Continuum

by Susan Wu

  “How long are you going to?” he mutters under his breath. I stick my tongue out at him, feeling uncharacteristically playful. “Listen, uhm, I was wondering... if you might want... well what I mean is... I want you to meet me in the art room during lunch today. I have something I want to show you. Would that be okay, Fallon?”

  He seems uncharacteristically nervous, fiddling with the torn book wrapper of his European History book. This side of Ethan is particularly endearing to me. I am seeing through his usual casual assuredness and it melts my resolve. I try to consider the consequences of spending so much time alone with him but still I respond, “Sure Ethan, I'll meet you later.”

  He surprises me when he reaches over and places his hand on top of mine, “Thank you, Fallon.” The bell rings but we sit there for a prolonged moment. I memorize the lines of our joined hands before pulling my hand away. We walk to first period in silence.

  With each passing period, I talk myself out of meeting Ethan then turn around and convince myself that I am strong willed enough that nothing will happen. Classes fly by, though I couldn't say what happened in any them. 6th period comes and goes, the class empties out but I remain sitting at my drafting table in the empty art room as the bell rings signaling the start of 7th period. A few minutes go by and I start questioning whether I should be here at all. I take another peak at the clock over the classroom door. Ethan is 10 minutes late and I feel stupid for thinking he would actually want to spend time alone with me. I start putting away my drawing when Ethan comes crashing into the classroom.

  “Sorry, sorry. Mackenzie is the hardest person to get away from. She's like a really talkative, pink boa constrictor. She just wraps herself around you until it's impossible to get away. Hey, are you leaving?”

  I avoid his eyes as I start stuffing things into my bag haphazardly. I try to shrug and act casual, but I feel the unfamiliar sting of tears in my eyes, “It's fine. Don't worry about it. I was just heading to the library to study. We have that epic European history exam tomorrow.”

  Ethan frowns and walks over to me, placing his hand over the opening of my bag to get my attention, “Oh, come on Fallon. Please stay. I have something I really want to show you. Only you would understand and appreciate it. Please?” He puts his finger under my chin and lifts my face, gazing into my eyes as he gives me one of his brilliant smiles. Before I can object, he grabs me by the hand pulling me away from the drafting table.

  He pulls over an extra stool and sets it down at the potter's wheel, facing the other stool. Obediently, I sit down on the stool. Ethan leans over me to grab an apron, his sweater pulling up revealing a perfect physique. I look away and quietly slip on the apron he hands me.

  Ethan puts on his own apron before grabbing his bag. My curiosity piques as he reaches inside and pulls out a plastic tub. He cradles it carefully in the palm of his hands. “Go ahead, open it.”

  I slowly peel open the lid and let out a gasp when I see the contents of the tub. “Where did you get this? The color is exquisite.” I reach in and tear off a hunk of rust red clay and hold it in the sunlight.

  “My dad brought it back from Mexico. I needed it for this project I have in mind. Do you sculpt, Fallon?”

  “Does Play Doh count? I'm really more of a 2D girl.” I roll the lump of clay between my hands, working it into a ball.

  Ethan plucks the clay out of my hands and puts it on the potter's wheel. “That is not the proper technique to roll out clay. Let me show you how it's done.” I feel like I’m all thumbs as he demonstrates how I should place my hands on the clay.

  Hesitantly, I put my hands on the clay and Ethan starts spinning the wheel. He places his hands on top of mine, sending a tingle that spreads from my hands throughout my entire body.

  Ethan gently guides my fingers. “You want your thumb to be right here. Do you feel the difference?”

  All I can do is nod. The lump of clay begins to transform beneath our joined hands. I can't help but feel like the world itself has been reshaped.

  As we walk home after Psychology, we talk animatedly about Greek-Roman-classical sculpture. When we arrive at my front door, I feel similarly conflicted as before. I know I should go inside, but at the same time I want Ethan to stay. But I'm also not ready to invite him inside. I settle for somewhere in the middle ground and invite Ethan to sit down and talk on my front steps. I throw my bag on the porch and take a seat at the top of the stairs as he drops his book bag into the grass and sits down on the step below me.

