Extraordinary October. Diana Wagman
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perfect shot. I’d never seen a Frisbee used as a weapon before. Then again, I’d never been attacked by crows before either.
Luisa trotted over to get her Frisbee. I looked from her to Walker to Green and Jed and back around again. They were all staring at me. Green cocked his head like a puppy, as if something about me was puzzling. He turned to Walker.
“That was interesting.”
Luisa said, “Your dad makes birdhouses, doesn’t he?”
“He does. And I like birds too. Really.” On cue, two small birds tweeted above me. I looked up. “Cactus wrens, campylorhynchus brunneicapillus.”
“Huh?” asked Jed.
“My one skill. For some reason I remember all the Latin names.”
The little birds were pretty with speckled bellies and darker stripes of brown on their wings. They looked at me one way and then the other.
“We won’t let them hurt her,” said one.
“Hate those crows,” said the other.
“Me too. Me too. Me too.”
I was sure I was losing my mind. “I have to go home.”
“But we only just got here,” Green said.
“You can’t go now,” Jeb echoed.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Walker said. He gestured at the others. “We won’t.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe he and they could really truly take care of me. Mostly, I wanted to curl myself against his soft gray sweater and into his arms. My want was tangible; I felt it like the breeze on my skin, or my hunger, or my need to pee. I didn’t like the feeling. I blinked my eyes to stop the tears.
“Turning eighteen wasn’t such a big deal for me,” Luisa said to Walker.
“She’s very strong. We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
I turned to him. “I thought you had questions for me about college.”
Luisa looked incredulous. “You still want to go to college?”
“I want to be a veterinarian, maybe a zoologist. Or an ornithologist. You know, study birds. I love animals.”
Walker shook his head. “You don’t have to go to school to do that.”
“That’s like me saying you don’t have to go to school to study people. Isn’t that what psychology is? The study of people’s behaviors and feelings?” I started for my car. “You need to take a few more classes.”
Walker came with me. “I’ll follow you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m following you home.”
I didn’t argue. He could do what he wanted. I couldn’t wait to be back in my own room, alone and inside, away from birds and people, reading a book and listening to music. Walker walked beside me, but he didn’t say anything. I felt the warmth radiating from him. I looked up searching for crows and saw those two little brown cactus wrens hopping along branch-to-branch above us. Nuts. This day had been plain nuts.
I opened the door of my dad’s beat-up car and Walker continued over to a lovely silver Porsche. Some college student, I thought.
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t want to be part of your experiment.”
He nodded. I had expected a fight, but he gave up right away. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. I’m sorry.”
Him being nice was worse than when he was a jerk. He was so incredibly cute. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection. There was a big scrape down my forehead and flecks of blood on my cheek. I looked terrible. Quickly, I jumped into my car and shut the door.
He followed me all the way home, and waited in front of the house until I parked and went in my front door. By the time I looked out the window, he had gone.
4. Three Days Until My Birthday
I woke up the next morning itching again, this time centered on the top of my right foot. I itched so badly I could almost ignore the embarrassment and pain I felt when I thought about Walker. I’d been an idiot the day before, scared of a couple crows and then going home like a sullen baby. I hoped I’d see him at school so I could apologize. There were lots of other senior girls going to college and I tried not to think about him sitting on a bench with one of them.
I gritted my teeth, from the itch or the image or both. I poked my foot out from under the covers and saw I had scratched it practically raw. There were long red scrapes and a bizarre, almost flower-shaped bruise on my ankle. It would have almost been pretty if it didn’t itch so badly. I hobbled to the shower, stopping to check the cut on my forehead in the mirror. It was an inch and a half long and scabbed over. Gross. And just as suddenly as the day before, the itch stopped. Gone. Vanished. Poof. If only the cut on my face could have disappeared as easily.
I dressed for school—and a possible Walker sighting—carefully. I wore my new jeans and my purple T-shirt that fit perfectly and my second hand, but cool black leather jacket. In case the itch returned, I left my big boots at home and wore a little pair of flats I’d bought myself. My mom hated them. I don’t know why, but she was partial to my big old boots. Go figure. In the flats my feet felt light and nimble—not usual for me. In fact, as I walked up the steps into school my whole body seemed to be floating into the air. Maybe I had been wearing those boots too much.
But at school it seemed every kid had heard about my itch. Total strangers asked me about it in the hall. “How’s that itch?” and “Scratch much?” One girl offered me a bottle of lotion. I thought she was being nice until all her friends cracked up. The handwritten label read Miss October’s Centerfold Itch Cream. I did my best to ignore everyone. I ducked into English class just after the bell and was relieved Luisa wasn’t there.
Half way through class—which was actually kind of interesting for a change—the door opened and Principal Hernandez entered with a new kid. A guy. He looked around the class and then at me. Right at me. Immediately I felt a little twinge in my gut, as if there was a string attached to my belly button and he was tugging on it.
“Class, attention.” Hernandez bounced up and down. He always sort of stood on his tippy-toes. We all knew it was a sign of sexual frustration. He continued bouncing as he said, “This is Trevor Rockman. He’s going to finish his senior year with us.”
Hernandez handed some paperwork to Ms. Campbell, the English teacher, while Trevor kind of smiled at all of us but mostly me. Dark, shaggy hair and high cheekbones, dark olive skin, full lips, and eyes like smoldering coals. Okay, I’d read that in a romance novel and it wasn’t his eyes—I was the one smoldering. Something had definitely revved up my pheromones; I was hot and bothered, first for Walker and now this guy. I blushed and looked down. Ms. Campbell offered him the empty seat behind me and to my right. He walked down the aisle and stopped at my desk. I looked up.
“What happened to your forehead?”
“Killer crow attack.” It sounded ridiculous. I don’t know why I didn’t lie and say something awesome, like motorcycle accident.
“Not going for a Harry Potter look?”
I laughed. “Definitely not.”
He laughed with me. “It’s kind of cute.” And continued to his seat.
Forget whatever Ms. Campbell said after that, he was all I could think about. Right behind me. I heard every move. Every exhale. I heard his pen scratching in his notebook. When class was over, I was disappointed he rushed out of the room, but then I found him leaning against the opposite wall. He was waiting for me.
“What’s your name?”