I showed up at the open house feeling extra lame in my dad’s minivan, its interior splattered with paint. Everyone else would be with their parents. And, yes, my dad would have taken off early if I’d asked, but I didn’t feel right doing so since he’d only have to work that much later tomorrow night.
Fortunately, nobody noticed me drive up. The rain hadn’t started yet. Stragglers from baseball practice drifted into the parking lot. They milled around, talking quietly in the dim light like members of a private club.
I spotted Trevor, his wavy light brown hair smashed down under a baseball cap. He was with J.T. Malone, also a senior, the tallest guy on the team, and Geneva’s younger brother, Jared. Between the two tall guys, dark-haired J.T. and blond Jared, Trevor looked like a little boy. I got a glimpse of what Chili saw in him.
Drama tryouts were letting out as well. Kids in wigs and weird costumes drifted past the clusters of baseball players.
As I got out of the van and stepped into the parking lot, I heard the familiar “Hi, honey.”
There stood Stella and Chili. In spite of the obvious age difference, they were dressed like sisters. Stella wore patterned rain boots and a parka with a leopard design. Chili’s tapered pants ended in fuzzy Uggs.
School rules forbade everything from spaghetti straps to colored shoelaces. Chili wore both, no doubt on purpose. The shoelaces tied back her highlighted hair. The spaghetti straps peeked from beneath a wraparound gray wool jacket.
“You guys didn’t have to come,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”
“We wanted to, honey.” Stella’s smile was so warm and supportive that I felt like hugging her.
“Besides, I thought maybe T would be around,” Chili said under her breath.
I waited until Stella headed out of the parking lot toward the classroom and whispered, “He was here.”
“T? Where?”
“Right over there with the other baseball guys. I saw him just a minute or two ago.”
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Let’s go find him.”
“I have to go inside. I promised Snider.”
“It will just take a minute. Come on, Logan. Please.”
How could I refuse? “Okay,” I said. “But let’s hurry.”
We started down the corridor, past a bunch of other kids and Jillian Berry, this outrageous art teacher with carrot-colored curls.
“Hey, Logan.” Ms. Berry gave me a little wave in passing. “Tell Mac I said hi.”
I winced at her use of my dad’s nickname but waved back anyway.
“How does she know your dad?” Chili asked.
“It’s a small town,” I said. “All of the artists know one another.”
“Some artist.” She raised an eyebrow, and we giggled. Everyone knew that Berry specialized in painting men without faces—or clothes.
Dina Coulter turned the corner and headed toward us with lips curved into a perpetual valentine smile. Short, with dark hair, she could be cheerleader Kat’s loser sister. Except that her only extracurricular activity seemed to be walking the halls and saying hello to everyone whose name she knew. In a school as small as ours, that was pretty much everybody.
“Hi, Logan,” she said. “Hi, Chili.”
We said our hellos and were almost to the journalism classroom when Chili stopped suddenly. “Oh, no. Look who’s coming.”
As nearsighted as I was, I could make out the shape of Frankenstein barreling down the hall from the direction of the drama classroom.
“McRae,” he boomed before I could begin to think about where to hide. “Those brownies. They were awesome.” He gave me a thumbs-up.
I cringed, wondering who else had seen the gesture and how relentlessly I’d be teased tomorrow.
“Thanks,” I squeaked.
He was right in front of us now. The expression on his face was his version of friendly, I guessed. In spite of the cool weather, he wore a short-sleeved black polo shirt pulled tight across his thick chest.
“Regardless of your motive, cream-cheese brownies are my favorite. How’d you know?”
I could feel Chili’s piercing stare, and I knew that she’d be demanding an explanation. “I didn’t,” I said, “but I’m glad you liked them.”
“So, where are you heading? The journalism open house?”
Frankenstein was actually trying to have a normal conversation with me.
“Yes,” I said. “We were just—”
“Isn’t that starting right now?” He looked at his watch. “Come on. We’d better hurry.”
We?
