Speed of Life

by Carol Weston

  I tiptoed into the bathroom clutching a fluffy Baird towel because we had given all of ours to Goodwill. What did Alexa expect me to do? Drip dry? And yes, Dad could be a neat freak. Would it be better if he were a slob?

  I wished I had the guts to barge in and yell at her. She had no idea what it was like to lose a parent!

  I got in my pajamas and found Pepper. It still took forever to fall asleep.

  The next day, I put on a black tank top, jeans, leather boots, and my mom’s pearl stud earrings. Amanda picked up Alexa, and I crossed the street to wait for the big yellow school bus. It all felt sort of familiar because of TV and movies but foreign too. And surreal. And lonely.

  Two older girls were at the stop, discussing their schedules and not looking at me. When the bus came, I took a seat toward the back next to an older girl who didn’t acknowledge me except to move one inch closer to the window.

  The bus ride was mercifully short, and at 8:00 a.m., I attended an assembly about regulations, lockers, clubs, and advisors. I didn’t see Sam, so I just sat down and tried to blend in. Who were these hundreds of kids? The boys looked so big. The girls all greeted each other with shrieks and hugs.

  A bell rang, and I went to my first class: English. During attendance, the teacher, Mr. Greer, said, “Wolfe? Many authors are ‘wolves’: Thomas, Tom, Tobias, Virginia, Naomi. It’s a fine literary name.” I appreciated that but wished he’d said it to me alone. Calling attention to my name was not going to help me stay beneath the radar.

  In bio and algebra, heads also turned, and I tried to look harmless as kids whispered, “She’s the new girl.”

  Was I new? I didn’t feel new. Sometimes, I felt old.

  Lunch was burgers topped with small, slimy blobs of gray goo. It made me miss the food at Halsey, but at least I’d remembered to bring money. Still, it was hard walking into the crowded cafeteria not knowing where to sit. The tables were all full, and as I carried my plate and water glass, I wished I could spot Kiki and Natalie and Madison.

  Was my outfit okay? I was the only girl wearing boots.

  A group of loud girls beckoned me over, and I sat with them, grateful. One took out her retainer, wrapped it in a napkin, and placed it on her lunch tray. I remembered when Kiki threw hers out by accident. She and a janitor had had to go through two garbage cans to find it.

  The girls quizzed me about New York and Broadway shows, and one asked if I ever ran into famous people. “Sometimes, at my old school during drop off and pick up,” I replied, then downplayed this and hoped it hadn’t sounded like boasting.

  One girl started talking about her cousin’s birthday the previous weekend. She’d invited seven friends to a restaurant but wanted only six to sleep over. So she asked the chosen six to drop their sleeping bags off early and not to tell the seventh except—surprise, surprise—she found out!

  Everyone laughed, and I tried to smile, but it wasn’t funny, was it? Who were these girls anyway? By having lunch with them, did it seem like I wanted to join their clique? Or were they auditioning me?

  The two girls across from me were identical twins. Their auburn hair matched their eyes, and I couldn’t see how anyone could possibly tell them apart. “I just got the new Fifteen,” Twin One said. “Sofia, don’t you like, live, in Dear Kate’s house?”

  “Yes…”

  “Guys, guys, you have to hear this!” She jumped up and started reading: “‘Dear Kate, I’ve been noticing how beautiful a lot of my friends are, and since no guys ever like me, I was wondering if there’s a chance I might be bi or lesbian.’”

  Twin Two shrieked, grabbed the magazine, and pretended to read the response. “Dear Lesbo, If your BFF is your dream date, you should start sexting her right away!”

  Everyone cracked up, and my face was burning. My letter got published? Oh God, just kill me now.

  “What’d she really answer?” another girl asked.

  “Something boring, I’m sure. The questions are the best part,” Twin One replied.

  I knew what Dear Kate had answered. When I’d read her words in February, they’d been a comfort. But I never expected my letter to become a read-aloud.

  “You think she makes up the questions?”

  “Probably. What’s she like anyway?”

  “Yeah, tell us,” Twin One said. “I mean, Dear Kate gives out all this advice, but her own kid’s a piece of work!” She laughed.

