After Burn
Smashwords Edition
Written by Sherry D. Ficklin
©2011, Sherry D. Ficklin, Wild Orchid Press
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Publisher’s Note:
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
Other books by Sherry D. Ficklin:
The Gods of Fate series
Foresight
Second Sight
Hindsight
Military Brats series
After Burn
Palmetto Moon series
Born of Blood
Midnight Rayne (short story)
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to the men and women of the Armed Forces who put their lives on the line every day to defend liberty and the American people, and to the families who sacrifice to make their service possible.
You are all heroes.
1.
Patience is a virtue. Forgiveness is divine.
Neither is Marine Corps policy.
IF you travel enough, you develop the ability to sleep anywhere. In a crowded plane, on a noisy bus, even in a two-door rental sedan while your father drives like he’s being chased by armed assassins.
“You have got to be joking,” I whined, slamming the blue Ford door.
Being a military kid I’d lived in a lot of places, seen a lot of things. Nothing had prepared me for what I was seeing now.
Enlisted housing.
“I know it doesn’t look like much, but officer housing was full. They have some new places under construction that we should be able to get into in about nine months.”
My father walked around the car, tossing my worn green duffle bag into my arms. “But we can make do, right kiddo?”
I swallowed the ball of dread in my throat and forced a smile. “Sure Dad.”
To be honest, I was just glad to be out of my Great Aunt Penelope’s place in Kansas. She had a tiny condo in an ‘active seniors’ community. Too much more of that and I would have gone completely postal. Aunt P was sweet, but there’s only so much knitting and bridge club a girl can take before snapping.
Dad had come ahead to get the house and set things up before rescuing me. From the looks of things he hadn’t gotten far. When he opened the door the house was still stuffed with boxes, piles of brown packing paper, and empty pizza boxes. I kicked one aside.
“Your room is over there,” he pointed down the hall.
I pulled my shoulders back, resigned to sleeping on the floor for a few nights but when I pushed the door open my room was mostly set up. My bed, desk, and dresser at least. Of course, it was the same Pepto-pink bedspread and curtains I’d had since I was nine. Still, it felt a little like home. I tossed my duffel bag on the bed.
“Thanks dad.”
He brushed past me, bringing in my oversized suitcase and depositing it beside the empty closet. “I’m sorry I didn’t get more done. Things are already piling up at work.”
I nodded, stripping off my coat.
“Is there anything I can help with?” I asked.
“Its late kiddo and you have school tomorrow.”
I groaned, “I slept in the car. Besides, too much nervous energy to sleep now. Now I work,” I said in my best soldier voice, “For tomorrow, I die.”
Dad rolled his eyes, “Yes, High School. A fate worse than death.”
“And I’m hungry too,” I added as my stomach gurgled.
“Pizza okay?”
“Is it the only place you know the number for?”
“And the only place that delivers this late.”
“Pizza it is then,” I agreed, rolling up my sleeves, determined to make the best of it.
****
The next day came entirely too soon. The metal rails of my twin bed shook with the force of a speeding train as a formation of jets passed overhead. The noise grew unbearably loud, crested, then faded into the distance. I groaned, grabbing the pillow from under my head and pressing it to the upper side of my face. When the noise passed I tossed the pillow aside and wrenched one eye open, trying to focus on the blinking red numbers of my alarm clock. It confirmed my feeling that it was way too early for that sort of thing. I reached out and slapped the off button even though it wasn’t set to go off for fifteen more minutes.
Light was already creeping in through the slits of my cheap vinyl mini-blinds. I felt the warmth of it on my skin like an ant under a magnifying glass. Grudgingly, I tossed the covers off and rolled my legs of the side of the bed, automatically lifting my feet as soon as they hit the cold linoleum floor. I blinked, wiped my hands down my face, and sighed as I made my way upright. Hastily pulling my violently strewn blankets into place and tossing the pillow on top, I trudged into the tiny bathroom.
The light overhead flickered on with a buzz you might expect in a hospital, or a mental institution. The generic crème colored vanity held a simple white basin beneath a wall mounted mirror fastened with clear clips. The room was void of any color, just a brown box marked "bathroom". The plain white shower liner hung from a steel rod, crinkling as I swept it aside to twist the hot water knob. I examined myself in the mirror as the shower ran, the water slowly warming to steaming hot. Pulling the rubber band that held my chocolate hair in its braid, I combed through it with my fingers. Slowly, tendrils of steam curled up from the shower, the tiny droplets of moisture clinging to my pale skin.
Still half awake I stepped into the shower, letting the pounding water massage the tension out of my neck and shoulders. My father and I had spent the night (into the wee hours of the morning) unpacking box after box of clothes, dishes, and randomness and we still hadn’t made a dent. Officer housing wouldn't have been that much bigger than this place, I told myself, but at least I’d have had my own bathroom.
My father, never one to rock the boat or demand special treatment, had accepted the bad news about the housing situation with little more fuss than a stern frown. So here we were, in a cookie cutter duplex townhouse in a row of cookie cutter duplex townhouses, in a neighborhood of…well, you get the idea.
My new room was eggshell white, just like every other room in every other house in the neighborhood. I thought for a second about asking my father to let me paint it. The vision of his reaction in my head was almost comical. I could picture him perfectly torn between wanting to make me happy and his intense need to follow the rules, looking as if his head might explode like popcorn in a microwave. I snickered and let the idea slip away.
