Authors: Deanna Proach
Anya's eyes droop when she thinks about Maria.
Her clothes are so stylish. I wish I had those kinds of clothes, and--I know I say this almost every day--I wish I was as popular as her. I'd like to get to know Maria--she'd be the coolest friend I'd ever have--but Carly beat me to it. Carly befriended her the moment she set foot in Peach Valley Senior High. Maria's in two of my classes and sometimes I see her in the hallway, but she never says anything to me. It's no wonder why, though. She's Carly's friend.
Anyway, I think I've told you enough information for one day. I gotta get ready for school. Until next time.
Love Anya.
A loud knock at the front door causes Anya to drop the spoon in her bowl of Cheerios.
“Oh God, Patrick's here and I’m not ready to leave,” she says, glancing at her watch.
Sophia comes waltzing into the kitchen, dressed in a skin-tight, blue t-shirt and equally tight fitting jeans, an outfit far too skimpy for a twelve-year old girl to wear.
Anya narrows her eyes at her sister. “Sophia, where did you get those clothes?”
“That’s none of your business,” she says, flipping her long, dark hair over one shoulder. Sophia stands four inches taller than Anya and her body is already filling in nicely, something that did not happen to Anya until two years ago.
“Yes it is, Sophia! You're too young to be walking around in those kinds of clothes,” Anya says.
Geez, ever since Sophia started developing, she's turned into a snooty little brat.
Sophia shoots her a haughty look. “Dad drove me to Zara’s and bought them for me.”
Anya's jaw stiffens.
Dad has never bought a single item of clothing for me. All of my clothes are from the thrift store. Yet he buys my sister new clothes from one of the most expensive clothing stores in town.
“Sophia, you know dad doesn't have the money to buy you clothes from Zara's.”
A series of knocks on the front door interrupts the girls’ argument — much to Anya’s delight.
“I have to go, or else Patrick will drive off to school without me.”
“Well, can I get a ride with you?” Her question is more like a demand.
“No, get a ride on the bus,” Anya says while she dashes out of the room, giving Sophia no chance to pout and swear at her.
“Finally, Anya. What was taking you so long?” Patrick says, faking an annoyed look.
Anya can easily detect the smile on his face. “I was eating breakfast. Come on, Patrick, you know I’m not a morning person,” she says, winking at him.
“I know. That's why I came twenty minutes early.”
Usually Patrick is clad in a plain t-shirt, corduroys and large, geeky-looking eye glasses. Today, though, he is dressed in a black, leather coat that is un-zippered, revealing a white, button-down shirt, and blue jeans. His unruly brown curls are combed back and held in place by hair spray, and eye contacts replace those ugly glasses.
Anya first met him in eighth grade, their first year at North Oka Junior High. It was during orientation week that they met.
“O’Connell is me last name. Me family moved here from Dublin a month ago,” Patrick said when he held out his hand to her.
She was instantly drawn to his bright smile, freckles, naturally white teeth and Irish accent. But she was more drawn to his keen interest in acting and singing. His talent could move mountains. They never ceased to amaze their teachers and they spent almost every day, performing mini skits, chatting about life, learning and growing together as friends and as young adults.
In all the years Anya has known Patrick, she has never seen him dress up. She must admit, she really likes his new look: it makes him look charming, manly and sexy.
“Is this your new look, Patrick?”
He glances down at himself. “Yes. Don’t you like it?”
“I love it!”
He chuckles. “I love your enthusiasm, Anya. Now get ready before your little sister discovers we’re still here.”
Within seconds, Anya returns, her old canvas knapsack slung over her right shoulder.
“I’m ready. Let’s hit the road,” she says with an air of authority.
Patrick locks his arm around hers. “Anya, I have a surprise for you,” he says as they round the corner of the old picket fence, onto the sidewalk.
Anya’s eyes bulge open and her jaw drops. “Shut-up!”
“I guess I said it too late,” he says under his breath. Ten feet ahead of them sits a brand new, 2003 model Ford pick-up truck. The sleek, black paint gleams underneath the winter sun.
“Is that…is that…your truck?”
“Yes it is, Madame. It's an early grad present from my parents.”
Anya grins. “That is so awesome. Now we'll finally be right up there with the popular kids.”
The smile fades from his face. “Anya, you are way too worried about what the popular kids think of you.”
She blushes deeply. “No I'm not. I was just making a statement. I really like your truck, Patrick. It suites you to a T.”
“I do too, and I feel like a man now,” he says, patting the hood. “I don’t need to ask my mom for permission to use her car anymore.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to having lots of rides in this baby."
Patrick guides Anya around the front end, over to the passenger side of the truck. “Hop into the cool mobile,” he says, opening the door for her.
Anya places her knapsack on the clean car mat, then lifts herself up onto the leather seat. Within seconds, Patrick is seated next to her.
“This is going to get crazy hot in the summertime. You won’t even be able to sit in here,” she says, rubbing the palms of her hands over the stiff leather.
“Ah, it’ll be okay. This truck has a really good air conditioning system, so it won’t be so bad. And I can always keep the windows rolled down when it's parked,” he says while he starts the engine with one turn of the key. He shifts the lever into drive with so much ease that it makes him look like a pro. Carefully, he swerves the truck into the right lane, pumping on the gas pedal gently, causing the truck to pick up speed as it rolls down the road, past the rows of houses.
