Continuum (3 page)

I chastise myself silently. 
That’s right.  He is looking right through you.  You probably look like a drowned rat and your boots squeak.  Who are you?  He’s sitting with Mackenzie Brooks!  Get yourself together before you really embarrass yourself.

Under the cover of my long hair, I discreetly peer over to the other side of the room.  He is pushing back a stray strand of artfully disheveled chestnut hair that has fallen into his eyes as he scribbles down notes.  His face is all angles, hollow cheekbones with a long straight nose and strong yet elegant jawline.  I notice even his lips are sculpted as he chews on his bottom lip, concentrating as his pen moves across the page of his notebook.  The muscles in his arm are taught under his black t-shirt, a black leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair.  His dark jeans are fitted and speckled with paint and his boot-clad foot is jiggling impatiently as Mrs. Douglas reads on.  

The longer I look at this boy, the unfamiliar fluttering returns in my chest and my stomach twists into knots.  Such strange sensations, this is what girls are always going on and on about.  I’m horrified to admit to myself that I am attracted to him.  When the bell rings, I realize I have spent most of class staring at this boy.  

I can't stand him already.  

I am feeling distracted from my restless night and, for once, am grateful when my lunch period rolls around.  Lunchtime is the peak of the high school social feeding frenzy.  I prefer not to participate.  Normally, I take my lunch outside and eat at one of the picnic tables next to the forest preserve.  It’s usually empty out there this time as year as the slightest bit of cold drives everyone indoors.  

I groan when I step outside my windowless classroom and see it is now raining even harder.  The steady fall of freezing rain outside deters me from my lunch plans and I head back toward the cafeteria.  Weather in Everest Heights never seemed to cooperate with me.  

There is a buzz of excitement in the lunchroom.  I grab a red plastic tray and stand in the lunch line behind a group of freshman.  I spot Mackenzie and her minions standing in front of them, chatting animatedly.  

Mackenzie is grilling them for information, “What did you find out about him?”  She plops the school's unappetizing excuse for a salad onto her tray, along with an apple and a Diet Coke.

Standing behind Mackenzie, Sophia puts the exact same lunch on her tray.  “Well, he's in my third period French class.”  Sophia continues with a giggle, “His French accent is très sexy.  Monsieur Martin was completely freaking out that he finally had someone who could speak French in his class.  He told Monsieur Martin that he lived in Paris for a while.  How romantic.”

The line inches forward and I can't stop myself from eavesdropping.  Chloe pipes up, “I have fifth period Calculus with him.  He sat next to that freak Megan Fischer.  He was asking her about this sticker she had on her notebook.  Then after class, they walked out together and they were talking about Vampire Weekend.    She is such a freak.  I don't know why he would waste his time talking to someone like her.”

In a snarky voice, Sophia asks,  “Vampire Weekend?  Is that like some kind of weird ritual thing she does over the weekend? 

“I think they're like a band, Soph,” Emma responds, rolling her eyes.

Mackenzie shakes her head solemnly, “He must be a total saint to even talk to her.  Hot, smart, and charitable.”

Emma lets out a gasp and grabs Mackenzie by the elbow, “Don't look now, but you know who just walked into the lunchroom.”

They all let out a collective squeal before composing themselves.  Mackenzie smooths down her hair and pulls down the hem of her sweater.  They all leave the lunch line with Mackenzie sauntering out first.  High school girls are like sharks when they catch a sent of fresh blood.  

I place a turkey and swiss on wheat sandwich and a banana on my tray.  Standing by the cashier, I do a quick scan of the lunchroom to find an empty table.  Sam Jordan is sitting in the center of the room with the football table.  The cheerleaders, fully tarted up on a school day, are huddled together at the next table.  Mackenzie and the gang are sitting at a table near by.  They are huddled together chatting excitedly.  The chess team sits in the corner by the lockers.  The school band occupies the two tables next to that.  Lower classmen are sprinkled throughout the room.  I spot an empty table next to a window facing the forest preserve.  

I set down my lunch tray and slide my backpack off my shoulders.  I rummage through my bag until I locate a pencil and my European History notebook.  I flip past my sketch from this morning and go to a blank page.  My hand starts moving across the page automatically, I am mesmerized by the forest during the rainstorm.  Raindrops cling to the tree branches and the few remaining leaves, slowly dripping to form an icy barrier on the ground.  Much like the icy barrier I keep in place between myself and the rest of the world.

