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2
My mom leaned forward on the counter and dropped her voice. “I wish you wouldn’t. What if that’s how they are finding us?”
My stomach turned to rock. “Mom, I have to go to school. It’s the law. Besides, this is senior year. I want to graduate. From someplace.”
She leaned even closer over the counter. “I’m serious, Erin. The entire trip out here I kept thinking about this. They found us in only three weeks. And how long were we in Pennsylvania? Almost three months. But it wasn’t until you went back to school this fall that they found us. What if they are tracking us through your school records?”
I really didn’t want her to get upset. “I’ll talk to the school counselor. Okay? There must be a way to limit who sees my files. That’s supposed to be confidential.”
Someone called her name. “I have to go back to work. Just think about it. Please?” She hurried off toward the kitchen.
I went back to the apartment and took a shower. I needed that. I pulled on sweats. Vasuki, a Hindu water dragon, wove through the threads that enclosed my tired body. I sat on my cot, cross-legged, and closed my fingertips face up on my knees. I listened to the night sounds outside and started a new catalogue for normal. It was something I always did the first night in any new place.
This was all part of the regular pattern for me. Everything had pretty much gone the way it always does every time we change locations. At least I had found a good Master for the next period of time. I needed to remember to warn him about the chance of sudden departure. Tomorrow.
It was still dark out when I woke up. My watch said it was seven in the morning, but that was back in Omaha. I changed the hour to five. There was a garbage truck making rounds on the street outside. My mother’s breathing was regular. She could sleep through things like that. I could, too, if I had to.
I got up and considered which dragon to wear today. The weather felt damp. I needed something to combat that feeling – a desert dragon. I chose Akhekhu. I liked the tan denim. It was different.
There was a note on the table from mom. Look in the fridge. I knew it would be something from the diner. It was better than most of the things mom left for me. There was no grease for a change. It actually looked worth eating. I pulled a container out of the kitchen bin and portioned an amount for lunch, a little for breakfast, and left the rest for my mom. I liked the new diner. Maybe Tacoma wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I took my time walking to school. I like doing that. It gives me the chance to pay attention to the surroundings. Most of the shops were still closed but there were several coffee places open. There seemed to be a lot of those in this town. There were a couple of shops with interesting names or things in the windows that caught my attention. I don’t collect stuff but I like looking at interesting designs.
There were already kids around the school by the time I got there. The largest cluster was on the front steps. They were talking loudly, laughing, and making unimaginative noises. I ignored them. I pulled Akhekhu tighter around me and enclosed myself in my bubble of stillness. I moved up the steps.
There was a boy at the center of the knot on the steps. He was obviously the center of attention. He talked and everyone else listened. They laughed at his jokes. I’ve been to a lot of high schools. There is almost always at least one guy like this in every school. He’s usually a jock – star quarterback or top player at some sport. This boy looked like he could fit the bill physically but his clothes were wrong. Instead of a letter jacket, he wore leather. His jeans were dirty and torn.
There was an unequal mix of kids around him, more guys than girls. They also looked rugged. Bad boys. I considered the school. It’s not like it had space for a football field. So gangs were the focus here instead of jocks. I added that mental note to the new list I was starting in my head and moved past the group.
The boy looked up as I walked by and gasped. “Whoa! Dragon Lady!”
The rest of the group turned to stare at me. I ignored them and kept walking. There were a series of whistles and catcalls that faded behind me as I entered the building. I tried not to let that unbalance me. I usually don’t get noticed. I prefer it that way. Maybe Akhekhu had been a bad choice for the first day.
I went into the office and found a busy secretary. She looked up at me. “What do you need?”
“I need to register for school.”
She pointed to a chair. “I’ll tell the guidance counselor you’re here.” She picked up a phone and talked to someone.
I sat. This was just part of the routine. Things were back to normal. There was a commotion outside the office and the doors pushed open. An adult, probably a teacher, had the boy from the front steps by the shoulder. He released him into the chair next to mine and marched into the office.
The boy was snickering. He turned and looked at me. His expression changed to one of surprise. “What are you in for?”
“Registration.”
“Poor thing.”
The door next to his chair opened and the man came out with another. The muscles stood out on the first man’s neck. He was breathing hard. “He was pounding on him right on the front steps.”
The other man looked down at the boy. “Mr. Burns, can’t you start off the day without beating on your own cousin?”
“What better way to start the day, sir?” The second man frowned and pointed toward the door they had come out of. The boy sighed. “I know. Your office.” He got up and disappeared with the man. The door closed behind them.
