Chapter 15
15
W hen I rounded the corner of Montpelier and Grand Oak Street, I heard a noise. In Los Angeles, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but here it felt totally out of place. As my fingers absent-mindedly traced each metal diamond shape of a neighbor’s chain-link fence, what sounded like a carload of teenage boys turned right and came up the street from the opposite direction. Their raucous laughter and pulsating music gave me a headache. They sounded drunk in the middle of the day.
The windows were down, and the boy in the back right seat of the car hooked his arm over the side. The blazing sun shone in my eyes, making it difficult to see, but I’m pretty sure he lifted his hand in a half-wave. I self-consciously waved back, matching his movements before letting my hand fall with a thud. The car kept moving, and I kept walking past two more houses and up to the front door of our small white-clapboard colonial. So much for new-girl-in-town meet cutes.
Hungry, I searched the pantry, finding only a box of macaroni and cheese and some stale chips inside. Someone needed to do some serious shopping. While I waited for the pasta to boil, I flipped on the small TV sitting on our kitchen counter and surfed for something to watch, clicking through afternoon talk shows and the local news, learning from the Super-Doppler forecast it would be ten degrees cooler tomorrow. Bored, I turned the whole thing off.
The singeing sound of boiling water hitting the stove brought me out of my daze. Moving fast, I grabbed the pan before macaroni went everywhere.
“Ow!” I yelped, shoving my right forefinger between my lips to stop the burning. “Of all the stupid…” My cell phone rang from across the bar. Flipping on the faucet, I shoved my hand under the cold water and stretched as far as I could reach.
“What!” Normally, I wouldn’t yell at a stranger, but my finger hurt. And today just wasn’t the right time to get burned.
“Uh, are your parent’s home?” Depends on who’s asking .
It was the internet guy, wanting to set up an appointment. I wrote down the time, said a few annoyed uh-huhs, and tossed the phone on the counter. I turned off the burner and walked away, leaving the macaroni on the stove, un-drained and unmixed. I’d suddenly lost my appetite. This day was best finished hiding in my room.
Still-unpacked boxes lined the stairs, forcing me to dodge them like a mouse scurrying through a maze on my way up. Clothes covered my green chair in the corner, and mountains of books waited by the bookshelves. My mother had been on my case to straighten up, but every time I considered it, the mess seemed like too much work. Turning away, I grabbed an old button-up from my pile of clothes and slipped into it. Just when I’d sprawled out across the bed to face my assignments, the doorbell rang.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Who could possibly be showing up here in the middle of the afternoon? I had no friends. Not one single soul who might want to hang out with me. Still, by sheer habit I checked my reflection in the mirror and trudged back downstairs.
Halfway to the landing, my feet flew out from under me, and my forehead slammed against the corner railing hard enough for lights to flash behind my eyes. It was like an episode of I Love Lucy , only without the funny heroine. I was just the awkward sidekick.
I lay there for a minute, disoriented, trying to catch my breath, and silently willing the room to stop spinning. Nothing felt broken except for my pride. I sat up, pressed my lips together to hold back a stream of foul words, and pinched the bridge of my nose to stem the hot tears threatening to escape. Rubbing my pounding head, I took a deep breath and opened the door in time to see the back of a tall boy making his way down the front steps.
“Hey,” I said. It sounded rough. I didn’t feel like talking. He turned on the second step, and I stopped cold at the sight of Shane what’s-his-name from school, wearing a new—and dry—shirt. He stared at me for a moment, head cocked slightly to the side, and frowned. Immediately my defenses went on alert, and I crossed my arms. Hadn’t he ever seen a girl battered and bruised before?
“Hi. Um…my Mom told me to—” He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “I mean, I saw you walking home earlier and thought I would introduce myself since I didn’t do a great job of it this morning. I’m Shane Michaels. I live across the street, five houses down.”
A weird buzzing sound infiltrated my brain. His Mom told him to come here? Suddenly, mortification was in a close race with head trauma for my top emotional spot.
