by Amanda Adair
Trisha stands in front of her locker. Her natural hair color is black, but then she decided to dye it blonde, then pink, blue and red. Apparently she changed her mind during summer. Her natural hair color looks good on her.
“I guess it’s because of our graduation,” I say. “So she can walk into her interview with Cornell as a normal human being. What would they say or think when she enters with a rainbow on her head?”
“She’s into biology, isn’t she?,” Sage says. “Then it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen many biology majors. They all look crazy with their snake tattoos, nose piercings and weird hairstyles.”
I have to think about Finna. She wants to major in biology. For whatever reason this is what she’s into. Maybe it’s because of her dad. He’s a biomedical engineer. Technically. I’m not sure what his job is exactly nowadays. Whenever I see him in town he’s wearing a suit. Maybe he just wants to appear professional and important.
After summer vacation it’s most interesting to see who’s changed during summer and who hasn’t. This year there aren’t many new students. Two. Finna told me all about them. Blaize Pettifer is from Alabama but moved here from Boston. Sounds boring, but he’s the son of Malcolm Pettifer, the host of the daily late-night talk show Good Night East Coast. His father lives in New York. Blaize and his mom live in Seneca now, so he can attend our school. He probably wants to get into Yale or so. He has a younger sister. That’s all we know for now.
“Is that the new girl?,” Sage asks and turns around to Finna. “Tansy?”
Finna knew a lot about Blaize, but she couldn’t find out much about Tansy Walsh. At least we know her last name. There’s nothing else. We don’t know where she’s from. We don’t know who her parents are and what they do for a living. We don’t know if she has any siblings. It rarely happens that someone’s able to be a ghost basically. I like to know all about the new ones before they arrive.
Knowledge is power.
As I walk into the classroom I see her. It’s impossible not to recognize her. She has long and wavy gold blonde hair, green eyes and a face like a doll. She’s actually pretty. I didn’t expect someone named Tansy to look that stunning. But most people expect me to be the average posh girl, which is only partly true. I mean, come on, my name’s Aspen. And my parents chose this name because of their ski trips to Aspen, Colorado, and because they wanted me to stick out. It worked. And in case someone told you I have pastel colored polo shirts with my initials A.V. on it, that piece of high school gossip is true.
“Aspen Varela,” our English teacher Mr. Boyd greets me as we walk into the classroom. “You still owe me a five-page-long essay on Frankenstein.”
“Lucky for you, I’ve written ten pages,” I say, take the flash drive out of my bag and put it onto the table.
We were allowed to pick a book for our essay. Most of the other girls chose a piece of work by Jane Austen or one of the Bronte sisters. I chose Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. We have all read about those typical romances with forced relationships and women being suppressed and sold for marriage despite their longing for true love. We have all read those shitty stories. But Frankenstein, that’s a novel that caught my attention. As a Stephen King fan I refuse write another irrelevant essay on Pride and Prejudice.
“Thank you, Miss Varela,” he says. “Normally you’re supposed to hand it in as a digital and printed version.” He then mumbles something, more to himself than to me. “But whatever, none of you follow these rules.”
It’s old-school to ask for a printed version. We all use our laptops, so why print it out? The teachers might as well protect the environment and stop printing out every tiny piece of word vomit their students produce.
I always get an A for every single one of my essays in literature – and most other subjects thanks to Sage who’s the unofficial study coach of our clique. I may be as smart as her, but I’m lazy and always distracted by other things.
I sit down next to Sage. I sit down at this particular table intentionally. It’s right behind the new one. Tansy. From here I can keep her an eye on her. Sofia chooses to take the seat next to her. That was my plan. I wink at her, and she winks back. Cristina and Finna sit behind us. We’ve tried out sitting at tables next to each other, but that didn’t work out. We couldn’t really talk to each other, so we stick to this seating arrangement. Sometimes the teachers try to split our group, but that’s it. Trying is all they manage to do. We’re not supposed to be separated. We need each other. We’re a team and you’re not supposed to change a winning team.
