Chasing Power (Hidden Talents)

by Pearson, Genevieve

Turning toward the big sliding doors, I raised my hand to signal to Clyde. As I did, a sparkling gleam of light caught my eye. A sleek, vintage cherry-red Mustang pulled up in front of the store. Gorgeous, shiny, the sheer beauty of the car dazzled me. Until the car door opened. Then the bottom dropped out of my world, and my stomach went right with it. A wave of nausea so strong hit me I barely made it the three steps to the nearest trash can before unleashing the contents of my stomach.

  “Kyrie, oh my god!” Clyde rushed over, “You okay?”

  Still hunched over the can, I shook my head.

  “Go to the bathroom,” he said, pointing, “I’ll take over for you.” Grateful for his intervention, I dizzily made my way to the public restroom.

  Five minutes later, and I was starting to feel better. Sitting on the toilet with my head between my knees, I wondered what could have caused the sudden onslaught. Bad mayo on my burger? A twenty-four-hour flu caught from a customer? Slowly, the feeling of not-right began to ebb.

  At least, I thought so. I had just stood when the door to the bathroom opened and the nausea came back with a vengeance. I sat down hard on the toilet, thinking: I will not puke. I will not puke. There isn’t even anything left in there! My heart raced and my blood pounded, like my body had gone in to panic mode. Something was Wrong, yes, capital W. I began to realize this experience was less like having the flu, and more like the ‘vibe’ I got from shoplifters, only amplified by about a hundred.

  “This place is somewhat less charming than I had hoped.”

  “What did you expect, thatched cottages?” The source of my distress had a voice. Two, to be exact. Breathing deeply, shallowly, I brought my feet up on to the toilet. My brain mastered control over my stomach once more. My fear subsided, replaced with a burning curiosity. I felt compelled to know the source of my distress. I leaned forward, placing my eye to the crack in the door. So sue me, I like to eavesdrop.

  They looked to be in their early twenties. One was tall, at least 5’10”, hard to tell since she wore high heels, and extremely thin. Sharp cheekbones and a razor blade of a nose gave her delicate features a hardened look that made her all the more beautiful. Her pale blonde hair fell straight and almost to her waist. The other girl was more petite. Tiny, no hips, with a figure—okay, boobs, to be honest—that most girls in this town would kill for. She wore a black halter top with white polka dots, very Bettie Page pin-up. Her black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and her bangs curled perfectly across her forehead. A pair of huge, dark sunglasses completed the “not of this era” look.

  They were clearly not from around here. First of all, I knew most people around here, at least, the type. Secondly, their clothes were far better than anything at our dirt malls. Blondie wore a silk blouse I recognized from last month’s issue of Vogue. Bettie Page carried a handbag that cost about six months of my salary.

  Before I got to hear anything good, though, Clyde pushed through the swinging door, interrupting them in mid-sentence. For a second, the three just stared at each other. Then the dark-haired girl let out a dismissive huff and went back to inspecting her reflection. Not even a word about the sudden appearance of a man in the women’s room.

  Clyde came over to my stall. “Hey, hey Kyrie, you okay in there?” Leaning against the door, he said in a loud whisper, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  Another little snort. “Classic,” the blonde said, and with that the two left.

  “Witches,” Clyde said, “Nothing wrong with being pregnant, who’re they to talk?”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I said, coming out of the stall. “It’s just food poisoning or something.”

  “Thank god. You feeling well enough to go back to work?”

  Following Clyde out of the ladies’ room, I began to nod, heading back to my post—then I caught sight of them, the two girls, meeting up with two men. All I could tell from this distance that one man was big and burly and dark, and the other was thin and slight and ginger-haired. Just the sight of them, however, made my stomach curdle. I keeled over, slapping my hand to my face. Clyde looked at me, concerned. “I’ll get the manager,” he said. “You need the rest of the day off.”

  #

  By the time the manager had been rounded up and signed off on my sick time, I already felt better. At that point, though, it was too late to claim a miraculous recovery without causing even more of a hassle, so I decided to just take the time and use it for homework.

