by Wendy Delsol
“Today I’ll be assigning partners for the semester project.” Everyone quieted down. You know a teacher’s cool when she doesn’t have to shout for attention. “We’ll be helping with the drama department’s spring production of The Snow Queen by assembling a portfolio of costume and set designs. Does everyone know the story by Hans Christian Andersen?”
I sat wondering how even a high-school play in this alpine village had to be Norse-themed and snowbound, when I heard my name called.
“Katla Leblanc and Penny Peturson will be our last team.” Ms. Bryant closed the folder she had been reading from. “Why don’t you take the rest of the hour to meet with your assigned partner?”
“I’m Penny,” said a perky redhead who took a seat in the chair beside me. I recognized Penny but hadn’t known her name. She had bushy, copper-colored hair that lifted from her head and was shaped into something topiary-like, and she owned, I now recalled, an unusually large number of woolen vests. Today’s was green with a band of pumpkins encircling her waist. At least she was thin enough to wear a design of bulbous gourds around her midsection.
“I’m Kat.”
“I know. Everyone knows you.”
I groaned.
“We don’t get many new kids. And everybody knows your grandpa. We all have to go into his store sometime or other. Plus, I remember the . . .” Penny paused, biting her bottom lip. “I knew your grandma, too. She was so sweet. She used to be good friends with my amma, until they had that dumb fight. We even live on their block.”
I figured anybody who knew my amma and liked her got the benefit of the doubt, though I wondered what was up with the granny catfight story. It almost made me giggle, picturing some silly altercation: the clash of the church ladies, the famous tea-party tussle, the great baked-goods brawl.
Penny and I spent the rest of the hour recounting what details we could of The Snow Queen: the arrival of a mysterious woman, her abduction of the boy character in her beautiful sleigh, and the girl’s journey to rescue him. The bulk of this came from Penny; I mostly remembered fur coats with matching muffs.
When the bell rang for lunch, Penny stood and gathered her things. “You wanna walk together? To the cafeteria?”
Lunch. I hated lunch. Two weeks into the school year, and lunch was the code I just couldn’t crack. The first day of school — the very next day after playing backseat Twister with Wade — I’d approached his lunch table, certain I’d be welcome. He hadn’t even looked up. As I stood there, like a dork, waiting for him to acknowledge me, I’d been summarily shooed away with a haughty “This table is reserved” from a strikingly beautiful girl, who I would later learn was his girlfriend, Monique. I got the impression it was the sort of reserved that would hold through a ten-, twenty-, and even thirty-year reunion.
I waited for Wade to correct the misunderstanding, but he just stared at his food. I walked away slowly, still thinking he’d call me back. That’s when I heard him say to the table, “Who the hell was that girl?” I’d turned around, a natural reaction to something too awful to believe. Monique locked eyes with me and bug-swatted the air in front of her. I spent the rest of that lunch in the bathroom. Over the next few days, I plopped down with groups of kids who looked friendly enough, only to be ignored — or worse, the subject of whispers and curious looks. Eventually, I found it easiest to sit alone and bring a book.
Penny and I were still discussing the project as we entered the cafeteria. I followed her through the line and was surprised when she waited for me to swipe my lunch card.
“So, can you write?” Penny asked.
“I read, too,” I said.
“Follow me,” she said. I shuffled behind her. As we passed the lunch monitor, she motioned with a backward hook of her thumb and said, “She’s with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the journalism room.”
“The huh?”
“You’re our new fashion columnist for the school paper,” Penny said. “Congratulations.”
“Oh, no, Penny. I really don’t think so.”
“Just come and see what’s up. I think you’d like it. It’s a good group. Plus, Mr. Parks, our staff liaison, writes us a pass out of lunch for the whole year. We get to hang out in his room and skip the whole cafeteria scene.” Penny took a right past the senior lockers. “All of the staff are twelfth-graders. We’ll be the only two juniors. Cool, huh?”
