Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  “Oh,” I exhaled. “That makes sense,” I mumbled ineloquently. “Foster is my first name. Kelly is my last.”

  “Sweet name,” they answered in unison. The three of us laughed. It was the first time Emily didn’t look visibly bothered by her brother’s presence, offering him a small smirk and nudging him with her shoulder.

  Jake stood up, stretching out his arms behind his back. “Well, I’m starving,” he announced, “so I’m gonna check out the munchies. It was nice to meet you, Foster. I’m sure I’ll see ya around.”

  I smiled, nodded, and smiled again in bobblehead fashion. “You too. Okay. Yeah.”

  Jake pulled a cell phone from his pocket and looked at Emily. “You know we gotta be at Point in twenty, right?”

  “Yes, Time Keeper, I’ll meet you at the car.” She tossed him a small black rectangle, which I assumed was a key. He caught it one handed. “Actually,” she deliberated for a moment. “Is it cool if he pulls the car around to the driveway?”

  “Oh, sure,” I answered quickly. “You can park wherever you want.”

  Emily waited until Jake was out of sight before rolling her eyes and saying, “I didn’t want to admit this in front of Jake, but he was right. I really did talk about myself the whole time, which is why—like a total doof—I didn’t know your name. So”—smirking, Emily folded her arms over her bare, tanned stomach and leaned back against the table—“let’s hear all about you now.”

  My stomach dropped. And then it flip-flopped. Like a burnt pancake.

  Talking—especially about myself—was never a good idea. Miraculously, for the next five minutes I didn’t botch what—to date—had been the most successful conversation I’d ever had with someone my age. Emily listened attentively, nodding and “Mm-hming” at the mundane, vague details that would put a heavily caffeinated person to sleep.

  I was rapidly running out of safe information to share with her and on the verge of ruining everything by sharing some Connecticut trivia. Luckily, Emily saved me from myself by reaching into a box marked Children’s Clothes, and pulling out the Care Bears I had worn as a second grader. Holding it against her petite torso, she asked how much it cost. I quickly told her she could have it for free, relieved she hadn’t picked up on my ambiguous—not to mention terribly boring—history lesson. Thanking me, Emily began to strip, shimmying the white tube top down over her thighs and past her ankles, unearthing a considerably well-developed, full chest. I tried not to stare—or compare.

  A husband and wife, who strolled in while I was talking, peeked over. The woman balked, while the man pretended not to notice the blonde bombshell undressing in the middle of my garage. Many shades of pink later, Emily replaced her shirt with the baby blue Care Bears one. Only then did my skin start to behave. I didn’t think there was anything indecent about what she had just done, but still, not in a million years would I ever take off my shirt in public. In fact, pitch black was preferable.

  Spotting a copy of Nicholas Sparks’ The Notebook, she picked it up excitedly. “I never read this.” She flipped it over and said, “Wasn’t it the best movie?”

  “Oh . . . I, um . . . I never actually got around to seeing that one.” I fidgeted with the hem of my flannel, knowing I was the only thirteen year old girl who hadn’t waited several hours outside in the freezing snow, to catch the premiere of that movie when it finally made it to the one theater in our small town.

  I waited for her to gawk at me with the “What’s wrong with you?” look—but she didn’t.

  “No biggie, I have it. We can watch it this weekend,” she said casually, bending down to sift through the other old books. I replayed her comment in my head, positive I must have heard her wrong. She stood back up eyeing a copy of Jane Eyre. “Do you have a blue ray player?”

  Still marveling at her unexpected invitation, I was unable to answer right away. I searched for an excuse that would enable me to politely decline. Twenty minutes, where I had done very little talking was one thing, but hours alone with Emily offered too many chances for me to say or do something dumb.

