As we drove away, I saw Bernard walk away. The cousins helped Aaron to his feet. I felt sympathy for Aaron and any pain my actions might have caused. I couldn’t fathom what that might be other than Aaron had somehow prevented our ride into eternity.
There could be no other explanation.
5 FIRST CONTACT
Monday morning I stepped out onto the porch of the cabin and promptly fell on my backside. Not a good omen to start out the week. During the night, hoar frost covered much of the town of Shasta City. I dusted off my behind and my temper and put on a smile. The sun rose, just clearing the peak of Mount Shasta. It set the landscape to sparkling, the same as one of those picturesque scenes you see in Christmas cards.
As I walked past Cherrie’s place, I squelched the urge to run up and rattle her door. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. She was a sound sleeper and, worse yet, if she were in dreamland with her beau, Jason Chavez, she’d wreak holy terror on the person who interrupted her love fest.
Due to the ice crystals—pretty as they were—it took me longer to walk to school than usual. There wasn’t any wind to speak of, just that same bitter cold one finds in a freezer when it is all frosted up. I pulled my orange White Bear Lake beanie down over my ears.
Somehow, even though I had become a SHS Bear, I couldn’t give up my WBL Bear beanie. I found it ironic I had come from a school which had the bear as its mascot to a school with the same animal. I’m sure there were students who resented my walking around with an orange beanie instead of the school’s blue and gold beanie, but I didn’t care. Once a bear always a bear, I felt.
It had been my plan to be early enough to school to visit Mr. Whittinghill, our counselor, and ask for a modification of my class schedule, namely to switch my first period class, Biology, with my last period class, History.
That didn’t happen.
I found myself wading and fighting through a sea of blue and gold to get to my Biology class on time. Jason Chavez bullied his way through the crowd and pulled up beside me.
“Hey Julissa.”
“Hi Jason.”
“Nice hat.”
I remembered the orange beacon on my head. I took it off and stuffed it in my backpack. Smoothing out the hair would require a trip to the girl’s bathroom, which would have been a nice escape route from Jason had I not been squeezed for time.
I rushed into Biology class just as the bell ring. I heard Jason utter something about the buzz beans he had given us and “How were they?” At the sound of the bell he dashed off without waiting for an answer. The expression, saved by the bell, came to mind.
The lab for Biology had been renovated over the past summer. Everything smelled new and appeared as bright and shiny as a new penny.
Everything, except me.
My behind felt wet, my hair mussed, my cheeks flushed from exertion, and my smile had turned upside down. I wouldn’t get to spend my class time studying the one science project that had consumed most of my week-end: Aaron Delmon. Mr. Omes, our biology teacher, took note of my condition.
“Miss Grant,” he said, “are you not feeling well today?”
I’m a smart girl, but on a Monday morning, absent a caffeine fix, I’m a bit slow on the uptake. It took a second or two for me to register the opportunity Mr. Omes’ question presented. My hesitation, thankfully, only added fuel to Mr. Omes’ assumption.
I wiped the bangs off my forehead and sniffled for effect. “Not really.”
“Perhaps you should see the nurse.”
I nodded my head.
Perhaps I should.
Mr. Omes approached, but kept his distance. He was a slight man, thin and sickly looking most of the time, so I imagined he had issues with those who became, in his mind, infected walking Petri dishes. He wrote out a note and handed it off to Robert Alomar, the boy who sat in the station in front of me.
Robert didn’t seem to mind at all getting up close and personal with me. In fact he stood, approached, and squeezed the note into my hand when he could have easily leaned back on his stool and handed it to me. He said all but two words to me the first week of school, so I pegged him as being shy. Maybe I was wrong.
I wrapped up the note, grabbed my backpack, added a cough to my sniffling, and left.
It’s always eerie walking through the halls of school when they’re empty. It’s such a contrast from bells ringing and four-hundred plus students scrambling to meet class schedules. I heard Bernard and his musical keys before I saw him turn the corner. He pushed a custodial cart in my direction. Brooms, mops, and other assorted cleaning fluids and rags blocked me from seeing his face.
And walking with him?
Aaron Delmon, the blonde god.
It’s what I had been hoping for; to get closer to Aaron, to meet him face to face. But not now! Not when I looked like I had just crawled out of bed. The girl’s restroom sat within striking distance, but I had to walk toward the Delmons to reach it. I hurried, head down, my feet sliding across the floor as though I had an urgent need—which I did! (To escape up close scrutiny by the god-like man!)
I darted into the bathroom and held the door open for the seconds it took Bernard and Aaron to walked by. I watched them while hiding behind the door. Aaron, as usual, wore above average attire, this time dressed in a blue shirt and tan cargo pants. He wore dress shoes. I wondered how he managed to cross the hoar frost without getting his behind all wet. And what a behind! It looked muscular, well proportioned, something—and let me be honest here—you would see on men (and women) who are noted for sprinting the 200m. Round and hardened, not the flat-frog-looking-behind so common on teen age boys who have yet to reach full physical maturity.
As they passed by me, I saw Aaron turn. For a fraction of a second our gaze met. I saw his face light up. A smile showed. Then I saw Bernard place his hand on Aaron’s arm. The smile vanished and Aaron looked forward.
