Portal (2 page)

“Mom, Ella sprayed perfume on me when I was sleeping….” Not that I expected her to do anything about it; she never did.

“Arizona, she did play with your perfume bottle, but I asked her to put it back in your bag. It does smell lovely. What is it?”

My
perfume? It was certainly not mine, but decided to let that slide for now. I needed to know what I was doing here and where we were going.

“Mom, where are we? Where are we going? Where’s Dad?”

“Home, of course,” she said, as she turned up the music.

Good, she must have come back to Princeton early to pick me up from school. It was a bit odd though. I clearly remember Dad picking me up. My eyes felt unbearably heavy again, so I closed them and allowed the sedative sounds of the raindrops lull me off to sleep.

I began thinking about the SAT’s. What a disaster! It was my fourth time taking them, after having done both the Kaplan and the Princeton Review classes. Not that I had paid any attention, both courses had been totally boring. I guess I could kiss the Ivy League colleges goodbye.

I decided to cast off those negative thoughts for happier ones – my last hockey game. Now there’s something I’m really good at.

When asked to describe myself (like I was for the local newspaper last year), I always reply, “I’m Arizona Stevens, ice hockey player at Princeton High School.” Ice hockey defines me, and I’m very proud to be the only girl who has ever played for Princeton High varsity hockey team. My pride and joy is my hard-earned varsity jacket, it’s got my name and number: I’m number 11 and I play defense.

I’m sixteen and petite for my age. The promised (by Mom) growth spurt I was looking forward hasn’t happened yet. I’m about half the size of my team members who are fairly big guys. However, despite being small, I have strong shoulders and arms, and can pack a serious punch. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that I can look after myself. No one messes with me.

I wouldn’t describe myself as “pretty” even though my mom sometimes does, but I think that’s just to annoy me. I do like my hazel eyes, but hate my full, wide lips. I always wear my straight, brown hair in a ponytail and have worked hard at perfecting a mean, snarly look. Although I do sometimes forget myself and smile, and that’s when my very irritating mom says that I am
so pretty
! Pretty is not going to help me when I am surrounded by enormous hockey players all coming at me…. My snarl wins!

My parents have been separated for a while, which suits me just fine. Life was pretty rotten living in their war zone, although I must admit I did my very best to contribute to the battles. Now I live with my dad, Dillard. He is totally hopeless at getting anything done, which works for me, as I am not that into getting things done either.

My mom is a perfectionist. Neither Dad nor I could stand it, and we now live together in a house that we haven’t bothered to straighten up for eight months. How cool is that! Mom and Ella moved to California a while ago, so I really only have to put up with them during vacations when they always move to my mother’s Princeton apartment. She’s been dangling that apartment as a carrot to get me to study. There is no chance of me getting into Princeton University though, based on today’s SAT performance and my rather embarrassing GPA. It’s a pity really, as they do have a great ice hockey team, ah well!

Although I look and feel like an all-American teenager, I’m actually British. I was born and raised in Wimbledon, London, until we moved to New Jersey nine years ago when Dad was relocated. My parents’ marriage was over by then, but Mom decided to stay with Dad, as she was pregnant with Ella at the time.

It was hard. New school, new accent. I made sure to promptly get rid of my posh British accent to fit in better. But I wasn’t really happy until I got to high school. I love high school, well parts of it anyway. The work is annoying. After all, I just want to play hockey. What’s the point of calculus?

My school is not cliquey like the ones described in movies and books. There are no separate tables for the football team, geeks, and losers. I hang with the hockey team when I want things easy and uncomplicated, but try to hang with the girls as much as possible. After all, I don’t want people thinking that I’m weird in any way.

It’s hard work being friends with girls, though. There are so many complicated issues and all that talk about shopping! Honestly, who cares? My best girl pals, or BFFs, are Monica, Ariele and Simla. Monica and Ariele are not talking at the moment (something about Monica buying a dress that Ariele spotted first), which is annoying. Simla seems pretty issueless. She is super smart and seems to spend her entire life studying.

