#22 Still stuck

Our game continued off and on the rest of the way to Rexburg. We both opened up a little, but there was still evasion and confusion. At least I was confused. It was hard to tell with the ever-present arrogant demeanor what Kyson was feeling.

He dropped me off at the soccer fields, and helped me transfer my duffel into Candice’s mom’s car. I thanked him for the ride, and for wasting his whole day helping me.

“I don't consider it a waste.” He said with a slight smile.

“Well, okay then, thanks again. I guess I will see you Monday at school.” I felt awkward, I had no idea how to politely thank him for the too generous ride, while still asking him to leave so I could go and watch my friend’s game. I never considered myself socially awkward before, at least not to this extent. I guess there are more things I can learn from my mother.

He gave me a knowing look, as if he had read my thoughts, “What is there to do here? I am not exactly anxious to just turn around and drive back to Salmon.”

“Uh, Idaho Falls is pretty close by, and it is a bigger city. It has all the normal things like movies, restaurants, etc. In Rexburg, there are some outdoor things, like caves, I think, a few places to eat, college kids. I really don’t know, sorry, I just planned to watch soccer.”

“Sounds fun. I think I will join you.”

Pinning down my emotional response in the moment was difficult. On the one hand I was not happy. Couldn’t this guy take a hint? We had just spent several hours together, and I needed a break from the internal turmoil. On the other, it was flattering that he would want to continue spending time with me, watching soccer, rather than do something else. “Okay, Candice is number five, and I am going to sit with her mom and brother. They are over there.” I pointed at Candice’s mom, she was at the top of the bleachers in a bright orange hoodie, kind of hard to miss.

“Great, I will just grab some snacks and meet you there.” He said. “Want anything?”

“A bratwurst, everything on it, Dr. Pepper, and onion rings please.” I said as I extended to him what was left of my cash.

He didn’t take the money, instead he smiled and said, “Are you sure you don’t want any spaghetti? It’s on me?” He laughed as he walked away. 

“I guess that answers that question” I muttered under my breath as I climbed the bleacher stairs.

#21 Protecting the heart

I think it is worth noting that I am aware of the million tense changes going on in these rough drafts I am posting. I am still trying to decide which style I prefer. It is kind of a tough decision. What do you guys think? Anything you like or dislike more than something else?

“It is better to break one’s heart than do nothing with it,” I muttered under my breath.

“Margaret Kennedy?” It was a statement more than a question. He knew who the quote was from, but the question lie in why she had muttered it. She had whispered it so low, he probably should not have heard it, but he had a keen sense of hearing, one of the boto characteristics that carried over to human form.

He glanced at her when he realized she had not responded, and was surprised to find she looked petrified.

“You okay?” he asked for the second time that hour.

She shook her head as if to clear it of thoughts, and hesitantly said, “Yes, I can’t believe you heard that.”

“I have good hearing.” He responded, hoping it was matter-of-fact enough to not solicit any further questions about it.

“I see.” She said, looking somewhat skeptical.

“So, you are a movie buff, a literature buff, and an athlete, not to mention an accomplished scholar, what else do you do Miss Lindberg?”

“I would hardly say accomplished scholar.” I replied trying once again to avoid the question, reverting back to the protect your heart stance rather than the stance Mrs. Kennedy would support.

“Really, I did not take you for humble?” He mockingly replied.

“Possessing such a quality is required to recognize it.” I retorted smartly.

“Ouch, you said before you hardly know me, and yet it seems you have already passed judgment. That is twice now you have assumed my character. Are you even going to take time to get to know me first?”

He was right of course. I had. I had classified him as a type, but not without reason. He hung out with all the guys that fit that type. He drove a sports car. He had every girl in the school mooning over him, and did not pay attention to any of them, at least not seriously. He was cocky, arrogant, and good at just about everything as far as I knew. And, he hung out with Riley. As far as I was concerned I had judged him correctly.

“So I have.” I agreed, and left it at that.

His eyebrows raised, “Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly!” That was the last thing I wanted. It was easy enough to justify my judgment in my head, but to actually tell him, when I was stuck in the car with him for at least the next two and half hours was more than I was willing to do.

“Why do you make me work so hard? Come on Katie, can’t you see I want to get to know you?”

My instincts told me what he said was said in honesty, but I still had to tread carefully. It was comments like this that had hooked me with Ethan and had hurt me the most when he was insincere. I did not trust my instinct anymore. For all I knew, it was the fact that I snubbed him that interested him, not me.

“So you say.” It was all I could think to say, “And it is Kate, not Katie.”

The car suddenly screeched to a halt, the smell of burning rubber filled my nostrils, and my chest was being forcibly restrained by the locked seatbelt.

“What was that for?” I screeched at him. He had slammed on the breaks, and I had almost hit my head on the dashboard. My neck was screaming at me in pain from the tension of the unexpected stop.

“Why don’t you believe me?” It was all he said, but it was said with such force, such determination it scared me. He was staring at me, those pale blue eyes pinning me to my seat, not allowing me to avoid his question this time.

