Southern Exposure

by Lari Smythe

  * * *

  I gathered my resolve as I approached History. I could do this. It was no big deal. I'd just get to my seat before Jason and not look up until he was seated. Sure, that would work. I took a breath and walked into the room. Unfortunately, Jason was already there. I approached him cautiously, partially hiding my face behind my book bag. He looked up with an adorable puppy-dog smile as I scooted past. As soon as I was in my seat, he turned around.

  "I saw you at the fence. It was cool you came to watch."

  "Derrick didn't seem very pleased."

  "He's a jerk."

  "There's that."

  "Yeah." His eyes twinkled and then he turned back toward the front of the room.

  I didn't pay much attention in class. I was distracted, thinking about Jason's conflicting signals. He said he was glad to see me at practice, but then this morning he was totally humiliated—and let's not forget Lisa. They seemed to be an item, at least until she was through with him. I snapped out of the day dream when Mrs. Warner set a packet on the corner of my desk. She returned to the front of the class after everyone had their packet. Our assignment was to write a paper on something locally during the Civil War. She didn't want a factual timeline, but a story written as if we were there. We had two weeks to complete the assignment. She gave us time to look over the material and ask questions, and then let us go a few minutes early. I gathered my things and when I looked up, Jason was lingering at the door as the last few students hurried out. I approached cautiously, stopping at a safe distance.

  "Is something wrong?" I mumbled. His face was strained as if something were wrong.

  "No—well, yes, actually."

  I huffed at yet another contradictory response.

  "What I mean—no, I want to—ahhhh!" He groaned in frustration, then took a deep breath to calm himself. He stepped closer.

  I instinctively backed away.

  "See, that's what I'm talking about."

  I cocked my head to the side in total confusion.

  He looked down, dejected, but as if considering. He seemed as mortified as I did. Finally he looked up with determination, almost anger, etched in his brow. "Listen Izzy, you have me completely stumped. One minute you seem to want to be friends, then the next, well I don't know, you look like you want to bite my head off."

  "You're confused?" I mumbled.

  He put his hand up to stop me. "Let me finish. That morning in the hallway, you remember?"

  "Yes," I said, unsuccessfully trying to keep my voice even. I wasn't about to forget that.

  He repeated a hand gesture back and forth between us. "There was something, something I can't explain, but ever since, you won't let me near you. Look at you, even now you backed away. I don't get it."

  "Me?" I said, defensively. "Don't you have it backwards? You're the one always running off with Lisa?"

  "Lisa, the cheerleader with the painted face?"

  I laughed at the irony—he had no clue, but beamed, his eyes sparkling with delight. "What?" I asked.

  "I've never heard you laugh, it's—it's like music." His tone turned more serious. "About Lisa though, I didn't mean to sound mean. Kids talk to me when I'm with her, that's all."

  "Derrick and his crew?" I pressed.

  "Ah, they're harmless enough. He's just afraid of losing the starting quarterback position, that's all." He faded back into the hallway and faked throwing a football.

  "In your dreams, Hollywood," Derrick mocked as he strutted past with Lisa on his arm.

  "You underestimate them," I warned.

  His arms fell to his sides and his face went white. He stepped closer—too close really—and whispered. "That night on the road, that was no accident was it? They ran you off the road."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  His jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, but his apparent anger suddenly vanished as he slipped a folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket. He made the same gesture between us he had earlier and then stuck out the folded note. I recognized it from the cafeteria as I hesitantly slipped it out of his fingers.

  "Think about it, okay?" He eased back into the hallway and blended into the mayhem.

  I stood there stunned, in total shock trying to figure out what just happened. He likes me, but thinks I don't like him—did he really say that? Am I actually pushing him away? Of course I'm pushing him away. It's dangerous for him to be anywhere near me. Think about it? Think about what? I suddenly realized the hallway was nearly empty. I raced out of the room and made it to Software Apps just before Coach Singleton closed the door. I waited until I was hidden behind my monitor before opening the note. Meet me on the bleachers, under the press box, after the JV game.

