by Rachel Auld
The Edge of Autumn
Copyright 2017 by Rachel Auld
Published by Rachel Auld at Smashwords
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Acknowledgements
I cannot thank my friends and family enough for their continual support. Special thanks go out to my amazing husband who never stops encouraging me to follow my dreams and to my two beautiful daughters who put up with a lot of “just let me finish this sentence!” It’s been a long road with plenty of detours and traffic jams, and I could not have done it without so many wonderful people around to cheer me on. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
CHAPTER 1: Wednesday Afternoon
I drummed my fingers on the scarred Formica tabletop, humming along to the classic rock tunes that floated from an old jukebox standing guard at the front of the diner. With each new town, I sought out places like this, knowing the cheesy retro atmosphere would provide me with the same sensation of homecoming. Schools, apartments, friends—they were all fluid. Greasy spoon diners? They were my constants.
The gray drizzle outside reminded me of our time in the Pacific Northwest, except that September in Central New York is anything but temperate. We'd been lucky, my new classmates told me, to start our senior year with “shorts weather.” My junior year of high school had been spent in Texas; sixty degrees sure didn’t feel like shorts weather to me. What I hadn't been told was that Mother Nature in this little section of the world had mood swings violent enough to cause whiplash. Sunny and mild one day could become howling wind and icy rain the next. I had actually thanked my parents at the other night for our nomadic lifestyle—at least I had a varied enough wardrobe to survive autumn in New York State.
The diner's front door jingled and I glanced away from the window to see Nelson Thomas duck inside, shaking the rain from his considerable frame like a shaggy dog. Lacey, the owner of The Ruby Diner, clucked and threw a towel at him, muttering under her breath as she brought my chocolate milkshake and basket of fries over.
“Of all the boys in Oakville, you had to befriend the bane of my existence?” she asked with a wink.
I grinned. “He forced me to, ma'am,” I replied just loudly enough for Nelson to hear. He laughed as he towel-dried his curly hair. It was true and he knew it—I'm pretty tall at six-foot-one, but when Nelson's six-foot-five self had cornered me on the first day of school and told me I'd be safer with him around, I figured there was probably some truth to it. Besides, he was the perfect mix of geek, techie, and musician to suit my taste in friends.
Lacey shook her head. “You can do better, Travis. Don't sell yourself short!”
I laughed and took a sip of my shake in order to refrain from replying as Nelson approached the table and bowed before handing the towel back to Lacey. She tried to hold back a smile but couldn't quite manage in the face of the good-natured giant in front of her. That seemed to be the reaction he elicited from one and all, having perfected the cheeky demeanor that other kids appreciated and adults couldn't seem to condemn. My parents wholeheartedly approved of him, partly because he was the first real friend I'd made since junior high and partly because he fit so well into our family dynamic.
He slid into the other side of the booth, scooping up a handful of fries in the process. “Help yourself,” I joked.
“Don't mind if I do,” he mumbled as he chewed. “I can't believe I ever ate anywhere else. I owe you big for making me come here three times a week!”
“I'm glad I could add to your culinary education, my friend,” I answered with a grin. It was totally true; we'd come to The Ruby at least a dozen times in the four weeks since school started. We set to work finishing the basket of fries with little conversation until I glanced out the window. I felt as though the world careened to a sudden halt. There was a girl walking along the sidewalk across the street, too far away for me to make out her features clearly in the rain, but something about her caught my eye and struck me like a fist to the stomach. A rainforest-print umbrella lay propped over one shoulder, shielding her dark sweater from the rain. She wore a ruffled denim skirt over funky, colorful tights that disappeared into rain boots the color of rubber duckies. Her hair was long and curly and almost certainly red; I could see glints of fire in the dim gray light but couldn't quite make out the specific shade.
Nelson must have noticed my distraction and craned his neck to see what I was gawking at. “Aw man, Trav, don't do this to yourself,” he pleaded, turning back to me. “That right there is the most unattainable creature you've ever set eyes on.”
I tore my gaze away to catch a mixture of amusement and regret on his face. “Who is she? I don't remember seeing her around school.”
He ran a huge hand through his damp hair and settled back in the booth. Apparently he didn't feel the magnetic pull that I was experiencing, unable to keep myself from turning back to watch her. “That, my friend, is Sara Matthews,” he answered. “You haven't seen her at school because she's been homeschooled for the last couple years. Her dad was a teacher at the high school, but he died in an accident at the end of freshman year and she didn't come back after that.”
I heard the pain in his voice. “That's terrible. What happened?”
Nelson sighed. “Some of the details were never made public, but there are a lot of rumors floating around about it. Don't believe everything you hear,” he warned. “He was a great man. After my dad left, Mr. Matthews kind of took me under his wing, coached my Little League team, made sure I didn't turn into a dickhead like my big brother.” He went quiet and I stole one more glimpse of Sara as she passed the diner. It looked like she was wearing headphones, which soothed my disappointment in the fact that she didn't so much as glance in my direction. A girl who appreciates music rates pretty high in my book.
