How Are You, Scarecrow? - A Novella
by
Jennifer Perry
*****
How Are You, Scarecrow? - A Novella
Copyright 2012 by Jennifer Perry
Diamond Eyes- A Novella
Deja Vu- A Novella
This book is fictional. Any resemblance between people living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
The drop of sweat traced its way elegantly down her brow. Nick watched, transfixed, as it passed over her sophisticatedly pointed nose, dashingly angled cheekbones, and strikingly thin lips. Her eyebrows frowned defiantly, her face narrowed into a masked grimace of concentration.
They both assumed the neutral position.
Nick made fierce eye contact, in an attempt at pre-match intimidation. The scowl she gave him in return took him by such surprise that he took an involuntary step back.
“Please return to the neutral position!” the referee grunted.
Embarrassed, Nick returned to his starting place on the mat. He’d given this girl a mental advantage, but that was the only advantage she was going to get. He could beat her easily. She was nothing but an elongated tangle of limbs, taller than him, but nowhere near as strong.
Nick was going to take her down.
The ref’s whistle pierced the air. Nick jumped immediately into motion. Months of grueling training kicked in, along with a sharp boost of adrenaline. It was a wrestling match: the one time he could succeed, the one time he was in control.
He wished the rest of his life was this easy.
In a flash of pale skin and brilliant yellow spandex, the girl whipped into wild action. She was too fast. He felt her hand clawing at his arm and her elbow ensnaring his neck. Suddenly he was on his back, with the girl on top of him.
The world fell away. She was all Nick was aware of. Her heat radiated about him, her sweat mingled and soaked with his. Her claw-like fingers had a strangle hold on his upper arms, her bony knees burrowed themselves into his heaving chest.
He bucked and struggled, but the effort was futile. The ref’s whistle blasted. Game over. The girl had won.
Her face was so close to his. He breathed in the scent of her: a natural perfume like snicker doodles and the freshness of rain. Her eyes were wild, her lip curled upward in a savage sort of grimace.
He’d never seen anything more attractive in all his life.
She leaned towards him. The moment was so perfect, so right.
He kissed her.
A startling pain blossomed across his cheek. Fire stung under the sharp imprints of her fingernails. His head filled with smoky confusion.
She slapped him again. That woke him up.
Then the ref’s startling whistle pierced the air.
“Kate, you are disqualified for purposely injuring your opponent.”
*****
Nick grabbed Kate’s arm. “Wait!”
“Get away from me, hormone-controlled sexual predator! Do you want me to slap you again?”
She slapped him again. He didn’t let go.
“I am so sorry,” he told her. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know what’s wrong with me –”
“I know exactly what’s wrong with you. It’s called testosterone.”
“Look, just let me explain this to the ref. It’s not fair for him to disqualify you. All of this was my fault.”
“Fine,” Kate huffed, her eyes still fiery. She spun on her heels and stalked off, clearly expecting Nick to follow her.
“Wait!” he called again.
“What?” Kate jerked to a halt, and turned to shoot daggers at Nick. Her eyes were narrowed. For some reason, her eyelids looked like rips in a pair of jeans. He didn’t know why. Nothing about this girl was exactly normal.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Nick told her, trying not to sound like a smart ass.
Apparently he didn’t succeed. He could feel the hatred rolling off her, like shockwaves from an atomic bomb.
Twenty steps later, black and white rippled before him, like optical illusions or maybe a prisoner’s jumpsuit. The referee jumped into sharp focus before his eyes. He was a tall, imposing sort of man. His face seemed carved from thick, weathered wood, his shoulders wider than a shopping cart. His legs were planted firmly apart. Even though he wasn’t moving, his biceps somehow managed to ripple beneath his thick and hairy skin.
Nick took a deep breath of stale sweat and body spray. Then he stepped cautiously forward.
“Um, ref?” he asked, his voice dwarfed by the solid prominence of the man before him.
The ref didn’t hear him.
Nick tried again, “Um, ref?”
“Excuse me, ref? The lowdown rule breaker over here has something to say to you,” Kate shoved Nick forward to stand before the man.
“I am not a lowdown rule breaker,” Nick hissed. She ignored him.
“Well, spit it out, boy,” the ref’s voice sounded like stones crumbling into dust. Not that Nick had ever heard stones crumbling into dust, but he imagined that’s what they would sound like.
“I, uh . . . what happened, uh . . .” Nick finally found his voice, “None of this was her fault!”
“What?”
“I kissed Kate, and she slapped me in self-defense. She shouldn’t be punished for something that wasn’t her fault.”
The ref looked amused. “I hope she slapped you hard.”
“She did, sir.”
“Good! You deserved it. But I still have to disqualify you.”
“What about the Kate?”
“What about her? She won fair and square. She will progress to the next round.”
Nick let out a thick breath of relief. The air was lighter without his burden of worries. It tasted fresher, like Nike sports bags and air conditioning.
“So, can I make it up to you?” he yelled to Kate’s retreating back.
“No!” she called over her shoulder.
“What if I buy you food?”
“No.”
“Look, I just disqualified myself for you.”
“If I go with you, will you promise to stop bothering me?”