  “So Ethan, how is it that you know so much about art history?”

  He laughs softly, “My dad is a curator and all around art snob. I didn’t know there were other channels on TV beside PBS until first grade. We didn't get People, so I was forced to read about Ming vases and Degas paintings instead.”

  I was perplexed by this revelation, “Everest Heights isn’t exactly an art mecca. Where does your dad work? Is he still curating?”

  “He actually just started a new job curating for a university... in London. My parents' divorce was finalized earlier this summer. My younger brother, Scott, and I had the choice of moving to Everest Heights where my mom grew up or move to London with my dad. Scott is living in London with my dad and I came here.” He tries to say all this matter-of-factly, but I can hear the heartbreak in his voice.

  “I'm sorry, Ethan. It must have been really hard to go through that all at once.” I have an urge to reach out and comfort him somehow--but I just don't know how. My hands lay uselessly on my lap.

  “It was for the best. My parents were really unhappy together. It just wasn’t meant to be.” When he looks up, his eyes are shining with conviction and I cannot blink, let alone look away. “Fate is inescapable, Fallon.”

  Ethan

  After spending an hour chatting on Fallon’s front steps, I can’t help the stupid grin on my face. I decide to take the long way home, cutting through the forest preserve off of the main road. I have spent most of my life living in large cities. I never thought I would get used to the relative quiet of the forest. The sun is already beginning to set below the line of trees. The days are getting shorter, the evenings cooler. I zip up my hoodie as I step onto the familiar path.

  This walkway is a good place to sort out my thoughts. The trodden dirt path is strewn with fallen leaves. The soft chirping of birds fill the air and I can hear the far away rustle of leaves as small animals crawl through the earth. The air even smells different out here.

  When Scott and I were given the option of moving to London or Everest Heights, it had been an extremely difficult decision. Scott and I are only eighteen months apart. Since we moved so much growing up, Scott and I are more than just brothers--we’re best friends.

  We went to the same schools together. We played on the same teams together. We speak the same languages. We played in a band together. When our parents had one of their cataclysmic arguments, we would hide out together. When we got older, we would sneak out to parties together.

  Scott is still the only person I can truly confide in. You can’t really develop close friendships with other people when you move as often as we have. It has been a very difficult time for both us being separated by an ocean and several time zones. This morning, an e-mail from Scott was waiting for me in my inbox.

  The e-mail was about a girl named Celeste in his French class. Scott likes her but was too shy to ask her out. After spending twenty minutes writing a long e-mail with all sorts of advice and encouragement, I deleted my reply. I’m not exactly in the position to give someone else advice. I am still unsure of how to respond.

  For some reason, I still haven’t told him about Fallon. Everything seemed so delicate at the moment, I felt like telling him would ruin everything. I missed being able to lie around and shoot the breeze with him. Even though my parents were much happier apart, I was still heartbroken that our family was broken up.

  Fallon Pierce is a girl familiar with heartbreak. I had seen it in her eyes the first time our eyes met. I
had seen it in her drawings. She is different from the other girls at Everest Heights. Different than any girl I’ve ever known. I can’t deny that I have feelings for her.

  What started out as a curiosity has turned into full blown fascination. I wasn’t looking for this. I had come to Everest Heights to live a simpler life. Now things feel more complicated than ever. We are in that precarious state between friendship and.... more. When it comes to Fallon, I never know how things are going to turn out.

  I spot a tiny bud defiantly trying to poke out of the ground along the path, half buried by fallen leaves. Kneeling in the dirt, I push aside the leaves. It must have started blooming during the warmer weather we had a few weeks ago. It’s pale green petals reminded me of her eyes. Fallon Pierce, the beautiful girl with the infinitely sad eyes.

  Fallon

  The alarm goes off in a shrill series of beeps and I slap the off button so hard that it falls off my beside table, clattering loudly on the floor. My entire body feels achy and my throat is so dry it hurts to swallow. I have force myself to roll out from under the goose down blanket and sit up. Delicately pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, my temple is throbbing.

