by Bryan, JL
The line moved forward. The woman behind me, Mrs. Hobby, stepped on the back of my heel, scraping it with the pointy toe of her white patent leather flat.
“Ouch!” I said, way too loudly. The congregants of my white bread Lutheran church were not prone to exclamation of any kind. I flushed my usual shade of flame as everyone looked at me, including Avery. Mortified, I wheeled around, facing Mrs. Hobby, accidentally knocking off her massive white Easter hat. I caught it mid-air and jammed it back on her head. “Sorry! I was spacing out,” I whispered, like the whole church couldn’t hear what I was saying.
“Zellie!” Mom hissed at me from the front of the church.
“Uh, here we go, our turn at bat.” I ran up to the altar and knelt down, bowing my head, touching my chin to my chest.
Someone in the back of the church snorted a laugh. It sounded like Claire. A giggle shimmied up my throat. Claire was my best friend and a frequent witness to my extreme dorkiness. She could also make me get the giggles at the most inappropriate moments.
I raised my head and took the communion wafer that my dad, Pastor Paul, offered, clamping my mouth shut before the giggles could escape and embarrass me even further. I glanced down the altar, wishing that the elder would hurry up with my tiny plastic cup of wine. I always seemed to get the communion wafer stuck to the roof of my mouth and then had to engage in some major tonguing in order to get it loose.
Avery leaned forward, taking his wafer from my dad. He swallowed it in one smooth gulp and then gave me a confused grin.
Oh, God, he must think I’m looking at him! I immediately stopped trying to pry the wafer loose with my tongue and put my chin to my chest again. What could I have looked like? I tried to float above myself, picture my face. What I conjured was not a flattering image. I had one eye closed, nostrils flaring, my tongue flicking back and forth. What the hell was my problem? I looked like a cat coughing up a fur ball. Ugh.
When everyone was served communion, I got up, avoiding my dad’s bemused look and went back to the second pew where me, my mom and my sister Melody always sit.
Melody shook her head and flicked me on the back of my arm as I stepped past her and sat down in the pew. “Way to make a butt of yourself, Zel,” she whispered into my ear.
“Whatever, hose beast.” I flicked her on the knee and scooted away from her, closer to Mom.
She rolled her eyes at me. “Like I even know what that means.”
Dad stepped up to the pulpit and shuffled his notes around in his hands. He was old school, writing his sermons in longhand on yellow legal pad paper. Assistant Pastor Morris wrote his on a computer and then downloaded it onto his BlackBerry, like someone from this century.
The sermon was my favorite part of the church service, not because my dad was such a charismatic speaker or anything, but because I could get in some good Avery daydreaming time. And, since he didn’t know I was alive, daydream time was the only quality time I got to spend with him.
I leaned forward and put my forehead against the pew in front of me, rubbing my temples as though I had a headache. Turning my head the smallest increment to the side, I looked past my mom across the aisle to where Avery sat.
He was so beautiful it kinda hurt my heart to look at him. Ah well, I was in church after all, let the self flagellation commence!
I began at his feet. Polished black dress shoes, black socks slouching at the ankles, a glimpse of beautiful calf, his khaki pants hiked up just a little.
Moving up, I lingered on his hand resting atop his knee, his long, thin fingers spread out. I took a deep breath and envisioned reaching out my hand and intertwining my fingers with his. Running my thumb across the top of his hand from wrist to knuckle, brushing my fingertips up his forearm.
In my imagination I was sitting next to him, pressing the side of my thigh against his, then elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder. My lips grazed the bend of his neck, the line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, across his lips. Then we were forehead to forehead, my hands in his hair, I inhaled him in--
“Ow!” I sat up straight, smarting from the sharp elbow to the ribs Melody had given me.
“It’s time to sing!” She yanked me up and thrust an open hymnal into my hands.
On pastor’s daughter autopilot, I sang, “Christ our Lord is risen today, haaaaaa-le-loo-oo-yah!”
