It wasn't until the weekend that I actually went back onto the internet—with my phone, since I learned how crappy the internet is in Cheshire.
Charlie had accepted my Friend Request that Saturday morning. She didn't leave a message, and I didn't send her one, mostly because I didn't want to seem too eager.
I rushed through my homework after I told Mom I didn't want to go to the store with her. I spent the time she was gone pouring over the diary.
At first it's only girly stuff between this girl—who's name is Beatrice—and her friend Charlotte Jones. It didn't take a genius to figure out she knew Charlie's, Ethan's, and Cynthia's grand- or great-grandparents (again, I didn't know how long ago this was).
Beatrice wrote about her friendship with Charlotte and Ian. The entries were short, like she quickly scribbled small happenings whenever she found the time. Here's an example from the twentieth page:
Mr. Oxford did not like Ian's outburst earlier in English class. Ian had only defended Mary because Mr. Oxford was being tough on her. No one likes Mr. Oxford, but what can we do? Ian received after-school detention for today and tomorrow. It seems he won't be joining Charlotte and I for ice cream after school tomorrow.
I barely understood Beatrice's handwriting. Yes, it was boring reading about her daily happenings, her annoyance at her overbearing mother, and the girls who picked on her and Charlotte (always Caroline), but I didn't want to miss anything in case I came across something about the Walkers and why they're so rejected by Cheshire society.
I then thought whether whatever had caused their ostracism had even occurred during Beatrice's time. What if it was after Beatrice's time? Who're her descendants now? What if she didn't even have kids or grandkids? What if she was or wasn't alive? Could I return it to her if she was alive? Was she still in Cheshire?
The idea of her not living in Cheshire anymore occurred to me when I realized how alike our thoughts were about this small town. If Beatrice were my age, I liked to think we would've been friends.
I made a mental note to look up old yearbooks in the school library, deciding not to care if Ethan was there or not. I needed something to do during lunch. I also needed to figure out the internet in Cheshire. Did it have its own library, or did I have to use the computers at school? Was the internet weak on purpose?
*
"I had an interesting conversation with a certain someone at the market today," Mom said while she prepared lunch.
"If you're expecting me to guess, that's not much to go on." I continued to chop some potatoes. Mom was doing what she called 'an invention,' where she mixed different things into a stew and waited to see what came out. It was like an adventure for your taste buds.
"It was one of your teachers."
"Oh, then Mr. Charles."
Mom frowned. "How'd you guess?"
"Because when you said 'interesting,' there was a positive ring to it, and he's the only cool teacher, so…."
"Well, yes. Why didn't you tell me you were in choir?"
"I didn't think it was a big deal?"
"I've been trying to get you into that for years! Why now?"
Backstory: One of the first CDs I'd ever owned was a Hilary Duff CD. I'd listen to it with my portable CD player's second loudest volume and sing along, although I never heard myself. When I left my room to go to the bathroom, Mom was outside my door and said I sounded 'lovely' and that I should considering going into singing. I had no idea what she was talking about and proceeded into the bathroom. She'd been trying to get me to do stuff—like choir—ever since.
"I was probably put in there because I'd already finished PE and my two years of Spanish, and my schedule had to be filled somehow. It's not a big deal."
"Oh, but he was talking about a Spring Concert. It sounds like it would be fun…."
"What? When is this?"
"… In the spring?"
I turned back to the potatoes. "Well, whatever. That's probably for the advance choir class, and I'm with the beginners."
"Mr. Charles told me he only has one choir class. He also says you have a good voice, and you sound really lovely with Charlie."
"He's never heard me sing."
"He can pick out voices. He recommended that you and her do a duet for the Spring Concert."
"Uh, no—and I'm pretty sure I'm speaking for Charlie too."
Mom pouted, but continued to stir her invention. Secret: Mom is a little bit tone-deaf. I love her very much, but she wishes she could sing but she can't. It's safe to say she pushes her singing dreams onto me.
*
After lunch, Mom went back to her writing, and I told her I was doing homework.
After more happenings of nothing, I stumbled upon the name Finn D. Wyatt:
Charlotte often becomes nervous around the Wyatt boys, particularly Finn. At first I thought she liked him, but it was never a pleasant nervousness. Ian was concerned, but Charlotte told him to rein back his chivalrous tendencies. She just said that Finn and Caroline were picking on her during English class. While Charlotte seemed relieved when the Wyatt boys left the ice-cream parlor, she didn't see the look on Ian's face. Something told me that he wasn't going to ignore it. Finn D. Wyatt is the son of the mayor, and any trouble with him was just the same as trouble with Cheshire.
Okay… okay…. So, Ian Walker gets into trouble for standing up for his friend Charlotte Jones? Like Beatrice, I didn't fully believe Charlotte. There was no mention of this in the later chapters, and I was getting sleepy reading about Beatrice's inconsequential happenings.
My phone dinged.
Charlie messaged me on Facebook: Are you busy? Want to hang out?
I was glad I didn't have to make the first move. Sure. When & where?
Mind if I visit?
Everything was unpacked, and Mom and I weren't messy. No. Come over
Address?
I sent it to her. It was a full five minutes before she responded.
How about the library?
I frowned. She didn't want to come to my house? Why didn't she want to come to my house?
Rather than hash this out over Facebook, I decided I'd meet her at the library and talk about/confront her about this.
*************
2-10-2014
I changed a few things here, mostly names and also found a few other typos. Ugh, I hate when my fingers can't keep up with my brain.
YOU ARE READING
Cheshire Girl
Paranormal"There were three things about which I was absolutely certain. First, I didn't have my cell phone. Second, my hands hurt from gripping the trunk lid closed. They would probably be useless to put up a fight. ...
