Chasing Days

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  ☼

  At lunch, Heather sits with Sherman and his crew. With no sign of Teddy, I find a spot on the edge of a table, alone. In this sea of familiar faces, it’s as if I’m adrift in a lonely rowboat. There are kids I’ve known since we wore cloth diapers, got lost with on a fieldtrip to Boston in third grade, and others who've trickled in quietly, some who I’ve done projects or studied with, and eyed nervously from across the gymnasium during our first dance back in seventh grade. Yet, I’m not sure we really know each other after all, because I don’t even know myself anymore.

  I forgot a fork to eat my noodles. In line to get one, I overhear a conversation at the cheerleader slash jock table. Jaze at the head. “I just don’t want dudes checking me out in the dorm showers,” he says in deep debate.

  “Us girls shower together all the time,” a girl says as her ponytail bobs.

  “That’s so hot,” a guy named Sly says. I’ve seen the class roster and his real name is Sylvester. My dad would say he's trying to channel young Rambo to ill effect.

  “But if some dickass is in there, no way am I getting undressed,” another guy adds. A few more people chime in and Jaze's eyebrows arch angrily over crimson cheeks. I can't protect Teddy all day, but I'm keeping careful watch.

  As I move forward, Joss cuts in front of me and works her lips into a smirk. “Hey,” she says.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “No bikini today?” she asks. Her eyes are a hundred degrees of overwhelming allure.

  I flash to her standing in the hall yesterday, brazenly in her underwear.

  Our arms brush as she grips her tray. Scientists say there are approximately five million hairs on the human body. My guess is there are a quarter million per arm, and right now, each one is at attention, sending a fluttering to my shoulder, bypassing my chest, and landing in my stomach. I’m falling in like some clichéd love song. “Uh…”

  The lunch lady interrupts, “Whaddya need?”

  “Just a fork,” I stutter.

  She glances into the holder. “Where are all the—?” she mutters as she looks under the counter. "The forks are gone."

  I guess I'll have to eat with my fingers.

  I lose Joss in the exchange and scan the cafeteria for her, but turn up with Grady instead. He’s leaning across the table, flipping someone’s hat off their head. Smiles beam. There’s a lot of glory days laughter in here today. This is what I want to take with me, not the sinking, dredging feeling of ineptitude, failure, and loneliness that has somehow pushed away my best friend, leaving me to belatedly acknowledge I’m alone with a question I'm not sure how to answer.

  During final period, there’s a tidal wave toward the bank of windows overlooking the front lawn. I wedge my way into the crowd. Hundreds of white plastic forks and spoons poke up from the grass. I tilt my head and read the message.

  Fork You Puckett.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Sherlock blanches with recognition at the suggestion the forks make at the same time as the rest of the class. Everyone else erupts into raucous laughter.

  Eventually, she regains control and returns to her lecture on European history. Every few minutes a rotating cast of students whispers, “Fork you.” Then there’s laughter. Wash, swear, repeat.

  When the bell finally rings, I peel myself from the sticky chair. Before I get my bearings, I’m thrust into the mob gathered on the lawn snapping photos. Words like epic and rad toss around like beach balls. Then there’s chanting, “Fork, fork, fork.” I want to join in, but my jaw wobbles and my eyes water. I want to shout, “This is it, guys, remember this day.” I suppose we will. It’s likely being recorded and broadcast on a range of social media sites. My heart is here, but it’s afraid of what happens after epic.

  Heather appears, shouting, “Fork, fork, fork.” She grips my shoulders and screams, “Epic!”

  Sherman grabs her by the waist and spins her around. There’s laughter and gleeful screaming. It's a blue sky, puffy cloud, rainbow riot of burgeoning senior joy.

  Someone growls, cursing the sky, "Fork you, Puckett!" But it isn't anger; it's liberation. I want to spin and flutter until my heart lands on that kind of belonging or at least somewhere nearby.

  Grady and another guy boost Augie Parker on their shoulders.

