Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  “Sorry, Em. Everything’s fine, we were just talking,” I explained, pulling down the front of my cardigan again with my free hand.

  She narrowed her eyes, looking back and forth between me and Dominic, and arched a brow. “Is he doing jerky things again?” she asked bluntly, as if he wasn’t right beside me. “If he is, just say the word,” she invited, her tone bright and cheerful. “I believe we have an arrangement, don’t we, Kassells?”

  “Absolutely,” he confirmed earnestly, bobbing his head. “You have authority and my permission to do unspeakably violent things to me, should I begin to display signs of jerk-like behavior.”

  “See?” Emily said to me, happy and grinning. “It doesn’t need to be complicated either, but if you rather not rat him out, you can just wink, or scratch your eyebrow.”

  Dominic coughed indiscreetly. “Don’t you think it might be better to discuss signals when I’m not standing right here?”

  “I don’t really see how it makes much of a difference” she retorted indifferently. “One way or another, I’ll find out. And then I get to raise you up the flagpole by your toenails.”

  I heard Dominic hiss. “Nice. That’s a good one; I would never have thought of it,” he said, his tone wistful and appreciative.

  “I watch a lot of horror movies,” she said off-handedly, a slow smile decorating her pretty face. “When the time comes, I’ll have no problems getting creative.”

  I glanced between Emily and Dominic, chary. “You both—you’re are just kidding, right?”

  Emily’s face remained frozen; an expression somewhere between bland incomprehension and noosed laughter. I looked to Dominic, finding his expression much the same.

  “Right?” I repeated, a little breathlessly. If it were anyone else, I thought to myself—anyone but a vengefully capable vigilante and a lionhearted gentleman prone to gallantry—I wouldn’t have had to second-guess.

  Dominic’s mouth twitched. Without moving his head, his eyes flicked toward Emily. The smile grew more pronounced, then he shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Donahue. This is as far as I go; she’s genuinely freaked out.”

  I glanced at Emily and caught her mid-eye roll. “Lame . . .”

  To me, Dominic whispered, “Not that I plan on screwing things up, but I’m pretty sure I can outrun her.” He gave me a smile that did wonderful things to my stomach.

  “I heard that, and no,” Emily said evenly, “you can’t.”

  The three of us strode across the dewed grass, Emily leading the way toward Jake and Maddie where they waited under the shady jacaranda. Not that I minded in the slightest, but I wondered when Dominic and Emily had become cohorts. I wagered a lot must have happened in my time absent.

  I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped over a pine cone. Luckily—for numerous reasons—Dominic was holding my hand and caught me before I slid too far. Emily glanced over her shoulder, spun, and began to walk backward while she talked to us. Was it completely irrational that, watching her move with the facile ease of an acrobat, I grew just a little bit jealous? Especially when walking forward without multiple stumbles proved to be too much for me? Dominic squeezed my hand and the thought flitted away on the wings of the blue butterfly circling above us.

  “So . . .” Emily furrowed her brows, reprovingly. “I know you guys are in that ‘can’t-live-without-you-I-love-you-so-much-it-hurts phase, but is coordinating outfits really necessary?” She regarded us with obvious disdain. “One of you needs to go change. It’s just embarrassing.”

  Dominic and I turned toward one another at the same time. I hadn’t even noticed that our color pallets matched exactly today. From Dominic’s expression, I gathered this was news to him as well. We both laughed quietly, eyes rolling over the similar clothing—dark jeans and a baby blue button up sweater, with a white shirt underneath. Even funnier, we both had the sleeves rolled up to the middle of our forearms.

  Emily rolled her eyes, spinning back around to find her brother sneaking in one last kiss before we arrived. “I really need some new friends,” she muttered to herself.

  After the first bell rang and each of us went separate ways, hand in hand, Dominic walked me to my first class. He relayed a funny story that I only paid half-attention to. I couldn’t help it. Having him right here, beside me, his warm hand entwined in mine, I could think of nothing greater. Induced with all sorts of senseless starry-eyed emotions, I embraced the overreaction with alacrity. This was because I knew that never—not even in my wildest dreams—could I have imagined something this spectacular for myself. This love I felt for him, it was inexplicably potent; like being drowned in oxygenated lilies.

