Shit! I thought I was the only one out here.
I turn abruptly to spy the quiet girl from English sitting alone in the back corner of the courtyard. Shrouded in the shade from a Dogwood, she leans against the outside wall, chowing down on what appears to be takeout.
“Oh, Hi! I didn’t realize anyone else was out here. I’m Sloane. I think we have English together for first period, right?” I speak up, not wanting things to be awkward since we’re both sharing the outdoor space.
I never go out of my way to engage in conversation with other people, but something about her draws the deduction that she could use a friend, or at the very least a friendly acquaintance.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m surprised you noticed me,” she shyly states.
It would seem my instincts are correct.
“Yep I did, but then again I usually remember people who I get good ideas from,” I reply, thinking of the novel she was reading during our lecture or whatever the hell Ms. Murphy was attempting to accomplish.
“Ideas?” She tilts her head to one side, unsure of my meaning.
“Hiding that novel behind the textbook was sneaky, and kind of ingenious. I hope you don’t mind if I steal your idea in the future. I brought a book with me to read today before classes and such but I didn’t think up a way to enjoy it during class,” I joke.
“By all means…” she laughs, waving her hand in front of her before her eyes land on the book in my hand. “Whatcha reading?”
“Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell, for the millionth time in my life. It’s one of my favorite books,” I confess.
“So, you’re a romantic too?” Her voice is alight with enthusiasm as her eyes begin to twinkle.
“Ooooh hell no,” I exclaim, laughter in my voice. “I’m the opposite. Haven’t you ever read it, or at least watched the movie? After years of pursuing Scarlett and sticking by her through her disloyalty, Rhett finally gives up on her right when she finally grasps how much she loves him. By that time, he thinks she’s full of shit. It’s like real life. Feelings are ever-evolving and love isn’t a constant fixture. Most people fall in and then out of love multiple times in their lives, and then they usually settle for whoever is the most suitable to their lifestyle labeling it as ‘True Love,’” I boldly explain.
Astonished, a line appears between Book-Worm Girl’s brows. “That’s an equally cynical and interesting theory.”
I hum my agreement. There’s no arguing with that.
“So… what are you reading?” I question.
Holding up the book that’s perched in her lap with a sly smile, I squint to see the cover. I throw my head back and let loose a roar of a laugh when I catch on to the fact she’s holding a trashy romance novel, a shirtless man and a woman in a passionate and provocative embrace portrayed on the front.
“Oh, my God! That was so unexpected. And here I thought only middle-aged unhappy housewives read Romance novels. I love it,” I exclaim, still laughing.
This is the most I’ve laughed in forever. My classmate seems like a blast, like a breath of fresh air when compared to other girls our age, and it occurs to me that I don’t even know her name. So, I ask as I gather up my food and hurry over to sit closer to her.
“I’m Lyra, Lyra Knightley,” she professes confidently, holding out her hand to shake mine, which I find charming and endearing. When you’re an outsider to the South, there are some traditions that grow on you, no matter how much you resist. Southern hospitality is one of them.
“That’s unique. I’ve never heard it before, but it’s beautiful.”
“Thanks… My mama had a thing for the night sky,” Lyra admits.
“Oh, what’s it have to do with the sky?” I ask curiously. I have little to no knowledge about constellations, stars, and the likes. Majestic as it is, learning about the sky was never top priority, not when I was busy learning how to use a gun, look over my shoulder, and read and control body language.
“It’s a constellation, supposedly shaped like a harp but I’ve never really seen how. My mama was so enraptured with outer space she even went so far as to make my middle name Andromeda,” she remarks in a way that seeps with both pride and insecurity over what I might think of the uniqueness of it.
“It’s much better than having an abundant name like Ashley or Brittany, or even worse, something really out there. People who name their kids after fruit and what not, just, no. Lyra Andromeda Knightley. It suits you,” I assure her, piercing my salad with my fork and taking a bite.
“I guess in its own way, yeah, and now that she’s gone it makes me feel closer to her. She didn’t just choose a name that she liked the sound of, she chose a name that meant something to her.”
I nod in agreement to her wistful words, noting the unique color of her eyes. I’ve never been envious of another female’s physical attributes before, but I am now. Her eyes are a mixture of greens and blues with a golden hue orbiting the outer ring. From further away, I bet they look aqua or turquoise. Peering into them, I can practically envision the brokenness and sorrow over losing her mother, stemming from them.
My own sense of sorrow arrives as I attempt to put myself in her shoes. Never have I ever done this other than with my mom, but I reach out and hug her. It’s awkward and strange, but I don’t know how to comfort another human being.
I have absolutely no practice in the art but as I do so, I openly say to her, “I’m so sorry. I’m not even going to try to pretend to understand what that’s like. I’ve moved around so much I never really had anyone other than my mom that I’m close to… we don’t have any extended family either. It’s just us. I’d die if I lost her.”
I retract my arms after speaking my piece.