  Obviously I was distracted the entire class. Coach Singleton and the football players left early, leaving the rest of us with a substitute from the front office—really just a babysitter. I guess it was appropriate. The monitors I could see had Minesweeper, Spider Solitaire, and Pinball up. I used the time to search the Internet for pictures of mountains hoping something would look familiar—only six million—refining the search to just America didn't help much. Finally the bell rang and school was over. I hung back like usual until the halls were not so crowded. I paused outside the Art room considering the invitation. I had some time to kill if I was really going to meet Jason—I couldn't believe I was considering it. As I peered through the empty display case into the classroom, I spotted Cathy. Her mother was talking to Mrs. Snyder. Cathy seemed off, different, even for her. It was her expression really, or more precisely, the lack of one. She appeared to be in some sort of daze. Beside the obvious powers vampires had, like the hypnotic one I used on the boy outside the cafeteria, there were stories of vampires with special powers. I wondered if there wasn't something, some power I could use to erase the incident from Cathy's mind. I waved inconspicuously when she glanced my way, but her expression remained detached. When she turned away, I continued down the hallway.

  When I got outside, it seemed like half the school was at the game. From the parking lot, I could see some of the bleachers, but they were on the opponent's side. I didn't really feel like the game, so I went to my car to consider. It occurred to me that I was going to meet Jason alone. As I thought about it, I began to question if that was such a good idea. At least in school, there were witnesses to consider—to make me hesitate—alone, not so much. There was no doubt I wanted to meet him, but underneath it seemed so pointless. Nothing good could really come of it. Why tempt fate?

  While I was waiting, more or less just staring blindly through the windshield, the elementary school across the parking lot let out. The mayhem outside the school didn't really look that much different than high school, the participants just younger. In all the confusion, I noticed a thin, wiry girl with thick frizzy hair. There were two girls—cute girls—tormenting her. It was obvious she was crying, but even so, one of the girls pushed her to the ground. The two girls laughed and ran off toward the buses.

  "You'll be sorry. I'm going tell," my lips silently mouthed the words. "You'll see." But they won't do anything, it won't matter at all. The principal, the teachers even your mother can't stop them. You have to stick up for yourself no matter how scared you are. One of the teachers came over, brushed the little girl off, scolded her and then rushed her off to one of the waiting buses. The doors closed, starting the parade of departing buses. Two teachers lingered outside the school talking.

  "I can't believe the Robinson girl," the one who'd gotten the little girl up complained. "This is what, the second time this week she's gotten in a skirmish with the other kids? I swear, I don't know what we're going to do with her."

  "I don't think it's her fault. The other girls pick on her."

  "Oh good grief, I'm so tired of, they're picking on me, pa…lease."

  They continued their conversation as they walked back into the school.

  "See," I mumbled, "they don't understand."

  That was me, I reali
zed. I'm the little girl they're always picking on. That's why my mother was trying to smooth out my hair that morning. There was a faint aura of familiar images that floated transparently around the edges of my imagination as the scene replayed in my head. I tried desperately to hold onto them; but the more I tried, the flimsier they became until they were gone. I glanced in the rearview mirror as a cheer erupted from the stadium. We must have scored. Staring back from the mirror was the girl with the tangle of ringlets forced back into a ponytail. I got out my sketchbook and spent the rest of the game working on sketches of what I had, the mountains, some kind of accident, my mother brushing my hair, and the incident with the little girl. As I worked, I got a clearer visualization of the age of the school and the thick, lush vegetation that surrounded the building. It must be a very wet climate. Still, I didn't have much. I was so deep in thought, I didn't notice the parking lot empty out after the game. It was time, already. Should I really meet him? What if it's just some kind of cruel trick? I scanned the lot, but Derrick's car and the other ricers were gone. Still... who was I kidding? I wanted to meet him more than I wanted anything, even my past—that bothered me the most.

  I hesitated, staring at the seemingly motionless second hand of the old mechanical clock on the dash before I got out and slowly walked toward the stadium. I ran into Coach Singleton at the gate.

  "Great game wasn't it?" Coach Singleton boomed.

  "I left my blanket."

  "I checked the bleachers, but I didn't see anything. Where were you sitting?"

  "Below the press box."

  He scratched his head. "No, didn't see it. Didn't know you liked football."

  "I'm just learning. This was my first game."

  "It's a great game, a real character builder. Afraid I didn't see your blanket—guess I could take another look." He glanced back at the empty bleachers. The stadium was deserted except for two older women, power walking on the track.

