The soup kitchen. My stomach growls and I remember passing a row of fast-food restaurants just around the corner. Fast food. My mouth waters at the thought of biting into a burger oozing with tangy sauce. I retrace my steps, passing places that offer fried chicken, tacos and submarine sandwiches. They all sound good, but I know what I want for my first meal back in the real world. I order a cheese and bacon burger, French fries and a Coke. Extra large.
Unwrapping the burger from the paper, I lick the excess relish off it, savoring the experience. The first bite is so good I hardly swallow before I’m taking the second one. Then I shovel in a handful of salty French fries and slurp down a mouthful of Coke. This is a complete and welcome change from all those wholesome meals I ate in Unity. I repeat the process but force myself to slow down.
When the burger is half gone, my stomach suddenly retaliates. It bloats and gurgles. I gaze at the remaining food. The paper that the hamburger was wrapped in is saturated with grease, as is the container half full of fries. Now my stomach lurches. Getting up, I throw the rest of the food in the garbage and race to the bathroom.
Half an hour later, when the cramps have passed, I’m again wandering around town. I find myself at a park and figure that this is where kids my age will gather at the end of their school day. I should be able to hook up with some of them then.
I cut across the grass and down the bank to the river. The day is getting warm and I decide to wade barefoot in the water, something that is taboo for girls in Unity, who even swim in their long dresses. Crossing the rocky beach, I spot a cluster of rock shapes farther down the river. Remembering Celeste’s experience here, I wander over to take a look.
As I get closer, I’m stunned by what I see and now understand why Celeste had to check to see if the stones were glued together. The towers really do appear to defy gravity, they balance so precariously. Large stones, point down, perch on smaller stones, which in turn are carefully balanced on the stones beneath them. Each one is a small miracle. I circle around them and wonder why their creator would build these unique works of art here, where anyone could knock them over.
I decide that this is as good a place as any to wade into the river. Squatting down, I pull off my shoes and socks and roll up my jeans. The stones are sharp under my feet, but I hobble across the beach and wade into the water. It is ice-cold, and all my senses snap to attention. I wade out to where a boulder juts out of the water and scramble onto it.
The sun is warm, and I stretch out across the flat top of the huge rock. The heat on my skin and the soothing sound of the rushing water makes me sleepy. I lie back and close my eyes.
Sometime later I wake from my nap. Sitting up, I look around and discover I am no longer alone. The rock balancer is back on the job.
I sit as still as I can and watch him. He must know I’m here—my shoes and socks are heaped in the center of his circle of balanced rocks—but he’s in total concentration. His current project already has two base rocks, one balancing on the other. Now he is cradling a third one in his hands. His feet are spread apart and his knees are bent, as if he too is balanced. He gently touches the new rock to the structure but does not appear to loosen his grip on it. Ever so slightly he moves the rock around the thin tip of the one he is placing it on. He is totally focused on the task, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was hypnotized by it. Five, ten minutes pass. He is still trying to find the point of balance for his new rock. Now I see him slowly letting go of the rock. It stays. He straightens up and takes a step back. A new rock balance has been created. I feel like I’ve just seen a performance, and I begin to clap wildly. He appears to wake out of a trance as his head snaps around to look at me. For a brief moment I’m afraid he’ll be mad that I was watching, that this was a private moment for him, but then his face breaks into a goofy grin and he bows.
I climb off my boulder and wade back through the water to the beach. “That’s amazing!” I say as I stumble toward him. “I can’t believe I saw you balance that rock there. I would have sworn it was impossible.”
“Anything is possible,” he tells me, still grinning.
“So why do you do this, this rock-balancing thing?” I ask him. I’ve plunked myself down on the beach to pull on my socks and shoes.
“Because I enjoy it,” he says. He’s still smiling.
“That’s it? Just because you like it?”
“What other reason do I need?”
There’s something really appealing about this guy. He seems so naturally serene. I suspect he goes around with a smile on his face all the time. “I dunno. Maybe because it brings you peace or it’s a spiritual experience or it’s how you worship Mother Nature.”
“Yep, it’s all of those things too. It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“Hmm.” I admire the formations for a few moments. “A friend of mine said she was here, and she accidentally toppled one over.”
He tilts his head and frowns. “Was that the girl with the long skirt? From Unity?”
“Yeah, that was her.”
“I felt terrible, scaring her off like that. I wanted to talk to her.”
“No chance of that. Girls from there aren’t permitted to talk to guys like you.”
“Guys like me?”
“Guys period. But especially with guys who aren’t from The Movement.”
“That’s a shame. There was something very...very sweet about her.”
“Innocent. They are completely sheltered from the real world.”
“How do you know this girl?”
“I lived with her family for over a year.”
“But you’re not one of them?”
“Hey! How can you tell?” I look down at my T-shirt and jeans and then back at him. “Don’t I look sweet and innocent?”
“Yeah, but...” he blushes.
“Okay, you’re right.” I smile and let him off the hook. “But they took me in for a while and helped me get out of a bad space I was in. Now they’ve kicked me out, but that’s okay. I’m a better person for it.”
