by Amy Durham
With Lucas.
Thankfully, I paid enough attention to get the homework assignment written down in my notebook. As the bell rang, Jessie handed me a slip of paper with her phone number on it, and instructions to call her tonight if I had trouble with it.
Bless Jessie. Both for her fast friendship, and her science expertise.
I went to my locker, trying not to hurry. Rushing through the visit with Marsha and Tiffany and sprinting to my next class would be a colossal show of stupidity. But geez, the five-minute break between classes seemed longer than fifty minutes of chemistry.
I deliberately slowed my steps as I approached my lit class. The bookworms were in the same spots as yesterday, books already out and open. The texting girls were still up front, fingers flying across the keys of their cell phones.
One of them had bathed in a sticky, floral smelling perfume, strong enough to make my eyes water. Sheesh. As if a guy’s going to be attracted to you just because you smell like a florist’s shop.
And Lucas was again on the far side of the room, clearing his books from the desk beside him when he saw me walk in.
It was easier today to make the walk across the room. I didn’t feel like I was being beckoned by a guy used to getting his way with girls. I felt like a boy who for some reason wanted to be kind to me was inviting me.
Good grief. This could be trouble. If I started having delusions of grandeur about a guy two social classes above me, I was doomed to disappointment and embarrassment.
Sliding into the seat next to him, I searched for something witty to say. Small-talk under pressure had never been my forte.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m happy to report that I haven’t seen Miller-the-idiot this morning.”
My words sounded ridiculous. Inane. I should’ve stopped with “hey”. Suddenly the fluorescent lights seemed like heat lamps as I felt my face heat from awkwardness.
“You won’t see him down this hall a lot,” Lucas chuckled. “He’s not much into the advanced courses.”
I took that to mean that Miller was either stupid or lazy, or a combination of both.
Lucas continued. “Your dad owns the big music store downtown, right?”
Again, he surprised me with the knowledge he already had about my life. Of course, Sky Cove wasn’t a huge metropolis, so he’d probably just heard it around town. It didn’t mean he was interested enough to go searching for information about me on his own.
“Right,” I answered, reaching in my backpack for my book and the folder I’d labeled for this class. Looking back at him, I couldn’t resist a lingering look at his deep brown eyes. Since I was looking straight at him, I figured I better say something else. I decided on my dad’s new slogan. “Vintage and new guitars and amps, and everything else you might need to start a rock band.”
Actually, my dad was now the owner of String City, a thriving business specializing in guitars, both new and old. Kind of strange to find a booming music store in the middle of small-town Maine, but the place had built a reputation over the years, and people were willing to travel to do business here. The previous owner was a guitarist my dad met in Nashville. He’d been in town often to do studio work, which is how my dad knew him. When he decided to move near his daughter and grandkids in Texas, he offered to sell the store to my dad.
And my dad was thrilled. Studio work was beginning to dry up for him as a new generation of musicians emerged, and he wanted out of the rat race anyway. A guitar store was the perfect fit for him.
“It’s a really cool place,” Lucas said. “People come from everywhere to buy guitars there.”
I nodded. “One of the many reasons my parents decided to buy it.”
“Do you play?” he asked.
I stifled a laugh, but not a grin, as I shook my head. “Uh, no. My dad’s tried to teach me a few things, but I don’t really have a gift for guitar the way he does.”
He smiled at me. “Well, I know nothing about guitar, so you should show me what you’ve learned sometime.”
I struggled not to crack up. As if I’d ever let him hear me fumble around with a guitar!
Mrs. Chadwick stood up to take attendance, just as the warning bell rang, and curbed our conversation.
CHAPTER 5
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Luke and I settled in to a pattern of chatting before class. After our day off for Labor Day, he’d been in the parking lot after school each afternoon, and walked me to my car. The breezes became more and more blustery as summer pushed toward autumn, and the girly part of me found it terribly romantic to walk through the wind with Luke.
Of course, he was always on the way to cross-country practice, and I forced myself to acknowledge that his running was the only reason we ran into each other as I left school.
Despite my internal struggles to keep all things Lucas in the proper perspective, I discovered his reputation for being a nice guy was absolutely warranted. Whatever iffy feeling he’d had about me that first morning of school seemed to have disappeared. But I continued to be confused by his attention. He hadn’t been anything more than friendly, but it all seemed very strange. High school boys weren’t supposed to be friendly. They were either interested or uninterested, for a variety of reasons that usually had nothing whatsoever to do with the type of person you really were.
And besides, I was so ordinary, and Lucas was so... not ordinary.
Our quasi-friendship hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jessie was constantly interested in what Luke and I talked about. I assured her over and over again it was nothing - that we talked only because we happened to be in lit class together. But she was certain more was going on and successfully swayed Marsha and Tiffany to her way of thinking.
Most of the time I just rolled my eyes at them when they suggested Lucas was interested in me as more than a friendly acquaintance.
