“Sylvia and I came across a bus full of nuns with a blown tire. Of course we stopped to help.”
Clarissa leaned back in her chair. “Scoring points in heaven and having an excuse for tardiness…? Nice.”
We settled into the lecture on Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Although I had read it a dozen times, Mr. Walker made the lecture interesting. He was a great teacher, he even got Clarissa interested in the written word occasionally—which was no easy task. Mr. Walker transitioned into discussing Curley’s wife.
“Tramp,” one of the boys in class said through a poorly disguised cough. I looked over. It seemed that Brad had made the outburst, as all of his fellow jock friends were laughing under their breath.
Mr. Walker paused and eyed Brad. “Is that what most impacted you about the character, Brad?” he asked staring over his glasses.
Brad shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said and then turned to his friends and whispered, “And I don’t care.” He met my eyes and winked at me. Some of the girls in class moved in their seats to try and get in his line of sight to show the big smiles they were wearing. Brad was supposedly the best-looking guy in school, blond hair blue eyes, and a tiny IQ. Not really my type. Of course I had yet to discover what my type was, not that he hadn’t tried to reel me in with his charm. I was one of the few girls that he had yet to conquer and he was more and more flirtatious and insistent as our senior year wound down.
Mr. Walker turned to me and must have seen his annoyance mirrored on my face. “Maribel, what struck you about the character?”
I had read the novel so many times I didn’t even need to stop and think. “Her name is never mentioned. She’s just Curley’s wife, just a possession, an object written to complicate Lenny’s life.” I thought of the chapter where Lenny ends her existence by accident. “She is written in a way that makes you sad for Lenny, the guy who killed her, when she dies. You feel as much emotion at her demise as you would had he broken a lamp, and that I think is what Steinbeck intended.” Mr. Walker smiled, presumably remembering why he let me be late every day.
“Yes I think…” He trailed off.
Clarissa nudged me. “Look, someone’s later than you.” She pointed to a figure leaning against the doorframe.
It was him. The boy from earlier that morning. Everyone in class was looking at him, but he was looking at me with curious brown eyes. His perfectly full lips were pulled up on one side in a half smile. His face couldn’t be described by any word but beautiful, although there was nothing feminine about him. His prominent cheekbones, square jaw, and dimpled chin all rang of masculinity. I joined the rest of the girls in the room in a collective sigh and was instantly angry with myself. I did not just sigh at him of all people, did I? The stranger tore his eyes away from mine somewhat unwillingly.
“The office sent me with this,” he said in a melodic voice as he walked over to the middle-aged man to hand him a yellow slip.
Mr. Walker glanced at the paper and raised his eyebrows. “Kids, this is Jaron Varuna. It’s his first day, so take it easy on him.” He gestured to the only open seat left; it was at the back of the room. I wished for a second that there was an open desk next to me, and it looked like I wasn’t the only one. The female eyes stayed on Jaron as he walked to his seat. Mr. Walker cleared his throat, and everyone moved their attention to the front of class.
“As I was saying, yes, Maribel, your assumption …”
The lecture failed to capture my interest again. My attention was being spent convincing myself that it wasn’t his eyes I felt watching me. Why would he be looking at me again? It wasn’t wishful thinking on my part, I’d never wanted anything to do with a guy and this one seemed like a cocky jerk. A gorgeous cocky jerk, but I wasn’t shallow enough for that to matter. At least I had never been before. Everything in me screamed to steal a quick glance, but I fought the urge. I didn’t want to look like the rest of the gawking teenage girls in the room. Even Clarissa was staring at him with wide-eyed interest.
She turned to face me and nodded toward the new kid, throwing the white-blond tendrils of her too long pixie cut to the other side of her forehead. When I ignored her prompting, she cleared her throat and gestured to where Jaron sat again. I might as well give in. Clarissa was persistent. If I continued to ignore her, she would stand up and turn my head around to what she wanted me to see. I was happy to have such a spirited girl as a friend and as a swim team co-captain, but she could be a real pain sometimes.
