5. Change
CHANGE
The End is Where We Begin [Thousand Foot Krutch]
Samantha walks with me to the bus stop. Hers comes thirty minutes before mine. I wave at her as she races to her bus, Dylan tagging along after her. Samantha’s parents have work and won’t be home until later this evening. They will make the most of that opportunity.
I sit across from Wylan, who is lying on the bench. He has his hat covering his face, and I wonder if he’s sleeping.
He takes the same bus as me because he smokes weed every day and doesn’t want to drive in case he gets pulled over by the police. They rotate around this area often—the crime rate is higher here.
Andy lives twenty minutes away from me, but he drives home every day. He lived on my street, but they moved after the third incident with my dad. His parents had had enough and found a rental further away.
I remember the day they were leaving. I thought about asking Andy’s mum to take me with them. But I worried about Dad’s potential reaction as I watched their car drive away.
The sun burns across my back, and my cheeks flush from the heat.
Sweat accumulates from exposure to the raw, ferocious sun.
I want to take off my long-sleeved shirt and wear the spare shirt I keep in my bag (in case of an incident in Art), but the fear of the bruises on me crushes that thought into the ground.
Instead, I reach inside my bag to grab my sketchbook when a white Toyota Corolla parks at the bus stop. My eyes widen when Conner winds down his window and leans across. His smile broadens when he notices me sitting on the bench. “Hey, Noya! Wanna lift?” he calls as if we’re best friends.
A few people focus on his voice and then turn, paying attention to me…actually seeing me.
Mortified, I shake my head.
The bus stops behind Conner’s car, and the driver blares the horn, and it echoes throughout the front of the school. Even from here, I see the driver glaring at the car while he slams his palm against the horn.
But Conner doesn’t budge. Hazel-green eyes fixate on me. “I’ll wait all afternoon,” he says, and I know his words are factual.
I stuff the sketchbook into my backpack and rise, slinging it over my left shoulder. From all the commotion, Wylan tips his hat up and watches me. I smile apologetically at him, knowing Conner’s scene is why he’s awake from his stoner nap.
The group of students steps aside as I grow closer. Their watchful gazes are like laser beams scrutinising my entire appearance. They are the reason I’m rushing towards Conner’s car.
A cool breeze sweeps over me as I slide into the car. The air-conditioning blasts against my flushed, fiery face, feeling like rain after a year’s drought. I place my bag down at my feet, and Conner pulls away from the bus stop as I close the door.
I’m in Conner’s car.
Why?
What’s his motive? Still, it’s enough for me to jump in without further questioning.
I hope the principal doesn’t talk to me about this stunt. All I need is a phone call home, and if Dad answers, I don’t want to know what he will do to me.
This is reckless. But despite my better judgment, Conner’s look made me pay attention. I’ve never seen someone so brash before. It frightens me, and as I look at Conner bobbing his head to the song. It intrigues me.
“Why did you do that?” Then, remembering our surroundings, I blurt, “I’ve got work. Don’t take me home.”
“Uh…okay. Where do you work?”
“South Side Marketplace. It’s behind the service station you saw me in,” I answer.
“Oh, yeah—the new shopping outlet. Cool.” He stops at the red light and flicks his blinker on. “And you wouldn’t have said yes otherwise,” he replies after pausing momentarily.
“If you had asked me at lunch or so, I would feel more inclined, you know…”
“With your bodyguard around?” Conner grimaces. “I’d rather not get into a fight at school.”
“Don’t. I don’t like violence.” I look away from him. “Also, Andy isn’t my bodyguard.”
“He certainly acts like one.”
The light changes to green, and as Conner turns right, the Toyota glides smoothly over the potholes.
My face doesn’t feel hot anymore. The air conditioning is on max, but I’m getting cold. I want to turn it down, but I don’t want to touch anything in his car. It’s more expensive than my life.
Instead, I focus on the song “The End Is Where We Begin” by Thousand Foot Krutch. A punk/rock, alternative vibe, but right up my alley, considering my favourite band is Imagine Dragons.
“Do you like the song?” Conner asks.
“Yeah, I do.”
“They’re my favourite.” Conner bursts out into song, his voice surprisingly good.
“So…It is true what they call you at school,” I say, and Conner glances at me. “Ace.”
He curls his lip and cringes. “Please, I hate when people call me that.” As he glares ahead, he says, “Sarah Jane made it up in seventh grade after I got three school certificates for Sport, Art and Drama. Since then, it has been a running joke.”
“Oh…” I leave it hanging. Should I apologise for calling him Ace or let it go?
“So, your favourite band is,”—I lean closer to the screen—“Thousand Foot Krutch.”
“Yeah! I watched AMVs when I started high school, and they were a classic in almost all the videos I watched.
“AMVs?”
“Animated music videos.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah,” he laughs bashfully. “And yours is Imagine Dragons, right?”
“How did you—” Conner glances at my shirt, which I wear over my long-sleeved top. “Yeah, they are…” I murmur, heat prickling my cheeks.
“What’s your favourite song by them?”
“Uh, ‘Natural’ is my newest, but ‘Believer’ is my most listened to.”
I have that one on my playlist. You can scroll through and find it.”
“It’s fine. Your songs are like mine, so I don’t mind listening to this one.” I pick at the brown paint on my jeans. “Why did you ask me if I wanted a lift?”
“Does there have to be a specific reason?”
I nod, hoping he sees me through the corner of his eye.
“I want to get to know you better. There’s something about you that’s different from everyone else.”
“Thanks, I guess…” I respond drily.
“No.” Conner laughs. “It’s not bad. Trust me.”
“Then what is it?”
“That’s the thing, Noya. You tell me.” He slows down to a stop at the red light. Ahead is South Side Marketplace’s entrance. “What is it that makes you so different from anyone else I’ve known?”
I hate it when someone puts me on the spot. Funny, because no one has put me in a position like this, with nowhere to escape. I imagine myself in an interrogation room, a suspect of a crime I’m not aware of, and with every answer I give him, he deems it a lie.
I’m sweating, nearly in tears, and begging the police officer—Conner, in this case—to let me go. Or maybe my lawyer enters, considering this interrogation unlawful.
And my answer? My response to police officer Conner is the most basic answer in every interrogation ever conducted. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Well…I’m sure we will find out together, then.”
I sag my shoulders with relief when he lets go of the conversation. Perhaps he doesn’t persist because we ease into the parking lot.
Conner parks at the supermarket doors in the taxi bay. Something tells me he doesn’t care where he parks, nor does he care for the rules written in red that say he can’t park here.
I grab my bag as he reaches out, touching my arm. I flinch away, look him up and down, saying, “What?”
“Leave it here. I’ll pick you up when you finish. I’m not done talking to you.”
“Well, what if I’m done talking to you?” I grab my bag and shuffle out of the car. “Thank you for the ride, Conner.”
I close the door and power-walk inside before he can object.