Finna’s head appears between ours. “Did you know Mrs. Boyd is pregnant again? She was pregnant last year, wasn’t she? Or was it the year before?”
“It was definitely last year,” Sage confirms. “I remember her walking around with her huge belly like it was yesterday. Did she have twins?”
“No,” Finna says, “but maybe this time.”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Boyd teach at our school. Mrs. Body teaches Math and Physics. Mr. Boyd teaches English and French. It’s awkward to know they’re a couple, husband and wife. At first I thought they coincidentally have the same last name. I just didn’t want to imagine them as a couple. It’s sometimes difficult to remember that teachers have a private life outside of school. Outside of the classroom. It seems like they’re some kind of robots that stay at school and spend their time grading essays.
“Yeah, great,” I whisper, “that means they’ve had sex. Two of our teachers.”
“Gross, Aspen,” Sage says. “Don’t say that. Now I have pictures in my head that I can’t make unseen.”
“Sorry,” I say, “but it’s a fact.”
“Not if she cheated on him,” Finna says and giggles.
I laugh. “You mean she’s had an affair, and they haven’t had sex with each other, so he already knows he’s not the father. That’s some messed up story. You can try to hand it in as a short story. Maybe he thinks it’s funny.”
We all start laughing, but stop right away, because some of the others are staring at us.
“Virgin Mary,” I add.
“C’mon, guys,” Cristina says, “the year’s just started and you’re talking so much bullshit already.”
I’m sorry for Sofia. She can’t take part in our conversation since she’s with Tansy. And we don’t know Tansy, so we can’t talk to her about these things. They’re having a conversation about who knows what in the row in front of us. I wonder what Tansy’s telling her. We know everything about everyone, and I want to know more about the new girl who can’t be found online.
Who are you, Tansy Walsh?
chapter 2
Sofia takes forever to join us in the cafeteria. She wanted to go to the restroom first. And I want to know what she and Tansy were talking about in class. I want to know all the dirty details of the new girl’s life.
“We couldn’t talk much,” Sofia says as we sit down at one of the round wooden tables. I didn’t have to tell her that I want to know more about Tansy. She knows why I made her sit next to the new one. We don’t need words to communicate. “I mean not about her,” she adds, “more about me.”
“How?,” I say and squint. How could she sit next to the new one and not figure out anything about her? And why wouldn’t she want to know who that girl is?
“She asked about me,” she explains, “and what it was like to live in Europe and Argentina. She’s nice.”
“That sounds great, but seriously?,” I ask. “You were sitting next to her and you know nothing about her?”
I will have to find out more about that girl by myself. It’s a phenomenon how I’m more curious about someone when they’re overly mysterious. Maybe she just likes to be analog, all old-school without social media, but I guess that isn’t it. It has to be something else that causes her aversion to the internet. Maybe she has famous relatives or she’s the niece of our president. Who knows? She could be anyone. And that’s what makes it interesting. That’s why I need to know more about her.
“I can ask her to sit with us,” she says. “She gave me her number.”
Bingo. “Okay, ask her.”
Sometimes I ask myself why I’m so curious about everything. It could get me into trouble. But I can’t help it. I’m a curious human being and I always will be. It’s in my veins. Luckily, I’m not only interested in gossip about other people but the solar system, Mary Shelley, international politics and U.S. history. I hate it when people think just because gossip is one’s life blood there cannot be any less irrelevant interests. Before I met Finna I wasn’t fond of gossip as much, but I get it why people are into it so much. It’s natural to talk and think about the people around you and about those in the spotlight.
“I texted her,” Sage says, then looks at her plate. “I don’t want pasta today. I honestly don’t want any for the next months.”
I know why. We’ve been eating pasta a lot during summer. “Me neither.”
“I like it,” Cristina says. She always drowns her noodles in pesto. It’s too much for me. Also, she doesn’t take the green pesto, but the red one.
