1: Newcomer


I had seen where the high school was on the map, so I was guaranteed not to get lost on this huge city street by my house. I memorized the big sign on the road next to mine so I wouldn’t lose my way while I was walking home. It was cold out today for September, much colder than I was used to, colder than I wanted.
I always wanted to move out of that small town back in Georgia where hardly anyone spoke in a normal accent. I've wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest for nearly half of my young life, but I pictured it much different. Pine trees, grass, rivers, blue skies, scenery that actually represented the season, things I've seen in my dreams, but this was too bleak. Moss growing on every surface imaginable. It sickened me. The thought of moss on trees and rocks was like comparing lice in your hair. It’s a fungus, a sucker fish, an ugly organism living upon another organism like a leech.
But I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to follow my parents here to Oregon. I had studied up on the town before I moved, Google-ing photos and town histories. But the words, the pictures I'd seen were nothing compared to the real thing; cloudy skies extending from horizon to horizon, some of the greenest trees in the world, and of course the extensive amount of moss. Back in Madison, friendly faces of people waving to each other as they walked made me happy. Here no one even bothered to look at each other, unless it was to comment on how "fine" she looked.
Everyone looked so nice here, so attractive, white as porcelain dolls. Back at home, I was one of the palest people, mainly because of my light makeup and Red Irish decent, but here I probably stood out like a 200 year old piece of paper in a room full of freshly printed sheets. It was quite embarrassing actually.
A few people stared at me from the corners of their eyes as I walked by in my bulky black jacket. I figured they had done that to everyone on the street since a few of them smiled at me with disgusting remarks.
I finally arrived at South Eugene High School from the west parking lot. I tried to find the main office to give them my registration papers, when I finally started feeling butterflies in my stomach. Groups of teenagers chatting in sequence all seemed to notice my approach with anxious eyes. I tried not to pay any attention, keeping my head down towards the pavement. I kept walking habitually in the same direction when I finally saw the sign for the office. I stepped inside the warm room, feeling the need to take off my jacket, but I restrained myself. I quietly handed my papers to the blonde woman behind the desk as she looked me over.
"I suppose you are the new student I was called about," she guessed without even taking one glance at the forms.
"I suppose I am," I replied, trying not to sound sarcastic, but she didn't seem to notice my tone.
"So, Juniper, I'll look these over, and here is your schedule and your attendance slip. Just get it signed by your teachers and you'll be set for the rest of the year. Alright?"
"Thank you," I stated bluntly, removing the papers from her hands.
"Good luck today."
I left the room as I examined the papers trying to match up the room numbers with ones on the schedule. I walked along the sidewalk, followed by a group of girls whispering remarks that were barely audible through the barrier of my thick red hair.
I found the first room on the schedule, the gym, and entered it, preparing for the heat to blast me straight in the face. Unsurprisingly, that was not the only thing I had blasting me in the face. About 20 pairs of eyes stared in my direction when I braced myself against the door. When I recovered from the blow, I walked towards the teacher-coach who happened to be the only person in the huge room not staring at me. I handed her my paper and waited patiently. A few of the students giggled, one even throwing a medicine ball at me while the teacher-coach had her back turned. I dodged it and wiped the sweat off my face, wondering if it was noticeable that I was nervous. Of course it was. I laughed at myself in my throat, taking the paper from the teacher’s hand.
Throughout the day I was given directions on where to sit, what to write down and what was permitted and forbidden in the classroom. There wasn't a single eye that hadn't glanced over at me at least twice, but surprisingly, unlike my old small town home, I didn't have anyone asking for my friendship or to walk me to my next class.
The next day was a repeat of the first, except the fact that I didn't have half as many eyes on me. As I entered the cafeteria once again, buying my lunch, sitting at the same empty table with the full tray of food, I looked around the room at all the faces that I had partially memorized. Every one of them stared in my direction, but as soon as they saw me glancing back, they ducked their heads in a domino effect as I scanned from table to table. The fair faces looked ashamed as if I knew their greatest secrets.
And then I came across a face that I hadn't yesterday. He was, like the others, starring at me with his dark spiteful eyes, but unlike the others, he never removed his eyes from mine. He didn't duck in shame as they did, he just kept glaring deeply at me and my over-abundant amount of food which I never touched except to examine the pieces and throw it back into its place. Eventually, his stare became softer as he realized I was looking back, but he never dropped his dazzling gaze. I began to feel shame and pitiful embarrassment at that fact. It made me feel stupid, realizing that I was getting overwhelmed with thoughts of interest sparking my memory. The look on his face was one of despise, but one of interest. I noticed a hint of protection, for his secrets, and remarkably, for my well being. Pity. Once again, as before, I laughed at myself, trying to hide my interest in the student.
I heard the students at the end of the table whispering and murmuring about my so-called interest in this boy. I could only hear a few statements like, “What is she thinking, staring at him like that?”
