by R A Watt
“No Avengers?” Rachel asked as we stood in line, looking up at the now playing signs.
I shrugged. “I didn’t see you as the Avengers-type.”
Rachel smiled, play-punching me on the shoulder. “See? That’s one of the things I like about you, Teavan Laurent. You think about things. Most guys would just see what they wanted to see, but you actually give it some thought and care.”
My face warmed at the compliment.
Sybil rolled her eyes behind Rachel. “Well, I would have liked to see it.”
Rachel spun around. “Well, we can see it instead? I don’t mind if you both want to go to Avengers.”
Knowing Rachel didn’t want to see it, I said, “Next week? Maybe the two of, or I mean, the three of us can go next week?”
Sybil said, “Sure,” as she paid for her ticket. I offered to pay for Rachel’s, but she already had her money out and insisted.
We got some popcorn and soda and sat down. Rachel, as usual, positioned herself in the middle. Sybil excused herself to use the restroom before the trailers started.
Rachel bumped me with her shoulder, pretending she’d done it by accident when I looked over. “Is it okay that I invited Sybil?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Well, I know she can be grumpy sometimes, but my dad thought it would be a good idea. If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t really want to come.”
I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. “No, I mean, I don’t mind at all that she hangs out with us.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep,” I lied again.
“Wonderful! Cause I love hanging out with both of you!” She giggled, throwing a piece of popcorn at me.
Sybil returned and the movie started shortly after. It was very intense. There were aliens on earth, and the main family had to escape Boston and hide in the country, though the aliens eventually found them.
It turned out to be an excellent choice. Within ten minutes of the movie beginning, Rachel slipped her left hand into my right, and our hands interlocked in the dark. Halfway into the film, she was leaning up against me, jumping at the scary moments and holding my hand tight. Her hair smelled like lavender, and her light perfume mixed in with it was making me dizzy. I was half thinking of her and half watching the movie.
It was marvelous.
When the lights came on, we tried to secretly untangle our sweaty hands, but I saw Sybil glance over and roll her eyes. I got the feeling she didn’t want me stealing her best friend’s focus.
When we got back to Rachel’s house, I agreed to walk Sybil home after, since she only lived a few blocks further. I awkwardly hugged Rachel and said good night, then she and Sybil hugged.
“See you both tomorrow,” she said as she bound up her steps, her dad coming to the front door.
“’Night, Rachel,” I called after her.
Sybil and I walked in silence as I texted Suzanne the address to pick me up.
Sybil spoke. “So, what are you doing exactly?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Like, why are you wasting your time with Rachel?”
I kept walking, not sure what she was getting at. “I don’t know. I kinda like hanging out with her, I guess?”
“You know you won’t get what you want, right?”
“Which is?” I asked, suddenly feeling defensive.
Sybil shook her head in frustration. “What every guy our age wants. That’s what. I’m just warning you: it’s a waste of time. You’re not totally ugly, and being from out of town gives you enough edge that you could probably get a girlfriend.”
Was she saying what I thought she was saying? “Ah, Sybil, that’s not my intention.”
“Sure.”
“No, really. I’m, like, not usually into girls. I mean, I am into girls, but I’ve never dated anyone or even gone on a date before, even if it was with three people. I’m not like that, if that's what you mean. I’m surprised you think that.”
She didn’t speak at first, but kept up her pace. “Well, if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you. Just know that, okay?”
“Umm, okay,” I mumbled, not knowing how to respond. “Can I ask you a question?”
Sybil shrugged. “Sure.”
“Why don’t you like me?”
She looked a little surprised at the question. “Like you? I don’t dislike you. I just don’t trust guys, especially the ones interested in Rachel.”
“You don’t think she can take care of herself,” I said.
She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. Rachel isn’t streetwise; she’s too trusting. She always sees the good in people and chooses to ignore the bad. It will only get her hurt. Maybe I am the yin to her yang. She needs a dose of reality sometimes.”
I arched my eyebrow. “Or maybe you could do with a little of her positivity? Have you stopped to think maybe being like her isn’t all that bad?”
“So, what, so I can have some adolescent boys fawning all over me? No thanks.”
“No, so maybe you have some real friends and enjoy life a little, that’s all. It seems sad to see the negative everywhere and have such a dreary outlook on people and life.”
She continued walking, head down. “Well, it works for me.”
We arrived at her house, and she made her way up to the front door, not even thanking me for walking her home. “Remember what I said, Teavan.”
“Sure thing,” I mumbled, too quietly for her to hear. Then a bit louder, I called out sarcastically, “Thanks for such a great evening, Sybil!”
She gave me a dirty look as she closed the door.
Good night to you, too.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, working on his laptop when Suzanne and I got home. Honey came bounding to the front door to greet us.
“How are the world travelers?” he asked.
We both entered the kitchen, scrounging for leftovers in the fridge.
“That good, huh,” he answered himself.
“Fine, Dad. I saw a movie, it was pretty cool,” I said, feeling bad that neither of us had answered him.
“I see,” he said. “So, this weekend, I signed up for a writing conference in San Francisco. I’ll be leaving first thing Friday morning, and I’m driving.”