  I haven’t seen Teddy all afternoon and hope he’s waiting for me. When I get to the parking lot, the taillights and bumper stickers on the back of the Grapesicle disappear around the corner. I power on my phone to a waiting message Had to jet. Catch ya later. There's no explanation, no joking, no affection. He may as well be saying, "Fork you, Willa."

  Back on the lawn, I find Heather and Sherman holding hands. Slowly, one finger at a time, they separate as though it rivals the pain of wisdom tooth extraction. I stand off to the side, not knowing where to put my own hands. I gaze at my scuffed sneakers.

  “Text me,” H says to him.

  “In twenty-minutes, promise,” Sherman answers.

  “See you tonight.”

  “Two hours,” he says as if that’s a hundred-twenty-minutes too long.

  “’Kay.”

  Finally, they let go.

  I shuffle over to Heather. “Wow.”

  Her unfocused gaze drifts past me toward the spot Sherman vacated.

  “Insta-love?" I ask.

  “Huh? What?”

  “The dare?”

  “Best idea ever. Theo gets full credit. I wish it hadn’t taken me so long.”

  For a second I’m not sure whom she means. “Oh, yeah, Theo,” I say mockingly. “Do you know where he went?”

  “Something about next year. I can’t imagine what he’s going through,” she says softly.

  “I know,” I say, but I don’t really, because he’s hardly talking to me. “So you and Sherman, huh?” I choke out, not wanting this splinter, with Teddy’s name and the letters BFF on it, gouging my chest.

  “Last night we kissed—” She goes on to fill me in with way too much information, including how, so far, he's way better than Lou. "It's almost game, set, match," she says with a wink.

  I replace an uncomfortable squirm with thoughts of Joss. I imagine kissing her would be like riding that bicycle Teddy mentioned.

  “Will you come with me to get condoms?” she asks. "I can't believe this is finally happening. I've had a crush on him since ninth grade."

  I haven’t thought about condoms since an eighth grade health presentation, except every other day and Sundays when the Westings remind both Teddy and I what heathens we are. “What’s the point of dating since you’re both leaving in August?” I don’t mean to sound like a jerkhole, but the words are loose now.

  H tilts her head for a moment like she’s checking to make sure I don’t have horns and hooves. Then her face flowers with joy. “Check this out, Sherman’s going to UMass too. What are the chances? Seriously, what are the chances?”

  “Considering UMass and UNH are everyone’s fall backs, no, it's not surprising.” I instantly regret the coarseness in my words.

  Apparently, love is blind or at least hard of hearing because she doesn't acknowledge what I said.

  “But do you realize what this means? I thought we’d have two blissful weeks and part of the summer. That it would all be a flash, but we’re going to the same school for four years.” She clutches her hands tightly.

  This conversation leaves me feeling as if I have a vitamin deficiency. I look around for a way out—someone I could ask about a final or Teddy, ever ready for a change of subject with random chatter.

  It isn’t quite summer even though the weather suggests otherwise. The corrupting power of spring fever, which has couples locking lips and romping on the grass, passes me over even though my thoughts volley from Grady to Joss and back again. Heather shakes me.

  “Earth to Willa. To answer your silly question, even if it didn’t turn out that we were going to the same school, you asked me what the point is? It’s to have fun. Speaking of that, the party last night? Epic.”
/>   “Yeah, I saw some pictures.” I deflate and deflate and just when I’m nothing more than an empty, limp balloon, I deflate some more.

  “You should have been there. Sherman and I are going low key tonight. Maybe a movie, maybe more.” She winks at me. “How about you? Your dare?”

  “Grady?” My response should be a pathetic stammer or shrug, but a car honks.

  Heather and I both turn toward a polished blue vintage car curbside—the kind my dad claims he'll buy and restore when he has more time and coin. The engine rumbles and the heat radiating off the frame massages me with desire. I’m not a girl typically turned on by cars, but the driver, Grady, certainly has my interest. He leans across the passenger seat and nods at me. “Want a ride?”

  H turns to me and giggles like we’re in ninth grade all over again. She whispers, “He’s talking to you and he said want, not need.” More giggles.

