.
The cabbie rolled his window down. “I‘m here. What is it?”
“Can you drive me to the high school? It‘s about seven minutes away.”
He said yes, and she jumped into the backseat.
The cab pulled up to the curb outside of the gymnasium, and he stared at her for a few seconds.
“Is this one for free?” Rose asked, trying to wear her most charming smile.
“Depends. You gonna give me another tip?”
She begrudgingly gave him a five, hoping he would not ask for more. When he did not, she leapt out and made her way straight to the ladies bathroom, where she could change into suitable clothes, and perhaps borrow perfume from another student so as to mask the scent of the prairie still adhering to her jeans.
She walked out clad in cleaner attire.
A janitor was standing in the hallway. He was standing there with a mop bucket and a smile on his face. “You just got here, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Rose asked.
“This was a minimum day.”
“What time is it?”
“Twelve forty seven.”
After taking in the empty hallway before her, she thanked him and then paced out. All of the buses had left, so once again she would have to find a way home. She knew she could walk four miles; it was not that long of a journey, but it still did not seem like a very safe option. There would be too many people and possible problems on her trip there, not to mention her newfound stalker. Of course, on any normal day this would have been an irrational thought, but it was not at this juncture in her life. Not when men dressed in the robes of a twelfth century monk stalked her.
Knowing that it would not take her long to walk back home, considering her father was under the impression that it was a full day, she decided to pass the time by going to her favorite place whenever she wanted to be alone.
Within four minutes she was near the football field and bleachers. There was a tree close to the stands that she loved for its shade and spotlessness. She set her bag down and retrieved a book she was reading, titled The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx.
She looked out at the field, and the Lake Pines football team was practicing. Even though the rest of the student body had left, there was no rest for the athletes.
The jocks. The guys she hated because of how they smelled like a basement in the summer cluttered with expired canned foods and usually had no manners.
She saw a quarterback throw the ball so poorly that it looked as if it had not even spun, but rather hit the ground after a mediocre toss, one resembling what a five year old might have accomplished when attempting to chuck the pigskin half way across the field. A few of the other teammates circled him for a minute before huddling together.
The guy who had weakly thrown the ball walked over to the bench. When she took her eyes off the words of the novel, she saw him walking up hill, towards her. Rose tried to hide her face in between the covers of the book, but before she knew it, his shadow was blocking the heat of the sun from her skin.
“I’ve read that thing twice,” he said.
She set the tome down in her lap, filled with inclusive skepticism. “Really?”
“No,” he said with a snort. “Hey, can I sit next to you? I’m already dirty, so I don’t mind getting the muddy part.”
“If you insist,” she said, moving aside her pack so as to give him more space.
He sat down, stretching his legs and looking out at the player‘s field. “Do you have anything to eat?”
Rose rolled her eyes.
“Don’t take offense,” he said. “It’s just that I’ve burned more than my day’s worth of calories. Okay, I get it. Let’s push that aside.”
There was an uncomfortable pause between the two.
“So what’s your name?”
“Rose Whelan,” she said, reluctantly extending her hand out and regretting it, knowing this action was nothing more than a result of impulsiveness and half-witted courtesy.
“That’s a beautiful name,” he said.
“How?” Rose asked. It was the one thing she carried over as a result of her overbearing and intolerable mother. Rose was given by Karen, not Damian.
“I like it. That‘s all.”
“Thanks.” She lowered her head, knowing she couldn’t resist the question, despite how every logical part of her being wanted not to. “What’s yours?”
“Grady,” he said. “Grady Bell. You can compliment me on my given name later, because right now I’m interested in hearing about you.”
“Funny,” she said, her voice a monotone. “I was thinking the exact same thing, except I was contemplating how fascinating you are.”
“In what way?” Grady’s eyes glistened with curiosity.
“For starters, how you managed to make the most miserable pass I’ve ever seen in my life and avoid getting yelled at by your coach.”
“This team wouldn’t exist if I weren’t here,” he said, pointing to the number seven on his jersey. “I mean, not to give myself too much credit, but if without me? Psht. They’d be nothing more than sports fan boys wearing shoulder pads and getting their guts spilled. The bad pass you saw was a rarity and nothing more.”
“All right. If you’re so important, how come you’re up here rather than down there waiting for your name to be called?”