  “Shut up. You’re talking about Sofia’s sister,” said Twin Two.

  “Not her blood sister.”

  I mumbled that I liked Kate. A girl next to me got up, and a good-looking guy sat in her seat. He had black, tousled hair and curly, dark eyelashes. “Hi,” he said. The twins seemed excited by his presence. “I’m Zack.”

  Wait, wait, was he addressing me? Since when did good-looking guys talk to me?

  He kept smiling, and I felt embarrassed and confused. Was it possible I’d gone from ugly duckling to decent-looking swan without any notification? Then again, if he was talking to me, did it have anything to do with me—or just my newness and New York–ness?

  “I’m Zack,” he repeated. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, and I was surprised to notice that he had little curls of black chest hair. “This is the part where you say your name,” he prompted, “which, I hear, is Sofia.”

  “Sorry. I’m Sofia.” I must have been pink.

  “By the way, I’ve been there.”

  “New York?”

  “Sofia. The capital of Bulgaria. You know what Bulgarians do? They shake their heads side to side when they say yes instead of nodding.” He shook his head, and the girls at the table laughed appreciatively.

  Was I supposed to shake? Nod? Laugh?

  I looked up, and there, across the lunchroom, was Sam. My heart lurched, and I gave a discreet wave. He waved back, and I wished he’d come over. I wished he were sitting next to me!

  How were things going to change for us now that we were in the fish bowl of high school? It was one thing to hold hands in sunlight and moonlight, but what about fluorescent light?

  I liked that with Sam, I didn’t feel like the girl whose mother died or the girl from New York City or the girl who lived at Dear Kate’s. I just felt like myself.

  The bell rang, and everyone headed off to class. In history, a girl behind me whispered, “Yeah, she lives in Alexa Baird’s house. You know, that bitchy basketball player?” I wanted to say something, but what? That it was my house too? (Was it?) That Alexa was a sweetie pie? (She wasn’t.)

  My last class was Spanish. I’d placed out of freshman and sophomore Spanish and was put into AP Spanish with ten seniors and two juniors. One was Alexa. It was the first time I’d seen her at school, and I wasn’t sure if that was normal (Byram Hills was bigger than Halsey) or if Alexa had spent the day avoiding me.

  The seats formed a semicircle. Alexa sat at one end between Amanda and Mackenzie, and I sat at the other. They were all three wearing pastel tops, jeans, and sandals. In a clear Colombian accent, the teacher, Señor Muñoz, said we were going to focus on short stories by Cervantes, Borges, Quiroga, Cortázar, Rulfo, and García Márquez. But first he wanted us to get acquainted: “Vamos a tomar unos minutitos para hablar de lo que han hecho ustedes este verano. Empezamos con usted, por favor.”

  Cool. The classic what-I-did-this-summer assignment except out loud and in Spanish. It might even help me get to know everyone. I was glad I was at the end of the semicircle and would go last.

  Around we went. Most kids started by saying their Spanish had gotten rusty, but everyone came up with something. When Alexa spoke about her six weeks in las montañas de Canada, Señor Muñoz congratulated her on keeping up her language skills. He looked pleased, and Alexa did too.

  More kids took their turn, and then the teacher turned to me. “Y ahora usted. Su nombre, por favor.”

  I gav
e my name and said I’d moved from Manhattan to Armonk. I did not mention kissing in a windmill, falling off a bike, moving in with Alexa, or taking Mom’s ashes to Spain. I did say I was contenta, happy, at Byram Hills and that everyone seemed muy majo—very nice.

  “Pero no entiendo. ¿Cómo se hace que usted habla español tan bien? ¿Usted es española?” The teacher wasn’t curious about my city-to-suburb move. He wanted to know if I was Spanish.

  “Yo, no, pero mi mamá, sí era.” I’m not. But my mom was.

  Past tense. Oh no! I’d done exactly what I’d hoped to avoid: I’d announced that my mother was dead.

  Nobody picked up on it. All they noticed was that the new girl was fluent (something everyone at Halsey already knew) and that while the teacher was impressed with Alexa’s Spanish, he was blown away by mine.