“Thanks Sloane, the worst part about cancer was watching her wither away, and struggling to keep her same personality and attitude she had always had, but lacking the energy to do so. My dad and brother both took it really hard. A lot of times I had to step in and help her because they didn’t know how to handle it. Dad started drinking, and my brother left town altogether for a while. He’s back now of course, he had to come back because of everything going to shit after Mama died, and he’s been trying to get back in my good graces ever since,” she muses, her expression changing from morose to slightly cheerful when she begins talking about her brother.
She might still harbor some bad opinions where their relationship is concerned, but anyone can see she adores him. The way her eyes light up in admiration when she speaks of him would make it impossible to hide.
“That all really sucks. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I whisper contritely. It’s a struggle to express my condolences over the crappy turn of events in her life, because quite frankly, this is about the most in depth conversation I’ve had outside of mine and my mom’s little duo.
“It is what it is,” she mutters, taking a bite of a delicious looking sandwich on a Kaiser roll. I figure now is a good time to change the subject before she starts thinking too much.
“I need to ask you something, kind of important. Please don’t get mad,” I announce seriously. She turns to me, her face flawed with confusion.
“Okayyy?” she questions slowly, swiping at the corners of her mouth with a napkin as she cuts her eyes to mine.
“What I need to know is… what is that? Where is it from? And how did you get it?” I point to the sandwich in her lap, cheese and some mystery sauce oozing down the sides and spinach and tomato sticking out from under the bread.
“It looks like heaven on a bun,” I add. The tightness in her forehead smooths as she smiles, then giggles, forgetting all about the depressing subject which is exactly what I was aiming for.
“This is a Portobello Mushroom sandwich. It’s amazing. It’s from the diner here in town. They marinate the mushroom, then grill it, then they put Havarti cheese, spinach, Roma tomato, red onion and honey mustard dressing as the sauce. You need to try it ASAP!” she exclaims enthusiastically.
; I’m happy I’ve found a companion who enjoys food as much as I do.
“It looks it. How exactly did you smuggle it in here, because it looks freshly made?” I ask.
She grins again. “See that pathway over there,” she points at a walk-way between two buildings.
“Yes.” I nod my head slowly, staring in the direction she’s pointing.
“My brother snuck it in down that way. He got it at the diner and pulled back that way, completely avoiding the front office altogether. The school isn’t big on people bringing their own food. It supposedly takes away from the cafeteria’s earnings. He’s tried it the school’s way, coming in to the front desk to secure a visitor’s pass, but they said it wasn’t allowed. I don’t know why, seeing as how people pack their lunch every day and it’s kind of the same thing. I just think a lot of it is over most of the town not liking my family anymore. But anyways, he sneaks food to me about every day now.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“You weren’t kidding when you said he’s persistently trying to get back in your good graces,” I laugh, until it hits me she said something about people not liking her family, which calls to mind her reserved demeanor. I might be a loner, but it’s by my own doing, and I hold my head high. To grow up somewhere and suddenly become a pariah, especially at such a pivotal time in her life, that’s unjust and uncalled for.
Small town bullshit at its finest.
“I wish I had a brother right about now… but wait, why doesn’t the town like your family? I hope people don’t take things out on you, and if they do, I hope you don’t let other people’s ignorance get you down. It’s not anyone’s fault what their parents or other people in their family have done. Trust me, I believe that firmly from experience,” I overshare once again, as I think of my own father.
Lyra lifts her shoulder and lets it drop, shutting down the open line of communication we’d just been sharing.
“You don’t have to tell me today. I know we just met, and I can tell you from experience I know what it’s like for someone to try and pry information from you that you don’t want to explain. Take Ms. Murphy for instance,” I attempt to lighten the mood, “just know that if you ever do want to talk, I’ll listen, and I won’t judge. Plus, I’m neutral ground because I’m not from here and am completely oblivious to the goings on before I arrived,” I raise my eyebrows in a goofy conspiratorial manner, taking the edge away.
“I actually would like to talk to someone about all that one day,” she agrees “but in about thirty seconds the bell’s gonna ring,” she states, holding up her cell phone. “Oh, we’re neighbors by the way. You’re living in my family’s rental house. I live just on the other side of the property, if you veer to the right once you turn off, a little copse of trees and an acre or so is all that separates us. So, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other quite a bit,” she announces with a small smile.
Sure enough, the bell rings within the time-frame she predicted. We both gather up our trash, and bid each other farewell.
I never thought finding someone I might want to be friends with was a possibility, and that it’s happened so quickly can only be a good omen. It’s unclear if it’s the way I first recognized her meekness in class and wanted to know her story or if it’s the fact that we both seem to avoid the crowd, but the outlook points to this being the start of my first non-familial friendship.
Maybe this little hick town will end up being my favorite place I’ve lived out of the masses.
Chapter Five
The rest of the day goes by quickly and uneventfully, with my only class to assign homework being first period English. Relief washes over me once I spy Mom’s SUV creeping up to the curb where I stand waiting. As I open the door to get in, Lyra passes by the front of our vehicle on her way out to the Senior parking lot, waving in my direction as she does. I smile politely and wave in return, climbing on inside.
“Who was that? Are you making friends already?” my mother asks animatedly, eyes full of excitement as she angles the top half of her body to me.
