“Only time she had. And you’ve gotta work, Tiff, so it’s not like you guys will be at the mall long anyway.”
They exchange looks, but nobody says anything when they face me.
“Tiff, can you ask your boss if I passed the trial and got the job?”
Back home, I head straight to my room and open the window. Not knowing when Rocks is going to show up is driving me crazy. I hope it’s today because I can’t imagine he’ll come around on the weekend.
Homework done.
Glittery cupcake nails painted.
Dinner consumed.
Internet research on Josie Hendersen stalled. Peoplesearch.com has four Josie Hendersen’s listed in Georgia. My Google searches aren’t giving me the results I’d hope for. There is nothing concrete even though I know her date of birth from my birth certificate. Maybe I should try to find where she attended high school.
New Gmail account created.
Still no sign of Rocks.
I have to trust that Rocks will want to return to me. When he’s not around, I miss his quiet calmness, and I’m not going to lie—it’s super exciting knowing what he can do.
The weekend drags. Chad goes rappelling, memorizes the newspaper from cover to cover, watches the pre-season games, and works in his office. Kelly does gardening to prepare for the change of season that’s coming, bakes dozens of goodies that we’ll never eat, visits the neighbors to relieve us of said baked treats, and asks me thirteen times what’s wrong. Mini does what eighteen-month-old kids do. Poops at the worst possible time, demolishes my room then leaves, and gets generally adored by all, including smothered with kisses.
I mope around looking at the clock every five minutes, sit and stare at the trees outside my window imagining what it must feel like to fly, make a list of food that Rocks absolutely must try, check my phone obsessively then remind myself he’s not going to call, and try to speak to Parents V2.0 as little as possible.
Monday after school, I give in to peer group pressure and wander around the mall. I buy a large box of Milk Duds, and then want to hit myself with them because I have no idea if I’ll ever see him again.
“So Tiff tells me that Parker liked your top.” Brandy elbows me as we exit Hot Topic.
Parker Reed did in fact tell me he liked my top when he passed my desk in English this morning. This time, at least, I replied.
“Really?” I said to him, looking down at my chest to see if ‘the girls’ were on high beam or doing something equally as embarrassing that a boy would notice.
Tiff had jammed her elbow so far into my ribcage that I’m sure it will bruise. We then had a hissed argument for the first twenty minutes of class about the fact that when I don’t talk to him, it clearly shows a lack of interest. She insisted I must be clinically insane not to at least be curious why he’s talking to me—according to Tiff, the expert. I countered that if he wanted a conversation, he wouldn’t speak to me on the run. He would stop and be polite, like another boy I know—but that I kept to myself—and I followed that up with why I should listen to expert advice from a single girl.
“Yeah, so polite to talk to someone without stopping, don’t you think?” Brandy looks at me and then at the others. They’re using silent girl code. I should have known they would have discussed my new freakish behavior by now.
“Maybe he’s shy,” suggests Lou.
“Are we talking about the same Parker Reed who ran around at the wrestling championship end of year party naked? Shy?” I don’t even need to roll my eyes at that one.
Tiff sighs. “ I just wish I’d seen it. Can you imagine that body?”
The girls go off on a naked, hot boys tangent and I monitor the minute hand on my watch.
* * * * *
It’s not until I’m in bed and twist around to turn my bedside lamp off that I see the tiny blood-red velvet pouch. It’s the same as the ones you get from a jewelry store with little gold ties and is sitting propped against my lamp base.
I sit up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. I grab the pouch and my neck. Ouch. Rocks was here. At least part of my world rights itself, and I let out a breath as I lay down again with the pouch clutched to my chest.
I don’t know why I’m nervous.
After a second—I can’t wait any longer—I untie the loops. A pair of tiny silver earrings fall into my palm. Oh. My. God. I hold up a little silver girl dangling from the earring hook. The other one is a tiny silver bat. It’s Connie and Rocks. I roll over and squeal into my pillow. Sleep is out of the question.
