The Turning

“Good morning Rose,” I said cheerfully as I popped the car door open. “Shall we go for a ride?”

It was silly talking to a car, but she was the only friend that I could depend on. She never stalled, gave up, or died on our five-day journey here to Sterling, South Dakota. It was a small backwoods town nestled deep in the Black Hills. We made a safe journey together. I made sure to never push her beyond her limits, always giving her plenty of time to rest and cool her engine down.

Most people had a beloved pet, some kind of cat or dog or even a bird. I didn’t have any of those things. All I had was Rose and she meant everything in the world to me. She was the last gift that my parents had given me. She was a metallic red Mustang.

I sat the shoulder bag in the passenger’s seat and buckled up. It was a chilly late spring day and the skies were a dusty gray with rolling clouds. It looked like snow.

I had wanted to move right after everything happened, but I was glad that I waited out the winter months somewhere a lot warmer than up north. I couldn’t imagine myself trying to shovel Rose out of two feet of snow all the way to school. It wouldn’t have been a pretty picture.

School didn’t happen to be very far. It was just down the long, winding road into the heart of town. Sterling had two schools: the local high school and a combined elementary/junior high school. It was hard to miss the big letters labeled STERLING HGH on a metal board suspended above the street from telephone poles. I turned and made my way to the visitor’s parking lot by following the arrows marked on the pavement to direct the flow of traffic. It led me right to a building with a sign that said, “Front Office”.

Around me, people were coming and going. Most of them were in cars, others walking. Almost every one turned to glance at the shiny red car with its out-of-state license plate and its driver—me.

All of the other cars were drabby colors. A maroon too dark to be anything but black. A forest green so deep that it would’ve blended into the trees in my backyard. There was a pretty flash of silver here and a dull yellow car there that could’ve passed off for a gold needing a paint job. Another couple of other colors scattered across the now-filling parking lot. I thought I was early to school, but obviously not early enough. I parked and hurried into the very square red-bricked building, hoping to escape the scrutinizing stares of passing students.

At the front desk sat an older woman with very short cropped hair and a vest with pictures of wild animals on it. The clothing item had leather fringe. She looked nice but was oddly dressed. Who wore leather fringe now-a-days?

Her silver hair matched her glasses and her red lipstick was a shade too bright for her pale face. “May I help you?” she asked.

“I’m Marisa James.” I quickly looked up from the embroidered picture of a wolf and a bear, both on the edge of a wooded lake. I hope she hadn’t realized that I was staring at how tacky her vest was. “I’m new and I need to register for school. I just moved here from the east coast and I brought my high school transcript along. I also brought a list of my teachers’ names and phone numbers in case you want to contact them.”

“Why would I want to do that?” She gave me the kind of smile that reminded me of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother’s clothes.

I paused. “I brought in case you think I’m lying.”

This comment sparked her interest and she moved towards me with purpose. “Now why would I think you’re lying to me? And about what?”

I glanced at the name tag sitting on her desk. It was carved out of wood in big bubble letters. “Well, Mrs. Bru…”