She looks up at me, “So you’re stealing my coffee and now my blanket?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I laugh.
She smiles a big toothy grin, “Of course I will share. Tell me about your day.”
I sit and take a sip of my hot drink to give myself some time. What do I tell her? I don’t want her to worry more about me. Last week when I skipped out on a class to visit Jeremy’s grave, the school called her and she came looking for me.
The historical society put up gravestones for all of the fire victims when I was about ten. I remember Jeremy feeling weird about it, but he also said it was nice, that he would always have a place to go back to. Kind of like a home, he described it, a special place just for him.
She found me in the small graveyard near the orphanage taking pictures. I was trying to see some orbs in the digital viewfinder. Maybe one would be Jeremy. She said my “obsession” with the orphanage and the children’s death is unhealthy and suggested I see a therapist. Usually she just listens to my brother’s and my problems without psycho-analyzing everything, but apparently this one had crossed the line. She thinks as we get older we’re going to have more questions about Dad and she worries.
“Olivia and I went to the coffee shop before practice.” I start in; I mean I could tell her about part of my day at least. “I saw this guy,” Mom shifts in her seat to focus her full attention on me. “He’s the real dark and mysterious type.” I smile with one side of my mouth as I think about him.
My mom notices, “Did you catch his name?”
“No.” I reply sternly, still annoyed that Olivia didn’t help me out in that department.
“Well maybe next time,” she offers. That’s something I admire about my mom, she is the eternal optimist. With her bright blonde hair and tan skin she practically glows sunshine. I always wonder how I’m not adopted. My skin is almost as pale as some of the ghosts I’ve met and my hair is so dark that people constantly ask me if it’s dyed. My brother resembles my mom and possibly a little bit of my dad with his football player stature.
My dad was a big guy and he gave the best hugs. He would call them his teddy bear hugs. He’d put on this huge brown coat and wrap us both in it when he would hug me if I was upset or angry. It always made me smile; it still does when I think about it. I sometimes wonder if Chad would wear that coat if his hugs would feel the same. I doubt it, but it might be nice to try one day. I know it’s kept in the back of the coat closet. I see it every year when I get out the Christmas ornaments, it’s nice to know my mom kept it, even after all these years. To me, it’s further proof that she still holds out hope that we’ll find him. Thinking about my dad makes me feel low and a single salty tear rolls down my cheek and onto my lips. Lucky for me Mom doesn’t notice, she’s turned her thoughts elsewhere and is looking into the night.
“Mom?” I ask, “You OK?”
She startles out of her thoughts, “What me? Oh, I’m fine.” She says before taking another long drink from her mug. I nod and finish my drink loving every last drop as it fills my body with warmth.
“Well I’ve got a little homework, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say as I stand and place my half of the blanket on her lap.
“Right, OK. I’ll be in soon, goodnight darling,” she says as I lean in to kiss her on the cheek.
“Night Mom, love you.”
As I start to walk away she gives a delayed response, “You too hon, goodnight.”
Chapter 7
School starts as usual with morning announcements and attendance. Mostly before Calculus starts I just doodle on a notebook or finish homework from another class. I don’t really have anyone to talk to in this class and Mrs. Snickle would love to confiscate a cell phone or two so I keep mine hidden in the front pocket of my book bag. I decide I’m going to make up for yesterday and prove Mrs. Snickle wrong (and annoy her) by raising my hand for every single question she asks today. Answer to number fourteen? Got it. Who can identify pi? Me. Wearing pink underwear? Right here lady! Come and get me you old bag, I’m going to be your worst nightmare.
After Calculus, and thus exhausting Mrs. Snickle, I make a quick stop at the bathroom to check my makeup. I went with purple lipstick today and Chad told me in the car that I was embarrassing and looked like a goth. I mean I’m wearing a purple short sleeved shirt and jeans, it’s not like I’ve become a princess of the apocalypse or anything. But now that I’m looking in the mirror I begin to wonder if it is a bit too much and grab a towel to wipe it off. As I’m removing what’s left of the dark purple lipstick I notice my eyes are a golden brown. “That’s so weird,” I say aloud, as my eyes have always been dark brown. I pull my eyelid up to examine them further. Maybe it’s the bright lights of the school restroom, I mean they can’t be changing colors after eighteen years of being boring brown, can they? Just as I start to question this further and try to examine the lights above the mirror, the bell rings and I have to run to get to English.
I slide into my seat as the last bell sounds and poke Olivia in the back with my pencil. The class is still settling in and I take the opportunity to ask her, “Do my eyes look different to you?”
“What?”she asks, turning around to look at me like I’ve got three heads.
“Why, did you do your makeup differently? Did your mom finally buy you that MAC eye liner?” Her eyes light up, Olivia loves expensive things. Her obsession with Coach and MAC would close her parents shop if her mother hadn’t come from old Southern money and with those funds, old Southern traditions.
