Authors: Fabio Bueno
Sean
keeps laughing.
Boulder
doesn’t let go
.
“Your
sissiness
is the stuff of legend.”
“I already agreed with you
,
” I
say, my teeth clenched
.
Sean
laughs uncontrollably, banging his fist on the table.
“Never mind,” Boulder says, ignoring Sean’s
antics
and giving me a one-armed man
hug. “
A win is a win.
Tell
me
about her. What’s her name?”
“I…
I…”
Boulder shoves me aw
ay in disgust. “You didn’t ask?
!?
!
”
Holding his side, Sean sits on the ground. He’s laughing so hard, I see tears.
Even though most students are already immunized against Sean’s theatrics,
his displays of hysteria
still
embarrass
me
.
I
look around to check if people are staring at
us
, b
ut they’re
gawking
at my perhaps-date
. W
ith
good
reason.
“The Predator is talking to your g
irlfriend
,
”
Boulder also notices
.
Even
Sean stops laughing and says, “Now,
The Predator isn’t
‘petite
.
’ Is she, Drake?”
Boulder answers
for me. “Petite? Only if you spell it with double Ds.”
Priscilla
,
The Predator
,
earned
her nickname.
In the last two years she tore thro
ugh the male student body
—
“male” and “body” being key words here
—
but somehow managed to sidestep me. (That’s my life in a nutshell, by the way).
Now, done with
feasting
at
Greenwood
High, she
relies
on
a strict diet of college guys.
The two girls sit close together, and Priscilla is already making friends with
the new girl
. The bell rings and they lea
ve side-by-side, BFFs
after three minutes together. That’s weird, but not as weird as
the
new girl’s
face-off with Jane.
Poor
new g
irl.
On
day one
, she
gets to
me
e
t The Predator, Jane, and me
.
Greenwood
High is doing its best to make the worst first impression possible.
***
During
Pre-Calc
,
I overhear someone saying
her name: Skye.
I wish I could talk to the guys about her, but they are
… L
et’s just say we have different sensibilities. Also, let’s say that if I ever use the word “sensibilities” around them, I’ll be killed. First mocked, then killed.
The rest of
the school talks, though: I
hear
all kinds of comments about her.
Most of them are rumors about
her confrontation with Jane
and the sudden friendship
with
Priscilla
.
P
eople barely remember my cameo
—
one of the advantages of being invisible.
I spend my day as I spend
most of them:
unnoticed and undisturbed.
It’s o
nly when I arrive at the pool
building
across the street from school
that
somebody talks to me.
“Hey, Drake
.
Have you thought about
our talk
?” Coach Summers
has given
me
the same hello
for
almost two years running now.
“I thought about it, but I can’t be part of the swim team
.
I’m against team sports.”
I always co
me up with a different excuse.
He nods.
“That’s because you suck at them
.
I saw you trying out for baseball.”
“Always a motivator, C
oach.”
“
Stop making excuses.
The offer stands until you graduate, just in case you decide to grow a pair.”
“Thanks, C
oach. I’ll let you know when they’re fully grown.”
W
e wave
at each other
. He doesn’t smile
—
he never does
—
but I do.
I get all my laps
in
,
at a
leisurely
pace
.
No competitions for me, not even against the clock.
I don’t need or want the pressure.
Besides,
one of the most effective ways to avoid being a loser is
to avoid competition
.
In the pool, I forget the world
:
home, school, even Skye. It’s my
time
, all mine, only mine.
I leave the pool building renewed.
It’s almost dark, the dusk coming earlier because of the
angr
y
clouds, but I don’t care.
Even the rain doesn’t bother me.
I’m at peace
with myself.
Then I see Skye, and my world tumbles again.
“H
ey,
” I holler.
“Hey,
you,
” she yells back
from across the street
.
I take it as an invitation
and cross over to her side. She looks tired, but still radiant.
