by F. M. Isaacs
I was never part of this scene. I almost always stayed after school for some club or activity, and I usually took the bus after. So when Allen drove directly up in front of me in a glistening, brand-new convertible sports car, I could only gape.
“Can I give you a ride, Corinne?” he called to me.
I turned beet – no, radish – red, and I could practically feel the other students’ stares searing through my skin. They began to whisper about me, and I knew I had no choice but to accept my flashy ride. In fact, if I didn't, I probably would be taunted about it for life.
“Sure, Allen!” I replied in a self-assured voice that concealed my true feelings. With a very-overdone nod at Abby, I shrugged, adding, “Thanks anyway, guys.”
Abby gawked at me, both skeptical and astounded at the same time.
Swaggering into the red car and shutting the door, I gave a last victorious look at my classmates. Ha, ha! Finally, I'm better than all of you combined! I announced in my mind, and we were on our way.
Basking in my good fortune, I breezily dashed off, “So, Allen. Why do you need a car if you live so nearby?” Okay, that sounded idiotic. I had to re-phrase this quickly before I lost all the confidence I was exuding. “Well, I mean, why drive here when you can walk?”
“Most of these kids can walk here, and they have cars,” he pointed out, turning down a side street. “Driving your own car is fun too. I hate the way everything is automated. Steering wherever you want to go instead of a computer controlling the car's actions is great.”
“I guess you’re living in the wrong century,” I said.
“Ah, believe me, this century suits me quite well. And,” he smirked, “I admit it. The real reason I brought the car by is because I wanted to show off.”
I was very much on edge. As much as I liked Allen, and as jealous as I'm sure my classmates were of me, I was a little nervous about driving around with him. I jimmied around with the seat belt until I could get it to click shut, and then felt stupid that it had taken me so long to achieve that simple task.
But I was also bursting with satisfaction. I'd finally shown the kids at school that men were interested in me. And not just any man – a very rich man, apparently. Even if he did live in a shack...
Admittedly, that was something else to ask Daniel about.
“Sorry I took off with Daniel at the party. He really kind of needed me. I came back later but the party was over.”
I frowned. “What were you two doing?”
“Well,” he hesitated for a second, “I'd rather you ask Daniel. It's his...project.”
Okay, maybe Daniel was doing something for school? He often worked in their research lab testing new drugs and procedures.
“You're helping Daniel out?”
“Yes,” Allen said, tapping his left foot on the floor. “Well, as much as I can.”
If this explanation were true, then I was fine with it. The fact that they were working during my party, however, was still annoying.
“So, you just want to go home, or you want to drive around a bit?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I glanced behind us. “Can you lower the top on this thing?” Yes, I'd never ridden in a convertible.
“Sure!” He pressed a button and the top slowly folded into the back of the car. He then proceeded to skid around a corner way too fast. I gripped the seat to stay upright, laughing despite myself.
“Too windy? I can put the top back up if you want.”
“No, it's fine. Drive more!”
My tension eased with each moment beside him. As we bounded down the streets like we owned them, it dawned on me that I was truly having a good time. Yes, Allen was speeding, and he wasn't the best driver, but for some reason, I trusted him.
“I love the wind in my hair!” I cried. “I feel like I'm flying!”
Allen grinned. “Have you ever dreamed of flying?” he called over the gusts as he slipped through another curve.
“What, like Peter Pan?” I yelled back, flapping my arms comically.
“Or like a bird!”
“Might be nice to do both!” I tittered. “Why?”
“They say dreaming of flying shows you're confident or happy.”
“Confident, huh?” I'd often dreamed I was flying – my mother said it was very common. Like any teenager, however, I couldn't say I was a well of self-assurance.
Then the dream I'd had came back to me. The flapping and scratching really did occur when I was with Matthew. Did that mean something? I remember Mom saying that people were “sensitive” in her family. Maybe this was what she was describing – perhaps I could tell the future?
Joyous and excited at the prospect, I straightened up in the seat and clapped my hands in glee. Allen saw my reaction and beamed. “We should do this more often!”
“Definitely!”
We made our way through town. Past Mom's office, past the hospital where Dad and Grandpa Ron worked, past Grandpa Brian's building... I wanted everyone to see me. At long last, I was important! Someone was interested in me!
When we approached my house, I almost told Allen to park farther down the block so my parents wouldn't see. But who was I hiding from? Allen wasn't a bad person! Maybe my parents would approve!
Oh, who was I kidding?
Allen stopped the car and turned to me. There was a look on his face that I couldn't quite place. Longing?
Slowly, he leaned over toward me. My palms began to sweat, I began to shiver...
“No. No, I can't,” he mumbled, pulling away.
What was that? Why hadn't he kissed me? I couldn't say anything. I just...
Woodenly, I opened the car door and got out. “Good night, Allen,” I whispered. Struggling to hide my disappointment, I trudged up the lawn and entered my house without looking back.
He remained for several more minutes before he drove away. And, from behind the curtains, I watched him every second he was there.
DINNER THAT NIGHT WAS interrupted by a phone call from Daniel. Dad answered and immediately went upstairs. He slammed the bedroom door forcibly behind him.