As much as the Get-Out-of-Lunch-Free card sounded good, not to mention that my mom would puddle over an extracurricular to pad the college apps — a 4.0, according to my mom, wasn’t enough anymore — it sounded like work. Penny looked at me hopefully.
“I’ll eat lunch with you guys today, but let me think about it. There’s a bunch of other stuff going on right now. I don’t want to feel pressured.”
I followed her into the room, thinking maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, maybe I needed a diversion, until I got a look at the occupants. Not only were they a collection of misfits, but chief among them sat Jack, the angry Apple Boy, still sporting a seed cap and flannel shirt. If I had felt slightly chilled all day, I was now downright iced. And blue lips look cadaverish on ultra-pale blondes.
“Guys, this is Kat. She’s in my design class.” Everyone said hello except Jack, who kept his eyes lowered to a sandwich. “She’s considering taking on the fashion column.” I glared at her as we sat down at side-by-side desks, part of a larger semicircular configuration. She was oblivious to my look, more intent on Jack, whom she must have thought hadn’t heard her. “Jack, did you meet Kat?”
“We’ve met,” he said, balling his crusts and wax paper into a brown bag. “I gotta go check the printer.” He walked out of the room without another word.
Everyone got all spooky quiet, as if something eventful had happened. They looked at me like I’d done something wrong. I felt like I’d just dropkicked a puppy. And I hadn’t even said anything. He was the one who stomped out of the room. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek instead of the rubbery chicken strips, and watched as grease marks soaked through the small paper plate. What was it with guys in this town? I’d had plenty of guy friends in LA, and Ethan Milken and I had managed to go out for six months without the least bit of drama. Even our breakup had been easy. So why was it that the only two guys I’d even said boo to here wouldn’t acknowledge my existence?
Penny nudged me and put a stack of school newspapers at my elbow. “Jack’s our editor.”
Of course.
“And I’m assistant editor,” she continued with the bluster of a second-in-command. “Why don’t you have a look at some of our back issues? You can get an idea of what we’re looking for.”
I pretended to shuffle through the old papers, but all I could do was sulk. How could I have gotten off to such a bad start here? How was I already a persona non grata?
My mind drifted to Wade. I thought about how he had started frequenting the store the last few weeks of August, buying sodas, magazines, and packs of gum. He seemed to have a knack for showing up just after Afi shuffled home. It had been a lonely summer; my mom and I had moved in late July, so I hadn’t yet had school as a way to meet people. The first thing he ever said to me was, “Cool boots.” Sure, I had been wearing leopard-patterned UGGs with jean cutoffs, but “cool boots” was a phrase my friends and I in LA used for everything, and “CB” was text for a range of affirmations, anything from “OK” to “I’m there” to “got it”— so he got my attention. For a hick, he wasn’t bad-looking, a tall, barrel-necked linebacker type, who filled a room with both his stature and self-confidence. At first his size made me nervous, but when he’d leaned on the counter with his thick forearms resting casually, I’d relaxed. And he did have a certain charisma or charm that I found compelling. He wanted to know about California, beach life, and surfing. And he said he had a thing for blondes, real blondes.
I knew that a player’s a player, no matter the geography. The only difference was the ones in LA had better tans —
and better cars. But Wade offered me the one thing I wanted more than anything: introductions to his friends. I could tell that he was full of himself, and not really my type, but I was in no position to be choosy. School was starting, and I didn’t know a soul. I never should have gotten in his car, and not just because it was a Camaro. And I never should have had that first beer. Bad enough it was a school night, but I barely knew the guy, and I have like zero tolerance for alcohol. I wasn’t a complete innocent, but for whatever reason, drunk and stupid just didn’t gel with my personality. Plus, the cheap stuff tastes like crap. I learned that much from my dad.