“I don’t know.” I tried to lie.

“No…” he shook his head, “Not good enough. Why? The truth.” His expression hardened, and I could see smooth talking would not get me out of this. I started to question the wisdom of driving with him.

“Fine,” I sighed, I could see in his eyes we weren’t going anywhere until I told him, and I figured it was better than having a staring match, even if it did frustrate me to have to do this. “You want the truth?”

“Yes.” One syllable, forcefully spat out. It was all I needed for the floodgates to break open and spill the thoughts I had been hiding. The reason I had been avoiding him, and despised him so much.

“The truth is, you never even noticed me until I started ignoring you. I know your type. It has nothing to do with me. It is all about you. Your pride is hurt that I am not like the rest of the simpering ninnies in our class, falling all over myself for you. You want the truth from me, why not give me the truth in return? It is the challenge, not me that interests you.”

I expected denial, I was disappointed. Instead, he smiled, put the car back in gear, and pulled back onto the long lonely stretch of highway between Salmon and Rexburg.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He asked with the arrogant smile back on his face, and the calm look of control back in his eyes.

I was furious. The least he could do was dignify me with a proper denial. He could lie through his teeth and tell me all the things I wanted to hear, that it was about me, that the challenge had nothing to do with his sudden interest. The fact that he didn’t pissed me off, not because he did not try and hide the truth, but because in being honest he proved my assumptions wrong. If he was like Ethan, he would have lied. He would have told me all the things that an insecure girl would want to hear. Instead he smiled and continued on our merry way. I realized that in trying to keep him from having power, I just served it up to him on a silver platter. I exposed all of my insecurities, and showed my hand. I might as well fold now, as I was bound to lose unless I changed the rules of the game.

A low frustrated growl erupted from my throat.

“In fear of sounding redundant I won’t ask if you are okay. But if we are going to sit in silence for the next couple of hours, would you care if I turn on the radio?” He teased.

“Let’s talk.” I said, surprising myself.

“Ok, what about?”

“You.” I was in unfamiliar territory, but I had stepped across the border, and now I had no choice but to surge on. “You show up, out of no where. You are an excellent student. Everyone loves you. You obviously have money. What is your story?” I wasn’t asking for the sake of my mother, but for myself.

I was not certain, but I thought I saw a bit of an internal struggle surface in his features. It was only a moment, and he quickly masked whatever emotion I had seen. I paused my mental barrage a moment when I realized that was the second time I had thought of him as masking his emotions. I am not sure if I am just really untrusting, or if he is. He puts back on his big smile, and says, “There is not much to tell. I am from Canadaigua, which is in upstate New York. I am an only child. My parents are farmers.” He gives no extra details.

“Your turn.” He says.

Of course I was going to get the headline version. I wasn’t giving him anything but surface information, why would be do something different with me.

“Let’s make a deal?” I decided compromise was best. He was not going to give, and I figured if I offered something, he might do the same.

“What kind of deal?” He asked.

“You get ten questions, answered honestly, but in return I get the same.”

“Hmm, let’s add the option for two vetoes. Agreed?”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” That was good, I was glad he had added that as I was not really ready to tell him about past relationships, which would probably come up. “You first,” I declared.

“Okay, why have you been so rude to me?” He said it without hesitation, so I figured he had wanted to ask it for a while.

I contemplated a veto, but decided that would be a bad precedent to start off with. “Well, embarrassment would be a large part of it, and my friend likes you.”

“What does your friend liking me have anything to do with it?” He asked.

“That would be question two for you, and it is not your turn…are you sure you want me to answer?” I replied.

“Yes, and that was your question one.” He said smugly.

“Jerk, that is not fair.” I punched him in the shoulder.

“Ouch, you can’t him me, I’m driving.” He said, a feigned look of hurt.

“If I answer your question, you have to give me an extra one.” I said, careful not to let it be a question, but a statement.

“Ok!” He agreed, laughing in triumph.

“When a friend likes a boy, you have to decide which matters to you most—the boy, or the friend? I chose friend. If I was nice, Lauren might think I like you, and that is not something I want.”

“So you don’t like me?” he asked.

“That is question three, and I have not even gotten one real one.” I folded my arms across my chest, and pretended to be mad.

“Avoidance is a sure sign that you do like me.” He was fishing, and I was not going to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead I ignored him and I looked at the passing scenery. To the left of the highway there was a little cabin with a small pond out front. To the right there was a stream. It was really beautiful country.

“Okay, okay, ask your question,” he gave up.

“What were you laughing about when you walked into Erik’s house the first night we met?” I was mostly asking to see if he had made the connection that the orange sweatshirt freak had been me.

“Veto.” He said it so quickly, not even thinking about it, which made me all the more curious.

“You can’t be serious!” I was frustrated, it was a simple question, and he vetoed it.

“Deadly, my turn. Do you like me?”

“Noooo.” I said, stretching it out for emphasis. I was still fuming about his veto.

“The deal was truth, that better be the truth. You have ten seconds to change your statement.” He said with all seriousness.

