~
I was too nervous to eat breakfast on Monday morning, but Abby had gone to the effort to cook so I picked at the tofu scramble to please her.
“You’ll probably love high school,” she chirped, her tone overly cheerful.
“Did you?” I asked, trying not to sound too cynical.
“We-ell, not so much,” she admitted with a grin. “But I did make some really good friends there,” she added. Abby always managed to put a positive spin on everything.
Cruz made his way into the kitchen, grumbling. He had taken pains with his hair, lined his eyes, and painted his fingernails black. I thought he looked really beautiful in a dark, androgynous way. My guess was that he had adopted a rebellious stance to cover up his deep-seated feelings of alienation. At least that’s what Evie would say, psychoanalysis being one of her many hobbies.
Abby believed in allowing him to express himself freely, but she confided in me that she thought his style made the teasing at school worse. It pained her to see him unhappy, and she wished he would try and fit in a little bit more. Still, she was proud of his obvious talent as a designer, and often pointed out that once you made it through high school, life became easier.
I had taken a different approach, and did my level best to blend in. Evie always dressed me much more extravagantly than most kids my age, but today I really didn’t want to stand out. I went through my wardrobe and tried to pick out the standard teen costume from all the high fashion pieces. I settled on jeans, the simplest, least embellished shirt I could find, and ballet flats. I didn’t have a backpack, but I picked out a roomy tote for my books and school supplies. I thought I did all right, given what I had to work with.
When we got to school Cruz walked me over to the office to meet with a counselor for orientation. I was new, and I had already missed a full week. Off to a great start, I thought bitterly.
Aptos High wasn’t a very big school, and rumors of my supposed flying leap off the end of the pier had obviously trickled throughout the entire student body. I could feel curious eyes on me from all sides. I held my head high, channeling my inner Evie, and pretended not to notice.
“See you in class,” said Cruz, patting my back as he dropped me off.
“You must be Marina Vanderpool,” said the woman behind the desk. “Mrs. Owens is expecting you, second door on the right.”
When I entered her office Mrs. Owens peered up at me from behind thick, round glasses. “Well, well,” she said, studying me critically, “have a seat.” She reminded me of a goldfish in a bowl, the kind with the popped-out eyes. “You certainly don’t look at all like your cousin.”
I didn’t like her tone.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, extending my hand with excessive formality.
She shook it perfunctorily and went on, “Reviewing your transcripts, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting up to speed. On the contrary,” she said, raking me over with a gimlet eye, “your studies seem to be quite advanced.”
“I was hoping to have the same schedule as Cruz,” I said. “I have no experience attending a daily school and I wanted the transition to be–”
“Cruz,” she said unpleasantly, “is not someone you want to emulate.”
“Really? In what way?” I asked, challenging her.
She smiled condescendingly. “Why, his poor grades, of course. But I don’t think that will be a problem here, given the high caliber of your prior schooling.”
I had expected this. The private tutors I’d studied with had put me beyond American high school level in most areas. Traveling with my father was an education in itself, and I’d read so many of the classics that there wasn’t one book on the text syllabus that I didn’t already know. But I really wasn’t here to be educated, at least not academically–my father had made that clear.
Dad and I both knew I’d be phoning it in curriculum-wise, but ultimately I was supposed to have a so-called “normal” high school social experience. I’d always blindly obeyed my father, trusting that he had my best interests at heart. But now I’d come to the realization that there were things about him I didn’t know, he could be terribly wrong, and I suspected that he was seriously misguided in sending me here.
I wished I had a license and a car so I could just get in and drive away. High school wasn’t looking too appealing so far.
I smiled sweetly at the beady-eyed old bat.
“I’d really feel most comfortable in the same classes with my cousin. Perhaps you’d like to speak to my father …”
That did it. She knew my father held an endowed chair on the faculty of one of most prestigious universities in the nation. Among the educator class that was pulling rank.
“Have it your way,” she said with an ugly twist to her mouth. I was handed a stack of books, assigned a locker, and given a schedule. “You’re late for your first class,” she waved dismissively.
I found my way to first period English and peeked in. There were about twenty five teenagers in rows facing the door and they all looked up at me simultaneously. I spotted Cruz sitting in the back and he waved at me. The teacher looked up.
“Marina Vanderpool?” she asked, apparently expecting me. “Come in and take a seat. I’ll need to speak with you after class about make-up work.” I could feel twenty five pairs of eyes follow me to the back of the room, where Cruz was sitting at an empty row. I plunked down next to him and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.