Ethan

I look at the unappetizing varieties of slop in front of me, trying to decide if there are any edible options.  I pick what looks like ham and cheddar on wheat wrapped in cellophane.  Discreetly, I sniff the sandwich and place it on my tray along with an apple, a container of greek yogurt with peaches, and a carton of chocolate milk.  Before I can get my change back from the cashier, Chloe is already standing guard next to me ready to escort me back to “the” lunch table.

The lunch table is, naturally, in the center of the room.  It allows for everyone in the cafeteria to watch (enviously and from a distance) as the popular kids talk and laugh and pick over their food.  After attending so many different schools in so many different places, it was easy to dissect the hierarchy at Everest Heights High School within my first day.

Chloe wedges herself in next to Sophia and Emma on one side of the table.  Sitting across from them is Mackenzie and the only remaining chair.  I gingerly set down my tray and slide into my chair.  The girls each have a tray with an untouched tuna salad with wilted greens and a bottle of spring water.

They start peppering me with questions before I can even unwrap my sandwich.  Mackenzie leans in, draping her arm on mine, “How are your classes going?”

“Uhm, fine I guess.”

“Isn’t Mrs. Douglas the worst?  Ugh, her lectures put me to sleep.”

“She’s okay.  I’ve had worse.”  I unwrap my sandwich and take a few quick bites as they complain about European History.

Chloe interrupts my eating, “I heard you are Bio partners with Sam and Liam.”

Sheesh, I had only had my first Bio class today.  I guess word travels fast in a small school.  Was everything going to be like this?  “Yeah, they’re really cool.”  I open my container of yogurt and mix in the peaches as they start dishing about my lab partners.

“Oh my God, did you see Liam’s new haircut?  It’s amazing.”

“He is super cute this year,” Sophia gushes.

Emma sighs, “Super jealous.  Why am I taking Physics?”

Rolling her eyes, Chloe replies, “Puh-lease.  You would totally die if they were your lab partners.” 

Mackenzie cuts in, “Ugh, seriously.  Sam and Liam are jocks not lab geeks.”

Sophia cuts her off, squealing excitedly and clapping her hands on the table, “Ethan, you have to try out for the football team on Friday!”

“Definitely.  I’ll put in a good word for you with Coach Morris.  You obviously work out, did you play any sports at your old school?” Mackenzie says with admiration, giving my arm a squeeze.  My spoonful of yogurt and peaches is midway to my mouth as they all look at me with stars in their eyes.

Feeling awkward from all the attention, I dip my spoon back into the cup, swirling around the peaches, “Yeah, I played soccer and ran track.  I’m not so sure about football.  I never really played American football.”  

“Oh my God, Ethan.  Football is like the sport to play a Everest Heights.  The navy and silver will look so good with your coloring,” Mackenzie says as she intensely scrutinizes my features while I try to eat my yogurt.  She was probably sizing me up for a letterman’s jacket.

“I’ve played some rugby and a few games of flag football.  My dad wasn’t into American football when I was growing up, so I never really followed it.  I’m a bit hazy on the rules of the game.  Plus I’m not really too keen on participating in extra circulars this year.” 

This opens the girls up to freaking out about not having enough extra circulars for college applications.  Which leads to an all out evaluation on which clubs weren’t completely lame that they could join this year to polish their resumes.  It gives me an opportunity to let my eyes wander from my perch in the center of the room.

I spot my mystery girl in the corner of the room.  She is huddled in her jacket, the hood pulled up despite being indoors.  She is sitting alone at her table, headphones in place.  Her dark hair is swept in front of her shoulders framing her pale face.  Her eyes are fixated out the window next to her table.  From my vantage point all I can see are the vague outline of trees off in the distance, distorted by the icy sleet of rain coming down against the glass.

As her eyes shift to take in the landscape, her pencil moves in quick, sure strokes over the notebook resting against the edge of the table.  She never looks down as her hand moves across the page.  She is biting her lip in concentration, her white teeth pressing against the dark pink of her lips.  A little furrow is forming between her eyebrows as she sketches.  

