And so today, a good portion of the student body had opted to dine outside, stationing themselves under round tables canopied with purple umbrellas, or sprawling out across the double wide chaises, basking in the sun’s warmth. Shorecliffs was not a school that lacked in anything—especially ambience. I focused on all of this, distracting myself from the three people conjugated at the end of a stainless steel table near the center of the room. Something caught my attention, though, and I found myself staring in the direction I had avoided.
Talking to Emily, who was seated at the very end of the bench, was a beatific boy wearing khaki shorts, a purple Shorecliffs golf shirt at least two sizes too big for him and a matching cap. If I recalled correctly, this was the very same boy who had the misfortune of crossing paths with Kent Cramer last Friday after school. Apparently he’d gotten in Kent’s way, accidentally tripping him with his rolling golf-bag. In return, Kent and his friend had moved in to grab the boy, who—fortunately in this case—not weighing more than a hundred pounds, wiggled and squirmed, impeding a lasting grip around his frail arms. This delay gave Emily just enough time to jog over to where a circle of people were starting to gather around the spectacle, grab one of the boy’s golf clubs, and whack Kent in the back of the legs with it.
Kent was a big boy, stocky and wide, but still no match for the well-aimed swing of a golf club. His knees buckled and he’d almost fallen backward, but managed to right himself by stepping forward, seconds before gravity did him in. Stunned and wounded, he cried out, fists ready to ensue killing someone. One look at Emily, hands writhing around the Calloway and flashing eyes inviting him to make a move, and he’d taken a canny step backward . . . and then another and another, until both he and his friend were far enough away to feel confident about throwing glares over their shoulders. A little shaken up and embarrassed, the boy had thanked Emily, reclaimed his club, and scurried away with his accused golf bag in tow, swerving back and forth on one wheel.
I couldn’t help but laugh a little; from the looks of things, the boy didn’t seem to mind his heroine’s rescue. Rocking back on his heels now, he stood before Emily, round cheeks glowing a triumphant red for victory. Any boy talking to the most beautiful girl at our school would bear the same resemblance. Emily was smiling, too, placid and docile for the moment. My eyes wandered then to Jake, oblivious to either of the girls flanking him. He rubbed his hands together in joyful anticipation as he prepared to devour something—or many somethings. Maddie, deeply engrossed, flipped rapidly through a stack of multicolored index cards, her lips moving each time a new one appeared.
“Much longer and I’m afraid lunch will be over.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Dominic said lightly, shrugging away my apology. “I enjoy watching you daydream. Your face”—he raised a hand, motioning toward his own in wide circles—“becomes wonderfully animated, and you make these very soft ‘Nn’ noises—like an insect.” I flushed fantastically as a solar flare collided with my face. Dominic watched me with silent fascination. Then he smiled in a way I didn’t consider to be entirely fair—especially under the circumstances, and added, “No one’s ever told you that, have they?”
“Um—not that I can recall, no.” For one fleeting moment, fear was drowned out by intense embarrassment.
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised by this, but not entirely disappointed. “Well, it’s phenomenal,” he said matter-of-factly, then turned away gesturing with his chin. “You ready for this?” The wide smile had returned and I was still unsure whether or not this was a good or a bad thing.
“Yes,” I answered, sounding more confident than I felt. Good. If I needed to act myself into a feeling, then so be it. The time for cowardice was over; I’d wasted nearly fifteen minutes of the lunch period hiding in the vestibule outside the cafeteria. It was time to be brave. Apparently Dominic thought so, too.
Before I had time to think of what I might say, he was propelling me forward, one hand firmly pressed against the small of my back. Terror rose up like an actual thing, robbing me of all oxygen and composure for a few seconds. I made a small noise of protest, then forced myself to swallow it down, taking as much air as I could with it. Dominic, face indecipherably composed, gave no indication he’d heard me or felt the resistance of my dragging feet. His guiding hand stayed rooted as we weaved through the lunch tables. I tried not to notice all the heads popping up as we passed—or the whispers. Closing the distance was much like consenting to be pushed into a wall of thorns. And with each set of eyes that landed on me, it felt like a flame sprouted into existence, singeing my skin and raising my temperature a degree or two. Halfway to our destination, a blonde and red head swiveled in our direction—the very blondest being the last to become aware of our near arrival.
