The Girl

by K Larsen

  “Hey, you’re late. Everything okay?” Nora asks as I drop my bag next to her desk.

  Nodding my head too rapidly I say, “Sorry. Yeah. Just took a detour on the way home.”

  Her eyebrow arches up but she doesn’t look up from her papers. “Any particular reason for this detour?”

  I nearly laugh. Nora is terrible at nonchalant.

  “What do you really want to ask me?” I scoop up a pile of files from the ‘outbox’ on the corner of her desk that need to be filed away.

  She taps her pen against her lips, a smile curving them upward at the corners.

  “What do you want to tell me?”

  I roll my eyes at her and bite my lip. “That I took a detour and was a smidge tardy.”

  “You’re terrible at being arcane, so I’m content to wait you out.” She smirks.

  “Wait me out?!” I snort. “Ha! I can keep a secret.”

  She glances up from the papers before her. “Okay.” Her one word statement irks me. Mostly because I want to tell her about Dallas, but there really isn’t anything to tell. And why should I be so eager? Why shouldn’t I play it cool? Nora doesn’t need to know everything the minute it happens. Because as soon as she knows, Eve will know, and then Aubry, and then—well, then I will never hear the end of it.

  I stack the files in my arms. “Kairos trouvaille,” I mutter under my breath on my way out the door.

  I hear pages rustling from Nora’s office as I schlep my way down the hall to the file room.

  “Charlotte! Wait. Stop right there.” She waddles, as only a pregnant woman can, down the hallway toward me. I don’t stop though. I plod right along, buying myself just enough time to gather my thoughts.

  Nora and I—or moreover, Nora—is a logophile, and somehow her love of words became my love of words over time. I find them comforting. Calming. She gave me a gift that helped me cope with difficult situations. It’s our thing now. Using weird, strange words with each other. Essentially, it’s like our own little language. If I say something to her in one of our words, she knows it’s serious. It’s a secret. For just us.

  “Seriously? You’d make a pregnant lady chase you?” She’s slightly out of breath and it makes me giggle. Liam, her husband, will be such a good father; and Nora, well, there aren’t many hours where I haven’t wished she was my own mother. I turn to face her after setting the files on the table to my left.

  “Ok, what is this perfect moment? This lucky find you so casually tossed out there?”

  I chew my bottom lip for a breath. “I met someone,” I say.

  Nora beams at me. “I need more than that.”

  “A friend. A fellow outsider.” My voice is higher than normal, laden with excitement I haven’t felt in a long time. Even as her face morphs from joy to...something else.

  “A friend?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Does this friend have a name?” she asks.

  I roll my eyes dramatically at her. “Yes.”

  “You’re being awfully reticent. This isn’t just a friend. Do you have a crush?”

  I grab a file, glance at the number and make my way to the appropriate aisle. “Not a crush. He’s just a potential friend. We haven’t even hung out. I barely know him.”

  “So it is a boy!” she exclaims.

  I nod and look for the spot to stick the file. “His name is Dallas.”

  “Aww, Dallas and Charlotte, that is rather kismet.”

  “Huh?” I ask.

  Nora pulls the file from my hands and laughs. “He really has you turned inside out—you’re in the wrong aisle.”

  Embarrassed, I follow her waddle to the correct aisle and watch as she files it away.

  “Wait, why kismet?” I ask.

  “Your names, silly. Dallas and Charlotte. Cities?”

  Heat flushes my face. I pride myself on being quick, on being smart. How did I not notice that connection before?

  “He keeps calling me City,” I mumble.

  Nora’s smile expands more and I wonder if her face might split from the effort. “Aww, you already have nicknames.”

  “Shut up Nora. It’s not like that. We’ve talked all of like an hour. Don’t tell Eve. Please. Twice. We’ve only talked twice. It might be nothing. A blip on the radar. Nothing at all.”