  Dominic finished up his story, stopping me a few feet from the door to my class.

  “I’ll meet you at your locker after class, okay?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said, knowing his schedule took him in a different direction. “It’s out of your way, isn’t it?”

  “You make it sound like I’ll have to take a plane, bus, and boat to get there,” he said chuckling. “Some things are worth going out of your way for.”

  Something about his face struck me. Though the high cheekbones, angular jaw, and the wide set eyes provided him with an incomparable beauty I knew I would never desensitize to, it wasn’t this I found myself marveling at. It was how happy he looked.

  ~

  I smiled as he bent to kiss me lightly on my forehead. “See you after class,” he said softly and stepped back.

  I’d barely settled into first period, reflecting on plans fortunately failed, relationships fortified, and impossibilities feasible, when my teacher announced we would be having a fire drill shortly. Those grateful for a reprieve, celebrated quietly, rising from their chairs at once and shuffling to the door.

  Outside, I stretched my neck, straining to see over the sea of people moving forward like a sluggish avalanche. I wondered if I might find Dominic, and smiled, delighted by the thought of it. There were hundreds of students, however, all talking and laughing as blow-horn-toting administrators corralled them. Deep and distinguishable as it was, the chavish made it impossible to pick out voices. I thought for sure that being both one of the largest and tallest boys making up the collective student body, I wouldn’t have any trouble spotting the wide shoulders carrying a glossy black head.

  We were filtered in two directions: toward the football stadium or the soccer fields. I realized quickly we were separated by class location and with a plaintive sigh that was swallowed up by the garrulous bunch cloistered around me, I gave up searching in vain.

  The ground was warm beneath my feet, already sun-soaked despite the cool early morning air. The soccer fields stretched before me at the top of the slope. I trudged up the hill, slipping backward on the slick grass a few times before noticing how beautiful it was outside; the sky was an opaque blue, the sun gentle, and the scent of freshly mowed grass and honeysuckle fragranced the air invitingly. I took a long, deep breath through my nose, filling up my lungs until they could harbor no more. Spring: the season in which many things started anew, waking up after a soporific winter. I had always thought winter my favorite season. Perhaps not.

  A few dozen yards away, my teacher raised his arms, signaling us to take a seat on the grass. Somehow I’d wandered to the left, winding up next to people not in my class. I took a seat where I was, deciding that since I’d likely cause more damage trying to reunite with my class, it might be prudent to meet up when the fire drill was over. My second thought was cut short when a petite bottom began to lower itself on top of me. I froze, not knowing exactly where to put my hands. For a reason unknown to me—but one I would be exorbitantly grateful for—she glanced behind her before plopping down on top of me.

  “Ah!” Her eyes widened expectedly and she gave a startled cry. I waited, certain the next words would be spoken any sec—

  “I didn’t see you sitting there,” she said, suspicious and looking me over like an alien dropped from the cel
estial regions above and beyond.

  I was taken aback momentarily, discovering she had an incredibly deep voice. “It’s okay,” I assured her, and scooted over, making a spot large enough for her to sit. She did, quickly turning her back to me and picking up conversation with her friend.

  With nothing else to do, and little else in my direct line of sight, I observed the two girls covertly. Their juxtaposing appearances reminded me a bit of Emily and me, in regards to height and coloring. The first looked like a character from an anime comic book; extremely tiny, save a large head, and arms and legs thin as lightning poles. Her hair, a manufactured black a shade or two darker than Dominic’s, was separated into two buns and shellacked with hairspray—the fringe of her bangs dyed electric blue. The outfit she wore, a mismatching conglomeration of lace, fishnets, and ripped denim, left very little to the imagination. Her friend, a statuesque blonde, was dressed with the same minimal accouterments, but with less grunge and more style. The attire was not so much revealing as it was very form fitting. The pink polo shirt was so tight, it bunched beneath her armpits and the pleated white skirt wasn’t quite long enough to fully accommodate the body part she sat on, though, the spandex shorts afforded her a certain amount of coverage. It could be, I thought to myself, that she had come from tennis, or it was possible that this was an everyday ensemble. Either way, from head to toe, every accessory matched.

