by S. Walden
“So did your parents drag you here, too?” he asked.
“Um, yeah,” Clara said. She gave a quick glance at Beatrice whose nod was imperceptible.
“I’m Beatrice Greenwich, by the way,” she said extending her hand to Evan. “The polite thing to do would have been to ask.”
Evan laughed as he took her small warm hand in his.
“Beatrice!” Clara exclaimed mortified.
“No, she’s right,” Evan said. “And I’m sorry, Beatrice. Can we start over?” he asked as he squeezed her hand gently.
“I suppose,” she replied, trying for indifference.
“Alright then,” Evan said, releasing her hand and walking a few feet away from the sisters. He turned on his heel and started towards them again, stopping within inches of Beatrice. “And who might you be?” he asked extending his hand.
“I might be Bea, but you can call me Beatrice because you haven’t earned the right yet to call me Bea,” Beatrice said. She gave Evan’s hand two hard shakes and then released it.
“I completely understand,” Evan replied. “Beatrice it is.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Clara said. She shot Beatrice an exasperated look tinged with anger. Beatrice shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“For what?” Evan said still smiling.
“My sister’s rudeness,” Clara said. “God, she’s so rude.”
“Am not, Clara,” Beatrice huffed. “Being matter-of-fact is not the same thing as being rude.”
“It’s a fine line,” Clara said through gritted teeth.
“How old are you?” Evan asked. He directed the question to Beatrice.
“I’m ten. How old are you?”
“Eighteen, and evidently not as smart as you,” Evan replied.
“Well, we can compare notes as we get to know each other.” Beatrice looked over at the stage and saw someone walking to the podium. “I think we need to find some seats now,” she suggested, and started walking down the center aisle.
“Your sister is a handful,” Evan said turning to Clara.
“You’ve no idea,” Clara responded following Beatrice down the aisle.
They settled themselves in two seats randomly left open in the middle of a center row, and Clara watched as Evan made his way over to his family. There were four of them: a father, a mother, a younger brother, and him. Picture perfect, Clara thought, and her heart bled the tiniest bit of jealousy, trickling down into her stomach and making it sour.
She turned her focus to the podium but not before she saw Evan turn around and look at her. She caught his eye; she had to acknowledge him. She smiled and he smiled back. She wanted to keep looking at him, but she was afraid he’d make her do something foolish. She turned to the podium certain that he was still gazing at her. She wondered if she should flip her hair over her shoulder like Beatrice does. She wasn’t good with those things like Beatrice probably because Beatrice did them automatically without knowing how cute she was when she did them. They came naturally to her. But not Clara. She did few things in her life automatically. Every decision was deliberate and controlled. She knew if she flipped her hair it would look awkward like she had thought too long and hard about it resulting in something mechanical and wrong.
She kept her hands folded in her lap. She fought the urge to look Evan’s way. It was impossible and unfair to sit there knowing he sat a few rows in front of her probably still looking at her. It wasn’t until the principal excused everyone to the teachers’ classrooms that she looked over. He was gone, and her heart sagged in her chest.
Beatrice pulled her sister along to Mr. Brenson’s room. They rounded a corner, and Clara bumped into Evan.
“I’m sorry!” Clara said.
“No worries,” Evan replied. “Glad to see you again.” He smiled at Clara’s sister. “Beatrice,” he said inclining his head.
“Evan,” Beatrice replied civilly, inclining her own head.
“Hey, I didn’t see your parents in there,” Evan said. “Where are they?”
Clara was bad at making up lies on the spot. She thought she should find that a virtuous trait, but it mostly made her angry. Especially in situations like the present one. Thankfully Beatrice was full of deception, and she was a quick thinker, too.
“Well, our mother is in the bathroom and our father isn’t here,” Beatrice replied. “Now if you will excuse us, we need to go see my teacher.” She didn’t wait for Evan to reply but grabbed Clara’s hand, pushed past Evan, and started down the hallway towards a classroom at the far end. Evan followed forgetting that he was headed for the water fountain.