“Or what?” I questioned. I knew he might call me out on the question, but it was fun to flirt a little.

“Or I will pull the car over.” He was not joking.

“Ahhh, this is not fair, I have answered tons of your questions, and you have not told me anything!”

“Spill, or the deal is off.”

“Fine, I find you…intriguing. You keep surprising me, which is new for me. But, in all honesty, I don’t “like” people until I get to know them.” It was close to the truth. I did find him intriguing, and in the past I was fairly level-headed about whom I liked. However, I did like him more than I was admitting, to him or myself.

“I guess we better get to know each other then.”

“Question two, what is that supposed to mean?” I knew it was a wasted question, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“I like you, and I think it would be wise to determine if the feeling is returned so we are not wasting time.” He said it with such finality I couldn’t help but be pissed off.

“So, if I do not like you, then being around me is a waste of time? Well that is rich.” I wanted to get out of the car, but that would be stupid since I was 50 miles away from the closest anything. Instead I punched the radio button, and turned up the volume.

After a couple of songs, he reached over slowly, almost tentatively, and turned it off, “Just because I think it is a waste of time if you do not like me does not change the fact that I like you. So deal with it. Can we get back to the game now?”

“Yeah.” I was still mad, but the focus of my anger was no longer him, but me. I was mad at myself for letting my emotional side show. I always prided myself on being ruled by intellect, not emotion, but the fact was, I was as emotion driven as the next girl.

“Whose turn?” He asked.

“I don’t know, mine, I guess.” I had lost track, but I knew he had gotten more answers than I had, so I figured it was my turn regardless.

“Ok, go for it.” He said, his smile back on his face.

“What are your future plans?” I wanted to ask a nice safe, non-controversial question to start. We tended to set each other off, and I could see that I needed to play nice or we would be in a fight the whole car ride.

“Well, let’s see…same as everyone I guess. Graduate. Go to college. Be successful.” He glanced over at me, and smiled. “You?”

“Bad answer…no detail. College for what? Successful how?” This time I was not avoiding his question, but trying to get him to stop avoiding mine.

“Not sure.” He answered simply and honestly, and so I figured I should answer his question.

“Well, I want to graduate as well, and then I want to go to school in the East. I want to study bio-chemistry.” I knew I sounded like a nerd with a five-year plan, but this was something I wanted, and I did not want to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. “I plan to focus on school, travel during my breaks, work hard, and graduate without debt, or as little as possible. I plan to do this without help from my parents financially, but I know when the reality of college expenses, housing, books, etc. face me, I will cave and let them help. So, I also plan to pay them back.”

 

#20 (I'm Back) Like a Moth to the Flame

Okay guys, I took way too long of a break, and even though I am behind on everything right now, I am going to try and commit some time to this project. I know that a lot of my not doing it is the insecurity I have about it being rejected. But, that is just something I will have to get over. Here's a bit more. 

He chuckled to himself while she was locking up. He had formulated a plan for how he would get her to talk to him, but this had happened just by chance, and was working out far better than he had ever imagined. He quickly punched Erik’s number into his cell, he had to cancel their plans so he would be free to get to know Kate a little better.

He clicked the locks to let Kate into the car, instead of getting in, she stuck her head in and said, “Pop the trunk.”

He pulled the lever that released the trunk, and watched in the side mirror as she deposited a duffel inside.

“Not illegal drugs, I hope?” He joked when she got back in.

I rolled my eyes, “No, all drug free here!” She tossed $40 bucks onto his lap “For gas.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. One of the things that intrigued him most about her was that unlike most girls, she did not give up any information easily. She did not explain to him what was in the duffel, just answered his question. It fascinated him to no end.

“So, what is in the duffel?” He pressed, just to see how she would respond. And once again, he was not disappointed.

“Not 8 heads, if that is what you are wondering?” 

Her quick wit was intoxicating to him, and he threw back his head and laughed. He had seen every movie ever made, or at least a good percentage of them, unlimited time allows for such luxuries, and the reference to the 1997 Showtime movie 8 Heads in a Duffel Bag was highly unexpected. It was not exactly a well-known feature.

Although I am surprised he understands my reference, I try not to show it. I had successfully avoided his question, and that was good. Not that it matters if he knows I might stay over with Candice in Rexburg, but the way I have it figured is the less he knows about me, the better off I am. Memories of Ethan, and the emotional roller-coaster ride liking him had been are still fresh in my mind, and the last thing I need is to give this guy any information that could later be used as ammunition. I had learned that manipulating the heart was best done with personal information, so the less Kyson has, the less chance I have of getting hurt. I am playing with fire and I know it, but cannot seem to help myself. Like a moth, to the flame I am drawn.

 

19 Kate running late

I carelessly rake my hands through my hair and look in the mirror. I do not have time for a shower, so I know this look would have to do. I hope I don’t run into anyone I know, but oh well if I do. I am late. Once again I stayed up chatting online with Candice, and neglected to set an alarm.

