by Kira Harp
The first time I saw her, I wanted to be her. We were both twelve, and in seventh grade. A new school for Junior High, new people and hopefully a new start. I was going to be cool. I was going to be... well, not popular, but normal. Middle-of-the-pack. Hell, I'd settle for invisible. And then there she was.
She sailed into the lunch room that first day with her dark blond hair curling around her face, her green eyes laughing and her head high. She wiggled her fingers in response to a general wave from the girls at the popular kids table and then she ignored them, and went to sit by this geeky boy named Steven.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. She lit up the room. The awkward boy I'd dubbed Silent Steven last year in grade school said, “Adara! You're back! And in this school! I didn't know that.” I didn't think I'd ever seen him smile like that.
She nodded. “Home for good, as far as I know. You're stuck with me.”
Steven laughed. “I'm willing to live with that. Sit down, eat, tell me about your trip.”
She plopped her lunch on his table and pulled out a soda in an actual glass bottle. She tipped it up and drank, and looking at her, the way her throat made that line as she enjoyed the first sip, I could almost taste the cool liquid in my own mouth. She set it down and nudged Steven. “You first. What've you been up to since I moved away?”
Steven's response was too soft for me to hear, but she paid careful attention, her head tilted and her eyes only on him. And he talked and laughed with her, as she unwrapped a giant sandwich and made a game of trying to get a bite around it. The popular kids had turned away, but the occasional glance they threw her way looked envious, not disdainful. Her shirt was the perfect blue, her jeans fit just right, the rings on her fingers caught the light. And I wanted to be her, with an ache that almost took my breath away. I sat there, lunch forgotten, watching out of the corner of my eye, until the bell rang.
She stood up, crumpled her paper bag decisively and gave Steven a grin. And then she sailed out the door, hitting the garbage can with a paper-bag rim shot from twenty feet away. The cafeteria was a dimmer place without her. I overheard one of the cheerleaders ask another, “Who was that?”
“Adara Delaney. I guess she's been living in Paris for two years and she just moved back here. I used to know her in grade school.”
Adara Delany. Even her name was perfect. It rolled off my tongue in a way that Candice Gordon never would. And Candy was even worse. If I was Adara, I'd be so much more than my geeky, mousy self. For months after that, in secret, I wrote little poems and did sketches and paintings and signed them all “Adara D.” They lived in a drawer in my bedroom. Underneath the hand-knit sweaters from Grandma Gordon that even Mom didn't insist I should wear, my dreams were safe and secret.
At school we became friends, but just the way a lot of kids were friends. Adara was fun and I wasn't the only one swept along in her wake. I probably wasn't even the only one who spent hours in front of a mirror wondering how close to her curls I could get my straighter, dark hair, how many rings I could wear, before it became obvious. Wondering what it was that made her shine so bright, and how I could be like that.
Steven was always the person closest to her. I tried not to care, not to be jealous of the way they could count on each other, laughed about the same things, and finished each other's sentences. Adara was nice to me. She even sometimes asked my advice on colors for her clothes, or paused at my locker for a moment to chat. She glided through those awkward years that I was barely surviving.
Four years later, I didn't want to be Adara anymore. I just wanted her.
The gap between twelve and sixteen is practically an ocean. Standing on one shore, you can't even see the other. At twelve I was a dreamer and a nerd. My life goal was one day earning fame with my art. I envisioned a future standing in a gallery at the opening of my one-woman show, with my husband at my side. The guy may have been a bit unclear—wavering randomly between whatever actor or musician I'd noticed that week—but he was there, a rock to lean on as I spread my creative wings.
Until one day I realized that while I was setting up that cardboard cut-out of a guy in my careful plans, there was someone quite different in my mind. Someone who appeared as I lay at night, drowsy and brushing the edges of sleep. Someone who was softer and rounder and whose cheek was silk against my own. A light sweet voice and a scent not like musk but like wildflower perfume. I was sitting in class, doodling because we were discussing the correct use of apostrophes, again. Adara was three seats over beside the window, gazing out and looking as bored as I was. My pencil slid over the paper, limning the curve of her cheek, the line of her neck, the way the shadows pooled in the little hollow under her collarbone. And suddenly it felt like someone had dumped hot water over me. And I knew.
That sketch never was finished. In fact, I ripped it into tiny little shreds and flushed it down the toilet in the school bathroom. I leaned against the side of the stall, holding back tears. Like I wasn't weird enough. Like the fact that I could define the word somnambulism and cared who Diego Valázquez was didn't already set me apart. This was not who I'd planned to be.