He watched the girls enter the room and hung around outside of the opposite classroom. His parents and brother were in there, but he preferred to watch Clara instead of meeting his younger brother’s teacher despite the fact that she was young and attractive.
He watched Clara introduce herself to Beatrice’s teacher, shake his hand and ask him a few questions. The teacher gave her a stack of papers, pointed to some important information, and then turned his attention to Beatrice. He high-fived her, and the girls walked to the back of the classroom out of Evan’s eyesight. He wanted to wait for them. It was an odd desire; he didn’t know them, but he was reluctant to leave without saying goodbye.
He knew he liked Clara. He noticed her at the end of last year. There was something strange and interesting about her, and he wanted to meet her. But he was still dating Amy—a relationship that had run its course and was all but over. Still, they were technically together and he wouldn’t be that guy. He waited for everything to crumble, for her to say she hated him and never wanted to see him again before making his move. But by then it was halfway into the summer. He’d have to wait to see Clara the following school year. He resolved to waste no time and made it a point to say hello to her on the first day. She was clearly confused, and he took it as a good sign. If she acted indifferent, he knew he’d have no chance.
Clara. What was it about that girl? She was beautiful and didn’t know it. Actually, she was strikingly beautiful, but she hid it underneath dowdy clothes. He thought he should feel shallow for being so sexually drawn to her. He couldn’t help it. He had nothing else to go on. He didn’t know anything about her personality. Not yet. He just knew the way her plump lips moved as she silently read to herself in class. The way her hazel eyes held secrets he wanted to know. The way her long, thick eyelashes obscured her eyes when she looked down at her notebook on her desk. The way she bent her head and let her hair fall to shield her face.
God, her hair. He thought he’d make an ass of himself one day, walk up to her and run his fingers through it. It had magnetic powers, he was sure. Her hair the positive and his fingertips the negative. He sat in class, his fingers aching with the need to go to her and touch her, touch her hair. It was long, brown and wavy. It reached her shoulder blades. It looked like the kind of hair that other girls would envy, the hair that requires no effort to look perfect. He imagined Clara let it air dry to those soft, silky waves that framed her face, cascading down her back like a horse’s mane. He resolved to put his hands in her hair. One day when she gave him permission.
“Are you stalking us?” he heard Beatrice ask.
“Bea,” Clara said. She looked nervous.
“Am I stalking you?” Evan asked. He smiled and shook his head. He jabbed a thumb behind him. “See that classroom? That’s my little brother’s classroom. I’m just out here waiting for him.”
“Why didn’t you go inside?” Beatrice asked.
“Because I really don’t care what my brother’s classroom looks like,” Evan replied.
“That’s kind of rude,” Beatrice huffed.
“Well, he didn’t come in to see my classroom,” Evan argued. “He didn’t even come to my open house.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Beatrice said. “You have a lot of classrooms. You’re in high school.”
“Very true. I didn’t think about that,” Evan answered
.
“Bea, I think it’s time we go now,” Clara said. She pulled the car keys out of her purse.
“I never did see your mom,” Evan said. He couldn’t understand why he cared so much that these girls were on their own. They were on their own, he concluded. He hadn’t seen an adult with them all evening and couldn’t help but wonder why Beatrice lied to him.
“She actually drove separately,” Clara said. She couldn’t believe she was doing it, lying silkily. “She hasn’t been feeling well and was in the bathroom all evening. She called me on my cell to tell me that she was going home early. I guess I played parent tonight.”
“Oh,” Evan replied. He looked at Beatrice. She was staring at Clara, mouth hanging open just slightly, a look of confusion mixed with admiration plastered on her face.
“Come on, Bea,” Clara said taking her sister’s hand.
“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Evan said.
Clara nodded and walked off. He watched the girls stroll hand-in-hand down the long corridor, Beatrice’s face raised to her sister’s, her profile showing a mouth still hanging open in disbelief.