Living on base was very convenient, I had to admit. Everything and anything you could need was within a six mile radius. The military did that so in the event of a crisis they could lock down the whole base and everyone on it. It was a major bonus point for Cherry Point Air Station that it included a 7-11. I probably wouldn’t die from Slurpee withdrawal, but better safe than sorry. As I thought about that, I made a mental note to swing by and pick one up on my way to school.
Once again, a plane flew over the house with its engines at high power. The glass in the window of the small bathroom vibrated so hard I thought it might shatter, but it held firm.
Sighing, I rinsed the frothy apple scented shampoo out of my hair. It was going to be my first day of school. Again, I thought as a familiar knot twisted in my stomach. It was well into the first semester, so the idea of slipping in unnoticed was crushed before it formed.
I sighed, stepping out of the warmth of the shower and wrapping myself in a rough, olive-green towel. Schools were all the same, I’d learned. The same boring text books, the same dry teachers, even the same world class cuisine. The worst part was the inevitable meeting of new people. Base schools were better than civilian schools because most of the kids were in the same boat. They understood what it was like to be new all the time, to have to adjust and re-adjust every few months. You didn’t get that six month period of being a social pariah before people started talking to you. Military kids tended to jump in with both feet.
Cherry Point High was actually on base, which was a first for me. Digging through an open box, I closed my hand around the handle of my blow drier and pulled it out.
School was like a bad dream I kept living over and over. Rooms full of strangers staring at you and whispering, teachers wanting you to stand up and talk about yourself. It wasn’t the embarrassment of it that got to me so much as I was never quite sure what to say. I debated wearing my t-shirt that read: ask me about my STD. It’d been a gift from my ex-best friend at my ex-school. She’d purchased for me back before I became a social pariah. Her reasoning was that it would keep away the riff-raff. She was right. It also repelled the normals, another perk.
I blew out my long brown hair and pulled it straight until it lay placidly on the top of my shoulders. My hair was a strange combination of straight in the front and kinky in the back. I got that from my mother, too. If I let it do what it wanted, I’d spend my life looking like a wet poodle. Unfortunately my hair serum, the only product in heaven or earth that could control the frizz, was still boxed up somewhere. I sighed, pulling my hair into a high pony tail and making a mental note to keep better track of my essentials next time we packed. All I’d been able to find in the ‘bathroom’ box was my shampoo, blow drier, and some chap stick I wasn’t entirely sure was mine. I tossed it back in the box just in case.
In one swift motion I wiped the fog from the mirror with the length of my forearm. My blue eyes looked dull and milky in the yellow light. I slowly rotated my face, looking for signs of an it-never-fails-breakout. My skin was clear, if a bit dry. With one dark purple fingernail I tugged free a few strands of hair around the frame of my face. Then I pulled on my blue jeans and settled on my well worn ‘Clash’ t-shirt over a long sleeved black and white striped under shirt. No need to freak out the normals, not just yet anyway. Tossing the STD shirt in my bottom drawer I smirked. I’d save it for a special occasion.
My favorite purple Converse low tops were falling apart at the seams, but I slipped my feet into them anyway and wiggled my toes experimentally. Sometimes being packed away did strange things to shoes, but these were soft with years of wear which made them fit perfectly to the shape of my feet.
With a final glance in my bedroom mirror, I slung on my red backpack covered in various mini buttons and, with a deep breath, headed for the living room and my final inspection.
****
Dad was sitting at the faux granite breakfast bar, newspaper laying flat in front of him as he sipped coffee from his favorite mug. It was a really hideous greenish-brown mash that I’d made for him when I’d first learned to throw pottery. I’d been trying to make it camouflage. It turned out more like pea soup and mud. I glanced over his shoulder as I made my way past him and to the pantry, dropping my bag on the counter with a clang as I went.
"The Giants looking good this year?" I asked, rummaging through the plastic bags of instant food he’d picked up last night.
He grunted, his narrow eyes never leaving the paper.
Dad was your typical Marine, puke-green t-shirt tucked carefully into camouflage utility pants. His hair was shaved to the skin in what they called a ‘high and tight’ which resembled a patch of freshly mown grass on an otherwise barren lawn. His eyes were an intense blue, like mine, and his face was clean shaven and stern.
After some debate, I settled on a Twinkie and a green Gatorade: The breakfast of champions.
"We need to get some real food in this place," I said, tossing the crumpled snack cake wrapper into his lap as I hopped onto the counter, turned the snack cake upside down and sucked the filling through the holes in its underside.
Without looking up he balled up the plastic and tossed it in the nearest pile of trash, "I’ll do some shopping after work."
I swallowed, "I could do it, if you need me too."
It was a shallow offer. I hated grocery shopping, but I’d go if it’d help him out. Just one more ‘small sacrifice’ our therapist kept talking about. Mom’s death last year had been a blow to both of us and after a few really tense weeks, Dad had decided to get us some professional help. Things were still hard sometimes, but it was getting better and that was worth a lot. I wondered if he’d find us a new therapist now that we’d moved. I weighed the thought of it in my head and decided it might be a good idea.
"Nah, that’s okay kiddo. I’ll do it. You’d better get going though, you’ll be late for your first day."
I could feel relief spread down my body but I just nodded.
He looked up at me for the first time, his fuzzy brow furrowing in the middle, "Is that what you’re wearing?"
My head jerked back. Was he really criticizing my wardrobe? That had to be a first.
"Um, yeah. Why?"
