by Ann Aguirre
I spend two hours doing homework, and then leave a note, advising her I’ll be home by nine thirty. Then I haul my bike out of the shed. It’s not dark yet, so I don’t worry about reflectors; I’ll put those on later. I have plenty of time; I don’t kill myself peddling to the library, where we hold our monthly meetings. This isn’t a school club, so we had to find someplace else to host our group. It’s open to all ages, but so far, it hasn’t taken off. Only six members have joined.
I wave to Miss Martha, the librarian, as I push through the doors into the air-conditioning. The public library is one of my favorite places in the world. It’s an old building, two-story and historical looking, with marble floors, full of nooks and crannies where people can curl up to read. The books are organized by subject and then via the Dewey decimal system. Back near the reference desk, there are a couple of ancient desktops that people can use to check their e-mail. Fortunately, I don’t need those. I saved enough money this summer to buy myself a laptop. I’m pretty stoked about that.
Since I’m fifteen minutes early, I drop off my books at the front desk and pick out a couple of new titles. I carry them to the conference room upstairs where we hold our meetings. To my surprise, somebody’s already sitting there, reading, arms propped on the table. I recognize the green Army surplus jacket before I place him—Shane Cavendish, new kid.
How did he hear about Green World?
“Hey,” I say, as I sit down. “Good to see you.”
His head jerks up; he was totally into the book and didn’t hear me at all, which makes me like him instantly. I know all about the transportive power of fiction. Back in my old life, there were plenty of days when I wouldn’t have made it if I didn’t have an exit into the pages of somebody else’s life. My breath catches as his gaze meets mine. No joke, it’s like the whole world pauses for that second. Because Shane Cavendish has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, aquamarine flecked with darker blue and green, fringed with long dark lashes that actually curl up toward his brows. Eventually, I notice he has a nose with a bump in the bridge, like it’s been broken, a pair of sharp cheekbones, a faint scar on his left temple, and a layer of scruff at his jaw. His mouth … no, I can’t even.
But it’s incredible, too.
Though I could probably stare at him for another five minutes in awed silence, he’s not on board with that plan. His brows pull together as he shoves his book into his bag. “What’re you talking about?”
I thought “good to see you” was self-explanatory. It’s a universal greeting and expression of welcome, isn’t it? “I’m happy the group’s adding a new member,” I offer cautiously.
“Oh.” Shane pushes out a breath. “Is there a meeting in here?”
I check my watch. “In five minutes.”
“I’ll clear out then.”
“You’re not here to join?”
“Unlikely,” he says.
That tone tells me what he thinks of people who organize and try. He’s probably a nihilist or something, who thinks it’s a waste of energy because nothing will ever get better. I admit, there are some days when I understand that philosophy. But without people agitating for change, there’s only the awfulness of the status quo.
“You’re welcome.”
“What am I supposed to be thanking you for?” His expression is outright puzzled, but he’s paying attention to me, his eyes trained on my face like he really sees me for the first time.
Which is cool, except … “I didn’t mean it that way,” I explain awkwardly. “You’re welcome to check out Green World.”
“Let me guess. You sponsor recycling drives and bug people to stop using plastic grocery bags.”
I guess that breathless moment where our eyes made contact was a one-way circuit. It’s a good thing I have a sense of humor or his attitude might bother me. “So far, we haven’t achieved even that much. Mostly, we argue and order pizza.”
Shane laughs, surprising me. His fingers relax on the edges of his ragged backpack. It was like he thought I was setting him up. In some respects, he seems like a kindred spirit, as if life has taught him to expect the worst.
“I could eat.”
“Then stay,” I say.
My heart pounds crazy hard, like, I can hear it in my ears. I’ve never said anything like that to a guy before. I wonder if he knows how bad I want to keep him here, just so I can look at him. His mop of chestnut hair has a hint of curl, and it’s pretty adorable the way it falls around his ears. In geometry, he used it to hide, but he’s not doing that now. He’s letting me see him.
“Okay.” It’s apparently that easy.
