by Eliza Nolan
That he evidently wanted to be alone with me sent my heart kicking. I couldn't look him in the eye, and instead searched the floor while I begged the crazy grin on my face to stop making me feel like a freak.
The bell on the door jingled once more as he held it open for me, then followed me outside. Out of habit, I headed for the bus stop, but he grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. The lights flashed on a black sedan parked next to us.
He opened the passenger door for me and, as I climbed in, the smell of new leather upholstery greeted me. The dash was loaded with touch screen and an intimidating amount of other bells and whistles. I sat on my hands.
He slid in the driver's side. "No, it's not mine. My mother works downtown, so she buses and lets me take her car."
"Nice."
"It gets the job done." The car hummed to life. "So where is Mini…where we going again?" Graham asked, his forehead creased. He was even gorgeous when he frowned.
"Minnehaha Falls." I smiled. "You drive, I'll navigate."
He saluted. "Yes, Ma'am," he said and we pulled away.
Minnehaha Falls was a large city park along Minnehaha Creek. When we got there, the park's playgrounds and green spaces overflowed with people out enjoying one of the last days of summer. We found a picnic table in the sun and sat down together, just soaking up the warmth.
The heat spread over me, but nothing could calm my insides. I was here with Graham! What if he held my hand? Did he really want to be with me, or was this some kind of sick joke he and Libby were playing?
Crap. Why did stuff like this have to be so hard?
"I'm gonna miss the sun come winter," Graham said.
"I know what you mean. I hate how dark it gets here. I get my energy from the sun."
"Me too." He leaned towards me a little, in solidarity. Our arms touched. The only thing between us was the knit fabric of his sweater. The shadows of leaves danced from his arm to mine.
"I'm guessing you're really going to miss Charleston when we go down to eight hours of sunlight a day," I said.
"Nothing could make me want to go back there," he answered abruptly, moving away as he sat up straighter.
"Don't you ever want to visit your dad? What about your old friends?" I asked, straightening, too.
"That's not it. I just can't go back." His voice wavered, and for the first time he seemed upset. And then I remembered Clara said he had issues with his friends in Charleston.
"What happened with your friends down there?"
He shot a look at me, his eyes intense. "What did Clara tell you?"
"Nothing. I … she hinted that you may not be close with your friends anymore."
He took a deep breath. "Let's just forget about it." The far off look in his eyes told me he'd gone to a place filled with pain, a place off limits to me.
I decided not to push. "Why don't we go see the falls?"
"Sure." Graham's face softened at the change of subject.
We made our way down to the viewing platform. The sound of rushing water grew louder as we descended. There must've been two hundred steps, and by the time we hit the bottom I was winded. I leaned against the short wall at the edge of the empty platform. Several stories up, water raced off the cliff into the sandstone basin below. Graham shed his sweater and stood behind me, looking over my head at the falls. He put his hand on the wall next to me and his arm brushed against mine, this time skin on skin. The simple touch sent thrills through me. I bit my lip to keep from smiling and looked down, startled to find a tattoo on his bicep. The black outline of a bird curved just below his sleeve, its long, ornate tail sweeping down towards his elbow, beautiful wings outstretched in flight. Its body was arched so where its tail ended, its head began.
"What kind of bird is that?"
Graham seemed to freeze for a second, as if he'd forgotten he actually had a tattoo. He looked down at it and sat on the wall, his face now level with mine. "Sorry. I…" He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
I frowned, "What is it?"
"I don't want to keep things from you, Julia. It's just that I can't tell you everything. Not all at once. Not yet. I'm still working through some things and need to figure out what happened myself before I share it with anyone."
Oh. Somehow I'd brought up his past again without even meaning to. I shook my head. "Fine, you don't have to tell me what kind of bird it is until you're ready." I smirked, hoping he understood I was messing with him.
He smiled. "I can tell you that much. It's a phoenix; some mythical bird that lives for a hundred years, then dies and is reborn from its funeral pyre. So in essence, it lives forever."