The boy named Shane sauntered up two steps and pointed down the street to a massive gray two-story clapboard with a wrap-around porch. The house looked like it would be better suited to a vacation spot in New England than here. Of course, he lived close to me. Of course, this day would get worse.
“Oh.” It was the only word I could muster. Too late, I realized a simple “Nice to meet you, sorry I drenched your chest” might have sounded better, but my mouth felt dry like cotton and my brain felt worse. Could a girl die from a pounding forehead?
“So…” He paused and studied me as if saying to himself, “Okay, she’s kind of strange.” Both hands went into his pockets, and he rocked on his heels.
“…at least when I walked up the steps,” Shane said, frowning at me and looking very concerned. I blinked, wondering what the first part of that sentence had been.
“What?” I asked, feeling like a complete idiot. Could I please start this day over?
“Uh, I just meant…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but on this porch. “Are you okay?” His brows knit together. “It’s just that I heard a loud crash after I rang the bell. And man, you have this massive red mark on your forehead that’s really starting to bruise.”
My hand flew to my face, and a deep heat began burning its way up my neck. I wanted to die—right then and there. Please, God. How many times do I have to ask?
“Oh, that.” I felt a torrent of words coming on—I tended to ramble at the worst times, usually when something made me nervous. “I tripped over a box on the stairs because we still haven’t unpacked yet, and this house is a mess, and there hasn’t been time to do much about it because we’ve only been here a week and with school and work…” I couldn’t seem to stop myself from speaking. “It really didn’t hurt that bad.” Nothing like capping off a story with a little white lie.
“Well, if you’re sure you’re okay.” He looked entirely unconvinced. “I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, just knock. You know where we live; it’s just me, my mom, and my dad. And our German Shepherd, Jack. He’s friendly, though. Hardly ever bites.” He smiled at his own joke.
“Good one. You’re really funny.” Did that sound as sarcastic to him as it did to me? Shane frowned—probably thinking I had the worst personality ever—and turned to leave.
I stood, flustered and dumbfounded, wondering how in the world I kept messing up in front of this guy. Quickly, before the opportunity was gone, I thought of a question.
“Shane?” He turned mid-stride on the sidewalk, surprised that I spoke again. “Are you a senior?” It could be nice to know at least one person in my grade when I showed up tomorrow. He hadn’t been in any of my classes.
“Yeah, I am. Maybe I’ll see you around.” With a wink, he made his way up the walk, kicking a rock and stooping to pet a neighbor’s dog—tail wagging from the excitement—as he ambled toward home. I was simultaneously sad and relieved to see him go…reflecting on our awkward conversation…until I remembered the bruise Shane mentioned developing on my forehead. Just then, my mom pulled into the driveway. I turned and ran to my bathroom before she could see, taking care not to trip again and create a matching bruise on my chin.
I gasped at my reflection, bracing myself with both hands on the side of the sink. The color darkened two shades in the few seconds I stood and stared. Perfect. My second day of school was tomorrow, and I looked like I’d been on the losing end of a fight. With a staircase. I rummaged through the top drawer for a solution to make myself good-as-new in the morning, or at the very least make my clumsy misfortune a little less noticeable. Coming up with nothing but a Band-Aid and some cover stick that seemed too painful to try right then, I turned off the light and headed for the kitchen just in time to see Mom enter with an armload of bags—finally, something to eat.
“Honey, can you grab the last couple of bags from the car?”
“What’s for dinner?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Mom rolled her eyes, annoyed I hadn’t thought to start something already. Maybe I would have if she’d gone shopping earlier.
I set the bags down on the counter and began pulling things out. Apples, bread, yogurt, a rotisserie chicken—everything healthy. Translation: ick. Not one bag of chips in the whole bunch. Why can’t mothers understand that after a long day at school, the only thing that makes the day better is a Hershey bar? Or a Snickers. Or a pint of Haagen Dazs. My taste buds do not discriminate against sugary cuisine.
