One is Come

by C. H. MacLean

  Chapter 9

  Cross Walk

  Haylwen sighed. Another new school. Another first day at another new school. They were in southern California and it was as odd as she had always heard. Who names a city “The Cats” anyway? Instead of regular schools, they had different charter schools all over. Cadarn had been excited to go to his geeky science school, and Haylwen didn’t want to make a big deal of having to go to a different school. She had considered going to the same school, but as lonely as it was to not even have Cadarn, she couldn’t bear the idea of doing all that math. Haylwen didn’t really know if she had the talent to do well at a “creative arts” school, but everyone knows artists are nicer than scientists. For the tenth time today, she brutally dismissed the hope that maybe she would have a chance to make a real friend.

  She stepped away from the sink and dried her hands. She sat down and looked at her tree-sculpture. She should have stuck to a more traditional vase like the one the demonstration. She bit off her fingernails, spitting them into her left hand. It was the saddest little tree, with only a few drooping branches. Maybe it was impossible to make a tree out of clay, she thought.

  “Very creative.”

  Haylwen looked up at Mr. Vestas, the art teacher. His big beard and bushy eyebrows didn’t hide his soft smile and gentle eyes.

  Mr. Vestas grabbed a nearby chair in one large hand and spun it deftly around, setting it nearby Haylwen’s table. He settled his bulk into the chair. “First time working with clay, is it?”

  Haylwen looked into his smiling eyes, and blushed slightly. “Yeah, I mean, yes, sir, Mr. Vestas. It is.”

  He chuckled, an off-duty Santa Claus. “Not much for traditional vases?”

  Haylwen smiled.

  Mr. Vestas smiled back. “Go on, I would love to see where you are going with this.”

  Haylwen held her collection of fingernails and looked around for a trash can. Seeing Mr. Vestas’ smiling face, she impulsively held them out for him. “Here you go!”

  He held out one meaty hand, palm up, with a curiously bemused expression. Haylwen dumped her fingernail collection onto his palm. He looked at the surprise in his palm. A weird look raced across his face as he whispered, “It’s you…” He quickly recovered. “A present?” he said with a forced smile.

  She felt her face heat up, and tried to hide her embarrassment, stammering, “I didn’t see a trash…”

  He smiled oddly. “Oh, no, I’ll keep them forever.”

  She looked at him as he stood, patting her back with his free hand. His hands were so big it felt like half of a hug. “I’ll be right back.” He lumbered off.

  Haylwen sat there, looking around to see if anyone else noticed. One boy, Bruce or Brice or something like that, sneered at her and wiped some clay on his nose. “Brown-noser,” he whispered. He was sitting two tables away, with an almost completed, normal-looking vase in front of him. Haylwen blushed bright red and dropped her eyes quickly to her clay. Stupid clay. Stupid new school. The teachers were nice, but the kids were the same.

  Mr. Vestas lumbered back, and leaned across the table, supporting himself with one tree-like arm. Haylwen felt like a bug next to a bear, but at least he was blocking the rest of the class from looking at her. He looked at something in his hand for a while, then thrust a small wooden tool at her. “For you.”

  She looked up at him, then at the tool. She had no idea what it was. “Um-mm…”

  He smiled and looked worried at the same time.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she took the tool. It was a strip of wood, twice as long as her hand, wider than two of her fingers, and just thinner than a pencil. It was smooth, cool, and surprisingly heavy like stone. One end was triangular, the opposite scooped and rounded, like a spoon. She smiled and mumbled, “Thank you.”

  Mr. Vestas looked at her steadily. “Forget about it,” he said.

  The bell rang to end class so Haylwen stuffed the tool in her backpack. Mr. Vestas vanished as Haylwen hurriedly cleaned up her station, and rushed out. He was nowhere to be seen, but she would have sworn he was watching her leave.

  She swung by her locker, grabbed her stuff, and headed out. “Hey, new girl!” Haylwen turned, reflexively. She briefly wondered if there was ever going to be a time she wasn’t the “new girl.” Looking around the parking lot, she saw it was that Brice boy who yelled. He had two boys with him, and marched at her like he was on a mission. She turned back and kept heading home. She thought about running, but then Brice caught up to her at the crosswalk. “Where you from, new girl?”

  “Here and there.” Her standard answer, well-practiced.

  Brice stepped in front of her, and the two boys went to each of her sides. They were half-standing in the street, uncaring of the cars.

  “Don't you know no one likes a brown-noser?” Brice's friends snickered at his joke. At least he had friends. “You know what the brown is, right? That’s your new name, stinky brown. ‘Cause you stink, too.”

  She tried to step around him, but he stepped in front of her and bumped her with his shoulder. He was a few inches taller, a lot bigger, and leaned into it. She stumbled and dropped her book bag. Brice's friends laughed as he crossed his arms and smirked.

  Haylwen snatched up her book bag and glared at the three of them in turn. She was just afraid of getting beat up at first, but now she was mad too.

  “Get out of my way, you jerk!” she said.

  “Jerk?” he said. “Oh, I’m so hurt! She thinks I’m a jerk. Like I care what some stinky brown-noser thinks.” His friends laughed again.

  She realized that he didn’t really care what she thought, but she did. She was just trying to fit in, and would have considered being his friend even after the brown-nose stunt in class. That realization really made her mad. He was picking on her for no other reason than she was “new!” He could have been nice, they could have been friends, but, no, he had to be a … jerk! As she stood there, she could feel herself getting angrier. This was just like with Amanda and Kim, being teased for reasons completely out of her control.

  “Niños, you gonna cross or what?” The rumpled old man seemed to come out of nowhere. He was dressed in faded blue coveralls with a chest patch that said custodial services, like all the janitors at the school. His thick Spanish accent came out of a dark brown face with wrinkles like a raisin. His eyes, deep and bright blue, flashed quickly from her to each of the boys. “You get hit by cars, I gonna have to clean it up.” He swirled a long, dingy cloth around in front of him, indicated the big mess it would make.

  Brice only turned his head to look at the shriveled old man. The janitor must have been bigger at some point, but looked as if he had deflated slowly with time. Brice's face kept to a sneer. “Spic, you have no business here,” he snarled.

  She felt herself get hot, her emotions suddenly flaring out of control just like with Amanda and Kim. She knew what it was like to be picked on, put down, and her rage flared. Tears welled in her eyes as she glared at Brice, and in the watery wavering, could almost see him being on fire. She opened her mouth to yell something, anything.

  Brice’s sneer vanished as the old man swatted him with the rag, across the shoulders and head. The dingy cloth was so quick Brice registered it with a yelp, but was smacked a few more times before he could finally jump and spin out of the old man’s reach. The other two boys took a cautious step back.

  “That’s what you get,” the old man said to Brice. His eyes on the three boys, he spoke sideways to Haylwen, “That’s how you do for a bully. Stand up to him. He is afraid, is for making you feel his afraid. So, you don't take it.” He flashed a gap-toothed grin at her. “Better than that, don't walk alone.”

  Haylwen nodded, eyes wide. The janitor motioned across the street with his eyes. She took the hint and scampered across the street. Brice turned his attention to the old man and looked at him fiercely. “I’ll have you fired! I’ll sue for child abuse!”

  The old man looked at him calmly.
“I no afraid of you, still wearing little boy underpants.”

  Brice flushed red and started to deny it as his friends tried not to laugh, but stopped. He glared at them each in turn, then back at the old man. “I’d better not see your face around here again,” Brice said haughtily. He looked around for someone else to hate, and saw Haylwen. He gave one last glare to the old man, then trotted across the street after Haylwen, his friends following close behind him.