The other man shook his head. “I just don’t understand it!” He leaned on the counter by the secretary. “Why doesn’t John just expel him?”
I couldn’t see her from where I sat but I could hear the tiredness in her sigh. “I don’t think there are any other schools left in the district that will take him. No kid left behind. Remember?”
“Maybe we should dump Burns in the office of the official who wrote that law. Talk about a waste of taxpayer money!” He uttered a few things under his breath and left the office.
A woman walked down the hall from the back offices and stopped beside my chair. “Are you waiting to register?”
I stood up. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her eyebrows arched. She smiled. “Please follow me.” She wove through a labyrinth of small spaces and ended up in a cozy space toward the back of the collective. She motioned to a chair and sat at her own. “I’m Maria Henning, the guidance counselor. Welcome to Hamilton High School.”
I took the seat across from her. “I’m Erin.” I pulled out the worn folder from my backpack and handed it to her. This was part of the routine.
She took it and looked at the contents. Her expression betrayed confusion. The folder contained all of my transcripts and report cards all the way back to kindergarten. It was pretty thick. A few years ago, on a longer than normal road trip, I had been bored and actually counted how many different schools I had attended over the years. It had been over fifty then. It must be close to seventy by now.
She picked up the newest piece of paper in the folder, my class list from Lincoln High School in Omaha. She looked up at me and cleared her throat. “What was your last day in class at Lincoln?”
“Friday.”
She leaned forward on the desk. “Ms. Dawson, this is very unusual.”
I’d heard this speech plenty of times, with several variations. I wondered which direction this one would go. “We move around a lot.”
“Do you have a home?”
Ah, the ‘are you living out of your car’ approach. “Yes, ma’am. We have an apartment.” I had already memorized the address and recited it off for her.
She wrote it down. “Is your family in the military?”
“No, ma’am. It’s just me and my mom. She’s a waitress and short order cook.” There was a lot of flexibility in that kind of career. No matter where you went, people still needed to eat. I have lived in one small town that was no more than a diner, gas s
tation, and store with a cluster of homes around it.
“I see.” She went back to studying the files again. She started counting pages. “You attended seven different high schools last year and two different ones already this year. It looks like you were at Lincoln only three weeks.”
I have never understood why adults have a need to tell kids stuff they already know. I simply accepted the information. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her face wrinkled. It was a bad look for her. It made her look much older. “And how long are you planning on staying at Hamilton?”
This was a different question. I had no way of knowing how long my mother would feel safe here. We had been jumping around the country since I was six. Sometimes I could tell when my mom was getting ready to run but other times, like Friday, there was no warning. I prefer to be honest with people. “I don’t know ma’am. It’s not really my choice.”
“Is your mom a terrible cook?”
I don’t think she was trying to be funny but the question, coupled with the expression on her face, made my mouth twitch. “Not that I know of.”
“Then why do you move around so much?”
And there it was, the question that I had stopped asking myself so long ago. It was almost a universal question at each school. I went with my standard answer. “We just do.” I waited to see which of the variations her response would take.
“Ms. Dawson, I don’t know how other schools have managed to grade your performance. According to these transcripts, you had all AP classes at Lincoln. From what I can tell without spending several hours to read all these is that you are obviously very bright. You have a 4.0 grade point average. That’s quite impressive. How is it you ended up here at Hamilton? Most kids with your scores go to Shoreview.”
I had no idea where that school even was. “This one is closest to where we live.” That was part of the routine. Find a school close to home. And home was always as close to mom’s work as possible. It made it easier to pick up and run quickly.
She leaned back in her chair and studied me. “Hamilton doesn’t have any AP classes. The best I could do are senior classes.”
I accepted that. “That’s fine.”
Her mouth was curved into a frown. “What your mother is doing isn’t fair to you.”
I was familiar with this speech, too. Almost every counselor gave this one. “It’s just the way it is.” I considered my mother’s fears. Was it possible that whoever my mother believed was following us could be using my school records to find us? “Could you answer a question for me?”
She was startled. “Of course.”
“Who would have access to my student files?”
“Student files are considered confidential.” She glanced at the pages. “You’re still a minor so you, your mom, and the staff here. Why do you ask?”
“I’m guessing you have to tell Lincoln High School where I am. That always seems to be the case. There’s someone my mom doesn’t want to find us. She’s afraid that they are using my school records to figure out where we go. Maybe if I could convince her that this isn’t the case, she might stay a little longer.”
