Stork

by Wendy Delsol

  I checked my watch. Five o’clock. I had a lot of sewing ahead of me. I scooped the dress up and headed toward the steps when an old trunk caught my eye. Hadn’t Hulda told me to look in Amma’s old steamer trunk? I knelt down over the large flat-top case, running my hand along its faded dark leather. The brass latches and dime-size tacks were tarnished, but I could tell that this was once a beautiful piece of luggage. It looked exactly like the type of chest people used to take on long voyages. I fiddled with the catch and opened its creaky hinged lid. The first few layers I sorted through were linens, gloves, velvet jewelry boxes and pouches, a medium-size hat box: all the sorts of things I’d expected. Then, at the bottom of the trunk, I found a cloth-covered book tied with grosgrain ribbon. At first I thought it was a calendar or almanac, as it was divided into the twelve months of the year. The more I looked at it, though, the more I came to see it as a keeper of important dates — dates that repeated year after year. Each month began with an old-fashioned illustration of a girl in clothing suitable to that time of year and surrounded by the flora and fauna of the season. The pages following each month were numbered at the top and then lined below. Thirty-one pages for January, twenty-nine for February, thirty-one for March, and so on. On each page, and in varying colors of ink, notations had been made. People’s birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays — including many I’d never heard of — were all recorded on their respective dates. My sister Storks were all there. And as much as I intended to surprise Hulda on February twentieth with some small token, and giggled to read that glum old Grim was a summer girl, their birthdays were only a small part of what was making me cluck with happiness. The fact that my amma used their bird names — the Owl in February and the Peacock in July — filled me with smug satisfaction.

  I continued to thumb through the pages, a little creeped out to find that the dates of deaths were marked as well. Other notations were in such a cramped hand and so lengthy that I hardly knew what to make of them. Paging through the book, I thought I recognized a few mentions of signs of the zodiac, and planet names. Another thing stood out: the calendar dates corresponding with the solstices and equinoxes had far more entries than any other. I remembered the fuss Hulda had made over the autumnal equinox — just two days ago — and her small chant to Sifa, Protector of the Harvest. March twentieth and twenty-first, the two possible dates for the spring, or vernal, equinox, had references to Ostara’s Dawning and what looked like a poem or song. June twentieth and twenty-first, the summer solstices, were also crammed with long passages, something about the Tropic of Cancer, and first covenants, and deaths — an unusual number of deaths. As I read through the list of names for that day, one jumped out at me: Hanna Ivarsson, Wade’s little sister. The inclusion of her name in Amma’s private book punched the wind from my lungs. I recalled the conversation with Jaelle about Dorit acting so odd on the first day of summer.

  I descended the creaky attic stairs with Amma’s book hidden in the folds of the red dress. I was a ball of nerves — curious and confused by the book and its mysterious entries — but also so thrilled by the revelation that my amma was a Stork that I chirped. I did. It felt surprisingly familiar.

  The atmosphere at school on Friday was electric. Nobody could talk about anything but the big game that night and the dance the next. Even the teachers were wearing school colors: green and gold. Everyone was certain that this was our year to beat Pinewood. After a long meeting with Coach Carter, Principal Henrich, and Mr. and Mrs. Snjosson, Jack was allowed back into the lineup for Saturday’s game, though, as a compromise, he was benched for the first half.

  Jack and I were on our way to the cafeteria when we ran into Wade.

  “Jack,” Wade said, blocking our path, “we didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday. Coach Carter had you tied up for most of practice.”

  “What do you want, Wade?” Jack asked.

  “To make nice.” Wade flashed us a smile. I really hated his smile. He showed teeth, but somehow the other components — twinkling eyes, soft facial lines, relaxed posture — were missing. “First, I’d like to apologize for my recent behavior. I’ve been a class-A jerk and almost lost Monique in the process. I don’t deserve it, but she’s forgiven me. Can you?” Wade held out his hand. “Will you shake and accept my apology?”