But apparently, other kids had started to notice as well. Several times, when Lucas walked me to my car in the afternoon, his normal crowd of people – fellow runners Corey Jacobs and Will Harlow, I’d learned - just waved at him from across they way, rather than trying to get his attention or convince him to join them.
I’d never been the object of so much speculation in all my life. I felt uncomfortable with the attention I was attracting, but secretly thrilled during those moments when Luke chose me over his buddies. It was stupid, this crazy mix of feelings I had going on.
Even Kara, attempted to gain his attention without success, though her efforts were a little less conspicuous. The best I’d been able to figure out, without asking him outright, he and she were not getting back together.
Which made me happy. Which, in turn, pissed me off at myself.
And yes, I had to admit, I’d called Adrienne, several times, and given her the scoop on Lucas. I thought it couldn’t hurt, since she was like ten states away. I missed her, but the “miss” was getting less and less the more I became a part of Sky Cove.
So, my first two weeks at Sky Cove Senior High were both easier and weirder than I imagined they would be.
It was my end-of-the-day locker stop that turned unfortunate, yet so very typical.
The piece of notebook paper taped to my locker read “Tennessee Hillbilly”.
Fantastic. How long had that been there? I hadn’t been to my locker since just after lunch, and nausea threatened as I thought about how many people could’ve seen the insult and had a laugh at my expense. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother me. I hated that it did.
Looking around, the few kids in the hallway all seemed occupied with their own stuff. I grabbed the paper as nonchalantly as possible, and wadded it up.
Several lockers down, a girl named Phoebe, who had a very dark personality despite her sunny blond hair and seemed to like the “grunge” style of clothing, glanced over and said, “People in this school suck.”
I figured she probably knew.
I tossed the wad of paper in the garbage on my way out of the building.
And so, the Friday of my second week ended, in many ways, the same as my first day. A few nice people, a lot of strangers, and a stupid teenage prank. Although, I did have to be a bit thankful it wasn’t Miller-the-idiot and his vulgar joke this time.
Walking to my car, the afternoon sun was still warm, the heat of it a pleasant hum on my skin. And Lucas was there, taking my backpack and tossing it into the backseat.
I chose to forget about the hillbilly sign. Well, I chose to try and forget about it.
“So, you have big plans this weekend?” he asked.
“Not really.” I fumbled around with my keys, taking longer than usual to unlock my door. Why was he asking about my weekend plans? “I work at the store on Saturdays until three, and after work Jessie and I are studying for our first chemistry test.”
I opened my door, but instead of getting in, I turned back toward him.
“I remember Mr. Hartley’s tests from last year,” he said. “They can be lengthy.”
“I was afraid of that,” I laughed. “Fortunately, Jessie’s good at it, so maybe she can help me get prepared. You have plans?”
“Cross-country meet this afternoon,” he said. “First one of the season.”
“Wow. Good luck, then.”
“Thanks,” Lucas nodded. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground, a kind of awkward gesture I hadn’t seen from him before. “And listen, when you have the time, if you want a tour of the town, let me know. I’ll be happy to show you around.”
My brain broke in half, into two distinct and very different pieces. One part wanted desperately to believe Lucas was asking me out, because he liked me in that way. My heart hammered wildly, and my breath became shaky. The second part of my brain shouted loudly at the first part, declaring my stupidity at even considering such a ludicrous idea, furthermore ordering my heart to get itself under control.
In the end, I decided to believe the second part. It was much safer that way.
“Thanks,” I replied, forcing my tone of voice to show absolutely no enthusiasm. At least I hoped so. “Maybe sometime.”
He studied me for a second, and I wondered if I’d offended him. I mean, he’d seemed kind of nervous when he’d said it. As much as I didn’t want my imagination running away with my heart in tow, I also didn’t want to make him upset at me.
“I wanted to thank you again,” I began. “Not just for rescuing me from Miller that first day, but also for being so nice to me. I didn’t think I’d be able to make new friends this quickly.”
“Well, you have.” He smiled, pulling my driver’s door open wider. “See you soon, Layla.”
My name, spoken in his caramel smooth voice made my insides melt.
I cranked my car, but didn’t pull out right away. Instead I pretended to dial my cell phone while I watched him walk away, black polo tucked into perfectly distressed blue jeans with a black, D-ring canvas belt at his waist.
And that first part of my brain went haywire all over again.
CHAPTER 6
On my way to String City the following morning, I decided to take a scenic drive through town. Dad had gone in to open the store at nine o’clock, but he didn’t expect me in until ten. Even now, the morning fog still lingered, gray and smoky, and atmospheric as all get out.
So, I took my time, winding my way through some of the old neighborhoods on my way to downtown Sky Cove.
The houses were beautiful, painted in both vibrant colors and bright whites. Many of them been carefully restored by owners who took great pride in their homes.
At the far end of Old Birch Lane a house stood alone, separated from the rest of the neighborhood. Swirled with fog, but still visible, I could tell it was older than the rest, both by the size and the look. It had a sort of character the other houses did not.
I couldn’t help but slow down as I drove past. My foot moved to the brake almost of its own volition.