  Had I not been preoccupied, immersed in idle thoughts, I might have anticipated the signs: whispers and darted glances. As it was, before I could stage a defense against what was surely happening, suddenly I was waylaid by an onslaught of attention. Both girls swiveled around to face me, questions fast on their tongues.

  “Was that your boyfriend?” the small one, with the deep voice asked. “The guy you were with in the parking lot this morning? I saw you guys kissing.”

  I might have scrounged up a protest to this last inaccurate statement, but I was too busy trying not to melt into the grass. Instantly, my whole face burned as if it had imbibed all the body heat in the nearby vicinity.

  The one who’d nearly sat on me continued to stare, ostensibly waiting for a reply. She held one eye closed against the sun, her glittery blue eye shadow sparkling like crushed topaz. A few times I opened my mouth, but I found I could do nothing more than stare back, wordless and chagrined.

  The other girl jumped in to fill the awkward silence.

  “Is he a good kisser? Gawd, he’s totally gorgeous.” She turned to her friend, eyes wild and hungry, and whispered loud enough for me to hear, “I would give anything to touch those lips.” She bit into her own bottom lip lasciviously and leaned forward. “So, what’s he like? Is he really that quiet? Or is that like”—she jostled her head from side-to-side—“part of his thing?”

  At this point, wholly confused, I managed, “His thing?”

  She smiled something between a smirk and a lick. “Yeah, you know, like . . . something to make girls want him,” she explained, and added as I sat there stunned into silence, “because he doesn’t talk to anyone—at least not me.” She made a pout and reached up to adjust her bubble gum pink headband. “We have third period together and he won’t even look at me unless I’m handing something to him.”

  “Maybe he’s shy,” the pixie girl offered blandly.

  “Yeah, maybe,” she said, eagerly musing. “The gorgeous ones always are, aren’t they? Could be a language thing, too. Someone told me they heard from someone else that he’s a foreign exchange student from Greece, and that he’s spent a year studying in a different country since he was fourteen.”

  “Really?” the pixie girl asked with a look of indolent intrigue. “I think I heard somewhere that he was expelled from his last school for beating some kid up.”

  To this she gave a moue of dislike, preferring better the foreign exchange student plausibility. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “Yeah, that’s probably just a rumor.”

  She shrugged and began picking at her braces thoughtfully. “Or maybe he’s in a band. I saw him carrying a guitar the other day.”

  “Yes! And I bet he sings, too!” Her voice was full of dreamy salacious intent. “He totally has that break-your-heart lead singer vibe, doesn’t he?”

  Her friend raised one bony shoulder, looking terribly bored. “I guess.”

  “Oh, and I think he’s in that advanced music class. My friend Vanya’s in there, too. It’s probably part of the exchange program,” she added, no trace of hesitation in her voice. She suddenly became very serious and animated, holding up her hands in a “picture this” kind of way. “So, he sings and plays guitar in a band, and is probably like super famous wherever he’s from. But he came here to promote their new album. Kinda like The Beatles.” I thought they had all but forgotten me when the blonde turned to me wide-eyed and hopeful. “I’m right, right?” She smiled, waiting expectantly for my answer. Why, I didn’t know, but I felt mildly culpable for disfiguring the illusion of the simple boy from Virginia.

  “Well,” I began, wrapping my arms around my shins, “it’s true that—”

  “It’s true!” the blonde shouted back.

  “That he’s from out of state,” I finished quickly, hoping to avoid the propagation of more rumors.

  “And in a band?” the other girl chimed in, one eye closed.

  I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Oh.” She seemed neither disappointed nor interested.

  The blonde, however, was not easily deterred. “But he is a foreign exchange student.”

