Aspen (3 page)

Considering . . .

Hunter Hunter leans over halfway through class and tells me he thinks my blue cast is rad. He’s one of those kids who loves his snowboard more than anything and frequently uses adjectives as sentences.
Awesome. Bad-ass. Wicked
. I’m not sure what his parents were thinking when they named him Hunter Hunter. Aspen Yellow-Sunrise Taylor doesn’t seem so bad in comparison.

“It itches,” I whisper back.

“Sweet,” he nods, his shaggy strawberry blond hair bouncing in his eyes. “It’s hot.”

I can’t tell if he means the cast makes me look more attractive or if he means it’s hot outside, which explains the itchiness. He just keeps smiling at me and nodding slowly, his neck moving in a wave-like motion.

Later in the morning, Mrs. McNatt lets me leave English five minutes early. “I don’t want you penalized by your next teacher because you can’t walk as fast as everyone else,” she says, her lips pulling down into a frown. People love to give me the pity face: puppy dog eyes and a droopy frown. I get it every time I walk into the grocery store or doctor’s office or coffee shop.

Turning down an opportunity to leave class early would probably make people stare even more. What reasonable teenager doesn’t want to leave class the moment it’s begun? So I shrug and walk out. I don’t dare look behind me, even when I can feel an entire classroom of eyes heating my back. Nerves start in my feet and move up to my head; by the time I’m actually out of the classroom, I’m seeing stars and I think I might throw up. The clock on the wall says 11:30. I’m barely halfway through the school day. I shake out my arms, take a deep breath and hobble down the hall. According to the clock next to the art room, it takes approximately a minute and a half for me to get there, so I doodle on my binder until Mrs. Allen opens the door.

Kim, Cass and I walk to Moe’s Broadway Bagels for lunch, so Kim can gawk at the college kids from University of Colorado who work there. They’re typical college students: greasy, stoned and working for free carbohydrates. Kim loves any boy who will piss off Uma. I continually warn her about the woes of pissing off one’s parents with bad sexual decisions, Ninny-style. I’ve seen the repercussions firsthand and it isn’t pretty.

Sometimes I walk around downtown Boulder looking for the other half of my gene pool: a man with Afro-like blond hair and big brown eyes. One time I actually saw someone who fit the description and asked him if he was my dad. He said he was from Texas and as far as he knew he only had three kids but not to tell his wife about the third one. “That was a mistake,” he said.

I said, “I’m a mistake, but not one made in Texas,” and moved on.

It’s not like I’ve been totally deprived of men in my life. Ninny should’ve replaced our front door with a revolving one by now for all of the men who’ve come through it. When I was little, she always had me call them “uncle.” Uncle Jake drove a two-seater El Camino. I had to ride around crouched in the back so the cops couldn’t see me, which seemed pretty cool when I was three but later I learned about car seat laws. Uncle Toby had a glass eye that never moved in sync with his real eye. Uncle Bill and Uncle Bobby were twin brothers just out of high school; I’m not sure which was creepier. And my favorite, Uncle Tiny Tim: He only lasted a day before Ninny experienced why his nickname was ‘tiny.’ And now I have to put up with Uncle Toaster.

“Mama like,” Kim says as she licks cream cheese from her fingers and points to the guy behind the counter. He’s wearing a Vail T-shirt and has big spacers in his ears to stretch out his lobes.

“He’s disgusting,” Cass says, and throws a napkin at Kim.

“Says the kid with green hair. What is up with you today, Casanova Sawyer? Why the sudden change in apparel?” Kim takes the napkin and wipes her mouth.

“I thought I’d start the year off right.” Cass runs his hands over his clean plaid shirt and tucks his long green-brown hair behind his ears. He dyed it last year when he lost a pizza-eating contest against Mitch Laughlin. If Cass won, Mitch owed him a hundred bucks. If Cass lost, he had to dye his hair green, including the stuff around his manly bits. “I’m gonna eat this pizza like it’s your mom” were Cass’s exact words. Mitch didn’t take that lightly.