Inside the pouch is a folded piece of paper that reads—Dear Connie, I’m sorry that I missed you today. It’s terribly rude of me to just keep appearing without an invitation. I do apologize. If you are free, I will call on Thursday afternoon. If you have already made plans, please do not alter them. I understand. Yours, Rocks.
The buzz I felt fizzles as I recall Mom V2.0’s roster this week, and the fact that Milk Duds don’t even compare to sterling silver earrings. Crabapples.
* * * * *
I leave school on Thursday faster than my Quick-dry nail polish hardens. I don’t even have time to spin the girls another lame excuse, and I know my absence will come back to bite me later, but I don’t care. Rocks is going to be at my house and Kelly is home.
Bursting into the house, I expect disaster but am met with the overwhelmingly sweet aroma that suggests the woman that doesn’t look like me has made cinnamon buns. A quick scan of my room, and I’m back out on the porch in 3.6 seconds. Mini screeches from the kitchen, calling for me. That kid has supersonic radar or something because she’s sitting two rooms away but miraculously knows I’m home. Before I can sit on the porch swing, a short, sharp squawk echoes from the trees. My grin is unstoppable. I race to the tree line and get as close as possible.
“We can’t stay here so we’ll go to the library because I think I’m onto something in my search. Meet me in my room in a second.” I half whisper up into the branches. A squawk answers me. “One for yes and two for no, okay?”
One squawk.
I’m off.
“Hi Mini. Hi— Can I go to the library?”
She’s drizzling sticky white icing on the warm buns on the oven tray. “Sure. Just don’t be late.”
“Yes.” My fist pumps the air.
Mom eyes me and I know I have to tone down my excitement. I’m pretty sure they’ve been discussing my mood swings, and I wouldn’t blame them. I hardly moved all weekend, and now I’m about to explode. “Can I have three of them to take with me?”
“You’re going to eat three of these?”
“Oh, ah, not for me. I mean … the girls are going to the library too. So make that four.”
This is Kelly’s weakness—feeding others. She was born to bake and feed the masses and ended up with two girls to feed and a husband who couldn’t care less about sweets. “Oh, honey, let me pack them up for you. I’ll give you the biggest ones because I’m sure the girls will be hungry.”
Must escape. When Mom is her super-awesome-best-Mom-in-the-world self, it makes referring to her as Version 2.0 sting. In my room, Rocks is perched on the edge of my bed, looking ready to jump out the window. God, he makes everything seem so small.
“Okay, we’re going to the library, but not my school library. Do you want me to show you on a map?”
He frowns. “Can’t I come with you?”
“What?”
“In your car?”
Idiot. My ears burn. I know he notices because he’s looking at the side of my face, but then he gives me a full-blown Rocks blissed-out-on-food smile. He’s seen them.
“Thank you for the earrings. I love them.”
“You’re welcome.” He looks away and stares at his feet, but due to our insane height difference, I can still see his face perfectly well. It’s just that our eyes don’t meet now, and there’s some hair interference. It’s hard to hide from a short person. “I wasn’t sure—if—well, you’re my only friend so thank you fo
r wearing them.”
Oh, Rocks, you have no idea how cute you are right now. I open my drawer and hand him the giant box of Milk Duds. “These in no way equal these, but I thought you might like them. It’s caramel and chocolate together.” Now it’s my turn to look away.
“For me?” His excitement over a couple of dollars worth of chocolate makes me feel cheaper than my Great Aunt May at a bake sale. But just like when he walked me home, he senses my unease. “You were thinking about me. And the earrings didn’t cost me anything but time. I made them.”
“How? What?” I frown. “Don’t you live in a tree?” My ears burn hotter than hell.
He pulls a face. “No! I do not live in a tree.”
My cheeks come to the pink party too and when he notices my embarrassment, he smiles. “We have a market in the mountains to make money for essentials like clothing and stuff. I live there ninety percent of the time, but the others sleep in our roost.”