My mother took a deep breath and dug into her food without saying a word.
I scraped the last bits of pasta from my plate. “Any more baked ziti left, Mom?”
“Sorry. Your father finished it.”
I rolled my eyes. Nothing could keep Dad away from Mom’s food.
After drinking a tall glass of water, I burst out, “Mom, I had a dream that stuff was clawing at me from the air before it happened.”
“Before what?” she answered. I don't think she was listening com-pletely.
“That night when we said things were...attacking us – I dreamed it first.”
She waved her hand at me dismissively. “Yes, well...coincidences happen, you know. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.”
I immediately felt silly. Undoubtedly she was right – I heard sounds outside that set off my dream. Those shrieks could have spawned a horror movie, too.
So I probably couldn't tell the future.
Mom craned her neck, trying to hear what was going on upstairs. The conversation with my brother must have been getting particularly intense because my father was stamping on the floor above us. He spoke in a muffled voice, so I couldn't make out the words, but Dad was very angry. Suddenly I heard the door sweep open, and he yelled, “I'll get your mother, but she feels the same way, and she'll say the same thing!” He stomped down the stairs and handed my mom the phone.
She stared at it a moment before accepting it. “He's not listening?”
“I gave him the ultimatum. I’ve had enough.”
“Daniel?” Mom said gently into the receiver. “Give me a second, I’m coming.” She walked upstairs, and I turned back to face my father. His face was scarlet and he was forming fists with both hands. I rarely saw him get this enraged.
“Dad, what's wrong with Daniel? Same thing?”
“Daniel needs to know when to mind his own business,�
�� he said cryptically. “And he needs to stop getting mixed up with dangerous people. I just wish he'd listen.”
“You...told him to get away from these...people?”
“Yes. Or I'd disown him.”
I wasn't sure if he was serious or not about the disowning part, and he wasn't even Daniel's real father, but it didn't really matter. “Dad,” I whispered, “why can't you tell me what's going on?”
Dad couldn’t possibly have missed the tears of exasperation in my eyes. He sighed, shaking his head. “Corinne, we're protecting you. The less you know, the safer you are. Just trust us on this one, okay?”
“Yeah, I figured that's what you'd say.” My frustration increased into anger. “I guess I need to hit twenty-one before someone takes me seriously. Or is it because I’m female? I never thought that would be a problem in our family!”
“Oh, Corinne, why can't you just...”
I realized it was perfectly quiet upstairs. I rose, not wanting to hear any more from my father, and I raised my hand at him as if to cut off his speaking. “Forget it. Let me just go see if Mom's okay.”
Strangely, my dad jumped up and held me back. He paused for a moment, almost as if listening for something that wasn't there, and then shook his head. “Don't go up. She's fine.”
I sat back down, and my mom started shouting again. A lot.
When she came back and joined us, she looked wild. “I swear, Julian. It amazes me sometimes that he's not related to you. I wanted to slap him. He's more Julian than Jack.”
“Is he going to do it?”
She cracked her knuckles. “He'd better.”
CHAPTER TEN
Allen didn't show his face in school on Tuesday either. I was hoping to ask him to my band concert that night, but I didn't get a chance. His ears were probably better off not encountering the cacophony that we high-schoolers produced when we attempted to make music.
At six in the evening, I returned to school in time to tune up the band. As I played a “C”, my nervousness made me squeak my note, which surprised Mr. Kohn and gave the lower brass their laugh for the week. I soon took my place on stage, and, with a sweep of his baton, Mr. Kohn ushered in my last high school concert.
It was bittersweet, for I’d always enjoyed band, but I was happy that I wouldn’t have to deal with the jeering any longer. When our first piece concluded, I reached over to turn the page and nearly dropped my clarinet as a large, bright moth settled atop my music stand.
“Eww!” My stand partner Michelle recoiled from the otherworldly creature, but I was mesmerized. This had to be a sign of good luck for my solo! It was just like one of those moths I had seen outside my window!
I reached toward it, but it fluttered away.
The next song contained my solo, and I played it with abandon. I experienced that immense, unmerited pride again, but instead of letting it overwhelm me, this time I channeled it, fueling my performance. Like my dreams, I felt like I was soaring above the earth.
“Have you ever dreamed of flying?” Allen’s words floated through my thoughts. I wanted to burst out in song, but I had to settle for “singing” through my clarinet.
Right after the solo, I gazed out into the audience. My parents sat out there, and past them on the other side I saw Allen!
He was here! How had he known to come? I thought back a moment, trying to remember if I had mentioned the concert to him before. Perhaps I had, who knew? The point was, he cared about me and he wanted to see me! With this knowledge, I attacked the rest of the piece with even more vigor.
At the song's conclusion, Mr. Kohn yelled over the applause, “Take a bow, Corinne!” I rose, my eyes meeting with Allen's, and then I commenced to smash my instrument into the music stand.
Horrified, I sat down, gaping at a large chip in my reed. There was no way I could play the last two selections like this, and I didn't have another reed with me on stage. Holding back tears, I had to fake my way through the rest of the night.