Candice was not allowed to talk on the phone after 9, but her mom is oblivious to the fact that she can communicate on the computer in her room. Since Candice and I rarely see each other because we are both so busy with school, sports, and our separate lives, the computer is a great way to chat and catch up, and we use it regularly.

We have been best friends for three years, after meeting at an all-sports summer camp. We only live twenty minutes away from each other, but we go to different schools because Candice goes to a private school. Because sports generally take up our weekends, running for me, and soccer for her, we do not see enough of each other. This also means I frequently do not have time in the mornings because I value sleep over primping. Today, I don’t have a race, so I am going to drive a few hours out of town to watch her play soccer.

I run out of the bathroom, grab my coat and bag on my way and yell my goodbyes to my parents. “When will you be back?” Calls my over protective mother. “Not sure.” I yell back, and close the door behind me to help cease conversation. The vibration coming from my bag less than a minute later, as I pull out of the drive, indicates that is not going to cut it for my mom.

 “What mom?” I say, a little too snappy, and I realize it a moment too late. It is not her fault I am late, and I should be grateful she is letting me drive myself to Rexburg, I am a nervous driver, and my parents are usually pretty cautious about where they let me drive. Since Riley and I are almost always going to same place, I do not drive often. But today, he is going fishing with friends, so I am driving myself.

“Excuse me? That was rude.” She says, and I can just picture her, standing in the kitchen, eyebrows raised, hand on hip, thinking how selfish I am being. She is right, and I should apologize.

“Sorry, I am running late, what do you need?” I sigh and give in. Fighting with my mother is not going to help my day be any easier, the drive be any less nerve racking, or my appearance be any cuter. A little respect from me will, however, make things better.

“What I need is to know when you will be home.” She has the same tone, and no doubt has not yet dropped her hand from her hip. “I am your mother. That is kind of my job.”

I silently count to ten in my head, and commit to getting along with her, wishing it came as naturally as it does with my dad. I try again. “Yeah, I know, I really am sorry. Can I call you when I have a better idea? I really have no idea how long this will take, or if I will be home tonight at all. Candice’s mom said I could stay over with them if the game goes late.”

“That would be great. Keep your phone on so I can reach you.” The edge is gone from her voice, and I know that she is satisfied.

“K, bye mom”

“I love you dear!”

“You too…”

I snap my phone shut, and look up in just enough time to slam on my brakes.

I come within centimeters of smashing the car in front of me. My nerves feel like they are standing on end, and I can feel my heart rate increase. I can’t drive to Rexburg like this, I have to calm down, and regain some composure, or I will be a nervous wreck by the time I get there. I pull off the road, and shut the engine off. I know this is not going to make me any earlier, but I would rather be five minutes later than risk driving distracted and get in an accident. I pull out a notebook, hoping to calm my mind so I can get back to driving.

The car I almost hit pulls off the road a little in front of me. It is a newer car, black, clean, and it looks fast and expensive. As I uncap my pen, I see the driver’s side door open, and realize the driver is getting out.

“Great, just what I need…a lecture” I mutter under my breath. I have a habit of talking to myself, something Riley teases me mercilessly about. I really do not have the patience to deal with some hot shot telling me to be more careful, as if I did not realize that already. I look over at my phone, and think about pretending I am on it so I will have a legitimate excuse for not talking to the person, but then realize it will look like that is why I almost hit them. Even if it is, I do not want it to be that obvious. I decide to grin and bare it. I recap my pen, and lean across the center consol to return the notebook to my bag.

Someone raps on the window, I take a deep breath, and punch the button to roll the window down. Nothing happens, and I realize the car is off, I turn the key slightly, and listen to the whirring noise as the window retreats into the door frame. I take a deep breath and turn, ready to face the music, and instead of seeing the grim face of my near-victim, I see the practically perfect smile of none other than Kyson, the Yankee hat wearing, womanizing, new kid who I had blown a snot covered noodle on, and then snubbed for the past two weeks. We had several encounters over the past couple weeks, but none I could look back on happily. He was a nice enough guy, really hot, but he had the arrogant, frustrating quality about him, like he knows he is good looking, and uses it to his advantage. I can’t exactly fault him for it, but that combined with my embarrassment over the snot-noodle, has lead to an intense dislike of him, fueled by the fact that my friend Lauren talks about him non-stop, and even Braden thinks he is cool. I wanted at least one ally in my quest to dislike this all too likeable guy.

“Hey!” he says. “You okay?”

He is smiling at me, but not in his usual arrogant way. His voice actually sounds genuinely concerned.

“Uhh, yeah, just a little…rattled, I guess.” I take another deep breath, and let it out slowly, hoping he will leave. I have been avoiding him for a couple weeks now, and this is more than a little awkward for me, as I really have no legitimate reason for disliking him other then the fact that he is exactly the kind of guy I despise, and I have humiliated myself in front of him. Just thinking of that scene makes me turn red. I put my hand to my face hoping he will not notice. He has never mentioned it, and I am not even sure he knows it was me.The silence and my nervousness makes me prattle on, “I just…sorry, I can’t believe I almost hit you, I hate driving, but am usually really safe, I guess we all have off days, I mean…well, sorry!”