"That's beautiful."
"Yeah. So are the falls. Thanks for bringing me here."
He turned to face the falls again and smiled. I'd have been happy if that moment, there with Graham, lasted forever. I breathed in his proximity and looked out at the view once more. But just like that, my dream ended. Voices floated down to us. I looked over my shoulder to watch a family descend. Paradise over.
"We should head back," Graham said, as if he too knew the magic of the moment was gone.
I nodded and we headed back to the car.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Is the hang-out thing over?" Crap, that came out filled with more disappointment than I'd have liked.
"Afraid so. I've got a ton of homework. Besides, I have to get my mother's car back to her before she thinks I ran away with it."
"I guess I should go home." We climbed in, and the car hummed to life once more.
I directed him to my house, inwardly sighing that I was going to spend yet another evening eating dinner with Dad. Oh no! Dad! I'd forgotten to call him and ask if it was okay to hang out after school. He was going to be so pissed. I dug my phone out of my bag. It was only five, but he'd already called twice. Yup, he was going to kill me.
When Graham pulled up to my house, I undid my seatbelt, grabbed my bag and turned to him. One look into his sleepy eyes and I instantly forgot about everything else in the world. He took my hand and leaned close. "I had a great time, Julia." He wove his fingers between mine. The way he looked into my eyes made my heart beat so fast, I was sure it would crack a rib.
"Me too," I managed, biting my lip.
He looked at my mouth. Please be contemplating kissing me. The earth stopped spinning on its axis. I held my breath. We were the only two people who mattered in the whole world.
"Is that your dad?" His eyebrows arched as he looked past me towards the house.
I exhaled and turned. Dad stood on the front steps, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Dang it.
"I have to go," I said. I hated to do it, but I let go of his warm hand and hurried out of the car, giving Graham a quick wave. I rushed towards home, towards Dad, and braced myself for the coming argument.
Thankfully, he waited until we were inside, following me into the living room.
"Julia, you can't just run around with whoever you want, whenever you want." His voice was sharp, barely below shouting.
"I'm seventeen! Besides, it's not like I was out all night. I just hung out with a friend after school." I ground my teeth.
"It doesn't matter, Julia, we've been over this. As long as you live in my house - "
"I know, 'your house, your rules.' But do you have to know my every move, Dad? Really?"
"Yes. I. Do." He tilted his head as if I was the one being unreasonable.
"Well then, why don't you quit your job and just follow me around all day." My boiling blood pushed the words out in a yell.
Dad's face reddened, he raked his fingers through his hair. "Julia, you don't get it. I'm on your side. I'm trying to keep you safe. As your father it's my job to keep you safe."
"Safe from what? A normal life? Mission accomplished!" I stormed off towards my room.
"Tomorrow you come straight home after school, Julia!" he shouted after me.
I slammed my bedroom door and dropped down on my bed. I pulled my mother's ne
cklace out from under my shirt, clutching it in my hand, and lay on the bed looking at her photo, pleading with her to come back and save me from my overbearing father.
* * *
I'm in the small church ruins again with the woman who is not my mother.
"Aydan, is it?" I ask.
She nods.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm your guide," she says.
"You're here to guide me? How? Are you going to teach me how to get around my overly paranoid father?"
She smiles. "Sorry, I can't help you with parents. It's been so long since I had any, and I wouldn't know what to do with them."
Okay, fine. I can't think of anything else I could possibly need a guide for, so I ask, "Why do you think I need a guide?"
"Your life is about to change in ways you can't imagine."
* * *
The bus's engine grumbled its way down the street towards school. I stared out the dingy window and my thoughts drifted to the dream I'd had the night before. I chuckled. This Aydan woman was way behind schedule.
"Your life is about to change…" she'd said.
My life was about to change? No, it had already gone completely upside-down in the last week or so. I'd lost all my old friends, gained a few new ones, and might even have a new boyfriend. If anyone had asked me two weeks ago how I thought my life might change, I never would've imagined that.