Suzanne spun around. “What? You’re taking the car?”
My dad laughed. “I thought that would get your attention. Yes, I’m taking the car. It’s only a few hours from here, and I know some people going. It's a good West Coast networking opportunity.”
Suzanne groaned. One of the things she loved about him writing was that he didn’t need the car much, and it was generally at her disposal.
“When are you back?” she asked.
“Sunday night, probably late.”
Suzanne frowned, but then perked up. “Okay.”
“Will you two be all right here alone?”
“Sure,” she answered.
“No parties, Suzanne.”
“Of course not.” She smiled.
I wasn’t sure if she was serious or not. She left the room with a mischievous grin on her face.
As I lay in bed later, going over the night, a smile spread across my face as I remembered the warm softness of Rachel’s hand and the smell of her hair as she cuddled me during the movie. Even with Sybil there, things went better than I hoped or expected.
Sybil’s comments upset me, though. I knew she didn’t like me, but why would she think I was some lecherous freshman looking to score with her cousin? Was that the vibe I gave off?
The last thoughts I remember before falling asleep were of the weekend coming up and dad going out of town. I only hoped Suzanne was not planning on having a big party; that was the last thing I needed.
Chapter 18
“You can have Friday; I get Saturday.”
That’s all Suzanne offered me about the weekend.
“And on Saturday, you either need to be in your room or somewhere else. Got it?” she ordered the next night,
away from Dad’s listening ears.
“I guess.” I shrugged. Despite our differences, we had unspoken rules about keeping certain things from Dad. Keeping each other’s backs.
Jermaine was excited by the news. He was going to sleep over Friday, and I invited Kevin as well.
“You gonna invite your girlfriend?” Kevin asked, smirking.
“She’s not my girlfriend. But yeah, I thought I’d ask to hang out. Maybe we can watch a movie or play cards. Maybe barbecue some burgers?”
“Sounds good,” Kevin answered as we walked to English class Thursday morning. The To Kill a Mockingbird paper was due next Wednesday, and I hadn’t even started reading the book yet. The rest of the weekend was gonna be slow. “You mind if I invite a couple of ladies?”
Jermaine burst out laughing. “Like who? Your little sister and her friends?”
Kevin played it cool, ignoring the jab. “No, I’m juggling a couple girls from Baker, had a double date planned on Friday. I don’t want to cancel, figured they could just come, too.”
“Sure, you invite all the ladies you want, as long as they don’t walk on four legs and aren’t in elementary school,” I joked.
Kevin shook his head. “You two of little faith . . . if you only knew,” he grinned.
Jermaine biked over straight after school on Friday; the other three were coming at six. Big surprise: Kevin was coming solo; apparently his ladies had canceled.
I’d never really looked around the property before, so Jermaine and I grabbed some old baseball bats from the garage (just in case of any trouble) and set out to investigate the as-yet unexplored land behind the house.
There were scattered groups of trees here and there, surrounded by long, dry grasses and shrubs. It looked to me like good grazing land for cattle. But then again, I knew nothing about farming.
Some of the big, old oak trees looked perfect to build a tree fort in, or just to climb. That was something I hadn’t done much of growing up in a congested city. I was embarrassed to admit it, so I kept it to myself, thinking I’d be back another time to try my hand at climbing. When was too old to climb trees?
Maybe you never were.
Further in, we stumbled upon a run-down cabin surrounded by more thick-trunked oak trees. There was an old-fashioned water well that had a circular wall of old weathered river stones about three feet high around it. There was a small, peaked wooden roof where the now-missing bucket would have been lowered from using a pulley.
“Look, Jermaine,” I pointed it out.
We ran over and looked into the well.
“Hello!” I yelled down, expecting to hear my echo. There was a slight echo, but not much. It was dark inside and stunk of decaying leaves. I couldn’t see the bottom, and there was no longer a rope attached to the pulley.
Jermaine dropped a stone. It was silent for a second, then we heard a soft kerplunk as it hit the dark water far below.
“I guess there’s still water,” he pointed out.
“Let’s check the cabin,” I said.
The structure looked old and decrepit. It was small, square, and made of warped, graying wooden boards in dire need of paint. There was a sagging and tilted front porch with steps leading up to it. There were a few windows on the sides of the building. One of them missing—its broken glass and frame lay in the tall grass beneath the empty sill.
Dead leaves surrounded the cabin and some odd-shaped iron tools, possibly from farming a hundred years ago. They were rusted and covered in weeds now. It didn’t look like this place had been lived in for a long time.
“I wonder if your grandpa came back here?” Jermaine asked as he carefully stepped up and tried the front door. It was locked from the inside, with a small keyhole bolt lock that was old but looked newer than the rest of it.
“Hello!?” I called out as we knocked.
Jermaine started to kick the door.
“What are you doing? Don’t break it!” I cried.
He stopped and looked at me. “Why not? You own this place, and it’s just some dusty old shed. How else are we going to get in? Do you have a key?”
I shook my head.