I looked down at myself, hoping I hadn’t forgotten anything important, like pants. To my relief, I was indeed fully clothed. I frowned, wondering what the source of his displeasure was. At least I didn’t dress in short shorts and playboy bunny tees like some of the girls in my old school had.
"Its fine, it’s just sometimes I think you need a woman around the house. You know, to help you shop and things."
He shifted and turned the page, turning his attention back to his paper.
I frowned, not sure where that thought had sprung from. Silently I prayed he wasn’t thinking about bringing some strange lady in to teach me to be a proper girl. Visions of Pygmalion danced in my head, making me snarf out loud.
Dad’s eyes darted to me then back to the paper quickly.
So what if pink dresses weren’t exactly my style? I thought defensively. There may have been some alternate reality me where
I spent my days scavenging the mall for the perfect dress, getting manicures, and mocking people like, well, me. But that possible future died for me when mom did. Now I was more of a black or darker girl. Actually, my nail polish today wasn’t black; it was just really dark purple. The polish was the only semi-feminine thing I still did. Well, that and occasionally dying strands of my hair with various shades of Manic Panic. The therapist said it was my way of acting out. Civil disobedience, he said, like Gandhi.
Currently my hair had no such decoration. I was trying really hard not to make things any harder on dad than they already were.
I slurped down half my lime drink and replaced the cap, stuffing the rest into my backpack for later. Also in my little red bag I’d slipped some notebooks, pencils, and my lap top. At my last school there would also have been a can of pepper spray. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need that here. I did, however, tuck my wallet into my back pocket and fasten the chain onto my front belt loop. What can I say? Old habits.
"I’m taking off, you need anything?" I asked on my way out the door.
"I’m good. I’m going to be at the Squadron today. Still getting used to everything down there. If you need anything, call me on my cell, I don’t have the office number memorized yet. I should be home around 6. You alright to fend for yourself tonight?" he called down the hall.
"Yeah. I’ll grab something on my way home. Have fun, try not to make anyone cry!"I shouted through the door, shutting it behind me as he muttered, "…only happened once…"
2.
High School.
Not the musical.
ONE of the first things you notice about a new school is that no matter where you go, people there will dress just like kids at your last school did. This year the retro 80’s look was in and skinny jeans and neon sunglasses were everywhere. I shook my head. I wore whatever was clean and comfortable, no matter what the general population was into. It wasn’t laziness on my part, but apathy. I simply didn’t care. Well, that and the idea of wearing black lace and leggings made me cringe.
The engine of my beautiful baby roared to a stop in the student parking lot, drawing looks from the male population. Dad and I had been restoring Lucy, my gun metal grey ‘67 Mustang Shelby fastback, since I was ten. She was well worth the wait. Not that she didn’t have her little quirks, like the fact that the emergency break was held up with safety wire, but for the most part, she purred. For a long time I thought we were fixing her up for my dad, but last week for my 16th birthday he’d handed me the keys and orders to Marine Corps Air Station Cherry point.
I didn’t know which I was happier about.
Looking out at the faces of strangers slowly gathering for a peek at the new girl, I had my answer. I patted Lucy gently on the dash and scooped my bag from the passenger seat.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the car and into the harsh light of the North Carolina sun. The first bell rang as I was still standing in line in the office. There were two other new kids in front of me, an attractive senior boy transferring in from somewhere abroad, and a freshman girl from somewhere near Texas if I'd heard her correctly. By the time the elderly office secretary got to me, first period was well under way. Super. Nothing says conspicuous like bursting in during the middle of class.
I got my schedule and map and headed off for the first day of the rest of my life. I snorted as I walked down the echoing halls.
"Class, we have a new student," the portly homeroom teacher announced as my stomach fell into my shoes. I was really going to have to do this. I shifted by backpack onto my other shoulder.
"This is Clareece Barnett-"
"Reece," I interrupted quickly, "Just Reece."
He made a note on a clipboard on his desk.
"Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Reece?" he said absently as he squatted into his creaking chair.
I glanced to the right at the open windows. Maybe I could make a break for it. A fall from a second story window couldn’t possibly be more painful than this, I reasoned. The teacher cleared his throat impatiently. Ah, the heck with it, I thought.
"Right. I’m Reece. A few things you should know about me… Well, I spent last summer trying to discover if a Swallow could, in fact, carry a coconut. My life’s ambition is to develop some sort of freeze ray, and I’m a firm believer that at some point, the world will be taken over by zombies."
Chirp, chirp, chirp. Either no one got it, which wouldn’t surprise me, or no one cared which also wouldn’t surprise me. To my left someone snickered, but I was too busy glancing longingly at the windows to notice who.
"Yes, well, welcome to Cherry Point High. Please take a seat in the back there." He pointed to the furthest back row. Forty five minutes and possibly the world’s most boring lecture on the infrastructure of post Caesar Rome later, the bell rang again and I headed for my Intro to Psychology class.
A masculine voice called after me.
"Hey, new girl! Whatchya got under that hood?" he hollered, which was followed by low snickers and jeers from his small posse.
I sighed, folding my arms across my chest. Man, I hoped I’d at least get to lunch before somebody ticked me off, but I guess it just wasn’t my day. I spun on my heel,
"A Windsor 351 stroked to a 427, a Paxton supercharger at 5 lbs boost, and a top speed of 135mph. And of course, the ability to kill you with a toothpick."
He smiled crookedly and flipped his shaggy blondish-brown hair out of his eyes.