  I could see the muscles in Jack’s jaw and neck tighten, and for many moments he left Wade’s outstretched arm just hanging there.

  “I’m really trying here,” Wade said, turning up his palm.

  Finally, Jack exhaled and shook Wade’s hand in one brief pump, though I noticed he didn’t say Apology accepted.

  “Good man,” Wade said. “I also wanted to personally invite you both to an after-dance party at my family’s barn. My parents are going all out, chicken and ribs.”

  We didn’t even have a chance to respond before Wade jogged off, calling over his shoulder, “It’s all settled, then. See you guys later.”

  Jack and I exchanged looks. I interpreted his as a lingering mistrust of Wade. Mine was that, with an extra roll of the eyes conveying that “all out” was not chicken and ribs.

  It was positively raucous in Mr. Parks’s room during lunch. Happiest of all was Pedro. The pressure of an entire game as quarterback now lifted, he was a new man.

  “Have you guys heard about Wade’s party?” Pedro asked.

  “We’ve heard. Is that where you guys are going?” I asked.

  “It does sound like fun,” Penny replied.

  “Everyone’s talking about it,” Tina said.

  “The whole night’s gonna be a blast,” Pedro said.

  “Matthew’s dad’s lending him his car,” Tina said. “We’ll be traveling in style.”

  “I’ll be looking sweet in my new threads,” Pedro cut in.

  Jack pulled me away from the group. “I won’t be showing up in anything fancy. That truck is as good as it gets.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

  “I have a suit, but it’s an old one of my dad’s.”

  “They’re just clothes.” This out of the mouth of a girl whose tenth-grade yearbook quote was “I accessorize, therefore I am.”

  “What would your friends in LA think?”

  “What does it matter?” It didn’t matter. Not one bit. I couldn’t believe how distant malls and beaches seemed.

  “You won’t be embarrassed?”

  “I won’t if you won’t.” I motioned with my arms to an imaginary skirt. “Did you know vampire drool is an actual shade of red? And Fredrick’s of Hollywood has a whole line of Pretty Woman formal wear?”

  His eyes grew to the size of Frisbees. “Uh. I think my parents will want to see a picture of us.”

  “You are so gullible.” I elbowed him in the ribs, hard. “Just don’t wear flannel, and I’ll do my best to keep it simple.”

  I thought about Wade’s party as I walked to my next class. If money was an issue for Jack, this, in place of dinner at a restaurant, was at least free. And in a crowd of a couple hundred kids, Wade would be easy to avoid.

  Fifth period was canceled for an outdoor pep rally. Jack and I walked toward the stadium together. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before veering toward the field to stand with the football team while I herded up the bleachers with the rest of the student body. The cheerleaders kicked things off with a pom-pom routine, then they held up a huge paper banner for the team to crash through. The principal spoke, as did Coach Carter. Pinewood was maligned in word and thought, and I wondered if they, too, were riling up an angry mob. Thank goodness the announcement of Homecoming King and Queen came next. I’d never been a big supporter of such popularity contests. They seemed to reward the most vapid of individuals. Five girls, Monique among them, were called forth as this year’s court, as were five guys. I couldn’t help feeling thrilled as Jack took his place as one of them. Maybe things were different here. Though barrel-chested Wade, grinning like a hyena, was a thorn. The king was announced first. Jack was clearly surprised an
d embarrassed. He looked up to me in the crowd as he received his scepter, raising it in something like a salute. I smiled and blushed and was flattered, mostly by the knowledge that his eyes had followed me to my seat. Wade, to my surprise, smiled, clapped Jack on the back, and was the first to shake his hand. Next the queen was announced. Monique cried like she’d just been crowned Miss America. A week ago I might have audibly scoffed. The new me, the forgiving me, applauded politely. I reminded myself that I wasn’t the only one who had had a tough week — a pregnancy scare and a roller-coaster relationship would be tough on anyone.

  After the assembly, Jack found me at my locker.

  “Your Highness.” I bowed.

  “Don’t.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s weird enough.”