“How was your day? Did everything…” Mom stopped short. Oh no. She’d finally seen me. “What happened to you?” One hand went to her hip while the other gingerly touched my forehead.
“It’s no big deal. I just tripped on the steps and hit the handrail. It could have been worse. I could’ve been beaten up at school.” My laugh wasn’t very convincing. I opened a carton of yogurt and grabbed a spoon.
Mom wasn’t fooled. She knew I would rather be sentenced to unpacking, cleaning, and decorating this entire house by myself than face a day of strange classmates staring at my newly battered face. As if they needed another reason to stare. As if I needed to be the subject of a new round of whispering.
“We’ll fix it, Emma.” Mom touched my face again. I flinched a little at the pain. “I have some makeup that will make you good as new. The kids won’t even notice.”
I knew she’d be able to help. She’d had a lot of practice herself. “Thanks.”
“Now, let’s see if we can find something to eat.”
We spent the next twenty minutes unloading bags and chopping vegetables in silence. I shredded the last of the lettuce into the bowl before I remembered that while it was my first day in a new school, it was also my mom’s first day of work in a new office with people she’d never met before. Finally, tiring of the quiet, I asked her about it.
“How did work go?” I wasn’t really that interested, but I had nothing better to do—no one else to talk to. I took two bowls down from the cabinet and set them in front of me, then leaned against the counter and waited for her answer. Mom may have moved me here, but she was also my sole ally in this new environment. I could at least try to get along with her.
She sliced a tomato, pausing to look over her shoulder at me. “Fine, I guess. Not quite what I expected.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing really. It’s just different living in such a small town.” Tell me about it. “Not bad, exactly. Just…different.” She put her knife down and stared out the window into our backyard. I followed her gaze. Even I had to admit I enjoyed the view. Sure, we’d lived near the beach, and it was beautiful in an obvious way. I mean, it was the beach. But the flowers, trees, and lush, green grass covering every inch of the yard was something I’d never had before.
“In Los Angeles,” Mom began again, “it would have been weeks before anyone noticed the new person in town. Here, everyone descended on me immediately. Everyone,” she emphasized, a bewildered smile on her expression. “The welcoming committee even threw a party in my honor.”
Welcoming committee? I raised my eyebrows at that one, surprised that being new in this town gave a person an odd celebrity-like status—except me, of course. Not that I cared.
Mom dished up two heaping bowls of grilled chicken salad while I grabbed forks and salad dressing and placed them on the table. We ate for a few minutes in silence, Mom reviewing paperwork and me working on a lame crossword puzzle, when she looked up as though she suddenly remembered something.
“Who was the boy I saw you talking to earlier when I came home?”
“Just a neighbor who came by to introduce himself. His name is Shane…something.” I shrugged and flipped my hand without looking up. “He lives down the street. He said he’d seen me walking home and figured we must be new in town.”
A heavy silence descended, followed by a sigh. “Be careful, Emma.”
I kept eating, forcing myself to look unaffected. “I will.”
She said nothing as she weighed my promise, just waited in silence. How did mothers do that, critique without a word? There was only one way I knew to ease her fear. Setting my pencil on the table, I looked at her, resting my chin on my hand and blinking innocently.
“First, I ran into him in the office—literally—and knocked water all over him. It went everywhere—his shirt, his face, even his hair.” I shook my head. “Then, when he rang the doorbell to say hi, that’s when I fell. And I fell hard . And he heard me. He told me about the bruise on my face before I knew it existed.” I blew out some air. I was a hopeless case.
Mom stared at me with her mouth open. Then she burst out laughing. Laughing! What was so funny? I glared at her as she wiped her eyes, shoulders shaking.
Mothers. You can’t live with them.
You can’t trade them in for a new model.
But you can assuage their constant fear, even if only for a moment.
Picking up my fork, I smiled, stabbed a piece of chicken, and slowly released a sigh of relief.
To keep reading, look for Walking in Circles on lokepub!