November 19th, 2012
About a month sped by, which felt like nothing more than stumbling through tests, quizzes, and college applications. It hadn't even reached the middle of the year before the thought of college was again drilled into our mindsets, and kids from the senior classes were plucked one by one to attend meetings with their guidance counselors.
Andrew got called quite early on. He didn't say they chatted about much; Andrew said he thought he was going to go to some school in Maine and play soccer. Noelle said she would go with him. I wasn't surprised. The idea that the two would run off together somewhere after high school was inescapable. They were that one in a million couple, the pair in high school that went onto be just as inseparable after they graduated. And the farther and farther into their relationship, that fact seemed to grow stronger; I'd never get my chance with Noelle.
I tried not to let that thought burrow its way into my head so often, though. I tried to focus more on my studies, and the task at hand: graduating.
I, unlike Andrew and Noelle, was called into the guidance counselor's office on more than one occasion in the later days of November, where my counselor, Mrs. Dawson, asked me what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go to college.
As if I had an answer for her right there on the spot.
I looked at her, nervous, holding the informative pamphlet about colleges in my hand, which I'd later stuck in my book as a bookmark in my copy of The Decampment.
Her eyes were on me, and I didn't want to slip up with a silly answer. "I think I want to be an author," I eventually told her coyly, standing awkwardly in front of her desk, fiddling with my thumbs.
She just stared at me, like she didn't believe me. I knew it'd happen; counselors want "the best for you," which I supposed translated 99% of the time to which job makes you the most money; not the happiest. Trying her hardest to look nonjudgmental, she went back to her computer and typed a few words, her eyes glued to the luminescent screen, entranced like a moth to light.
"An author?" She said finally, her voice skeptical.
I just nodded.
She nodded back, and licked her lips. "That's very bold of you, Harry."
I cringed, "It's Henry."
Her eyes flickered to meet mine, but she said nothing. She just nodded, again, and typed away at the keyboard once more before clicking a tab shut, and turning her swivel chair to face me, her hands folded over one another.
"Alright, Henry." She said with a forced smile, "Have you applied to many colleges so far?"
"Um, a few," I told her nervously.
"Are there any in particular you'd like to enroll in?"
"I'm not really sure," I told her quietly. She eyed me peculiarly, and I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly. "I, um, have been thinking about NYU."
"You've got quite the transcript," Mrs. Dawson said suddenly, her eyes growing wide at the screen. She looked almost surprised, "AP Physics? Algebra II Honors? Chess club, two years? Four years of Italian and French?" She trailed off, murmuring on and onto herself more and more of my achievements over the past for years. I nodded to her, and she turned to me, looking me straight in the eyes, a serious look seeming to have taken hold of her usually careless demeanor, "Henry, with such a transcript, you could go onto be a very successful businessman, or a lawyer, or a doctor...Why would you choose to be an author?"
I looked at her dumbly, like it should've been simple. The answer was in front of her; she just had to reach for it.
"Well," I said quietly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, "because more than anything, it makes me happy."
She looked at me peculiarly, like she still didn't understand. But she just turned over to her desk again and continued scrolling.
She then dismissed me, and that was that.
❄
"So you told her it's what made you happy, and she still looked at your strangely?"
I nodded at Ms. Calloway, putting my homework on her desk. Before she could even put it away, she threw her head back merrily and laughed at the ceiling. She looked back at me from behind glasses, pushing them farther up her nose to keep from falling as she chuckled, "Oh, God, that's rich!" She said, wiping away an invisible tear, "What a sad woman!"
I narrowed my eyes slightly, waiting for her to calm down a bit before I spoke. "Sad?" I asked, rather confused.
Ms. Calloway folded her hands on the desk, smiling to herself, "Well, wouldn't you agree, Henry?"
"I'm not quite sure what you mean by 'sad,' though, Ms. Calloway."
She smiled softly, the edges of her mouth pulling up slightly. She rolled her eyes, "All people care about now is whether or not they make money." She said, shaking her head, "You know, Henry, teachers aren't paid much a year. But when I got to college, I knew there was nothing I'd rather do than this. That's why I became a teacher; not for money, or benefits, or any of that silly, materialistic nonsense. But because I love walking into a class full of kids every day, ready to teach them about the things I love. Not many people are willing to do that these days."
I mused it over, thinking I understood what Ms. Calloway had to say, but in return not having much to respond with. Instead, I nodded at her knowingly, and she nodded back.
"Just stick to your gut, Henry," she said, pulling away my homework, tucking it away in a folder. She smiled, her eyes lighting up with amusement, "It's there for a reason."
❄
November 25th, 2012
"'Graham couldn't put his finger on it, when it came to Annie. She was ever changing, like the seasons, her mood dependent on whatever she felt was reason enough to change it. And though Graham wished he could tame her, he knew he couldn't. Even if Annie would ever let him, it'd take away from the mystique; the mystery behind her."