The second beer with Wade was plain old dumb — and the third, insane. He drove me out to an abandoned quarry. We made out. I also remember drinking something out of a flask, but after that, my memory gets a little blurry. Clarity returned the moment my knee made contact with Wade’s groin and he rolled off me, calling me the kind of names that could shut down a TV station. But at least he’d stopped. Something in my resolve and awareness had thwarted him. I was sorry about the ball bruising, and said as much. I’d been told, on more than one occasion, that I was stronger than I looked. When he had recovered the use of his voice and limbs, and I had tucked in my blouse, he drove me home. The next day, I had a killer headache, my stomach was rolling, and my mouth tasted like mothballs. Seriously, my spit could have lined a linen drawer. And instead of apologizing, or at least blaming it on the beers, the lunch shunning took place. Later, I watched him strut through the halls with his arm slung around Monique.
The bell rang and Penny popped up, startling me out of my daymare. “So?”
“I’ll think about it.” We walked out of the classroom.
As if somehow summoned by my recent brood-fest, Wade passed us in the hallway. He looked left and then right, as if scouting. He then broke into a horsey grin, brought his hand to his lips, and blew a kiss in our direction.
Penny looked at me like she’d just seen me walk on water. “Do you know him?”
“No.” If he didn’t have to own up to the stupid hookup, neither did I.
“Then why would he blow you a kiss?”
“I thought that was for you.”
Now she looked at me like I’d parted water. “For me? Hardly. We don’t exactly hang out with the same people. Not to mention that Monique would make life miserable for any girl who messed with Wade.”
“Good thing I don’t know him, then.”
Penny lowered her voice. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from him. I do. I have ever since kindergarten. He was mean even back then.”
I could actually picture a younger pug-faced, yappy-voiced version of him.
“They have an on-again, off-again relationship, but they always get back together. And nothing good comes of anyone who comes between them. Wade and Monique may be king and queen around here, but they’re not exactly benevolent.”
“Probably best then to set out for the brave new world.” Ironic that I could even use the word brave. The whole thing with Wade had left me shaken. Why had I been charmed by him? How could I put myself in such a dangerous position? What kind of guy would try to take advantage and then deny even an acquaintance? “Maybe I’ll find some followers and we’ll give that democracy thing a go.”
Penny laughed, and I had to admit it had a contagious quality to it. We started walking again.
Penny hitched her backpack up over her shoulder. “I couldn’t help but notice a little tension between you and Jack.”
“Oh. That.”
“Well?”
“He delivered some apples to my afi’s store last night. We shared opinions on topics ranging from evolution to economics to progress in the form of bulldozing Main Street. Needless to say, we didn’t agree. I was for and he was against. I guess I rubbed him the wrong way.”
That summed it up nicely: I’d managed to alienate both the monarchy and the peasantry. We stopped at the intersection of the school’s north and south wings. Penny waved and headed in the opposite direction. I watched her walk away, wondering what she thought of me. Acquaintances for only two hours, and the only concrete things she knew about me were that the school king was blowing me random kisses and that I was in favor of leveling their town. I just hoped I hadn’t scared her off; I really needed a friend, and should topiary hair and woolly vests be part of the package, so be it.
I leaned against my locker, hugging my arms to my body — being the new kid was stressful. No wonder I was imagining Stork ladies.
I headed to Afi’s store straight from school. As soon as I got there, he went to the back to take inventory, which I knew was code for nap. He’d been running the store alone since my amma died three years ago, so had earned himself a power nap or two. It wasn’t like the place got the foot traffic of the Whole Foods in Westwood, but still, he worked hard for an old guy.
I sat on a stool behind the front counter with my Rocket Dog clogs propped up. I pulled a Mary Jane out of one of the glass canisters lined up along the antique mirror and thought I saw the reflection of movement across the street. Relief flooded my system when I realized it was just a car pulling out of the alley next to Hulda’s store. I was really starting to lose it. I snuck another peek. Nothing. Activity would mean Hulda was around, and that my memories — which I’d fairly successfully convinced myself to be nothing more than an anxiety-induced delirium — were real. I busied myself with a chemistry worksheet and then turned my attention to Design. I was certain that everyone would submit something traditional: period Scandinavian costumes and quaint village settings for the term project. I was hoping to talk Penny into something hip and futuristic and edgy. The Snow Queen meets Blade Runner. I sketched a few quick commando-chic costumes.
