chapterone
matter
I dont feel the presence of God here.
I pace along the far side of the river, my ears filled with the hum of cicadas and the roar of water flowing over the milldam. Vermont is postcard perfect. I could stand on my toes and peer over the current and the cattails and see the whole town spread before me. Green-shuttered houses. The cobblestone square. The church spire. The boarding school.
But I dont.
I crave the illusion of solitude.
The dark-haired girl, who looks like a boy, watches me from the woods. Shes hunkered down in a birch thicket with bare legs and discerning eyes. I know what she saw and I dont want her to talk to me, but shell try. Im sure of this. She mistakes my distance for mystery, and she wants to know why I do the things I do.
My sister was the same way. She thought there was a reason for everything.
Me? I dont think theres a reason for anything.
Not anymore.
* * *
Seven years ago, I strode onto the local country club court beneath a punishing Charlottesville sun like a mini Roger Federer. I had the headband. The tennis whites. The killer instinct.
I was nine.
My opponent was Soren Nichols, a nobody compared to me, top seed in the U10 bracket. But I was off my game, got in trouble early. Soren, who had a decent serve and quick feet, easily took advantage of my unforced errors and double faults.
It didnt take long. I didnt know how to come from behind. I lost in straight sets in front of the home crowd. Without so much as a glance in the direction of my parents or my coach, I stalked to the net and reached across to shake Sorens hand.
“Good game,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Thanks, Drew. You too.” He had a sheepish grin and southern drawl.
Something dark roiled in my gut. A subterranean shift.
No, that was not a good game. Not for me.
People got to their feet between matches, milling across the court, the club grounds. I trailed Soren as his mother hugged him and his father clapped his back. Then I slipped into the narrow alley that ran back toward the clubhouse and waited in the shadows beneath the grandstand.
When he passed by, I stepped onto the walkway. No one could see us.
“Hey,” I said softly.
Soren turned. I took my racket, reached behind me, and cracked it full force across the side of his face. Then I jumped back and gave a little yell of surprise. Like I didnt know what had happened.
Thats exactly what I told everyone when I ran for help. I dont know. I dont know, I dont know how he got hurt. I was running. Maybe I slipped. Maybe he fell. I dont know.
I shook with shame, not regret. Soren was out cold. When he first came to, he really didnt know. All that swelling. The blood.
An ambulance came. Then a cop car.
When pressed harder about it, I cried. A lot.
Howled, really.
* * *
“Whyd you let them do that?” the girl asks as she crawls from the bushes. She holds the headphones of her mp3 player carefully in one hand. Her hairs so short, its practically a Caesar cut, but she still has to brush dirt and leaves out of it now that shes standing in the open.
I edge away from her. Play dumb. Yeah, I know shes a transfer student, and sure, we have a class together and she just joined the cross-country team, but its not like any of that means I want to have an actual conversation with her. Why would I? No one around here ever talks to me without reason.
None of them good.
“Do what?” I ask cautiously.
“Let them get away with pushing you while you were … you know.” She points to my leg. Its soaked with piss—my own, courtesy of two classmates who decided to assault me on their way back to campus. And no, I didnt fight back. I never do. That wouldnt be fair.
Besides, theres not a lot you can do when somebody punches you midstream.
The girl clears her throat. Shes waiting for my answer, but I step up my playing-dumb game by saying nothing.
She frowns. “So youre just cool with being treated like that?”
Like what? I wonder, but give a careless shrug. “Kind of looks that way.”
Theres silence and squinting. Her ears arent even pierced and shes wearing oversized athletic shorts that look cheap, like something youd find in the clearance aisle at CVS. They drape past her knees and bear the silver-and-black logo of some professional sports team. Her whole look is at odds with the rest of the girls around here, who like to show off as much skin as possible, every inch of them tanned, coltish, and prep school sleek. This girl is different. This girl is forgettable.
She speaks again. “You really okay?”
“Why wouldnt I be?”
“Its just, you seem, I dont know, sort of strange.”
I nod and run a hand through my hair. Im not wondering anything anymore. I dont want to know what shes thinking.
“Im fine,” I mutter.
“So wherere you from? I dont recognize your accent.”
My chest tightens, making it hard for me to breathe. Why, oh, why isnt she leaving? She should, because I can be cold. I can be a lot of things. But shes new, lonely. Maybe she thinks shes found a kindred spirit. “Virginia,” I say finally. “But Ive been going to school in New England since I was twelve, so my formative years have been spent here.”
Her jaw drops. “Youve been in boarding school since you were twelve?”
“Yeah.”
“Dont you miss your family?”
“No,” I say evenly. “I dont.”
“Oh.”
I stare at her. Hard. Her own accent rings strange to my ear, but you dont see me asking where shes from or what her familys like. “So why were you spying on me?”
“I wasnt spying!”
“You werent?”
“No!” she says, and the red blossoming beneath her olive skin pleases me.
I did that.
But the girl keeps going. “I was—Im supposed to be checking the snake traps and making sure therere enough water chestnuts in the back pond for the ecology class. Its part of my work-study hours. But its sort of scary out here after, you know, what happened.” She shudders. “Look, I heard a noise. It freaked me out, so I hid. Then I saw you and those guys.…”
Her head tilts back. The hazy afternoon sun slides from behind a cloud and strikes her eyes so that I can no longer look directly at her. I glance at my filthy leg instead.
“Arent you the guy who gets carsick?” she asks.
My shoulders twitch. “Excuse me?”
“On the bus, on the way to the Danby meet, last Wednesday. You had all sorts of patches and wristbands on. You looked like a mummy.”
“Like a mummy? Really? Thats charming. Thank you.”
More red blooms. A full bouquet. “I—I didnt mean … well, couldnt you just take medicine or something?”
No, I think.
“Why?” I ask.
“I dont know. It just looked kind of ridiculous and like a lot of trouble—”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “I won, didnt I?”
She sighs. I doubt she likes how this is going any more than I do. “Well, now you know why I was hiding in the bushes. What are you doing all the way out here?”
All the way. Theres a longing in her voice. Her brown-eyed gaze flicks across the snaking river. Were a good mile from the covered bridge leading back to school grounds. Two miles from the row of white clapboard dorms.
She doesnt trust me.
Good.
Its better that way.
“I think youve got a handle on what I was doing,” I tell her. “Seeing as you were watching me and all.”
This helps. She puts her hands on those narrow hips, trying to look tough, and I know shes pissed, but come on. The laws of nature dont work like that. Im a foot taller than her.
Among other things.
“Dont worry,” she says. “It wont happen again. Youre not that interesting.”
“Agreed.”
She stomps onto the trail a few yards away, small legs so close to breaking into a run. The need to flee is held captive in every muscle. But she gives me one more glance.
“Hey, Win?” she asks.
Dont. Please dont say my name. You have no idea who I really am.
“Yeah?”
“Whatre you going to do now?”
“I was thinking about washing my leg off in the river.”
She snorts.
“What?” I ask.
“Its like you dont even care someone was killed out here.”
I do the shrug thing again because shes right. Its like I dont care. But shes also wrong, because I do.
Copyright © 2013 by Stephanie Kuehn