“Where ya headed?” He asks casually.

“Excuse me?” Here I am prattling away, lost in thought, and forget he is standing just on the other side of the partially down-turned window.

“Hmm, well, how else can I phrase this? Where are you going? What is your destination? Where did you plan to stop? Name the place your journey ends.” He smiles the familiar cocky grin I had seen on his face on more than one occasion over the past few weeks.

“None of your business!” I snap at him, back to my surly, running late, too little sleep self.

“Woah, no need to be edgy with me. You almost hit me, I am just trying to offer you a ride as you are obviously in no condition to drive.” He has his hands up, and is backing away from the car as if he thinks I might physically harm him, but his face holds traces of amusement.

“Sorry,” I mumble through a sigh. My second apology that morning, I am on a roll. I hate to be in the wrong, but I am being rude, and he does have a point. I am distracted, and I am the one who almost hit him, not the other way around.

I see a look of satisfaction flit across his expression before he carefully pulls his mask back on. A slight smile creases a dimple on the lower left side of his jaw. “What was that?” Now he is smiling in earnest. He knows he has won. I am defeated. I am late. I look awful. I am tired. I am not looking forward to a long drive, and, to top it all off, I almost hit him. I have no leg to stand on, and definitely not one that provides arrogance and disdain.

“I said I was SORRY! What do you want from me, a sworn affidavit?” I am certainly sorry, but that does not mean I am going to roll over.

“Nope, no affidavit, just permission to give you a ride.”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I am going to Rexburg, which is several hours from here. Not exactly ride territory”

“Rexburg huh?”

“Yeah!” I can’t help but be slightly sarcastic, after all, what is it with all the questions.

“Great, let’s go.” He turns and starts back toward his shiny black car, not even bothering to wait for my answer.

I scramble to get my door open, and call out to him, “What? What do you mean “let’s go”? You can’t drive me to Rexburg!”

“Why not?”

“Because, it is over three hours away, and I hardly know you.”

“Well, I have no plans, and that gives us plenty of time to get to know each other.” With that he gets in his car, and revs the engine.

I stand there, on the side of the highway, I feel stupid, and I am not sure what to do. The prospect of not driving clear to Rexburg by myself is tempting. I really do hate driving. But, this is Kyson. I am undeniably attracted to him, and even more undeniably, I do not want to be. Spending time with him, time alone with him, even if it is in a car, is a bad idea.

“Do I have to pick you up and carry you to the car, or are you coming?” He calls from the driver’s side window.

I feel my resolve shatter, if you can call it resolve since it lasted only a few moments, “Just let me lock up, and let my mom know the change of plans.”

It is just my luck. I look my worst, and he looks…well, incredible, but he usually does. And now, I am going to be stuck with him for several hours. I decide to make the most of it. Lauren is going to be so jealous, she talks about him all the time. Candice will be happy, she hated the idea of me driving all the way by myself, and she knows the whole story about him, from the hideous sweatshirt and noodle, to the locker snooping, and my attempts at ignoring him. I have a feeling she is going to expect some explanations from me.

I call my mom, and okay it with her, she is also delighted, she has met Kyson a few times when he has been by the house with Riley, and she is aware of his family moving in to the town. She is extremely curious about them, as they seem to have money, but have made no attempt to be social. I am sure she will be quizzing me when I get home, so I make a mental note to ask some questions about his history.

#18, Kyson, Firsts

I wake up and imagine it will be another day of long boring classes, lousy cafeteria food, and the same gossip, drama, and hubbub one usually finds on a high school campus. The scene is already growing old, despite this being only the third day I will attend, and my fourth day in Salmon. I wonder if stopping in Idaho was a bad idea, and try to decide if I should go through with it and buy a house, or move on to greener pastures, maybe try college life.

I have never been content to stay somewhere long, even when I lived in the Encante, a beautiful Utopia, I frequently made extended trips to foreign places, often impoverished and dirty places, just for a change of pace.

I arrive at school early, not for any particular reason, other than I had been up for hours already and had nothing better to do. I rarely sleep more than four hours in a day, and thanks to my ancestry and magic, do not need much sleep. When I get too much I grow restless, that is to say more restless than usual. I decide since there is still more than half an hour before the first classes start I will go see if I can talk the lunch ladies into changing up the lunch menu.

I know that when I turn on the charm I can get women to do just about anything I want. I had been eating the cafeteria lunch for the past two days now simply because I do not find anything appealing about making food for myself, in an antiquated sort of way I consider it something women should do. This alone dissuades me from taking an interest, but with the constant bulk, frozen, bland, and low quality ingredients provided in the public school system lunch lines, I wonder if I might have to change my mind.

As I stride down the empty hallway I determine to at least persuade the lunch lady in charge to add a few more items to the rotation. Then, I notice a locker standing slightly ajar. I have no idea why it catches my interest, but it has, and I find myself walking toward it. It is a top locker, no bigger than a cubby, and painted that awful blue color so common in schools. Though I am not sure why, I look back over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching, then I nudge the locker open further. There is nothing remarkable about it. I gather from the decorated inner door and the mirror hanging inside that it belongs to a girl. Males are not prone to decorating their lockers.