I glanced at Chili for direction, but all I got was a look of pure confusion.
“Meet you there in a few,” she muttered.
Without another word, I hurried to keep up with him.
The overpowering scent of fruit punch filled the room. Was it my imagination, or did everyone turn to look at us when we entered?
Stella hurried over. “Where’s Jessica?”
She never called Chili by her nickname.
“She’s coming.” I looked from her to Frankenstein, then back again. “Have you met Mr. Franklin, Stella?”
“It’s a pleasure.” She put out a manicured hand with its French pink-and-white acrylics. Together we moved to the front of the room.
A couple of dads in suits walked around shaking hands with the teachers. The principal and vice principal were also there. The rest were pretty much moms. The tables had been pushed together, and examples of the newspaper in various stages were spread across them. Guests moved around the tables sipping Styrofoam cups of punch and chatting. Most of the kids hung out on the sidelines. Not far from me, Charles Bellamy stood next to a bald older man in a suit. I gave him a little wave, and he nodded.
Sol Jackson, a huge, kind-of-cute junior who’d moved here last year, rushed in late, wearing a tie and spouting “Yes Ma’ams” to anyone he encountered. The guy was both clueless and smart, and he’d been the newspaper editor in his freshman year in Texas. Air sign all the way, maybe Gemini. If he kept up the charming talk, he’d be the newspaper editor after Geneva graduated. An improvement for sure.
Geneva’s brother, Jared, stood in back with J.T. and Geneva’s gorgeous, tall, platinum-haired mother, a model in her past life. I smiled at Jared, who’d always have a special place in my heart since he was the first boy I’d ever kissed. He grinned back. Geneva’s dad stood with her. Even though her parents were divorced and not speaking, both showed up for every school event. I felt a twinge of envy. Yuck. I still wished my mom could come just once.
The principal welcomed the guests. A city councilman gave a brief speech about what a fine school this was and what an outstanding journalism department we had. I wondered what Chili was doing and hoped she was having more fun than I was. Finally, Ms. Snider walked up to the podium. Her off-white pantsuit glowed like a pearl in the harsh light. I wondered how many guys were fantasizing about her putting out.
No doubt most of the people in this room were wondering if there was any truth to that spray-painted message. Although she had to be aware of that, she was poised as always. A gold trophy sat on her desk. From where I stood, I could only see a blur of the inscription.
“Producing a newspaper, whether a monthly, weekly, or daily, for a city or a school like this, is a major job,” she said. “To place first in the talented field of all high schools in Terra Bella County is every school newspaper advisor’s dream. That dream came true last year, and it’s coming true again. For the second year in a row, we’ve placed first. Geneva Hamilton is our talented editor. Gen, please come on up here and accept this award.”
Geneva strolled to the front, a smirk plastered across her lovely face. She wore khaki pants, a pale suede jacket, and matching low-pulled hat that covered most of her short blond hair.
When you’re beautiful beyond belief, almost six feet tall, have fabulous boobs, and the best butt in California, you own the world. Every eye was on Geneva. The buzz of converstion stopped.
She took the trophy in both hands. “Thanks for this,” she said. Then, with a look around the room, she added. “The newspaper is my passion, and I am willing to put in as much time as it takes to make it what it is and all it can be. This award is my motivation to continue producing the best high school paper in the county, the state, and maybe the country.”
Not a mention of those of us on the staff. Not even any credit for Snider.
Her words were followed by more applause, most of it generated by Kat. Little brother Jared stepped forward and snapped a photo or two.
“What about us?” I realized Sol Jackson had moved beside me.
“Good question,” I told him.
Finally, I could leave. I was so ready.
As I neared the door, Chili burst in.
“Look who I found.” Her large eyes gleamed. “They’re going to give us a ride home.”
Trevor and Nathan stood behind her. Trevor was still in his practice uniform. Nathan was in a black sweater and jeans. His head was freshly shaved.
He smiled at me as if I were the best thing he’d seen all day or night.
