Continuum (13 page)

“So Ethan, how is it that you know so much about art history?”

He laughs softly, “My dad is a curator and all around art snob.  I didn’t know there were other channels on TV beside PBS until first grade.  We didn't get
People
, so I was forced to read about Ming vases and Degas paintings instead.”

I was perplexed by this revelation, “Everest Heights isn’t exactly an art mecca.  Where does your dad work?  Is he still curating?”

“He actually just started a new job curating for a university... in London.  My parents' divorce was finalized earlier this summer.  My younger brother, Scott, and I had the choice of moving to Everest Heights where my mom grew up or move to London with my dad.  Scott is living in London with my dad and I came here.”  He tries to say all this matter-of-factly, but I can hear the heartbreak in his voice.

“I'm sorry, Ethan.  It must have been really hard to go through that all at once.”  I have an urge to reach out and comfort him somehow--but I just don't know how.  My hands lay uselessly on my lap.

“It was for the best.  My parents were really unhappy together.  It just wasn’t meant to be.”  When he looks up, his eyes are shining with conviction and I cannot blink, let alone look away.  “Fate is inescapable, Fallon.”

Ethan

After spending an hour chatting on Fallon’s front steps, I can’t help the stupid grin on my face.  I decide to take the long way home, cutting through the forest preserve off of the main road.  I have spent most of my life living in large cities.  I never thought I would get used to the relative quiet of the forest.  The sun is already beginning to set below the line of trees.  The days are getting shorter, the evenings cooler.  I zip up my hoodie as I step onto the familiar path.  

This walkway is a good place to sort out my thoughts.  The trodden dirt path is strewn with fallen leaves.  The soft chirping of birds fill the air and I can hear the far away rustle of leaves as small animals crawl through the earth.  The air even smells different out here.

When Scott and I were given the option of moving to London or Everest Heights, it had been an extremely difficult decision.  Scott and I are only eighteen months apart.  Since we moved so much growing up, Scott and I are more than just brothers--we’re best friends.  

We went to the same schools together.  We played on the same teams together.  We speak the same languages.  We played in a band together.  When our parents had one of their cataclysmic arguments, we would hide out together.  When we got older, we would sneak out to parties together.  

Scott is still the only person I can truly confide in.  You can’t really develop close friendships with other people when you move as often as we have.  It has been a very difficult time for both us being separated by an ocean and several time zones.  This morning, an e-mail from Scott was waiting for me in my inbox.  

The e-mail was about a girl named Celeste in his French class.  Scott likes her but was too shy to ask her out.  After spending twenty minutes writing a long e-mail with all sorts of advice and encouragement, I deleted my reply.  I’m not exactly in the position to give someone else advice.  I am still unsure of how to respond. 

For some reason, I still haven’t told him about Fallon.  Everything seemed so delicate at the moment, I felt like telling him would ruin everything.  I missed being able to lie around and shoot the breeze with him.  Even though my parents were much happier apart, I was still heartbroken that our family was broken up.  

Fallon Pierce is a girl familiar with heartbreak.  I had seen it in her eyes the first time our eyes met.  I had seen it in her drawings.  She is different from the other girls at Everest Heights.  Different than any girl I’ve ever known.  I can’t deny that I have feelings for her.  

What started out as a curiosity has turned into full blown fascination.  I wasn’t looking for this.  I had come to Everest Heights to live a simpler life.  Now things feel more complicated than ever.  We are in that precarious state between friendship and.... more.  When it comes to Fallon, I never know how things are going to turn out.

I spot a tiny bud defiantly trying to poke out of the ground along the path, half buried by fallen leaves.  Kneeling in the dirt, I push aside the leaves.  It must have started blooming during the warmer weather we had a few weeks ago.  It’s pale green petals reminded me of her eyes.  Fallon Pierce, the beautiful girl with the infinitely sad eyes.

Fallon

The alarm goes off in a shrill series of beeps and I slap the off button so hard that it falls off my beside table, clattering loudly on the floor.  My entire body feels achy and my throat is so dry it hurts to swallow.  I have force myself to roll out from under the goose down blanket and sit up.  Delicately pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, my temple is throbbing.  