He was a foot taller than the crowd of boys around him which still only put him at my eye level. I’d been 5’10" since I turned fifteen and it used to bug me, but the guys were getting taller and it was nice to be able to look them in the eyes. Especially when they were being chauvinistic jerks. This guy's lopsided grin was still in place as he jogged up beside me.
"A toothpick huh? Sounds like quite a talent."
"It’s not so much a matter of skill as one of persistence." I shrugged.
He laughed and stepped in front of me, halting my progress. I was about to barrel through him (and hopefully plant him square on his butt) when he did something that shocked me. He stuck out his hand.
"I’m Greg. It’s nice to meet you, new girl."
I stared at his hand for a second. There was no joy buzzer or gum or anything. It was just a hand. Still stunned, I shook it.
"I’m Reece."
He dropped my hand quickly, snatching my backpack as it slid down my arm. Slinging it over his broad shoulder he motioned for me to continue walking with a grand sweep of his arm.
My knee jerk reaction was to wipe the smirk off his face with a well placed stomp on the foot, but I just stared at him, dumbfounded. His smile wasn’t mocking or arrogant, it was just sort of sincere. I took a step forward, then another, and before I knew it, we were walking together.
"So, what’s your next class?" he asked.
I told him and he snickered, "Ah, good old Mrs. Allen. You’ll have to tell me what you think of her. She kinda has a polarizing effect on students. The guys love her and the girls hate her."
He shrugged off my backpack and handed it back to me.
I hugged it to my chest, fighting off the urge to rifle through it and make sure he hadn’t lifted any of my stuff. I mentally chastised myself. This wasn’t some big city school with metal detectors and armed guards. This was Nowhere, North Carolina for heaven’s sake. Plus, he’d just used the phrase polarizing effect correctly in a sentence, which earned him major smart points.
"Um. Yeah. Thanks." I mumbled, surprised at how he’d thrown me off guard.
"Let me know if you need anything. Just think of me as the unofficial welcoming committee," He tilted his head in an old fashioned gesture and disappeared around the corner, lost to the crowd of moving students.
As I slipped into a desk near the back of the room, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Allen and immediately understood what Greg had meant by ‘polarizing effect’. Mrs. Allen was a short woman who was so top heavy watching her strut around the room verged on comical. Her hair was long and blonde streaked with grey and her tight blue sweater left little to the imagination. To make matters worse, as she introduced herself she leaned forward, bracing herself on her desk. The weave of the sweater was stretched to its maximum, holding back – just barely – the enormous swell of her breasts. The front row of students, completely populated by males, leaned forward with eager smiles. Girls all over the room groaned and rolled their eyes. I choked back a laugh.
The rest of the morning was uneventful and came and went with no further sightings of Greg or, for that matter, any other semi-familiar faces. It was as if every class I had greeted me with a fresh batch of students. A fresh batch of lemmings, I thought with a dry smile. I found myself slumped in the back of each class, my head down, doodling on my notebook. I could almost feel people’s eyes on me the way I’d felt the sunlight earlier. Like I was an ant under a magnifying glass. I folded my arms and slumped down further, looking up only every now and then to take notes.
A little after eleven the bell rang and I followed the rush of people heading to the cafeteria, and not surprisingly, I saw Greg at a round table across the room surrounded by a group of jocks in football jerseys. I hadn’t noticed what he’d been wearing before, given the idiotic stupor I’d been in, but it was obvious. The maroon mesh jersey proclaimed in large white numbers, 23. He didn’t seem to notice me walk in, or if he did, he was ignoring me. Either way was fine. I hadn’t decided yet if he fell in the friend category or the he-just-might-dump-pigs-blood-on-you-at-the-prom category. I tried not to notice the single dimple in his left cheek or the way his upper lip was just a little fuller than his bottom one. As I was busy not noticing these things I tripped over a backpack on the floor and was barely able to recover myself before anyone noticed.
I tossed my bag down at an empty table and pulled out my green Gatorade. It wasn’t long before people started coming up and introducing themselves. The first was a dark haired boy and his matching girlfriend, (Derek, and Kayla, respectively) who reminded me of an Emo Barbie and Ken. He wore a long black trench coat over dark jeans and a black leather vest. His hair was long in the front, short in the back, a reverse mullet, and it was, you guessed it, midnight black. Kayla was a petite thing in torn black leggings, a red plaid skirt and black dress shirt with a tall collar held together with safety pins. Her hair was a mixture of magenta and electric blue, but it looked really good on her and made me long for some multi-hued streaks of my own.
"Nice to meet you," I offered pleasantly, glad to not be sitting alone anymore. I’d spent the bulk of my last year sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria while the people who used to be my friends snickered and threw wrappers at me. Now here I was, feeling like a somewhat normal person again.
Weird.
It wasn’t long before someone else joined us.
"Hi, I’m Paul," a slender boy with wire framed glasses introduced himself as he sat down with his tray of pizza.
He must have been friends of Derek and Kayla because he immediately slid his carton of chocolate milk over to her and she accepted it without a word, plucking it open with dainty, black polished fingernails.
"Nice to meet you," I said, smiling.
Day one and I was well on my way to a full table. Nice.
Pushing his glasses up his thin nose, Paul blushed. The color made him splotchy, but kind of cute. Not pretty boy handsome like Greg, but in that subtle way that you knew with a haircut and the right clothes, he could pass for a guy in a Hollister ad. As it was, his disheveled dark hair and round glasses made him look more like Harry Potter.