“Me being up here is a testament to my clout. Since they know I’m working my game with a lovely lady, they can’t afford to try and get me back into the practice session. Besides, I’ve done my share of work today. My legs feel like they’re on fire. Want to massage them?”
“You don’t talk to girls much, do you?”
“Sure I do. Cheerleaders, at least.”
“They’re not real girls. See, not everyone finds gratuitous come ons to be attractive.”
“I should’ve figured. You’re one of those chicks who will be an English major after you graduate. I can tell you’re smart. You know what I’ll be? A pro football player.”
“Ther
e’s always that. I’m sure the NFL is looking for someone who can throw a football the same way someone with cerebral palsy juggles.”
“How’s this for a pick up line,” he said, ignoring her insult. “You’re cute.”
“It’s a better start. Gorgeous would have worked, but I’ll settle for that.”
“I’ve seen you around,” he said. “I like the way you walk. You carry yourself like you don’t care what others think.”
“Why. Thanks. I guess.”
“Can I ask you out?”
Rose felt herself flush.
She rarely accepted date invitations. She was not picky per se, at least not in the traditional sense. She did not have the type of man she preferred down to an art form. She found the sorts of sporty cliques he belonged to atrocious.
Yet Grady Bell was different - he existed for her as an ambiguous dichotomy, a cross between what was in fact ‘her type,’ yet just different enough. He was not the sort to tolerate her thoughts on subjects she was interested in, whether it be alchemy or ecology, magic or logic (not like the two weren’t intertwined). His palate for academia was most likely not very strong.
What she was less confident of being able to handle was the macho mentality that many pupils had been a witness of concerning his actions. She was lucky enough to not have heard rumors of him being a bully, but when confronted, it was well known that he had a vile temper - one that could easily work for or against him.
The Bell family had a legacy well-preserved in the minds of the town’s residents. One of his ancestors opened up a restaurant - an establishment which would become one of the most lucrative dining halls within the area code. In the 1960’s, Bell’s eatery catapulted the bloodline from living modestly above the minimum wage line into a lavish, envious lifestyle. Rose was attracted to Grady for this reason - not because of his finances, but rather because of the fact that his family tree had a recognized and respected past, something she did not have the luxury of herself.
“So,” Grady said, scratching his chin and looking about nervously.
“So what?”
“Will you go out with me?”
“No,” she said.
“No girl’s ever said that to me. Why are you turning me down, Rose Whelan?”
“Because you don’t want to deal with someone like me.”
His eyes turned upwards to the blue sky, before they settled on her again. “Please explain.”
“I’m a bundle of nerves,” she said, reading her book again as if he was not there.
“Okay. Is that all?”
“Perhaps not,” Rose said.
“Just give me a chance. Dinner and a movie, what do you say?”
Rose felt herself blushing once more. She set the book completely down now, and stared directly at him with a level gaze.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“That’s sort of the point of a date. So I can learn something about you.”
“I educated you on everything you need to know.”
“I forgot everything you just said. I need you tell me it again over a couple of burgers and cokes.”
“Yes,” she said.
He smiled, nodded his head in a gesture of appreciation, and then stood up.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, waving with one hand while briskly jogging back down to the field.
She got on her two feet and then leaned against the tree while raising her eyes to get a better view of him as he made his way through the oblique hill. The wind picked up and blew her hair back as she stared at her date with her hands in her pockets, thinking about how her life could very well change soon.
7
Rose woke up the next morning after dreaming of the quarterback. His face was in all of her reveries as of late. She did not think Grady was a bad guy at all, but something about his polar opposite qualities attracted her to him. Girls like her, ones who wore black and preferred to avoid sunlight, were not supposed to date star athletes. She could not believe that her infatuation had shifted across her personal borders and extended into the world of football, for she contained a lot of hate to anyone involved in extracurricular activities on principle.
Annoyed at the blaring of her alarm clock, she got out of bed and turned it off.
That was when it dawned on her that, for the first time all week, she had woken up in her own bed.
Driving to school, she almost ran a red light because Grady was still on her mind.
Deep in thought about him and walking into school that morning, James and Melinda were sitting in the hallway in front of their lockers, talking to each other and sharing a golden colored liter of apple soda. They looked up.
Rose was preparing to sit down right next to them before she felt a kind of presence. The cheerleader Gina Radcliff was standing behind her, wearing a flannel skirt and peach colored sweater that looked as if it had been cleaned and given a scrubbing with a lint roller by Michelangelo. She was classy by any other standard except personality, except that before she could get a word in, Gina sneezed.