Usually this sort of thing would not have captured my interest in the slightest. I had always been sort of irritated by the foolish things high school girls put in their lockers: photos of male models, stupid phrases cut out of magazines, pop stars, pictures of themselves dressed up and out with girl friends, maybe a picture of their current love interest. However, while clearly a locker belonging to a female, this one is different. The decorated door holds none of the typical décor. Instead it has a few quotes by Ralph Waldo Emerson, a true great, and a poem by Rudyard Kipling. As I look at this locker I ponder the depth of what I see, and grow curious about the owner, a voice dripping with irritation interrupts my thoughts.

“What are you doing?” It is a very feminine voice, but it is laced with disdain and the irritation makes it deeper, more masculine. I wheel around, too quickly and hit my head on the locker door. I grimace at my not so smooth appearance and slight throb as my head makes contact with the metal door. I look down to see a thin, average height girl glaring at me. She has deep brown eyes, with little flecks of green, framed by a light but striking set of lashes. She is dressed in clothes that compliments her slim figure and make her breasts look fuller than they are. Her clothes are not flashy, or trendy, but perfectly cut, and do wonders for her slight figure. But it is not her body that catches my attention, it is her eyes. Those eyes glare at me, bore into me, and demand an explanation. Her lips are thin, and she wears a clear lip gloss. The tight little line they are in indicates she is far from pleased with finding me snooping in her locker. She has a long, slender nose that perfectly matches the angles of her face, and a very defined chin, held a little higher than necessary. Just another sign she gives that she is upset. I notice her hair is a mousy brown, but shines and looks healthy and clean. It is loose and curled, but sort of messy as it falls around her shoulders. It is extremely feminine, and intrigues me.

I am busy taking her in, trying to read her, when I notice her hands are on her small hips, and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for an answer.

“Well?” she demands making that one word a powerful message.

“It was open.” I say mater of factly. She has caught me off guard, but I have regained my composure. I size up her five feet five inch stature, and know this girl, angry as she appears, will have no chance at intimidating me.

“That may be so, but it is not your locker, so get out of it.” Her words are efficient if nothing else. I wonder at the look she flashes my way, and the pursed lips that have not yet relaxed. Most girls are slightly intimidated by me. They are impressed by my good looks, and my charm. Most of the high school girls I have known over the ages have allowed me a degree of leniency. I can usually get away with being rude simply because they want to get on my good side. Most people find me easy to like, and become quickly attached, and overly trusting. She does not seem to care about my appearance, and the look on her face clearly says she does not trust anything about me. And this is exactly what intrigues me about her. She is the second girl in as many days to intrigue me. Just as the thought crosses my mind, I realize it is not two girls, but the same girl. I did not recognize her without the running clothes, but now that I put two and two together it is clear it is the same girl, how I missed it before I don’t know. It seems so obvious now. The girl who turned her head from me on the first day of school, who so studiously wrote on the river bank, and now who is glaring me down. How very fascinating she is.

“My apologies!” I say, bowing to her, an old fashioned habit I picked up in the 1800’s and have never quite let go of. I step aside so she can reach her locker. But do not leave the vicinity.

A bewildered look flits across her face, and a hint of exasperation, but none of the anger or disdain melts as I had hoped it would. She says nothing, just shakes her head and turns away from me. I laugh and turn on my heels to head to the lunchroom. I whistle a lighthearted tune, but am deep in thought. This girl seems immune to my charms. In fact, they seem to have the opposite effect. Instead of falling all over herself to get in my good graces, she acts as though I am beneath her notice. This should probably frustrate me, but it doesn’t. This is a first, and a first is something I have not experienced in a long time. I can’t help but smile. Things are looking up. Maybe Salmon was not such a bad choice after all.

#17, Kyson

It had been a great day. I walk to the water’s edge, preparing to transform into Boto, in order to sleep. I have not yet found a home here in Salmon, I have my eye on one, and just need to work out the logistics of purchasing it without drawing attention to myself. In the Encante, while we are in the school, we are taught about surface life, and how to create false identities, set up bank accounts, etc. in order to insure a comfortable life above the water. This is a subject I excelled in, and fortunately have plenty of reliable identifications and funds set up from previous adventures, so creating my life here should not be too arduous, but it does take time, and planning.

I round the bend to where I have set up my makeshift camp hidden in the shrubbery, and stop short, seeing a girl on the bank of the river. She is dressed in athletic clothes, and appears to have just completed a run, as her breathing is slightly labored, and sweat is evident on her brow. I quietly step back into the shadows afforded me by the trees along this part of the river. I watch for a few moments. She is lovely, not in the striking way so many of the women I have charmed here on the surface have been, but subtly. I appreciate most of the female form, and hers is an excellent example. She seems familiar. It takes me a moment to place her, then I remember seeing her at school in the hallway. I noticed her, but not immediately, and our eyes had met for a mere moment, and then she went back to what she was doing before. This is an uncommon occurrence for me. Most creatures of the fairer sex can’t seem to get enough of me, and I have barely registered on her radar. Intriguing. I push the thought to the back of my mind, and watch for a few moments longer. Still writing and mumbling, she doesn’t notice me.

