Already, one of my two friends, the meanest one, Callie, had ditched me to become part of the in crowd. The summer between freshman and sophomore year, Callie got a job at a community pool as a lifeguard. Guess who the other lifeguards were. That’s right. Irving kids. Apparently bonding occurred. And Callie left our friendship behind. Not a word or an acknowledgment. Just gone. Like the wind.
Let’s face it, we all knew she would drop anyone like a hot potato on her way up the rungs of the popularity ladder.
Now, my other friend, Sally Milhauer, she would have stayed my friend, and she and I could have held together in a kind of middling, not total loser situation.
But over the summer she switched schools.
I know!
Her mother decided to send her to a Catholic school, which was insane because Sally was half Jewish. I think she was trying to get back at Sally’s dad, who had moved to Omaha and married his SoulCycle instructor.
So, just because Sally’s dad couldn’t resist that lady jiggling around shouting affirmations in spandex, I was faced with the proposition of spending my time in high school alone. A total outcast, possibly the biggest loser in the universe.
But this was all changed, praise Jesus, when a funny thing happened to my biology requirement. You see, I didn’t realize I couldn’t take biology and computer science in the same semester. Why not? I mean one day obviously they will be one and the same. In the future, when we are all cyborgs. However, Lincoln Southeast High had other ideas for my education and they booted me out of the one, throwing off my entire class schedule and landing me straight into Mr. Eckdahl’s 10 a.m. biology class.
Now, this was the second day of school, so the lines in that class had already been drawn, the seats taken, alliances made. And yet, there I was forced to stand, in the doorway, with my paperwork explaining to Mr. Eckdahl that I had to not only interrupt his class but actually take his class.
As Mr. Eckdahl scratched his head, looking out over the sea of two-person tables, I saw a funny thing out of the corner of my eye . . . one student, in the back of the class, frantically gesturing to his tablemate. Swatting him away. Forcing him to move!
Then, as befuddled Mr. Eckdahl turned back to the classroom, he seemed to see an opening he hadn’t seen before: a seat free, there in the back. He gestured to me to take this very seat.
I took the seat, the seat that had just been frantically vacated, and couldn’t even bring myself to look up to see who the mystery person who had made sure that that seat was empty actually was. But as Mr. Eckdahl began his lecture about cell division, I managed to peek out from behind my newly acquired textbook to see who the guilty party was. And there he was. In the flesh:
Zander Haaf.
Yes, the Zander Haaf. The one who my antifriend, Callie, had been freaking out about at the state fair one year ago. Zander Haaf. Aka, the guy who every girl in all four Lincoln high schools was obsessed with, in love with, and engaged to marry in their imaginations.
And he emptied that seat next to him . . . just for me.
Chapter 16
I am just about to get into the second phase of that particularly vivid memory when the house begins to show itself through the trees. The construction guys are hard at work in the back, the sounds of hammers and some kind of power tool breaking into my heartwarming memory. Their hard hats roam this way and that like yellow ladybugs.
It occurs to me that I haven’t really bonded with “the guys” at this point. They probably don’t realize I have terrible social anxiety. I wonder if I should explain this to them. But it seems a bit much. I mean, it assumes they care, which they probably don’t. Also, there’s something strange about them, something kind of on autopilot.
In any case, I’m happy to have them there, making all that racket. Normally, of course, I would be up in arms about the constant noise but, really, it’s better than the perpetual silence that settles over the place at night. It’s also a lot better than that mysterious scratching I was telling you about. You know, the scratching that I obviously imagined.
I notice something on my way up the path, passing by the white construction truck of the contractor, Baseball Hat Mike. In the back of this truck, there in the back seat, is a duffel bag full of baseball equipment. But the gloves are a bit small. Like, kids’ size. Ah! He does coach Little League.
Of course he does.
I notice the name on one of the uniforms. It says the “Southside Sea Cucumbers.” I am sorry but I have to find out which of these Little Leaguers came up with that name so I can give them a trophy.
I wish my curiosity had led me only to that quaint and comforting fact. But, alas, the world is a cold and unfeeling place. My gaze goes from the sweet Sea Cucumbers uniform to something else, something much more sinister.
An ax.
Yes, of course it’s perfectly natural Baseball Hat Mike would have an ax. He’s a contractor. I mean, what if he has to fell a tree in the line of duty? It could happen, right?
But there is something about it. Something that stops me in my tracks. Like the ax has meaning. Like there is something I should know about that ax. Or something I should remember. The cool steel of its blade seems to wink at me.
“Everything okay over here?”
I look up and there he is, Baseball Hat Mike. I guess he’s probably wondering why I am peering into his truck and having a strange mental dissonance over its contents.
“What? Oh, yeah. Of course. Sorry. I was just, uh, zoning out, basically.” This is my default. Just act like a space cadet. That seems to be an acceptable pigeonhole for me for someone like Mike. Nothing threatening. Just a girl.
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” He nods and I take the opportunity to walk backward toward the house, tripping on a tree stump.
“Whoops. Yeah, I didn’t see that. Obviously. Because it was behind me.”
Baseball Hat Mike just stands there.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” There’s nothing mean in his voice. It’s almost like he feels sorry for me.
“Uh, sure.”
“Why are you here all alone?”
It’s a direct question. I will say that. But it’s not something I can really answer in full. Without possibly having a midday breakdown. In front of the guys. Who probably wouldn’t even notice.
“Oh, I’m just. Well, I start college next fall. Summer job.”
“Ah.” He sort of squints. “You didn’t want to go to Europe or stay with your friends or something?”
Now, this seems prying. Like, how does he even know I have any friends?
“Um . . . well, this kind of helps me . . . be able to . . . actually go to college.”
And that is true. Without this job, no room and board. Without room and board, no college. Pretty simple.
“Ah. And where are you going?”
“Um. Bryn Mawr.”
He whistles. Just a whistle. No comment.
“Wait. Why did you just whistle?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s just an expensive school. I guess I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
I just noticed something about him, something I didn’t notice before. He’s not a bad-looking guy. I mean, some girls, not me of course, would even find him attractive. In a freckle-faced kind of way. Again, and I feel this is important, not my type. But . . . I can see how he might be someone’s type.