My life wasn't about to change. It already had.
As the bus ground to a halt in front of school, my thoughts turned towards Graham and I smiled. I floated off the bus and up the steps towards school remembering, and maybe embellishing a little, the way he'd looked at me, the moment alone in his car when I was sure he would've kissed me.
I was seriously eager to pick up where we'd left off.
However, when I finally did see Graham at lunch, he only smiled politely, said hello, and sat across from me next to Clara. That was not how it had happened in my daydreams. His eyes were supposed to be filled with hunger and desire, not civility.
The distance of the Formica table between us was wrong, too. Shouldn't he have sat next to me? As I suffered through lunch, I tried not to let it bug me. After all, he wasn't ignoring me exactly. But something was definitely off.
In ceramics, Graham glided through the door just before the bell, and nodded to me, then proceeded to sit several wheels away.
"Hey, Caroline, what're you making?" Graham said to a girl next to him. The girl wore so much makeup she looked like a cartoon princess. Caroline? How did he even know her name?
"A vase," she answered, a little too brightly for my taste.
"That's pretty sweet." He smiled, making the tiny seed of irritation inside me grow exponentially. "It'll be a while before I can make anything like that."
Was this really happening? Was I witnessing this hideous act of Graham flirting with another girl right in front of me? He was morphing from Mr. Dreamy into Mr. Doucherocket right before my eyes.
I couldn't watch, so I cleaned up my wheel and asked Mr. Smith if any of the kilns needed unloading. Thankfully, one was ready.
The kiln room was just off the classroom, so I could still hear everyone, but at least I couldn't see Caroline batting her stupid fake eyelashes at Graham anymore. I grabbed a cart and wheeled it up to the first kiln, pulling open the brick and steel door. The kiln was stacked with shelves of vases, bowls and sculptures. All my classmates' creations.
Caroline's high-pitched laughter floated in from the other room. Charming Graham probably said something charming and witty with his stupid charming smile. He was most likely looking at her with his annoyingly warm and dreamy eyes.
I grabbed a bowl from the top shelf of the kiln and slammed it down on the cart.
Guys were so stupid.
I pulled a teapot out and lifted the lid to make sure it hadn't fused to the pot. Caroline's laugh drifted in again. I slammed the teapot onto the cart.
How in the world could anyone ever understand guys?
I pulled out a statue of a man with tentacles where his legs should be. Men were definitely from another planet.
"Not that one!" Mr Smith's voice broke through my wall of anger, startling me. The sculpture slipped from my hand but I quickly grabbed it again before it fell. He launched himself into the kiln room and pulled the figure out of my hands, then proceeded to juggle it between his hands. "Shoot," he whispered. "Hot. Hot. Hot!"
Crash.
The statue dropped to the floor, and shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Shoot," Mr. Smith said again. He ran to the sink, threw the water on, and shoved his hands underneath. His panicked breathing began to slow. "That kiln just finished firing and hasn't had time to cool yet. Jesus, Julia. How did you even pick that up?"
Mr. Smith's hands were bright red, and his face matched. Somehow, the sculpture had scorched the crap out of his hands.
I looked down, opening my fingers to expose my palms. My hands felt perfectly normal. "It wasn't hot," I mumbled. Not even warm.
Several of my classmates had gathered around the door to the kiln room. One of them bent down and grabbed a tentacle that had broken off. She squealed and pulled back before she even had it fully in her grasp. She held her hand, and looked at me like I'd sprouted tentacles myself.
I crouched down and reached for a piece near my foot. The skin on the tip of my finger screamed out in shock and pain, and I jumped back. "Okay, maybe it is hot."
I placed my hand near the bowl and teapot I'd unloaded before the sculpture. Inches away, I could feel the intense heat coming off them.
"I told you to unload the second kiln," Mr. Smith said. His hands dripped water as he pointed one kiln over.