"So, what do you think so far?" Kayla asked, twirling her multi-hued pig-tails around her long fingers.
"It’s not bad. We just got here two days ago, so we’re still unpacking and stuff. I haven’t really seen anything but housing and the school yet."
There. Very diplomatic.
"We?" Paul asked between bites of pizza.
My stomach growled. Okay, I know I’d been joking about the world class cuisine, but cafeteria pizza is really good. I hadn’t gotten anything because I was sure I’d be too anxious to eat, but just looking at it made my saliva glands hit overdrive.
Tasty rectangular meal of saucy deliciousness.
My stomach growled again. I ignored it.
"Yeah. My Dad and I. He’s the new CO over at VMX 195," I answered, twisting my now empty bottle open and closed again.
Paul smiled, tearing his pizza in half, holding out half to me. I accepted the cheesy mass without hesitation. Paul’s head fell so he was looking down at his tray, hiding his face from me. Behind him Greg was looking at me. He smiled a 100 watt smile and waved. I felt the heat hit my face before I could look away. Great, the whole room was now staring at me.
"I see you’ve met Greg," Kayla said flatly.
I thought I heard a twinge of bitterness in her voice.
She leaned in close, her hair almost touching my face, and whispered, "I know Greg is cute and kinda charming, but he’s weird. You know, one of those Mormon boys or whatever. They only associate with their own kind."
I could tell by the look in her grey eyes she was trying to look out for me, not just be snotty so I gave a gentle nod and munched my pizza. Paul sat back up and cut off my view of Greg’s table.
"Well, if you’d like I could take you down to the Circle tonight," he paused and gestured to Derek, "We’re all going. I could show you around the boardwalk and stuff, if you’re interested."
I glanced over at Derek and Kayla, but they were busy. Each had a speaker bud in one ear and was playing some game on an iPod that required vigorous shaking and laughing.
"I’d like to, but I still have to unpack and stuff," I frowned.
I’d actually been looking forward to unpacking then snuggling up with a book. I sighed; still, I couldn’t stay inside hiding out forever. Why not give it a go? A small voice inside me whispered. It was the before voice. The one I used to listen to. Since mom died, I’d mostly listened to my after voice. The one that said stay in. Hide out. Be safe.
I sat straight, squaring my shoulders.
"How ‘bout Friday night?" I offered, stuffing the last bite of pizza in my mouth.
His head snapped up, his eyes searching my face for a moment before answering. "Sure. Friday then," he said smoothly, a goofy grin on his square face.
Kayla nudged Derek and they packed away the IPod.
"Nice to meet you Reece, see you around," Derek offered before pulling Kayla into his arms and walking away.
She gave me a wave as they marched their way past a group of kids sitting by the doors, who gawked after the duo.
"You know, my parents are in your Dad’s squadron," Paul said as he dumped his tray in the trash and stacked it in the tray return window.
"Both of them?" I asked, surprised.
It was rare for a kid to have both parents in the service, much more rare to have them in the same squadron.
He nodded, "They’re two of the best pilots in the fleet, so they both got selected for the JSF."
The Joint Strike Fighter was the newest addition to the Marine Corps Air Wing. VMX 195 would be the first fully operational Joint Strike Fighter squadron in the military. My Dad was sent here to oversee the squadron and its operations. It was kind of a big deal.
"That’s cool," was what I said, but that’s terrifying was the thought running through my head.
Every military brat knew the risk of losing a parent in the line of duty was good, especially now that we were at war, but to have both parents in the line of fire was a truly frightening thought. Of course, with my mom gone, I supposed I was sort of in the same boat now. If I lost Dad, I’d be all alone. I quickly pushed the thought away.
Paul shrugged, leading the way through the maze of people rushing through the doors and back into the hallway. The first bell rang, causing a chorus of slammed lockers and rushed goodbyes as everyone headed back to class. I pulled out the wrinkled map and schedule from the zipper pocket of my backpack, staring at the complicated maze of stairs and rooms searching for my next class.
"Here," Paul held out his hand for the schedule.
I shrugged and handed it over. He scanned it quickly before pointing to the nearest stairwell.
"Up the stairs, third door on the left. Or you could just walk with me, that’s my next class too."
He sounded very happy about that. I had to admit, I was kinda happy about it too. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to. We stopped at the bottom of the stairs so I could grab a drink at the water fountain when Greg and his groupies came up behind us.
"Hey new girl, you finding your way around alright?" Greg asked, his tone playful.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and turned to see Paul hunched over against the wall behind the herd of guys. Greg straightened up as I turned; apparently he’d been leaning over me. None of them seemed aggressive or bullish, they were just really imposing. So much so that even though they were being friendly, I was getting claustrophobic. Plus, I didn’t like the way Paul was reacting to them. It made me wonder if they were this friendly to everyone.
"Yeah, I’m fine, just heading to chemistry with my new friend Paul," I answered, plastering a smile on my face.
The boys looked back at Paul as if they’d noticed him for the first time, possibly ever. He kept his head down, eyes on his feet, radiating tension. Greg’s smile faltered for just a second as he looked at the skinny boy, then he turned back to me, and turned on the charm.
"Cool. Chem. is my next class too, you guys mind if I walk with you?"