Every time I’ve seen her, she’s been alone.  She has a quiet intensity about her.  And a sadness that surrounds her.  I’m deeply curious to know more about her.  But I know better than to ask this group who seem to only value things by their level of shininess.

I’m pulled back into reality by Mackenzie tugging my arm, “Well, what do you think?”  Everyone has fallen silent and is looking at me with tight, expectant smiles.

“What do I think about what?”

“Having a little get together, silly.”

“Uhm... sounds great,” I mumble, taking another bite of my sandwich.  They start murmuring excitedly again and I allow my eyes to wander once more.

Fallon

When I awake the next morning, the sun is shining cheerfully but the temperature outside has dropped considerably.  After going through my usual morning routine, I fish out a navy wool sweater from the black of my closet and put it on over a white button down shirt.  I slip on my long johns under a pair of black skinny jeans and pull out my winter parka on my way out the door.  

I have to walk extra carefully because the rain from yesterday has frozen over to form a slick layer of ice on the sidewalks.  I am running behind schedule due to my turtle’s pace, so I head directly to European History when I arrive to school.  The bell hasn't sounded yet when I walk into the classroom.  I am annoyed to see Mackenzie has decided to make a permanent switch to my seat and I am forced once again to sit across the room with nothing to distract me from Mrs. Douglas.

As I'm settling into my new seat, the new boy walks in as the bell rings, his bag slung casually over his left shoulder, his hair windblown.  He is wearing a light gray sweater with a white t-shirt peaking out  over a pair of slim cut black jeans.  He carries his leather jacket in his right hand.  His eyes seem to wander around the classroom, searching.  But Mackenzie spots him in the doorway and she is instantly aflutter to get his attention.

Our eyes meet for a moment and I can detect the slightest hint of a grimace as he walks over to the only remaining seat in the classroom.  I can hear Mackenzie gushing over him the second he sits down.  “Good morning.  What icky weather we've been having, huh?  That sweater looks great on you.  It really brings out the blue of your eyes.”  The shrill ring of the second bell cuts her off and Mrs. Douglas starts reciting her lecture notes.  Never one to be deterred, Mackenzie continues her conversation with the new boy, whispering and giggling throughout class.

50 excruciating minutes later, I run out of European History and head to gym class.  I am relieved to see a note in the locker room informing us not to change into our gym clothes for flag football because the field is frozen from yesterday's rain.  Instead, all gym classes are meeting in the big gymnasium to hear a presentation on underage drinking and drunk driving.  I escape flag football only to be subjected to the presence of all the second period gym classes.

I shuffle out of the locker room, following behind a group of girls, chatting excitedly.  I walk into the gymnasium behind Chloe and Sydney Cooper.  Chloe is twisting a long strand of blonde hair between her thumb and her pointer while talking animatedly with Sydney.  “Mackenzie says he is this close to asking her out.  That lucky girl, she gets to date all the cute ones.  I would hate her if she wasn't my best friend.”

Sydney sighs loudly, her shoulders rising and falling emphatically, “Wow.  Mackenzie is super lucky.  But then again she does know her way around a boy's heart.  He is so gorgeous.  I would be so nervous to talk to him.”

Chloe nods in agreement, “He is totally dreamy.  I can’t even form words around him.”

“He's in my art class and he takes everything so seriously.  He's like totally brooding and mysterious.  Plus he looks so hot on that motorcycle.  My mom would totally kill me if I ever dated a boy with a motorcycle.”

“Good thing he’s not about to ask you out then,” Chloe replies playfully, setting them both into a fit of giggles as they make their way into the gymnasium.

The line for the bleacher stairs thin out and I climb the steps to the empty row in the back.   As I set my bag down, I spot Chloe and Sydney climbing the bleachers in the middle section.  Then they proceed to step over groups of huddled lower classmen to get to the center of the row.  Chloe and Sydney take their seats next to Emma and Mackenzie, the new boy squeezed between them.  I can't help but think that even the back of his head was beautiful, the bleacher lights dancing in his dark hair.

The bell rings and Coach Morris comes out of his office, his jogging suit making a swishing noise as he walks briskly to the center court line.  Behind him, Brian Fredrickson is wheeling out a projector cart.  He spends a few minutes setting up the projector in front of a white pull down screen.  After Brian switches the projector on, Coach Morris barks at us to shut up and sit still.  The lights dim and Coach Morris begins his presentation.