  She pulls me under her arm and I snuggle against her ever-growing side. “You’re too ebullient about it to be nothing. The heart knows. The gut knows. And we always follow—”

  “Our gut,” I answer for her. “I know.” I smile up at her through my lashes.

  4

  Charlotte

  It is ten days before Dallas talks to me again. Every time I see him in class my stomach tingles and I inexplicably feel shy. I don’t see him after school or in the cafeteria. And twice, he isn’t in class. And I wonder if maybe I did something wrong that day at the river or if he changed his mind about—well—me.

  “How’s school?” Liam asks, between bites in a fatherly in manner.

  It’s family dinner night. A sacred tradition in our misfit family once a month. Everyone is here. Aubry, Nora’s best friend from childhood; her boyfriend Mike, Liam’s best friend from their school days; Nora, my... everything...the reason I’m here now and not rotting on some mountain side; and her husband Liam, Holden’s brother. I hate saying that about him because Holden was a damn monster, but Liam is not. Liam is a savior. He brought Nora back from a dark place, helped her heal when Eve and I couldn’t. And me and Eve. Three of us—me, Eve and Nora—lived with Holden at different times. Three of us were subjected to his terror. After Nora and I escaped we formed this impenetrable family-like bond. Aubry, Liam and Mike sort of weaseled their way to the metaphorical table over time, and honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  “It’s fine.” Is my response.

  Liam’s lips twist up into a smile. “Anything awesome to report?”

  I shrug. “I got the solo part I auditioned for in chorus.”

  “When’s the concert?” Aubry asks.

  “Like you’ll be there,” I say, deadpan. Aubry is a wild child. She’s funny and exuberant and decidedly not excited about school functions. She hates other parents, and sometimes—other kids.

  “Ouch,” Mike says, and chuckles.

  “I come to your things!” Aubry’s voice lilts up at the end of her protest.

  Nora and Eve start laughing. “What? I do,” Aubry pushes.

  “Twice in four years,” Nora points out.

  She bites her bottom lip and shrugs. “In all fairness, the music teachers should really work harder with you all, and do concerts separately. No one should be subjected to the band portion of the concerts when their kid isn’t in band.” She’s not wrong. There are a few stray band kids who simply, cannot play well.

  “That one year, when the kid’s clarinet fell apart mid song, I thought my ear drums might actually start bleeding,” Liam laughs out. The memory causes everyone but Mike, who wasn’t around for that one, to howl with laughter.

  “Oh God, stop. I have to pee!” Nora squeals before trying to move quickly, which is impossible given how pregnant she is at the moment.

  “And then the kid’s face, remember? That terrible squawk from the clarinet, the bottom falling off.” Eve has to catch her breath before continuing. “And then he just stared at the section of that damn clarinet on the floor like he’d just peed his pants in front of everyone.”

  Chests heave in giggles. My eyes are watering from laughing so hard. That kid had stared down at his instrument like he had no idea what it was or where he was. In the end, midsong, he’d stood up and just walked out of the auditorium—middle fingers held high over his head. Aubry had clapped at his exit. Nora’s still trying to shove her chair away from the table to get to the bathroom. Liam jumps up to help. And the sight of the two of them, trying to get her on her feet and down the hall so she doesn’t actually pee her pants is priceless.

  From outside the bathroom door Liam yells, �
�Crisis averted.” And we’re all reduced to fits of laughter again.

  After dinner everyone but Nora and I clean up. Music wafts into the living room from the kitchen along with the echoes of witty banter and good-natured ribbing while Nora and I set up a game of Scrabble.

  No one else will play with us anymore. Our scores are too high and our vocabularies too vast for them to have fun. So it’s become just me and Nora. I haven’t beat her yet. She somehow always manages to beat me by an inch.

  “You ready to lose, little Lotte?”

  “Tonight’s my night,” I say, and grin at her.

  We’re setting up our tiles on our holders, inspecting and plotting which words will score highest when she asks, “How’s Dallas?”

  I frown. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked since that day.”