“Why’d they kick you out?” He has joined me, sitting on the beach. I see that his hands are busy stacking pebbles, one on top of the other.
“The Prophet decided I was a danger to their way of life. It’s okay, I’m not one of them and never would be.”
“This girl, the one I met on the beach, do you think she could be the one who is building inuksuks in Unity?”
“Yeah, I know she is.”
He gets a funny look on his face. “Then I have been communicating with her, just not in words.”
I study his profile. His features are fine, almost chiseled. He wears his black hair long and tucks it behind his ears. He’s exotic looking, and I wonder what his family background is. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Craig. And you are?”
“Taviana.” I shake his outstretched hand.
“What’s your friend’s name?” he asks.
“Celeste.” I glance at him. Why does she attract all the cute ones? “But don’t go getting any ideas. She’s getting married soon.”
“Married?”
“Yep. They marry their girls young.”
“How does Celeste feel about that?”
“She’s not happy, but there’s not a lot she can do about it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just the way they do things. And she can’t leave, she’d have nowhere to go. She doesn’t have much education, and she’s not trained for any kind of work.” I consider what I’ve just said. “She’d be in the same predicament that I’m in.”
“Which is?”
“Nowhere to live, no education, no job.”
“That’s not good.” Craig frowns.
The difference, I think to myself, is that I know how to survive on the streets. Celeste wouldn’t have a chance. I decide to change the subject. “So, how come you’re not in school?”
“I graduated last year, on the coast. My parents wanted to shake their l
ives up a bit, so my dad took a job here and I moved with them.” He pauses. “I haven’t decided what to do with my life yet, so I mostly just help my dad out. And balance rocks.” He smiles.
“And build inuksuks,” I remind him.
“Right. Those too.”
“What does your dad do?”
“He’s a vet, specializing in farm animals. That’s why I’m often in Unity. I go with him on his rounds to all the rural communities, but when I get tired of listening to him talk to the farmers about the weather or which bull calves will be castrated, I look for a place where I can build something with rocks.”
“Celeste has dreams of being a vet.”
“She does?”
“Uh-huh. Poor thing. She’ll have half a dozen kids by the time she’s old enough to go to university. And with only a grade-eight education, and no support from her parents or husband...” I shake my head. “She hasn’t got a hope.”
Craig is silent, studying his rock art. Then he says quietly, “Someone should tell her that anything is possible. Check out the rocks.”
We both study them for a moment. “Not for a girl from Unity.”
“Then that’s sad.” I watch as Craig uses his finger to topple one of his mini-rock balances.
“Don’t your parents expect you to go to school or work or something?”
He nods. “But I can’t figure out what it is I want to do. There’s no point spending the money on school if I don’t know what to take.”
I nod.
“And I haven’t searched too hard for a job,” he admits.
We sit quietly, pondering our lives. “What happened to your real family?” he asks softly.
“I never knew my dad,” I tell him. “I don’t even know if my mom knew who he was. And I didn’t get along with my mom, so I ran away when I was twelve. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
“Wow,” he says. “I’m impressed.
“Don’t be,” I tell him. “I haven’t done anything I’m terribly proud of.”
“Not yet,” he says. “But you must be a survivor. That counts for something.”
I shrug. “Who knows.”
“So where are you living?”
“Nowhere yet. I just arrived today, but I’m pretty sure that I have a connection that is going to help me out.” I make it sound like it is more of a sure thing than it is. I don’t need his pity right now.
Something jangles in his pocket. He pulls out his cell phone and checks the screen before pushing it back into his pocket. “I have to go,” he says, “but I hope I see you around.”
“Yeah,” I say, climbing to my feet too. “I hope so.”
I watch as Craig disappears into the forest directly behind us. I head back toward the park.
THE AFTER-SCHOOL crowd has arrived, just as I’d expected it to. I study the scene from my shadowy hiding place at the edge of the park, trying to determine which group of kids appears most approachable. The various ages have staked out their own picnic tables and are lounging on them, pretending not to notice the kids at other tables. A few boys kick a soccer ball back and forth, and hacky sacks are being kept in the air by nimble feet. Two of the tables appear to be designated smoking areas and attract kids of all ages.
I finally decide that boys won’t see me as a threat, so I approach an all-male table of senior-looking guys.
Someone at the table must have noticed me walking across the park toward them and then said something to the others, because all their heads swing to look in my direction.
“Hi,” I say as casually as I can when I arrive at their table.
“Hey.” A few nod politely, and curious expressions cross some of the boys’ faces.
“New here?” a skinny guy asks. I notice the tattoos that run up both his forearms. They might be antlers, but I’m not sure.
“Yeah. Just arrived today.”
“Where from?” he asks.
I hesitate, not sure whether to tell the truth, but because I can’t come up with a lie fast enough, I let it spill. “Unity.”
That gets a reaction. They all study me a little harder.
“You don’t look like someone from Rabbitsville,” a small stocky guy sneers.