I finished off my milkshake and leaned back against the vinyl cushions of the booth, studying my new friend. He must have felt my curiosity because he cracked a smile and said, “There was never anything romantic between me and Sara. You're welcome to try your hand, bro, but I will warn you—if you even think about hurting her, I will gut you like a fish. We were good friends for a long time and she's had enough pain in her life.”
Raising a brow, I replied, “I'm not really the heart-breaker type.”
“I kinda figured,” he said, that brief sadness fleeing his eyes as he grinned at me. “Which is why I'm even allowing you to speak to her. Her mom owns a bookstore on Main Street, Printed Pages. Sara's usually there in the afternoons, should you happen to find yourself in need of some new reading material tomorrow after school.” With that, he winked and left me at the table with my thoughts.
CHAPTER 2: Thursday Afternoon
I walked slowly along Main Street, glad the bipolar weather had gone back to sunny and mild. I'd spent most of the school day thinking about how to approach this girl, rehearsing what I might say to her. Fortunately for me, I still hadn't bought the whole book list required for senior English class, so I had a legitimate reason to stop by the bookstore, at least.
Nelson's vague warning about the rumors surrounding Sara's dad had piqued my interest, though I wasn't so callous as to start asking around a school I'd barely settled into. Instead of ignoring the gossip that floats through high school like a tangible entity, I listened carefully today without
appearing to hear any of it. I learned that Mrs. Crowley, my English teacher, had replaced Sara's father after his death, and I heard harsh criticisms of her old school methods compared to Mr. Matthews' creative and thoughtful teaching. The other seniors had all been in his freshman class at the time of the accident, but his name was seldom mentioned aloud.
About Sara I had learned virtually nothing, except from Nelson, who tortured me through our lunch period with oblique references to her nickname: the Ice Princess. He told me she had been one of those rare, incredible people who could befriend anyone and everyone, from the geeks to the jocks to the popular girls. She'd stand up against bullies one day and then win them over with humor the next, never making an enemy of anyone. At least, before the accident, he'd said. After that, she’d frozen out everyone who’d tried to get close to her. Nelson was reluctant to dredge up old gossip and said I'd be better off hearing the truth from Sara someday, if she'd ever open up to me, but he made it clear that Sara had refused any and all attempts at friendship or romance after her father's death. That was how she’d earned the nickname.
As my nerves reached fever pitch, I thought that maybe I should've stayed oblivious. I didn't want to put my foot in my mouth and jeopardize any chance—any potential chance, I reminded myself—at actually getting to know this girl. Something about this felt monumentally important and I didn’t want to destroy it before it had even begun.
The door to the book shop was propped open and I sucked in a deep breath of autumn air before walking in as nonchalantly as possible. I'd expected a dim hole-in-the-wall kind of store with tall shelves creating claustrophobic tunnels throughout, like the dozens of mom-and-pop bookstores I'd been in across the country. Instead, soaring cathedral ceilings opened up to a stained glass window at the back of the store, catching the afternoon sun and causing rainbows to dance over the carefully placed shelves and displays on the main floor. A few steps led up to another section of floor-to-ceiling shelves along the walls, complete with a rolling wooden library ladder. Hand-painted signs crowned the low shelves in the center of the store, directing browsers to a variety of genres.
Mom would love this place, I thought immediately, knowing her artist's eye would soak up the rich mixture of color and light that flooded the shop. I finally caught sight of the small counter tucked in a corner, the calming atmosphere giving way as my heart began pounding so loudly that I'd have sworn she could hear it across the room. There was classical music coming from a small stereo system behind the counter and Sara was perched on a tall stool, leaning over a notebook. Her hair was the red I'd suspected, but its true shade was far more beautiful than anything I could have imagined. It shone in the sunlight, a rich golden red that fell in long, loose curls over her shoulders.
She punched something into the graphing calculator at her side and then lifted her eyes to the ceiling in thought. So far out of your league, I told myself, struggling to compose my features before she noticed me. As her gaze dropped, she spotted me, jumping in her seat as her hand flew to her heart.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You scared the bejesus out of me!”
I couldn't hold back a smile at her expression, considering all the various expletives that regularly inhabited a sentence like that. Raising my hands apologetically, I said, “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”
I noticed the light smattering of freckles that danced across her nose and after her heart had slowed to normal, she offered a polite smile. “No worries,” she said. “Can I help you find something?”
Her eyes, a fathomless sea of blues and greens, studied me with an intelligent curiosity that felt both soothing and flattering. As the new kid—again—I'd been subjected to a wide variety of stares in the past month: from the jocks, to determine what sport I played (none); from the popular girls, judging my desirability level as a homecoming date (moderate, based on appearance alone—I was tall, fairly muscular, and apparently gave off a “bad boy” vibe thanks to long brown hair and dark eyes—but fading quickly after my friendship with Nelson became known); from the geeks, wondering if the school had a new bully to hassle them (nope); from the bullies, gauging whether they had a new target at hand (fortunately not). Sara's gaze was utterly without judgment but so searching that I wondered if she could see the things I'd rather not put on display just yet.