I braced myself and watched Ms. Henning. I had told a few others in the past and the results had all been bad. Ms. Henning looked like she was processing this information. “There should be a way to flag your files. Let’s call Lincoln and see what they can do.”
I half listened to the conversation between Ms. Henning and my previous counselor at Lincoln, Mr. Utek. I had liked him. He had a sense of humor. He’d already suspected the move. He was concerned.
After a fairly long conversation on the phone, He assured Ms. Henning that he would tag my file and call her if anyone attempted to gain any information from it. Ms. Henning hung up the phone. “Well, it looks like you will be with us for a little while anyway. Let’s see what I can do to find you some suitable classes.”
I stayed focused on my breathing. Fusan had taught me when I was little, when everything beyond you is in chaos, control what you can – your own breath. I concentrated on the quiet expansion and contraction of my ribcage and listened to the tapping keys on the computer.
Ms. Henning finally looked up. “I’ve given you all the senior classes, and art class, and gymnastics. That’s as close as I can get to your previous class list.” She pulled a piece of paper from her printer and handed it to me with my folder. She looked at the clock. “We’re already in second period. I’ll get you a hall pass.”
She also gave me the standard student packet that included a map of the school, a notebook with a hawk on the cover, and a number two pencil. I pulled out a blank index card from my backpack, copied all the important stuff on it, and put the printout in the folder. The routine was still there.
We went back through the maze of small rooms to the main office. The man I assumed was the principle was standing by the front counter talking to the secretary. He turned as we approached. His face wrinkled. “Young lady. The dress code of this school prohibits gang wear of any kind.”
He must have been too focused on the boy earlier to notice me. I had run into this before, too. “I’m sorry, sir, but this isn’t gang wear. This is Akhekhu. He was a mythical creature of classic Egypt.”
The principal’s eyebrows went up and Ms. Henning’s mouth puckered into a controlled grin. She stepped forward. “John, this is Erin Dawson, a new student who has just moved to the area from Omaha, Nebraska. Erin, this is John Granger, our principal.”
I hated introductions like that. “Good morning, sir.”
Somehow his eyebrows managed to get even higher on his face. He looked lost. “Well, welcome to Hamilton High, Ms. Dawson.”
Ms. Henning wrote out a hall pass and gently pushed me out the door, saving all of us from an awkward conversation. She made sure that I was comfortable with the layout of the school and sent me on my way. I made sure that my locker was actually empty, a learned lesson from a previous mess, and went to my second period class.
It was in the art wing. Senior Art Portfolio. I paused in the doorway for a moment. There were a dozen kids, mostly girls, seated around several tables. Each table had a different still life in the center. A middle aged woman wearing a canvas smock was moving between the tables, critiquing the work. According to the list, her name was Dora Gilbert.
I centered myself and moved toward her. She noticed me when I was still a few steps away. “Good morning. Can I help you?” I handed her the hall pass, which also included a quick note from Ms. Henning. “Do you have your portfolio with you?”
One of the girls at the table snickered. “Besides the one she’s wearing?” There was a murmur of soft laughs and quiet chatter.
“That’s enough, class. Focus on your work, please. We’re halfway through the period.” She moved toward a desk and I followed. She looked back at me. “Your work?”
I assumed she was referring to Akhekhu. “Yes.”
“Interesting style. By the head profile, I’d say Egyptian.”
I felt the tension disappear. “It’s Akhekhu, an Egyptian desert dragon.”
“Nicely done. Do you have anything on paper?”
I have lost count of how many drawings I made and left behind over the years. It was better that way. We traveled too much for me to lug anything like an art portfolio around with me. “I had to leave it behind at my last school.”
She almost looked sad. “Well, it’s still early in the year.” She showed me where the supplies were located and explained the current assignment. We were to make six different drawings of the still life sets in the room that could be presented as a six-paneled mural. They had just started last week so the sets would be up for a few of weeks yet. I grabbed an art board and chose a still life that included a shiny ceramic vase at the center. I’ve always liked the way light plays off of shiny surfaces.
She gave us a five minute warning before the bell. I had roughed out the placement and begun the larger shading by then. She had stood next to me several times but had said
nothing. I was fine with that. I put the board in a slot she’d assigned and washed my hands. The bell rang and the kids pushed out into the hallways.
There were considerably more kids in the school than I had expected. The hallways were rivers of pushing and shouting bodies. I found my way back toward my locker, which was close to my next class. I considered that to be a benefit. I wouldn’t have to worry about books in the art room. The locker two doors down from mine was open and a boy was exchanging books from it. He was heavyset. Other kids teased him as they passed by.