I sighed and tried to think of a reason to look behind me without being obvious, there was a clock hanging back there. I paused a minute and turned, pretending to be interested in the time. But when I met his eyes, I could no longer keep up the charade. He was watching me, a grin stretching his lips, unrepentant and unembarrassed that I had caught him. Was he trying to give me a hard time about this morning? I already received the message, he thought it was pathetic that my aunt treated me like a baby. So why were his brown eyes staring into mine with an intense and playful curiosity. I held his gaze, although I knew that I should look away. That was what you were supposed to do when someone caught you checking them out. But he didn’t turn away bashfully, so I wouldn’t either. I had thought his hair was black, but it was actually dark brown; the tint matched the dark flecks of color in his eyes. He was gloriously handsome and completely out of place in my classroom surrounded by ordinary students.
“Uh… Maribel?” Clarissa’s voice made me jump. She was already out of her seat, standing next to my desk. The room was empty save us three. “You’re going to be late to your next class too if you don’t hurry.”
I stared at her, mouth agape. “The bell rang?” I must have been locked in that weird staring contest for twenty minutes. He was going to think I was such a freak… not that I cared. What was wrong with me?
Clarissa knitted her eyebrows together. “Yes the bell rang. That would be why everyone else left,” she said, gesturing around us. Her eyes hesitated at the back wall and her expression seemed to say, almost everyone.
Suddenly I was so embarrassed. Where had the brave girl who’d gotten me into this mess gone? I wouldn’t turn around. I just needed to get out of there. Losing track of time because I was swimming or painting was one thing, but twenty minutes disappearing while I stared at some freaked-out stranger? I stood up too quickly, knocking books off the desk. I bent down to retrieve them before I embarrassed myself further, but a tan meaty hand snatched them up before I reached them. Righting myself, I watched my hands as the various texts were placed gently back into them.
I lifted my chin up slightly to meet Jaron’s analyzing stare. “Thanks,” I muttered. He was so close to me, my skin tightened into goose bumps in response.
“So…” he said, cocking his head to meet my downturned gaze. “You really didn’t feel sorry for Curley’s wife, huh?”
His voice was so musical and deep, it would have enchanted me had his question not thrown me off. “What?” I said, making myself sound either hard of hearing or just plain stupid.
He smiled and started walking to the door. “I heard your take on her character before I walked in. So do you really feel that way, or were you just throwing it out there from something you read on Steinbeck’s Wiki page?”
My eyes narrowed. “What, you don’t think me capable of reading and analyzing a book for myself?”
His face lost its carefree expression and his mouth dropped at the corners. “No, that’s not…”
“Well I am actually capable of cognitive function, and yes that is how I feel about the character.” I went to storm away, but he blocked my path.
“Whoa, hold on a second. I wasn’t saying anything bad about you.” Clarissa laughed from behind me. He turned his eyes to her. “Is she always like this?” he asked, gesturing to me.
She put an arm around my shoulder. “Yep this is Maribel, she is pretty amazing but also gets pissed off almost as easy as I do, so be careful.”
I couldn’t believe that they were t
alking about me like I wasn’t even there. “What does him being rude have to do with my temper? I’m going to be late to class. Please move.” I pushed past him and scuttled to my art class as quickly as possible, leaving them both behind.
It felt good to sit down next to my paint-splattered easel. There weren’t very many students in the class, and none of them liked putting their works next to mine. So I had a nice bubble of personal space around me that I missed in my other classes. People liked me for the most part because I wore pretty clothes, had money, and was nice to almost everyone. But I was by no means part of the popular crowd. I could have been, but I was allergic to petty idiots. A group of cheerleaders in the corner of class giggled as one of them made fun of the teacher’s wardrobe. I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t a hermit, per se, but I definitely enjoyed ‘me’ time. Being absorbed in a new canvas was a welcome break during my too full of people school day.