“Does that work for you?” he asked.
“Sounds like fun,” I managed to reply.
I was going to be with Nathan. Chili could drive me back to my hideous van later. To think that I hadn’t wanted to come tonight.
Just then, Stella appeared. “I’m Mrs. Chiliderian,” she said, and swept her Armenian mama gaze over the boys. “That’s great you’re giving my girls a ride home. See you at the house.” “Thanks, Mom.” Chili turned from her and bestowed one of her most dazzling smiles on a clearly zoned Trevor. Smitten, is the way my gram would have described the look on his face. “Come on,” Chili told him. “Before she changes her mind.”
They rushed out of the room. Stella followed a few steps behind.
That left Nathan and me.
“Ready?” He said it as if we were on our way to a great adventure.
Thank you, astrology book. Thank you.
It was so much easier dealing with Nathan as a Leo than Nathan as a boy. Whatever I had done was working.
“Ready.” I didn’t dare turn back to see if Geneva was watching.
We were almost to the car when I heard some kind of commotion back on campus. Raised voices, shouts.
“What’s that?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know.” Chili grinned at Trevor, who gazed back at her as if hypnotized. “Want to go back?”
Just then, the night settled into silence again.
“Whatever it was is over now,” Trevor said. “Let’s get out of here.”
We hurried to the car as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Nathan opened the passenger door in front.
“Hurry,” he said, “before it really starts pouring.”
I took his hand and let him help me inside. His arm slid around my shoulders and pulled me to him. I gazed up into those startling eyes. He bent down and brushed his lips across mine.
“Stop!”
Just then, a figure darted across the parking lot. It was Kat, Trevor’s girlfriend until recently, and she was rushing toward us, short black hair plastered to her head.
“You don’t waste any time, do you, you two-timer?”
“Kat, please.” Trevor got out of the car, and was in such a hurry that he knocked off his baseball cap.
“Please what?” Kat ground her heel into it. “Don’t embarrass you in front of your friends? Is that all you care about?”
Trevor leaned into the open door. “Sorry,” he said to Chili. “I should deal with this.”
Then he closed the door and started across the parking lot, Kat following. He didn’t bother to pick up his cap.
Nathan and I both turned to look at Chili.
She tossed her head and flashed us a smile. “Let’s not let this little spat ruin our evening, shall we, folks?”
But I knew her. And I knew that inside—behind the brave words and the confident expression—she was hurting. I was hurting a little too. Kat’s nasty outburst had stolen the fun out of our evening.
NOTES TO SELF
I need to check out the Chili/Gemini love connection. Chili seems really hurt, yet she’s never even had coffee with this guy. Their relationship is all in her head. Not unlike my relationship with Nathan, I guess. So I should check out myself as well. The Moon sign quiz I took this morning is a starting place. Maybe I shouldn’t be so scared to feel.
5
MUTABLE SIGNS (GEMINI, VIRGO, SAGITTARIUS, PISCES) WANT TO TALK ABOUT EVERYTHING. CARDINAL SIGNS (ARIES, LIBRA, CANCER, CAPRICORN) WANT TO RUN EVERYTHING. FIXED SIGNS (TAURUS, LEO, SCORPIO, AQUARIUS), HOWEVER, WANT TO OWN EVERYTHING. FREQUENTLY THOUGHT OF AS STUBBORN, THEY OFTEN TAKE LONGER TO START, BUT ONCE THEY DO, THEY ARE DIFFICULT TO STOP. IF YOU WANT TO BE ON A FIXED SIGN’S GOOD SIDE, DON’T ARGUE. BE PATIENT.
—Fearless Astrology
The moment I realized that Frankenstein was a fixed sign, I underlined everything I could find about him, just as if I were preparing for one of his hideous assignments. I didn’t need an astrology book to tell me that patience wasn’t one of my greatest strengths. After his display of friendliness last night, though, I decided to step up my campaign—ever so secretly, of course. I knew his birth day; once I learned his time and place of birth, I could figure out the rest of his chart.