“Oh.” I touch the little bat earring and time stands still. Rocks is mere inches away from me. He made these for me. Is there anything this boy can’t do? His eyes roam slowly over my face. I watch their path … my eyes, my mouth, my hand playing with the bat, my mouth … I wait …
Mini squeals downstairs.
Rocks steps back as though I’ve electrocuted him, and now I want to scream.
“So will you drive me?”
“Yeah, sure. Meet me by the car in two.”
As predicted, cinnamon buns are his new favorite. I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I zip down the back streets to avoid the traffic. Having Rocks in my car is surreal. He can’t leave the stereo alone. Much to my dismay, he settles on some techno beat, but I’d never tell him I hate that stuff. He’s wearing those massive dark sunglasses again.
“The only other guy I’ve seen wear glasses that big is that dude from U2, and I think even his are smaller.”
I’m not sure how much pop culture he’s been exposed to, but he knows about Superman and Batman. He explains that his nocturnal vision is amped up so direct sunlight hurts him after a while. He hates the fact it confuses him about who or what he’s supposed to be. If his human eyes can’t take too much sunlight, then maybe he should be a bat.
“Do you like them?” He points back to the sunglasses.
“Oddly enough I do. They suit you. I bet you can wear hats too. Like any hat and it’ll look good on you.”
“I have a fedora. Does that count?” He grins. “I’ll wear it one day.” His smile is almost responsible for a traffic accident.
Focus on the road.
Focus.
Rocks winds down the window and the wind blows his hair back off his face. I wish I wasn’t the one behind the wheel. Stealing quick glances, it’s the first time I’ve seen his whole face, and to say he’s good-looking is an understatement. He has the nicest cheekbones and jawline, a straight nose, and flawless skin. His hands are tapping out the beat on his knees that barely fit under the dashboard. There is just so much boy sitting beside me. I wonder if it’s a side effect of the magic that is drawing me toward him or whether it’s just that he’s as lost and confused as I am.
“I love the bass beat,” he says over the music. “It’s what I love about that dance club. I can feel that boom boom in here.” He’s mimicking the bass line over his heart. “This is where I’m free. In here.” His happiness fades. He lets his hand drop to his lap and looks back out the window. I wish I could see behind those dark glasses. “I’m me—without feeling like a traitor for picking one side over the other.”
Rocks didn’t speak for the rest of the trip to the library. It took longer than I expected to reach what I think is my real mother’s old high school.
On my 500th Google search, I discovered a blogger reminiscing over her high school days. She listed the names of her softball teammates who helped win the championship her senior year. According to Josie’s age, she would’ve graduated high school that very same year. I cross everything and pray that the Josie Hendersen listed looks like me. My gut thinks I’m getting warmer and I hope it’s right.
Rocks follows close behind as we head down the stacks. He loved the brief tutorial on using library computers and the cataloguing system. I glance over my shoulder and see him trailing one long finger along the book spines. I must give him my membership to the county library. He won’t know what to do with all that information at his fingertips for free.
The collection of yearbooks is way down the back. “We need to find 1982.” I say, crossing my fingers.
The yearbooks aren’t in any particular order. Dust and the smell of old carpet fills my nose while my eyes scan the shelves. Without thinking, I move closer to Rocks and take a deep breath. A crisp forest night and the moon overwhelm me. He smells so clean and fresh for someone who dresses so dark and mysterious. I freeze.
I just smelled Rocks. Slowly, my eyes drift up to my left and I’m met with two twinkling midnight blues looking back. I focus on the dimple starting to appear on his cheek as he bends toward me.
“Do I smell good?” His voice is lower than normal.
Holy Fudge Sundae.
“Mmm-hmm,” I confess, swallowing.
The stacks are suddenly closing in on me. He’s so close, so tall, so everything. Everywhere I look is—Rocks. I’m too hot and my skin feels too tight. I swallow the lump of self-doubt forming in my throat.
“That’s what the woman at the club said too. What do I smell like?” My core temperature has gone from volcanic to arctic at the mention of the woman—he kissed.