I had no books yet so I didn’t go to my locker. I started moving toward the classroom door. I heard him before I saw him. The obnoxious center of attention was coming up the stairs with a swarm of his boys. They were talking and laughing loudly. The heavyset boy had just closed his locker and was hurrying toward the classroom when Burns stepped in front of him. He smacked the stack of books, sending them cascading across the floor, loose papers swirling in the passage of moving feet. He grinned maliciously. “Oops.”
The guys roared with laughter. The large boy began gathering up the scattered materials. Another boy coming up the stairs confronted Burns. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” He pushed the thick-rimmed glasses up on his nose and hurried to help the other boy collect his things.
Burns and company laughed even harder. “Look at little Davy, scurrying to help. Isn’t that cute?” His tone was condescending.
I sighed. Nothing different here. I went into the classroom. There was an older man seated at the desk in the corner. His wispy gray hair was parted at the side so that a few strands crossed the bald spot. According to my list, this was Oliver Craig, the senior math teacher. He looked the part.
I chose a seat in the back, my customary place of choice. I don’t like people sitting behind me. I’d rather know what they are up to. The heavyset boy and his defender came in and took seats up front. A few other kids trickled into the class. I was amazed when the bell rang and the teacher shut the door. Considering the vast student body, there were only nine other students besides me in the room. It seemed Senior Math wasn’t high on the list for most kids.
The teacher noticed me and walked to the back of the room. “Are you lost?”
I ignored the snickers from a couple of the other kids. “No, sir. I’m new. Ms. Henning assigned me to this class.”
“I see.” He went back up to the front of the room, pulled a book from a shelf beside his desk, and placed it on an empty desk closer to the front. “Then please come join us.”
I complied.
The boy who had helped collect the books looked over at me. “David.”
I glanced at the teacher, who was writing on the board. “Erin.” It seemed safe enough to at least be civil.
The class wasn’t the worst I’ve been in but the teacher’s voice was a drone. It made the topic of investments and stock interest challenging. When you don’t have a lot of money, you usually don’t pay much attention to the stock market. I knew the math. It was easy. I had the assignment finished before the end of class. That was part of the routine.
According to my list, I had first lunch. I felt lucky in that respect. The staff only had a half an hour to repair the damage our group did before the second half of the student body appeared. I glanced at the trays some of the students were carrying from the lunch line. I was glad that I had brought lunch from home. I always did. Not only was lunch money a luxury but this school was on the low end of the lunch scale spectrum.
We were required to eat in the cafeteria, even if we brought our own food. I’d managed to skim through the student handbook after finishing the math assignment. I found a corner table and took the end seat.
It seemed Burns also had first lunch. He and a collection of his boys swaggered into the cafeteria. He made a bee-line for David, who was standing in line. He put an arm around David’s shoulders. “Hand it over.”
David jerked free. “No.”
“What did you say?” His tone was low and menacing.
“Go away, Tony.”
Burns looked at the other nervous kids in line around them. “Will you excuse us a moment?” He tightened his hold and pulled David out of line. “Davy, I’m shocked and offended. Such words coming from you.”
David struggled as Burns dragged him from the lunch room. No one did anything. Many slipped out for the show. The rest kept eating. This was obviously routine for them.
I had learned long ago not to get involved with stuff like this, partly because I was always new so had no authority in the pecking order but also because stuff like that could end up getting you in trouble. Inevitably, the adults went after the kids at the end of the fight. I had been in that spot before and didn’t want to go there again.
I finished my lunch. According to the student handbook, the only open areas during lunch besides the cafeteria were the library and the gym. I chose the library. As I moved toward it, I realized there was a commotion in the hallway ahead of me. I could hear the comments from the onlookers and knew it was a fight. I tried to ignore it and pass around the others in the hall.
David’s voice caught me off guard. “Come on, Tony. Give me a break. What’s wrong with you anyway? My parents took you and your mom in when you had nowhere else to go. And this is how you act? My father…”
“Shut up!” There was a decisive smack and David groaned. “You got run of the mouth!” There was another thud.
I glanced through the crowd. The boys were locked in combat. Burns delivered another gut punch. I paused. Something was up with that. David’s response was serious but there had been no energy behind the blow. He struck again. I hadn’t imagined it. Burns was throwing his punches.
There was a warning shout from kids at one end of the confrontation. Teachers were finally showing up. I moved the rest of the way around the bunch and went into the library. There was a crowd of kids by the library window. They had been watching the show, too. The librarian was on the phone. She must have called in the fight.