  I flicked the brim of his cap. “Guess you’ll be trading this in for a crown now.”

  “No, but I will be exercising my authority.”

  “How so?”

  He pulled me into him. “I want you to stay close to me.” It was an order, something I would normally defy on principle, though I somehow liked this one’s nose-to-nose delivery. Had me at attention, anyway.

  “Is that a command?”

  “Yes.”

  “Impressive,” I said. “On the job for less than an hour and already taking charge.”

  “My duty to serve and protect.” His voice was a low growl in my ear.

  “I’m kind of impressed with your subjects,” I said, pulling away and closing my locker with a loud bang. “I figured new-and-improved Wade or at least one of his henchmen would have been elected. It shows a certain amount of independent thinking on the part of Norse Falls.”

  He pulled my hand playfully. “What are you trying to say? That you’re surprised a guy like me can win?”

  “No.” I laughed. “It’s just that you don’t necessarily align yourself with the in crowd.”

  He pulled me alongside his body, his hand sliding around my waist. “I align myself with you.”

  Which really only proved my point, but I decided not to argue. Instead I simply enjoyed the weight of his arm on my hip bone.

  It was fun taking my dad to the football game. He refused to dress in school colors, but it didn’t matter. I wore enough green and gold for the two of us. We sat with Penny and Tina. I could tell by the way they kept sneaking glances that they were a little in awe of him. He did that to people. Soon enough, though, he had them giggling and blushing. He did that to people, too — females, anyway.

  Jack did his penance and sat out the first half. I could hear the tightness in the crowd’s cheering and their collective gasps every time Pedro put up a pass. The first quarter was weak; even I let the occasional sigh of disappointment escape.

  Early in the second quarter, Pedro handed off for a series of successful running plays that got us close enough for a field goal. The kick was good, and we were up three–zero. Our fans went crazy. I had to hand it to the Norse Falls Falcons. They had spirit to spare.

  With a minute to go until half time, Pedro threw a pass to a receiver downfield. The throw seemed short and about to be intercepted. Just as the ball had wrung what it could out of its draft of air, a wind sworled down the field. The ball tipped off the fingers of the Pinewood player and into the hands of our receiver, who ran it in for a touchdown. The crowd went nuts.

  Sitting on the bleachers, I discovered that I had a new skill. When Jack was present, I had the uncanny split-screen ability to watch both him and whatever it was I was supposed to be focusing on. Jack paced the sidelines the entire time Pedro was at the helm. When Pedro threw, Jack’s arms went up. When Pedro got crunched, Jack’s entire body balled into something small and hard. And on that last play, the one where the wind marched down the field, I noticed something odd. Whereas the entire stands seemed to hold their breath as it seemed a turnover was inevitable, Jack appeared to bellow something, though I couldn’t hear what, given the distance separating us.

  Special teams took the field, and I watched Jack chest-bump Pedro when he jogged to the bench. Our kick for the extra point was good, which put us up ten to nothing and sent the crowd into a frenzy. The team ran off the field for half time to a roar of approval from the entire home side of the bleachers.

  My dad high-fived Penny, telling her, “That boy’s got game.” Penny puffed up with happiness.

  The half-time show began. Matthew played trumpet for the marching band, and Tina told us how hard they’d worked on a new routine. I saw my dad snicker a little bit when one of the twirlers smacked a member of the horn section with her baton. Thank goodness for the rubber tips. She got some serious air speed on that projectile. My dad did manage to keep his amusement mostly to himself. I could tell, though, that it took some restraint. I liked the show. I liked how they kept it simple. Our marching band in California had gone to state finals three years in a row and was known for their theatrical productions complete with moving sets, costumed characters, and complicated themes. Maybe CliffsNotes or a doctorate on Wagner would have helped, but, personally, I never got it.