“No, I mean my actual eyes. Do they look funny to you?” I ask her impatiently.
“Nah, I mean I don’t think so. A little lighter maybe?” She shrugs it off as she turns around to focus on Eddie, our student English teacher, when he begins his lesson.
Olivia loves Eddie, she says she’s going to convince him to marry her after graduation, which I highly doubt he’s going to go for. He’s a senior in college, but he’s some sort of brainiac so he’s actually only two years older than us. I decide to ignore my odd eye color change and focus on the velvety sound of his voice as he reads from Canterbury Tales. I have no idea why he decided to go to college for secondary education when he’s supposedly a genius. I mean this is an AP English Literature class, but still, shouldn’t he be finding a cure for AIDS or something? Olivia says he wanted to help America’s youth find a love for reading, which I think is total crap. She has these in depth conversations with him in our school’s book club, which is obviously heavy on the ladies, as he’s the only guy. Olivia appears to be winning his attention though. She’s quite excellent at batting her eyelashes and wearing a push-up bra while sounding witty and intelligent. If something ever comes of it though he’ll have to become the epitome of a Southern gentleman, holding doors open and all. I can’t imagine Olivia with any other type of guy.
Olivia’s mother grew up in the South. I’ve only met Olivia’s grandmother a few times, but I get the distinct impression she was born to be a southern belle. She wears huge jewelry and talks about the times when maids raised your children and doesn’t seem to think anything of it. Luckily that means Liv’s mother is an excellent cook, she makes the best sweet potato pie. Olivia’s dad is Irish, however he grew up in New York and has only a hint of an Irish accent. He is a stately man who worships both Olivia and her mother for what they are; beautiful, poised, intelligent women. It’s his personality that I’ve always admired, both as his employee and a family friend. Olivia’s parent’s mix of traditions will have boys shaking in thier space boots, but I say good luck Eddie, if he’s the one, because Olivia sure is worth it.
After school I head to the McEwyen’s to work. We don’t have practice today because Coach is sick. Olivia rides over with me while her car is in the shop. She’s babbling on and on about track and how she’s totally going to states this year. Liv is damn fast at sprints, hopefully she does make it to states and it would really give her some extra scholarship opportunities. Not that she needs it, but
I’m sure her parents would appreciate it anyway. I know my mom would, but hey I’m not an only child, things are a lot different in Liv’s household. Chad and I can go to Eastern Virginia University for free since Mom’s a professor there. I think Chad will go, but I had the grades for James Madison and I couldn’t turn down that kind of offer.
We get to the antique store and Liv’s mom’s car is there, meaning I’ll probably be working by myself. That’s fine with me anyway. I have a book to read if we’re not busy.
“Hey Mom!” she yells in a cheery voice as we walk in.
“Hi Liv, Shay with you?” she answers from the storage room.
“Yep, hi Mrs. McEwyen!” I call. She walks out of the room carrying two boxes balanced on top of one another. “Can I help you with that?”
“Ahh thank you Shay! Can you catalog these vases and dishes? I just bought them at a sale today.” She gives me both boxes, they’re heavy but I can handle them.
I smile, I love when she goes shopping, we always get great stuff in. “No problem Mrs. McEwyen.”
She turns to her daughter, “Liv you have piano practice tonight.”
“No way! I was supposed to work with Shay, since practice got cancelled. Can’t I hang out here?” Olivia whines. She even stomps her foot, sometimes she’s a bit immature, single child syndrome and all that.
“Olivia McEwyen, you have a piano lesson. To the car, now.” Her mother uses her authoritative tone, it always gets Liv moving.
“Sorry Shay, I’ll see ya later. I have a piano lesson.” She spits out the last word like it’s poison as she walks toward the door glaring at her mom.
Mrs. McEwyen stops at the register before leaving. She rubs her eyes with her hands and sighs.
“Shay, please count the money before closing up, you can leave it in the safe in the storage room.” She takes a look at the money made today before heading out. It sits in the antique cash register. We only use it on the floor, all of the real financial records are done on a laptop in the storage room.
“No problem.” I say with a smile trying to cheer her up. She looks stressed today, her little tiff with Olivia really seemed to drain her. But it could be more than that.
The economy sucks right now. As well off as the McEwyens are, I wonder if the shop is making any money at all. I really hope they don’t let me go, I don’t really have any other way to make the extra income.
I tried babysitting once, a little boy named Henry. All was going well until we were playing hide and go seek and Henry fell asleep in a closet. I searched for him frantically for an hour. It was an awkward moment when his parents arrived home and put their coats in the hallway closet and found their son sleeping in there… oops. They paid me half and didn’t call me again. There’s not much else available in our little town, so here I am.