  The surprise on her face reassures me that I’m not crazy for thinking his sudden lack of contact is weird.

  “Asshole,” she mutters. “His loss.”

  I giggle and nod.

  Hi.

  I was half asleep when the text came through. I texted back Hi. What do you want? Then promptly fell asleep.

  That was ten hours ago. Answer my text you dick, I think as I head out the door for school. Why didn’t he write back and why do I care so much? I’m annoyed at myself for giving a crap honestly. I’m not one of those girls. I’m not boy-crazy or the type of person to sit around waiting for a call. I don’t over analyze things. I’m not the type of girl who cares what he might think.

  It’s not productive. All I can chalk it up to is teenage hormones. My teenage hormones. I’m not most girls, I remind myself. Most girls grew up learning the basics of how to curl their hair or put makeup on or pick out the right bikini; I was busy learning how to survive if the apocalypse happened. When I snap out of my introspection, I find myself halfway to school already. Trees and lawns are vibrant green, a warmish morning breeze blows strands of hair across my face that get stuck in my lip gloss.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I jump, emitting a small squeal of surprise, and pull it from my pocket. My phone barely ever dings, vibrates or rings.

  Dallas.

  Your texting etiquette is lackluster at best.

  Inexplicably, I want to cry even though I’m smiling. Beaming really. And all because he texted back. My thumbs fly across the screen typing out a response.

  I was basically asleep. Sorry. Also, I barely use my phone. Perks of being friendless.

  I always knew I was different. I walk to school, watching the half-asleep parents and zoned out students arrive and know I'm not like them. I'm special, meant for more than their lives have to offer. I can feel it in my bones. I just, don’t know how yet.

  Approaching the mammoth brick school makes me shudder, as it does most mornings. The mobs of people resemble cattle being herded, chatter about nothing fills my ears. Carelessness and superficiality. The idea that this is how life is supposed to be. It makes me cringe. We all just follow the blueprint laid out by society without question, but why? It doesn't feel like enough. It feels like a letdown. But then my phone buzzes again.

  Look up.

  I do. The letdown is gone, replaced with a nugget of excitement.

  Dallas is leaning against a tree trunk in a too-cool slouch, shades on, hair slicked backward, and a smirk on his face. He’s rather breathtaking. My hand, of its own accord, flips up in an overexcited half-wave that sends my phone flying through the air.

  Dallas bites his bottom lip, forcing his face to remain impassive, as my face heats so much that it feels as red as I’m certain it looks. I half-scurry to the phone lying in pine needles and leaves and reach down to retrieve it. Dallas’s hand skims mine as he also reaches to pick it up for me. The rough pads of his fingers dragging over the back of my hand. My stomach feels like a thousand ants are marching inside of it. My lungs seize, holding my last breath captive. My head snaps up as my fingers wrap around the phone tightly.

  “Morning, City.” His voice is caramel, smooth, unaffected and syrupy.

  “Ha! Charlotte and Dallas. Cities. I’m on to you,” I blurt. So much for me letting him have it about not talking to me for days on end.

  He beams at me. “Finally.”

  “Hey.” I smack his shoulder playfully. I can’t reason why I’m not giving him hell right now; all I know is when Dallas smiles at me, everything, and I mean everything, I feel seems to wash away and is replaced with sheer joy.

  “How was work?” he asks, as we cross over the field hockey field toward school.

  “What? Like, from last week?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “It was fine. What about you? What have you been up to?”

  He shrugs. ”Nothing much, fiddled around with Ray on some cars. Sometimes he pays me, sometimes he doesn’t.”

  “Ray as in Ray’s Automotive?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  Dallas holds the door open for me as we enter the school. No one does that. I can’t keep count of the amount of times the door has slammed in my face from the person in front of me having no situational awareness. The simple gesture hits me in the gut and makes me feel nervous or anxious, or maybe it’s simpler than any of that and is just happiness. At Mrs. Lotke’s door, my homeroom teacher, Dallas waves me off and tells me he’ll see me soon. Which he will, in first period.