  Emily continued to look at me, waiting for an answer to her question. Bald faced lies tended to make me feel sick inside; however, always telling the absolute truth was often offensive, hurtful or simply revealed too much. A few years back, I adopted a system of half-truths, making a point to give as much truth as possible, while avoiding pertinent details. With it being summer time, I didn’t have the easy excuse of excessive homework and projects, so instead I would make chores sound like an all day affair. I didn’t get more than three words in, before Jake pulled into the driveway and honked. He poked his head out the window, yelling about being late.

  “Chill! I’ll be there in a sec!” she hollered, turning back around. “We need to get going to the competition,” she explained, “but you should totally come down and check it out. The parking is insane, so if you can leave your car somewhere and bike or skate the last couple blocks, I definitely recommend doing that. But my parents have a pretty sweet camper and . . .”

  I knew I should be paying attention. This was not the time for frivolous mind wandering. But if I wasn’t mistaken, she had just invited me somewhere for the second time; somewhere public—where presumably friends and family would be present.

  Blink Foster. If you don’t blink soon, you’re going to frighten her.

  “Great spot next to tower eight where they sell these—” Emily paused, squinting and tilting her head, “Oh, I hate that. Did you get something in your eye?”

  Stop blinking Foster.

  “Oh . . . yeah . . . must be all the dust,” I suggested, looking down at the impeccably clean floor of the garage.

  “Well, like I said, you should come down if you get some free time.” She moved her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. “It’ll be a good show, I can guarantee it. You’d think it’d get old after a while . . .” Musing, she lifted her arms over her head, pushing on each elbow, “Watching as all the overconfident male egos deflate, as their trophy is handed to a girl half their size.” Moving hands to her hips, she arched her back. “But I can’t say it ever does,” she finished happily. Smirking, she angled her head and lifted a wicked brow. “So what’d ya say, Foster? You up for watching me make some boys cry?”

  Before I could answer, Emily’s brother began to honk the horn in a syncopated beat to Jingle Bells. I watched as her face turned crimson, the way mine did when I was embarrassed. She was definitely not embarrassed, however.

  “Jacob Anthony Donahue, don’t think I won’t kick the crap out of you in front of all these people? Because I will!” A few lingering customers looked askance at the pint sized termagant threatening violence. Hardly appearing intimidated, Jake grinned broadly, bouncing his head gaily to the rhythm.

  Emily turned to face me, her eyes narrowed and full lower lip hanging open in anger. “Seriously, I wonder sometimes if he’s adopted. It’s totally possible my parents just brought home some kid my age. We don’t look that much alike, right?” Suddenly Jake switched his tune. We both listened intently, trying to decipher what song he was playing now.

  “Twinkle, Twinkle,” we announced at the same time, just like she and her brother had.

  Laughing, she picked up the discarded tube top and started walking backwards. “Well I’d better go before he realizes there are other parts of the car capable of making musical noises.” She glanced back at him before having an afterthought. “I’m probably giving him way too much credit now.” She laughed again.

  Anxiety stirred the bubbling pot in my stomach, as I wondered if she would mention watching a movie together again. Not helping my nerves was her twin, speeding up the blaring lullaby and singing along extremely off pitch.

  Rolling her eyes, she grinned. “When I break his arms, I’m going to enjoy hearing every bone dislocate,” she said at the edge of the garage. “Later, Foster. Thanks for the shirt,” she plucked the worn fabric and sashayed menacingly to the passenger door of a very expens
ive car. And then she was gone.

  “You too, Emily,” I said softly, “You’re welcome.” I lowered my head, taking a big sigh and dismissing the pang of disappointment bothering my palpable relief. It was a good thing she hadn’t remembered.

  Trying to locate the spot I’d left off in my book, I laughed again, bringing my hand up to my mouth in a mock cough when a woman browsing through linens turned a curious eye at me. I snickered less loudly, replaying Emily’s comments in my head. She was funny—really funny—the kind of funny you’re either born with or without.

  Without. I answered the unspoken question about myself.

