Time's Daughter

by Anya Breton

  “Two: Who were the primary players?”

  I panicked. It had been a bullet point I’d skimmed minutes ago but I couldn’t for the life of me recall the answer. I made an educated guess only to find that questions three through five were similar failures. If I’d learned anything from the pop quiz it was that I really ought to study more on the weekends.

  “Pass them forward,” Zimmerman demanded then stepped to the board to begin scrawling notes in barely legible blue dry-erase streaks.

  I turned to take hold of the quizzes from behind me and noticed that the new kid was seated in my row. That meant one of the quizzes in my hand had his name on it. As I turned with the papers in hand and set them atop mine, I stealthily peeked at the names.

  It was on the bottom of the stack and written in chicken scratch. I thought it said “Alex Chattan” but with penmanship as awful as his I couldn’t be certain. He didn’t really look like an Alex. I’d have pegged him as a something strong like Troy or Brad.

  As we filed out to the corridor after the bell I considered introducing myself. It would be what a well-adjusted person would do. But I wasn’t well-adjusted.

  The new kid lingered near the door studying a piece of paper held in his bronze fingers. A pair of girls stepped up to him to boisterously give their names. The girls gave me the excuse I needed to avoid introductions. I hurried down the hallway to my next class without looking back.

  * * * *

  I was dreading the lunch period after the glares from classmates continued on into my next two classes. Ordinarily it was a respite from boring lectures and something I looked forward to. Today the reprieve meant that I’d be stuck sitting at the table with a pissed off Ashley Dyall and a camera zoomed in on the crumbs that I dropped on my shirt.

  With uncharacteristic lethargy I headed to my locker to switch my books out with the afternoon supplies. Only when I had nothing more to futz with in my undecorated metal compartment did I make my way to the lunchroom. Ash was already talking about me behind my back. I could tell because her mouth clamped shut when she saw me enter the room.

  On my way to the table I glanced around for other cameramen heralding the presence of another documentary subject but saw none. Apparently the other five unfortunate players had lunch during a different period. My shoulders lowered. I’d been hoping for someone to divide the attention.

  I took my seat beside Melissa and pretended not to notice the cameraman requesting a spot at a table ahead of me. Once he was good and settled on the lunch table bench I stood to get food. He scrambled up, nearly falling on his expensive lens in his pursuit of me. I tried to hide a smile. Messing with the camera guy could be an amusing pastime if I were forced to continue with this absurd gig.

  As I stood at the back of the lunchroom paying for my ham sandwich I saw another cameraman enter the room. The new kid hovered at the door scanning for a free table. Every eye in the room was on him. I instantly felt bad for him.

  Someone crowded behind me. “Uh, do you mind?”

  I shook myself to clear my head, took my change from the cashier and started back for our table. As I walked I forced myself to look at my friends instead of gazing at the new kid like everyone else.

  This time Ashley didn’t clam up when I’d set my tray down a few spots away from her. I thanked my stars that she’d found something to gossip about that didn’t involve me.

  “…cute, who is it?”

  Jenny held a French fry aloft as she replied to the question. “Megan Carlisle told me that the sixth person who got picked for the documentary is a new kid. I guess that’s him.”

  Ashley’s pale eyebrows turned down. “How did Megan Carlisle know?”

  “Um,” Jenny stammered briefly beneath the girl’s glare. “I assume because she’s one of the six. She had a cameraman with her just like Aeon and that guy.”

  “You’re kidding!” Ashley exclaimed and tore her gaze away from the newcomer to frown at Jenny. “They really did pick all freaks.”

  I wanted badly to insult her back, to stand up for myself, but I decided in the long run it wasn’t worth it. I’d never done anything to merit the abuse. She obviously had issues or she wouldn’t be evil to me.

  “I heard Tyler and Summer were picked too,” Jen added helpfully.

  Ash’s frown darkened. “As in Mr. and Mrs. Popular?”

  “Yeah,” the Jens replied in chorus.

  The de facto ringleader counted off five fingers as she spoke the roster, “So Aeon, Megan, Summer, Tyler and this new kid. Who is the sixth?”

  They exchanged looks but it was Jenny that answered. “No one seems to know.”

  “Probably another freak,” Ash snorted derisively.

  I smacked down my sandwich atop the mint green plastic tray. Without looking at the redhead I murmured something in parting to Melissa. And then I grabbed my stuff before visiting the trashcan. I’d tolerated as much as I could. If I stayed any longer I’d say something I’d regret.

  I knew who the sixth person was but wild horses couldn’t have dragged the name from me. Ashley would have laughed triumphantly if she’d known Kevin Miller, a guy who lived more in his own fantasy world than the real world, was the sixth person. She’d find out soon enough with or without my help.

  A week was how long the director had said would be useless film. He’d said no one, including us, would be behaving normally until seven days had passed. The newness of the film crews would wear off by then, he’d claimed. All I had to do was make it through the week and then things would go back to relative normalcy.

  There was a tree on the far side of the school that had a soft mound below it and plenty of shade at midday. It was on the edge of the lawn where the underclassmen weren’t allowed to go. I’d found it on the first day of my freshmen year when I’d had to escape Ashley’s fake tale of her summer in Europe. I headed for it now and pulled my notebook out once I’d settled against the bark. There were some harpy’s wings to finish and a background to create.