“Hazel Grace Wells, you are going to burn a hole in the back of Avery’s head as hard as you were staring at him.” Mom turned from the driver’s seat of our navy blue minivan, which was only six months younger than me. “Don’t think I couldn’t feel you looking, and in church of all places! How would you feel if your father had noticed you concentrating more on Avery than on God? He would not have appreciated it, young--”
“Mom, you’re about to drive into Mrs. Woodbury’s mailbox.”
She whipped her head back around, swerving away from the Woodburys fiberglass mailbox.
“Dang it!” She pulled the minivan off of the gravel shoulder and back onto the black top.
“Gee, Mom,” I said, a smirk spreading across my mouth, “what would Dad think of you concentrating on me concentrating on Avery while you’re driving? I don’t think he would appreciate it very much.”
“Zip it, Zellie.”
I caught Mom’s eyes in the rearview mirror and locked on a reflection so much like my own it was freaky. We have the same long auburn hair and green eyes, the same hot pink flush across our cheeks.
Even though Mom grew up in Rosedell and everybody knows who we are, I was forever getting lame joke-y questions about my “older sister.” Well, as much as we looked the same, Melody and Mom acted the same. It’s not like I want to be Grace’s (and she would kill me if I ever called her that in real life) clone or something.
Mom took the exit just past Wal-Mart off of Rosedell’s main drag onto the highway. I watched the scenery go by at 55 miles an hour as we passed the lake and the lava rock fields getting closer to Mt. Scott and to the edge of town. She parked the minivan in front of the See-Saw diner, our usual Sunday lunch place.
We slid into opposite sides of a red vinyl booth. The waitress, Jan, was right behind us, plopping water glasses down on the yellow Formica table.
“Happy Easter ladies!” she said. “Two burgers, two chocolate shakes for here, two BLT’s to-go?” She was already writing it down on her order pad.
“Just for me and Zel today, Jan,” Mom said. “Paul and Melody are going to have Easter lunch at the Wallaces.”
She crossed out part of the order. “Okay, I’ll get this in for you and be back with the shakes in a jiff.”
Mom dug around in her enormous brown leather purse until she found a small notebook. She flipped through the pages, stopping about halfway. “Ready for today’s roster?”
This was a guessing game the two of us played every Sunday before we visited ill members of the congregation. I was pretty good at it and getting better the older I got, but Mom was exceptional. I nodded my head. “Ready.”
“Jerry Hill. On previous occasions we have visited him for gout, appendicitis, and tennis elbow.”
I closed my eyes and saw Mr. Hill sitting in his cushy beige recliner in the family room of his ranch house, watching the farm report on his dinky TV. He had a blanket tucked up under his chin. His eyes and nose were red. “Pfft! Easy,” I said, giving Mom a “really?” look, “He’s just got a cold, maybe a touch of hay fever. Next.”
“Let’s see if I can find a harder one,” she scanned the page. “All right, here we go. Lanie Graham. We haven’t visited her before and she only attends church once a month.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to concentrate. This one was way difficult. I couldn’t picture what she looked like at all. “This is a hard one. Let me think...I feel like it has something to do with her eyes...” An image popped into my head of an older lady with cloudy eyes. I could hear the sound of a monitor beeping. Two words floated into my consciousness. “Cataract surgery?” I guessed. Mom looked both a
little bit proud and a little bit worried, if that was possible. I slapped the table with my hand. I knew I was right.
Jan brought our order. “Right again, huh?” She smiled at me, shaking her head back and forth. “I do not know how you do that.”
I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t entirely sure how I did it either, I just did. “It runs in the family, Mom’s really good at it too. I won’t even let her guess anymore, she never misses.”
Mom stuck the notebook back into her purse and waved my comment away. “Ah, it’s a stupid parlor trick. You just have to trust your gut.”
I sat at Mr. Hill’s kitchen table staring up at the feed store calendar on the fridge. It featured a herd of cattle in a dusty pasture flanked by grey-blue mountains. The slogan “Rosedell Beef-Central to Oregon” was emblazoned across the expansive blue sky. When I looked out the window above the sink, I saw pretty much the same scene with the addition of a ranch hand burning trash in the far corner of the field. De-pressing. I drummed my fingers on the table to up my excitement level.
