The Beautiful Now

by M. Leighton

  I can’t help laughing when she covers her face with her hands and groans.

  I know just how she feels.

  1984

  12 Years Old

  Chapter 2

  “Ewww, Brinkley, you’re so gross!”

  Lauren Stringer. The most popular girl in school. Why did she have to be the one person Momma insisted that I make friends with when we moved here a couple of months ago? She was awful. Just awful. Why did she have to be the one?

  I knew the answer. And I knew it didn’t matter how awful Lauren and her cronies were. I had my orders and they were non-negotiable. From the first day of school, I could see how things were going to be.

  “You’ve got to stop with this attitude, Brinkley,” Momma had said when my initiation into Shepherd’s Mill Middle School didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. “We’re rich people now and you have to act like it, young lady. That means bein’ nice, keepin’ your mouth shut and, for God’s sake, stop playin’ in the dirt!”

  At the time, she’d been referring to the already-soiled toe of my brand new, whitest-white Nike. All I’d done was scuff up some circles in the dusty driveway while I was waitin’ for the school bus. It was just dirt. It’s not like I was playing in poop or something nasty like that. Regardless, that type of thing was now against the rules. Evidently being rich meant I could never get dirty again.

  I sighed even as I thought about it. I hoped the sacrifices we were making would be worth it in the end. But so far, I couldn’t see that they were. Of course, as much as I could tell, I was the only one making sacrifices. Momma was on cloud nine.

  It had always been just Momma and me. I never knew my father and ever since I could remember, my mother had wanted to land a rich man, someone who could make all her troubles go away. Troubles like having to work two jobs to make ends meet and having to struggle to buy school clothes for her daughter when she’d really rather be buying something nice for herself instead. She thought money was the answer to everything, and I suppose it could look like a problem-solver when you didn’t have it. Whether it was or was not remained to be seen, but she was still trying her best to teach me that it was. I wasn’t convinced, though. Up to that point, it had only managed to be a pain in my ass.

  I wasn’t supposed to say “ass” anymore either.

  The no cussing and the not getting dirty rules had all started in April when she finally got what she wanted—her dream wedding to a rich man—and we’d moved halfway across the great state of South Carolina to a town called Shepherd’s Mill. Now, as she so constantly reminded me, all we had to do was play the part so she could keep the man. According to her, that meant (in addition to watching my mouth and keeping clean) I had to first make all the right friends and then learn to act like them. That’s what she was doing and she expected the same of me.

  So I was friends with Lauren Stringer and her gang because they were the kids of the biggest “somebodies” in town. That’s what Momma wanted me to do. And she was all I’d ever had, so I wanted to make her happy. I was always obedient and did exactly as she asked, right down to the letter whenever possible. Even if it meant making and keeping friends that were hollow-souled devils. I got my first real taste of their black hearts during my twelfth year of life on a pretty summer day down by the river.

  “Ewww, Brinkley, you’re so gross!” The words rang out into the sunny afternoon like shrill church bells signaling my funeral.

  At first, I thought she was joking. She sort of laughed when she said it, so I smiled even though I had no idea what she was talkin’ about. But then when the others started laughing and sneering and pointing, I realized that she wasn’t joking at all. Lauren Stringer was calling me gross and I didn’t even know why.

  I rubbed a hand through my wavy blonde hair, half-expecting to find mud or a spider or something like that. I didn’t find anything, though. I’d kept good and clean, just like Momma made me promise to do. Next I swept my fingers over my small nose and wide mouth, checking for wetness or stickiness of any kind. Didn’t find anything there either. I looked down at my blue and white shirt, the stripes dizzying in the bright sun, and didn’t find anything gross on it either. No bugs or mustard or spit or boogers. Nothing. But still they laughed. Harder. Louder. Pointing and backing away like I was suddenly radioactive.

  “Ohmigod, she’s bleeding and she doesn’t even know it!” Cassie Shields’ squeal was half in delight, half in horror. I hadn’t liked Cassie the moment I met her. She had her head farther up Lauren’s butt than any of the others. Everyone did at least a little bit, but Cassie was the worst.

  Well, maybe not everyone. There was actually one boy who didn’t cater to Lauren Stringer like the others did. He didn’t seem to care who she was, what she did or what she thought.

  His name was Dane James.

  I liked him right away, even though, according to Lauren, I shouldn’t have. She was quick to fill me in on the ugly details of the cute boy after he joined us earlier that day. When he took the lead on the way through the field and everyone else rushed to walk beside him, Lauren hung back. She was too good for that. Or so she thought. And because she hung back, I hung back, too. Because that would make Momma happy.

  “His father works the fields. He’s your stepdaddy’s foreman,” she’d whispered. Her tone implied that being the son of a worker was an awful thing to be. Like my mother, Lauren could get a lot across in her tone alone. “He’s our age, and he’s cute, but he’s just a common boy. Not like one of us.”

  “Why did you invite him then?” I was unwise in the ways of town royalty and how it functioned.

  “He’s the only one who can get a key to the back gate so we can get down to the river.” She’d rolled her eyes as she explained, as if to say, Duh!

  See what I mean about that tone?