When we were less than a yard away, I realized I still had no idea how I might begin this conversation. I’d barely had enough time to think—which, I was almost certain was part of Dominic’s master plan. I hadn’t the faintest idea what the other parts consisted of. Panic clogged all faculty of thought, and it was an effort to keep moving forward. Just before we entered a zone where he might be overheard, Dominic bent near my ear, speaking swift and low. He whispered the five words—six, including my name—I hadn’t known how badly I needed to hear until just then.
“I won’t make you choose, Foster.”
I had only enough time to glance up and see the oath in his eyes before my shins collided with a vacant bench.
~
Does silence have an expiration date?
This was the question I wondered standing across from Emily, Jake, and Maddie. The table between us provided a physical schism, Dominic and me on one side, the three of them forming a neat apex on the other.
I stared into the shiny stainless steel, my distorted reflection concealing the fear I knew shown in my eyes. This was all I could do for the first fifteen seconds. Next, for roughly half a minute or so, my eyes roamed like a lost sheep, haphazardly gliding about the room with no particular destination or objective, just . . . roaming. During this transient touring, I took to collecting observations: on the right side of Maddie’s neck was a birthmark in the shape of a cupcake. One of Emily’s silver bracelets was broken. Jake had mustard on the corner of his mouth. If you took a shirt from each of them, you would have all three colors of the American flag—Emily in red, Jake in blue, and Maddie in white. When I had exhausted my resources of trivialities, I once more I took to staring downward, somewhat dismayed by this regression. How long might I reengage in this activity for? I wondered.
Something large and softly pronged pressed into my back, steadying me when I began leaning to the left unknowingly. Paying very little attention to the state of my body, I hadn’t realized I was about to fall—would have fallen—had Dominic’s hand not been there to adroitly and furtively intercede. Stiff as I was, my knees had locked themselves for a time, sending me veering off balance like a tree about to timber. I recalibrated my weight, resting it equally on both wobbly legs. As I did, I made another observation, something I had overlooked the first time around. Whereas before, much of what I had noted fell into the meaningless and coincidental category, what I beheld just now certainly was not. Beside Emily was a test; obscured and delitescent to everyone else, but to me posing more vibrantly colored warnings than a door to a laboratory you needed a gas mask and government-issued clearance to access.
Emily saw my face and gave nothing away, fixing both of her lovely, incredibly cunning eyes on me. My throat had commenced closing and very little air was passing through. I took a deep breath and coughed, staring through watery eyes at the space large enough to accommodate one person. Not two—just one. Opposite of my friends was enough bench to seat both Dominic and me comfortably. Though she masked it well, I felt the entreaty in her watchful stare. Who do you choose? Who means more to you?
I had two, painstakingly clear seating choices: Emily or Dominic.
&n
bsp; I felt the beginnings of perspiration seep into the fine curls at the back of my neck. A great urge rose up to take my shirt and wipe the moisture away, but I felt that any movement—minute as it might be—wouldn’t be prudent, possibly interpreted as a sign of my indecision and confliction. How had I not anticipated this? Of course I would have to sit. While I would have preferred to stand, to position myself at the middle of the short end of the table, standing while I ate my lunch was not exactly a discreet maneuver. And even though I usually sat across from them, it went without saying that making that choice would induce extreme consequences. Emily cleared her throat and looked away, reaching over to swipe a fry from Jake. I don’t know why this gesture increased my anxiety, but it did. It was almost as if she was saying, “Make up your mind already.” My panic increased ten-fold and the light perspiration morphed into a wet trickling down the long furrow of my back. I had to choose now. I had to. And then I didn’t; the choice was made for me.