  I eye the chrome and steel and the boy behind the wheel. I quickly glance around the parking lot for Teddy to save me. Heather shoves me, and I practically tumble into the seat.

  “This thing is gonna get me in trouble,” Grady says as he peels out of the parking lot. Wavy lines from the heat rise up from the asphalt and quite possibly me.

  He has to know where I live considering he said my house is wicked cool and it's no secret a bunch of guys toilet papered it two Halloweens ago. Grady made a roundabout apology during geometry. At the time, I made myself believe it was because it's obvious which house I belong to and not because they vandalized every house on our block. Fluorescent pink silly string covered Teddy's house. The Westings were pissed.

  Instead of going to Druery Lane, Grady takes us along the boulevard parallel to the beach. Salt and gasoline mix in the air. I turn my attention to the sea.

  “So. Fork you. Epic, huh?” Grady asks.

  “Yeah, totally,” I answer dryly. “Is everything for the next ten days going to be epic?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Teddy would have conspired with me to poke fun at the epic amount of enthusiasm about making sure the last weeks of high school are epically epic. Grady O’Rourke is like a song I’ve been listening to for so long, he’s become a part of the sonic tapestry of my thoughts and yet, I have no idea what else to say.

  He’s a gracious conversationalist and bails me out of my Theo-like trance. “This car was my grandfather’s. When he passed, my dad and I fixed it up. Grad gift.” He parks opposite the water.

  The couple walking their dogs along the beach angle forward like the wind is going to blow them over.

  “Nice,” I say, lagging in holding up my side of the conversation.

  “I can’t believe—”

  “I know—” I say, interrupting him. No, I have no idea what he can’t believe. “Uh, sorry. I’m used to Teddy. We finish each other’s sentences.”

  He looks stricken. “So you and him—”

  I spare him trying to parse it out and finish. “Ew no. We’re like brother and sister. I mean not ew; he's great, just not that way.”

  “That’s what I hoped, er, thought, but…never mind. I expected you to be at the party with him last night.”

  “Oh, yeah, I was busy….” Again, I wonder why Teddy didn’t invite me or at least tell me. Then again, I suppose we’re all trying to catch something delicious and lasting, like a Sherman or an art school, and then at some point, report back with triumph and bragging rights. Is it human nature? I'm not sure, but if so, I don't know what I want to catch.

  Grady’s hand inches closer between us. I think of my arm brushing Joss's earlier. “Does it feel like you’re leaving something behind?” I ask, startling myself.

  “Someone, maybe.” Grady bites his lip.

  I bite mine.

  Is this that moment?

  He leans in a bit.

  Then there’s hooting and a pair of hands on the driver’s side door.

  “Grady, this thing is a beast,” someone shouts. There's whistling.

  A hand claps the roof. “Road warrior. Check it out.”

  Asher pokes his head in, "Oh, hey, Willa."

  He and Hansel admire the car and the three guys chat.

  Unnoticed, I get out. As epic as that may have turned out to be, I’ve lived my life in the margin while Grady and everyone else rockets forward, full throttle. Since I don’t know how to advance, the one thing I can do is step away.

  “Nudibranch,” I whisper as I walk home.

  Chapter Seven

  ☾

  Wednesday

  7 days

  My mom sits down at the table set with a bowl of corn chips, margaritas for her and my dad, and fizzy limewater for me. There's an assortment of taco fillings and the spicy scent of peppers and onions fills the air. “Happy hump day,” she says.

  I nearly choke on my water. “I thought we called this family fun night,” I say, referencing our rotating dinner prep schedule followed by board games every Wednesday evening.

  “Speaking of which, where’s Teddy?” my dad asks.

  “You mean Theo.”

  Two pairs of eyes stare at me dubiously, one from behind a pair of glasses, which means my dad is tired. They’ve been working really hard to get distribution for their beer.

  “Remember I told you that he changed his name?”

  “Is something going on with you two?” my mom asks, concerned.

  “I don’t know,” I repeat.

