Worthy of Rain

by Elizaveta Fehr

  I stopped at a small table at the center of the tent. Its entire surface was covered with intricate wooden figurines. Most of them were woodland animals. A large beaver gnawed on a twig. A fawn lay in the leaves. A fox poked its head out of the roots of a tree.

  I marveled at the details in the statues, the colors of the rugs ricocheting off the textured wood. My finger brushed carefully against the fox’s tail.

  “Which one would you like?”

  I spun on my heel. That voice was familiar anywhere.

  Jace Anthony leaned against a roll of rugs stacked against one of the tent legs. He had a rag in his hands and was polishing a badger with a thick, pungent solution. Its odor wafted up to my nose, although the smell wasn’t the only reason I was cringing.

  The surprise on his face showed for a mere second. It disappeared in a flash, covered by an aloof replacement. “Oh, it’s just you,” Jace said dismissively. He gestured to the fox. “You break it, you buy it.”

  I ignored him. “This is your tent?”

  He looked around pointedly as if to say, “Are you dumb?”

  “I’ve been to this fair almost every year and I’ve never seen you here.”

  “Okay?”

  I held in my sigh of frustration. “I didn’t know the people that ran this tent were your grandparents.”

  “You don’t know much of anything else.”

  “Why are you so pleasant all of the time?” I put my hands on my hips and scowled.

  “Maybe because you’re always following me around.”

  I clenched my hands that rested at my hips into fists. “You are the last person I’d want to follow.”

  “And yet…”

  “And yet, what? You’re the one who mysteriously switched to my Honors History class. You invaded Aven’s and my lunch spot. And you think I’m following you?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

  “I could say the same to you.”

  “Oh? At least I get my history right.”

  “This is pointless.”

  He smirked. “I agree. Arguing with me is pointless. I’m always right.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What are you doing here on a Saturday anyway? Don’t you usually have swim practice or something?”

  “Skipping,” he responded flatly.

  “Why?”

  “I’m filling in for grandpa.”

  I looked around the tent. “Is he gone today?”

  Jace swiped one final streak over the figurine and sauntered forward. He reached over me to place the badger in the empty spot on the table. I sucked in a small breath but stood my ground. He looked me in the eye as he set it on the table. His face was inches from mine as he spoke.

  “It’s none of your business.” His breath blew a piece of my hair.

  I couldn’t find words as he pulled away. “Have a good day, Genesis,” he said dryly.

  And with that, he was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  The drive home was quiet. Even the stack of books on the dash looked small compared to last time. They scooted left and right with each turn.

  The tree canopies in the town square blew regally in the breeze. I rolled down the window and let my arm drape out, the sun warming my skin. The whitewashed gazebo looked empty for how nice of a day it was.

  I glanced at my dad. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth a hard line.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  “I wish Ralph didn’t talk about her so much,” he mumbled half to himself, half to me.

  “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

  “Every year, he does it. Every year. You’d think people in this town would just forget about it.” His words were terse and he clenched the steering wheel harder.

  I didn’t know what to say. The books shifted left on the dashboard.

  I turned away from the sunny outdoors and faced my dad. “It’s been ten years. Maybe it’s time for us to get over it.”

  We both knew I was lying.

  “Don’t worry about it, hon.” The book stack scooted right. I grabbed them and set them in my lap.

  “You know I can’t do that, Dad.”

  “Well, try. It’s not for you to worry about.”

  “She was mine too.”

  He looked at me and his eyes softened. The tension in his brow faded and he set his hand on my shoulder. “I know,” he said after a long sigh. “I know.”

  A miniature figurine in the cup holder between my seat and the driver’s seat caught my attention. I plucked the wooden figurine from the holder and held it to the window.

  Only one vendor could have put in so much detail.

  “I didn’t know you bought something from the Anthony’s tent.” I placed the miniature figurine on the console and watched the sun illuminate the carefully etched detailing.

  My dad squinted at it, perplexed. “I never bought one of those. You were over there. You sure you didn’t take it by accident?”

  I glanced at my dad and picked up the wooden figurine, turning it in my fingers. It was a lamb, legs folded underneath its body and head pulled back in a silent cry.

  “Strange,” I mumbled to myself.

  Throwing the figurine in the glove compartment, I shut the latch.

  “He did what?”

  I nodded, Jace’s face appearing in my head. My cheeks heated as I tried to shake the memory of him being so close to me. He always knew where my buttons were and exactly which ones to press.

  But there was another part of me that couldn’t help but wonder what had set him off that day. Apart from his normal irritableness, he had seemed…distant. Unless I was the one going insane.

  I cursed myself for knowing his moods so well. It was like part of being his enemy came with being the one person who knew him the best.

  I tried not to think about that.

  The bottom half of Aven’s face was covered by the cover of The Great Gatsby, while the other half peered at me from the gaps in the bookcase.

  “He makes me want to puke.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I agreed.

  Aven faked gagging noises. I watched the librarian look around the library anxiously.

  I giggled. “Aven. Aven. Stop doing that. Mrs. Henton is going to actually think you’re puking.”