I consider myself a fairly normal teen, although I do have anger management issues when my mother is around. Perhaps
issues
is putting it mildly. It’s been a huge problem, one that landed me in behavioral therapy, and almost on meds, after a huge overreaction by Mom to some minor structural damage to the house. Big deal. What are a few broken doors and bashed in walls in the grand scheme of life? I have to be able to deal with the hatred I feel for her some way, right? Many have tried (and failed) to get to the bottom of this conflict with my mother. I can’t put a finger on it. I guess, simply put, I don’t like anything about her. She’s a pain. The worst thing is that now, any signs of
inappropriate
behavior and she’s quick to call my therapist. My biggest fear is in-house treatment. That would really mess up my hockey schedule. So, I really watch myself, I never react to anything around her.

It’s a huge relief having her out of my everyday life. So, life is good. I am well respected at school. I get along just fine with Dad. The only thing missing in my life is a car. I really, really want one. I will be seventeen in July and will
need
a car… not a lame car, but a super cool car. I’m thinking a Dodge Charger. Another upside of my parents being separated is that it’s easier to get what I want out of them, so I am thinking that the Charger is as good as mine.

The next step in my life, as my mother endlessly reminds me, will be trying to get into college. I really want to play college ice hockey. However, it seems like colleges want you to have good grades. Here is where I’m really screwed. I blew off my classes and my grades are worse than poor, just good enough to be allowed to play on the varsity team. I guess I’ll be retaking the SAT’s again.

My head suddenly lunged forward and then back again hard on to the seat. What seriously bad driving! The car must be on a rough road. Mom was having a hard time keeping the car in control. I held on to the seat in front of me with one hand and protected Gertrude with the other. Ella did not wake up, despite being thrown around in her seat. The car came to a sudden stop and my mother turned the engine off.

“Girls, wake up, we’re home!”

It was still dark, still raining heavily. I looked at the dashboard clock, 3 AM.

“Arizona, can you wake Ella?” Mom asked.

I tried to take a peek through the window to see where we were, but they were fogging up now that Mom had turned off the engine. I could barely see, but one thing was for sure, this is not
home
– not mine anyway.

This didn’t look the least bit familiar. I tried to clear my mind to figure out where we were. I so wanted to scream at Mom, but held my breath until the feeling passed. All I could see were dark, looming trees through the torrents of raindrops. I could vaguely make out the dark shape of what looked like a building; it was too hazy to make anything much out.

“Get your wellies from the back and put them on. It’s muddy out there,” Mom instructed in her usual direct, no-nonsense way. I was slightly annoyed at her use of the word
wellies
and wanted to shout
rain boots
, not wellies, we’re in the U.S. now! However, looking around I sort of wondered. I looked around for the wellies…. no
rain boots
! I couldn’t see a thing, so I switched the lights on. This was definitely not the H3; it looked more like an H2. Mom must have changed cars.

I turned around and got up to have a look in the back. It was full of junk, mainly ice hockey gear, but I managed to scramble around and found some boots. One of my nails broke as I dislodged the boots from under a box, I instinctively went to put my finger in my mouth. I stopped as I noticed my pink-tipped nails. I was horrified. What had they done to me? I was going to kill Ella. Spritzing me with cologne while I was asleep was one thing, but sticking fake nails to me…well that was a flayable offense!

“Ella, wake up!” I yelled, irritated.

She stirred, and stretched as she yawned. She looked at me through sleepy eyes and muttered, “What’s up?” Then she looked at Gertrude and smiled, “Hello, doggie!”

Gertrude wagged her tail and then settled back to sleep.

“Put on your rain boots, Ella,” I said impatiently as I handed a pink pair over to her.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she took them and clumsily put them on, stretched and closed her eyes again.

“Mom, where are we?” I asked annoyed.

“Home, silly!” she said, as she spoke into her cell phone.

Home? It didn’t make any sense. This was not my home. I held my breath again.

Mom turned off her cell and looked over at us. She looked different. The lighter hair made her look younger.

“Wait for Dad to come out to the car, he’ll bring some umbrellas,” she said.

Phew! Dad was here. Everything was going to be ok after all. There would be a simple explanation.