Again, her unconventional beauty confuses me. She looks like
an average girl
—the most
perfect
average girl I’ve ever
met
, if that makes sense.
“What a coincidence,” she says.
“Maybe it’s fate,” I say, and I immediately regret it. My comment is so lame the other lame comments
look down on
it in
disgust. But she doesn’t mind
.
“Fate? Do you believe in fate?”
s
he asks.
“
I do now.
”
She
blinks a few times, seemingly amused
.
Her glasses are gone, and I notice her
eyes
are
a
bright
shade of blue I’ve never seen before.
It’s hard not to stare
.
For a moment
,
those deep
pools suck me in, play with me
,
own me,
and spit me out.
S
he looks away,
reaches into her backpack, fishes the
strange
rainbow
glasses out, and puts them back on.
I wonder
if that
eye color
has a name
.
“So, Drake, huh?” She offers her hand.
“So, Skye, huh?” I
shake
it, gently, lingering for a nanosecond too
long.
“Nice to meet you too.”
“
G
ossip
is
a
popular sport here, isn’t
it
?
”
I shrug. “It wouldn’t be high school without gossip.”
The rain picks up
. R
eal rain, not the
perpetual
drizzle we usually have
. “Welcome to Seattle
in October
,” I
say,
point
ing
toward the clouds.
“Yes,
a real downer
,
after
living in
sunny
London
,” she says, a resigned expression on her face.
“What’s there?” She
nods past my shoulder
to the building
behind me.
“The pool. I was swimming.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“Wow, you swim? That’s cool.”
What an odd thing to say.
I look for
sarcasm
in her voice, but I
can’t
find any.
S
he side
tracks me with her comment, and
these words escape me
somehow:
“Are you going home? May
I walk you?”
She eyes me and ponders it for a while, disregarding the rain
damp
en
ing
her hair
.
“‘
Walk me home?’ Aren’t you the old-fashioned gentleman?”
It’s getting dark.
The an
nounced thunderstorm is coming.
I look up pointedly.
Drake
sounds
trustworthy
. My only
uneasiness
is his fuzzy aura. I still don’t know what it means, and it bothers me
a little
.
N
ot enough to
refuse his offer
to become my escort, though
.
“I live o
n
Stone Ave
nue
,” I say. The rain
is heavy
. W
e start moving north.
“What were you
still
doing in school?” he asks.
“A bunch of paperwork.
They misplaced my school records, a mess.”
It’s pouring, and even for us, people rained on for all our lives, it
gets
uncomfortable.
As a good
Londoner
and a good Seattleite,
we don’t
carry
umbrellas.
But w
e move faster.
“Are you
north of
97
th
? If you are, we can take a shortcut
through the park
.” He points to a walking trail
surrounded by thick tree
s
. In the middle of a residential area
.
Emerald
C
ity
, indeed.
A quick thought crosses my mind: is he trying
something
?
He
must have
noticed
my expression. “Never mind,” he corrects himself. “Stupid idea
. I
t’
s probably muddy and slippery.”
T
he skies rumble.
I want to get home soon.
The
darkness o
n
the brink of
overtaking
us is both
an ince
n
tive
and a deterrent.
If he has a hidden
agenda, he’s a hell of an actor—and I know actors.
I feel safe.
Besides, I’m already drenched.
So
,
I say, “No, let’s. It’s okay.”
He looks at me, surprised, and changes direction. I follow him.
It
is
muddy. The trail is
mostly
dirt with a layer of dead leaves
. To our right, a
n upward
slope has several trees with exposed roots, and we hold on to them whe
n we lose balance. To our left is a downward slope
, not as steep as the other side, but falling and sliding is a
possibility.
My feet falter, but
Drake
catches me, his warm hands steadying me. He seems self-conscious and lets me go as soon as I regain my balance.
“How much more?” I ask, a little louder than I intended. The thunder and the rain hitting the canopy muffle our voices.
This storm got ugly fast.