  I don’t know if I feel like crap because I’m getting sick or because I had been up half the night analyzing my last interaction with Ethan. He was beginning to confide in me. His parent’s divorce and then the continental split of his family. It hurt me to see him hurt.

  Even a friendship with Ethan would have been risky. But now I had let it get too far. I can’t lie to myself, I have feelings for him. The notion is both terrifying and exhilarating. Ethan is the person that has been missing from my life. My life has felt so... empty. But now I also have something worth losing or taking away. I am at a crossroads, navigating blindly. My dreams of the future have suddenly dried up and the uncertainty makes me uneasy.

  Bending over, I pick up my alarm and set it back on my nightstand. Crap! All my postulating is going to make me late. I head into the bathroom and get the shower started, not bothering to switch on the light. Steam quickly fills the bathroom, fogging up the mirror over the sink. I slip in and the hot water feels good on my aching muscles. The drumming of the water lulls me and I close my eyes, almost feeling relaxed.

  An image of the burning forest flashes in my head, shaking me out of my momentary reverie. I quickly wash my hair and rinse off. I towel off hastily, wrapping a big white towel around my body and another around my wet hair. I walk back into my room, my wet feet leaving faint prints on the floor. I glance at the clock as I head to the kitchen to make coffee.

  I towel dry my hair over the kitchen sink as the coffeemaker percolates at an excruciating slow pace. The pulsating in my head throbs in time to the drips of the machine. I can’t wait for this day to be over. Dropping an ice cube into the steaming hot mug of coffee, I drain it in three large gulps. I carry the second mug back into my bedroom, setting it down on the vanity.

  Nervously, I pace along the path around my bed into the closet and around again. Taking the hairbrush off the vanity, I pull my damp hair into a bun on top of my head. I stop pacing in front of the window and slide up the shade. The sky is still gray and dreary, a perfect reflection of my current mood. I release the string and let the shade fall back into place.

  The rain yesterday has brought back the chill in the air. Inside my closet, I select a long sleeve white thermal shirt and a dark gray crew neck sweater to wear over it. Next, I choose a pair of slim cut, dark blue jeans. They feel stiff but the material is warmer than the old, worn in jeans I favor. I pull on a pair of gray wool socks from the back of my dresser.

  Without really tasting it, I guzzle down my second cup of coffee and carry the mug back into the kitchen. Rinsing out the mug, I glance at the clock on the microwave and I am still behind schedule. I really should just stay home since I am so out of it today, but the lure of seeing Ethan is too great.

  I race through the hallway into the living room sliding in my socks on the wooden floor. I slip my feet into a pair of black low top sneakers, stepping on the backs of them as I struggle to pull on my leather jacket at the same time. I yank my heels into the shoes and sling on my backpack. Allowing the front door the slam behind me, I speed walk down the driveway.

  I glance down at my watch as I turn the corner, first period will start in 3 minutes. I curse, knowing I'm going to be late and that all eyes will be on me when I walk in the room. I walk double time, as fast as I can without breaking into a run. But I am still a full ten minutes late for first period. The hallways are empty when I slip inside through the door closest to the parking lot. Unnoticed, I quietly slink through the long hallway until I reach room 120. I brace myself as I turn the handle and walk into the classroom.

  Mrs. Douglas barely glances up from her notes and doesn't break from her droning monotone as I gently close the door behind me. When I reach the desk I had been exiled to courtesy of Mackenzie, I risk at quick glance in Ethan's direction. His seat is empty and Mackenzie is sitting behind it, looking glum. For some reason, I feel disappointed. I turn back to face Mrs. Douglas but all I can do is stare at the blank chalkboard for the next 38 minutes.

  I don't even bother with my usual doodling in my notebook, my guise for being attentive. I just stare alternately at the clock on the wall or at the watch on my wrist, willing time to pass. When the bell mercifully rings, I elbow my way out of the classroom. I don’t make it to second period.