  It wasn’t a question. Still, she waited for me to confirm it. I deserved this. I should have just said no from the very beginning. I gave another shake.

  “No? Really?” For a moment she appeared crestfallen. It lasted for only a few seconds before a surly expression filled up her face. “Maybe he just hasn’t told you. Is he even your boyfriend?”

  I lowered my eyes and felt the heat rush to my cheeks once more. “No, not exactly . . . we—”

  “Oh, really?” she drawled. I looked up in time to see her stealing a glance at her friend, a queanish smile fixed on her mouth.

  “We have a date on Friday,” shot out of my mouth before I knew I was saying anything.

  There was a clear look of disappointment, then, “But you’re not officially together, though, right? He’s like free to date other people?”

  “Alexis, enough already.” The voice came from one row over to my right, irritated and steely. “He’s not in a band, he’s not a foreign exchange student, and he’s obviously not available. Get. Over. It.”

  I turned and saw Bevenny Townsell—a member of the Shorecliffs’ debate team, with a notorious reputation for obliterating her opponent’s confidence before the matches even begun—staring contemptuously at the girls in front of me.

  “Don’t you think that if he was even the slightest bit interested in either one of you,” she went on, “then you would probably know the answers to your inane questions? Furthermore, I think it’s sick and desperate that you would attempt to make a move on a guy who clearly has feelings for someone else.”

  I stared in awe and admiration, inept of anything but blinking aerobics.

  Bevenny Townsell was one of those rare hybrids: academically inclined, while managing to be well liked by the student body. Beyond the occasional passing by in the hallways, I’d only seen her from a distance, most recently at the student election assembly when she gave her campaign speech for class secretary. Her points, I thought, were valid and strong, her suggestions relevant. When she spoke, it wasn’t through fulsome promises to make our school perfect, but with a conviction and a poise that made me want to listen to her, to hear what she had to say. She didn’t strike me, either, as someone who wanted the power, prestige, and college application booster, but without the responsibility inclusive with the title.

  I voted for her.

  Up close, I thought she was even prettier; a long slender nose, creamy blemish-less skin, and shrewd honey-brown eye
s that complimented the ash-brown hair she habitually wore in a high ponytail.

  “Who invited you into this conversation, Bevenny?” Alexis asked impudently, intoning Bevenny’s name to make it sound ugly.

  Bevenny gave a genuine laugh, then very calmly replied, “The same person who invited you, Alexis.”

  Stumped into silence, Alexis decided that rather than lashing back, she would save face by not answering verbally, and instead responded with a flippant eye roll and snort. Both she and her tiny friend turned away and began whispering unflattering remarks about Bevenny.

  “Thank you,” I said to Bevenny, once their backs were turned.

  She smiled amiably. “No problem. Those girls were being obnoxious—especially Alexis; she’s always trying to get in everyone’s business. She thinks she’s in the C.I.A. or something.”

  I smiled, and possessed to a quip, replied, “Or the C.U.A.” Instantly I regretted the terrible joke; only a Kelly would find that reply the least bit humorous. To my complete shock, Bevenny began laughing—a lot.

  “Clever,” she complimented, nodding, “The Central Unintelligence Agency. I’ll have to use that sometime.” She smiled again and I told my face to do the same. “You’re Foster, right?”

  I felt my eyes go buggy. She actually knows my name. My correct name.

  Bevenny’s face shifted to uncertainty at my lack of confirmation. “Is it not Foster?”

  “No! It is,” I verified, twisting my body so that I was facing her. Someone had just announced over the intercom that we would be going back to class in five minutes.

  “Oh, good,” she said, sounding relieved. “I hate mispronouncing names. People are always screwing up mine, calling me Bethany or Beverly. I can imagine you might have the same problem with yours.”

  “Once or twice,” I teased, oddly comfortable with the girl I had only just officially met.

  She glanced upward, shaking her head. “Sometimes I don’t even bother to correct people anymore—takes too much work,” she admitted.

  “Yes . . . it can be,” I said, knowing exactly how she felt.