  "That's okay. I'm perfectly capable."

  "Okay then, if you don't see it, check with the front office in the morning."

  "Thanks." I squeezed past him and started toward the bleachers.

  "Izzy," he called after me.

  "Yes."

  "Just a quick look, I don't want you out here all alone."

  "Sure, Coach."

  "See you tomorrow," he said as he turned toward the school.

  He was gone by the time I reached the top of the bleachers in front of the press box. It was just me and the two power walkers. The early fall sun cast long shadows across the field as it began to edge over the horizon. I was beginning to think Jason was going to be a no show when I heard one of the power walkers' faint gasp. They'd finished their workout and were standing at the gate, bemused by a punk looking young man. Despite holding the gate for them, they hurried off toward the parking lot without looking back, one of them going on about today's young people.

  The boy's shadow stretched across the track towards me. Even in the distorted proportions, I could tell this was someone I didn't know. From the spiked hair, baggy pants, and skateboard he was carrying, there was nothing familiar. Naturally I wasn't afraid of him, but it looked as though Jason was a no show so I got up.

  "Hey, I just got here," the boy yelled.

  "Jason?"

  "In the flesh."

  I dropped back down on the bleachers as he jogged across the landing toward the stairs. His beautiful sandy hair was gelled into tiny spikes that pointed in every direction. He was wearing black jeans and a black hoody—he was even wearing a choker with another chain draped across his hip.

  He stopped on the stairs next to me and posed. "You like?"

  I wasn't sure what to make of him. "Is this some kind of joke? Are you making fun of me?"

  "No! No! Don't take it like that," he defended, sinking down on the bleacher in front of me.

  His air of determination vanished—completely derailed by my accusation.

  "You're not allowed to skateboard," I warned, pointing to the No Skateboarding sign.

  "Yeah, it was just a prop." He didn't look up from the bleachers. It was quiet for a moment. I didn't know what to say, and he didn't seem to either. Suddenly he stood. "Guess this was a stupid idea." He started to retreat down the stairs.

  I was paralyzed, unable to speak as the curtain fell on my fantasy. "I'm flattered you drew my picture," I shouted desperately after him.

  Jason stopped at the bottom of the stairs, but didn't turn around.

  "I was so embarrassed in front of Mrs. Snyder I couldn't tell you."

  He turned around and his gaze slowly climbed the bleachers until it locked on me, but he didn't move, didn't speak. I could have sat there for eternity, just staring into his eyes.

  "Why?" He mumbled. If not for my heightened senses, I wouldn't have heard him.

  "It was beautiful, too beautiful to really be me though."

  "Are you kidding?" He walked back up the stairs and sat next to me. It felt like the awkwardness eased a little. We sat there quietly, occasionally glancing up at one another. Every once in a while our eyes would meet, but one of us always looked away.

  "What happened to your arm?" I asked, realizing for the first time he was in a sling.

  "It's not bad, the sling's just precautionary—I'll be ready to go tomorrow night, not that I'll play anyway."

  "What happened?"

  He looked down. "It was stupid. I wasn't paying attention. Even so, I should have seen it coming."

  "Seen what coming?"

  "Derrick threw an errant pass and Joe didn't see me."

  "Ah!" I groaned—talk about feeling guilty. "I told you they were dangerous."

  "That you did," he chuckled.

  The conversation lagged again and I began to think maybe he was right. Maybe this was a bad idea—it seemed so forced. Suddenly he looked up at me with the same resolve he'd shown after class.

  "Izzy, we can't keep doing this, not unless you want me to flunk out." He stared at me, obviously waiting for some kind of reply.

  "What do you want me to say?"

  He shook is head. "I don't want you to say anything."

  "Jason—" I started to get up. I couldn't bare the obvious pain I was causing him.

  "Wait!" he said, reaching toward me.

  I slid back.

  He held up his hands as though he were surrendering. "Please Izzy." His voice was desperate. He slowly extended one hand toward me, "Don't be afraid." and cautiously reached for my hand.

  If he touched me—I couldn't let that happen, not skin-to-skin, but I was frozen, unable to pull my hand away.