  I took a deep breath, rearranging my body on the stool, and began to read. The sound of rubber burning hot black lines into the street had me gripping the side of the stool for balance, as I jumped up in alarm. The same pearly white sports car that had sped away just a moment ago was now reversing to a stop in front of my house, this time with Emily in the driver’s seat. Hanging the top half of her body out the window, she shouted, “Saturday, right?” I couldn’t help but cast a corroborating glance over my shoulder. She must have understood my blank stare because she elaborated quickly. “For The Notebook?”

  Quavering and stunned, I called back hoarsely, “Okay.” It was more a question than a reply.

  “Sweet.” She lifted her arm out the window, gesturing a hand sign using her pinky and thumb.

  As she peeled away I thought to myself, I’ll need to Google that.

  I sat back down again—or rather I tried to—but missed the stool completely, landing instead firmly on my barely-there bottom. Calmly, with a fair amount of aplomb, I buried myself in literature. Beneath the stoicism, I consoled the part of me that wanted to indulge in a panic attack. Eventually I was able to relax completely, rationalizing with sound logic; Emily would forget completely about me. Girls like her have better things to do than hang out with girls like me on their Saturday night.

  I must have looked like a marionette—eyes still and mouth clomping open and shut—when Emily showed up on my doorstep in sweats and a hoodie, a little after seven p.m. the following Saturday night. In her hands, she carried The Notebook, along with the entire contents of a candy factory in her Shorecliffs duffle bag. Rhoda—the hostess with the mostest—greeted her effusively, which Emily didn’t seem to mind, and led her into our living room. Emily chatted about her day, not seeming to notice I had yet to say a single word, and plopped down on my sofa with Rhoda’s head in her lap.

  Looking at the fun, outgoing, slightly crazy girl on my couch, I decided I was not up for this challenge. I searched for a legitimate reason why Emily had to leave immediately. But of course all rationality eluded me. In the kitchen, I operated on autopilot, poorly camouflaging the mini meltdown that had me breaking into a sweat. I poured two glasses of iced tea, all the while knowing I had to get her out of there before I ruined this. The only problem with that was, I couldn’t see doing that. I never stood a fleeting chance of getting rid of Emily.

  She had more tenacity than an old lady determined to use expired coupons. The movie, I later realized, was just the beginning. Emily was at my house the next day in a silver metallic, itty-bitty bikini, insisting the beach was calling. Maybe it was, but I was just going to let it go to voicemail. Unable to sway her—many, many excuses later—I did the unbelievable. Atrocity barely begun to describe my ruffled and tie dye swimwear.

  For the next two weeks she was unavoidable. She came over almost every day, determined to cram every proverbial summer activity in before the school year started. And once fall did finally roll around, the twins found me the first day—our junior year—wandering resolute and determined to find a quiet spot to eat my lunch.

  It didn’t happen.

  Jake slung his arm around my bony shoulder, guiding me toward the table where he and the rest of the genetically blessed water dwellers serried. I assured them both this wasn’t necessary; however, they disagreed entirely. One look at all those people, and my knees had begun to wobble like a baby doe taking its first steps. Perched on the end of the table—one leg extended should the chance at a breakaway appear—I reluctantly joined them just for the day.

  And the next day. And the day after that. And every day, until one day I no longer entertained notions of hiding out in my Trigonometry class where Jake and Emily couldn’t find me.

  Shockingly, for the first time in years, I found myself not cringing at the idea of spending time with people; even if it was just the two of them—even if it wasn’t me at all, but a spurious carbon copy. I realized quickly enough that it was what I needed to do, because I liked having Jake and Emily as friends. I liked it a little too much though, for something that probably wouldn’t last through next summer. Both had already accepted scholarships to the same four-year university. Eventually we would lose touch; they would make new friends and move on with their lives, and I would do the same—minus the friends part. Everything would go back to normal. This was good, I reminded myself. I would no longer need to work so hard at keeping things from them, keeping me from them. I could slip once more into the background and no one would notice.

  ~

  “How was practice?” I asked.