  Chemistry is fascinating. I love it all. The science, the real world applications. The fun of the labs. I take my seat, pull out my notebook—because I prefer to handwrite my notes—and open it to a blank page before writing the date at the top right hand side of the page. Dallas slides into his chair at the desk behind me.

  “Why do you do it?” he whispers. His mouth is close, his breath tickles the fine hairs behind my ear.

  “Do what?" I whisper, turning my head just enough to give him the side-eye.

  “Sit up front in every class. I'm assuming since we're in two classes together and you sit, basically, right up the teacher’s butt, you do it in your other two classes too.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “I sit up front in every class because I'm here to learn, not make friends. You sit right behind me. It's not like you're in the back.” Mr. Warren asks us to settle down so I turn my attention to him.

  “That was the only seat available when I transferred in, if you remember. I didn't have a choice.”

  “Mr. Baribeau. Attention please,” Mr. Warren scolds Dallas.

  “You’ve got it,” he answers, a little too flippantly. A couple kids near the back snicker but I don’t dare turn around to see who.

  I’m diligently taking notes, head bent over my notebook when my braid loosens and wisps of hair fall into my face. I grab the end of what was my braid to see the elastic is gone.

  Fingers appear dangling my elastic over my shoulder. I flick my eyes at him, annoyed at the interruption. One corner of his mouth lifts into a smile. I take a slow breath to collect myself because...that smile, it does strange things to my insides, and snatch my elastic back.

  He doesn’t sit with me at lunch, and he doesn’t talk to me during the other class we have together, and I think maybe we’re headed for another ten-day streak of no contact; so I’m genuinely surprised to see him waiting by the same tree after school with an easy smile and a nod for me.

  “Wanna walk together?” he asks, when I’m close enough.

  I shrug, half-confused, half… something else. I don’t stop when I reach him, but he steps away from the tree and falls in line next to me.

  “You ok?” he asks, concern on his face.

  I push my braid over my shoulder. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’re being weird,” he says, and scratches the back of his neck.

  “Me?”

  “Did I do something?” he pushes. Hit boots clomp loudly with each step.

  “What’s this?” I ask pointing between us.

  His chin retreats into his neck in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Are we friends? Do you l
ike me? One minute you’re chatty, and the next it’s like I don’t exist and I don’t like not knowing.” I pull my braid back over my shoulder nervously, adjust my bag and keep marching forward. He tugs at my shoulder from a step behind. I slow until he’s in stride next to me.

  “We’re friends. Or hopefully we will be.” He looks sincere.

  My insides soften and the distinct taste of disappointment fills my mouth. But, it was foolish to think anything else. Of course he wants to be friends.

  “All right. Friends.” But the word leaves a sour taste in my mouth as I say it.

  His boots thunk some more on the sidewalk as the concern melts off his face.

  “So, chemistry. Hate that class,” he says, way too casually. I almost laugh at his super obvious trying-too-hard-to-change-the-subject approach.

  My head whips to face him. “What? Why? I love it. How can you hate something so interesting?” I say, exposing my inner nerd.

  He grins at me. “Because I don’t enjoy learning useless information.”

  “Useless?” I can’t help my eyes bugging out just a little.

  Dallas playfully nudges my shoulder with his. “I don't really foresee needing chemistry in my life.”

  My lips pucker with a sour expression and Dallas grins. "What do you see in your future?"

  He shrugs. "I don't. It's hard enough getting through this week. I never let myself picture the future."

  "Well, do it now. What does it look like when you're gray and developing wrinkles?" I ask.

  His head shakes slowly back and forth. "I don't know, I can't picture myself past thirty."

  "That seems ominous." I shoot him an exaggerated look.

  We turn onto the park path as if it were perfectly natural to know that we were going to the river rock spot. As if we’d been doing it for years instead of only once. It doesn’t feel rational, but I like it.