Without waiting for a response, he snatched my backpack from my hands and tossed the football he’d been carrying to one of his buddies as he took the first step up the stairs. I reached over, meaning to put my hand on Paul’s shoulder to make sure he was alright, but before I could touch him he bolted up the stairs in front of us. I stood there, aghast.
Greg smiled sheepishly, "Sorry if I upset your friend. I just wanted a chance to get to know you a little. He kind of monopolized you at lunch."
I opened my mouth to protest, but my mind got tangled in the fact that he wanted to get to know me. It kind of put my mental brakes on. He sounded so sincere, but the only way to know for sure whether or not this guy was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as Kayla had accused, was to get to know him. Cautiously.
I dropped in beside him and we walked together, careful not to graze his arm with my own as we moved.
He ran his fingers through his perfectly coifed hair, "I was just wondering if you’re busy tonight. Maybe I could take you to a movie or something?"
His eyes were sky blue and hopeful, stunningly so. For a second, I forgot how to talk. What was wrong with me?
"I actually have to unpack tonight. Our house is still all boxed up so-"
He didn’t even let me finish.
"Perfect. I’ll come by about 5. We can hang out and I’ll help you unpack. Do you like Chinese?"
My brain went haywire. Him? In my house? Touching my things? And my father, what would he say? My back stiffened.
Still, the idea had merit, I thought. If he tried anything I could slap a jerk label on him and send him packing. If not, well, that had possibilities too.
"Yeah. General Tao’s Chicken and fried rice. Extra ginger."
"Great. I’ll bring take out."
He handed me back my bag, I hadn’t noticed we’d arrived at the class. He gave me a quick wave and took off for his seat at the back of the room. I shook my head, clearing away the last of the shock. I’d give Greg this much, he was certainly unexpected.
Wow. Two date offers on my first day. That was one for the record books, for sure. The girlish part of me that had been denied so long was squealing with joy but I squelched her fast.
Spotting an empty seat I slid in beside Paul, who was slumped forward, one arm folded under his chin, doodling in his open notebook.
"Hey, I thought you were going to walk me to class?" I asked playfully, trying to break the tension.
The bell rang.
"It looked like you had a better offer," he whispered through gritted teeth.
I sat back, unsure what to say.
Must be a testosterone thing.
3.
Cupid’s Cannon Fodder
TWO more classes and the day was finally over. A few people initiated the usual conversations. You know, where are you from, what bases have you lived at, what brings you here, the old standby stuff people ask when they want to be polite but don’t really want to get to know you. I tried to be gracious, I really did, but all I wanted to do was stab myself with a fork.
I walked to my car, my bag heavy with the new text books I’d been assigned. To my surprise, Paul was waiting for me. He hadn’t spoken a word during Chemistry and had vanished as soon as the bell rang. To be honest, I’d kind of written him off.
He was leaning against my passenger side door, his glasses reflecting the late day sun.
"Hey," I said gently.
"Hey. Look I wanted to apologize for earlier. It’s just that Greg and I, well, we don’t really get along."
I shook my head, "It’s no big deal," I bit my bottom lip, "as long as you understand that I’m not taking sides or anything. I mean, he’s been nice to me and I don’t want to go around alienating people on the first day."
Especially the popular crowd who held in their possession the ability to make my life at my new school just like my old one.
He laughed humorlessly, "I understand that. It won’t happen again, just petty crap anyway," his voice trailed off.
A weaker girl would have meddled, what with him dropping bread crumbs like that. But I resisted. Barely.
"Do you need a ride home or something?" I asked.
I didn’t want to be rude, but he was still leaning on my car.
Standing up, he took a step back.
"Nah, see that sleek man machine? That’s me."
He pointed behind me to a baby blue scooter. I choked back a giggle.
"Ah, yes. It’s very manly," I joked, hoping he wasn’t one of those guys who were super sensitive about his ride.
"It’s ok, you can laugh. I’m saving up for a Ninja so…"
"That’s ironic. I’m saving up for a Pirate," I ribbed.
He snickered. Wow, he was cute and he got my lame jokes. Bonus.
I gave him a wave and tossed my bag across the seat before sliding in and bringing Lucy roaring to life. I’d named her after my favorite character from Dracula, the movie, not the book. She was fast and sexy and brought back from the dead, just like her namesake.
As I was pulling out of the student lot I saw Greg sprinting across the football field with the other jocks in uniform. I had to admit, it was kind of hot. Must be some primal part of my brain recognizing the potential hunter-gatherer alpha male thing. I shook my head at the thought. That Intro to psych class was really going to mess with me, I could just tell.
Ironically, the hardest part of my day was finding my house. Stupid, confusing base housing! Every corner looked the same, no landmarks, all the streets named after flowers or fruit or something lame like that. It took me half an hour of wandering around the base to get home. The house was exactly as it was when I left with the exception of the new phone and answering machine on the breakfast bar. The red light was flashing so I hit the play back button wondering absently who would have our number when I didn’t even have it yet. Dad’s voice cracked through the speaker,
"Hey kiddo. Gonna be here a little later than I thought. Unpack what you can without me, but leave the heavy stuff. I’ll try to get out of here around seven. If you need me, my office number is…" I scrambled to dig a pencil out of my bag and scribbled the number on my notebook, "I’ll get myself some food at the chow hall so go ahead and eat without me. See you later."
Click.
Dinner. It was only four o’clock but I was ravenous from missing lunch. I stood at the counter debating whether to pop in a pizza or just grab a snack.