Everyone in the fourth period class was talking about it. This was the class that had intrigued me when I read the list. Socio-economics. That was different and I wanted to know what it was about. The teacher walked in as the bell rang. She was a middle aged woman with warm auburn hair pulled back into a stylish twist.
I always kept my hair braided and then in a bun besides. It kept it under control and out of my face. Her hair looked nice. I doubt anyone would say that about mine. It was more economical.
She spotted me and brought a book back to the desk I’d chosen in the back of the room. “Marie said you were joining the class. You must be Erin. I’m Charlotte Green.”
The artist in me could see the humor in that. Red and green are like opposites in the color world. I wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks.”
She had a nice smile, too. She called the class to order and jumped into the lecture. Between her topic and a quick glance at the book I got the idea that the class was about cultural patterns in America based on economic trends in each area. I could ace this class without even studying. I had lived most of what she was talking about. This lecture was on the rural culture of the Ozark Mountains. Been there. Done that. Ms. Green also supplied me with a printed packet that outlined the expected homework at the end of class. I read through the list and wondered how much I would actually get to do. Some of it sounded interesting.
The bell rang. There was five minutes between classes so I decided to stop and leave the book in the locker. The next class was the next floor up. The heavy set boy was there, too. There was another girl who was waiting for him to finish. “Oh, come on, Kevin. Can you just be done already?” I went to my locker and added the book. He shut his locker and walked away without looking at her. She went to the locker next to mine. I closed mine and started walking away. “You’re the new girl.”
There really wasn’t anything for me to say. She’d made a statement. I walked away and went to class. According to my list, this was Senior Lite
rature. That could mean a lot of different things. No one else was in the room yet. I took the corner seat in the back. Several other kids came in and sat down. They thankfully ignored me. David came in. He didn’t look too bad. He noticed me and moved in my direction. “Why do you sit all the way in the back?”
Considering math class I suppose it was a fair question. “I don’t like people sitting behind me. They make little noises and it’s distracting.”
He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.” He sat in the desk in front of me. You don’t find it distracting to have a bunch of noisy people in front of you?”
“No. If they are in front of me, I can see what they are doing to make the noises so I can tune them out.”
“Huh.” He opened his book. “We usually start off each class with a verbal pop quiz about the book we’re reading.” He lifted a paperback. Grapes of Wrath.
I have discovered that there are certain books that all high school English teachers think kids need to read. And I’d been through all of them numerous times. “Not a problem. I’ve read it before.”
A middle-aged man came in the room and surveyed the class. He found me. He picked up a couple of books and made his way back to where I was sitting. “Ms. Dawson. Welcome to Senior Lit. I’m Professor Linton. Here is the textbook and current novel that we’re studying.”
I accepted them. “Thank you, sir.”
He smiled. “Ms. Henning said I needed to see your jacket. Now I understand why. That’s Akhekhu, isn’t it?”
I was amazed. “You’re familiar with Egyptian mythical creatures?”
His smile broadened. “Next semester I offer a class on mythology. I’m particularly fond of ancient Middle Eastern cultures.”
“I also have Tiamat and Abraxas.”
“Have you heard of Azhi Dahaki? Three heads are better than one.”
“I’ve heard of him but I’ve never drawn him. Orochi does have him beat.”
Professor Linton laughed. “Yes, indeed. I can’t wait to meet the others.” He looked at David. “And how are you feeling? I heard you had a rough lunch.”
David shrugged. He looked uncomfortable. I knew why a moment later. Burns walked in the room. He was considerably more subdued. He scowled at David but didn’t say anything. He sat in the other back corner and put his head down on the desk.
David frowned. “Well, that’s different.”
Mr. Linton looked over at Burns. “I wasn’t sure if Principal Granger was going to let him come to class. He was still getting chewed out when I was in the office between classes.” The bell rang. “Well, let’s get started. Shall we?”
I try to avoid participation in class as a general rule. Maybe the Professor was also giving me a break because it was my first day. He certainly made everyone else in class speak their mind. He even called on Burns.
I had thought the kid was asleep but he sat up when the Professor asked him to comment on the plight of the dust bowl farmers. At first I thought he was going to tell the man where to go. He looked angry. I saw the change in his face. “It’s not their fault, you know. They’re stuck. They got no choices and no way out.”
Professor Linton took that and expanded on it for the better part of fifteen minutes. I glanced at Burns. He looked like he’d gone back to sleep but I could see the slight reactions he had to comments. He was actually listening.