I retreat a little further, before turning my back, and make my way up the road some, where I can enter the water and transform without disturbing her. She was writing furiously in a notebook, and although I had practiced stealth, I doubted it was necessary, she was so engrossed in what she was doing, I don’t believe a herd of elephants would have been able to attract her attention. So serious. Watching her scribble away had made me want to throw that notebook in the river’s rushing waters, and help her lighten up and have some fun. I am good at that—having fun!

Instead, I change into Boto form, and swim back to where I had see her. I watch her mutter and scribble for a few more minutes, from my vantage point beneath the water, then swim down river to a calmer part of the river to catch a few hours sleep.

#16, Kate

My shopping trip with my mother was a success. I found several items we both agreed on, a feat worth celebrating, and so when we stop for gelato on the way home, I order a double scoop.

“Two scoops please, one lemon, one pistachio.” I smile as I think of the fact that these flavors don’t mix well, but I have always loved both, and can never quite decide what I want when faced with two great options. My mother orders chocolate hazelnut, and I swipe a spoonful, thinking maybe I should have opted for that flavor instead. I can be indecisive.

I have had this trouble since childhood. My dad tells me I often wore two dresses, layered on top of one another, when I could not chose which to wear. This is a habit I have since grown out of, but I am no better at making a choice when faced with two good options. Even now, I layer, only instead of things like clothes, it is classes responsibilities, and more. I have a very hard schedule of classes because choosing between AP chemistry or AP biology was simply not an option. I love them both. I wanted to take both, so I did. That in addition to AP English, AP Statistics, and the rest of my course load makes free time a luxury I don’t always have.

When we return home I change into running clothes, hoping to sneak out before my dad hears me, otherwise he will want to go. I really do love to run with him, but tonight I want to get the miles done, then spend some time at the river. I have no homework, I finished it during lunch and in the car on the way to shop. I used homework as a good excuse to not force a conversation with my mom. After the initial pleasantries, and updates on the day, I think we were both happy to just drive in peace. My mother listened to a book on her iPod, and I solved equations, and read chapters, and remembered why I am so grateful I don’t get car sick like Riley does. So tonight I get to spend time the way I want to, after I get a run in, since I missed practice.

I lace up my Aasics and put my ear to the door. If my dad is in the hall, on the stairs, or in the kitchen, he will want me to wait for him to change so he can join me. I have always had a love hate relationship with running. I love how it clears my head, and makes me so sure about things. I love how exhilarating it is to feel my body, my muscles moving, stretching, and pushing. I even like the sweating and heavy breathing, as it reminds me I am alive, and healthy. Usually I enjoy the company of my teammates, and the social aspects of running. I hate how hard it can be, and how it is one more thing to tick off my to do list. I hate how I work so hard, and some girls seem to be so much better, without half the effort. I hate how I will never be as good as my family wants me to be, and I hate that it doesn’t bother me as much as I know it should.

I don’t hear anything, so I grab a notebook and pen off my desk, tuck them into a running backpack, and open my bedroom door. I traverse the hallway quickly, and make it down the stairs, and out the back door without seeing anyone else. My mom knows I will be out for a run, so no one will worry.

Once outside, I start to head north, then remember that some of the cows are in the pasture near the river on the north side of the property, and while I don’t mind cows, I know I will be somewhat distracted tonight, and don’t want to risk stepping in fresh dung, so I head south instead.

It is a crisp, cool evening, winter is getting closer, and while it hasn’t snowed yet, I can see my breath, and feel the burn in my chest that comes from sucking such cold air into my hot lungs. I adjust my headband over my ears to provide some protection from the cold, and take off at a slow jog, waiting to pick up my pace until hit the hard packed dirt trails a little further ahead, not wanting to risk injury in this rugged, uneven, terrain.

Running gives me time to think. Today at school I had seen the boy whose shoe was graced with a snot covered noodle, courtesy of my nose, and he seemed not to recognize me. That was fine with me. I did not introduce myself or try to make him notice me, as the situation would be better forgotten, at least for me. I admit to myself that I am curious about him though. He seems different from most the boys in our grade. He has a self-awareness, or confidence, that is not typically so pronounced, as most of us are still trying to figure out who we are, and what we want out of life. I don’t really think about it in such concrete terms as this, but as I run, I know that this is what made him seem different, more aloof, and more…experienced. Riley told me he was new, and from somewhere out East, a senior like us, and an only child. I guess not growing up in Salmon would account for the experience, and being an only child could account for him seeming somewhat aloof, after all, he was probably used to the solo act. However, my curiosity is not quite satisfied.