  “¡Pues, bienvenida! ¡Va a ser un gran placer tenerle en clase!” he said, welcoming me and telling me that it would be a great pleasure having me in class.

  Alexa shot me a dirty look as if my being bilingual were some show-off-y stunt I’d just pulled to put her down.

  Once again, I seemed to have accidentally trampled all over her turf. When the bell rang, she knocked into me on her way out, as if I were invisible.

  And this made me realize that I’d been wrong. I did not want to be invisible.

  But what did I want?

  • • •

  That evening, Kate, Alexa, Dad, and I drove to La Manda, a nearby Italian restaurant. We settled into a booth, and Alexa went to wash her hands. “Order for me, Mom,” she said. “You know what I like.”

  Kate nodded, and I noticed that she looked exhausted.

  I was tired too. I’d been on all day, and Alexa’s offhanded request set off feelings of hurt and envy. I didn’t want to fall into the quicksand of wishing I had a mom who knew what I liked and would do her best to get it for me. Don’t go there, I told myself. Alexa wasn’t being insensitive—I was being oversensitive.

  The waitress took our order, Alexa returned, and Dad asked, “So, girls, how was school? Sofia, you first?”

  “Good.” I studied the place mat: a map of Italy. “I didn’t get lost, and I met a lot of people.” I didn’t mention that I’d felt lonely at the bus stop, awkward at assembly, and mortified at lunch. And I didn’t say that lunch was mystery meat and tater tots (which made me miss Halsey’s grass-fed beef and organic vegetables). I also didn’t say that even though I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes for kickball, gym was still less excruciating than it had been in middle school. Dad was waiting for more. “Oh, and my world history teacher, Mr. C, is ridiculously cute.” I looked at Alexa, hoping we could at least agree on that. Alexa’s face stayed blank.

  “How about you, Alexa?” Dad asked.

  Alexa gave a rundown of her classes and said she might want to do her junior author paper on William Golding since Lord of the Flies was one of her favorite books.

  Lord of the Flies? Did she think of herself as Jack?

  “Oh, and let’s see,” Alexa continued, “in AP Spanish, there’s a new kid, a freshman, whose Spanish is perfecto. It’s kind of an unfair advantage actually.”

  Alexa looked at me.

  My spine tingled. “Señor Muñoz was very impressed with Alexa’s Spanish too,” I offered.

  Alexa gave me a withering look.

  “When does volleyball start?” Kate asked, changing the subject.

  “First game is next week. A home game against Dobbs Ferry.”

  Kate turned to me. “Are you trying out for a sport, Sofia?”

  “No.” I was glad there was zero chance of my outshining the family athlete, especially at a school where sports seemed to reign supreme. At HSG, being involved in sports or theater or orchestra or Model UN or newspaper or yearbook all offered about the same cachet. At Byram Hills, I sensed that being a jock or cheerleader conferred extra coolness points.

  Kate asked if any activities appealed to me. “At some point, I might do parliament,” I replied. “But for now, maybe chorus?” I looked down at the paper map because just saying this out loud was a big step. “I’ll also join the Spanish club. If people want to go to the city to see a movie in Spanish, I can arrange that.”

  “No problema, right?” Alexa sneered.

  The waitress appeared with a pizza. “Watch out!” she said. “Don’t burn yourselves!”

  • • •

  I phoned Sam at 10:00 p.m., and he said, “Bottom of the ninth. Can I call you right back?”

  “Not tonight.” I laughed. “I’m going to sleep. But I’ll stop by tomorrow after your practice, okay?”

  At 5:15 the next day, Sam opened his front door. “You made it through the first two days!”

  “More or less,” I said. “But I never see you.”

  “It’s a pretty big school.” He kissed me. “Sorry. Do I smell? I just ran ten miles and was about to shower. You can shower with me,” he said with a sly smile.

  I pushed him. “Hey, Sam, how come you didn’t come over at lunch yesterday?” I had not meant to bring that up so soon.

  “I wanted to give you some space. And you had Zack breathing all over you. I could see you blushing from across the room.”