“Ah,” I started, trying to break away from the mesmerizing power of those eyes but finding the prospect hopeless. “I need to get the books for senior English,” I finally managed to say, feeling like a first class jackass. I could practically see my chances with her swirling down the drain.
The polite smile gave way to an amused grin as she came out from behind the counter, leading me through the aisles as she plucked books from the shelves and handed them to me. I balanced the growing pile precariously between my hands and followed dutifully along. As we reached the Shakespeare section, she cocked her head at me. “Seems a little late to be picking these up,” she mused. “You must be new in town.”
I couldn't tell if that sounded like a compliment or an accusation. “Yeah, we moved just before school started. I’m still trying to get situated.”
I glanced down at the stack of books, half of which I'd already read at other schools. She must have caught my grimace and studied the pile. A smile graced her pink lips and she said, “My dad used to—” She broke off abruptly, as though she hadn't intended to say anything of the sort. She didn't meet my gaze, staring instead at the bookshelf before us. “This teacher is kind of a stick in the mud,” she finished quietly.
“I think that about sums up Mrs. Crowley,” I replied softly, wishing I could express sympathy but realizing that would make it obvious that I knew more about her than I was letting on. “I was hoping I could get away with having already studied some of these, but she insisted I need a copy to refer to. The bane of moving around so much: having already done half the required stuff but missing the preparation for the other half.” I gave a sheepish smile as she plopped the last book on the top of the pile.
“A nomad, huh?” Her lips curved up and I could smell the faintest hint of strawberry lip gloss.
I followed her back to the counter, setting the books down so she could cash me out. “Yeah, we move almost every year,” I answered. “I was homeschooled for a few years because it got to be such a hassle changing schools so frequently, but I felt like I was getting in the way of my mom's work.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I kicked myself. Way to imply she's a burden on her mother, you idiot!
She didn't seem offended, though, merely regarded me with a renewed curiosity. “Oh yeah? What do your parents do?” she asked, tucking the books into a brown paper bag.
Not safe yet, dummy, I warned myself before replying. “My dad is a freelance photojournalist and my mom's an artist. A gallery owner in Syracuse bought some of her paintings this summer and wanted to commission a line of new stuff, which is why we moved. My parents had promised not to move again until I finished senior year, but my last school wasn't the friendliest place so I told her to take this opportunity when it came up.” I shrugged. “I figured I can handle one more change before college, right?”
Sara nodded thoughtfully. “That's pretty mature of you, sacrificing for your mom's career.” She paused, then flashed a smile so brilliant that my breath caught in my throat. “I'm Sara Matthews,” she said, holding out a hand.
I took it, marveling at how delicate her bones felt wrapped in my clumsy paw. “Travis Holmes,” I replied, forcing myself to let go of her before the handshake turned creepy. I searched for something to say to prolong the conversation, realizing if I didn't, I'd have to turn around and walk out of the store. “Nelson said you're homeschooled?”
A startled look flashed across her pretty features at his name, but she nodded. “Yes, I am. You're friends with Nelson, huh?” she asked. She didn't seem surprised by the fact and she didn't wait for an answer before saying, “You're just his type.”
The comment caught me s
peechless and she burst out laughing when she saw my blank expression. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “No, he's not gay, I just meant you seem like the type of guy he'd make friends with.” She bent over the counter, unable to stop laughing.
It was contagious, I realized, a goofy grin spreading across my face. There were a number of pretty girls at school—buxom blondes, willowy brunettes, girls who knew they were gorgeous and actively sought to exert their power over the weak creatures that are teenage boys. Sara seemed so completely different from any girl I'd met in my almost eighteen years that I was already hopelessly enthralled.
When she finally caught her breath, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater and handed me the bag of books with a smile. “Well,” she said, “any friend of Nelson's is a friend of mine. Good luck with senior year.”
I tucked the bag into my backpack and decided that the finality of the latter statement was negated by the invitation in the former. “Thank you,” I answered honestly, though I knew she would assume I meant the gratitude for her well wishes. I glanced down at the counter and saw that her notebook was filled with calculus equations. “Whoa,” I said. “That looks a lot more complicated than what we're doing in AP Calc.”
I hadn't meant it as a boast but she looked impressed. Whether it was that I'd recognized it as calculus or that I was smart enough to take an AP math class, I couldn't be sure. “It's Calc 2, I take a class over at the college in Spruce Hill,” she said simply.
Now I was impressed. “Really? That's awesome! You can do that?” I asked, sincerely interested.
Sara nodded. “I've always been kind of a math nerd. One of the perks of homeschooling is chipping away at college credits before the end of high school,” she answered.
Before I could stop myself, I said, “Hey, you wouldn't be willing to tutor now and then, would you?”