I don’t know if I feel like crap because I’m getting sick or because I had been up half the night analyzing my last interaction with Ethan.  He was beginning to confide in me.  His parent’s divorce and then the continental split of his family.  It hurt me to see him hurt.  

Even a friendship with Ethan would have been risky.  But now I had let it get too far.  I can’t lie to myself, I have feelings for him.  The notion is both terrifying and exhilarating.  Ethan is the person that has been missing from my life.  My life has felt so... empty.  But now I also have something worth losing or taking away.  I am at a crossroads, navigating blindly.  My dreams of the future have suddenly dried up and the uncertainty makes me uneasy.  

Bending over, I pick up my alarm and set it back on my nightstand. 
Crap!
  All my postulating is going to make me late.  I head into the bathroom and get the shower started, not bothering to switch on the light.  Steam quickly fills the bathroom, fogging up the mirror over the sink.  I slip in and the hot water feels good on my aching muscles.  The drumming of the water lulls me and I close my eyes, almost feeling relaxed.  

An image of the burning forest flashes in my head, shaking me out of my momentary reverie.  I quickly wash my hair and rinse off.  I towel off hastily, wrapping a big white towel around my body and another around my wet hair.  I walk back into my room, my wet feet leaving faint prints on the floor.  I glance at the clock as I head to the kitchen to make coffee.  

I towel dry my hair over the kitchen sink as the coffeemaker percolates at an excruciating slow pace.  The pulsating in my head throbs in time to the drips of the machine.  I can’t wait for this day to be over.  Dropping an ice cube into the steaming hot mug of coffee, I drain it in three large gulps.  I carry the second mug back into my bedroom, setting it down on the vanity.

Nervously, I pace along the path around my bed into the closet and around again.  Taking the hairbrush off the vanity, I pull my damp hair into a bun on top of my head.  I stop pacing in front of the window and slide up the shade.  The sky is still gray and dreary, a perfect reflection of my current mood.  I release the string and let the shade fall back into place.

The rain yesterday has brought back the chill in the air.   Inside my closet, I select a long sleeve white thermal shirt and a dark gray crew neck sweater to wear over it.  Next, I choose a pair of slim cut, dark blue jeans.  They feel stiff but the material is warmer than the old, worn in jeans I favor.  I pull on a pair of gray wool socks from the back of my dresser.  

Without really tasting it, I guzzle down my second cup of coffee and carry the mug back into the kitchen.  Rinsing out the mug, I glance at the clock on the microwave and I am still behind schedule.  I really should just stay home since I am so out of it today, but the lure of seeing Ethan is too great.  

I race through the hallway into the living room sliding in my socks on the wooden floor.  I slip my feet into a pair of black low top sneakers, stepping on the backs of them as I struggle to pull on my leather jacket at the same time.  I yank my heels into the shoes and sling on my backpack.  Allowing the front door the slam behind me, I speed walk down the driveway.

I glance down at my watch as I turn the corner, first period will start in 3 minutes.  I curse, knowing I'm going to be late and that all eyes will be on me when I walk in the room.  I walk double time, as fast as I can without breaking into a run.  But I am still a full ten minutes late for first period.  The hallways are empty when I slip inside through the door closest to the parking lot.  Unnoticed, I quietly slink through the long hallway until I reach room 120.  I brace myself as I turn the handle and walk into the classroom.

Mrs. Douglas barely glances up from her notes and doesn't break from her droning monotone as I gently close the door behind me.  When I reach the desk I had been exiled to courtesy of Mackenzie, I risk at quick glance in Ethan's direction.  His seat is empty and Mackenzie is sitting behind it, looking glum.  For some reason, I feel disappointed.  I turn back to face Mrs. Douglas but all I can do is stare at the blank chalkboard for the next 38 minutes.

I don't even bother with my usual doodling in my notebook, my guise for being attentive.  I just stare alternately at the clock on the wall or at the watch on my wrist, willing time to pass.  When the bell mercifully rings, I elbow my way out of the classroom.  I don’t make it to second period.