Before I can figure out where to go from here, Ryan bounds into the room, tossing his backpack onto the table with a thunk. He flings himself into the chair next to me, beaming, and then launches into a convoluted story about why he couldn’t get a burrito. I must admit, while I usually love Ryan’s stories, I’m not riveted by this one. It feels like he interrupted something, though maybe that’s just wishful thinking. At the end of the epic saga, I laugh because that’s what he expects of me. Shane goes back to reading.
The other four file in, some of them late, so it’s ten past before we’re all assembled. In Green World, there’s Kenneth, aka Kenny Wu, Gwen Reave, Tara Tanner, and Conrad Loudermilk—two freshmen, one senior, and one other. Conrad is in his twenties, but for reasons known only to him, he hasn’t gone off to college yet. Instead he putters around his mom’s house and hangs out with high school people when he’s not working at the local supermarket, the P&K. Which is like an A&P, I guess, only crappier.
Gwen is the senior, which means she has a car and the sense that she’s in charge, so she orders the pizzas—one cheese, one veggie, from Pizza the Action. The main thing you need to know about this town is, it’s a small place, so the biggest name restaurant we have in town is the Dairy Queen. The whole downtown can be traversed in five minutes on foot. There’s a strip mall toward the highway, but there’s nothing shiny in there, either, mostly low-rent shops and stuff like the dollar store, only it’s not even a national franchise; it’s called Bang for Your Buck.
Anyway.
Once Gwen gets off the phone, she calls the meeting to order while studying Shane through her bangs. I can tell she’s wondering who he is. I don’t clarify. It’s not like I own him.
But he does the talking. He cants his head at me and mumbles, “She invited me. I’m Shane Cavendish.”
He doesn’t even know my name, I realize. Smooth.
“Sage Czinski.”
Nobody ever spells my last name right from hearing it pronounced, and they rarely get it when reading off a list. It’s not that hard, really: suh-ZIN-skee. But I’m prepared for a career of correcting people as I go through life. My first name is kind of strange, too, but my dad always said that when I was born, he thought I had wise eyes for a baby, so that’s why he called me Sage.
“Good to have you, Shane.” Gwen sparkles at him. She’s pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes, and good teeth from three years of orthodontia.
I’m self-conscious about mine, as I have a slight overbite, and they’re a bit crooked. Not bad enough to merit braces, but not perfect. My canines are a little too long, too, which means I get vampire jokes at Halloween. Better than every day, I suppose.
The rest of the members introduce themselves to him, too. Then we go around the room as we wait for the food, offering our presentations for the first Green World project. Each week for the past month, we’ve done this and not gotten anywhere because everyone wants his or her idea to be implemented first. It’s starting to feel like a waste of time, but Wednesday is two for one at Pizza the Action, and I’ve gotten used to bickering with these people.
We’ve just completed the pitches when Steve the delivery dude taps on the door. This is old hat for him, too, as he knows to come upstairs if he wants a decent tip. For a few minutes, we scramble, scraping together his payment from crumpled ones and pocket change, then I add a little
more to keep him happy. I don’t look at Shane, who hasn’t reached for his wallet. Based on the state of his jacket, jeans, and backpack, I bet he doesn’t have any cash on him. The promise of free food might even be why he agreed to stay.
He goes for a couple of slices of plain cheese while I pounce on the veggie. I’m not horrified by the idea of eating meat, but Aunt Gabby is, and since she was kind enough to take me in, I feel like I should conform to her values for solidarity. So for the last three years, I’ve been on tofu and vegetables. Fortunately, she’s not vegan because I don’t think I could live without cheese. Seriously. I’d die.
Eating takes up ten minutes of the meeting, and then Gwen calls us back to order. “Now we just need to decide which idea to go forward with.”
This is where everything usually breaks down. We’ll spend the last half hour arguing among ourselves. But before we can get started on that, Shane says, “Why not just vote? If you’re worried about hurting somebody’s feelings, do a closed ballot. Write down the idea you like best.”