“Do you have to repeat a year?,” Finna asks. “Or are both of you sixteen?”
“We’re both sixteen,” she says. “Thankfully, my numerous relocations didn’t ruin my grades.”
Mom and Katherine got pregnant in the same year. I was sad when Mom told me we wouldn’t be able to visit them anymore because they were leaving New York City. They were leaving the country.
“Are we joining any clubs this year?,” Sage asks.
“Any new ones?,” I ask. “Do you still drink that?” I point at her latte, and she shrugs, so I grab the cup.
“What club?,” Cristina says. “There aren’t any new ones.”
I’m the captain of the lacrosse team. I was able to convince Finna and Sage to join, but Cristina hates team sports. Sage is pretty good at lacrosse, Finna is always afraid of injuries. I would love to join a club with all of them.
“Hey,” someone behind us says.
I turn around and look into her green eyes. I smile. “You must be Tansy.”
“Hey, have a seat,” Sofia says.
I don’t know why but it bothers me that Sofia knows her better than I do. It’s the same feeling I had when Sage became hot. I suddenly wanted to get to know her. I was the one who invited her over to my house and integrated her into our group and the lacrosse team. It’s like I chose her to become our friend. She was my pick. I don’t regret it. She’s worth every second I invested into convincing her to become our friend. She thought we’re horrible people. Now she knows better.
It feels like I’m doing the same with Tansy.
But before she can be one of us I need to know more about her. Maybe I’m all wrong and she doesn’t belong here. Maybe she isn’t as interesting as she seems. I’ve realized that many times. Whenever someone is new and exciting I’m obsessed with getting to know them, but as soon as I know all of their secrets and weaknesses I lose interest in them. Sometimes people turn out to be quite different from who they seemed to be.
“We were talking about the clubs we want to join this year,” Sage says, letting her gaze wander from Tansy to me.
“I don’t even know what clubs there are,” she says and sits down across the table, next to Finna.
“We’re in the lacrosse team,” I say.
“And we have a book club,” Finna says and starts laughing. “One that was put on ice.”
“Tansy, where are you from?,” I change the subject.
“Cherokee,” she says.
That’s basically the town next door. Why is she here now? I know a few people from Cherokee. Cherokee’s even smaller than Seneca.
“Is there a high school in Cherokee?,” Finna asks, visibly confused. “Why did you transfer?”
“There isn’t,” she says smiling, “I was homeschooled.”
I’ve never met a single person who’s homeschooled. Never ever. I knew this thing exists from TV shows, but I thought it’s for people who travel a lot, like Sofia, or whose parents are hippies and reject the conventional education system. And for Australian kids living in the middle of nowhere, with no civilization nearby but Wi-Fi.
“Homeschooled,” I repeat. It’s not a question. “Why?”
“I couldn’t go to school … because of my mom,” she says and looks down.
“Okay,” Sofia says. “Okay. Do you have a club in mind that you want to join?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she says. “I wanna do sports but I also want to join a more creative club.”
“Arts?,” Cristina asks interested and wakes up from her food coma.
“I don’t know,” Tansy says. “I mean there’s a K-pop club, an ancient history club, but I’m more into scary stuff.”
Scary? She doesn’t look scary. She’s blonde, pretty and skinny. She’s the opposite of scary. She looks like an Instagram model.
“Stephen King,” she says, “Halloween, Sabrina Spellman.”
I open my mouth, but Sage is faster with her reply. “Aspen loves King.”
“And Sabrina,” Finna adds and looks at me.
“Yeah, guilty,” I agree. Not as much as King’s masterpieces, but I’m definitely fascinated. The version with Melissa Joan Hart was my favorite series during my vintage phase a few years ago and the Netflix version is my favorite today. It feels like they want to pair me off. From what I’ve seen so far I like Tansy Walsh.
“What was your name?,” she says, looking at me. I wonder why she hasn’t heard of me by now.