“This seat taken?”
I jumped in surprise. My thoughts had me so distracted I hadn’t notice anyone approaching. I already knew who it was, my brow lowered into a glare at the sound of his voice. Jaron was looking down at me with his gorgeously dark eyes and I hated that I noticed just how dazzling they were. “Yes.”
“Really? It looks pretty empty,” he said.
I had to stop myself from grinding my teeth. “You ask me a question. I gave you an answer… Did you notice the open seats on the other side of the room, I’m sure the girls over there won’t mind if you call them idiots.”
His eyebrows rose and his mouth fell open.
I smiled at his astonishment. He really was breathtakingly attractive; I could see why it would be so shocking for a girl to turn him away. I was sure none ever had.
“I never called you—” He sighed and pulled out the stool next to me.
“I said that seat was taken.”
“My hearing’s fine, thanks.”
“Sit there if you have to, but don’t expect me to be chatty. I actually work during this class. ” My voice was much more even than my shaking insides should allow. Adrenaline coursed through me and tightened my throat. My body’s reaction to Jaron made no sense. I had met lots of cute guys that were actually nice. Why couldn’t I get weak in the knees over them?
His eyes narrowed a miniscule amount before he sat next to me. “Didn’t you hear what Mr. Walker said?” he asked, raising an exquisitely arched eyebrow.
What was he talking about now and why was everything he said a complete shock to me? “Um, I’ve heard him say many things. What in particular are you wondering about?” I used to be so eloquent. When did I start sounding like a badly programmed robot?
“He introduced me to the class… Jaron, by the way,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “And proceeded to say that it was my first day and you should all take it easy on me.”
“Oh!” I said in surprise. A small smile stretched his soft lips. Lost for a moment, transfixed by his grin, I shook my head. No more staring! “Well, if you explain your comment, I might take it easy on you. Since it’s your first day, and Mr. Walker, who is one of my favorite teachers, suggested it.” Ah, that sounded more like me.
“All right, but it isn’t that complicated. I just honestly wanted to know,” he said, looking around. He must have been wondering when or if class would start. Ms. Reed didn’t really have a formal lecture or learning schedule for her juniors and seniors—or sophomores and freshmen for that matter.
“Wanted to know what?” I asked.
“If you really felt that way about the character, or if you were just repeating an answer you thought to be accurate.”
My scalp prickled in irritation, thought to be accurate? “I already told you that I did feel that way. And not just because I know it’s an accurate description of the character as stated by Steinbeck himself, but because I cry every time I read the part when Lenny kills her, not for her but for Lenny.”
“You’re getting mad again,” he accused with amusement ringing in his voice. I wanted to smack the grin off of his face, was he always going to be laughing at me? “No one ever questions you, do they?”
My cheeks warmed… no people didn’t. “Why do you even care?” I asked, fighting the strange urge to harrumph.
He smiled and put his hands up defensively. “I was just curious. See, I've heard your take on the character from many different people, not ever a fellow high school student as most are uninterested in dissecting literature.” He looked around the room again, seeming to assess everyone. “But I've always felt the opposite about her.”
“The opposite? So what do you think about Curley’s wife?” I stopped myself from saying, if you’re so smart. I was too interested in what he had to say to be facetious.
He noticed Ms. Reed doing yoga in the corner and his eyebrows knitted together.
“Don’t worry. This is almost a free period.”
“She was the character that garnered the most pity from me. She still is every time I read Of Mice and Men.”
“What? How? I mean, even the author—”
“It doesn’t matter what the author intended, how the words on the page move you is all that does. Curley’s no name wife existing just as an object to complicate Lenny’s life and eventually be killed, created with the purpose of having as little emotional attachment to her as you would, in your words, a lamp?” he said thoughtfully. “How could you not feel bad for her?”
