Authors: S. Walden
Beatrice looked up at her sister, wiped awkwardly at her face, and opened her mouth to speak. But she said nothing. Instead she burst into a fit of giggles, the kind of reaction only a clever person has, and Clara, understanding it fully, laughed too.
“
That’s
right,” Beatrice said after she caught her breath. She slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I forgot she went to the store!” and then laughed all over again. They laughed, their faces awash with fresh tears, but this time silly, happy tears for the joke they made. In that moment, Clara felt better in her heart.
Clara smiled remembering that night. She watched her sister as she continued giggling, her little paint-chipped fingernails pressed against her lips. Beatrice was much too cute when she giggled, and Clara thought that if she were now the mother figure even at the tender age of sixteen, it was her responsibility to keep Beatrice out of trouble. Cute giggling attracted boys, and for a split second Clara feared the future when her ten-year-old sister would start noticing them.
“What?” Beatrice asked after a moment. “You have a weird look on your face.”
Clara shook her head and pointed to the piece of paper in Beatrice’s hand. “What’s that?”
Beatrice had all but forgotten about the paper until Clara mentioned it. “My supply list for school,” she said handing it to Clara. “And you remember Open House tonight, right?”
“Of course,” Clara said although she hadn’t. She looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. “What time?”
“Seven,” Beatrice answered.
Clara looked at the list once more. “Well, what do you say we go get these things before Open House?”
Beatrice agreed emphatically. She loved getting new things, especially school supplies. It was something about the smell of them she tried to explain to Clara. On one occasion, she held out a pack of erasers inviting Clara to sniff. When Clara refused, Beatrice shrugged and lifted the plastic pack up to her own nose inhaling deeply. She smiled up at her sister in confirmation that the erasers were the perfect scent.
What an oddball
, Clara thought at the time.
What an oddball
, she thought now, watching her sister dance around the kitchen at the prospect of shopping for binders, pencils, and packs of loose-leaf notebook paper. She wondered if Beatrice would sniff everything she picked up and if the scent of each item would be the determining factor in purchasing it.
“We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” Clara said, and Beatrice rushed to get ready.
***
“No college-ruled paper, Clara!” Beatrice said. “Why do you keep going for those stacks? I need wide-ruled. You got that?
Wide. Ruled
,” she stated with emphasis.
“Would it be alright with you if I got some paper for myself?” Clara asked. “I happen to need college-ruled. You got that?
College
.
Ruled
.”
Beatrice smirked at her sister and continued down the aisle, her eyes scanning the variety of pencil packs dangling in front of her.
“Bea, according to your list, we’ve got everything,” Clara said. “You know we have pencils at home.”
Beatrice scowled at her sister. “Clara, I cannot start school without new pencils. They make me smarter.”
“Explain to me how they make you smarter,” Clara said amused.
“I don’t know. They just do. They make me want to do a better job on my work.” Beatrice was already taking several packs of pencils off their hangers. “And I like the way they smell.”
Clara smiled. “You get one. So choose wisely.”
She watched Beatrice spread the packs out on the floor and deliberate over them all the while thinking of the two hundred dollars in her checking account. She had started her job six weeks ago, and aside from buying a few new clothing items for school as well as some toiletries and make-up, she had saved the rest. It seemed like a small fortune to her two weeks ago. Now she wondered how to pay for the school supplies on top of the mounting debt. And the property tax. Just thinking of the number made her fingertips tingle with electric fear.
“I’ve decided,” Beatrice said, handing the pack to her sister. There were eight neon-colored No. 2 pencils in the case.
“Good choice,” Clara said calculating the total cost in her head.
After writing a check for $32.96—and feeling a slight sinking in her stomach—Clara led Beatrice to the car.
“Do you like your teacher this year?” she asked as Beatrice buckled her seatbelt.
“Yes, he’s very smart and nice,” Beatrice replied.
“
He
?”
“Yeah, Mr. Brenson,” Beatrice said. “What’s wrong with Mr. Brenson?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Mr. Brenson,” Clara replied pulling out of the Wal-Mart parking lot. “You just don’t hear of many men teaching elementary school.”
“Why is that?” Beatrice asked.
“You got me,” Clara said. “Maybe it has to do with men not wanting to be surrounded by a bunch of brats all day.” Clara smiled as she kept her eyes on the road.
“Ha ha,” Beatrice replied. “High schoolers are way brattier than elementary kids.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Clara said. “All that teenage angst.” She paused before continuing. “You know that no one understands us.”
“Naturally,” Beatrice replied. “You’re sooooo misunderstood. If people would only get a clue.” She twirled her hair and smacked her gum.
“Spit that gum out before we go in,” Clara ordered as they pulled into the Chesterfield Elementary School parking lot. She looked over at Beatrice and watched her blow another large bubble. She was tempted to pop it but feared Beatrice’s reaction. Her sister was a spitfire, just like their mother, and Clara was certain Beatrice would find no amusement in having tiny sticky pieces of gum surrounding her lips.
On their way into the auditorium, Clara noticed him. The senior who talked to her on the first day of school. It wasn’t a lengthy conversation. Actually it wasn’t a conversation at all. He greeted her and she stuttered something in reply. She thought she said “hello” back, but who knows. She felt embarrassed and unsure about why he took the time to say anything at all. He came into health class, an elective they shared, and walked by her desk. Students were already seated and surrounding her, but he only said hello to her. And then he added her name. “Hello, Clara,” and she thought she would melt into the floor. The memory caused a physical response.
“Gross, Clara!” Beatrice said, yanking her hand out of her sister’s. “Your hand is sweating!”
“Say it a little louder,” Clara hissed. She felt instantly irritated, her nerve endings crackling as she watched the boy turn in their direction. He must have heard Beatrice say her name. He waved and started walking towards them.