  The cameraman failed to stealthily move around me like I’d been promised. I knew he was trying to get shots of what was on the notebook as well as my face but it was ridiculous how obvious he was being. Maybe I should stop being such an easy subject.

  A glance at my watch showed that I could probably get into the photography classroom to pick-up a camera for a little bit of extra shooting time. Being behind the lens was preferable to being in front of it. I closed my notebook, stowed it in my overflowing backpack and then stood to dust off my jeans. Without waiting on the camera guy to get up I headed across the lawn, through the faculty parking lot and into the building.

  Mrs. Lozano, the photography teacher who did triple duty as the teacher of journalism and printmaking, was looking up through a roll of negatives with the assistance of the overhead light. She merely glanced at me as I passed through the photography classroom door.

  I was pretty sure the photography classroom had once been basement storage because, well, it was in the basement, and because it had an odd shape. It wasn’t square or rectangle like my other classrooms but instead five smaller squares that shared at least one open wall or door.

  “Hi Aeon.” Her lips lifted into a smile because I was one of her favorite students. Then she saw the cameraman behind me. Her expression quickly faded. “Oh. He can’t go into the darkroom with you.”

  I continued past her to the cabinet that held the thirty-five millimeter single-lens reflex cameras while shaking a tube of film at her. “I still have a roll to shoot before I even have to worry about the darkroom.”

  “Well, this just stinks,” she declared with heavy emphasis on the adjective. “I was counting on you to show the new addition the ropes.”

  “New addition?” I tried to feign uninformed interest while opening the back of the camera and my tube of film.

  She set the negatives down on the light table behind me. “They sent me a note that I was getting another student in sixth period. I’d already scheduled a make-
up session for the twins today. Knowing them, it’s going to take all class period. I won’t be able to give him the run through.”

  I remained mute as I threaded my film into the camera because I feared her news meant the new guy was going to be joining my photography class. If that were the case then I didn’t want to be the one to give him the “run through”. Mrs. Lozano seemed to be quietly contemplating the situation. The clicking of the shutter on my camera to advance the film broke the silence and spurred her into action.

  In an urgent voice she asked, “Is there any way I can convince you to shoot up until class starts then come back to help out? You can take him out with you to finish your shoot. I’ll even give you extra credit.”

  My mouth threatened to lift into a smile. I doubted I’d need extra credit in her class but I wasn’t going to be arrogant enough to say so.

  “How about a free day?” She pressed when that wasn’t incentive enough.

  Her desperation finally drew the half smile from me. Since I wanted to remain a favorite of hers I declared, “It’s a deal.”

  Mrs. Lozano exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you, Aeon.”

  I gestured to the clock and tossed my bag down near my usual seat. “I better go while there’s still some time.”

  Camera in hand I pushed through the photography classroom door. I ignored that the videographer was following me as I burst through the back door into the sunlight. It was a beautiful day. Perhaps too beautiful for the subject matter I was hoping to capture.

  Dilapidated, derelict, decrepit — those were the three D’s I’d named in my theme for this quarter’s project. I’d already shot everything that fit the bill on school grounds. I checked my watch to gauge how far I could make it before I’d have to turn around.

  After progressing a half-mile I could hear wheezing from behind me. Apparently the smallish hand-held camera they’d given their designated guy was too much for him to handle while walking a short distance. Or perhaps it was my rapid pace. It was true that I was walking far faster now that I was heading away from campus but it wasn’t as if I’d been running!

  I tucked the tidbit of knowledge away for future use then stopped when I came to a rusted out El Camino. It was perfect for my project. I set to work to capture the best angle.

  Fifteen minutes, three locations and ten photos later, I headed back toward school. The sixth period bell rang in the distance. The fact that no one was outside meant it was the second bell — the one that signified class had begun. I swore quietly and broke into a run.

  Camera guy was practically having an asthma attack by the time we stomped onto the pavement behind the building. I felt mildly bad that I’d forced the exercise on him but then recalled that I was supposed to be acting normal. It wasn’t my fault if they picked a guy who couldn’t keep up with me, especially considering the fact that I could barely run myself. But I’d probably use it to my advantage some time in the next six months.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Through the glass window in the studio door I could see that everyone else was already working on developing film, cutting negatives, or checking out cameras. Mrs. Lozano stood off to one side speaking to the new kid while the twins and his cameraman hovered near. The twins were staring adoringly at him. I couldn’t tell if he’d noticed because his back was too me.

  Mrs. Lozano spotted me at the door. Her shoulders relaxed in relief. By contrast my shoulders stiffened when she reached out a wrinkled finger toward me.

  All four of them turned to look at what she’d gestured. Quickly I dropped my eyes to the floor because I felt like shrinking into a hole and hiding.

  Why had I agreed to help? I was shy! Extra credit was a poor excuse when this was one of my best classes and a “free day” was technically against school policy.

  The cameraman’s wheezing cough beside me reminded me that my hesitance was being recorded. I swallowed my trepidation, turned the knob and feigned confidence I didn’t possess.