The flame inside me has been thoroughly doused. What is happening to me? I look at my hand and it’s shaking slightly. I make a fist and hide it behind my back.
“Who was she?” Rocks frowns. My voice sounds super weird even to me. “Camazotz?”
“Hell, no. Don’t know.” His eyes scan my face, but I take a step away and focus back on the yearbooks. The numbers are blurred.
“Connie.” His fingers slide down my arm. I move it away. “She wasn’t anyone special. I … I felt so—alone. You were scared of me, and I thought that maybe I was a monster.” He slumps back against the bookshelf.
I lean back against the opposite one and study him.
“I just started walking after I left you. I wound up near the bars and went in. My plan was to try to get drunk, but that was way out of my budget. So I sat in a dark corner and let the music wash away my—my loathing.”
“Of me?” I whisper.
His head jerks up. “No! Of me! Everything I do disappoints someone—either my family or myself.” He taps the center of his chest. “Anyhow, I ended up on the dance floor. Connie, I’ve never experienced anything like it. Moving with the crowd was exhilarating. I just let the beat consume me. I’m not so different.” His eyes look sad.
Rocks explains that he went back every chance he could to get away from the colony, and she danced with him the night I saw them in the parking lot.
“I wanted to see if all aeronaughts were scared to be alone with me. I wanted to see what her instincts told her without her knowing the truth. I wanted to know if I could find my place.”
His words strip me of my own. Nothing I consider saying is adequate. I’m not adequate. I’m a selfish, cruel witch. I need air. The stinky carpet is constricting my lungs. I want to rip the skin from my flesh.
“Rocks,” I can barely speak. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. So sorry.”
He doesn’t respond. His hair is blocking his eyes, but he hands me a yearbook. The class of 1982. On the pages of this old ratty book could be the answer I’m looking for.
I can’t open it.
What are my problems compared to what this boy standing in front of me is feeling? I know I’m loved. It might not be perfect but they would do anything for me. I belong to them, and there is no question of that on their part. This search for answers is all me.
His fingers pry the book from my hands and he starts flicking through the pages. All I ca
n do is watch. When he looks back at me his eyes are wide. The way he is studying the page and then my face makes me tremble.
“It’s her.”
There on the third row down, for the first time in my life, I look at a photo and see a family resemblance.
It’s as though I’ve been punched in the gut. She is me or I am her. It doesn’t matter because I’ve found my blood. Straight, long, blonde hair also worn pulled high, and eyes that crinkle at the side just like mine. The thing I never expected to learn from one glance is that she doesn’t like having her photo taken either. I know because her ears are pink—the same shade as mine every class photo day.
I close my eyes to try to stop the tears. My body slides down the shelf until my legs crumple onto the carpet. I cry. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never been a screaming, crying girl before, but I can’t stop the flood of emotions. The letter. Rocks. My mom.
I finally found someone who looks like me.
“Come here.” I hear Rocks in my ear and suddenly I’m warm. He’s folding himself around me in the small awkward space and pulling me close. The forest. The moon. I sigh and open my arms enough to cling to him and cry out the nervous tension that’s been bottled up inside.
* * * * *
The following afternoon, Tiff pulls up in my driveway. She’s dropping me home because I was too tired to drive today. I stayed awake last night guessing who Josie Hendersen really is. I imagined Mom V1.0 in a pretty dress drinking sweet iced tea on the porch of her beautiful home. She’ll cook up a storm to celebrate our first afternoon tea together while her loving husband gives us time to get to know each other. I thought the photo would make me feel whole, but it’s somehow only added to the emptiness. I need to meet her.
Rocks won’t be back till after Labor Day and the thought of the long weekend ahead excites me.
“Do you think your mom has baked?” Tiff asks.
I smile. I’ve missed my girl time lately and hope that Tiff will forgive me. “Probs. Come in and see.”
The house smells of melted chocolate and sugar. “Oh, God. I’d be enormous if I lived here.”
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