When the concert was finished, I happened to look back down at my reed.
It wasn't chipped anymore.
AS THE STAGE AND AUDIENCE emptied, I remained in my seat, examining my instrument in shock. The reed was truly unharmed and intact. “I swear, I'm losing my mind...” I rubbed at my eyes, hoping no one would notice the fact that I was nearly crying. It wasn't only the reed that was bothering me. This was just the latest event. There were so many other unanswered questions festering inside of me – my family's weirdness, Uncle Jonas's death certificate, Daniel...
The cumulative events were pushing me over the edge.
“Corinne, we're going for ice cream. Want to come? I'll drop you home after,” Marnie called across the stage.
I tried to sound like I was completely fine. “Sure, sure. Let me tell my mom!” Nearly missing the first step, I bolted down the stage stairs to my parents, who were gathering up their belongings. My focus was on Allen, however, who was inconspicuously indicating to meet him outside. As desperate as I was to run to him, I held myself back, attempting to keep up my “calm” guise. Instead I went and told my parents I'd see them at home.
But Mom was not ready to leave. “You did very nicely,” she said warmly.
“You sure did,” Dad added, with a proud tap on my back.
I paused, deliberating if I should tell them what happened. Or didn't happen...
“I think I'm losing my mind,” I whispered. I couldn't take it anymore.
“You're not,” my mother countered immediately in a firm voice.
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“Corinne!” Marnie yelled. “We're leaving!”
I didn't answer my friend. I needed to know why Mom was so quick to reassure me before I had even told her what happened.
“Marnie's calling you,” she reminded me.
“I'll be right there!” I replied impatiently. Sizing up my mother, I began, “Mom, what–”
“Hurry, Cor! We're leaving!”
“Go with them, Corinne. Trust us,” Dad intoned strongly, echoing Mom’s reassurances but still failing to assuage me. “Have fun. We'll bring home your clarinet.” He took the instrument case from my hand. I forgot I'd been holding it.
I let out a frustrated breath. “We're getting ice cream.”
“We'll see you soon. Be careful.” My parents walked out the side door. They were holding hands. They almost never did that.
I practically exploded out the back entrance, right into Allen's arms.
“Allen, Allen, oh...” I threw my head into his chest, letting the sobs pour out. I couldn't contain them any longer, and Allen's encouraging expression seemed to give me permission to release them.
He touched at my hair affectionately. “Shh. What's wrong?”
I told him, even the part about the reed.
“It changed back to normal?” He appeared flustered, which surprised me.
“Well, 'changed back' is probably not the right phrase. It's more like maybe I'm imagining things?”
He continued to stroke my hair as I wailed, but now his actions were almost robotic, and through my tears I could see him shaking his head and frowning. “Are you going with your friends for ice cream?” he asked.
“You know what? No. I can't bear the thought of sitting with them and talking about stupid stuff. I can't believe I just faked half the concert when I didn't need to...or...? What is wrong with me?”
Allen stopped smoothing my hair. He put a hand on each of my shoulders. “There is nothing wrong with you at all. Get your things, tell your friends you're not going, and let's take a walk.”
WHEN I WAS FINISHED “dismissing” my friends, I came out to find Allen exactly where I had left him, but he was holding an ice cream cone in each hand.
“One for you, one for me. This way you can't tell your parents you didn't get ice cream.” He slurped at his, leaving a slight white film around his lips. “I love this stuff, truly an amazing invention,” he added, tapping at his midsection. “So good!”
Accepting the other cone, I scanned the area around me. No ice cream trucks, no food vendors... There was nothing but school grounds, the woods, and people returning to their cars from the concert.
Gazing at Allen in suspicion, I sampled the treat. The vanilla soft-serve was the sweetest, creamiest ice cream I had ever had, and Allen watched me as I consumed it eagerly.
“Did I do well?” he queried.
“Do well? Where'd you get this? It's amazing!”
“If I told you that, then everyone would be after it, and it wouldn't be special anymore,” he winked.
What was that supposed to mean? Had he gotten it from the cafeteria? He wouldn't have had the time, and it was also closed! Plus, our cafeteria couldn't possibly have anything that tasted this good!
Someone had to have given the ice cream to him.
I tried to purge my mind of this newest and more disturbing exchange as we walked from the school parking lot and past the woods. Finally, he spoke.
“There's nothing wrong with you,” he repeated. His tone was low and soothing, like a mother attempting to lull her baby to sleep.
And that bothered me. I was eighteen, and I deserved to be treated that way. “Everyone says that! Why do you say that?” I nearly shouted.
“Because I know.”
“What do you know?”
“Well–”
He was faltering, and I could see by his expression that I was close to forcing him to open up. I continued my attack mercilessly. “And you said 'all things are revealed in time'. What things? That you can make ice cream appear from nowhere?”
He laughed, but I did not return even the faintest smile. I was sick and tired of everyone’s secrets, and I was intent on learning his. “What do you want to share with me that's so scary? Because I'll tell you, after tonight, nothing will scare me! I mean, I could probably use a scare to knock my mind back into reality!”