He had a point. I followed his lead and kicked as well—like the police do in the movies when breaking down someone’s front door. After a few swift tries, the wood splintered in a cloud of dust, and the door swung open with a creak.
We could make out some timeworn furniture in the room as we waited for our eyes to adjust to the dark.
A few tables. Shelves crammed full of books. More old, wrought iron-type farm implements in one corner, and chairs stacked against another wall.
In the middle of the room was a slightly less ancient looking table, but still something my dad might even object to using. And he wasn’t picky when it came to furniture.
The table was round and had three matching chairs surrounding it. Some tattered wooden boxes sat on top, about the size of shoeboxes. I blew the dust off one, but the sound of my blowing caused slight movement in the corner.
We could hear some squeaking sounds.
“Jermaine? What is it? R-raccoons?” I stammered, backing away, trying to see in the dark. There were bookshelves in that corner, but I didn’t see any movement along the floor.
The squeaking continued.
I readied myself for a raccoon to leap out and attack. Or worse.
Nothing moved.
“Teavan!” Jermaine cried as he stumbled back into one of the chairs, knocking it over and creating a ruckus.
For a split second as my eyes adjusted, it appeared, impossibly, as if there were hundreds of mice crawling on the walls and ceiling. The sudden sound of the chair tumbling seemed to spur them into action, and the room immediately filled with flying mice. I backed up, toppled over the fallen chair, and sprawled out onto the dirty wooden floor as the rodents came awkwardly flying right over and out the front door.
Only I realized they weren’t mice.
They were bats. Hundreds of them.
Jermaine dropped to the floor alongside me; we shielded our eyes and heads. We stayed curled up in that position until it was quiet again.
Carefully, I peeked out from between my arms, scanning for movement in the air or on the walls. Everything was still.
“I think they’re gone,” I whispered, standing up. “I’ve never seen a real bat before, well, besides at the zoo. Do you think they’re vampire bats?”
He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think vampire bats are even real. They’re just brown bats; you see them lots at night. Good for eating bugs. But I have heard they can carry rabies. They scared the crap out of me.”
Me too.
I inspected the books on the shelves. The spines were cracked and faded; I could not easily make the titles out. Many of the books didn’t even look like they were written in English, and some might have been in Japanese or Chinese. I pulled one off the shelf and blew the dust off it.
Le Chasseur et Sa Proie.
I didn’t know what it said, but the book looked pretty dull, and was almost falling apart. No pictures.
Maladies du Sang was another one.
Lupus ad Prædandum.
Mutazioni del Sangue.
They might have been French, probably my grandfather’s college books he carted from France. I realized that we never really celebrated our French heritage; it wasn’t something my dad talked about very often. But Grandpa had a lot of French pictures and books around the house. It kinda made me want to explore it a little.
On the table, I lifted the lid of one of the wooden boxes. It was full of odds and ends: pennies, paperclips, broken pencils. There was a small, brown leather pouch tied closed. Loosening the tie, I opened it and shook out the contents into my hand. A few irregularly shaped metal tokens—coins? They were so old and tarnished I couldn’t read the inscriptions. One caught my eye that was a little bigger than the rest, a little less than two inches in diameter. A leather strap threaded through a small hole in it creating what I assumed was
a necklace. It was highly detailed, small circles around the circumference almost like a clock, then tiny symbols of varying sizes within. One looked like a moon, another one almost like the symbol on the silver bullets. In the very center there was a circular brush stroke of a dog—or a wolf. There were no words inscribed and the other symbols meant nothing to me. Holding this token, or medallion, almost gave me a light buzz, like when you put your tongue on a nine-volt battery. Except I liked it.
There was also a piece of dark metal shaped into the letter C, a little bigger than a silver dollar that also had a small hole in it but no strap.
Jermaine examined the coins. “These look ancient; they might be worth something. You should keep ’em.” He then squinted at the C-shaped object. “What was your grandma’s name?”
I closed my eyes; my memories of her were foggy, but then I smiled. “Camille.”
He grinned and stuffed the C and the coins back into the pouch and handed it to me. “Let’s get out of here and keep exploring. This place is dusty.”
I slid the bag into my pocket and decided to return one afternoon to take a closer look at the cabin. We closed the door as best we could and continued our hike through the patches of trees to the northernmost fence. It led west, back toward Mrs. Leclair’s land.
“What’s that?” Jermaine asked, pointing up ahead.
We marched toward where the barbed wire fence was down. The wooden post was broken, snapped off at the base.
I tried to lift it but it was very heavy with all the barbed wire nailed to it. “I guess I should tell my dad to fix this. Though it’s not like we have any cows to keep in.”
Jermaine tried to pick it up, too, with equal success. “Or maybe it’s more about what you want to keep out.”
I forced a laugh.
He continued. “Don’t you think it’s weird your fence is down? Like, it’s not old, this wood is still good. Not like it’s rotting.”
I inspected the round post more closely—it was snapped off right at the base where it went into the ground. The wood inside the break was fresh and clean, unlike the weathered outside surface of the post, but it didn’t look like it had been sawed. Kinda gave me a chill. What could have broken such a thick piece of wood?