I wondered if my mysterious football player would actually show. Come to think of it, I’d never told him where I lived. I smacked myself on the forehead. It was so me to meet a cute guy, make plans, then forget to tell him where to meet me or give him my number. Tugging on my pony tail, I settled for a small bag of trail mix and settled in to do my homework.
It was ten till five when I decided I was still hungry, and I doubted there was any way Greg was going to locate me in this tangled mess of base housing. The chemistry homework was making my eyes cross, so I decided to abandon it. Setting down my pencil and closing my notebook, I headed back to the kitchen.
I’d just begun foraging for something more to eat when my doorbell rang. The tone was just unfamiliar enough to throw me for a second. I glanced out the window and standing there on my porch was Greg. He was in a fresh black collared shirt and jeans, holding a bag from a place called ‘Chopstix’. I smoothed my hair and shirt then opened the door. His smile was part boyish and sweet, part rugged and mysterious. The perfect combination for getting me in trouble.
"Hi!" I said, still surprised, "I didn’t know if you’d be able to find me."
I opened the door and he stepped in, handing me the white plastic sack.
"Well, I am full of surprises," he winked, passing me and walking into the kitchen, stepping over boxes and mounds of paper as he went.
That was an understatement.
He hopped onto the counter. "Plus, it’s a small base. Not hard to find the only ’67 Shelby in 100 miles. Cars like that are shining beacons to the males of the species," he waved his hand around. "I thought your dad was an officer, how come you guys landed in enlisted housing?"
I sat the bag beside him and picked out the take out boxes, inspecting each one. The first one was mine, as soon as I opened it, my stomach clenched with hunger.
"They're backlogged. It’s not so bad here though. Except for the one bathroom thing." I frowned, plucked some chop sticks out of the bag and hopped up beside him, handing him the other box of food. I wasn’t sure, but it smelled like Moo Shoo Pork.
"Thanks. Yeah, I don’t get the bathroom complaints. Why do chicks need their own bathroom anyways? Do you do some super secret lady stuff in there?" He rolled his chopsticks together then maneuvered them expertly into his hand, taking a big bite.
"Yeah. Top secret. I can’t even hint at it or I’ll have my chick license revoked. That and I hate smelling like Old Spice after I shower," I shuddered in mock horror
He leaned over and took a long sniff of me.
No lie.
He sniffed me.
"You smell pretty good to me."
I blushed before I could stop myself, the heat licking up my neck and face. Down Girl, I scolded myself. This is so not the way after Reece behaved. After Reece was made of sterner stuff.
I rolled my eyes and took a bite, trying to regain my cool. The food was really good. Spicy, but not ‘my friggin' mouth is on fire’ hot.
"Thanks for dinner. No offence but why do you want to spend your evening helping me unpack?" I asked after I swallowed and took a sip of soda.
Everything about his behavior had my suspicious side on full alert, but his voice and body language put me at ease. He had the charisma of a southern gentleman, with eyes that practically danced with mischief. Still, suspicious as I was, I’d made up my mind about one thing. He wasn’t dangerous. He struck me as a guy who might toilet paper a teacher’s house, but who would also go clean it up later. It was more than I could say about most of the guys I’d dated, and been dumped by, recently.
"See, that’s why I wanted to get to know you better. You’re sharper than most girls I know. Like nothing escapes your notice. I bet you don’t take crap from anyone either. So why haven’t you told me to get lost yet?" he smiled, without answering my question, I noticed.
"I don’t know. You kind of intrigue me I guess. You never do or say what I expect you too. It’s kind of annoying," I admitted.
He chuckled, "But kind of charming too, right?"
I raised my eyebrow, "I’m gonna stick with annoying."
He clutched his hand to his heart, feigning being wounded. I smiled nudged him with my elbow.
We talked about school, football, he was a Redskins fan, but I tried really hard not to hold that against him, even books. He was very well read for a jock, I decided, as he told me about his love of classic Greek writers like Homer and Virgil.
"I like the epic hero stuff. We don’t have enough of that anymore," he said between bites, earning my grudging respect.
"So, are you going to put me to work or what?" He asked as I scraped the bottom of my now empty take out box.
"I warn you, I am a bit of a slave driver," I joked, tossing my empty container back into the bag.
His eyes sparkled impishly, "I hoped as much."
Before he could get off the counter I heaved a small box of books into his lap.
"These go on the bookshelf in the living room."
He grunted dramatically as he carried the heavy box into the other room. I grabbed a box and followed him.
"Wow, you have a ton of books," he said as we shelved the two boxes.
"And these are just my hardbacks. The paperbacks are in my room." I muttered, checking inside to make sure I had the book in its proper place in the series order. I stuffed it in its spot between two others. Yes, I had my books organized by author, and in series order. My little OCD.
"So, do you like to read?" he asked, sitting back on his palms.
"Yeah." I said, picking up the next book. Actually, that was a severe understatement. I devoured books.
"What do you like to read?" he volleyed back.
I paused, then slid the book into its spot, "Um, a little of everything. Except true crime."
"Why not true crime?"
I stopped and looked at him, laughing, "Why?"
He leaned forward, "Well, we’re sitting here talking, or I’m talking, and you aren’t saying anything."
I bristled, "Maybe I’m not a chatterbox, but I thought I was holding up my part of the conversation."
He shook his head, "No. I mean you aren’t saying anything important. Tell me something."
"What? Like the human head weighs eight pounds?"
"No. Something about you. Tell me something about yourself that you aren’t sure you want me to know."