After about a minute of that, I got up and went to the black rotary phone on the wall. Lots of people in Rosedell still had old-timey phones. Again, de-pressing. I picked up the receiver and held the phone to my ear. I listened for a dial tone. It hummed back at me.
It was sort of against the rules for me to use other people’s phones without asking. I knew that, but if I were a regular teenager and not like, what my parents expected me to be, a future bride of Jesus or whatever, I would be allowed to have a cell phone. Then, when I was having a weirdly bitchy off day I could go out to the minivan and talk to Claire about my upcoming birthday party or Avery or lava rock formation, instead of stewing in my boredom.
I let out a deep breath. How much trouble could I get in? I dialed Claire’s cell.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” I whispered, “I’m at the Hill ranch with Mom, totally bored. What are you doing?”
“Not a whole lot. Eating some Peeps, watching Melrose re-runs.” I could hear her chewing. “Pretty sweet move with Mrs. Hobby’s hat this morning. God, that thing was massive. She looked like she had the actual Easter Bunny copping a squat on her head.”
“Yeah, that was only marginally embarrassing.” I blushed remembering. “So, guess whose dad RSVP’d his son to my party?”
“Avery’s?” Claire shrieked. “Yay! Now if only said party wasn’t in the church basement. I don’t know why your parents wouldn’t take mine up on using one of the banquet rooms at the lodge. I’ve already reserved the Grand Ballroom for my super sweet sixteen and its eleven months away.”
I sighed. “Because we’ll have way less fun in a windowless wood paneled room with a concrete floor. Just another perk of being a pastor’s daughter, Claire, I get an all access pass to the church rec room.”
A wave of guilt washed over me the second I made that snarky comment. It was actually really nice of my parents to throw me a party. Ugh. Weirdly bitchy was taking me over today! I pulled it back to the positive. “At least there will be boys there.”
“That’s true.” Claire paused, like she was trying to figure out how to the broach the next subject.
“Just spit it out, dude, I can sense you’re waffling.”
“I am indeed waffling, Zel. Um, have you considered what to do about the Melody factor?”
My parents insisted that Melody attend the party, I hadn’t really thought about that one way or the other. She was my little sister, she was always there. “I haven’t. You don’t think she’ll tattle? Wait. Do you think there’ll be things worth tattling about?”
Claire giggled. “You never know.”
I heard Mom round the corner into the kitchen. I slammed the phone back into its cradle, hanging up on Claire. “Ready to go, Mom?”
She gave me a suspicious look, but then let it go. “Yup, let’s move on out to the next one.”
It was almost dinner time as we drove through downtown Rosedell. Most of the buildings, faced with Old West facades, were dark. The Hitching Post gas station and drug store was still open, as was Adams Insurance. Mike Adams stood by the front window of his office, a big smile on his face, and waved when we passed by. Mom waved back, she was smiling too.
I kicked off my white scuffed flats; hand-me-down’s from Claire’s maid and put my feet up on the back of Mom’s seat. “Don’t you think it’s kinda weird that Mr. Adams is always at his office on Sunday just in time to wave to you? I mean, I know you guys are friends and all, but shouldn’t he be at home with his family?”
“Put your feet down,” Mom reached behind her and swatted at my legs. “I don’t know that it’s weird. Mike works very hard and doesn’t have the most pleasant home life. I think he spends a lot of time at his office.”
“What’s so unpleasant about his home life? Avery’s a really good student and plays a bunch of sports. His dad should be totally proud of him.” I would be proud of him if he were my kid, which is a kinda gross thing to think, but whatever.
“Oh, he is, honey. He’s very proud of him. I don’t know why I said that. Mike just works a lot.” Mom turned onto our street. “Of course, no one has as great a home life as us.” She pointed to Dad and Melody as she pulled into our gravel driveway. They were engaged in the welcome home dance. Invented by my father in 2001, the welcome home dance consisted of cheesy smiles, jazz hands, hip bumps and was a Wells family tradition.