The next section was assigned along with an exercise from the textbook. I glanced at it and got the idea of what was required, made a couple of notes, and followed the others students out into the hall. I dropped the books at my locker and moved toward the gym. There was something going on ahead of me in the hallway. It didn’t sound like a fight.
David’s voice rang over the din. “Why are you just standing there?” He grabbed a girl’s arm. “Go to the office and tell them to call 911! Make sure they know where she is. Go!” The girl reacted like she’d been slapped. She pushed through the crowd.
I had been drawn into the tightening circle around a girl who was collapsed against the wall. David touched her neck. He’d obviously had first aid training. He was taking her pulse. She was gasping and bubbly spittle oozed from the corner of her mouth. David pulled a baggie from her pocket. It contained small colorful tiny pills. He shoved it in his own pocket.
I was shocked. That didn’t seem to fit his image. Teachers shouted for students to clear the halls. A teacher in a lab coat came running from the science wing. He was an older man. He rushed to David’s side. “Davy! What happened?”
David backed away. “I don’t know. I found her that way.”
There was another commotion as the school nurse led medics with a wheeled stretcher down the stairs. The nurse looked pale. She put a hand on the teacher’s shoulder. “How many did she take?”
The science teacher dropped his voice. “I didn’t find any on her. She must have taken all of them.”
“Good heavens.” She turned and made sure the medics had everything they needed. She turn to the wall of students. “The bell has rung! What are you doing standing around in the halls?”
I got a final glimpse of David talking to one of the medics. His knowledge of medicine was more than your average first aid class. The mass around me finally moved enough that I could separate myself from the rest.
I ended up in the gym. I wasn’t the only one who had been caught in the hall. A few other girls came in behind me. They ran to the locker room. I didn’t have my leotard with me. That was unusual. I had taken it out of my bag last Thursday because I didn’t have gym on Fridays back in Omaha and it needed to see the inside of a washing machine. I had no idea what mom had done with the laundry.
There was a woman in an office. I made the assumption that she was probably Jennifer Addison, the gym teacher. She looked up at me as I entered. “Ah, the new student. Do you have a leotard?”
“Not with me today. Sorry.”
She pulled out a box and went through it. She held up a black one. “This looks like your size. You can have it. It’s been washed.”
I took it and followed the sign to the girls’ locker room. There were about a dozen talkative girls already there, changing into their leotards. Some of them had matching ones – red with a white diagonal band. School colors. They must be on the team.
I have been doing gymnastics forever. Even when I was a little kid and didn’t know what it was called. I’ve always been flexible. But we’ve never had a lot of money and we didn’t stay put long enough for me to ever participate on a team. I was okay with that. I’d seen some girls do serious damage to themselves for the sake of competition. I just enjoyed it.
There is also an element of gymnastics that goes well with martial arts. If you are doing either correctly, you are using the same muscle groups. I had been developing my core muscles since Fusan had begun my training as a toddler.
I changed quickly and joined the others on the mat for warm-ups. There was an obvious pecking order to this bunch. The team girls all seemed to revolve around one. I caught her name. Rita. She was the queen of the scene. The others seemed to be in smaller groups of two or three. As a newcomer, I was alone. This was normal and I liked it that way. I felt uncomfortable in this strange leotard. It had no dragon. It was like being naked.
The equipment was older but maintained. They had the standard set: uneven bars, balance beam, and pommel. There were two full-sized mats rolled out and a few smaller ones. Ms. Addison gave directions after warm-ups for us to rotate. I had several well-practiced routines for the floor and equipment. That was one advantage with gymnastics. No matter where I went, it was the same. I could just pick up where I’d left off.
I finished a floor routine and Ms. Addison walked over to me. “Erin, that was amazing. Were you on the team at your last school?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t try out for teams. We move around too much.”
“What a shame. You’ve got a lot of potential.”
I had heard this many times. “Thanks.” Rita made a fuss a
bout the uneven bars being loose and Ms. Addison went away to deal with it. I went back to rotations.
I was glad when class was over. I pulled my own clothes back on and returned the borrowed leotard. Ms. Addison looked up from her clipboard. “You can keep it. Really. There’s a box of them here.”
“I’ll have my own tomorrow but thanks for the offer. I don’t have a lot of space for extra things.”
I left the gym. Rita and a couple of other girls had put fancy warm-up suits on and were walking down the hall in front of me. Rita turned back to say something to one of the girls behind her. Our eyes met. She stopped and faced me. “Well, if it isn’t miss show-off.”
The Dragon Lady of Hamilton High Page 2