1 monday
Your path to the future is not always clear. It most likely will not be a yellow brick road or red carpet. It might be well travelled or less. It might not be paved with stars. Heck, it might not be a road at all. That’s when you’ll need to carve your own path. Trouble is, where does it start? Where will it end?
Most importantly, who will you listen to?
“Come on, Kath, you can’t wear it everyday,” says Veronica as the girls exit history onto the sprawling center courtyard. “People talk.”
Kathryn isn’t so sure Veronica’s concern is for her friend. “So. Let ‘em,” she barks, narrowly avoiding a head-on crash into another ninth grader whose nose extends into her phone.
“Kath.” Veronica pauses next to a bed of petunias as she stares beyond her ginger-haired friend. “Seriously. It’s like 70 out.” She reaches in her back pocket. “Hey, where’d I put my phone?”
Kathryn raises her chin, closes her eyes. “Feels like 66.”
“You are such a-” Veronica’s backpack is on the ground, and she’s pulling out notebooks, a pencil case, Burt’s Bees, no phone. “Did I have it out in class?”
“A what? Say it. Go on. I’m a fuhhh … say it…reeee …”
“Ughh! Never mind. I’ll find it. Maybe I left it at home.” Veronica interrupts her and marches toward the industrial arts building leaving Kathryn in the sunshine, next to the flowerbed, wearing her puffy red vest, and standing all alone.
See, she’s just like the others. She’s gonna leave you, Curls. She will.
Kathryn shakes her head. Go away! Hands stuffed inside the warm pockets of the accused red vest, she turns. A soft fall breeze rustles the trees. Kathryn pauses to observe the flutter of leaves.
“Ugh!” She reaches up to remove her glasses. She hates wearing them outside. The girls rushed out of history so quickly that Kathryn completely forgot she was wearing them. As she swings around her backpack to put them away, another distracted student marches straight at her right elbow.
“Ow! Watch it!” squeaks the tiny brunette.
Kathryn folds the glasses against her chest and stares at the petite pupil, imagining her head melting, becoming one with her phone. “My bad,” she mocks.
“That’s right, freak. Watch where you’re going.” She sticks her nose back in her phone and thumbs at the keyboard. The girl giggles and walks on to her destination.
Kathryn considers Veronica’s words from the other day. You’re not so different than me. We’re not so different. She sets her right hand on her back pocket, feels the rectangular bulge. Knowing her absent-minded friend, she guesses Veronica’s phone is where it always is when she can’t find it: on the bathroom counter.
It wasn’t your fault, Curls, and you know it.
She peers back toward the industrial arts building, but Veronica’s nowhere in sight. Kathryn sighs. She sets down her navy blue backpack, unzips the large opening and removes her white vinyl eyeglass case. She opens it, deposits her wire frames, returns the case to her bag, zips it, straightens up and continues on toward her next class.
She doesn’t see the tall skinny boy inch toward her; nor does she hear his soft sigh as she winds around the corner and out of sight.
“Stupid glasses,” Kathryn mumbles to herself. “What are you really good for? I can see, you know. Yeah, so you found me a friend. Big deal. Who says I couldn’t’ve done that on my own? Huh? Now, now you’re just a big flippin’ pain in the butt, and you make me look like a geek.”