  I’d nodded, as if that made perfect sense, even though it hadn’t. But what she was implying had. She was implying that while Dane was cute and useful, he was otherwise not good enough to really be one of “them.” Not like me. My mother had married into the “them”; therefore I was instantly good enough. I was a “them” now and we were an “us,” and Dane James would never be either.

  As the day wore on, I was glad she invited him. I liked that he came even though he didn’t really fit in. I liked that he walked and everyone followed. I liked that he stopped to pick up a turtle and move it out of our way so it wouldn’t get stepped on. I liked that he didn’t pay much attention to Lauren, too. It was as if he was born with an immunity that the rest of us didn’t have. I really liked that about him. But most of all, I liked his eyes. They were a pretty color. Like the darker shades of autumn—rust and brown and green with a little bit of gold sprinkled in. He’d glanced at me a few times. Well more like looked. His eyes didn’t just keep on going the way they did when he glanced at the others. They stopped on mine, held them. Gazed into them.

  It did funny things to my stomach when he looked at me that way. Made it flutter, kind of like I was both nervous and excited. The way I always felt on the first day of school when I put on my only new outfit, or on Christmas morning when I ran into the living to see if there were any presents under the tree.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t looking at him or his eyes when the others started making fun of me.

  “Ewww, Brinkley, you’re so gross!” The words were all around me, swinging from the trees and dangling from the leaves. They laughed in the breeze and mocked in the sun.

  My brain was scrambling to figure out what I’d done to gross them out, but it wasn’t until I followed their rude pointing that I understood. I leaned forward and looked down. Down, down, down to below my waist. That’s when I saw the dark red stain leeching away from the crotch of my spotless white pants.

  Well, they used to be spotless.

  My heart rate tripped up a few notches. Although I was pretty sure I knew what it was, it still scared me. I mean, my mother had had “the talk” with me, but it was still a shock to see blood comin
g from that area. It took me by surprise. Awful, awful surprise.

  “She might be dying! Or she might be contagious! Ewwwww! Everybody run!” Lauren squealed theatrically. “Run!”

  And, of course, they ran. Like a herd of sheep. Mindless sheep. Followers. Something I was learning this town was full of. They ran after Lauren, bleating in panic the whole way—baaah baaah baaaaad Brinkley—leaving me standing, all alone and bleeding, beside the river on a hot and humid summer afternoon.

  They all ran.

  All except one.

  Dane James.

  He didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, staring at me with those funny eyes of his, chewing on a stem of what looked like wheat. That one thin stalk made him look older than his years. Cockier, too, like some sort of television cowboy or something. Or maybe like a knight in shining armor, only he was wearing plaid and denim instead.

  I choked back tears of utter humiliation for as long as I could, counting the seconds until I could find my legs and flee, too. But my legs wouldn’t work and the dam wouldn’t hold. The raging waters pressed hard against a weakness in the façade until they found a crack in my resolve. They pressed and pressed until they made their way out. And when they started flowing, nothing on earth could stop them.

  Not even Dane James.

  All the stress of the move, of my new home and my new father, of my new school and my new “friends,” butted heads with the pressure from my mom, and the concussion of it all brought me right to my knees. The joints just gave up and crumbled under my slight weight. I sort of slithered to the ground, a lot like a Slinky, and buried my face in my hands, and I sobbed.

  I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed some more.

  I couldn’t hear anything except the empty sound of humiliation around me, so it was easy to forget that I wasn’t alone. It was when my tears finally began to dry that I remembered Dane James was there.

  Dane James, The One Who Stayed.

  I wished he hadn’t. I just wanted to die in peace. Because I was certain I would. Momma had taught me long ago that social death was right next door to actual death. I was sure that held especially true in a town like Shepherd’s Mill. I was also sure that I’d just suffered a death of epic proportions.

  I left my face pressed against my palms, hoping he’d go away, but I could no longer ignore him when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Hesitantly, I turned my head to peek between my shaking fingers. I saw a face. A beautiful face.

  Dane James was squatting beside me, gnawing on his piece of wheat, working it between lips that I suddenly found fascinating. From between them, words oozed out like sweet, sweet honey.

  “I’m Dane,” he said softly.

  “I know who you are.” I sniffled brokenly.

  “You’re Brinkley.”

  “I know who I am, too.” I didn’t mean to be sharp, but I was still raw from shame.

  He grinned.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Lauren. Or her friends. They don’t mean shit.” He stood and offered a hand to help me up. “They’ll probably do the same thing to her one day.”

  God, I hope so!

  Part of me hoped he was right and that she got the same treatment, only worse. Something truly horrific, like in the movie Carrie. Something public and bloody and everlasting. And I hoped I got to see it.

  Even though that wasn’t likely to ever happen, not really, that simple statement—they’ll probably do the same thing to her one day—was enough to calm me. Not all the way, but enough that I gave Dane a tentative smile and let him help me up. While I dusted off my knees, I watched him shed the red plaid shirt that was tied around his waist. Without a word, he reached over to tie it around mine.

  As I watched him work the sleeves into a knot and then let the ends hang, I wondered if anyone had ever actually exploded from embarrassment. Just exploded and died on the spot.