“She's not even that pretty. She wouldn't have the slightest chance with someone like him. Look at the girls he's dated.”
There were a few hopeful comments such as, “I haven’t even seen him date anyone since freshman year, not after Jennifer. Maybe he keeps his relationships out of the public eye.”
And of course there were those insulting statements, “I don't really care. They are both freaks. Do you remember what he did for his biology project last year? Only dorks would put that much effort into it.”
“Dorks with money.”
“More importantly, we all know what he did on Halloween last year, it’s unbelievable! He’s crazy! He deserves to be in a mental institution.”
“Yeah, but he's cute though, I have to admit.”
I looked back up and, again, he was watching me. What was his problem? Then the comments about how unlikely it was for me to ever talk to him came about once again.
It's not like I ever wanted to. I wasn't desperate for friends. I had dealt with many months of lonely despair sophomore year at Morgan County High School back in Madison.
But I wouldn't mind the company.
When the bell finally rang after what seemed like a era of him watching curiously, I lifted my head and he was charging away out the door. What was his problem? I headed toward the next class on my list, hoping dearly to be free of the negative comments about my appearance. I walked into the room full of posters with the words “read” printed on them. English. Ew.
I handed the note to the fairly old woman at the front and was then directed to my seat near the front door. The girl sitting next to me was slender and tall in the extreme, blonde and black hair parted in the middle and extending to the top of her stomach. I noticed her standing in front of the house across from mine. She was my new neighbor. The girl looked at me quickly as the minute bell sounded and pushed up her glasses to see clearly.
“See something interesting?” I quirked angrily.
“Umm, no…” she stuttered shyly, turning to face her notebook and duck under her lengthy hair.
I did as she did and waited for class to start, listening to the students fly through the door just in front of me. The next moment I jumped at the sound of crashing behind me. The strange boy from lunch slammed his books on the table behind mine, the seat just in back of my tall neighbor. He shot a quick glance at me as soon as I turned around to see him. His eyes were shadowed with stress and probably lack of sleep. He sighed and sat gracefully in his chair, pulling out a small novel and beginning to read, not even paying attention to the teacher’s lessons.
The entire hour I sat on the edge of my chair, trying not to look behind me. I saw the whites of his eyes shoot upward every time I moved. The lightheadedness I felt earlier was twice as numbing now. I leaned my head against my palm to check my temperature and also to hide my face from the students around me, particularly him.
When the class finally ended, I stuffed my notebooks -- still smelling brand new -- into my canvas book bag and headed to the door where one of the girls in front of me slammed it shut in my face. I grabbed the knob and tugged at it, turning it this way and that. The people behind me laughed or angrily rushed me and I felt the tears coming on again.
Beside me, he grabbed the handle and twisted it for me, brushing my hand and shooting a quick irritated, yet sympathetic glance in my direction and darted out the door. He was so rude! But somehow he seemed to be more understanding than the others. It was like he knew how I felt. Pitied me.
The rest of the week passed by the same exact way. Everyone eventually stopped caring enough to stare. But he always did. Every day at lunch and once again from the seat behind me in my English class. It became routine after a while, so I never paid attention to him after Thursday passed. But I often thought about him. But what could I do? I was a freak, as the girls at the table had whispered among themselves. Maybe he was a freak too. Maybe there was hope in the impossible.
I doubted it. He was too attractive and probably too popular to ever be my friend. With his white, slightly olive-tinted skin, shimmering black hair that was spiked gently into a muss towards the center of his head, much different from the typical Mexican style I grew up with that was more like individual needles attached to the man's head. His was thrown together in clumps high above his head, a messy masterpiece. His dark eyes always tilted down, staring at me from under the thick eyelashes. There was depth there in the blackness of the shadows, and it was hypnotizing. His nose was well sculpted, long in its triangular form and pointed down towards the thin, plump line of his lips which were cherry red. His portrait was like a black and white painting, marvelous texture, soft and unique, his thin lips being the only color, they seemed to stand out to me. Even when I looked away, I could see them as if they were thrown in front of my face. I supposed my bright red hair probably had the same effect on everyone else.
The weekend flew by, boring and cold inside the small house. I spent most of my time in my cozy new room doing homework. In between questions I daydreamed about numerous things. Somehow I wished to be home in Madison. I missed my friends and the sun. The cold bleakness dawned on me hear. I didn't understand why I wanted to be there so badly. I hated that city with every beat of my heart. Maybe the smell of the palm trees when it rained. It was my favorite memory which I experienced the gentle rain about 10 times a year if I was lucky. Most of the rain we received was thrust upon us in the twisting hurricane. But right now, it was likely to be 100 degrees outside with the humidity. That I didn't miss.
I thought about the sun a lot. I hadn't seen it once here. I thought about the warmth it supplied on a winter day in Georgia. I thought about how much I had wanted to get away from it, but as soon as it was masked I was longing for it.