Gwen looks like he just gave her a tiara. “That’s genius. Make sure you vote for the idea you truly think is best. Because if everyone votes for himself, nothing will get done.”
I don’t point out that since Shane didn’t present an idea, he has to vote for somebody … and that means his support will carry the day, even if everyone does vote for his own project. After digging a scrap of paper from my backpack, I jot down a name, not my own. I actually like Ryan’s idea better.
The slips of paper go into Kenny’s Mario hat, then Gwen reads them out.
“Gwen. Kenny. Tara. Ryan. Ryan. Sage. Sage.” A frown. “We have a tie.”
“We can’t do both.” Conrad is staring at me with a happy smile, which makes me think he voted for me.
It occurs to me that Ryan probably voted for himself, so does that mean … Shane chose my plan? That doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.
Tara offers, “We should vote again, now that we’ve narrowed it down to two. Pick between Ryan and Sage.”
Gwen nods. “Good idea.”
The atmosphere is surprisingly efficient without the usual garbage. I wonder if they’re showing off for Shane. I understand why Tara and Gwen would want him to think well of them, but what’s up with Kenny, Conrad, and Ryan? My bestie’s been wearing a faint scowl for the last ten minutes, and he hasn’t said much since Shane suggested the vote.
“Okay, round two.”
Just to be consistent, I vote for Ryan again, but when the vote comes up, it’s four to three in favor of my idea. Which is to clean up a vacant lot downtown in preparation for planting a garden in the spring. I’m not clear on the legalities of using land you don’t own, but maybe I can get permission. I say as much to Gwen when she proclaims the project a go.
“That’s your top priority,” she tells me. “Next meeting won’t be here. Let’s go directly there after school next week. Dress comfortably and bring biodegradable bags to hold the garbage.”
“Sounds good.”
The meeting breaks up thereafter with everyone mumbling good-byes. Like I always do, I start cleaning up the room. The others are used to my routine, so they don’t stop to help. They all have curfews or other places to be, apart from Ryan, who musters a smile when he sees me looking at him.
“You’ve won this round,” he says, pretending to twirl an imaginary mustache. “But I’ll be back with another nefarious plan next week.”
God, he’s a dork. And awesome.
“See you tomorrow,” I answer.
“They just leave you to deal with the mess?” Shane asks, after Ryan bails.
Since I’ve hardly looked at him since the others arrived, I’m surprised that he’s hanging around. Surprised but glad. I finish breaking down and folding the pizza box before replying. “I’m the library liaison. I talked Miss Martha into letting us use this room, and they don’t usually allow food in the building.” I hesitate, wondering if I’ll sound crazy anal if I try to make him understand. I settle for, “So it’s on me if the room’s not clean enough at the end of the night.”
It’s not that I’m a total neat freak, just that this falls under the heading of keeping a promise, something I am fanatical about.
“I get that.”
I pick up the second box. “There’s one piece of veggie left if you want it.”
“Sure you don’t?”
“I’d have suggested we split it if I was still hungry.” I flip open the second pizza box, offering him the final slice.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Thanks.”
He picks off the mushrooms, then devours it in six bites, not that I was counting, and afterward, he helps me clean up the room, though he laughs when he sees I’ve got wipes in my bag, which I use on the table and the arms of the chairs. Shane Cavendish is even better with humor shining in his eyes. I can’t stop looking at him, whereas, to him, I’m sure I’m the weird girl trying to hide a big butt with a flouncy skirt.
“Do you have a vacuum cleaner in there, too?” he asks, tapping my backpack.
“That’s where I draw the line.” Though I have considered bringing a hand broom and dustpan to sweep up crumbs. Not that he needs to know that. “Does it look all right?”
“Fine.”
He follows as I head out, pausing to pull the door closed. It locks automatically, so we’re good to go. That thought depresses me. Oblivious to my chagrin, he trails me downstairs; it’s ten minutes until closing and Miss Martha has started turning off the lights. I wave at her as I go out the front door; she smiles back. She’s a pleasant woman in her mid-fifties with short salt-and-pepper hair and a fondness for beads, reflected in the bedazzled top she’s wearing.