  The Homecoming court was introduced, followed by the king and queen. Monique traversed the field on Jack’s arm. I didn’t like it. Nor did I like it when my dad said, “Now, there’s a pretty girl.” Though even I had to admit she looked very attractive with her curls bouncing under her crown as she glided over the grass, and her belted jacket accentuated her curves. I took comfort in the fact that Jack looked straight ahead and escorted her somewhat robotlike to their spot in the semicircle. Though his stiffness could have been from the pads — he, as well as two of the four king’s men, Wade the biggest hulk of them all, wore their football uniforms.

  “So that’s him?” My dad craned his neck for a view down to the field.

  “Yep.”

  “I never did get to meet him, you know, five years ago. Not formally, anyway. Saw him in the hospital, but he was just a skinny kid, and looked half-dead at that.”

  I was surprised how much my dad’s remark cut. To hear Jack described as “half-dead” sent a blast of cold mist down my spine. It did. Fog crept out from under my pant legs.

  “You cold, hon?” my dad asked.

  “A little.”

  He shook his head. “How’re you ever going to make it through a winter here?”

  I looked out to the field, where Jack was jogging off to rejoin his team. That’s how.

  The second half was scoreless. Jack did manage to pass for some decent yardage, but the team was stopped twice just shy of the five-yard line. I was a little let down. Maybe because I’d heard about Jack’s golden arm. Maybe because I had some silly girlish notion of showing my dad my shiny new toy. Maybe because it just seemed like there had been a couple of missed opportunities. Twice it seemed Jack had his sights on an open wide receiver and had even stepped back for the pass, but then had changed his mind and ran it himself or passed to someone in the thick of things. He constantly had his eye on the scoreboard and seemed to be checking on our ten-point lead and the time left on the clock. And the defense, led by Wade, was on fire. Pinewood couldn’t find a hole. We beat them ten to nothing. The moment that final second ticked down, Jack hoisted Pedro onto the team’s shoulders.

  After the game, Jack met up with my dad and me at the Kountry Kettle. The place was packed with people celebrating the big win. Jack slid into the booth next to me, his jeans sidling up along mine.

  “Great game,” my dad said.

  “Thank you.”

  My dad held out his hand. “Greg Leblanc.”

  They shook. “Jack Snjosson.”

  I could tell my dad was impressed by Jack’s handshake. My dad put a lot of stock in handshakes, as well as shoes. It was a good thing Jack’s beat-up sneakers weren’t visible under the tabletop.

  “You boys sure can play both sides of that ball.”

  “My friend Pedro had a great first half. I knew he could do it.”

  I glanced over to where Pedro, Penny, Matthew, and Tina had a table at the back of th
e restaurant. Kids, and even adults, were stopping by to high-five or shake Pedro’s hand.

  Jaelle bustled over with two mugs in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. “Coffee, Ice?” she asked.

  “Ice?” my dad asked.

  “Her nickname,” Jaelle said. “That hair is ice-white.”

  Jack lifted a strand of my hair that curled just under my chin. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “Ice. I like that.”

  A look of surprise batted my dad’s lashes. He wasn’t used to seeing me in this way.

  “Yes. Coffee. Please. It was freezing in those bleachers,” I said. Jack, with what seemed like pure instinct, dropped his arm over my shoulder and rubbed. Again, my dad looked uncomfortable. I didn’t move away or shake Jack off. He was a part of my life in Norse Falls. My dad needed to know that.

  “How about you, Greg? Coffee? It’s a fresh pot.” Thank God for Jaelle and her diverting could-sell-toothpaste smile.

  A frown weighted the sides of his mouth. He was not a big fan of the Kountry Kettle’s coffee. But then he returned Jaelle’s winning grin. “Why not?”

  Jaelle turned to Jack. “The usual?”

  He looked a little flustered, but then he lifted his shoulders and said, “Sure.”

  “Crazy night,” I said to Jaelle. “How’re you doing?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said with a swipe of her free hand.

  My dad watched as she walked away. “There’s something about that girl I like,” he said.

  My eyes widened. “Dad, she’s married.”

  He shook his head at me. “Not like that. I saw the ring. Not to mention the age difference. But there’s something very efficient yet personable about her.”