  I abandoned the thought, however, when I glanced down and saw the wisdom of what Dane James had done. The long sleeves of his shirt obscured the growing stain between my legs, the arms dangling in just the right place in front of my crotch, and the body part of it covered my backside completely. Now I just looked like a tomboy. A clean tomboy, though, and I was okay with that. Better a tomboy than a leper.

  And just like that, Dane James saved me.

  Or at least it felt that way.

  “Thank you.” Shyly, I peered up at him from underneath my lashes. A casual shrug was his only reply. He acted like it was no big deal that he stayed behind and salvaged what was left of my dignity. And maybe to Dane it wasn’t (he did have his Lauren immunity after all). But it was a big deal to me. A very big deal.

  “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  And so he did. We walked back the way we’d come, only we were alone this time. Side by side we walked, close enough to touch if Dane had tried. Only he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t want to, but I sure did. I wanted to touch him, to hold his hand or brush my arm against his. But I didn’t touch either. I was too shy to be so bold. I just walked at his side, enjoying the warmth I could feel coming off the boy to my left, his quiet strength comforting me in ways I didn’t really understand. I found that having him beside me chased away the stinging memory of the sheep, the oppressive thoughts of my mother, and the impossibility of my stepfather and this ridiculous town. All of it, just gone. So when Dane James started to talk, I became a willing participant of his world rather than a reluctant participant of my own.

  He told me about Stanley, the turtle he’d earlier moved out of the way so he wouldn’t get stepped on. “He lives down by the river. Most days I take him mushrooms to eat.”

  “I like turtles.”

  That was actually a lie. I didn’t like turtles at all. They reminded me of big snails with less slime and prehistoric feet. But this turtle was different. This turtle was beloved by Dane James; therefore it was beloved by me as well.

  “I like most animals. Especially dogs.”

  “Do you have a dog?”

  “No. I’ve always wanted one, but my dad won’t let me have one.”

  I was furious at his father and I’d never even met him. “I wish I had a dog, too.” And at that moment, I did. Just so Dane James could come to my house and pet him.

  “But at least I have Stanley. Until he leaves anyway.”

  “What will you do then? If he leaves, I mean.” I was already mourning the loss of Stanley the turtle. I couldn’t quite comprehend the why of it. All I knew as that Stanley was important to Dane James, and Dane James was suddenly important to me.

  Dane shrugged in that way he had, but this time there was something sad around his fall-colored eyes. “I guess I won’t have anything anymore.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything at all. I only knew that if I could make his eyes not look sad anymore, I would. They made me feel sad, too. They made me hope that Stanley the turtle never left. It made my stomach hurt to think that one day this boy, The One Who Stayed, might be all alone.

  “You said your dad wouldn’t let you have a dog. What about your mom? Ask her. Maybe she’ll talk your dad into saying yes.”

  “My mom is dead.” Dane’s voice was as flat as the hard-packed dirt of the path beneath my feet.

  “How did she die?” It never occurred to me not to ask.

  “She killed herself.” At my involuntary gasp, he added, “With drugs.”

  “Why?”

  Dane shrugged again, but I could tell a difference in this shrug. This one didn’t say he didn’t care; this one said he was just helpless to do anything but shrug.

  We walked in silence for a couple of minutes. I silently wished that I could share my mom with him. She had her faults, but I loved her and I wanted Dane James to have a mom to love. But then he interrupted my thoughts again and I was glad to leave them behind.

  “Wanna race to the edge of the field? I’ll give you a head start.”

  At his offer, I stopped to look over at him, happy that he’d cha
nged the subject. It made my arms and legs feel heavy to walk beside his sadness.

  Rather than answering, I just took off like the devil himself was chasing me. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Not that it mattered. Dane was at my side and then overtaking me within seconds. What I noticed, though, was that he slowed down once he flew by me, slowed down enough that I could keep up with him and we could reach the edge of the field at the same time.

  Neither of us declared a winner, although we both knew it would’ve been Dane by a landslide. If he’d even halfway tried, that is. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to beat me. He just wanted someone to run with him.

  I was a little bit in love with Dane James by the time we reached my driveway. When he turned right at the end of it, leaving me to walk the last few yards to the house by myself, he smiled over at me before he continued on down the road. “See ya later, alligator.”

  “After while, crocodile,” I replied, grinning back at him. It seemed silly, but it made me happy for some reason. He made me happy for some reason. And as we parted ways, for the first time since we’d arrived in Shepherd’s Mill, I felt something other than alone.

  Chapter 3

  When I walked into the house, Momma and Alton Peterson, my stepfather, were sitting on the couch in the living room. I didn’t like looking at them together. I didn’t know why exactly; I just knew it made me uncomfortable.

  To me, they were an odd couple. My mom was young and beautiful, like one of my collectible dolls with her pretty blonde hair and her dark green eyes. But Alton didn’t look like any of the Ken dolls I used to play with. He was older and he looked more run-down than Momma, like he’d been left in the closet under a bunch of shoes for too long. His hair was already turning gray on the sides and I thought surely he should be somebody’s grandpa. Momma said he was “only” thirty-five, but to me he was old.