It’s not that Mom wouldn’t give me money if I needed it, but I like to have my own money. With both Chad and I being teenagers I know we spend my mom’s cash as fast as she can make it. There was a job available at the library at the college. I might need to look into that.
I sit down to read my book as the door chimes, meaning Liv and her mom are definitely gone for the evening. Mrs. McEywen never minds me reading on the job. She always says she wishes Olivia would take after me and my love of reading some more. After I read a few chapters and it starts to get dark, I inventory the new glassware. I’m putting it on some of the shelves against the back wall when I hear the door chime again.
“Be right there!” I say as I place the last few vases strategically on the shelf right above my head.
“No problem,” I hear a male voice respond. He sounds young, around my age. I make sure to shake my hair out before I turn the corner and see him standing there.
It’s the boy from the quad. Oh my freaking God.
“Hi, I’m looking for a picture frame. For my mom’s birthday. Got anything that would work for that?”
Brain, turn on, now please! “Uhhh what?” is all I can manage to get out… super.
He raises his eyebrows at me as he smiles, “A picture frame, for my mom.”
Things begin to click into place, “Oh yeah, ummm there’s some up on the table in front of the counter, let me show you.” I extend my hand as I walk over to the display. I use my Vanna White skills to present the frames. There are a couple of really unique ones here.
He picks up a brass frame with ornate edges and turns it over to see the price. “It’s twenty three dollars,” I say, “I priced that one myself.”
“Mmmhmm,” he responds not even looking at me still admiring the frame. I stare at him and realize it looks like he calculating in his head. I walk behind the counter while looking out the window. The only other car in the parking lot is a beat up yellow pickup truck. Twenty three bucks might be a lot for a birthday gift for Mom.
“You know,” I say apprehensively, “I know my boss will take twenty for that one. It’s been sitting on the shelf a while.”
“Really? Well then I’ll take it,” he says excitedly. He approaches the counter and places the frame on it. “I don’t get paid till the end of the week and this is already going to be a few days late.”
He pauses, “You know, I remember you from the college. I did find my phone that day.” He whips it out of his pocket as if to prove its existence. Not knowing what else to do I just stand there and smile.
He also pulls out his wallet. As he’s getting his credit card out I ask, “Would you like me to gift wrap it for you?”
He puts his card on the counter and says, “Sure that would be great. I suck at wrapping.”
“No problem,” I smile at him while I swipe his card and I wrap the frame. He looks past me at the clock on the wall, it’s almost seven. I try to keep my eyes on his beautiful face while pulling a bag and extra tissue paper from beneath the counter.
His eyes widen, “Is that really the time?”
“I believe so, why?” I start to rush my wrapping he looks like he’s about to run out of here.
He puts his wallet away quickly and says, “I have a study group to get to at the library on campus. Freshman year is killing me.”
“Oh yeah? Is there a specific class that’s really hurting you?”
“Calculus. They didn’t offer it at my high school. It’s rough and I’m going to miss my study session by the time I get back to campus.” He runs his hand anxiously through his shaggy hair.
“I hang out there occasionally, on campus I mean. My mom’s a psychology professor.” I hand him the bag, I did a nice job if I do say so myself.
“Thanks,” he says as he lifts the bag. He smiles at me. “Looks nice.”
“You know, I do pretty well in my Calc class. I could help you out.”
He looks at me earnestly, “You mean it?”
“Yeah, why not? I mean I don’t have anything else to do tonight and I’m here another two hours.”
“That’d be great!” He looks down at his shoes, his dark bangs falling in his face. “I don’t have any money to pay you though.”
I can see his cheeks becoming red.
“It’s no problem. I’d just like to hang out with you.” I’m shocked at my own honesty. “I mean someone. It’d just be nice to not be alone tonight.” Now I’m the one looking at my shoes, hoping he’s ignored my slip up.
“You’re awesome.” He extends his free hand, “I’m Hugh by the way.”
I shake it and immediately feel a spark between us. I can’t believe I’m actually touching him. I introduce myself with just one word, “Shay.”
He smiles back at me. His eyes are definitely green. After a minute passes Hugh removes his hand from mine.
“I’ll be right back,” he says and goes to get what I assume is a book out of his car. I walk to the storage room to grab another stool for him to sit on. I can’t believe he’s staying here with me alone, all evening.
When he enters the store again he has his book bag. He drops it on the counter with a thud.
�
��Whoa, how many books do you have in there?” I ask pointing to the brown leather bag.
“Well I’m taking six classes. I’m on a scholarship specifically for Native American kids, but it’s only for three years. So I have to finish my degree by then.”
“Oh cool, what are you going for?” I want to know as much about him as possible.
“Business Management, but I really like Psychology and Genealogy. What classes did you say your mom taught?”
“A lot of them, pretty much all the introductory classes. Plus a few higher ones for some of the seniors.”
“What’s her name?”
Reveal (Cryptid Tales) Page 3