“Aspen,” I say.
“Like the ski resort town?,” she says. Most people ask me this. Aspen as a town may be quite famous but originally the name Aspen is that of a tree. If I had a brother my parents would’ve named him Aiden or Austin. And a sister would be called Avery or Autumn. My parents seem to love the letter A.
I nod. “My parents love skiing.”
“How about a ski club then?,” she jokes.
“In Connecticut?,” I say. “I’m in.”
I like her. She’s funny.
“But seriously,” Cristina says, “I’d be interested in a mystical club.”
“Only horror,” Sage says, “no fantasy. Are you still in?”
Cristina nods. “Whatever.”
“What is it like to be homeschooled?,” I change the subject. “What did you do all day?”
“Study,” she says, “write essays, read books. The same as you guys did in this building. But it’s different. Very different. I didn’t have any clubs or people around me.”
“Who was your teacher?,” I ask.
“My parents,” she says. “And a teacher online who taught me the subjects my parents didn’t want to do.”
“Interesting,” I comment. “For how long have you been homeschooled?”
“Is this an interrogation?,” she asks me. She doesn’t sound annoyed, just surprised.
“No, sorry,” I say. “I’m just curious.”
“We’ve just never had someone in class who was homeschooled,” Sage says. Thank you, Sage, for helping me out here, I think.
“Did you travel during summer?,” Finna asks.
“Not really,” she answers. “I was at a summer camp in Maine.”
“I love summer camps,” I look at Sage and smile. “We attended a summer school this year.”
“At Columbia,” Sage adds.
It was an amazing experience. It’s a program for high school students. We attended classes on global politics and human rights. We lived on campus and took part in excursions. We visited the MoMa, saw the Mean Girls musical on Broadway, and went to Times Square and Rockefeller Center. We went to theatre performances and concerts. Most importantly, we learned how to write our college application essays. I’ve been to New York City many times, some of them together with Sage. Of course, I wanted to attend the Brown pre-college program, but Sage convinced me to come with her to Manhattan.
I’m afraid that Sage, Cris and Finna won’t attend the s
ame college as me. I don’t want to admit it but there is a strong probability. Sage is in love with New York City. I think her older sister studies in New Haven and is in New York often but she’s barely around Seneca. Cris is in love with The New School. She wants to become an artist. And Finna wants to go back to Florida. I’m sure it’s for the wrong reasons. She doesn’t want to study there, she wants her childhood back. The happy times with her parents before they got a divorce.
“That’s cool,” Tansy says. “We just did the typical camp activities.”
“As in Parent Trap?,” I ask. Stupid question. She isn’t in elementary school. And she definitely didn’t find her twin there.
“Basically yeah,” she says.
“We should do that next year,” Finna says to me.
“Next year we’ll be busy with our college applications,” I remind her.
“True,” she says. “That means I’ll never get a chance to have a true summer camp experience.”
“It isn’t as great as it sounds,” Tansy says. “The same goes for being homeschooled.”
“We should go now,” I say. “Lacrosse training starts in ten minutes.”
I think Tansy could become our friend, but I don’t want to invite her to join the lacrosse team yet. I need to make sure she really is a match.
“Alright, see ya,” Tansy says.
Before we get up and bring our trays back to the counter Cristina says, “but let’s found the club.”
“The one about scary stuff?,” Finna asks. “I don’t know if I like scary stuff?”
“We can talk about scary celebrities,” I tease her. “A zombie Prince Harry or a vampire Zendaya.”
“We need a name,” Sage says, looking at her phone. I wonder who she’s texting. She smiles. “There’s no new club without a name. We need one.”
“Sabrina King Club,” Finna suggests.
“Lame,” I say.
“How about a Halloween party committee,” Tansy says. None of us is fond of that the name at first, but then she explains what she has in mind. “We could organize a Halloween party at school and get funding for it. And when we’re not organizing parties we can talk about Kind and witches and all those scary topics.”