There was a sharp knock on Mom’s window. She opened the door. I was expecting Dad but was shocked. It was a man I didn’t recognize. He had dark hair and blue eyes that gleamed as he kissed Mom right on her mouth. Disgusting. He scooped her up in his arms with a laugh as she ruffled his hair. Ella shouted a delighted, “Dad!” as she tried, unsuccessfully, to scramble to the front seat. Gertrude was wagging her tail furiously, but thankfully showed restraint and stayed by my side.

“Hi, girls!” The stranger said with a smile. “Let me carry your mom in and I’ll be back for you guys in a jiffy!”

They disappeared. I felt a sense of panic. Where was my cell phone? I felt for it in my hoodie pocket where I usually keep it, but couldn’t find it. I felt around for it on the floor, with no luck. This was getting scary. I looked over at Ella. She didn’t look the least bit concerned as she traced stars on the fogged up window and tried to look outside. There was a second knock on Ella’s window before her door opened and the man appeared again.

“Dad, look at the doggie!” Ella said excitedly.

Dad? This was the second time she had called him that; I thought I’d misheard her before. Had she lost her mind? It was late and dark, but this man looked nothing like Dad. This man was over six feet tall, dark hair, striking blue eyes. Our dad is a balding blond with brown eyes and a beer gut (not from beer, but from those enormous New Jersey breakfasts). I felt a sense of panic wash over me again and could hardly breathe.

This had to be a dream! Silly me! A post SAT nightmare… what else could it be? I would just have to dream it out.

However, I found my mouth saying, “Stay, Ella. Don’t go anywhere with this man!”

“You silly!” she said, as she clambered into his arms.

“Come on, Arizona, it’s wet and muddy. Can you carry the dog in?” he asked looking at me, clearly puzzled, as he picked Ella up.

I looked over at Gertrude. She was wagging her tail at the man, but then she wags her tail at anyone. Ok, so I was dreaming. One of those dreams where you think you're awake, but you're actually still fast asleep. I hate those kinds of dreams!

I lifted Gertrude into my arms and followed Ella and the stranger through the muddy darkness. My feet sank into the ground with each step, it was heavy going. This mud was no match for the rain boots. My feet were soaked by the time we got to the building I had spied through the trees. I could still not tell much about the outside of it through the rain. I just tried to make it to the front door as quickly as I could, shielding Gertrude inside my hoodie.

Mom was standing by the door with an armful of towels. She threw some around Ella, and then proceeded to pat me dry… yikes… too much physical contact.

“Go to your rooms, shower and get into your pajamas. Then come down for hot chocolate,” she said, turning to remove Ella’s rainboots.

“You can both sleep in tomorrow,” added the stranger.

I had no idea what to do or what to say. I wanted to scream and shout, but that would only land me in the psych unit so I clenched my mouth shut, held my breath and went with the flow, as usual. This dream had to end soon; it was boring.

I looked around. We were standing in a ginormous hallway, dominated by a double stairway to another floor. There were five archways from the hallway leading to… somewhere. I had a room here? If so, I had no idea where to go. As dream/nightmare houses went, this was not too shabby. I followed Ella up the stairs. Gertrude ran past us and disappeared. There were a number of doors at the top of the stairs. I hung back to see where Ella would go. She went straight through the first door on the left and shut it behind her. The door had a pink sign on it that read
Ella’s Room
. Very handy, hopefully mine would have a nameplate as well.

Arizona’s Room

Perfect! Well, almost. The sign was in pink, my least favorite color. This is where I hoped that I was in a dream rather than nightmare. I was sort of hoping that my room would not turn out to be a cave full of tarantulas. I pushed the door slowly and went inside. Everything looked
normal
. No giant insects, monsters or murderous beasts. It was, in fact, almost exactly like my room at home in Princeton, which I guess would be weird if this was not a dream. There was my bed, some hockey posters, my Edward Cullen poster (hey, maybe this will turn into a romantic vampire nightmare!) and my electric guitar. On closer inspection, there were some differences from my real room. My New Jersey Devils bedspread was not on my bed. Instead, there was a pink monstrosity with the word
CHEER
written on it!