  “Maybe I should. Jace has no business walking around accusing you of stuff and being all mysterious.”

  “I wouldn’t care so much if he didn’t seem to be everywhere I go. Like, he’s in all Honors like I am. He works at the fair now apparently. He hangs out in the library and in the courtyard. He’s like a bug I can’t get rid of.”

  “So what do you do to bugs?”

  I looked at her quizzically. “You squash them?”

  “Exactly. Squash him like he’s hot and let him die a slow death.”

  I laughed. “That’s ‘drop him like he’s hot,’ Aven. Besides, you usually say that when you’re trying to get rid of someone you’re dating.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Close enough.” Suddenly, Aven’s eyes bugged out of her head.

  “That’s it!”

  I stepped back a little. “What’s it?”

  “Date him. Then, in revenge, dump him so brutally he won’t want a girlfriend for months.”

  I leaned closer to the bookshelf. “Aven, that’s crazy.”

  “No, it’s not. It makes perfect sense. He’ll finally stop bothering you.” She shrugged. “And, I mean, he’s kind of cute. When he’s not being rude. It’s not like it’s social suicide.”

  I shook my head. “It’s just not right. Even for someone like Jace. I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

  “You’re a wuss.”

  “No, I’m just not that kind of girl.”

  Aven put her hand on her hip and waved me off dramatically.

  I laughed. “Come on, first bell rang already.”

  On the way to first period, I thought about what Aven said. Although I immediately felt guilty, for a split second, I considered it
. I wondered what it was like to get revenge like that.

  I laughed to myself. The fact that I was actually considering Aven’s extravagant ideas was proof enough that I really needed to get more sleep at night. But it was hard to sleep with all of the stuff up there in the attic just…waiting there for me.

  The book appeared in my head. Its title shone in the sunlight like it had in the attic the first time I’d found it. I’d forgotten about it before, but now it was plastered on my mind like a golden, brilliant stamp.

  I tried to shake it out of my head. It was just a book. There was nothing special about it.

  I shoved my fingers down into my pockets. The tips of my fingers buzzed inside my jeans. No matter what I told myself, the itch in them had returned.

  And by the end of the day, it still hadn’t disappeared.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hot pockets tonight again?”

  At 6:00 p.m. on a Monday night, you’d think having a father as a teacher would have its perks. But my dad was the kind of teacher who arrived at his job at 7:20 in the morning and came home later than the janitor on certain days. And with my lack of a driver’s license, microwave dinners were a commonality. Especially at 6:00 p.m. on a Monday.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I promise I’ll have something better tomorrow night.”

  “You have to stay late tomorrow too?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  I shifted my weight to the other leg and pulled open the freezer door. “Why do you have to stay late anyway?”

  He sighed into the phone. “Oh, you know. They’ve got us on this new curriculum and it’s throwing all of the teachers off. You know I’d much rather be at home with you.”

  “I know. Go get ‘em, dad,” I encouraged him. I pulled out the hot pockets, which were all frozen together. “I’ll be here.” I eyed the freezer-burnt packages. “And I’ll even save you a hot pocket.”

  My dad laughed into the phone. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  I ended the call and put the hot pockets back in the freezer, grabbing sandwich meat and cheese instead. I found the TV remote underneath the couch cushion and switched to a random show, propping my feet up on the coffee table.

  After half an hour, I’d switched through twenty-seven channels ten times and found nothing interesting. I clicked the screen off and slumped into the couch. TV just wasn’t the same as books.

  My heart skipped.

  I glanced at the attic door and back at the TV. I glanced at the door again.

  I got up. I sat back down. I got up, turned on the TV, then sat back down. I turned it off.

  Rubbing at my eyes, I laughed. “You’re insane, Genesis,” I said out loud.

  I got up. And this time, I ran to the attic door.

  I felt along the walls for the light switch. The stairs were steep, so steep my shins touched the next step while standing on the one below it. The scent of old antiques wafted into my nostrils.

  Moonlight shone in through the windows so brightly that I didn’t need a flashlight to find my way to the back of the attic. I felt in the air for the light string and pulled on it. The bookcase loomed almost ominously above me, like an old oak leaning over a creek with heavy limbs and branches waving in the nighttime breeze. The books seemed to thrum in the shelves, waiting. Pulsing with anticipation. I ran my fingers down their bindings.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, six, six, six…

  The seventh book was pushed out farther than the rest. Like a girl had stuck it back carelessly in a hasty attempt to replace it.

  To forget it was there.

  To pretend she wasn’t really going to read it.

  Even in the dim lighting, the gold lettering reflected every ounce of light. I reached for it, then pulled my hand back. What if I just opened it? Read a little out of it. I could put it back. I could just see what it was.

  I remembered the ripped title page. The last of whatever past my family used to have. Before everything changed. “To Jennifer,” it had said. “I hope you find these pages as truthful as I did.”

  Before I knew it, something in me had already decided. I reached for the book and pulled it from the shelf. This time, the bookcase didn’t give way. Dad didn’t call. I didn’t run away. I ran my fingers against the cover and read it aloud slowly, each word foreign on my tongue.