On the plus side, Marcy Humphrey paid more attention to Cass with green hair and gave him an over-the-pants hand-job after gym class. Still, Cass is growing the green out. Half his head is chestnut brown and the other half’s the color of slime. He’s dressed well, though, which is weird. I’ve never seen him in anything but ratty old T-shirts and his favorite jeans with holes in the knees.

“Well, you look like a douche. A douche in a plaid shirt,” Kim says.

“I’m sorry, Jasmine. Or should I call you Sabrina, Tonya, Fantasia or Tiffany? I can’t keep track. Are you picking these names from the book
101 Trailer-Trash Names,
by Britney Spears?”

“Jerk,” Kim huffs and walks over to dump her trash. “Tell him he looks like an asshole, Aspen.”

Cass raises a spoon full of yogurt and aims it at my face. “Watch what you say, gimp, or I’ll shoot.”

I throw up my hands in surrender. “Peace, man. I think you look nice.”

“See,” Cass gloats at Kim.

I’d be worried about their friendship if I didn’t see the way they look at each other sometimes, like their eyes don’t notice anyone else in the room. Cass will gaze at Kim when she’s not looking, like he’s drinking her in from head to toe. And Kim will glare at him sideways, her pointed stare softening for a moment. They might actually be in love. I figure all the fighting is one giant foreplay session. When they finally do have sex, the universe might explode with the second Big Bang.

“Aspen doesn’t count,” Kim says. “She’s been through something ‘traumatic’ and isn’t thinking straight.” Kim makes quotation marks with her hands as she mimics the doctor. Now it’s my turn to throw my napkin at her. She catches it in midair and smiles at me. “Let’s talk about more important things. What are we doing this weekend?”

Cass’s mouth falls open. “ExtermiNATION comes out this week. You said you’d go to GameStop with me to get it. You promised.” He makes a puppy dog face and looks between Kim and me.

“Those video games promote violence. I’m exercising my right to social resistance in the name of peace.” Kim picks at the blue polish on her fingernails.

“They’re art,” Cass protests.

“You sound like a gaming nerd.”

Cass leans forward. “Your new name sounds like a Disney princess who wears too much makeup and thinks misogynistic rap songs are romantic.”

“Enough,” I yell, and touch Cass’s arm. “I’m in. We promised.” I glare at Kim across the table.

“Fine. But you better make it quick. No playing every game in the store. Aspen can’t stand on her leg that long.”

“I’ll be fine.” I focus on my plate, picking lettuce off my bagel sandwich and tossing it to the side. I’ve lost my appetite. Kim brings up the accident more and more these days, like making a joke about it makes everything lighter. Or like if she pokes long enough, maybe I’ll finally talk to her about it. But no one wants to be caught in her own nightmare. I’m not looking to remember.

“If she gets tired, I’ll hold her,” Cass says.

“Hold me?” I cock my head to the side.

“Sure. You’re like 90 pounds, right?”

“More like 120 with the spore on my leg.” I pull apart a piece of the bagel.

Cass comes around to my side of the table and stands in front of me, his eyes scanning my body from head to toe. The look makes me nervous, but before I can protest, Cass lifts me out of my chair and throws my body over his shoulder. “See, I can do it!” he yells as he runs around Moe’s.

“Spank her!” Kim hollers, a wide smile on her face, the snarky comments between her and Cass already in the past. Cass taps my butt like it’s a drum, as I bob on his shoulder, laughing.

“I’ve been taking private lessons with Uncle Toaster,” he says as he beats out a rhythm.

I dangle upside down, my blood rushing to my head, and giggle like a toddler being tickled. Stars fill the corners of my vision, but I don’t care. This moment is so reminiscent of last year. Of how it used to be. I close my eyes and let my brain go cloudy, drinking it in.

“Excuse me, kid,” the college student behind the counter says. Cass stops mid-twirl. “You’re causing a scene. Can you take your girlfriend outside?”

“We’re the only people in here and she’s not my girlfriend.” Cass glances at Kim.