Oh God
, Clara thought panicking. She looked down at her clothes making a quick assessment. Nothing pretty or flattering, but nothing out of order.
“Hi, Clara,” the boy said.
“Uh, hello,” she managed, looking at the floor and then the top of her sister’s head.
“I’m Evan,” he said. “I’m in your health class.”
“I know,” she replied. She blushed fiercely, glancing at him for only a moment.
He was so cute. Tall and lean. His clothes fit him perfectly, she observed. They were stylish, unlike her own. Slim jeans and skater shoes. He wore a fitted button down shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was a dirty blond, wavy and unkempt. Not hanging in his eyes, though. Not long and obnoxious like some of the other boys’ haircuts. She noticed his cat green eyes, like peridots, and the soft sprinkling of light freckles over the bridge of his nose. Oh yes. He was cute. And she wondered if he knew it.
“I didn’t know you knew who I was,” Evan said. His voice was deep and soothing. Clara wanted to sink down into it like a warm bath then wondered if he could hear her thoughts.
“Everyone does,” she replied.
“I didn’t know that.”
He didn’t sound like he was lying, so she decided to believe him. But how on earth could he not know that everyone knew who he was? He wasn’t a jock; he didn’t move in that crowd. He also didn’t move in the popular crowd of nonathletic students, but everyone still knew him. And they liked him. She watched as they flocked to him at lunch, in between class periods, at assemblies. Everyone: popular kids and nerds. Even nobodies. He was the cool, smart, tech guy with actual social skills. It made him monstrously attractive, and even Clara, being the antisocial student she was, couldn’t help but be drawn to him as well. She looked his way on occasion last year, but he never seemed to notice. But then why would he? She wasn’t outgoing and bubbly and on the hunt. She was reserved, preferring to hang back in the shadows and dream.
“So did your parents drag you here, too?” he asked.
“Um, yeah,” Clara said. She gave a quick glance at Beatrice whose nod was imperceptible.
“I’m Beatrice Greenwich, by the way,” she said extending her hand to Evan. “The polite thing to do would have been to ask.”
Evan laughed as he took her small warm hand in his.
“Beatrice!” Clara exclaimed mortified.
“No, she’s right,” Evan said. “And I’m sorry, Beatrice. Can we start over?” he asked as he squeezed her hand gently.
“I suppose,” she replied, trying for indifference.
“Alright then,” Evan said, releasing her hand and walking a few feet away from the sisters. He turned on his heel and started towards them again, stopping within inches of Beatrice. “And who might you be?” he asked extending his hand.
“I might be Bea, but you can call me Beatrice because you haven’t earned the right yet to call me Bea,” Beatrice said. She gave Evan’s hand two hard shakes and then released it.
“I completely understand,” Evan replied. “Beatrice it is.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Clara said. She shot Beatrice an exasperated look tinged with anger. Beatrice shrugged and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“For what?” Evan said still smiling.
“My sister’s rudeness,” Clara said. “God, she’s so rude.”
“Am not, Clara,” Beatrice huffed. “Being matter-of-fact is not the same thing as being rude.”
“It’s a fine line,” Clara said through gritted teeth.
“How old are you?” Evan asked. He directed the question to Beatrice.
“I’m ten. How old are
you
?”
“Eighteen, and evidently not as smart as you,” Evan replied.
“Well, we can compare notes as we get to know each other.” Beatrice looked over at the stage and saw someone walking to the podium. “I think we need to find some seats now,” she suggested, and started walking down the center aisle.
“Your sister is a handful,” Evan said turning to Clara.
“You’ve no idea,” Clara responded following Beatrice down the aisle.
They settled themselves in two seats randomly left open in the middle of a center row, and Clara watched as Evan made his way over to his family. There were four of them: a father, a mother, a younger brother, and him.
Picture perfect
, Clara thought, and her heart bled the tiniest bit of jealousy, trickling down into her stomach and making it sour.
She turned her focus to the podium but not before she saw Evan turn around and look at her. She caught his eye; she had to acknowledge him. She smiled and he smiled back. She wanted to keep looking at him, but she was afraid he’d make her do something foolish. She turned to the podium certain that he was still gazing at her. She wondered if she should flip her hair over her shoulder like Beatrice does. She wasn’t good with those things like Beatrice probably because Beatrice did them automatically without knowing how cute she was when she did them. They came naturally to her. But not Clara. She did few things in her life automatically. Every decision was deliberate and controlled. She knew if she flipped her hair it would look awkward like she had thought too long and hard about it resulting in something mechanical and wrong.
She kept her hands folded in her lap. She fought the urge to look Evan’s way. It was impossible and unfair to sit there knowing he sat a few rows in front of her probably still looking at her. It wasn’t until the principal excused everyone to the teachers’ classrooms that she looked over. He was gone, and her heart sagged in her chest.
Beatrice pulled her sister along to Mr. Brenson’s room. They rounded a corner, and Clara bumped into Evan.
“I’m sorry!” Clara said.
“No worries,” Evan replied. “Glad to see you again.” He smiled at Clara’s sister. “Beatrice,” he said inclining his head.
“Evan,” Beatrice replied civilly, inclining her own head.
“Hey, I didn’t see your parents in there,” Evan said. “Where are they?”
Clara was bad at making up lies on the spot. She thought she should find that a virtuous trait, but it mostly made her angry. Especially in situations like the present one. Thankfully Beatrice was full of deception, and she was a quick thinker, too.
“Well, our mother is in the bathroom and our father isn’t here,” Beatrice replied. “Now if you will excuse us, we need to go see my teacher.” She didn’t wait for Evan to reply but grabbed Clara’s hand, pushed past Evan, and started down the hallway towards a classroom at the far end. Evan followed forgetting that he was headed for the water fountain.