“Can I help you?” Rose asked.
“Yes, there’s something I have to tell you. Ha-choo.” She unleashed another phlegm reaction, only this one caused her to double over. Rose would have been freaked out by the germ aspect, but at this point, she was too busy feeling happy about her nemesis’s fits to care.
“Someone told me that you were talking to Grady,” Gina said.
“Grady who?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Grady Bell, the hottest football player at this school.”
“Oh, him. Yes, yeah. I was.”
“Listen, me and him aren’t together, but we will be. I don’t want you ruining that. You might be able to ruin your parents relationship, but I don’t want you ruining mine.”
“What relationship?” Rose said, feeling herself redden with rage. “You said yourself you don’t have one.”
“Did you not hear me, weirdo? I said I will. So lay off. If I catch you hanging out with him again, I’ll spread rumors that you and your little girlfriend over there are lesbo’s. Do you want that?”
“No one will believe it,” Rose said.
“They will after I say it. Everyone knows I couldn’t imagine lying. Mark my words, if I hear anything about you having a flirting contest with Grady, I’ll have everyone on campus calling you a dude. Believe me.”
With that, Gina turned around and walked away, getting in one last sneeze.
“She’s such a horrible person,” Melinda said. “Did you see the green spots on her pullover when she walked away?”
“You’re seeing Grady Bell?” James asked, wearing a look of utter hurt.
“Who does she think she is?” Melinda asked.
“I don’t know,” Rose said, folding her arms. “I’ll get her back.”
“You’re seeing Grady Bell?” James asked again, incredulous.
“Technically no,” Rose answered. “Yet we will. Unlike Gina, however, I’m not using self-rationalization and inner psychotic hyperbole to justify my delusions of grandeur. I will meet with him. I just haven’t yet. Er, at least not for any lengthy amount of time. I already have, but it was once. It needs to happen a second time.”
James backed away for a second, staring at the ground in contemplating. He leaned against the row of lockers and folded his arms.
“You do know what you’re messing with, right?” Melinda gave her a look of concern. “It’s Grady Bell, the son of one of our town’s most successful businessmen. Girls like you and me almost never date people like him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not saying we don’t have the looks. It‘s who we are socially.”
The bell rang. The swarm in the hall began scattering.
“I’ll see you two later,” Rose said, waving while making her way to class.
“You’re seeing Grady Bell?” James asked again, pain evident in his voice.
Sitting through the next class period, health, was
similar to having a migraine for two hours. When it was over she made her way outside into the drab grey corridors. Much to her astonishment, Grady was standing next to his locker. After he saw her, he turned to one of his friends and said something. His pal moved away. She had to admit that Bell looked good out of his typical uniform, wearing nothing but a white shirt and blue jeans. He held a binder and a copy of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn in his hands.
“You’re doing some heavy reading, huh?” Rose asked. “Studying required books for College?”
“Not really. I have as much interest in excelling in the academic world as a eunuch does in the dating one. Speaking of which, about our date. How does tonight sound? When and where?”
“Somewhere that’s good for you.”
“How about Orchid‘s?”
“Sounds great,” she said, knowing that it was one of the pricier bistro‘s, a cuisine located on the shore front down town. Yet she was flattered he would make that offer.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where do you live? I can pick you up at four.”
“Deal.” She took his hand and retrieved a sharpie from her backpack, writing her address down on his palm.
With that, they smiled at each other and went their separate ways, each going off to their next class.
That day in art class rain had begun to fall outside. She had followed weather reports to make sure that a sudden and terrible downpour would not ruin her date. She took a break from her scribbling and stared out the window.
A black cat was sitting on the sill outside. It was the same one she shooed away a few nights ago. Its fur was darker than shadows, and its gaze was as deep as the Atlantic ocean, a pair of amorphous ponds staring back at her like an abyss promising itself to the one about to fall into it a millennia of despair.
An owl was in the tree that the cat climbed up in, and for a second it ruffles its wings before peering at Rose. It had a circular face and a fish hook shaped dim yellow nose.
The teacher near the front, Ms. Mynowski, accidentally broke her make up mirror after dropping it.
Rose was well read enough to recognize how these were all signs of bad luck.