“Wait, you . . . ” The college stoner points at me. “You’re that girl.”

I push my hair out of my face as Cass sets me down. My bagel sandwich sits in my throat, about to come back up; I swallow hard once, then again.

“What girl?” I try to say it like I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“From that accident. No one has hair like that. Shit, man, that was bad. Are you okay?”

I pull on my curls, trying to flatten them out, and cringe. Why does Boulder have to be so small?

“Don’t we need to get back to school?” I say to Kim and Cass, my eyes wide and pleading. I grab my purse and walk out of Moe’s without another word.

“Peace out!” Kim yells and flashes a peace sign with her fingers. “By the way, love the earrings.” She blows the CU student a kiss right before the door closes behind us.

The seating chart is out on Mr. Salmon’s desk when I walk into physics. I find my assigned seat, pulling out a pencil and sketchpad to avoid eye contact with anyone, and drift into a food coma. My junior year counselor told me I had to sign up for physics. He said that colleges want to see an array of classes on my transcript. When I told Mr. Crabtree that I don’t plan on going to college, he said, “Everyone goes to college.” I didn’t want to argue, so I let him put it on my schedule. I figure it’s better to spend every day sitting in a class I couldn’t care less if I fail than sitting in Crabtree’s office, which smells like bad breath, sifting through trade-job training brochures.

It’s not that I don’t like the idea of college. I do. Boulder’s a college town, and my house resembles a lot of the fraternities on campus, with its beat-up furniture and revolving front door for Ninny’s men. It just that with all of the men come all of Ninny’s irrational behaviors.

The worst was back in junior high when Ninny took off for a week of aura cleansing in Taos, New Mexico, with Uncle Steve. She left a wad of cash on the counter with a note saying she needed a “mom break” and she’d be back in a week. At first, I didn’t worry. Ninny was right; she had me at such a young age, and she was probably getting pretty tired of taking care of me. And I had never seen so much cash before. It was like Christmas. I went down to Walgreens and bought out the candy section.

But one week turned into two, which turned into three. And after about two days, eating candy lost its charm. Every day, I had to get myself to school and shower and do my homework because the law kind of frowns on an 11-year-old kid being home alone. Keeping up the act was important.

When Ninny finally got back, I screamed at her that moms don’t get “mom breaks” and she should have thought about that before she screwed every boy in her grade. Ninny started to cry and hugged me in the middle of my tantrum. She held me in her arms on the couch until we both fell asleep. When we woke up in the morning, she said that she was sorry. Uncle Steve left her in Taos, and she had to hitchhike home, and the whole time she was thinking about me. She promised never to take a “mom break” again. At that point, I was just glad she hadn’t been arrested for any of the array of crimes she’d probably committed.

But it took months for Ninny to get off the couch. She’d lost her job before going to Taos, so I encouraged her to go out and find a new one. She just curled up in a ball and smoked a lot of weed. Luckily, we have a small trust fund that Ninny’s parents gave her when they up and left her. They weren’t pleased that their high school daughter had come home from a concert with not a hangover but a baby. Some parents just aren’t zoned for that kind of thing. But at least they left money.

So again, I kept the house clean and got myself to school and showered. I made dinner every night, even though Ninny barely ate anything. She got so skinny, and she was already a rail. I’d never seen her behave like that before. Sure, in the past when things haven’t worked out, she’d been sad. But that’s usually when she puts on her favorite backless shirt and hits the local Whole Foods to peruse the guys working at the organic meat counter.

At one point after Uncle Steve left her, I was worried she’d never recover. Having Ninny home again was pretty similar to having her gone, except for the added smell of pot. And her eyes were so sad. Eventually, she peeled herself off the couch, cut down on her smoking and found a new job. But seeing what happened after Taos was enough to scare me. If I went off to college, who knows what would happen to Ninny?

Cass keeps saying I should go to Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design and live at home. He thinks that if I just applied for the program, I could be a video game graphic designer because my sketches of people are so realistic.