The house itself was nothing special. The black shutters stood in stark contrast to the chipping white paint. The main part of the house was an undersized rectangle, with a door in the center of the long wall and two windows on either side of the door. There was no porch or even a stoop with an overhang. An even smaller rectangle room – it couldn’t have been any larger than a little bedroom – was attached to the main part of the house. One door and two tiny windows provided access to it.
From the road, I could make out two outbuildings behind the house. Both looked to be nothing more than shacks, and I wondered if the ramshackle look of them was natural or due in large part to painstaking restoration.
For a long moment, I stared at the house. It seemed beautiful to me, even though it was nothing compared to the other houses in the neighborhood. And, though I’d never seen it before, I felt a familiar connection to it I could not explain.
Inside me, strange emotions bumped into each other. It was as if I were stepping into a whirlpool of longing and joy and uncertainty and foreboding. Everything around me came into sharp focus. I was intensely aware of the cinnamon flavor of my chewing gum, the feel of the cool air coming from the vents, the sounds of the music coming from my car stereo. I felt my mind memorizing the moment for future reference.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I accelerated slightly, pausing to appreciate the blueness of the sky and the cottony white clouds. Passing the driveway to the small little house that had captured my attention, I noticed it was an antique store. How appropriate, I thought, for the house that was obviously the oldest one in the neighborhood to be a showplace for treasures that had been seasoned with time.
I made a mental note to visit the Emerson House of Antiques as soon as possible. Like tomorrow.
For reasons I could not begin to fathom, I wanted to get inside that house.
***
My five-hour shift, which included a thirty-minute lunch break, had been productive. I’d swept the hardwood floors and dusted the counter and the shelves until the place smelled of homey, lemon furniture polish. I’d also helped Dad sell a beginner guitar to a young kid and his father, as well as a pricey Gibson Les Paul to a guitarist from down in Biddeford.
String City had a real vintage vibe, and not just from the classic guitars my dad had in stock. The dark hardwood on the floor and the light oak paneling on the walls gave the place an inviting appearance, and though Dad had a computer for ringing up purchases and printing receipts, he’d kept the old cash register on the counter, just for looks.
At three o’clock, I headed out the front door. My car was parallel parked a few spaces down from the storefront, and as I walked down the wide sidewalk, I looked around. It was pretty cool, to see the way people stopped and talked, or waved at each other from opposite sides of the street. People in Sky Cove knew one another.
Energy buzzed here, unlike anything I’d known before. Was it just the newness of life here that made me notice, or was there a magic in Sky Cove that didn’t exist elsewhere?
On my way home, I couldn’t resist driving back down Old Birch Lane, past the house that for some reason was the object of my intense curiosity. I wondered if my interest would be piqued or satisfied once I’d walked through the building. My questions would have to wait for another day, since I expected Jessie to arrive at my house any moment.
Right on time, she pulled into my driveway right after me, leaving her Mustang parked behind my Accord. She bounded out of the car, sunglasses pushed up on her head, and I realized that I was glad to see her. And not just because of her chemistry expertise.
She’d become a real friend, and the thought made me smile.
“Hey Jess!”
“Hi there.” She pulled her backpack from the car and tossed the sunglasses to the front seat. “How was work?”
“Terribly exciting stuff,” I said, heading up the front porch steps. “Sweeping and dusting.”
“I think it’s so cool that your dad’s a musician,” she said as I motioned for her to go in before me. “Was he ever in a band?
”
“A couple of local ones.” I shut the door behind me. “Mostly he did studio work, played for different artists on their recordings.”
“That’s so exciting!”
I’m sure dad’s previous occupation sounded glamorous, but to me it was just the way things had always been.
“You know what else is exciting?” Jessie asked, wiggling her eyebrows like she always did when she had something interesting to share. “I heard we won the cross-country meet yesterday, and a certain handsome runner came in first.”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, I know you’re not crazy about chemistry, so I thought maybe a little Lucas news would make it more bearable.”
Studying for the test turned out to not be so bad, and I actually felt prepared by the time Jessie left. We’d gone over our notes, re-read parts of the textbook, and, over a pepperoni pizza, had quizzed each other.
Afterward, I retreated to my room for some much-needed iPod time. The sun was fading fast, and though it was early for a Saturday night, I felt drained from work and chemistry overload.
I hit play, laid back, and closed my eyes.
The house I’d noticed this morning floated through that shadowy haze that happens when you close your eyes. It didn’t take a lot of effort to imagine it newer, pristine, full of lively activity. I saw it change with the seasons, golden and red leaves falling in the yard, snow covering the roof, tiny green buds on the trees, and vibrant in the summer sun.
A woman opened the door, and I immediately knew she was happy. The scent of fresh bread escaped from the house, and anticipation coursed through her. She was waiting for something... or someone.
As if looking through the lens of a digital camera, I zoomed in on the woman standing in the door. I took note of her plain dress, the dingy white apron covering her bodice and skirt. She looked like she could’ve stepped right out of an episode of “Little House on the Prairie”.