Ethan

After a nearly two hour, late night, marathon video chat with Scott, I wake up before my alarm.  I turn the alarm so it faces me. 
Damn it! 
I must have slept right through the alarm.  My mom is visiting her sister in California, so no back up wake up call.  The glowing red numbers tell me I have already missed my first two classes and almost half of third period.  That’s practically half the school day, I might as well stay home.   

I check my cellphone--five missed calls and eight unread text messages from Mackenzie.  I start to roll over and go back to bed, but remember I have a paper due fifth period.  Staying up half the night seemed like a much better idea on the other side of 3 AM.

With a curse, I kick off the covers.  I half roll, half fall out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom.  After a too brief, lukewarm shower, I feel more awake.  I throw on the first clean sweater and pair of jeans I find.  Another glance at the clock tells me that fourth period is in full swing. 

In full panic mode, I grab my books off the desk, my finished paper off the printer, and cram everything unceremoniously into my book bag.  Pulling on my leather jacket, I fish my keys out of the bowl set on the entryway table and head to the garage.

As Everest Heights High School comes into view, I realize that I’m not completely dreading being here.  Well, I wouldn’t mind dropping off my paper and going straight back to my warm bed but I’m looking forward to seeing Fallon.  I had spent a long time telling Scott about her last night, technically this morning.  Saying everything out loud made this whole thing seem more real.  We are balanced on the edge of being more than just friends.  But I know she’s afraid to make the leap.  Talking to Scott made me realize that it was too late for me, I had already fallen over.  My newfound realization makes me anxious to see her and confirm what I’m feeling isn’t complete madness.

I park my bike at the far back corner of the parking lot and sprint toward the school.  I’m inside the main building with minutes to spare before fifth period.  I head down the language corridor to wait outside Fallon’s French class.  The bell rings and I look through the crowd of students spilling out into the hallway.  My eyes scan the faces walking past me and after a minute, I don’t see her.

A huge hand claps down on my shoulder, knocking my book bag to the floor.  Sam picks it back up, handing it to me with a smile, “What’s up, Ethan?  Sorry, I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

I give him a half-hearted smile in reply as my eyes continue to search the through the throng of students in the narrow hallway, “It’s cool.  You heading to Spanish?”

“Yup.  I thought you weren’t in school today.  We missed you in Bio.”  He pauses, his eyes mirroring mine as they flicker back and forth.  He looks at me from the corner of his eye, confusion in his voice, “Don’t you have English this period?”

“Yes, but I was sort of waiting for... someone,” I finish lamely.  I still feel weird about their history.

His lips curl into a knowing smirk, “Oh.  You’re waiting for Fallon.  Well, she wasn’t in English this morning.  She’s probably at home, sick or something.  Hey, do you want to work on that Bio lab during lunch?  Liam and I are way behind since you weren’t here this morning.”

Disappointment washes through me, “Sure, I don’t have any plans.  We’ll meet in the lab at the beginning of seventh.”

Fallon

My house is far too quiet.  I feel uncomfortable in my own skin like it’s a too small wool sweater.  Maybe it’s the low grade fever.  Leaving after first period wasn’t the best idea.  Being alone all day has made me stir crazy.  The general restlessness I’ve been feeling lately is suffocating.  

I glance at the time on my cellphone, my last class would have ended a few minutes ago.  I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the window, staring out into the empty street.  It’s already starting to get dark outside.

When I can’t stand being inside anymore, I pull on my black leather jacket over my blue flannel pajamas with little penguins on them.  I stick my feet into a pair of broken in, off white, low top sneakers and shuffle outside with a cup of black tea with a healthy dose of honey and lemon juice in it.  I grab last Sunday's newspaper on my way out the door.

Settling myself on the porch swing, it creaks loudly in the relative still of the early evening.  I rustle through the pages of newspaper and find the crossword section, folding the page precisely so only the puzzle shows.  Even though my vocabulary is vast, crossword puzzles always confound me.  I usually make an assumption and fill in the row or column incorrectly which leads to another incorrect answer.  Then another hour of backtracking to see where the mistake started and inevitably the crossword is a smear of words written on top of another.  I start marking my guesses in the margins next to the clues.