Friday, May 7
I was tired and my backpack weighed a ton, so I decided to head straight home. The school week was finally over and boy was I glad. Sienna was being bratty, my allergies were acting up, Ms. Speltzer refused to let me change partners - it was all getting to be a bit too much right now.
I plugged in my earphones and put on a podcast. I chose a show about unlocking the potential of the human mind. Borderline boring but I wasn't in the mood to listen to true crime. Some of the stories were outright heartbreaking. Like the one of the thirteen-year-old cheerleader who was stabbed to death in Florida. Incomprehensible.
This weekend I wanted to disconnect. I had nothing planned, except for sleeping in, reading in the hammock in the backyard if the mosquitoes would let me, and picking the colors for my room. Mom said it was ok to ditch the beige for whatever shade I chose, as long as I did the painting myself. No problem. I could do that, right? How hard can applying two coats of paint to four walls be?
My room hadn't had a facelift since kindergarten. Now with only a year left until I left for college, it was suddenly a worthy project. I couldn't explain why, it just had to be done. My time, my choice of how to waste it.
Our street was short - just two blocks - but so were most streets in Bruler. Who needs bustling avenues in the middle of nowhere? I could describe each house I passed with my eyes closed. From the clunkers in the driveways, through the flowerbeds, to the inhabitants.
I knew who lived where what they were like. Mrs. Johnson with the hacking cough and the yapping pooch, the Ochoas whose kitchen smelled like heaven, Mr. Nielsen who made bird feeders in his free time. All neighbors knew each other and our routines, we had no choice really. This was typical Bruler - friendly and familiar.
It wasn't until I was on my block that I noticed the sound. It was a low persistent rumble like a faraway lawnmower or a clap of rolling thunder. I looked up. Not a single cloud. I paused the podcast and the noise grew louder. Wheels on the dusty asphalt, crunching, turning. Getting closer. I took off my headphones and turned around.
It was Arlo, an arm away, skateboarding past with an ease that suggested years of practice. I froze. He was the last person I expected to see. Since our cafeteria encounter, I made sure to keep my distance. If I spotted him in the hallway, I went the other way. If I saw him in class, I made sure to look engrossed in my work.
He jumped off his skateboard, pumped the tail with his foot, and picked it up by the nose. The deck was worn but the outline of an orange-black snake was well visible. There was dried blood on the grip tape and a fresh, painful-looking scratch on his sheen. I remembered the bruise on his knuckles the other day. Not a fight then, but a fall.
"Hey, Zoe," he rasped.
Wait, the last time we spoke he didn't remember my name. I tried to hide my surprise by taking an extra-long time to put my headphones away. What changed, I wondered? Did he look me up? Did he ask around? Worse, did he follow me all the way from school?
"What are you doing here?" I demanded to know. A curt question instead of a greeting. How very un-Bruler of me.
He frowned.
"Come again?"
I pointed around me.
"This is my street."
"Well, I didn't know that, did I?"
"So just a coincidence then?"
Arlo shrugged.
"I don't believe in coincidences. But I wasn't trailing you, if that's what you mean. I'm on my way to work."
"You got a job?"
I cringed at my own question. Would I have asked him that if he were white? Would I have accused him point-blank of stalking me if he wasn't a person of color? I was mortified by my own behavior. My hand shot up to my neck and I began scratching a non-existent itch.
Even though I judged him, he wasn't judging me. He didn't burrow into my words looking for reasons to doubt me and question my motives.
Arlo answered simply, "The Bigfoot Museum."
The museum was the brainchild of Bruce Pulaski, a Bruler native who claimed to have seen Bigfoot in the woods above town. No one believed him but he didn't care. Instead, he set up a website and opened a museum, so he could spread the word and convince the world of Sasquatch's existence.
"Really? Are you into that stuff?" I asked.
Arlo swallowed a smile as if I had suggested something amusing.
"If by 'stuff' you mean anomalous primates, no. But the museum's got terabytes of recordings and needed someone to comb through the footage."
"Recordings of what?"
"Bambis, mostly. Mr. Pulaski has infrared motion sensor cameras in the woods running 24/7."
"What for?" I was confused.
"To catch Bigfoot on video, of course. The cameras activate whenever they detect movement."