That morning Chili told us that the Gears had slashed the tires on Frankenstein’s car the night before. That’s what the commotion had been about. One of only three girls enrolled in auto shop, Chili had spotted his beloved restored Corvette there when she’d arrived for class. Although he brought the car to her dad’s dealership for serious work, like most of the teachers, he used the school’s free auto shop lab for minor repairs.
I decided to show up fifteen minutes early for English and realized too late that Dina Coulter had spotted me.
“Hi, Logan. Hi, Jared. Hi, J.T. Hi, Sol.” I couldn’t imagine what she and Kat talked about when they weren’t at school and Dina didn’t have any names to recite.
I turned into the classroom. Frankenstein was alone, and of course, he appeared to be in a foul mood. Thanks to Chili, I knew why. He loved that car and had poured a lot of money into having it restored at Chili’s dad’s dealership. He even put a weatherproof cover over it in the parking lot. I wasn’t sure why someone willing to spend time and money restoring an old Corvette would then opt to have it painted gaudy yellow. More research and I discovered that it was a Taurus color.
“What?” he asked as I approached his desk.
He looked as if he hadn’t slept, and he spoke in what my gram would call a “whiskey tenor.”
“The brownies.” I handed him a folded piece of paper fresh from my printer. “You said you liked them, so I thought I’d give you the recipe.”
He managed a bleary-eyed smile. “Oh, you did, did you? How’d you know I like to bake?”
“People who like food usually do.” Uh-oh. The only way I could know he liked food was by what I’d read about his sign. “Besides,” I gushed, “this recipe is so easy that anyone can make it. The secret is the vinegar, and the chocolate chips in the cream cheese, of course.”
He gave me a doubtful look and dug into the stack of papers on his desk. “I appreciate your interest, but it’s not going to buy you a grade.”
“I would never . . .“ I began.
“Since you’re so punctual, I might as well give you this. I was here later than I planned to be last night, due to some mechanical difficulties, so I had time to finish grading them.”
I looked at the numerical grade, and my heart sank. Eighty-four, barely a B. I didn’t need to do the math. I was way below the average needed for the fellowship, and he wasn’t going to write a glowing rec for someone who got B minuses.
“You have a problem with that?” he asked, bushy eyebrow raised.
Fixed sign, I reminded myself. Be patient.
“I know you’re right,” I
said. “It’s just that I tried so hard.”
“Not hard enough, McRae. What is it about the personal in personal essay that you don’t understand?”
“I’m not sure.” I knew I’d cry if I said another word.
“The essay is supposed to be your experience.” He squinted at me, but his expression wasn’t as mean as it usually was. “I wanted to know a moment that changed your life. I’m already acquainted with the opinions of Heraclitus and Eric Hoffer.” He yanked off his glasses and stared at me from across the desk. “The only purpose of including a quote is so that you can give your interpretation of it, not to just fill space and up the word count. Get it?”
Most of the quotes had come from Paige, so I wasn’t sure what to say. Class would start in a few minutes. I’d come here trying to win him over. Talk about counterproductive.
I nodded. “I guess I never thought my experiences were that important.”
“Well, if you think so now, that’s a major improvement,” he said.
Right. But it wouldn’t get me the fellowship. I’d be spending the summer here working with Chili in the office of the dealership.
“Thanks.” I turned and started back to my desk.
“Saw your mom on the Golf Network,” he said. “She’s really on a roll, isn’t she?”
“I miss her.”
Oh my god, where did that come from? I never talked about her to anyone, not even my dad.
“It’s got to be tough.”
Sympathy from Frankenstein? I searched his face for any sign of his usual sarcasm.
“She’s following her dream.” That’s what I always said when people questioned me about her absences.
His eyes seemed to bore through me. “And what’s your dream, McRae?”
“The fellowship,” I blurted. “I want to spend the summer studying writing more than I can tell you, and . . .” I looked down at the paper in my hand.
Aries Rising Page 3