  “The…Holy…Bible.”

  I paused. Took a breath. “Here we go.”

  The binding creaked in my hands as I opened it to the first page.

  Chapter Nine

  I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

  I opened my eyes, and all I could see was water. Water. It encompassed me with a thick, suffocating coat, driving out all light. I thought I was swimming. I was moving like I was swimming. But there was no up or down. No left or right. A never-ending globe of nothing.

  The globe split, as if a horizon line appeared along the folds of a distant existence. A shadow towered over my head, growing closer. Finally, the wave came crashing down and covered me in its choking grasp. The world spun and spun.

  Everything went cold, still, and black.

  Chapter Ten

  I collapsed onto the floor of the attic.

  My breathing was raspy and intermittent. The air was cold icicles sliding down my throat and the room spun like a kaleidoscope. I held my hand to my head. I groaned and tried to sit up. The book lay open on the floor where I must have dropped it.

  What just happened?

  The attic around me looked the same as I’d left it.

  The slamming of a screen door rang in my ears. I bolted upright, closing the book, and gave it a slight kick where it slid into the shadows.

  His footsteps reached the top of the back stairs just as the attic door shut behind me.

  “Oh, my word.” My father set his satchel on the counter. “You scared me.”

  “You came home early.”

  He kicked a shoe off. “Yeah, I decided to finish everything here. I was getting so tired, I was seeing things.”

  That made two of us.

  I tried not to breathe so hoarsely. The room was still spinning and my head throbbed. I leaned against the countertop.

  My dad cocked his head. “You a little tired?”

  I faked a yawn. “Yes, actually. I might go to bed early tonight.”

  He nodded. “I’m feeling the same. You care if I shower first?” We had one bathroom in the whole house.

  “Go right ahead.” I needed a moment alone to go throw up in the trash can.

  “Alright, I’ll be right out.”

  When he left, I collapsed into a kitchen chair. My eyes were starting to focus a little more now, but the wheels in my mind were turning faster than ever. Maybe I was low on blood sugar. That had to be it. I didn’t eat enough today. But that didn’t explain the vision. Or whatever it was.

  After my eyesight was clear enough to read the clock above the sink, I got up and sank into my bed. All energy had left my body, and I couldn’t remember if I’d left the light on upstairs or not.

  The night left a dreamless ocean in its wake.

  “Turn to Chapter 16 in your textbooks.”

  The drum of the rain was only the second most conspicuous sound in the room. The first, to my irritation, was the turning of Jace’s textbook pages.

  We hadn’t spoken since Saturday morning. The awkward Saturday morning when we’d run into each other at, apparently, his grandpa’s stall. I shuddered as I remembered him reaching across me to set the figurine down on the table before he disappeared. And now I had to sit in class with him just sitting there. Turning. The pages. One. By one.

  I shot my hand up. “Can I go to the restroom?”

  Mrs. Whitaker eyed me and mumbled, “Hurry please.”

  I sprinted to the last stall and locked the door. Exhaling, I leaned my back against the brick wall.

  That boy. That boy would drive me mad one of these days.

  But for once, Jace Anthony was the least of my worries.
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br />   Last night’s events still remained like tar seeping into every crevice of my mind. I couldn’t shake it out of my head. Water swirled between my fingers and into my lungs like a fragment of what was left of whatever happened to me the night before. I took slow breaths to attempt to slow my racing heart.

  Something was telling me this whole thing wasn’t just my imagination.

  The door to the bathroom swung open, jerking me out of my thoughts. A pair of Birkenstocks and a pair of Filas shuffled to the sinks, the sound of giggles reaching my stall.

  “He was definitely looking at you.” The sound of the faucet running muffled their voices.

  A laugh. “You really think so?”

  “Totally.”

  “You always know so much more about guys than she does.”

  “Oh God, she sounds so annoying. Why do you put up with her anyway?”

  “I mean…she’s not that bad, I guess.”

  “Sure.” The sink turned off. “I hate school so much. Shoot me.”

  “Gladly. You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  The two left the bathroom and I opened the stall door. I had no clue who they were, but those girls reminded me of one thing. I should probably get back to History class.

  The nighttime breeze from my open window crept over my skin and left goose bumps on my bare legs. The window curtains billowed out in waves, dipping and rising in oscillation. I turned to my other side for the twentieth time.

  I was wide awake. The shadows flitting across my room from a few straggling cars appeared and disappeared as the headlights passed by. My brain was wide awake, spinning a million miles a minute.

  The itch in my fingers wasn’t going away either.

  I turned on my stomach. It was just a book. Maybe it was better to stay away from it. It had already caused so much internal turmoil in my life. I should just leave it up there in that attic. Put it away in my mind. Never think about it again.

  But that was just it. Everything in me was telling me the opposite.

  Maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t sleep. Maybe I thought I owed it to Mom. Maybe I thought if I didn’t, it would drive me insane. Maybe I did it for me. But regardless of the reason, I found myself climbing up the attic stairs, heart wild and awake and alive.