  "Let's taco about it," my dad says jokingly.

  I should answer taco to the hand, but I scoop up guacamole with a chip and stuff it in my mouth.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You two are inseparable. I’m not joking when I call him family,” my mom says.

  “Mom, you call Keith family,” I say, remembering the recent encounter.

  “Well, not family-family, but he didn’t have anywhere to go on Thanksgiving; he was welcome to take a spot at our table. But back to Teddy.”

  My dad takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “That’s not what she means. You and Teddy, I mean Theo, are about to graduate, it’s not the greatest time to—”

  “We weren’t like together-together. Just friends.”

  “Well, of course, but—” My mom’s brow wrinkles. “I guess I don’t understand.”

  “It’s an intense time. There’s lots of pressure. Remember senior year, Autumn?” my dad says gently.

  “Of course I do, it killed me to leave Willa every day for five hours, but I was determined to graduate and be a good mom. Anyway, our lives back then were different than you kids have it now.”

  “Yes and no,” my dad counters. “Remember Brix and Guzzi?”

  They may as well be speaking Klingon and I just teleported to the home-world Kronos.

  My dad turns to me. “Your uncle Guzzi had this friend, Brix—”

  “Brickshithouse,” my mom says under her breath.

  “Autumn and Brix saw the world differently. Anyway, as I was saying, they were good friends. She was probably the only female at all of Puckett High who tolerated the grease under his nails and the way he lusted after the curves of a motorcycle. She was always on the back of his bike. They were, like you and Teddy, inseparable. Looking back, Guzzi practically had a foot in the next state, but Brix was putting all this pressure on him. You know, prom pressure…” He clears his throat. “Hump day pressure…”

  “Oh.” Did I miss a recent email? One about how everything in the world is innuendo, lips dripping with suggestion, parents saying words like hump. If so, I’d like to take this up with our internet provider.

  “Now don’t get me wrong, Guzzi is as much of a man as they come, but he was also helping change your diapers and I think that kind of scared him off from, ahem, you know, doing the hump day do." My mom laughs at her choice of words.

  "You were the perfect birth control. Although I’m sure he’s made up for it by now. But Brix wanted to do it day and night and he was barely holding on as the days counted down.”

  My
mother gets impatient. “What your dad is trying to say is maybe Teddy has something else on his mind. Something he feels is bigger than he is, bigger than your friendship, or he’s worried whatever it is might upset the balance you two have so he’s trying to protect you. Or maybe he’s afraid of…well, I can’t imagine Teddy being afraid of anything. But sometimes anticipating the literal distance that will come between two people when they're moving away can push them apart emotionally. You’ll always both have home to come to, but college changes people.”

  “Thanks for that enlightening assessment.” I churn the bowl of refried beans with the spoon. “It’s just that—” I’m lonely, but that isn't something either of them would understand; they've always had each other.

  “Just something to think about,” my dad interjects, probably recognizing my attention has left the room.

  My phone bleeps.

  “Go ahead, check it. Maybe it’s Teddy. I mean Theo, saying he’s running late.”

  I don’t know where he is, but until this week, Teddy has been reliable, not late, never absent. His empty chair confirms something significant has shifted, possibly continental.

  I go to the counter where my phone charges. The message says Where’d you go? Sorry I got wrapped up talking to the guys. Do over? I don’t recognize the number but it’s local. Grady? A smile pierces my gloom as I return to the table.

  My parents exchange a look.

  “That wasn’t Teddy?”

  I shake my head, taking my cold drink to my lips.

  My mother can’t suppress her grin. “A boy?” In a little cupboard tucked behind her modern and feminist values, I think she secretly has a cache of pity for me for never having had a high school sweetheart, boy or girl. For one delusional moment, I consider telling them about Grady and Joss, but that would devolve into hours of conversation, likely them reminiscing about something squirm-worthy.

  “Heather’s mom emailed us an invite to her grad party,” my dad says, sensing the conversation is over and changing gears.

  “Did you want to do anything special?” my mom asks even though I’ve already answered this question about a billion-ty times.