  I headed to MCC. I was about an hour and a half early, but there was no class before mine so I decided to set up shop in the classroom. I picked my favorite spot in the corner, by the windows, and pulled my books out. I could have driven home, but MCC had better air conditioning. Besides, doing my homework at home, in the same room I grew up in, only served to reinforce the idea that nothing had changed since graduation—like I was trapped in a Twilight Zone of eternal high school, destined to be stuck in childhood forever.

  On campus I could at least pretend I wasn’t in Midessa. I could screen out my peripheral vision and make believe I was in a nicer school, with either a sleek modern-glass classroom, or the dark polished wood I saw in schools in the movies. I could look out the window, blur my eyes, and pretend I could see the Pacific Ocean. Pepperdine claimed in the brochures that you could see the ocean from almost anywhere on campus. That sounded ideal to me. It wasn’t as highly ranked as Stanford, where I’d also been accepted, and they also had private-school tuition costs, but being near the ocean probably made up for it. Both of those schools were on my short list. What it would really come down to, I knew, was which school on my list would accept my transfer credits and wouldn’t require the sale of a kidney or other vital organ to pay for tuition. But on happy days I liked to pretend I was frivolous enough to choose a university based on proximity to the beach.

  I put my daydreaming about real college aside and turned my attention to my schoolwork. By the time my night class rolled around, I’d finished a short essay for writing class and a series of questions for organic chemistry. This put me ahead of schedule homework-wise and in a good mood as students began to filter in for European History, my favorite class, anyway. Mainly because the professor of this one was actually interested, and treated us like adults. And if I’d felt crappy earlier in the day, at least that gave me an interesting story to tell during Gossip Time.

  Gossip Time was my informal name for the ten minutes before class started, when my sort-of-friends showed up to class. They were girls, not all from my grade, but all from my cheer squad. These three girls were part of the perpetual high school Twilight Zone I felt trapped in. Strong and coordinated, I’d gone out for cheer on a lark and earned myself a spot on the bottom of the pyramid. That, and a “cool” boyfriend was all it took for me, nerdy and goody-two-shoes as I was, to have a safe pass on the outskirts of the popular kids. I wasn’t exactly welcomed, but I hadn’t been shunned, either. At a friendly arm’s length from the in-crowd, there seemed to be a quiet acknowledgement that once graduation took place, I’d be moving on and they’d stay behind. Only that hadn’t happened yet.

  They were my friends, but not really. They didn’t know how to handle me and I felt like I’d grown past them. But the three of them were determined that when class started, it would be just like old times. Which meant class always started with gossip.

  “Troy left Brie.”

  “With the baby?”

  “With the baby. But his mother is going to file for full custody.”

  “Why not him?”

  “He doesn’t want the baby.”

  “So why’s his mom want it?”

  “She says Brie’s on drugs.”

  See what I mean? Gossip time. I waited for a gap in the conversation before jumping in. It wasn’t often I had something to contribute, so I was excited at the chance to be included. “Did you guys see the new kids in town?”

  “No,” Madison said, “Not the new kids.”

  She placed the emphasis on the word ‘new,’
drawing it out. I stopped dead in the tracks of my story.

  “Well, go on,” Lacy said, “Who’d you see?”

  I quickly told them about the four. Madison nodded along, but she and Kris kept giving each other knowing looks. With the two clearly not paying attention, my story petered out lamely.

  “So what do you know that I don’t?”

  “Nothing,” Madison said primly.

  “Guys,” I said.

  Madison and Kris smiled at each other.

  “C’mon. I know you know something. Just tell me.”

  The professor walked in, pulling out his laptop. In another class, I could have continued pestering them, but in this, the professor made it clear his presence meant it was time for all of us to shut up. I gave Madison one last pleading glance.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, folding her hands primly, “You’ll find out soon.”