“I promise. But what if I’m not bothering you? What if you actually enjoy my company?”
“Dream on. Now let’s go, I know just the place.”
Chapter 2
Nick gazed in trepidation at the alien objects placed before him: a mini right-angled ladle, and chopsticks. The malformed spoon he could deal with, but the chopsticks were another matter entirely. The mahogany gleamed wickedly, the ends pointed threateningly in his direction.
They were in a phở restaurant, surrounded by a cacophony of socializing humans. The place itself seemed like it had not been remodeled since at least the 1960s. A garishly yellow speckled linoleum floor glared beneath their feet. The walls were a peeling off-white color, and the tables seemed to be made of wood, which was either fake or very highly polished.
Kate settled down across from him. Her complex woven braid was falling apart. Strands draped across her face like Spanish moss, dancing around with the lightness of confetti. The splash of red stayed high on her cheekbones, and her ears were crimson from the cold.
“So, were you ever planning to introduce yourself?” Kate wondered.
“Sorry,” Nick felt his face heat up like a microwave, and frantically wished there was some way to stop the blood rushing to his cheeks. He’d rather lose a thousand wrestling matches than let Kate see his embarrassment. “My name is Nick.”
“There we go. That’s a good start. Now how are you today, Nick?”
“I’m good,” Nick answered quickly. “How about you?”
/>
“Oh, for goodness sakes!” she exclaimed in exasperation. Nick jumped at the energy in her voice. “Do you expect me to believe that? No one’s ever just ‘good.’ Saying you’re ‘good’ is completely pointless. All it means is that you don’t trust me enough to say anything about your life. I hate small talk. So how are you, really?”
“I’m surprised by how passionately you’re opposed to small talk,” Nick began. Then he paused. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even understand his emotions.
That hadn't always been true. Behind his eyes, he saw her chipped red nail polish, and her warm hand reaching out to his. Striking blue eyes twinkled beneath her ebony bangs. She'd called him a sensitive young man, and he told her everything.
He felt the blackness again. He waited for it to overcome him. It didn't. Somehow, Kate's luminescence kept it off.
Nick shook his head and forced himself back to the conversation. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m acting like an idiot.”
Kate laughed. “You acted like an idiot during the wrestling match. But you aren’t acting like one anymore.” She motioned around, “This is nice. Do you know how rare it is for a teenage guy to go to a phở restaurant?”
Nick laughed shakily, using all his willpower to stop himself from slipping over the precipice. “We’re just scared that girls will notice that we can’t use chopsticks.”
“Really? You can’t?”
“Shh, don’t tell anyone. Guys aren’t supposed to show any weakness, remember?”
“Right. Wait, now I know the real reason you wanted to leave the wrestling meet. You were embarrassed about losing to a girl!”
“Who cares? The girl was a better wrestler.”
“Obviously.”
“So, how are you?” Nick wondered.
“I’m looking forward to watching you eat with chopsticks. And I’m thinking that I don’t hate you anymore.”
“Really?”
“Now, I strongly dislike you.”
“Oh.”
“Just kidding! You’re cool. You disqualified yourself for me, and now you’re buying me food.”
“Kate, I was wondering – ” she looked up and their eyes met. Her irises gleamed with wood smoke and chocolate. He liked the brightness of her skin. It shone strangely in the light. Part of him knew it was just dried sweat, but the far reaches of his mind saw it as unearthly beauty. When she turned her face, her eyes captured the light just so . . .
“One large beef phở and one small veggie phở,” a voice with the volume of a sports announcer loudly interrupted them.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Nick asked Kate.
“No.”
Nick frowned. “I’m confused. Why would you choose to order veggies?”
She threw her head back and laughed, her whole body shaking with loud boisterousness. The laugh was like reggae, but with the volume of a rock concert. “Some people do like vegetables, you know.”
“Weird people,” Nick muttered.
“What did you say?” she asked, voice rising with accusation.
“Nothing,” Nick grinned, quickly turning his attention to the steaming bowl before him. He wasn’t going to risk the chopsticks. Instead, he picked up the tiny ladle and cautiously dripped soup into his mouth. Wow! This stuff was really good. He took another sip. A minute later, he looked down in surprise. Where was the broth? It had disappeared!
“That was disgusting,” Kate declared. She took a dainty sip of her concoction. Nick looked over at her bowl . . . It was still full. “Ha!” Kate suddenly declared.
“What?”
“Now you have to use the chopsticks!”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t believe that! Judging from the speed you drank the soup, I bet you’re starving.”
“I, uh–”
“I bet you didn't eat anything before the weigh-in this morning.”
“No, but–”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to use chopsticks.”
“Oh my god!”
“What?”
“You just admitted weakness.”
“Shut up.”
A smile suddenly softened her features. Nick noticed that the expression made a valley out of her cheeks. The skin beneath her dancing eyes wrinkled in glee. “Here, I’ll show you.”
She came to stand behind him. Coffee, vanilla, and laundry detergent swirled around his nostrils. “Hold the first chopstick like a pencil,” she ordered. Nick quickly complied. “The second chopstick goes between these two fingers.” She gently molded the chopsticks into his hands. Her skin was rough and calloused. It spoke of strength.