"Oh," I said in shock. I'd somehow managed to unload several pieces of seriously hot pottery without feeling a thing.
"Are you okay?" Graham made his way through the crowded doorway. He stopped before getting too close and Caroline popped up behind him, with a huge smile and her puppy dog eyes all over him. A reminder of his new man-slut persona.
"I'm fine." I brushed passed him and went to find a broom.
* * *
I paced my living room as I waited for Dad's imminent arrival.
Mr. Smith had sent me to the nurse, but she couldn't find any burns on my hands. Worse, she concluded that the pottery couldn't have been that hot after all, and sent me on my way.
The kilns, when firing, reached temperatures over two thousand degrees. It couldn't have been that hot when I opened it since the kiln was no longer on. Still. I examined my hands for the millionth time, looking for a clue to what had happened.
What was going on with me? First a bunch of creeped-out dreams, then metal crushing with my bare hands, and now handling red-hot clay without even flinching? I had to question Dad. Maybe there was something he knew that would explain everything without me having to use the words magic or superhero.
Of course, all my questions had one thing in common - Mom. Was she a sorcerer? Did she ever break anything metal in front of him? Was she ever prone to having strange dreams about places she'd never been?
I sighed. I might as well be asking him if Santa was real.
I heard Dad's car pull up the driveway, and I took a seat on the couch to wait for him.
Dad startled when he saw me. Usually if I was in the living room when he got home, I was reading or watching TV. Now I just looked at him.
"What's up?" he asked as he pulled off his coat.
"Do you remember when you said Mom could burn water?" I raised my voice so he could hear me through the hall.
His movements slowed. "Yeah."
"Did she? I mean, ever actually burn water?"
Dad's brow creased and he considered my question as he hung his coat on a hanger. "No. Why?"
I looked at my hands. Was I going crazy? Was Dad going to send me to a shrink? "Something strange happened at school today."
He closed the closet and came into the living room, sitting down next
to me, his eyes wide with concern.
I told him about how I began unloading the kiln in ceramics. And how Mr. Smith freaked out and burned himself trying to save me.
"But you're okay?" Dad looked at my hands.
I held them up for him to see. "Not a mark."
"So, what's the problem?" He looked puzzled. God, could this man be any more clueless?
If there was anything magical about Mom, it was clear from the look on Dad's face he knew nothing about it.
I held out my hands to him, palms up. "So, she never did anything with like, heat or..." I trailed off, as the craziness of what I was asking sunk in.
Dad, is Santa real?
Stupid. Of course not.
Dad smiled. "If you're wondering why you could hold on to piping hot pottery and not get burned, I don't think your mom had anything to do with it." He tilted his head. "It probably had more to do with your psyche."
I gave him a sideways look.
"You've heard of people who walk over hot coals without getting burned, right?"
I shook my head.
"Some people put themselves into trances and do that. Trust me, it's a thing." He shrugged. "My guess is that you tapped whatever mental state coal walkers do and unloaded several pieces of super hot pottery in the same kind of trance."
"Huh." It didn't explain the lock-breaking incident, but perhaps it was the same thing. Perhaps my mental state was totally trance-inducing. If what Dad said was true - and I would be searching the internet later to make sure - then there wasn't anything wonky going on with me. I was still just a high school senior, trying to make it through.
Relief washed over me, and I exhaled a long breath. Chances of being a freak, less than fifty percent.
* * *
It's twilight. The heat is stifling. I've been walking alone through the woods for hours, almost to the point of exhaustion, when I find myself in the clearing with the old church ruins again.
I want to find Aydan; I need to ask her about things. Maybe she knows something about my mother that Dad doesn't. But when I step inside, the ruins are empty.
Hushed whimpering comes from behind the church. I follow the wall around back to investigate.
A solitary oak tree stands beside the crumbling brick. At the base of the tree, lying on the ground is a girl. She's curled in a ball as much as is possible with her hands tied behind her back. She's crying.