  Chapter 2

  Class let out late, as usual, and as I drove home I tried to decipher what Maddie’d meant. I knew from the tone and the looks it had to do with a boy. So, what? Someone had a crush on me and I didn’t know about it? Oh, no. I didn’t want a boy, not right now. Especially not a boy from town, who’d pretend he understood why I wanted to leave, who’d nod along eagerly to my plans, and ultimately get mad when he realized I wasn’t gonna change my mind for him.

  A little pool of dread began to form in my stomach. The knot tightened when, pulling on to my block, I noticed a figure sitting on the concrete steps leading up to our small porch. The excitement of the day evaporated from my mind as I drew close enough to make out an all-too-familiar crop of black-brown hair. My heart clenched. I pulled up in front of the house, my breath catching. The boy stood up, making his way toward my car.

  Not a boy anymore, though, not like the last time I’d seen him. Since then, his shoulders had filled out. His face sported a five o’clock shadow his younger self would have envied. And his eyes seemed different now, wiser.

  Even so, my heart leapt out of my chest seeing him. It didn’t matter how different he’d look, I’d always know Nathan. God, that sounds trite, but it’s true. Or it was, once. If you’re wondering how a nerdy academic earned a spot on the outskirts of the popular crowd, well, cheerleading had been one-half of the equation—Nate had been the other half.

  I didn’t roll down the window. He gave me a wounded smile, cocking an eyebrow. “What, Kyrie, you scared of me now?”

  Goddamnit, now I had to open the window to prove I wasn’t chicken. I rolled the window down. “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to say hello. I’m in town, you know. For a while, maybe.”

  “Maybe? That’s the best you can do? Well, maybe, you can just take your rear end and march it right on back to whence it came. And you can take your ‘hellos’ on with it, jerk.”

  “I probably deserve that.” He pulled his hand through his hair. The way he was leaning against the truck right now, he almost managed to be looking up into my eyes, like a dejected beagle. “I have been a total jackass.”

  His eyes glistened, over-bright. My god, he was going to start crying. My hand, acting completely without authorization from my brain, reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

  This was rich. The last time I’d heard from Nate, roughly one year earlier, he’d left me sobbing. And I hadn’t stopped crying for two whole weeks. Okay, in the interest of honesty, if we’re talking about intermittent tears, it had been more like three months.

  But now, here I was, reaching out in order to prevent him one measly tear. Nuh uhn. I hardened my resolve. I took my hand back.

  Sensing my withdrawal, he reached out to grab my wrist. “You have no idea what this last year has been like.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, voice hardening, “Because while you’ve been out seeing the world, I’ve been trapped here, working my butt off so I can save up enough to transfer out of community college. So why don’t you go sing your sad song somewhere else?”

  “Fine, I’ll leave you alone. But look, I’ll be at The Station tomorrow if you change your mind and want to come talk. Just talk. Let me explain myself.”

  I glared at him, worried that if I said anything out loud, it would somehow turn in to ‘I love you, don’t ever leave me again!’ That kind of backslide would lead to nowhere good.

  He got on his motorcycle—I know, right? Apparently in the year since I’d last seen him, he’d turned in to a moron—and drove off.

  I blinked after him. Like anything could get any worse. Everything felt tangled and messy. All I knew was that walking alone, into an empty house, facing several hours before my mom came home from the theater to lecture me on letting some guy get me down was a recipe for disaster.

  Instead, I pulled away from the curb and let my subconscious take the wheel. It steered me out of town, through the outskirts, south on SR 21. Then I turned on to an unmarked dirt road, ribbed and puckered from 4wd mud tires. A couple minutes later and I began to breathe again. Somehow I’d wound up at Meriah’s. And as I parked my truck next to her impeccable 4x4 pickup she came out of the house, holding a rifle. Long black hair in a ponytail, pale eyes and light skin dotted with freckles. Her complexion hadn’t been built for sunny climates and she usually looked more burned than anything, but she still seemed part of Texas more than anyone I’d met. She plopped it down on her porch the moment she saw me. A woman living alone in the middle of nowhere has to be careful, but Meriah wasn’t one to let that infringe on her sense of hospitality.