  Emily walked toward me in tiny white shorts and a very pale green tank top. Her hair was still wet and wrapped like a scarf around one side of her neck. “Brutal,” she answered, using a bare foot to soothe an itch. “But not for me,” she added with a smug smile. “I sat on the edge of the pool and worked on my tan, while the girls did piggy back drills.” Following her gaze, I looked down at her lean shapely legs, solid and brown, like two polished table legs. “Being captain does come with some sweet perks. You sure I can’t convince you to try out for the team next season?” The tight muscles in her arms flexed as she tossed the ball into the air and caught it one handed. She lowered it to rest on her hip, waiting for my answer.

  My answer, had I offered it unfiltered, would likely have been a grand display of erratic hand waving in conjunction with mild hyperventilating. I answered as calmly as I could manage.

  “I appreciate the offer, Em, I do. However I have some really tough classes this year. I don’t think I’d have the time to commit to a sport.” My neck began to cramp from the amount of casual shrugs I combined with my reply.

  To my extreme relief Emily no longer had the look of wanting; a look I knew from experience would be impossible to dispel. She stared above my ear intently, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Uncertain, I lifted a hand to my curls, exploring the area.

  “Is that a . . .” As she reached forward I remained still, following Emily with my eyes. I felt her small hands working busily in my mane, disinterring the object sucked into the black hole.

  I chewed on my bottom lip as I waited, imagining what she might find there. A toothbrush? A dryer sheet? On more than one occasion I had found both.

  Emily laughed in such a way that I knew it was something incredible.

  “No,” she said in disbelief, “Seriously?” Emily stepped back and held up an eraser near her cheek, like an actress modeling a packet of gum. I felt my mouth plop open. This was not one of those tiny erasers that fit over a pencil, but a full size, trapezoid-shaped, standard eraser. The same eraser I had lost and had been looking for since first period.

  I wanted to evaporate. Instead I said, “Oh . . . you found it.”

  Emily shook her head, the only look on her face being one of someone highly impressed. She returned it. “Did you even feel it in there?”

  “Not really,” I said, shoving the eraser deep into my front pocket.

  Emily continued to comb through my hair with her eyes, appearing curious about what other treasures she might unearth. Dinosaur fossils perhaps?

  Giving up on that, she smiled then laughed. “Best trick—ever. Next time you have a big exam you should stick a cheat sheet in there,” she suggested, pointing to her own head. Then something occurred to her and she dropped her hand. “Well, I guess with that Einstein brain of y
ours the trick’s sort of wasted, huh?”

  “I guess so.” I forced myself to smile back, and in my head, marveled over the fact Emily had yet to tire of me. While much of what I said and did could be controlled by scrupulous internal edits, this was the kind of thing no amount of plotting could prepare me for. This was the kind of thing that would eventually cost me my friend.

  “You about ready?” Emily asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Sorry, yes. Let me just put this away.” I shrugged out of my jean jacket, folding it neatly, and laying it on top of the book I would need next period. “Is Jake meeting us?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “No. He was starving,” Emily replied, both her voice and her eyes patronizing. “Shocking, I know. He forgot to buy a snack from the vending machine at break, and bolted as soon as the bell rang.”

  “Oh, okay . . . did you want to go find him?” I asked, eager to get Emily moving. Though she made an effort at discretion, clearly Emily was still scanning my hair for the miscellaneous. This amused perusal was making me fidgety and uptight, and now I needed to see for myself before I could relax.

  “Jake will be where the food is,” Emily said. “I want to toss this in my locker and grab my flip-flops before we go buy lunch.”

  “Okay,” I said a little too quickly. “Why don’t I meet you at your locker as soon as I am done here.”

  “K.”

  I watched Emily saunter away, narrow hips swaying back and forth as she padded barefoot down the hall. It was vacant; not a teenager in sight. Along with Jake, I assumed everyone was now convened in the cafeteria.

  The moment Emily turned the corner, I flipped my head upside down and began running my fingers from the base of my neck up through my hair, trying not to enrage the persnickety beast slumbering within my curls. If indeed anything was ensnared, it would come tumbling out now.