I looked at Winter thoughtfully as she read a section from chapter six of The Decampment. We'd resumed holding our book clubs on an irregular schedule, varying only when Winter found a conflict in timing and couldn't make it. We usually met on Wednesdays, before my parents or Hattie got home, but on certain days, we had no choice but to meet on the weekends.
"So, let's analyze that," I interjected, drawing Winter's eyes away from the book long enough so she could look upwards at me. "What do you think they're trying to say about Annie?"
Winter pondered for a moment, pursing her lips, obviously engaging in a thoughtful discussion within her mind.
"Well, he's saying that Annie was wild." She said simply, "And that she sort of did things on her own, without anyone's help. And that without that characteristic, she wouldn't be so mysterious."
I nodded at her, smiling. Winter had been coming along nicely when it came to our study sessions, and especially in our sessions of the "Book Boy and Winter Book Club of Literary Genius." Winter's grades had been progressing, and all thanks to the past month where she'd actually seemed to keep a steady focus.
"Good work," I told her, nodding. "At this pace, we you might even pass Ms. Calloway's class."
She smirked, amused, "Wow, good to know you have such faith in me, Book Boy."
I grinned back at her, "Well, who would I be without my pure faith in mankind?" I joked sardonically, making her laugh as I went to reach for my copy of the novel, about to quiz Winter on the symbolism in the chapter. But as I pulled it off of my desk behind me, the book fell to the ground, the pamphlet Mrs. Dawson handed me falling out of it.
Slightly embarrassed, I went to grab my book, when I met Winter's eyes as she fetched the pamphlet, looking it over with curious eyes. Once I sat back up straight, she regarded me curiously, her icy blue orbs meeting mine, "College?" She asked aloud, as if it was something to be questioned.
"Oh, yeah," I told her with a shrug. "That's just one of the pamphlets the guidance counselors give you, you know, for information."
Winter looked it over, smirking to herself. She looked at me, "Oh, gosh, Henry, I can only imagine how many schools pray for students like you."
I raised an eyebrow, "Me?"
"Yes, of course you," she chuckled, rolling her eyes. "You're a straight A student, even in your AP classes. Any school would be lucky to have you."
I felt myself getting a bit bashful, and a hot sensation reached my cheeks, warming them, "Uh...well, thanks, Winter."
She grinned, "So, what do you want to do? You know, for a living?"
I licked my lips, which had grown more and more chapped as the months progressed. "Uh, well, I was kind of thinking of...well, being an author."
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped so it was slightly ajar. I felt myself get even more embarrassed, wondering what might possibly be going through her mind with a face like that. It couldn't have been good.
"Do you..." I swallowed my fear, "...think it's silly?"
She blinked, and immediately shook her head. "W-What? No, of course it's not silly!" She exclaimed passionately, throwing her hands in the air, "That's amazing. I couldn't think of any other thing you could do better!"
"You think?" I asked her, rather shocked at her response. I looked at her, my eyes wide with amazement, the idea flashing through my mind that there was the faintest glimmer of hope that such an idea was possible.
She nodded, smiling as blindingly bright as the sky. "Of course I do! Henry," she said, her eyes meeting mine in a locked gaze, "you're an amazing writer!"
I looked up at her, smirking, "I am?"
She nodded again, a wry grin passing her lips, "Of course." She said, adjusting herself, "you just have to make sure to name a character after me."
I laughed, nodding. "Oh, okay, sure. I'll name the dog after you."
She grimaced at me jokingly, her nose crinkling in a way that made her look like a little kid. "Not fair!" She snapped, nudging me with her foot and pushing me backwards slightly, to where I stumbled almost fell off the chair.
She laughed at that, rolling backwards on the bed, hollering and snorting like a little kid. I found myself smiling, not at the joke, but at her, and the way she smiled too when she laughed, like it'd tear her skin and the way her blue eyes lit up when she had fun. It was an entrancing thing, watching Winter smile, because you hardly wanted to look away, it was so magnificent.
"Well, we'll see," I said, nodding. "I'll try and work you in amongst the many other people dying to weasel their way in on this goldmine."
"Oh, could you?" She chortled sardonically, crossing her arms as she peered at me through playful, narrowed eyes.
I nodded at her, and switched the topic quickly, picking up the novel and restarting our conversation over again. I asked her to continue reading, wanting just to pick up where we'd left off. She slowly agreed, picked up her book, and restarted from where she'd left off, reading carefully the next section of the text.
And as she read, out of the corner of my eye, I occasionally peered over to look at her, my concentration never broken except for when I heard a loud rap at my door. I turned around, not given enough time to respond before Hattie barged in.