I sense some uncomfortable squirming from the other boys.
“Rabbitsville?”
“That’s what some people call Unity,” the guy with the tattoos explains. I notice he’s blushing slightly.
“That’s kind of random,” I say, faking innocence although I have a pretty good idea what it refers to.
“It’s because of all the babies that are born there,” the stocky boy says, looking directly at me. It’s a challenge, a test. I feel the embarrassed glances of the other boys too, waiting for my reaction. “As in,” he continues, “rabbits are known for making lots of bunnies.”
I just shrug. “I found it weird at first too, all those babies, and the sister wives, but I was only a visitor for a year and a half, so I’m not really from there.”
“Why would you visit a place like that?” a third boy asks. He climbs off the table and stretches, and I notice the long ripple of muscle in his bare arms.
“Long story,” I tell him. “But I won’t be going back.”
The boys seem to relax, and I decide I’ve passed the test.
Their attention suddenly shifts to another girl who is crossing the park, coming toward us. She has a cell phone clamped to her ear, and she’s wearing a mini-skirt and high wedged heels. She takes long purposeful strides on chopstick-thin legs. Her T-shirt is scooped low and her melon-sized breasts remain surprisingly still, even though her thick blond ponytail swings wildly from side to side. I can’t help but think how much she looks like some of the girls I used to work with. When she arrives she gives me a quick once-over, clamps her phone shut and plants herself in front of the boy with the muscles. Their lips lock and the rest of us look away.
“So,” I say, “anyone know where I might find some work in this town?”
“You don’t go to school?” tattoo-guy asks.
I shake my head.
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“The kind that pays money.”
“I haven’t seen any help-wanted signs for a while,” he says, shrugging.
“Who are you anyway?” the girl asks. She’s unglued herself from muscle-boy and is eyeing me suspiciously.
“My name’s Taviana. I need work and a place to live. Any ideas?”
Her finely plucked eyebrows arch and she tilts her head. “Taviana. That’s an unusual name. I’ve heard it somewhere before.” I can see her focusing, trying to make the connection.
Fortunately the guy with the tattoos changes the subject. “You could try the fast-food restaurants. They’re usually hiring.”
My stomach lurches, remembering lunch. “Thanks, I might have to if nothing else comes up.”
“Summer’s coming,” one of the other guys says. “People will be looking for nannies.”
Now that is something I could do, but I can’t wait until summer. “Where can I get a local paper?” I ask him. “To check the ads.”
“Practically anywhere,” he says and points to a convenience store at the end of the block. “You’ll find one there for sure.”
“Taviana,” the girl says, still mulling over my name. “Did you ever live in Highrock?”
My stomach clenches. Will I ever be able to leave my past behind? “Yeah, did you?” Duh.
“Uh-huh, I went to Rockridge School. I think you were there for a while too.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I moved around a lot.”
I can’t help but notice her smug little smile. The boys will know all about me the minute I walk away. I consider returning to the bus station, collecting my suitcase and catching the first bus to the next town, but chances are they’ll know about me there too.
I’ve lost interest in talking to these guys now that smug-girl is here. “Guess I’ll go get a paper then,” I tell them. “Maybe it’ll
list rooms to rent too.”
I give a little wave and head toward the road. A moment later a boy jogs up beside me. “I’m going to get a Slurpee,” the tattooed guy says. “Mind if I walk with you?”
I glance back at the picnic table. I don’t think he stayed long enough to hear about my life in Highrock. Not yet, anyway. “Sure,” I say, shrugging. “So, what’s your name?”
“Hunter.”
“Are those antlers on your arms?”
“Yeah. Do you like them?”
“I’d like them better on a moose.”
He laughs. “Me too.”
“Do you actually hunt?”
“No. I’m a vegetarian.”
I give him a sharp glance. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He grins. “Kind of a paradox, isn’t it?”
I can’t help but smile back at him. His sense of humor is refreshing.
“So if you’re not living anywhere, where’s your stuff?” he asks.
“In a suitcase at the bus station. If things don’t work out here, I can always hop on a bus and try another town.”
“Huh. I can’t imagine that kind of freedom.”
I shrug. “You could do it too.”
“No, not really. I want to graduate from school here and go to college in the fall.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll never graduate from school, so college won’t be an option for me.”
We’re standing outside the convenience store. He’s studying me thoughtfully. “It’s never too late to go back to school.”
“It’s kinda hard when you have to support yourself, and when you’re already so far behind.”
“I bet you could do it,” he says.
I smile at him. “Thanks. I like the way you think. But first things first. I need a job and a place to stay.”
He holds the door open for me. I grab the free newspaper and wait for him to get a Slurpee. He gets two.
Back outside, he hands me one of the plastic cups, and we wander down the street together until we come to a bus stop. I plunk myself down on the bench and turn to the classified pages. Hunter sits beside me, literally slurping his Slurpee.
“Any luck?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Everyone wants experience, resumes, references. I don’t have any of those things.”
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