“Wow, Patrick, you're such a good driver. If I didn’t know you, I would have never known you got your N only five months ago.”
“My dad told me the same thing, that’s why he bought it for me. I can’t wait until I finally get rid of my N, though. Two more weeks.”
Anya’s eyes droop. “I wish I had the money to pay for driving school. It sucks to be seventeen and unable to drive.”
Patrick reaches over and pats her on the shoulder. “Anya, you act as if it's the end of the world. You have to realize that you're so young. You have lots of time to get your drivers' license.”
“You're right,” she says with a sigh.
“Besides,” he says, smiling at her, “you can learn how to drive when you're rich and famous.”
Anya’s face brightens. “I will buy a Mustang Convertible and drive around in the summertime with the wind blowing through my hair.”
"Yes you will."
"By the way, I think I saw your brother a couple of days ago," he says.
The smile vanishes from Anya's face. "That's quite the change in topic, Patrick. Why do you have to bring this up all the sudden?"
She can see the red creep up his neck and over his face. "Don't be mad at me, Anya. I just…I just. Forget it."
"No. Now that you had to bring it up, I want to know more. Was he my brother? If he was, did you talk to him?
"Of course not. I just saw him from across the street. He was wearing this ugly, grey trench coat and he had this creepy-looking tattoo on his neck."
Anya's eyebrows snap up. It has been three years since she saw Adrik, so she thought that he would have moved away from Peach Valley. "Tell me more."
"His hair was all shaved off."
Anya's jaw drops. "Adrik always wore his hair long."
"I know. This guy did look a lot like him though."
"Well, did you see where he went? Not that I give a crap. I'm just curious."
"I don't know," Patrick says with a shrug of his shoulders. "I was at work; a customer came in, so I couldn't get a really good look at him. Anyway, forget it. He may not have even been Adrik."
Anya's stomach performs flip flops.
Adrik has very distinctive features, so it probably was him. I hate to know what he's up to.
"Well even if he was Adrik, this town's big enough to avoid him, thank God.
"Who cares about him," Patrick says, patting her on the leg. "You have me and we're not going to stay here after graduation. We're going to make something of ourselves."
A smile creeps across her face. "I can't
wait
until that day comes."
"Well, here we are," he says while he turns the steering wheel, guiding the truck into the spacious parking lot that is already crowded with cars, buses, teachers and groups of students.
"Off to another day of bliss," Anya says, rolling her eyes.
Patrick chuckles at the sarcasm in her voice as he pulls his truck into one of the few remaining empty stalls at the far end of the parking lot.
Maria inhales a gulp of smoke from her freshly lit Players Light cigarette, then blows it out slowly, letting the smoke hang in the air around her head. She stares blankly at the large, white and blue building ahead of her. The words PEACH VALLEY SENIOR SECONDARY SCHOOL inhabit almost the entire triangular shaped frame above the entrance doors. Everything about this place is all very new to her. She has been attending this school for only two weeks. In fact, she has been in Canada for only three weeks.
Maria is from Madrid, Spain; born and raised. Her father, Enriquez, is an electrical engineer and her mother, Teresa, is a nurse. It turns out that the CEO of Perez-Alcatraz Ingenieria knows the CEO of Altec; a world away. It so happened that Altec needed an electrical engineer to work in Peach Valley and Enriquez was the perfect candidate.
Having to pack up and leave her friends, grandparents and relatives behind had been quite tough on Maria, especially since it is her grad year. But Maria has always been the one to embrace a new adventure. Despite the odd bout of homesickness, she has accepted her new home. Canadians are so nice and she has already made several friends.
Maria's home life, though, is quite the opposite. It never measured up to her blissful high school experience. On their journey, the fifty-year-old rustic clay tea-set that has been handed down to Teresa from her mother vanished without a trace. Teresa loved that tea-set and when customs at Vancouver International Airport told her that they were unable to trace its location, she was devastated. The missing tea-pot put a huge damper on the Hernandez's move into their new home. Maria had to deal with her mother's rotten temper and emotional outbursts ever since they settled in. It has been nothing but pure hell.
The day after they moved into their new house -- before they could even take the time to unpack and settle in -- Enriquez started his new job, working long hours, five days a week. He always arrives home, tired and irritated and, for these reasons possibly, feels inclined to yell at Maria. Every time she hears the hum of her father's SUV pull up the driveway, she braces herself for the next round of scathing, condescending reprimands.
"Maria, why can't you be as diligent as your brother!"
"Juan is only eight for god's sake," she wants to tell him.
"Maria, change your attitude! A loud mouth and a sharp tongue is not acceptable in this family! Maria, you're grounded until you improve your grades! Maria! Maria! Maria!"
What her father constantly fails to realize is that he is the one who needs an attitude check. But no. He has to find every reason imaginable to be angry at her. Maria is done with trying to please him. She has given up years ago. Her eighteenth birthday is just four months away, the time of graduation, so on the first day of summer, she is going to search for full time work. Once she has secured a decent paying job as a server, Maria is going to move far enough away from home where she doesn't have to see or even worry about her family. She might even return to her old job in Madrid for that matter.