  We were staring into one another's eyes when his fingers gently touched mine. The flood of emotion was overwhelming. For a brief instant he looked surprised, but his startled glint melted into the same apparent wonder I felt. His warm fingers slowly slid across my palm until our thumbs locked together and his scorching palm was pressed against mine. My butterflies went crazy, seemingly determined to lift my heart out of my chest, but at that same moment, the fire in my throat ignited. I knew I couldn't contain it, but I didn't want to let go—let Jason go—I couldn't.

  "What's the matter?"

  I had no breath. I couldn't speak, and I dare not inhale. I stood.

  "Don't, Izzy. You can't go—I won't let you."

  He resisted as I gently pulled my hand away and took one step back. His warmth quickly, painfully faded. I looked down at my hand and tried to push his scent to the back of my mind. I wasn't having much success.

  "Why Izzy?" Jason pleaded. "Why won't you trust me?"

  I turned my face into the slight breeze and cautiously inhaled. "You don't know anything about me," I managed.

  "I know how I feel—we feel. I don't need anymore than that."

  "I'm dangerous."

  "Dangerous?" His eyes didn't believe me, but his creased brow seemed to indicate that at least on some level he understood. "Let this happen, Izzy, please." He waited for me to respond, but I couldn't. The m
onster was too close. He stood and stepped back, seeming to sense I needed space. "We can take it at your pace. Whatever you want, but please, give it—give us a chance."

  The space between us helped and my monster hesitated. "I want to, but—"

  "No. No buts." He side stepped onto the stairs and backed down a few steps. "We can make this work, I swear."

  I stepped forward, but he continued to back down the stairs. "Your pace, I can wait, whatever it takes." He turned and bounded down the remaining steps, hitting the landing with a thud before turning back. His brilliant smile was contagious, and I couldn't help but smile back. "We should apologize to Mrs. Snyder."

  That was random.

  "About the drawings. Tomorrow. After school."

  "Okay."

  "See you tomorrow." He ran down the landing to the end of the bleachers. "Sorry about the costume." The ramp thundered under his feet and he disappeared out the gate. "Yahoooo!"

  I stood there motionless and watched Jason until he went around the corner of the building toward the parking lot. A few minutes later, his Jeep came squealing around the corner, he waved—I waved back and he headed toward the exit.

  When he was finally out of sight, I sank down on the bleachers and leaned back against the press box. There was no doubt how I felt about him and although I couldn't understand why, he seemed to feel the same way about me. Our encounter replayed continuously, 'I won't let you go.' His words fanned my emotions. I sat there oblivious to the surroundings—the time and let myself be totally immersed in the fantasy until, if there was a heaven, I was there. But no matter how hard I tried to deny it, the danger I posed to Jason slowly crept back in. I wanted him with every ounce of who I was, and that was the problem; who—or more precisely, what I was.

  It was dark when I regained my composure, nearly eleven. I thought about staying until school started, but decided Elizabeth was probably worried enough already so I got up and headed for my car. As I closed the gate, a car—the headlights close together—crested the hill. It swung through the parking lot, finally pulling to a stop in front of me.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, as Jason leaned across the seat toward the passenger's side.

  "I could ask you the same thing. Seriously though, you shouldn't be out here all alone."

  "I can take care of myself."

  "Still, I can't believe I ran off and left you. I'm such an idiot. So, how about a lift?" He patted the passenger's seat.

  His Jeep was open, the canvas sides removed so I hesitantly eased into the passenger's seat.

  "Where's home?"

  Right, I could just see that, 'Hi everyone, this is my human friend, Jason.' I don't think so. "Nice try. My car's over there."

  "Suit yourself." Jason eased off the clutch and crept across the parking lot to my car in first gear. "I still can't believe that's yours."

  "What's wrong with it?"

  "Who said anything was wrong? Let's see, classic beauty, sleek lines and a monster under the hood. I'd say it fits you to a tee."

  "Monster under the hood?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  He stroked the stubble on his chin. "Haven't figured that one out yet, but I will."

  I hopped out of his Jeep and then opened my car door. "Not very flattering."

  "Yes it is. So, about tomorrow, mind if we talk to Mrs. Snyder in the morning? I forgot it's a game day and all."

  "Sure." I started the engine, which made his Jeep sound like a go-kart. "See you tomorrow then." I smiled and followed him to the exit. He waved and turned right—I turned left. By the time I got home, I'd convinced myself, we—Jason and I—were possible.