Chapter 2
“Bea, I need you in here for a minute,” Clara called. She tried to quell the shaking in her voice, but it was there along with the brimming tears. She knew the conversation would be a difficult one, but she didn’t realize she would be this upset before it had even started.
Bea walked into the kitchen and took a seat. She propped her chin on her hands and waited for Clara to continue.
Clara took a deep breath. “Okay, so you know how I told you I had a headache yesterday? And that’s why I was crying?”
“Yes, and I know you were lying to me. You were crying about Mom,” Beatrice answered.
“Well, sort of,” Clara explained. “I was crying about what Mom left us with.” She held out the stacks of unpaid bills. “You really are too young to have to know any of this, but I have to tell you because we have to work as a team.”
Beatrice took the bills from her sister’s hand. Clara was hesitant, but Beatrice’s countenance brooked no opposition.
“So we owe a lot of money to a lot of people,” Beatrice said, sitting with her back straight flipping through the pages like a little accountant.
“Yes.”
“And you want me to get a job to help you pay these bills?” Beatrice asked still looking at the papers.
Clara burst out laughing. “You’re ten, Bea.”
“So? I can put up a lemonade stand or something,” Beatrice argued looking up at Clara.
“A lemonade stand? Here? Have you seen our neighborhood lately?”
Beatrice shrugged. “Just tell me how much we owe.”
Clara bit her lower lip. Her eyes no longer swam with tears. Beatrice’s confident attitude made her feel slightly better. She took back the bills and stacked them neatly in front of her.
“More than my next paycheck will pay,” she said.
“How much, Clara?”
“One thousand nine hundred eighty-two dollars and fifty-four cents.”
“Holy shit,” Beatrice whispered, eyes round and wide with disbelief.
“Beatrice Greenwich!” Clara chided. “Don’t say words like that!”
Beatrice looked at her sister evenly. “Clara, this is a holy shit situation. And when it’s a holy shit situation, you say, ‘Holy shit’!” She slapped her hands on the kitchen table for emphasis.
The corner of Clara’s mouth turned up. “Holy shit,” she said quietly and tentatively, feeling like she was cursing in front of Beatrice for the first time in her life when, in fact, she wasn’t.
“That’s right!” Beatrice encouraged. “Holy shit, what are we going to do?!”
“Holy shit, I have no idea!” Clara yelled.
Beatrice jumped up from the table and ran into the living room. Clara followed.
“Holy shit! Will we have to sell the furniture?!” she screamed jabbing her finger at their grandmother’s musty couch and recliner.
“Holy shit! We might!”
“Good, because I HATE this furniture!” Beatrice yelled at the top of her lungs.
“ME TOO!” Clara screamed back.
Beatrice ran and sprang up onto the couch. She started jumping up and down on the cushions. Clara, swept up in her sister’s mania, followed suit.
“Holy shit! We have no parents!” Beatrice yelled. The laughter broke through as she watched her older sister jump as high as she could on the adjacent cushion.
“Holy shit! We’ve got no money!” Clara replied. She started laughing hysterically.
“Holy shit! We’re poor!” Beatrice screamed. “POOR!” and she laughed as her face flooded with tears.
“So poor!” Clara agreed. “We won’t have electricity in two days!”
Beatrice collapsed on the couch laughing. Clara stopped jumping and fell down beside her giggling into a throw pillow.
They hiccupped and wiped their eyes. Beatrice watched Clara carefully. Her face rested half hidden in the dank pillow.
“I know you’re scared,” Beatrice said. “It’s a big job being a parent, especially when you’re just sixteen.”
Clara nodded.
“I’m not scared, though,” Beatrice said. “Do you hear me, Clara?”
Clara turned her face to her younger sister. Her hazel eyes were streaming, once tears of laughter but now tears of panic.