I thought about the teenage mob that had flung itself upon my privacy.
I thought about him, of course. He was so unlike the rest of them. He never hurt my pride like they all seemed to do willingly, though he never talked to me. The thought of him made my stomach turn over in childlike embarrassment. He was just so adorable for such a tall, well built man of his age. He could be an actor or a model. He was elegant and simple simultaneously, graceful as a royal family member yet as casual as the popper. He stared at me when everyone else stood in shame, his face so confused, a mixture of anger and friendly interest. Although he didn’t seem to be a threat, the dark glares made me uncomfortable.
But I highly doubted that he was any kind of royalty or an alien sent from a distant galaxy, even if he was as beautiful as any mystical creature, a magical creation of elegance.
Monday was the same as the rest, and I seriously wondered if the rest of the year would be any different. As I walked into the west parking lot, I found a fence to sit against. I often did this and waited for the lot to clear out, just watching people go about their business like ants, parasites upon this earth, like the moss that grew everywhere.
The drizzling rain trickled on my jacket and formed droplets on my nose. I raised my arm to wipe them off with my sleeve when I noticed they were behind me.
“Hey, beautiful,” said the puny one as he turned the corner of my vision. He was of average height compared to the others, but his build was muscular and his skin darker than most with sandy blonde hair. A surfer most likely. Definitely not from here. “I noticed you around here and I just wanted to tell you something you might be interested in.”
He waited for my answer, but I didn't say anything. I was interested in how sarcastic he was.
“We are political activists too.” The others chuckled under their breath at the words.
“Sure you are. I’ll be sure let the Michael Moore know before his next film,” I said under my breath, not amused by his effort. Apparently they knew my father. Gary wasn’t one of the most patriotic Americans around. He used to love this country, but the older I got, the more he started to rebel against them. He had been on television and on the radio many times. I just didn’t expect that the news would have traveled this far. Though the people his age agreed with his natural methods, the teenagers did not relish the thought of living without their technology, a change Gary was keen on.
“Don’t you want to introduce me to your father?” Once again, they giggled, but the puny one’s face was very serious.
I began to get angry. “Look, I don’t control what my father does, ok? I know the significance. You don’t flatter me.”
He squatted down next to me, reaching to grab my hand. “Come on, chill out babe. I have a tree for you to hug later tonight…”
Suddenly the group’s eyes flashed up in sequence to look behind my back. One of the boys on the right nudged the leader and soon after he was staring in the same direction.
“Marcus,” I didn’t recognize the baritone voice, but I had a good idea who it could be, and I hoped it was. “I’m pretty sure she wants to be left alone. I would greatly appreciate it.” His voice was so soft, hypnotic in its deep, yet comfortably high splendor. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment of protection. I didn’t even have to open my eyelids to know that the tormentors were leaving.
“Why don’t you go read a book, Rivers?” said an unfamiliar voice from the direction of the group.
“Or do something we all know you are good at…” commented another, as if he was aware of something I was not.
My eyes opened widely to see them walking away angrily, ranting to each other about how stupid the ambush was. I turned my eyes toward my savior. It wasn’t until then that I realized how insanely tall he was. He bent his torso forward slightly and began to speak.
“Um… are you alright?” he asked earnestly, angry about something. He always looked angry. Alone.
“Yes,” was my only reply.
“Yes, um…” without another word he awkwardly corrected his posture and walked away as fast as he could. What was wrong with him? Had I said the wrong answer?
“Fine,” I whispered silently to myself while I gathered my items.
The rain began to fall as I walked down the street to my house. I thought of the dark boy the entire way.
The dark boy; hardly words accurate enough to describe him. He was more than dark and certainly more than a boy. He was the size of Goliath, even if that was an exaggeration. His broad shoulders in his large gray coat gave him the outlook of a body builder, but looks can be deceiving. I had seen him briefly during class with the oversized jacket peeled from his skin, wearing expensive dark shades of blues and blacks and whites fit snuggly around his thin, lengthy frame. A model’s midsection.
Angel’s face.
Demon’s attitude.
So many contradictions about him. His frighteningly beautiful physique sent a shiver up my spine. The phantom would be no where in sight and pop up behind you suddenly like a Jack in the Box. He’d be sitting in the cafeteria by the large window, book propped open one minute, and as soon as I looked up again, the seat would be empty, bag and all.
Though handsome and mysterious, his cold-blooded demeanor was too much for me to handle.
I sat in my room for hours after finishing my homework doodling chicken scratch portraits of the dark boy but eventually ripping them out and tossing them across the room. His outlook fascinated me. A strange electricity had circled through the air inside his aura, stinging my body like cold needles, but emanating a sort of heat of its own. If I knew physics, a tornado could have formed from the combination.
But he had a problem. Something was dearly wrong with him and I ached to know. But it frightened me, and intrigued me at the same time.
I wanted to help him. And I didn’t know why.