Afi woke up from his nap and was hungry for dinner. “Wednesday’s beef stew at the restaurant,” he said. “You fly. I buy.”
Walking down Main Street, I passed the used bookstore. A woman waved to me from where she was setting gourds and pumpkins among the stacks of paperbacks in the front window display. I knew she’d introduced herself in the summer and asked about my mom, but I couldn’t remember her name. A few doors down, a man wished me a pleasant evening as he swept the sidewalk in front of the hardware store. I had no clue what is name was either.
Two doors past the antique store was the Kountry Kettle, my favorite hangout, mostly because Jaelle waitressed there. Jaelle was from Minneapolis and had more sass and presence than the whole town huddled on the green. I hip-checked the door open and stopped to savor something pumpkin. Idabelle, the café’s owner, had no eye for interiors — as evidenced by the ruffled curtains and milk-can decor — but the woman sure could pipe out some delicious aromas. Jaelle looked up from the counter and instantly her mouth stretched into a wide grin. She had a great smile, but one she didn’t spread thin the way so many of the adults around here did. Minnesota-nice, or whatever you want to call it, was like Michael Kors at Macy’s: the more you offer it to just anybody, the more it loses its appeal.
“Hey, Ice.” The first day we met, back in the summer, Jaelle had taken one look at my blond hair and proclaimed it ice-white. And as far as I could tell, Jaelle didn’t give out nicknames easily. Kind of ironic that she called me Ice, given my dislike of the cold. Jaelle leaned against the counter. Idabelle made the waitresses wear yellow button-front dresses, but Jaelle had a way of making it her own. A black lace-trimmed undershirt pushed through the V created by unfastened buttons, and black bicycle shorts and long brown legs pedaled under the shortened skirt.
“So what’s Mr. Vilhalminsson in the mood for tonight?” Jaelle asked. I always thought it interesting that someone as jive as Jaelle was so formal with elders.
“I’ll take two stew specials to go.” I sat at the lunch counter and spun the vinyl-topped seat a full three-sixty, something I could never resist.
Jaelle wrote the ticket and clipped it to the order wheel.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
“Russ and the crew left
on Saturday for a job up near Baudette. Don’t know about anybody else.” Russ was Jaelle’s husband and the big hunk of a lumberjack for whom she had uprooted her life and moved north of civilization. It was a sore point with Jaelle that Russ’s work often took him away for weeks at a time. They’d only been married a year, and Jaelle was an outsider here, too. No wonder she was bored and restless and spent her tips at Tinker’s Tap, the local bar out on Highway 53. Rumor had it Jaelle liked tequila. And Norah Jones. And six-ball pool. Just give these townies something to yammer about and it spreads like mustard on a foot-long.
The door opened, and a waft of cool air blew in. I looked up to see Wade holding the door for middle-aged male and female versions of himself, complete with cropped hair and pig cheeks — even the mother. He continued to play doorman, and I was surprised when none other than Fru Dorit, Hulda’s suck-up, walked in. Wade ushered her in with a well-mannered, after-you gesture. Huh? A submissive Wade?
The parents passed solemnly, nodding terse good evenings to Jaelle. Dorit graced me with a lopsided grin, wacky enough to pass for old-lady eccentric but lingering enough to make me think we shared a secret. My stomach did a small flip. Uh-oh. Did we really share a secret? Like membership to a clandestine organization? Wade managed a suggestive smirk, quick and smug. Jerk. They settled into a booth in the far corner of the restaurant.
“Do you know the Ivarssons?” Jaelle asked. “Wade must go to your school.”
“I’ve seen him around.”
“They’re an odd bunch,” Jaelle said in a low voice. She stacked the two containers of stew in a paper bag, wrapped two corn muffins in bakery sleeves, and then added napkins and plastic soup-spoons. “I guess it’s understandable, given the tragedy.”