I laughed; I secretly loved the welcome home dance. “Yeah, that never gets old.”
We got out of the minivan. Dad frowned, seeing that we were empty handed. “No BLT’s? I’m starving!” He put his arms out and walked, stiff legged, towards Mom.
“Sorry, Pastor zombie. I thought you all were eating at the Wallaces?”
“We did. It was really good.” He rubbed his belly. “You know I can always eat though.”
Mom put her arm around his waist. “Yes, I know.” She shepherded him up the steps and inside the house. Melody followed them, looking over her shoulder, hoping no one had seen her dancing, no doubt. I went in last, thinking how nice it was to have parents that loved each other and also that Dad had better cool it because he had a nasty bout of heartburn on the horizon.
Chapter Two
I watched Claire as she inspected her new self-inflicted haircut in the mirror stuck to the inside of her locker door. Her chin length razor-cut black hair fanned out from her face in chunky pomaded pieces. Very punk rock. Noticing a clump of bangs that was a quarter inch longer than the rest, she reached into her black patent leather tote bag and pulled a small pair of scissors from one of its many interior compartments. Grasping the disobedient clump of bangs, she snipped them off straight across.
“That’s better,” she said, turning her head from side to side, scrutinizing her handiwork.
“Talking to your reflection again?” I poked my head around her locker door, grabbing the magnetic mirror and holding it before my own face in mock-adoration. “Hello, beautiful!”
Claire swiped the mirror back, a grin spreading across her crimson glossed lips. “Whatever, Zellie! You know I look good!”
I spun the dial on my combination lock. “Your hair does look good. I wish I was brave enough to do something different to mine.” I yanked down on the lock and opened my locker, retrieving my humongo pile of Honors English books.
“You know I would kill you if you cut your hair, it’s one of your only assets,” Claire joked, replacing the mirror on her locker door and slamming it shut.
“Thanks!” I linked arms with her and bumped her into the lockers with my hip, causing her tote bag to slip from her shoulder. Grace is my middle name after all. Whoops.
“Watch it now, my Amazonian friend.” Claire hoisted the gigantic bag back up onto her shoulder. “We better haul ass or we’re going to be late.”
Mrs. Gates sat on the edge of her desk and wriggled her bifocals down to the end of her nose. She took attendance the old-fashioned way instead of passing around a sign-in sheet like
all of the other teachers did. “Adams?”
Avery raised his hand. He sat in the middle of the front row. “Here.”
I zoned out on him, like I always did, waiting for my name to be called at the end of attendance.
His hair was damp, curling every which way at the nape of his neck. I calculated. It’d been, what, two months since his last haircut? That seemed right. His mom probably cut it at home instead of in the salon where she worked.
I scanned the rest of him, perfection as usual. The shirt he had on today looked nice against his tan skin, a blue soccer jersey from a European team. It clung to his shoulders, riding up just a bit when he bent forward to get a pen out of his backpack. Seeing that sliver of skin gave me goose bumps. If for some crazy reason I ever got to see him with his shirt off, I was sure to hyperventilate and die right there on the spot. Yes, Jesus, I had some lust in my heart.
“Already with the staring?” Claire teased. “You know we have four other classes with him, right?”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“Erickson?”
“Yo!” Jason said.
I tried looking at him for comparison’s sake. He was decent. Blonde spiky hair. Buddy Holly glasses. Played bass in a band called...Rootie Tooty? No. Fresh and Fruity? Maybe the whole thing? I couldn’t remember. He was more Claire’s type. Avery’s best friend and my best friend? That would be cool. I smiled, seeing Claire and Jason as plain as day engaged in a passionate argument about some indie rock band I had never heard of.
“Vargas?”
“Here.” Claire saluted Mrs. Gates.
“Wells?”
“Present.”
Mrs. Gates went to the blackboard and began writing. “Since we’re nearing the ever so wonderful state sanctioned standardized tests, there are thirty extra vocabulary words this week. Apparently, none of you is to be left behind.”