With a little bit of makeup from my handbag and a quick sprinkle of water on my hair, I deemed myself presentable to the world. It was a short skip and jump to the nurse’s office, but that wasn’t my destination. I passed it and went on in to the main office.
“Is Mr. Whittinghill in?” I asked the secretary.
“He is. Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“A slip from your teacher?”
I handed her the slip.
“This says to see the nurse.”
“Yes,” I said, “but I really need to see Mr. Whittinghill. I’m more stressed than sick.”
She looked at me with crossed eyes before saying “Take a seat.”
I didn’t have long to sit before Mr. Whittinghill ushered me into his office.
“Hi Julissa. Have a seat. What can I do for you?” He opened up the folder on his desk.
I saw my name on the tab.
“I would like to switch my first and last period classes.”
Mr. Whittinghill peered over his glasses. “This have anything to do with you skipping out last Friday.”
I nodded. “I need more stimuli in the afternoon. I think it would help me if I was in a more challenging class the last period.”
“You don’t think History is challenging enough?”
“Not the same way Biology is.”
“How’s that?”
I wanted to tell him there was a specimen I was acutely interested in dissecting, but I didn’t want to open another round of questions.
“It’s just that I’m more productive when it comes to hands on stuff in the afternoon.”
Mr. Whittinghill leaned forward. “I know what you have been through, Julissa, the loss of your father and all. I know the transition to a new school is tough. We have counselors you can talk to if you need to.”
“No. I’m fine. Thanks for the offer, but my mom is a psychotherapist. We’ve talked.”
“Yes, I understand. Just so you know though, we have a peer counseling group that meets to discuss problems you might be having, in school and out.”
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br /> “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Now let me see,” he said turning to his computer, “let’s check the schedule to see if there is a slot for you. You’re in luck. There’s one more opening for seventh period Biology, and I see plenty of slots for the History class in the morning. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“When can I make the switch?”
“Not today. We’ll have it penciled-in tomorrow. Come by the office first thing in the morning. The secretary will give you a revised schedule.”
“Thanks.”
As I left Mr. Whittinghill’s office, he told me he had known Mickey Grant and that all of the town folk of Shasta City had mourned his loss. This was something I hadn’t heard before. It left me choked up. It seemed to be a major difference between a small town and a metropolis like Minneapolis; good or bad, people got to know each other. My father was missed by a select few from the suburb we lived in, but the whole town? No.
I wasn’t sure I would want to share my troubles with peers in a group. I was sure anything I did would become news in a town this size fairly fast. An example presented itself as I made my way to my next class.
Charleen Girtz, Sandra Wier, and Brittany Page approached me from behind.
Cherrie had little patience for the ‘drama queens’, as she put it. They were too sickie-sweet for her taste.
Charleen spoke first. “Hi Julissa.”
“Hi girls.” I kept straight on, heading for my class. They followed as a group around me.
“Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Charleen. That’s Sandy and Brittany.”
“I’m Julissa,” I said, which they already demonstrated they knew. (Oh well, dumber things have been said)
It was Sandy’s turn to talk. “We heard you served detention.”
Yeah. So? Just thinking this is what I wanted to say, but didn’t.
Charleen pushed Sandy aside. “We just wanted to say welcome and we’re wondering if you wanted to join drama club. Weren’t we girls?”
Charleen didn’t exactly get a resounding cheer from Sandy and Brittany on her motion. I took that as a warning sign.
I stopped mid track and faced the drama queens. “Sorry. But I don’t think I have time for it right now. My schedule is pretty full.”
“Well,” Charleen said, “we’re doing Romeo and Juliet this year so if you change your mind we’ll see you there.” She extended a hand.
I shook it.
Lunch hour couldn’t have come fast enough. In the first week of school I frequented the cafeteria, but I quickly tired of the small cliques that formed. Jocks formed their own circle, cowboys grouped in another, country boys and girls gathered together, and city boys and girls mingled. Then there were the nerds, those of Hispanic descent, cheer leaders, the drama queens, and so on and so on.
The Delmons were nowhere to be found.
Cherrie offered to meet me for lunch outside—at least when fair weather broke, which, as I found out, is most of the time in California.
Sure enough, when I walked outside I found Cherrie sitting on a concrete wall in the quad. To my surprise, quite a few other students had escaped the confines of the cafeteria and were basking in an intense fall sun. To my even bigger surprise, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Aaron and the twins, occupying a table off in the far corner.
As I walked to where Cherrie sat, I felt as though eyes were upon me. I could only hope they were Aarons.
“Is he looking?” I asked Cherrie.
“Girl, you’ve got to get a life.”
“IS HE LOOKING?”
“Yeah, he’s looking...”
I tried to remain calm.
“...but not at you.”
I punched Cherrie on the shoulder.
“Well, what do you expect?”
Cherrie was right. Four hundred and twenty-nine students attended Shasta High. I didn’t know the actual split, girls versus boys, but it seemed girls out-numbered boys. Which gave Aaron, on the conservative side, two-hundred girls to ogle. Why would he pick me?