The rest of the first day went pretty smoothly. Cruz and I had all of our morning classes in common and we stuck together until lunch. We met up with Megan and took a table in the lunchroom. No one joined us, and pretty soon it became apparent to me that Cruz and Megan were social outcasts. I was mildly outraged by the stupidity of this, but at the same time I was relieved that we were left alone to talk about our little secret. We sat laughing and joking like we were at home on the couch. At least lunchtime would be a good part of my school day.
I spotted Ethan sitting at a table of surfers and their girlfriends. The girls all seemed to be giggling and tossing their hair theatrically, trying to be the center of attention. The blonde was sitting next to him, and I could see her glowering in our direction. Ethan kept looking over at us and it made me nervous. I switched seats so I didn’t have to face him.
We hadn’t talked about swim lessons yet, and I was uneasy, wondering what he must think about me after our encounter in the hospital. I suspected he pitied me, and it grated away at my pride. I wanted to tell him to forget it, but I knew he felt obligated because he worked for Abby, and I was afraid to approach him.
I was also unusually curious about what he was really like, and inspected his behavior surreptitiously, trying to decipher him. He didn’t seem at all interested in his appearance, although everyone else clearly was. I noticed that he dressed plainly in inexpensive casual clothes. He was never sloppy, but always sported the same well-worn jeans, plain shirts and sweats. He was such a gorgeous specimen he would look good in a burlap sack … or nothing, I thought, feeling a flush of blood rush to my cheeks.
I turned to look again and met his eyes; I was glad he couldn’t read my mind. There was something about him that I liked, a seriousness that the other high school kids lacked. He seemed to move about with purpose, like he was always thinking ahead, operating on a strictly ordered schedule. Disciplined.
I noticed that everyone else at his table seemed to be eyeballing us, and I wondered exactly what they knew about me. I figured that wildly exaggerated rumors about my watery mishaps were flying.
“It’s just ’cause you’re new,” Megan said with a sympathetic look. “They’ll move on to something else soon enough.”
“I don’t care,” I said, holding my head high. I reminded myself out loud, “None of these people matter to me at all.”
Later in the day we had electives. I had chosen an art class and Cruz was taking Spanish so we parted ways for the day.
“See you after school,” Cruz said.
I got to class early, and had a chance to meet the teacher, Mr. Briggs. The art room was large and bright, with easels on one side, and a cluster of tables on the other. I liked the teacher, and the comforting smells of paint and turpentine made me feel right at home. I realized that I missed the art studio in my San Francisco apartment with a little twinge of sorrow. I surveyed the room and took a table in the back.
A familiar voice made me look up to see Ethan walking in, followed by a couple of girls. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me, making a bee line over to my table to sit down next to me. The girls were taken aback, and took the two opposite chairs, facing us.
“Hi Marina,” said Ethan nonchalantly. The girls just stared. “Marina, this is Heather and Jamie,” he said, gesturing towards them.
“Hello,” I nodded pleasantly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, hi,” said Jamie. Heather just looked at me.
Mr. Briggs took roll call, introducing me as a very talented new student joining the class.
I thought he must be an optimist, not having seen my work. He announced that we’d be drawing the still life that was set up at the far end of the long room, instructing us to choose one of the easels that were arranged in a semi-circle around some fruit baskets and bottles artfully displayed on a table. I tried to dodge Ethan, but he followed me, rushing to claim the easel right next to mine. I thought he must really feel sorry for me. The two girls trailed him like ducklings, I noticed with amusement.
I began to draw, but I was excruciatingly aware of his presence, and I started having a hard time focusing. Frustrated, I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and imagined he wasn’t there. I had taken art lessons at museums and galleries in the city and I was used to drawing around others. I never had any trouble blocking out distractions before, I thought defiantly.
I studied the subject matter a little too intently, afraid to look over at him, but gradually, I settled into the familiar routine. As the class wore on, Mr. Briggs went around to each pupil murmuring constructive criticism, and that too was soothing. I finally relaxed and got lost in the flow, experiencing the peculiar sense of timelessness that came with total absorption in the process.
I jumped when the bell rang, still not used to the sudden noise. We all tore pages out of our drawing pads and turned them in. There was a scraping of chairs as students gathered up their things and rushed out, but I moved slowly, hoping to leave after Ethan did. The girls maneuvered him out the door, calling to him that they’d be late if he didn’t hurry. He seemed to linger, and finally left, casting an anxious glance back at me as he did. Mr. Briggs came towards me as I zipped up my tote.
“You are a very accomplished artist, Marina,” he said with a friendly smile. “Ethan was right. He told me I could expect a lot from you when he transferred into this class last week.”