  “Zack?!” I was blushing because a girl had read my humiliating email out loud. “I could care less about Zack!”

  “Good, because he only cares about himself.”

  “I wanted to talk to you. That’s why I waved.”

  “I waved back. Sofia, it goes both ways. You could’ve walked over.”

  “I walked over just now. That goes both ways too.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been to your house since Alexa got back. It’s just—it still feels like her house, you know?”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  We headed up to his room. “So you’re at a school with real live boys. How’s it feel?”

  “They’re everywhere!” I laughed. “They’re, like, two lockers away! And they travel in packs.” I almost mentioned a boy on the bus whose T-shirt said, “Beneath this shirt, I’m naked.” Instead, I said, “My math teacher is hard of hearing and—”

  “Mrs. K? She should’ve retired ages ago!”

  “Well, the boys all sit in the back and make fun of her. I was shocked. Halsey girls are well behaved. You know, straight out of Madeline.”

  We sat on his unmade bed. His room was so different from mine—my new one or old one. I studied his sound system, Yankee license plate, Rolling Stone magazines, fish tank, heaps of dirty clothes. On his shelf were cross-country medals and plaques and team photos. On the wall, a South Park calendar was still open to August. Was this a “man cave”?

  “I joined chorus,” I said. “And one girl was really friendly. Gracie?”

  “Yeah. Gracie’s nice. Dresses a little funny.”

  “She’s in your grade, right?”

  He nodded. “What about the work?” he asked. “Challenging enough for you?”

  “What’s hard is learning everyone’s names.”

  “I can help you there.” He got out a yearbook, The Arch, and we snuggled close.

  Smack! What was that? We both heard it. Something had hit his window. A rock? A baseball?

  We ran outside and spotted an injured blue jay lying on its side.

  “Poor thing!” I said. It had flown straight into the living room picture window—just beneath Sam’s bedroom.

  “Happens. Birds around here are pretty dumb. They get dazed and confused. I think this one’s still alive though. I bet it’ll make it.”

  We stood a few yards away from the bird and watched as it slowly blinked, twitched, and righted itself. Soon it began to hop and flutter its wings. All at once, it flew off.

  I was absurdly relieved.

  • • •

  I wanted to
make things better between Alexa and me, so I figured I’d go to her next home game.

  When I got to the gym, I saw Kate in the bleachers. I sat down next to her and was surprised when she apologized for Alexa’s recent “prickliness.” Recent? Alexa had been a cactus from the start.

  But this week, I found myself worrying about Kate. She seemed so worn down. Was living with two feuding teens taking its toll?

  Kate had on a baggy T-shirt that said “BHHS 25.” She said she’d gotten it as a prize for having traveled the shortest distance to her twenty-fifth reunion. “The person who traveled the farthest got the same prize—and he came all the way from Brazil!”

  “That’s not really fair,” I pointed out.

  “Life isn’t,” she replied. “But that’s not news, right?”

  “I guess not.” I looked around the gym. “I can’t picture myself going to a twenty-fifth reunion.”

  “You might end up going to two of them.”

  “Two?”

  “Halsey and Byram Hills. Private schools do their best not to lose alumni. They never know who’ll become a big donor.”

  “But I’m not at Halsey anymore. I’m not a Survivor.”

  “Oh yes you are, Sofia.” Kate looked right at me. “You really are.”

  I nodded, pensive. Was I? In science that day, Dr. Pavlica had mentioned the speed of light, and I’d heard “the speed of life.” While he was going on about E = mc2, I was thinking again about how crazy it is that life just speeds along, sunrise after sunrise, season after season. Whether you’re totally miserable or insanely happy, the months keep coming, crashing like waves. There are no do-overs, no backsies, and bad stuff happens. But then I thought, Wait. Good stuff happens too. And sometimes, even a kiss can slow time down. I gave myself credit for that tiny epiphany. And for realizing that I wasn’t a closed-down middle school kid anymore. I was in high school. High school!

  The ref blew his whistle, and the game began. Kate started cheering as the Bobcats took the lead. I did too.