“I’m not scared,” Beatrice said again. She was a little warrior sitting next to her sister with fists balled ready for the fight. “So you worry about working and getting money, and I’ll worry about the rest. Okay?”
“Okay,” Clara said. She crawled over to her sister and laid her head on Beatrice’s chest. She heard Beatrice’s heart beating rapidly, but she knew it wasn’t from fear. It was from determination, adrenaline and power. She wished she could have some of Beatrice’s power, that ability to look at bleakness and see hope.
Beatrice put her hands on her sister’s head. “Where did your dark hair come from, Clare-Bear?” she asked after a time. “Mom’s is blond. Dad’s is blond.”
“I don’t know,” Clara responded.
“Well, I like it,” Beatrice decided. “You would look weird with blond hair. It wouldn’t look right. You need to have dark hair.”
“I guess you’re right,” Clara said, feeling the drowsiness that comes before a solid sleep. She thought that if she took a nap on Beatrice’s chest, some of her sister’s strength would transfer to her—strength she would need for the weeks and months ahead.
“Bea, you can’t let anyone know,” Clara said after a moment.
“Know what?”
“That Mom is gone. That we’re here on our own,” Clara explained. “We could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Why would we get into trouble?” Beatrice asked.
“Because we’re minors living alone,” Clara replied. “The state, they would come and take us away.” Clara lifted her face to look at her sister. “Do you understand?”
“It’s not our fault Mom left,” Beatrice said indignantly.
“You’re right. It’s not,” Clara said settling her head back on Beatrice’s chest. “But it doesn’t change anything. If someone finds out we’re here alone, they’ll take us away.”
“What?” Beatrice asked. Clara felt Beatrice’s heartbeat ramp up.
“It’s okay, Bea,” Clara said. “We just need to be careful.”
The girls were quiet for a time. Beatrice placed her hands back over Clara’s head, her heartbeat slowing as she thought.
“How do you know all this stuff, Clare-Bear?” she asked.
“I researched it at school,” Clara responded.
“Did anyone see you?” Beatrice asked.
“No.”
“Do you think Mom will come back?” Beatrice asked.
Clara thought of the best response. Not the honest one, but the best one.
“Yes, I do.”
“Good,” Beatr
ice said. “Me too.”
Clara fought to keep her eyes open, but it was no use. Beatrice’s slow and steady heartbeat drummed like a metronome in her ear, a rhythmic refrain that made her ache for sleep.
“May I go to sleep for a little bit, Bea?”
“Yes, Clara.”
***
Clara turned around when she heard the Media Center doors open. The last of the students were leaving, and she felt relieved to have the place to herself. She was nervous to go exploring on the Internet with eyes all around her. She didn’t think for a moment that anyone would pay a bit of attention to her, but it still made her uneasy. Everything did. She preferred the solitude as she learned about her options.
Free or reduced lunch. She found the application online and read through the requirements. She and Beatrice definitely qualified, but she was unsure what to do about the signature portion of the application. She would have to find her mother’s handwriting on something, practice her name, and forge it on the document. She also needed the last four digits of her mother’s Social Security number. Where would she obtain that information? She prayed silently that there was a lock box or something at home that housed her mother’s important information: birth certificate, Social Security card, marriage license. She knew if she could only get the form filled out correctly she and Beatrice could eat for free. Clara couldn’t see how she would be able to afford two lunches every day with her meager salary. The hard part would be telling Beatrice. She could already hear her sister’s voice—arguing, resistant and angry.
Clara clicked PRINT on the screen and walked over to the printers. She hovered over Printer B afraid that someone would materialize out of nowhere and grab the application once the printer spit it out. As the papers rolled out onto the tray, Clara couldn’t help but think for a moment what other students were doing on a Friday afternoon. She wanted to feel sorry for herself that she was in the library looking up information for poor people while everyone else was hanging out with friends at the mall or making plans to go to the movies. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw a movie at the theatre. Movies cost money she didn’t have.