  Ethan

  After a nearly two hour, late night, marathon video chat with Scott, I wake up before my alarm. I turn the alarm so it faces me. Damn it! I must have slept right through the alarm. My mom is visiting her sister in California, so no back up wake up call. The glowing red numbers tell me I have already missed my first two classes and almost half of third period. That’s practically half the school day, I might as well stay home.

  I check my cellphone--five missed calls and eight unread text messages from Mackenzie. I start to roll over and go back to bed, but remember I have a paper due fifth period. Staying up half the night seemed like a much better idea on the other side of 3 AM.

  With a curse, I kick off the covers. I half roll, half fall out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom. After a too brief, lukewarm shower, I feel more awake. I throw on the first clean sweater and pair of jeans I find. Another glance at the clock tells me that fourth period is in full swing.

  In full panic mode, I grab my books off the desk, my finished paper off the printer, and cram everything unceremoniously into my book bag. Pulling on my leather jacket, I fish my keys out of the bowl set on the entryway table and head to the garage.

  As Everest Heights High School comes into view, I realize that I’m not completely dreading being here. Well, I wouldn’t mind dropping off my paper and going straight back to my warm bed but I’m looking forward to seeing Fallon. I had spent a long time telling Scott about her last night, technically this morning. Saying everything out loud made this whole thing seem more real. We are balanced on the edge of being more than just friends. But I know she’s afraid to make the leap. Talking to Scott made me realize that it was too late for me, I had already fallen over. My newfound realization makes me anxious to see her and confirm what I’m feeling isn’t complete madness.

  I park my bike at the far back corner of the parking lot and sprint toward the school. I’m inside the main building with minutes to spare before fifth period. I head down the language corridor to wait outside Fallon’s French class. The bell rings and I look through the crowd of students spilling out into the hallway. My eyes scan the faces walking past me and after a minute, I don’t see her.

  A huge hand claps down on my shoulder, knocking my book bag to the floor. Sam picks it back up, handing it to me with a smile, “What’s up, Ethan? Sorry, I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

  I give him a half-hearted smile in reply as my eyes continue to search the through the throng of students in the narrow hallway, “It’s cool. You heading to Spanish?” />
  “Yup. I thought you weren’t in school today. We missed you in Bio.” He pauses, his eyes mirroring mine as they flicker back and forth. He looks at me from the corner of his eye, confusion in his voice, “Don’t you have English this period?”

  “Yes, but I was sort of waiting for... someone,” I finish lamely. I still feel weird about their history.

  His lips curl into a knowing smirk, “Oh. You’re waiting for Fallon. Well, she wasn’t in English this morning. She’s probably at home, sick or something. Hey, do you want to work on that Bio lab during lunch? Liam and I are way behind since you weren’t here this morning.”

  Disappointment washes through me, “Sure, I don’t have any plans. We’ll meet in the lab at the beginning of seventh.”

  Fallon

  My house is far too quiet. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin like it’s a too small wool sweater. Maybe it’s the low grade fever. Leaving after first period wasn’t the best idea. Being alone all day has made me stir crazy. The general restlessness I’ve been feeling lately is suffocating.

  I glance at the time on my cellphone, my last class would have ended a few minutes ago. I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out into the empty street. It’s already starting to get dark outside.

  When I can’t stand being inside anymore, I pull on my black leather jacket over my blue flannel pajamas with little penguins on them. I stick my feet into a pair of broken in, off white, low top sneakers and shuffle outside with a cup of black tea with a healthy dose of honey and lemon juice in it. I grab last Sunday's newspaper on my way out the door.

  Settling myself on the porch swing, it creaks loudly in the relative still of the early evening. I rustle through the pages of newspaper and find the crossword section, folding the page precisely so only the puzzle shows. Even though my vocabulary is vast, crossword puzzles always confound me. I usually make an assumption and fill in the row or column incorrectly which leads to another incorrect answer. Then another hour of backtracking to see where the mistake started and inevitably the crossword is a smear of words written on top of another. I start marking my guesses in the margins next to the clues.