Dominic stepped out from behind me and took a seat at the very end of the bench, spreading his body wider than necessary, and then he strategically placed both our backpacks to the right of him. In one smooth move he had eliminated fifty percent of the choices. Unless I wanted to eat with Jamie Lewis—a water polo player with her back turned in our direction and sitting a good three feet away from the rest of us—there was only one option left. I practically jumped into haste, shuffling around the end of the table and settling in beside Emily. When it was safe, I sent the most grateful of glances to Dominic. He returned the look with a wink so abrupt, even to me it could have been nothing more than a blink. It wasn’t, though.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms flat against the table. “Hey guys,” he said, and sniffed. “Smells good.” His expression was neutral, calm. It was neither overly confident nor aloof the way fear could sometimes upset defense mechanisms, and it held none of the worry or apprehension that my own espoused.
“You want one?” Jake offered Dominic a french fry. I felt Emily tense, the disapproval running along her jaw as she began twisting the large turquoise ring on her finger.
“Sure, thanks,” Dominic said, leaning forward with a smile.
“Hi, Em.” I said quietly, hoping to distract her a bit and redirect her attention on me. “How was practice?”
She flicked her eyes my way and smiled back tightly. “Good,” she replied, placing her gaze firmly back on Dominic. “We did death drills the entire time.”
Occasionally when I had a free period that aligned with Emily’s practices, I would sit on the bleachers and spectate, awed and in admiration of the sheer stamina and strength these girls had in both their upper and lower bodies. Not a single one of them was incapable of treading water for an entire hour, slicing their thickly muscled legs through the water and holding straight torsos over the surface line. However . . . the day I heard Emily announce death drills, I’m almost positive the water level of the pool raised an inch or two, both from sweat and tears.
I glanced down to the end of the table where more than half of the girls’ water polo team had their heads buried in their arms, backsides hanging off the edge of the bench. The other was half nearing a state of unconsciousness; chewing slowly in a weak attempt to nourish their dilapidated bodies before succumbing to the darkness. Their heavy lidded eyes blinked owlishly, staying shut just a tiny bit longer each time they closed. Emily herself showed no signs of fatigue, though I knew she most likely sat on the ledge of the pool or beneath a shaded umbrella chair.
Jake and Dominic were talking amiably, having slipped effortlessly into trivial conversation. I marveled at the simplicity of the male gender. Whether brutalizing one another or a brotherhood of solidarity, they handled delicate matters such as loyalty and allegiance with candor and efficiency. About to shake hands with a cheerfully cordial Maddie, I opened my mouth to ask Emily when her next game would be, only to be cut off before I could get more than one word out.
“Dominic?” Emily’s voice was even and composed, jolting me like I’d received an electric shock. Within half a second, all conversation had ceased, four sets of eyes filled to the brim with curiosity, anticipation, and expectation—and just a bit of terror from me.
“Yes, Emily?” Dominic smiled, giving her his full attention and earning further scrutiny from Emily while she gauged whether it was a smile of mocking humor. Jake and Maddie’s heads swung back and forth, apparently doing the same thing. I held my breath and balled my scarf in my fists beneath the table, trying very hard not to embarrass myself by fainting or throwing up.
After a moment spent in deliberation, Emily’s narrowed eyes widened to a casual, still slightly skeptical observance. “I’m not going to sit here for the rest of the lunch and pretend like there isn’t a big, fat pink elephant in the room,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if this meant she had exonerated any derision from Dominic’s polite expression or not. “And the last thing I’m going to do is pretend I trust you—or like you, for that matter.” She paused for a very serious half a second. “I don’t like you—just so we’re clear.”
Dominic smiled, incurring the blunt truth with ease and grace, no apparent offense taken. “Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “I had assumed as much, though I’m hoping there might be an opportunity for reconsideration somewhere down the line.”