But a small part of me was glad too. That little bit of me that had worried and fussed, and wondered if I was asexual, because I actually couldn't care less about Taylor Lautner's abs or Alex Pettyfer's cheekbones. That bit of me was feeling a soft rolling heat of anticipation. And so I stood there and cried and wanted and was freaked out and excited by turns. Until I got myself together, and took a shaky breath and tried not to think about anything at all.
It was a good thing we had no exams that day. I'd have totally flunked. I went home and spent hours online, looking at guys, looking at girls, Googling GLBT and lesbian. And bisexual, because completely giving up that cardboard husband felt like cutting loose on the string of my life's balloon. The sky was big and empty and cold when you got high enough. I wasn't ready. I wasn't sure enough. Except I was.
The day of the spring field trip was sunny and warm. It was a rare thing for us to have an outdoor field trip now we were in high school. Or any kind of field trip. Gone were the days of taking the whole class to dig for fossils or explore the nature preserve. But the Biology teacher had convinced the school that a day spent learning about identifying invasive species and doing our public service by preserving the woods and wetlands was worth allowing us to miss three other classes. Everyone was signed up by the end of the first day.
I sat beside Greg on the bus. It was purely by default. When I got on the yellow bus, there were three open seats left. One was next to Becca, but she defended it with a glare, waiting for her friend Shannon who was last in line. One was beside Toby and I'm sorry. It's dumb and shallow and I, of all people, should be better than this, but I hate sitting next to him. He's so fat he takes up two thirds of the seat and he sweats and... I know it's not nice of me and I should try to be friends with him. And sometimes when I see him alone at lunch I think I'll go over and strike up a conversation. But then he shoves a big bite in his mouth and chews, and I just don't. Anyway, that left Greg.
“Hey, Candice.” He moved over to give me more than half the seat.
“Thanks.” I dropped onto the cracked green vinyl, trying to spot where Adara was sitting. There, two rows up.
“So this could be okay, right? I mean, a field trip beats being in class any day.”
“Sure. I guess so.”
“And it's in a good cause, to keep the preserve healthy. And we'll learn stuff.”
I glanced at him and then turned to look up the aisle. “Yeah, it's a good cause.”
Greg kind of likes me. At least, I think he does. He's always been nice to me, and if we happen to be somewhere together he asks what I'm drawing or finds something else to talk about. I used to think we might go out on a date, one day. He's not bad looking, except for the really short hair, and I must have imagined our first date a hundred times, but I just never could get it as far as the first kiss. We'd talk and have a burger and then...nothing. That was one of the thin
gs that had me worried, before I realized that just the sight of Adara's back could make me feel like I'd walked too close to the sun.
So I sat by Greg, and answered his awkward questions with even more awkward short answers. And instead of looking at him, I let my eyes wander, so that every now and then they could slide over to where Adara and Steven sat laughing two rows ahead. Adara's hair shone gold in the sun. It seemed like the light always found her.
We got off the bus and stood around, waiting for the park ranger to do his presentation. Greg wandered away from me after a while. I felt bad about that. It's not like I have a lot of friends. It would be cool if he wanted to be friends. But when we're together I get this feeling like... like he always wants more. His eyes track down to my boobs, even though I don't have much. (My chest makes me think about that joke where a lingerie salesman asks the guy shopping for a gift to describe his wife's size – cantaloupes, oranges, apples, eggs... and he goes, “yeah, fried!” That's me.) Anyway, I don't want to go there with Greg. So it's good that he found his buddies to hang out with instead.
The naturalist was kind of cool. He showed us what to look for and what to avoid (poison ivy!). Then he handed out gloves and clippers and set us to work. We were supposed to work in pairs. In a moment of insane penance, I went and stood next to Toby so we were 'accidentally' partnered together. It actually worked out okay. He didn't like bending over and cutting stuff, so I had him identify the invasive plants, and then hold onto them up high while I knelt down and cut them off at the ground. And while he was up there and I was grubbing in the dirt, I could let my mind wander.
What we were taking out was mostly buckthorn, with its glossy leaves and wooden stems. I was glad I had gloves, but even so those damned bushes don't have 'thorn' in their name for nothing. After half an hour, I dropped the latest victim of my clippers into the growing brush pile and pulled off a glove to suck on my thumb. I looked around at the other guys hard at work, scanning the area for no particular reason. Yeah, right. There she was over beyond the ditch, working with Steven as usual. She looked up at that moment and gave me a quick smile.
I let myself smile back just for a second, and then forced my attention away from Adara. No lingering, no staring. I gazed around with fake casualness and noticed that Toby was flushed and sweaty, leaning against a tree. He kind of vaguely looked past me as I slid my glove back on. His eyes seemed glazed.