Kate, he decided, was the type of girl who weight-lifted for fun, or beat up a friends' ex-boyfriends. No one in their right mind would mess with her.
“So, what were you about to say, before that waiter so rudely interrupted us?” Kate wondered. She settled back down in her seat, and matched her eyes directly with his. Nick quickly looked down. He didn't like eye contact.
“I'm curious,” he queried, “Why did you decide to start wrestling?”
“Do you want the short answer or the long answer?” she asked him.
“Both,” Nick replied immediately.
“All right, well the short answer is that I like wrestling. I like the adrenaline. I like the exercise, and how it makes me feel strong and capable. I like the strategy and quick-thinking. My favorite feeling in the world is after a good, hard work out: every muscle in my body shakes with exhaustion, I can't see clearly, and yet I feel happier than any other time of the day . . . Crazy, right?”
Nick shook his head. “No, that's not crazy. I feel the same way. It's not just a sense of accomplishment; it's more like a sense of survival. It's the sense of courage that comes from pushing your body to the very limit.”
“I like that,” she said. “It's very poetic.”
Nick wasn't sure that he wanted to be poetic. He hadn't meant to say any of it, but somehow Kate found all the chinks in his mental armor. He didn't like the way Kate was studying him so closely, as if she was probing through his brain and tossing his emotions out to lie bare and naked in the air between them.
Nick quickly switched the attention back to her. “If that lengthy explanation was your short answer, how long is the long answer?”
“Too long. Are you sure you want to hear it all?”
“Spit it out.”
“I like to be different,” Kate muttered.
“What was that? I couldn't hear you.” Nick heard her just fine, he just wanted to make her to say it again.
“I like to be different,” Kate declared, this time louder and with more conviction. “Everyone thinks that the feminism is over, and that both genders are completely equal. But that is just an illusion. Girls are portrayed as objects in movies and TV shows. They are flaunted for their bodies in magazines and fashion shows. In high school, girls are fine with living up to these stupid stereotypes. They spend hours obsessing over beauty and flaunt their bodies to the entire world. They think that guys only like girls who fit the modern perception of beauty. I am not like that.”
“I know,” Nick replied immediately. “I knew from the moment I met you. That's why I kissed you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! It takes a lot of guts to be a girl in a male-dominated sport. It takes a lot of guts to do wrestling in general. And there was something about the way you held yourself. I got the feeling that, if anyone messed with you, you would take them down.”
“I did take you down, after you followed sexist stereotypes and decided not to respect my body,” Kate told him seriously. Nevertheless, Nick could tell she wasn't mad at him, not anymore.
“What if you wanted to kiss me?” Nick asked, playfully. “Then I wouldn't be violating anything.”
“Believe me; you'd know if I wanted to kiss you.”
*****
They walked back to the Mat Classic Wrestling Championships (
Washington’s interscholastic wrestling championships), still arguing good-naturedly. All too soon, they reached the thick, dreary concrete walls that enclosed the enormous Tacoma Dome. The gray loomed: imposing and authoritarian, overpowering like smog or factory smoke.
Nick thought they’d separate at the entrance, but Kate stayed with him. Her voice, which alluded quietly to strength, alternated smoothly between jokes and philosophy.
“Cobra!” a walrus-like voice bellowed.
Nick turned, reluctantly. “What’s up, bro?”
“What’s up? You’re a pussy, that’s what’s up! I heard you disqualified yourself for a girl. Dude, this is war! You gotta man up!” the oaf exclaimed, slapping Nick’s back. The oaf’s nickname was The Hornet, and he was a senior. He weighed over 300 pounds, a good portion of which was pure muscle.
“Sorry, man. How was your match?”
The Hornet grinned, a slightly manic glint in his eyes. “I kicked some ass. I’m in the next fricking round, mother fugger!”
“Nice,” Nick held up his hand for a high-five, which left his skin tingling loudly.
“I’m, er, gonna go now,” Kate muttered, not looking him in the eye, “I’ll see you later, Nick.”
“Who’s that?”
“No one,” Nick muttered.
“I’d have to agree. Her face is sharp and bony, and she’s way too tall.”
“I gotta go,” Nick said hurriedly. “I’ll see you later, Hornet.”
“Later, Cobra.”
Chapter 3
He stared in trepidation at the note in his hands. It was nothing but a ripped piece of notebook paper, hastily folded at least half a dozen times into a tiny square. Still, it radiated such importance. The bleeding spots of black marker were unforgiving. Once he read the note, there would be no going back. The words would become concrete reality: no longer the swirling wishes and dread that danced behind his eyelids.
The Wilton Hotel had hosted a buffet dinner for the coaches and athletes of the Mat Classic Wrestling Championship. He spotted her immediately. Her hair was still braided, but this time with increased rigidity. Dancing strands no longer softened the prominent contours of her face. She wore cargo pants and a baggy t-shirt that read, “No, you’re not on my bucket list.”
A plate, almost entirely empty, sat in front of her. She was probably cutting before the weigh-in the following morning.