“Yeah, probably not,” Emily said matter-of-factly, gently shaking her head. The tinge of sarcasm underlying the statement gave me the tiniest bit of hope. “I don’t want to give you any false hope”—and then it dissolved like glass doused with hydrofluoric acid—“so you should know I’m not so much the change-my-mind type of person. Fickle is more of Jake’s area,” she said with an affected smile. I released a small sigh at the truth in this. Very rarely did Emily completely switch mindsets. Small modifications within the scope, yes; full one hundred and eighty degree shifts, unheard of. “But you never know,” Emily allowed in a reluctant tone, obviously having heard my noise of disappointment, “things could change.” This was spoken without much enthusiasm, quickly superseded by, “for now, I don’t trust you or like you and basically think you’re a toolish scumbag.”
Dominic granted a little shock to appear on his face. His eyebrows rose and he began to nod. “Well, I . . .” He glanced away, blinking as he thought of a response. “I appreciate your honesty.”
I swallowed, trying to keep the cringe from ripping through my face. And though I had no doubts she was far from finished, I made no attempts to impede the vituperation. For one, I couldn’t stop Emily any more than I could stop the Maglev bullet train were it coming for me. Nothing stopped Emily, and to try would be foolish and disastrous. More than that, though, I didn’t see any other way around this. Denial and faux niceties were not the answer, and truthfully speaking, did not suit either Dominic or Emily’s personalities. No, this was the only way there might be a chance for them. I was nowhere near content, but having no other options gave me the semblance of peace.
Dominic wasn’t looking at me, and for this I was glad. If he were, then undoubtedly he would have seen the defeat in my eyes. His own electric blue eyes echoed Emily’s powerful stare; not with malice, but with undaunted dignity. New reservations sprung up before I could enjoy the sliver of quasi-peace. At what point was enough, enough? How long would he permit Emily’s brazenness without retaliation? Who—especially someone like Dominic—would subject themselves to slander and defamation willingly? And if he didn’t remove himself from the table, vanishing from the cafeteria in a blaze of fury, but instead fired back at her, would they argue until they agreed to disagree? Until they hated one another with a flaming passion? Until I could stand it no longer and was forced to make a choice?
Emily made a small sound; a cough that wasn’t really a cough, it was more like she was having troubling dislodging a piece of food from her throat. I touched her arm, just a bit concerned. It was unlike Emily to have this kind of problem.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, checking her color.
/> She furrowed her brows at me in annoyance. “I’m fine.” Just then, Jake took it upon himself to pound his sister heartily on the back. Three quick thumps.
“Do that again and I’ll break your nose,” Emily said evenly, not bothering to turn her head.
“What? I thought you were choking,” Jake replied nonchalantly.
“I’m not choking.” Her voice grew sharp.
Jake shrugged. “Sounded like you were.”
“I wasn’t.” Emily’s throat and cheeks began to pinken. “But if I had been, you thumping me on the back would have only made it worse. That’s not what you’re supposed to do.”
“It’s okay, Em,” Jake said, a mollifying quality in his voice. He smiled, reached out to grab a handful of fries and poured them into his mouth. “I saved your life is all.”
“I wasn’t choking, you moron!” she railed. Pressing her palm into the side of Jake’s fluffy white head, she shoved it roughly in Maddie’s direction.
Maddie and I caught each other’s eyes around the brawling twins. I must have looked as nervous as I felt, because she whispered something in Jake’s ear that sounded like, “Don’t do it, Jacob.” Jake flicked his tongue to the corner of his mouth to retrieve a glob of ketchup and smiled pleasurably; luckily Emily did not see this as she turned to face Dominic, a blatant look of disapproval and dislike evident in the clench of her fine jaw. She opened her mouth, left it gaping briefly, then closed it with an audible pop. I wish I could have said I had a clue as to what was passing through Emily’s mind at that moment, but very honestly, I didn’t. With Emily all bets were off, any possibility as likely as the next.
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