“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”
“Sure.” Toby's voice was always higher than you'd expect from a guy his size, but even so it sounded a bit thin. “Just hot is all.”
“You should take a break,” I suggested. “Go get water and sit in the shade for a while. I don't mind.”
“We're supposed to stay in pairs.”
I glanced around. “The preserve is what, two square miles? I somehow doubt I'll get lost.”
“I mean, I can do my share.”
I shrugged. “It is pretty hot. I'm used to it, because my dad doesn't believe in air conditioning.” That much at least was the truth. Until we could afford solar panels to power it, our house would swelter without the energy-sucking modern conveniences. “Why don't you just take a break. Then if you feel better before the lunch break you can come find me.”
I headed briskly toward a tempting path without looking back. I didn't really want Toby along, puffing and sweating and making me worried he'd have a stroke or something. The day was warm but not that bad, and the quiet of the woods beckoned to me.
I decided to find a good private spot, make a secondary brush pile, and then haul things back to base later. There was no shortage of buckthorn. I could pick my spot. I kept walking, until the sound of voices had faded behind me. The woods were quiet. The nature preserve was small enough that the occasional distant buzz of traffic intruded, but it was muted and could be ignored.
For a moment I could pretend none of that existed. It was just me and the oak trees and poplars and the whisper of a breeze. There were birds in the underbrush, darting flashes of bright-crowned kinglets that tantalized me with glimpses of dark eyes and golden feathers. Blossoms still clung to the blackberry vines, marking the tangles of thorny brambles. Here and there, where sunlight penetrated the leaves, the ubiquitous dandelions raised yellow heads on long milky stalks.
Eventually I picked a spot that was as good as any, and started looking for the shiny oval leaves and sparsely-thorned branches. It was no problem to find some. In fact there was one big one that had somehow been missed in previous efforts and become a full-fledged tree. I dug in my pocket for an orange plastic ribbon and marked it for the team with the saw to cut down later. Around it, the small shoots of new buckthorns from fallen seeds sprang upward, spindly and fast growing. Like obnoxious teenage boys. Ha ha – I have clippers, my pretties, and I know how to use them.
I had a pretty good pile of dead seedlings by the time I decided to take a break. I pulled off my gloves and waved my sweaty hands in the air to cool them. There was a spot on my thumb that was threatening to become a blister. I looked more closely and then noticed my watch. It was ten past noon. Somehow I must have missed hearing the recall whistle for lunch break. I knew I should head back. My hummus and cucumber sandwich was waiting in the cooler. But my dad's idea of good nutrition – on whole grain bread of course – couldn't compete with the gift of a school day when I could be alone in the woods. I sat down on a patch of grass, wrapped my arms around my knees and just looked at the trees.
“Figured I'd find you staring at something.”
I jolted and turned. Adara stood on the path, a paper bag in each hand. “Didn't you hear the whistle?”
“I guess not,” I admitted.
“Oblivious.” There was an odd, friendly note in her voice as she said it. “Anyway, I grabbed your lunch for you, so the teachers won't be worrying about why you didn't come get it.” She held it out to me.
I scrambled to my feet. “Thanks! But you didn't have to do that. And... how did you find me?”
“Oh, I noticed you heading this way after you ditched poor Toby. So when Steven and I broke for lunch and you didn't show, I figured you'd found a flower or a boulder or a grassy knoll or something else to draw.”
I raised my empty hands. “No pencil or paper.”
“To draw in your head, then. You're always looking at things like they're pictures just waiting to happen.”
How did she know that? I walked the three steps to meet her and took my lunch from her outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” She glanced around. “Hey, we're close to my favorite place in this whole park. You want to see it?”
I'd have gone to look at a garbage dump if she'd asked me, but... “Where's Steven?”
She wrinkled her nose. “The ranger was handing out unlimited free chips and pop. He's a boy. Three guesses.”
“Where the food is.”
“Bingo. Come on, Candy.”
I hated being called Candy. I'd pretty much got everyone stick to Candice now, all the time. But I loved it when Adara said it. I followed her down the path. About a hundred yards on, she took a small fork to the right. The path was closed by a gate, held shut by a loop of chain and a padlock.
“Oh, that's too bad,” I said.
Adara grinned at me. “Have a little faith, girl.” She put one foot on the bottom rung of the gate, leaned on it, and tugged the loop of chain upward. The gate dipped under her weight, the chain lifted and slid up over the post. “Come on.” She pulled the gate open just enough for us to slip through, and then closed it behind us. “This way.”
The path turned again, and suddenly we were in a clearing. The ground underfoot was flat slabs of rock, like the bones of the earth, exposed through the soil in tilted angles of sun-warmed slate. Around the edge of the glade, low juniper and the boughs of evergreens formed a screening wall, dark green and impenetrable.