Outside, he gets to watch me put on my reflectors. Clearly, there’s nothing hotter than a hygiene-and-safety-obsessed girl. But part of my deal with Aunt Gabby involves this gear; she said she could only allow me to ride my bike after dark if I agreed to her terms. Which means this stupid helmet with a light on it, and glow strips all over my body, like I belong in a bizarre off-Broadway show. My cheeks heat as I get to work while Shane studies me in horrified fascination.
“You can go,” I tell him through clenched teeth.
“What are you doing?”
“My aunt makes me. It’s the cost of nocturnal bicycle freedom.” At his blank look, I explain, “She thinks I’ll get run over if I don’t wear it.”
“Ah. Well, you’re pretty hard to miss.”
I have no idea what that means, if it’s a compliment, or a crack about the size of my butt, or a reference to my awesome light helmet; I could totally go spelunking in this. When I buckle the chin strap, I’m wishing for death.
“Think you’ll come back next week?” I ask.
“Unlikely,” he says.
So it was the free pizza. Well, that’s to be expected.
“See you tomorrow,” I say, and then I wish I hadn’t because it makes me sound like I’ll be looking for him.
“In geometry, right? You’re next to me, one seat back.”
“Yeah.” I’m so absurdly pleased that he saw and recognized me that I offer a ten-thousand-watt smile. Then I remember my teeth are a little crooked and I have suck-your-blood canines.
Shane doesn’t seem to mind. Or notice. “Be careful out there. How far are you going?”
“Two miles, give or take.”
If he offers to drive me home, I’ll have to pass, as I don’t ride in cars. Not that the automobile industry has been noticeably impacted by my boycott. Aunt Gabby says it’s good that I stick to my principles even if they’re inconvenient for other people. For the first time, I wonder if my principles would mind shutting up for a minute. But it’s not only that. My dad died in a car wreck when I was younger, and I’m still skittish.
“Which way?”
God, he’s totally going to ask to drive me home. I brace for it. “West.”
“Ah.”
The euphoria drops like a brick. There’s noth
ing from him but a chin jerk in acknowledgment. I misread everything. At least I didn’t show any of it—I don’t think I did. His face would be full of embarrassment if he realized. I take the trash bag from the meeting around to the side and sort everything into the recycling containers. It took me six months to convince the town council to adopt this measure, but it was worth it. When I turn, Shane’s still there, which leaves me feeling weird. Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? It’s almost eight, not full dark, just saturated in shadows; the air is cool with a gentle wind sweeping through. This is my favorite part of the year, after the heat of summer dissipates, but still some warm weather before the first cold snap. I say I’ll be back by nine thirty, but the truth is, I’m always home before nine. I build a buffer into my promises to Aunt Gabby so there’s no chance I’ll break them.
“Night,” I say, shouldering my backpack with both straps.
Then I swing onto the bike, careful to wrap my skirt so I can ride. I try not to think about what he’s seeing, but I have on leggings, so it’s totally fine, even if it’s not pretty. I realized a long time ago that some guys are assholes and they’ll do anything to peek at your underwear, which makes a skirt hazardous.
Shane doesn’t answer. When I turn the corner, he’s still standing in front of the library watching me ride away.
CHAPTER THREE
At school the next day, Shane pretends he doesn’t know me. When I spot him in the hall before lunch, his gaze slides away; he’s back to playing the invisible boy. I understand why … the jocks have targeted him as their latest victim. Since JFK is a small school, serving a number of rural communities, the sports program is streamlined. There’s no fluff—no lacrosse, rugby, field hockey, certainly nothing European like soccer or fencing. We have football in the fall, basketball in the winter, then baseball and track for spring. That’s it. That means the athletes often double and triple letter, participating in more than one sport. This creates a tight clique and when a new guy drops into the mix, he better find a crew in a hurry. Otherwise, he’s fair game. Dylan and his cronies blow by; and it happens so fast, even I’m not sure what went down.