"But they could record just anything."
"Exactly. The museum's got months' worth of hikers and hunters, rabbits and coyotes. My job is to sift through the videos for a trace of Bigfoot and delete everything else."
"Wow, that's..." I was looking for something that wouldn't sound condescending.
"Boring," Arlo finished my sentence with a shrug. "I don't mind. I can do it from anywhere and it pays. It's an easy gig. All I need to do is pick up the hard drives and find a comfy spot to watch the Bigfoot-age."
"Bigfoot-age," I giggled and let my hand drop. It was different talking to him outside of school. He was funny and laidback.
Arlo pointed at the red splotches on my neck.
"Allergies?"
Shoot, he had noticed.
"Yeah, something like that," I said and shuffled uneasily. I was embarrassed by my habit and the more embarrassed I felt, the harder it was to keep my hand away from my skin.
He took his eyes off me and focused on his feet.
"Listen, I thought about the project. The one that-"
"I know which one you mean."
"Right. What do you think about self-harm?"
A fresh breeze ruffled the oak branches above us. It suddenly got a lot cooler. Like life, mountain weather was unpredictable.
"Self-harm," I repeated, fighting a shiver. "Don't do it."
He narrowed his green eyes at me and said slowly as if speaking to a toddler.
"As the topic for our project."
I wanted to slap myself.
"Oh, I see," I said hastily, trying to gloss over my stupid mistake.
"Just an idea," he added defensively.
"No, I like it."
He dropped his skateboard to the ground and planted his left foot on the deck.
"Well, think about it."
A grey sedan turned into our street. My mom, I realized with a twinge of apprehension. On Fridays, she got off work an hour early. Was she going to stop and turn this into the most embarrassing afternoon of my life? She was perfectly capable of pulling over and introducing herself. Not being nosy, just friendly. I pretended not to notice her as she drove past us slowly as if casing the area, her head doing a 180. There would be questions once I got home.
Arlo's eyes followed the car until my mom crawled up our driveway but he wasn't watching her; he was lost in thought, miles away.
"I gotta go," he said finally.
"Yeah, me too."
He hopped on his board but didn't ride away. There was definitely something on his mind.
"Your friend," he said. "The blond one."
Of course, he had noticed Sienna. Impossible not to.
"Sienna. What about her?"
"Is she seeing someone?"
Suddenly, I wished my mom had stopped to chat.
I forced the brightest smile my heart could manage.
"No, not that I know of."
Mom was in the kitchen making herself an ice tea.
"Zoe, that you?"
"Nope, Wonder Woman."
"And who's the Superman you were romancing outside?"
Yup, I knew it. She wanted a debrief.
"The guy I was talking to? Just someone from school."
"What's his name?"
Good question.
"Arlo." I think.
"How come I've never heard you mention him before?"
"Maybe 'cos he's new?"
Mom swirled the ice cubes in her glass and took a careful sip.
"Mmm, just what I needed. You want some too?"
"No, I'm good. Wanna look at color palettes later?"
She made a sad face.
"Can it wait? I need to get ready."
"What for?"
"I'm going out, remember? Jim Lundy? I told you about it."
Date night already? Shoot.
"Oh right," I said, pretending the fact that Victor's dad had asked her out had slipped my mind. "Where's he taking you?"
"Frida."
A Mexican place two towns over. Mariachi music, tacos to die for. A great choice.
"Your idea or his?"
"His."
The Sheriff just scored some brownie points in my eyes.
"Good, he's got taste."
"Not only that but his teeth are in pretty good shape too."
"Eew!" I didn't need to think of the Sheriff's teeth whenever someone mentioned Frida.
"Just kidding," she elbowed me playfully.
"Well, have fun."
"That's the plan," she winked. "You want me to fix you something for dinner before I go?"
"No, I'll be fine."
Saturday, May 8
The date must have gone well because my mom was in an exceptional mood all day. Humming to herself and smiling for no reason. I took advantage by getting her to drive us to the store and buy the paint and painting supplies. I chose sage color - a soft and soothing green - for most of my room, and for the wall behind my bed - a quirky shade of apricot. I expected Mom to put up a fight and insist on a girlier combo - fuschia and pink or mauve and violet - but she was too busy swapping texts with Jim to waste time arguing with me.