"Hen-ry!" She whined, shouting, "Where did you put the-" she would have continued her complaint, but her eyes immediately fell upon Winter, who was looking up with a certain surprised look.
Hattie furrowed her brows, "Who's this?" She asked suspiciously.
I frowned, nervous, "This is-"
Before I could introduce her, she sprang up from my bed in no time at all and met Hattie's side to shake her hand, "Hi, there! I'm Winter." She greeted merrily, "You must be Henry's sister?"
Hattie's eyes were wide with shock, "Oh, um, yes. I'm Hattie," she greeted softly. She looked at me, then back to Winter, still in surprise, "Is he, like, paying you?"
She squinted her eyes, "Paying me?"
"Well, yeah," Hattie nodded. "I mean...well, you're pretty...and a girl. And you look rather clean to me."
"Hattie-" I growled, but was interrupted.
"-so, what's he paying you? One hundred? Two hundred?"
"Hattie-"
"-Actually, I should be paying him." Winter interjected, turning my attention as well as Hattie's to her. My eyes widened, and she smiled, "He's been helping me study for weeks. I'd be failing in English, if it wasn't for him."
Hattie blinked, taken aback. She looked at me, crossing her arms, "Wow, Henry. Looks like you're good for something after all."
I frowned at her, rolling my eyes with a sigh. "Hattie, why don't you just leave us alone?"
She grinned, crossing her arms. "Well, I'm actually off anyway."
"Off with who?" I asked.
"Jake," she said, a hidden smile creasing her face. That name sounded familiar; was he the kid who'd given her a ride a few weeks ago?
"Jake who?" Winter wondered curiously, an eyebrow raised.
Hattie blushed, like the mention of him was scandalous. "Jake Gavin," she said, a face vaguely rising to my mind. Before Winter or I could say or do anything, she looked down at her watch, and back at us frantically, "Well, I should go. Nice to meet you, Winter." She piped up, waving goodbye to us both before setting eyes on me, "See 'ya, dork."
"I love you too, Hattie," I mumbled incoherently under my breath as she walked out, slamming the door behind her. Once her footsteps against the stairs faded out of hearing distance, Winter turned back to me with a faint grin. Trying to shake off the nervous feeling I felt in my stomach, I picked up the book, asking Winter to begin again where she last left off.
❄
November 30th, 2012
Shutting my locker door closed after school, I was ready to embark outside on a cold and snowy Friday afternoon. I put on my overcoat, as the weather outside was growing increasingly colder and more likely to freeze the whole town at any moment.
I threw my book bag over my shoulders, shoving my hands in my pockets and deepening my chin into the collar of my coat, hopeful to retain enough heat just until I could reach Andrew's car, where he and Noelle had already entered. I braced myself for the chilly air, right as I opened the door and left the school, feeling the abrasive chilly wind grip my skin.
I walked across the lawn of the school, approaching the parking lot when Andrew's car came into view. I was walking towards his car, just when I could see another sight a few cars down.
It was Winter; leaning against a car that did not belong to her. Standing in front of her, talking with her was a boy who did not go to our school; in fact, he looked much too old to go to any high school. He had messy blonde hair, covered by a black hat, and pale skin almost as white as the thin layer of white snow that dusted the ground. He was tall, looked maybe in his early twenties, and looked strong enough to take care of his own. And as I inspected the two, noticing the almost sad look in Winter's eyes, I realized something; something frightening.
It was the boy from the party.
Now, seeing him in broad daylight, I could almost see why it must've been hard for Winter to refuse his advancements. He was a skyscraper, with arms like tree trunks, and a devilish face. And as I peered at him, it was almost as if I thought the longer I stared, the greater the chances that he'd vanish, and leave the earth forever. I almost wished I had the balls to parade over there and give him a piece of my mind. But not only was I much too small and timid, but I was also in the midst of Noelle, who I'd known to not share much of a fondness towards her at all.
So as I found myself looking at the two, I could hear my name being called further in the distance; I looked to the side, to see Andrew leaning out the window, calling me over.
"Hurry up, Carson! We haven't got all day!"
I blinked, feeling the cold wind brush my cheek as I checked back quickly to see if Winter was alright. When I looked over, her icy orbs were on mine, wide as saucers, looking frightened. Before she could do anything, the boy from the party reached for her, pulling her away from my gaze. He ushered her into his car, and for a moment looked at me.
His eyes were black; like pools of ink.
But he was too far away for me to tell if he was saying anything with his look. And before I could try to tell, he'd already entered his car and started the engine, driving away with Winter in the passenger seat, no evidence that she'd ever even been here at all.
I found myself standing still there for quite some time, shocked that he'd slipped from my hands so easily, and that I'd let it happen; then, Andrew called my name again.
I looked off towards where the car had faded on the horizon, then began to walk to Andrew's car.
I really tried not to look back; I knew it'd only do me harm.