I took a deep breath, "I’m really not that interesting."
He smiled, leaned forward and plucked the book out of my hands, "I find you very interesting, but don’t avoid the question."
"You didn’t ask me a question," I laughed.
He stared at me, "Alright. What’s your least favorite movie of all time?"
"That’s an odd question. OK. My least favorite movie is Legends of the Fall." I answered, taking the book back from him and searching for its place on the shelf.
"Why?" he asked, looking surprised, "I thought chicks loved Brad Pitt movies."
I shrugged, "I suppose because everyone is so miserable all the time. Like they just can’t catch a break in life. Every second of their lives is hard and sad and they never get to be with the people they love."
"So watching them struggle and hurt makes you hurt too?" he asked quietly.
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Life was hard and sad enough as it was, why sit for two hours and watch other people be miserable too?
"Are you taking psychology too?" I tried to joke, but I couldn’t make the smile reach my eyes so I looked away.
"So you live here with your dad. Where’s your mom? Divorced?"
I shook my head, "Dead."
"Oh, I’m sorry."
I shrugged. I heard him move behind me and tear open another box. He chuckled and I glanced over my shoulder to see what was so funny. Greg clutched a small purple picture frame to his chest.
"What’s so funny?"
"You know, I never would have pegged you for a Cheerleader," he snickered.
My face dropped. Lurching backwards I tried to grab the frame from him, but he leaned back, just out of my reach.
"I wasn’t a cheerleader," I sulked, "It was freshman year, and it was the Pom Squad."
Even to me that excuse sounded lame. A sweater monkey was a sweater monkey.
He held the picture out to me then snatched it back as I reached for it.
"I think you look cute," he taunted, his voice raising an octave on the word ‘cute’.
I gave him my best glare, "Look, if you value your life you will hand me that photo right now and never speak of this again."
I held my hand out and waited.
"I don’t see what the big deal is," he shrugged, handing me the frame.
I ran my thumb over the picture. It was an odd feeling, like looking at a stranger inside your skin. I didn’t know that girl anymore. It was the smiling face of before Reece. Before my boyfriend dumped me. Before mom got sick. Before all my friends turned against me.
"I wasn’t always like this, you know." I whispered, "I used to be fun. Normal."
Happy, I added silently.
Greg scooted closer till his shoulder touched mine as we sat side by side.
"Oh, I think you’re fun. Anyone who can bust out some Monty Python in first period has got to be fun. And as for normal, well, normal is overrated." He smiled and it was like the sun peaking through the clouds, brightening everything.
I laid the picture on the floor face down and handed him another box.
"Looks like speakers and cables in this one," he said, changing the subject like a pro.
An hour, three root beers, and a lengthy discussion about the sexist treatment of females on Battlestar Galactica later, I heard my dad’s car in the driveway. My knee jerk reaction was,
‘Oh crap!’ but I was sixteen now and it’s not like we were doing anything wrong. Still, I worried about his reaction.
The door swung open with more drama than was really necessary and my dad, all six foot six inches of him, trudged through the door. Greg seemed perfectly at ease, despite the entrance.
"Hi dad," I greeted him with just a little too much enthusiasm.
If dad was upset, it didn’t show. His face was calm, unreadable, except for the subtle raising of his eyebrow. No one but me would have even noticed it, I was sure.
"Hey there kiddo, who’s your friend?" He asked flatly.
I realized in that moment I had no idea what Greg’s last name was.
"Oh, dad this is Greg, Greg this is my dad, um… Lieutenant Colonel Barnett."
"Sir is fine," dad corrected.
Greg stood, like he’d been training for this moment all his life, and held his hand out to my father, "Gregory Knight, sir. Nice to meet you."
I let out a nervous breath. The boy had skills.
Dad shook his hand then looked around at the scattered empty boxes and mess, "I see my daughter’s put you to work, but it’s getting late so."
Greg blushed and looked at me. "Yes sir, I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow."
I walked him to the door, "Sure. Thanks for the food and the company."
He smiled, "Anytime."
Greg stood there on the step for a minute, looking like he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind and scurried off to his orange Dodge Dakota. I closed the door to the dusk and proceeded into the kitchen where I was sure my dad was waiting to ambush me.
He was sitting at the table Greg and I had managed to assemble, rummaging through the open box of framed pictures. I’d been saving the wall stuff for last. Base housing frowned upon things like nail holes in the walls, so I wanted to get dad’s okay before I hung anything. He was staring at a picture of mom and me a few months before she died. The cancer had taken her hair, but she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was sitting on the edge of our tan sofa, a bright yellow scarf wrapped around her head. I was sitting half in her lap as she played with my hair. We were both laughing. She did that a lot, right up till the end. Even when the meds had taken everything else, her smile still shined like the sun. A lump climbed into my throat, threatening to choke me up. Taking a deep breath I came up behind dad and hugged his shoulders. He patted my hands twice and pulled away.
"So, first day and the boys are already following you home, huh?" he asked, slipping the photo back into the box. I reached into it behind him and pulled the picture out, walking it over to the bookshelf in the living room and setting it carefully on the top shelf next to her old copy of Alice in Wonderland. I grazed my hand over her face once before going back into the kitchen.
"Yeah, that’s me. I’m like the Pied Piper of Cherry Point. You’re gonna have to beat them off with a stick," I joked.
He didn’t think it was funny, I guessed from the expression on his face. It looked like he’d just taken a big bite of something sour.