  “Aeon will show you where everything is,” Mrs. Lozano finished when I’d closed the distance to her. “This is Alex. Alex meet Aeon.” She turned to the twins, sighing slightly when she saw they were still gawking at the new kid. “All right, ladies, let’s talk about depth of field. Again.”

  I walked ahead of the new kid, assuming he’d follow, while I rattled out information in what sounded like a nervous ramble to my ears. “The cameras are over here in this cabinet. We are supposed to bring our own film, but if you forget, there’s a can of expired rolls here. It’s a crapshoot if they’ll develop so you’ll want to remember to bring your own. Go ahead and grab one. I’ve got to finish up this roll outside before I can develop. I’ll give you a minute to get ready.”

  I left him behind to head to my usual seat then rustled for the lip balm in the front pocket of my backpack. Moments later I heard the telltale clunking of the lens shutting from the spot I’d left the new kid. A few more clunks meant he was probably ready. Once I’d coated my lips in a suitable amount of lip balm to protect against the chill outside I turned to head to the door.

  The new kid had the camera set against his eye, pointed at me and clicked the shutter the moment I’d glanced at him. I blushed crimson but said nothing as I hurried away. Behind me I could hear the documentary cameramen jockeying for position in the cramped corridor of the art wing. I assumed that meant he’d followed me.

  Back out into the sun I walked without looking back. This time I took a different direction away from school grounds. There was an old asylum a half-mile south. My hopes were high for eerie scenes of disrepair in a place like that.

  The new kid fell into step beside me despite my rapid pace. He questioned me as my foot stepped onto the cross street in front of the school. “We’re allowed to leave school grounds?”

  I hadn’t heard his voice until that moment and I was wishing I still hadn’t. It had a deep almost purring quality to it.

  “I dunno,” I forced myself to answer before crossing the busy intersection. I weaved in between the cars waiting at the red light because I knew they’d be waiting a while.

  He kept pace with me, chuckling in response as he did. Even his laugh was lovely to listen to.

  “Where are we going?” He soon asked.

  I gave him the bare minimum in answer. “An old insane asylum.”

  “Nice.” After a mere two seconds of peace he once again felt the need to break the silence. “Is it old because there’s a new one or there are no more insane people?”

  “There are always insane people,” I quickly retorted.

  “The city could have shipped them south,” he commented almost in amusement.

  My speed increased across the overgrown parking lot in hopes of losing him. “I’d feign lunacy if that were the case.”

  Heedless of my attempt to leave him behind, he spoke in a helpful tone from the near my shoulder. “Did you know the word lunacy comes from the sixteenth century and was actually a kind of insanity that was attributed to the changes of the moon?”

  Since he wasn’t about to let me ditch him, I came to a stop where I was. After several seconds of scanning the space for interesting imagery I found a good shot for my project.

  “Yes,” I answered plainly as I lifted the viewfinder of the camera up to my eye and framed a shot of the ivy that had taken over the building’s facade.

  At my side he slowed to a halt. “So you want to be shipped south?”

  My answer was a breathy snicker through my nose.

  That wasn’t good enough for him for he asked, “What’s wrong with Junction Hill?”

  “It’s cold.” The words were punctuated by the sound of the shutter on my camera.

  “Does it get colder than this?”

  I turned my head to pin him with a perplexed look. The camera was lowered slightly in front of me. I instantly regretted it because it was almost like a frame for him.

  The slate-blue eyes that peered over it had me enthralled. He was caught somewhere between b
oyish good looks and captivating masculinity. The smooth, straight skin stretched over a seeming lack of cheekbones might have been part of why he looked boyish. But the straight Nordic nose, medium width dusky pink lips and squared chin put him closer into grown man category. I had little doubt he’d make a fine looking man in ten years.

  It couldn’t have been longer than a second that I’d been gazing at him but it felt like a lifetime. I shook myself mentally and answered him. “You’re in for a surprise if you think this is cold.” Back to the building I turned to finish up my shoot.

  “Damn,” he groused. “It’s freezing.”

  Obviously he wasn’t from the North. I considered asking where he’d come from but figured he’d tell me if he wanted me to know. Instead I concentrated on getting the photographs I needed for my project. Behind me I could hear his shutter opening and closing. Maybe he’d be occupied enough by the camera that he’d give me some peace.

  “You don’t talk much,” he said.

  I adopted a dry tone for my response. “My thoughts are best expressed through interpretive dance.”

  The new kid was blessedly quiet for several moments. Then he ruined it by speaking again. “Seriously?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” It was an almost glum response.

  Cheeks flushing a little, I realized I was probably coming off as rude instead of shy. I decided to give him a small bit of information. “I’m too introverted to dance in public.”

  If he’d been glum at all it had quickly been replaced by amusement. “You had me going for a minute there. I was trying to picture you in a swan outfit.”

  “That’s ballet,” I drawled.

  He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I hear the word dance and I think chicks in tutus.” Without warning he changed the subject, “Is your project about crazy people?”

  With a quick shake of my head I replied, “My project is on things that are dilapidated, derelict, and/or decrepit.”