He gazed at me, dark eyes searching, waiting for my response. I didn’t know what to say. I had never thought about it like that. Everyone else in the book had been given a name, a dream, a personality you could love and root for. But she had been given none of those things.
“I still think she's wretched, but I can see your point,” I allowed before returning to my blank canvas. So he had a brain to go with that body? Impressive, but it didn’t change anything.
2
CLARISSA AND I SAT IN the back of the Prius with our hair still heavy and damp from swimming.
“I’m just saying, I think we should display it at your booth,” Clarissa said holding up a stick figure doodled onto lined paper. “Of course, I wouldn’t want my art to outshine Silvia’s...”
I laughed and nudged her. “I think it would complement some of your pieces beautifully. Don’t you think, Sylvia?”
Her eyes were squinted in a smile when they met mine in the rearview mirror. “Anything of Clarissa’s is welcome in my show.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I am terrible at every form of art, unlike Maribel.” She sighed. “Don’t you get tired of being perfect at everything all the time?”
“I’m not perfect.” I decided there was no way my hair was going to dry into anything other than a complete mess, so I tied it up into a bun.
“Name one thing that you don’t do perfectly.”
“That’s not even a challenge!” I laughed. “I’m late everywhere I go, I have no social life to speak of, and I have a bad temper.”
“Now that you mention it… I am better than you in almost every way.” She winked at me. “If you ignore every bad boy decision in my past that is.”
“I don’t know if I can ignore such a large list!”
“You’re both perfectly sweet—“Sylvia chimed in.
“She doesn’t know me as well as I thought…” Clarissa whispered and a muffled a laugh.
The car slowed to a stop. “After we unload, why don’t you two go check out the other booths and grab something to eat before we start?”
“Don’t you want help setting up?” I carefully tucked a framed canvas under each arm.
“As long as you bring me back some food, I won’t complain.”
We walked toward the city park that now had white tents and vendors sprinkled over its grassy expanse. Tall oak canopies shaded the event nicely. The turnout was better than I expected it to be. There must have been nothing happening in town. The small alley-ways between the shops were so flooded with people it made navigating
them with full hands a pain. When we came to our empty booth, I sighed in relief, glad to no longer be responsible for Sylvia’s paintings. Hers were actually worth money.
“We’ll be back soon.” I looped my arm in Clarissa’s and began to walk away.
“Nothing deep fried. Organic if possible!” she called out to us.
“Organic fair food? Does that even exist?” Clarissa asked when we were out of hearing distance.
I grinned. “Well, since this is an art fair, the vendors are usually a little more refined than what you’d find at a carnival. I bet they have lots of organic choices, there’s probably even a vegan food truck around here somewhere.”
“Gross! So, do I look for pretentious people… or should I just sniff out the ones not wearing deodorant and follow them to find Sylvia’s dinner?”
“Did you ever think that it’s not just pretentious hippies eating organic, and maybe it’s just a healthy choice for any person to make?”
“Nope, the thought never crossed my mind. I plan on finding the most deep-fried, heart-clogging…”
I stopped in my tracks, we had walked past dozens of booths and nothing had caught my eye until then. There was only one piece on display, though the artist wasn’t anywhere to be seen. A large metal sculpture sat in the middle of the booth. It was the likeness of a slender woman with her back to us. Her long hair blew about as if by the wind. How the sculptor had made her hair look so light and airy given the material was amazing. I stepped into the booth wanting to see the front of the mesmerizing woman. As I walked around the piece, I was shocked that the statue remained the same even as I looked at it from different angles. Somehow it had been magically sculpted to look like the back of a windswept woman from all three hundred and sixty degrees.
“Pretty cool.” Clarissa’s voice pulled me out of the spell I was under.
“Understatement,” I muttered. I couldn’t tear my eyes off of the eerie figure.
“Come on, I’m starving!” Clarissa tugged on my arm.
“All right.” I left the tent, hoping to be able to meet the artist responsible before the night was over. I’d never seen anything quite like it.
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