I didn't press her for details about last night because I really, really didn't want to know. Did he hold the door for her? Was he attentive and funny? Did they kiss when he dropped her off? I decided it was best to blank out their budding romance. With a bit of luck, it would be over before I knew it. I mean, what did they have in common, besides the obvious - being single parents of teenage kids?
Victor's dad was into sports and guns, he hunted and skinned his own kills. My mom avoided red meat and sold cross-stitched pet portraits on Etsy. She liked crafting and romance novels. Her favorite movie was Titanic. He was a frontier man born 300 years too late. This was bound to go nowhere.
Sienna called in the afternoon and asked if I wanted to help her spring-clean her closet. Her house was on the outskirts of town, on a large landscaped lot complete with a private pond and a fire pit for summer nights of grilling and bonfires. Just their driveway was larger than our property.
She came to pick me up in her white Mini Cooper which smelled of bubble gum. We went by McDonald's for ice cream, which we finished before we arrived at her place. Her dad was out golfing and her mom was getting her hair done. Sienna's pug Igloo followed us around the house. We got ourselves cold sodas from the fridge and went up to her room. She had a bay window with a reading nook to die for, a canopy bed straight out of a fairytale, and a walk-in closet. My entire room could fit inside that closet.
We started off by throwing all her winter clothes onto the floor. For a while Igloo found it fun then he dozed off on the bed. We made two piles - Salvation Army and deep storage. We competed in styling the most outrageous outfits - matching outlandish colors, mixing styles, putting bras on top of sweaters. We heard her parents come home but we only realized how late it was when the smell of the barbeque wafted up to the second floor.
"Saturdays are for sleepovers," said Sienna and so it was decided.
I texted my mom who was fine with me spending the night at Sienna's. We did that every now and then although way less often than when we were younger.
After dinner, we sat crossed-legged on her bed and sketched out our dream men.
"He must be confident and mature," Sienna counted on her fingers. "I want someone who is in control, someone who has it all figured out."
I was surprised. Tyler, her last boyfriend, was the exact opposite. He was tough-looking but under the buff exterior was an insecure guy.
"What else?" I asked.
She closed her eyes, conjuring an image only she could see.
"Someone who doesn't crave validation, someone who knows their own worth."
"Good luck finding him in Bruler."
"Oh, you're such a cynic," giggled Sienna and let Igloo curl up in her lap. "Your turn now."
It was harder for me because I had never dated anyone. I had never even been in love. My ideal boyfriend was an entirely theoretical concept. It was like being asked to describe the ocean without having been to the beach.
"Let me guess," she said with a spark in her eye. "He has to be sensitive. Broody but not corny. Flawed. Lots of sharp edges under the surface. Someone moody and unpredictable, someone only you can make whole. You want a bad boy."
I was speechless. There was someone on my mind who fit that description but how did Sienna zoom in on him? No, she was just lucky. No way she could have discovered a truth I hadn't yet admitted to myself.
"Interesting," I said to gain time. "I wonder how you came up with that."
Sienna shrugged and twirled a wisp of hair around her finger.
"I just described everything you're not. You know what they say, opposites attract."
I thought about my mom. If Sienna was right, I'd better get ready to see more of Jim. And Victor.
"Do you think that's true?" I asked. "About the opposites?"
"It has to be. At least a little. I mean, I nailed your dream guy, right? OK, maybe not exactly nailed, but I can tell my educated guess struck a chord with you."
I wasn't going to admit that I was intrigued by the new kid she had called 'loco'. Or that he was asking about her.
"Nah, I was thinking of my mom. She went on a date with Jim Lundy."
Sienna's mouth dropped, "Who, Victor's dad?"
"Yeah, I know. Imagine Victor as my step-brother?" How awkward would that be? I shook off the thought.
Sienna stood up and said pensively, "Yeah, imagine that."
"My mom and his dad are so different but what if they click?"
She scooped Igloo up and sat in the window nook.
"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you," she said, staring into the night.
"I want my mom to be happy but a relationship would change everything. We are a team, you know."
"You are thinking of the Gilmore Girls."
Typical Sienna, ready to make light of someone else's anxiety.
"If I'm Rory, who would you be?"
"The character who gets her own spin-off."