****
I woke to my screams. This time the images of my Grandpa Perry’s death haunted me. I could still hear, in my mind, his voice as he called out to me, asking me to cut his thread, showing me for the first time what I was to do with those cold, sharp scissors.
Crawling out of bed with a pounding headache, I downed a couple of Tylenol, and chased them with a bottle of water. I unfolded the piece of paper I started keeping for Perry after his death a couple of months earlier and added tally mark No. 45. Adding the diagonal marks used to comfort me in some way – now I hate it.
I stepped into a hot shower and spent more time than usual scrubbing myself clean. Nervous and a bit apprehensive about spending the day with Rory, I focused on pushing back the nervous uneasiness in my stomach. Out of the shower, I towel dried my long, wavy hair and put on a small amount of makeup. From my freshly organized closet, I pulled out a favorite pair of skinny jeans and an H&M jersey tank, and paired the clothes with some black and white striped ballet flats.
Rory hadn’t yet arrived so I turned on my MacBook and began to type an email to Mia back home. We had been texting back and forth ever since I left Chicago, but the messages had all been short and to the point. I told her about everything that had gone on so far, which hadn’t been much, really. I told her about Emily and Rory and about how much I missed her. Near the end of my message I asked her what she had going on for the holidays because, at the moment, my plans were nonexistent.
I heard a knock at my door and before I could get up, it swung open and Rory stood just outside, a big smile on his face.
“Morning!”
Without waiting for my reply, he came on in and made himself at home on my chair, throwing his flip flop-clad feet up on the ottoman while I quickly finished my email. I would learn to appreciate his carefree manner and the giant smile stretched across his face, but this morning I was slightly taken aback.
“Ready?” he asked cheerfully.
“Yep.”
I hit the “send” button on my computer, grabbed my cell phone off the charger and shoved it in my back pocket.
First we wound through the campus and Rory used my schedule to show me where my classes would be held. We stopped near a stone arch that perfectly framed the sea view. The main quad was spread out behind us. Dana Point Institute has everything a notable campus should have – an excellent academic program, a massive art studio, world-renowned ocean research labs, a huge library, and, of course, a fitness center that would make any Olympian feel at home. The crashing of the waves reaches the dorms and the rolling treetops remind me of something Bob Ross might have painted. In spite of myself, a little sigh escaped my lips.
We left the campus then and spent the rest of the day in Dana Point itself.
The harbor is breathtaking, the ocean so clear and so blue that the line separating water from sky is nearly invisible. Rory told me that he had lived near Dana Point all of his life, in his family's house on the beach, about ten miles south of town. Both his dad and his uncle had graduated from Dana Point Institute, and his older brother, Nick, was also an alum. Rory and several of his cousins were the current crop of students.
He talked about his family a lot, about how close they have always been and about how the various branches all live along the same stretch of beach.
“So why didn’t you go with them this weekend then, on their trip?” I asked.
Rory shrugged and bit at his bottom lip.
“I am not exactly speaking to one of my cousins right now. He is a major jerk and for whatever reason everyone loves him, so I decided to hang back and get away from them for a while.”
“So what did he do to make you stop speaking to him? And does he know you aren’t speaking to him?”
“Oh, believe me he knows. I dunno, our fight is stupid, I guess,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
That was the first time and last time I saw a smile leave Rory’s face all day. Whatever happened, it must really have had him feeling down.
“Ok, I get it, I’m sorry I asked.”
“Ha, don’t worry about it. Just a stupid fight, really, no big deal.”
With that, he plastered a smile right back onto his face.
“OK, let’s cut the crap; who are you, Ava?”
I blinked at his strange question.
“Uh, I don’t know what you mean … ”
Rory stared at me for a moment and chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Huh… ok, never mind. Forget I asked.”
He eyed me curiously.
I said as little as possible about myself, not really wanting to open up, knowing that anything I had to tell would sound depressing. Rory gracefully did not push me for too many details.
“So your last name is Baio?” he asked as we were driving back to campus. “Any relation to the baio?”
“Yeah,” I answered dully, hating my last name.
“Margaux Baio is my grandmother and Perry was my grandfather.”
“Holy hell! I was just joking,” he said with a laugh. “I didn’t think you were actually related to them. That’s awesome!”
I laughed aloud.
“Being related to Margaux is not really too awesome, and I have no plan to work for the company. That woman is the devil.”
He shrugged his shoulders and pulled into the parking lot, letting the conversation end with no further questions. His silence surprised me. I was used to people who wanted a connection with me only because of baio. Back in Chicago, my main claim to unwanted fame had been my connection with baio. Some of the girls at school had even asked me for free items from the shop. They hadn't really wanted anything to do with me unless Mia and I were at Margaux’s store on Michigan Avenue; other than that I was a nobody.
I thanked Rory for showing me around and ducked inside my room.