  “Come on in, sweetie. Would you like some tea or lemonade?”

  Meriah was only about nine years older than me, but she projected older than her twenty-eight years. I first met her when I was thirteen and my mom, a little exhausted by my constant singing, enrolled me in music and singing lessons. I had to cancel my lessons a year ago, since that money now needed to be put aside for college, but I still kept coming out here regularly. Old habits die hard for me—once I’d had a ritual established, I stuck to it.

  Following her through the screen door, down the hall and into the kitchen, I took my usual seat on the vinyl chair at her little table. I picked at the aluminum lining of the Formica tabletop with my fingernail. Meriah had inherited the house from her great aunt, and rather than remodeling, had just fixed up the existing. The kitchen was still the original 50s everything, but she’d bought the table and chairs to match.

  Reaching out, Meriah slapped my hand away. “Don’t ruin this; it’s an antique.”

  “Sorry.” I sighed. I leaned my head on my hands, watching as she went through the motions of making the sweet tea. Authentically Texan in almost every way, Meriah made the only sweet tea I could drink, meaning, the best sweet tea in the world. She’d been born here, but had actually traveled the country before coming back and settling down, opening up shop as a music teacher. One of only two actual music teachers in town—the other was an older lady with doilies on her piano and a stuffy house and a ruler she’d whap you with when you hit the wrong note. Meriah was different. She’d stumble through explaining a few times, and then she’d demonstrate and explain once more and suddenly you felt like you’d known how your whole life and all she’d really had to do was remind you—it was that obvious.

  The cool glass of sweet tea, in a Flintstone’s jam jar, plopped down in front of me and Meriah sat herself down in the chair next to me. The open back door of the kitchen and the front door allowed for a nice cross breeze here, and for a moment we just sat, soaking up the end of the day, letting the calm seep in.

  A year and a half ago, I’d shown up at her door in the middle of the night, in tears, holding the massive stack of financial aid letters. She didn’t understand math, not really, but she stayed up the next two hours with me and we poured over them, trying to find something I may have missed. At the end, I had to resign myself. The song of my life was stuck on replay: work hard, work harder, it will never be enough. Meriah’d poured me a glass of tea just like this, patted me on the shoulder and said, �
��Welcome to adulthood. It’s a bitch. But the fun part is, you can still spit in the wind.” And sitting down, she helped me come up with plan B, the plan I was on now. She saved me from the morass of despair that would have led me who knows where.

  I lifted the glass to take a sip and she slapped my hand again. “Hold on a minute, I’m not finished yet.” She retrieved a box of Ding Dongs from the cupboard and set those in front of me, as well. “Now I’m done.”

  Ding Dongs and iced tea. Not the normal combination, but perfect for what I needed. I pulled the foil away from one of the small cakes and crammed the entire thing in my mouth.

  About five minutes later and I was ready to tell Meriah what had happened. Recounting my encounter with Nathan was surprisingly short. I guess the whole thing felt a lot bigger than it actually was.

  “You going?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Oh, really, you’re actually going to listen to my advice this time?”

  “Don’t I always follow good advice?” I asked, pitching my voice toward sweet. She rolled her eyes.

  “You like to think you do. But here’s what I have to say, and take it as you will. Stay away from that boy,” she said, taking a long sip from her glass. “He doesn’t have your best interests in mind.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably good advice,” I muttered.

  “And here it comes,” she said under her breath.

  “It’s just,” I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table, “Wouldn’t it be nice if I showed up and told him off, you know, in front of everyone? Spectacularly.”

  “It would be if you could actually pull it off, honey, but we both know how good you are at that sort of thing.”

  Which is to say, I’m not.

  “It’s best to keep your distance. Kill him with apathy. Better that than risk humiliation.”

  She had me there. Leaning back in my chair, I took a deep breath. Without warning, the rest of my day came back to me: flashes of the four college kids I had seen, and the weird feelings they’d brought with them.