Adara whirled in a cheerful pirouette. “You like? I live near here, and this is my favorite place to c
ome and just hang out.”
It was perfect. It was beautiful and secluded and quiet and romantic. I said, “Do you come here with Steven a lot?”
Adara froze in mid whirl. I bit my lip hard. It was like that moment in the fairy tales where the true princess has pearls drop from her lips whenever she speaks, and then the ugly step sister has toads. My warty question hopped around between us. I dropped my eyes to the dark rock underfoot.
Adara came closer. “You aren't jealous of Steven?”
I didn't look up. I wanted to say no. I wanted to say yes. I kept my toad words behind my firmly closed teeth.
Adara laughed and startled me into looking at her face. “You are jealous.” A slow smile curved her lips. “Holy hell, Candy, you're more out of it than I thought.”
I didn't like being called out of it. I did like the way she stood there with her green eyes staring into mine. I freaking loved the way her lower lip tucked in at the corners, and made the dimple appear on her left cheek.
“Is that why you always walk away from me? Because you think Steven and I are a couple?”
I shrugged. I walked away from her before she could walk away from me, mostly. We were friendly, we chatted now and then. I said hi in the halls. I complimented her clothes (not too often) and laughed at her jokes (not too loudly) and shared complaints about the teachers or the cafeteria food. And I walked away before she could get tired of me. So I would never see that Oh, my God, her again look on Adara's face.
She shook her head at me, an over-dramatic expression of sorrow on her face. “Candy, Candy. You must be the only person in the school who doesn't know Steven is gay.”
I think I made a sound, like the grunt you give when you walk into the corner of a table with your hip. My brain shut off. I blinked at her.
Adara said, “You know what your problem is?”
I'm an idiot?
“You're too one-dimensional. You look at everything, you see the surface. And that's not bad. You see it pretty perfectly. Your drawings are amazing. But sometimes you have to turn off those eyes and feel.”
I said, “You can't turn off your eyes.”
“Close them then. Or better yet...” She set her lunch bag down on the rock and reached to her waist. She had a long thin sash of teal-green silk in place of a belt. As she slowly drew it through the loops of her jeans I noticed it matched my shirt almost exactly. Coincidence? Fate? Had I somehow psychically known what she was going to wear? Or had she...
She twisted the fabric in her hands. “Do you trust me, Candy? Really trust me?”
Did I believe in gravity? “Yes.”
“Good. Then, I'm going to blindfold you, okay? I'll be right here. I just want you to close your artist's eyes and feel things for once.”
“Okay.” I think I whispered it.
Adara came in close to me. I dropped my gaze. She wore a red cami under her black sweater, and her breasts made two perfect curves above the lace edge... The softness of fabric, warm from her body, touched with her floral scent, slid across my face. I closed my eyes. She eased the blindfold in place and knotted it gently. “That okay?”
“That's fine.”
“Then listen.” Adara's fingers slid over mine and clasped lightly. “Listen first. Hear those crickets? There's a chickadee in the trees to the left. I think a train is coming, a long way off. Hear that?”
“Yes.”
“This way. Sit down.” She tugged on my hand and guided me down onto the rocks. They were hard and rough under me as I sat obediently. “In fact, lie down.” Adara's hands eased me onto my back. I stretched out cautiously.
“Now feel.” Her voice was a honeyed whisper. “Feel the stone under your hands. Feel the sun on your face. Can you feel it?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
It was cooler. The breeze touched my cheek but the warmth had faded, as if a shadow blocked the sun. Something soft brushed over my forehead, and then across my eyebrow. “And now?”
“Your hair...”
“Very good.” I heard her change position. She might be between me and the sun, but there were other kinds of heat. My skin was burning, sensitized and waiting. She shook her head, and her hair whisked across my forearm and wrist. I closed my hands to fists so I wouldn't reach for it.
“Candy,” Adara said softly. “What do you feel?”
My mouth was dry. I was breathing fast. I licked my lips, wishing I could see her eyes through the blindfold, glad I could see nothing at all. There was a rustling again, as she moved closer. I could smell the scent she used, wildflowers and vanilla sweetness. I could hear her breathing slow and easy. Her hair moved lower, slipping over my neck and shoulder. I felt the heat of her nearness, heard the sudden hitch of her breath. And time stopped in that moment, as her lips touched mine.
####
Tomorrow
~Picture prompt: Two young guys ride the subway train, seated in a half-empty car, one lying with his head in the other guy's lap. The train windows are dark, the lighting from the overhead strips is stark, and no one is near, or cares....