I sat down on the concrete wall beside Cherrie. I pulled a P&J from my backpack and offered Cherrie half of the squashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“How can you eat that stuff?” she said.
“It’s a Minnesota delicacy.”
Cherrie snorted. “All right. Give me a piece.”
We were forced to become speechless as we sat there chewing on the P&J. I reached in my bag, withdrew my sunglasses, and put them on. Now I could discreetly study Aaron without him knowing he was under surveillance. As I tilted my head away from him and my eyes toward him, I commended myself for my cunning.
The three of them, all smartly—and overly—dressed, sat in a semi-circle, which faced us. For the first time I could observe my prey in his natural habitat.
Beaumont and Belmont—I still couldn’t tell them apart—wore striped dress shirts, more white than any other color, and cargo pants similar to the pair Aaron had on. Aaron stood apart with his blue shirt. All three wore their hair long, shoulder length. I tried to decipher whether their necks were long and slender by comparing them to the other boys milling about. I decided their necks were longer, but so were their torsos, legs, and arms due to their height. I squinted hard to make out whether they had a lump on their forehead, but due to the bangs of hair, I gave up trying. Besides, it gave me a headache and, besides, this is when I first noticed I wasn’t the only one doing the studying.
I saw Aaron staring back at me.
I felt secure hiding behind the dark sunglasses, until it dawned on me; if Aaron was some kind of super being, he might have the power to look right through the lens. That and the fact the sunlight added transparency to the glass. I looked away and at Cherrie.
“How’re your classes going?”
Cherrie choked down her mouthful of P&J. “You really want to talk about school?”
“Okay, maybe not. You’ll be thrilled to know I was invited to join drama club by the queens.”
Cherrie poked a finger half way down her throat.
“They’re not all that bad,” I said in their defense, making light conversation while I attempted to return to ogling Aaron.
Aaron hadn’t taken his eyes off of me. The twins kept busy with conversation and seemed unaware of Aaron’s distraction. I didn’t know what to make of it so I stared back. That lasted all of thirty seconds before I pulled the sunglasses off my face and made it a point of making sure Aaron knew I knew he was looking at me.
He didn’t budge.
I’ve been around long enough to know the rules for accepting and fending off the advances of boys. I could play shy, play innocent, play hard to get, be arrogant or just plain loathsome. With Aaron, I didn’t think there would be games to play. He seemed far too intelligent. I expected he would see through any smoke screen I could invent, the same way he seemingly could see through my dark glasses.
“If that’s the way he wants to play it then so be it.” I put my sun glasses away and slid off the wall.
Cherrie came alive. “Where’re you going?”
“Going to introduce myself.”
“Not a good idea. Antisocial. Remember?”
I took the shortest possible route to the Delmon table as I could. I extended my hand before I got there.
“Hi,” I said maintaining eye contact with Aaron. “I’m Julissa Grant.”
Aaron stood. He shook my hand. “I’m Aaron Delmon.”
I heard music in my ears. His voice purred, soft and gentle. I barely took note of his cousins as he introduced them. They shook my hand as well. They were all tall, a head taller than I and I’m 5’8”.
“You were up on the Crags,” Aaron said.
Aaron stayed standing while the twins sat. I hadn’t been invited so I didn’t feel as though I should sit down at their table—at least not yet. Behind me I heard Cherrie approaching.
I’ll have to make this fast. She’ll scare them away.
“Yes, I was.”
Cherrie’s plan of ‘you see them, they see you, maybe say hi, next time, who knows? They see you downtown and ask you your name’ was working. I reminded myself Aaron hadn’t asked my name, but then what plan doesn’t need a bit of fine tuning?
The twins seemed, by choice, refraining from entering the conversation. I hoped it was because they were being courteous and allowing Aaron and I to get acquainted, but in the back of my mind, Cherrie’s mantra of ‘they’re not sociable’ kept ringing a warning bell.
“Just wanted to thank-you,” I said to Aaron.
“For what?”
“For Shasta.”
Aaron gave me a blank stare.
I sensed the twins stiffening.
I let the words slip out even though I knew I was treading on hoar frost.
“For saving our lives. For pulling our car off the mountain side.”
Aaron’s face hardened. The light in his dark eyes dimmed.
The twins stood.
“We have to go,” one of them said.
They took Aaron by the arms and herded him back into the building.
Cherrie, stepping up behind me, said, “Told you so. Antisocial.”
“You’re right. I don’t think they like you.”
“They don’t like anybody.”
I didn’t want to believe that about Aaron. For a minute or two like wasn’t the feeling I felt. I sensed more. We connected. But my connection paled in comparison to the twin’s hold on Aaron. They never said a word. But I knew. Aaron heard the rebuke, loud and clear.
From the bump I saw on the twin’s foreheads.
6 KNOWING
Cherrie picked me up after school. The power-steering pump on the Lincoln Continental emitted a high piercing sound from lack of lubrication. I could tell from Cherrie’s grunting as she turned corners, if something wasn’t done soon we were going to become part of some building. No one, not even Cherrie, could drive the tank without power steering. I looked for an escape route as we headed into town.
“Where’re we going?” I asked, as Cherrie turned down a side street.
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