I had only seen him for a few moments, before the first bell, and watched him discreetly from behind my locker door, he turned and caught my eye for the briefest of moments, and smiled, sort of a half smile, not of recognition, just acknowledgment. I gave a slight lift of my chin, with a small smile, then turned back to my locker to grab the right binder and books for my first class. Because I spent lunch in the library, working on my assignments, and had left early to shop with my mom, that was all I had seen of him.

“Good” I pant out, thinking if he doesn’t recognize me, then there is no need for me to try and craft an awkward apology. I did not feel like trying to explain my reasons that night for my actions, not to a complete stranger, especially one as attractive as him.

I turn my thoughts away from the new kid, and back to the things that have plagued me of late. Senior year is underway, and I am applying for colleges all over the country. One benefit of a well to do family is not worrying about the fees associated with college applications. Not that I thought of this on my own. It took Braden pointing it out to me before I felt any gratitude for my own situation.

Braden’s family makes due, but never has extra, so he had to be so careful about which colleges he applies to, as the $50-$100 fees add up fast, and he can’t afford to apply somewhere he really doesn’t want to go. Last weekend, we were filling out applications together and he said, “If I don’t get accepted I am screwed, since I am only applying to two places.” Not thinking about what I was saying, I replied, “Why? That seems stupid, don’t you at least want a few safety nets?” Braden is a planner, so I was very confused by his limiting himself to only two schools. He furrowed his brow, and looked at me, and simply said, “I can’t afford to apply anywhere else.” That is when I realized what he meant. He was probably paying the application fees himself, and between school classes, extra curricular activities, and his family responsibilities, he only had a few hours a week to work. So, while he had a job, the money he earned was not much, and most of it went directly into his college fund, so that when he did get accepted, he would be able to pay for his schooling, housing, etc. He had been saving for as long as I could remember. He did not want to leave college with a mountain of debt, as so many other people do. I reassured him that he would get in, he is a straight A student, class president, scored well on his SAT, and is the kind of person that is always going above and beyond, any college would be happy to have him. Even as I said it though, I felt my face grow hot with the embarrassment that washed over me, not that he was poorer than I, but that it never occurred to me that others might have to be more selective due to finances.   

I reach the five-mile point in my loop, and so I stop, and stretch my muscles. My lower calves are a little tight, so I find a tree and prop my foot up and stretch. I put the running pack on the ground, pull out my water bottle and drink a few sips, then pull out the small mat I carry rolled up in my bag, so I can sit on the river bank and write in my journal. I stretch for a few more minutes, making sure I hit every muscle group, and test for any soreness or discomfort. I feel great.

I plop down and start writing out all the things I had been thinking as I ran. It helps me to do this. It is my system for sorting my thoughts, and finding my true opinions and feelings amidst the jumble of conflicting emotions and ideas. I have always been better at writing out my feelings than speaking them, but did not start using the method regularly until recently.

Riley is the one who helped me discover how useful it was for me to write it out. It took me getting really angry with him to figure it out. We fight, all siblings do, but not regularly, and not ever seriously. However, six months ago we had our biggest blow up ever. He had been dating one of my closest friends, Candice. I thought he really liked her, and so did she. She of course, was totally taken by him. One night, his buddies were over, and I happened to walk in on the tail end of a conversation they were having. As it turns out, he had been toying with her feelings, pretending more interest in her than he actually felt. It had started out as a sort of joke or game to him, and had gone too far, with her having real feelings for him. I was furious. I knew he sometimes did this. He had a reputation for being a bit of a “player”, and while we had talked about it before, it had never been more than an irritation. But messing with the emotions of one of my best friends was too close to home.

He saw my reaction, and knew he was in deep with me, so after his friends left he came to my room and tried to talk. I tried to talk to him about it, I really did, but I just became a jumbled mess. So, after ten minutes of him making excuses, and then waiting for me to come up with a reply that never came, he handed me a piece of paper and a pen, and said, “Here, write it out.” That is when it began. When I realized something he already knew about me, that my thoughts organize themselves far better on paper than they do anywhere else. And so I did, I wrote, and wrote. I told him how I felt, how it was wrong, how it preys on our (meaning all girls) insecurities, and how I expected more from him, especially after he had seen how badly I had been hurt just a few months earlier by Ethan doing the same thing to me. I expressed my disappointment, and made it clear to him that I would never be okay with that. He would talk, and I would write, and we carried on our conversation like this for several hours. Eventually we made up, and ever since, I have turned to pen and paper when my emotions cloud my ability to think and express myself clearly. About a week after the incident, Riley came home with a case of lined paper notebooks for me to use as journals, thought pads, or “conversation tools”, as he called them. I have filled several, and make a point of writing in them nightly to get my feelings and thoughts out so I can sleep in peace.

I finish writing, roll up my mat, return everything to my pack, and start the slow half mile jog back down the rugged, rocky path, to my back door. Even though it is dark, I am familiar with the trail enough not to worry. I have two spots on the river I like to sit and write, one to the North, one to the South of my home. I guess you could say I am a creature of habit, but I prefer to think of it as I have a system, and order to my life.