“That’s Lyra, the only person who made an effort to have a non-invasive conversation with me today. I like her so far. She seems genuine, but she’s also had it hard the past few years.”
Of course, Mom launches into a thousand questions which basically entails giving her a play-by-play of my entire day from the moment I walked through the school’s front doors.
Well, I may have left out about a five-minute section of the day where I met Mr. Rude, Brooding and Handsome. I’m reluctant because I’m worried of how she’ll react since the meeting wasn’t overly friendly, but I also fear she’ll see right through me attempting to cover up the crushing attraction that has manifested. I can’t decide which is more prominent yet, the attraction or the disdain.
All day I tried, unsuccessfully, to push all thoughts of him from my mind and focus on all things school-related, but I kept picturing that irritatingly sexy smirk, serious inkwork, and the way his overwhelming presence dominated my mind.
And here I go again. Fuck this.
I can’t be thinking about guys, older guys especially. Mom would DIE.
Steering the conversation back to Lyra and keeping it centered there, I inform Mom of how I learned she’s our neighbor and that we’re renting from her family.
In turn, Mom plunges herself into describing her day perusing the town, and how she even made a few purchases here and there.
Surprise, surprise.
Apparently, she explored everything by lunchtime and decided to drop by one of the restaurants in town, Gia’s Italian Eatery, for some takeout, informing me that I would really like the Eggplant Parmesan and that the pizza looked good as well. This is encouraging news considering there isn’t much variety here.
Maybe I won’t become a recluse who prefers to stay at home and cook her own meals, after all.
“I also got a bunch of groceries today. I know you want to cook dinner tonight, so if you need anything I didn’t get, I’ll let you take the car for a spin up to the store. I was pleasantly pleased to find they have way more food crammed into there than you’d even think was possible,” she remarks overly-cheerily.
As we pull off the highway and onto the gravel road leading to our house, I glimpse the turn-off veering toward Lyra’s place, and wonder what her home is like. Maybe after we get settled in, I can invite her over for dinner. Unless there’s someone she didn’t mention besides her Dad and Brother… she’s stuck in a house full of testosterone and she’s the only female now that her mother is gone. I bet she’d appreciate a home-cooked meal and some company from other women. My imagination roams to a picture of her juggling school and homework, and then singlehandedly cooking dinner for their household.
I mean, do men even cook?
From what I remember when I was younger, my father never stepped foot into the kitchen. Ever. But then again, he hardly stepped foot into our apartment at all yet still expected us to remain there most of the time.
The gravel crunches as we pull up to the house and cut the engine off. Slipping on my bookbag and then weighing myself down with as many groceries as possible, I leave only two bags for Mom to have to deal with. Once inside, I drop the bags on the kitchen table and begin mindlessly cramming items anywhere, not really knowing what goes where yet. As I unpack, I take inventory. While Mom’s picked up nearly everything I’ll need for the recipe I’ve planned on, I’ll still have to go back and grab a few more things, although I don’t much mind. Running benign errands now and again is something I enjoy. It’s the only opportunity I’m allowed for alone time to decompress.
“Valley, leave that. You know I like to have things organized,” Mom orders, exasperated as she walks into the kitchen behind me, dropping her purse on the counter with a thud.
“Okay, Mom. I’m going to go ahead and go back to the store so I can get the food on and have it ready before bedtime,” I tease.
“Mind telling me what’s on the menu?” She pries.
; “Nope, you’ll just have to see. It’s a surprise.”
“Be careful. You do know where the store is right? And take your cell phone for heaven’s sake, I don’t want you getting lost!”
“Is that even possible here?” I ask, thinking of how tiny and straight-forward the layout of the town is. The pointed look she shoots makes it clear she’s not in the mood for sarcasm.
Huffing, I make sure to put my phone in my purse.
“Okay, Mom, of course,” I concede like always. I grab the keys from the table, then go to place a kiss on her cheek, fully understanding how much she worries about me. So much so, that it took forever for her to even let me start taking the car out on my own without her.
Smothered in love, unable to lift a thumb without permission or I might pull a muscle. Yep, every young girl’s dream.
On my drive out, I meet a black Jeep Wrangler and bear to the right so that I’m closer to the curb and we can both pass by with ease on the narrow driveway. Being at the lower disadvantage, I can’t make out who’s driving but since I’m sure it’s someone in Lyra’s family, and I now know they’re our landlords, I lift my fingers up from the wheel in a courteous greeting.
The driver deigns to avoid a returning wave, leaving me with the impression of being snubbed. I try to convince myself they just overlooked me throwing up my hand, but there’s no way they missed it.
Oh, well, I think to myself.
It takes just a few minutes to reach the store parking lot, and once inside, I comprehend exactly what mom means about Harrison’s Grocery having way more to offer than outward appearances might suggest. I don’t know how they do it, cramming items everywhere yet still retaining enough organization for customers to locate what’s needed.
There’s even a rather vast selection of produce, which is a good sign. Our family’s not big on pre-packaged or canned foods, striving to make everything as fresh and homemade as possible. I’m even more of a clean-eater than Mom, but only because she likes to order takeout just as much as she eats home-cooked meals.
Love on the Run Page 4
