Birdie (6 page)

Wes

             
I forgot to tell
her my name. Again.

              Idiot.

Birdie

Starting a new school
is like starting a new chapter of your life. I know that most people feel this way about this type of experience – everyone knows that it’s new and exciting or scary, emotional ties and memories will be forged, and eventually the experience will end and a new chapter will begin. I am no different. Only my chapters always feel like they’re from a required reading book: I don’t particularly want to read them and I’m forced to anyway. And they never fail to live up to my sour outlook. Never.

"It’s mental, Birdie," my mom said to me once when I described my chapter phenomenon. "If you expect the worst, you’ll make it happen, dear."

But I can’t help but expect the worst because none of my experiences have ever been good. I’m always the outcast, the weird girl in an otherwise normal family. Walking down the street elicited curious glances as strangers tried to connect the dots about our family make up in five seconds of passing. Grandma Clements always gave Darla a full bodied hug and me a large smile with a squeeze on my upper arm. School was riddled with questions as soon as the kids caught wind that I was Darla's sister.

New schools mean I have to relive the barrage of questions like I'm stuck in the Groundhog Day movie. I hope Darla's absence means I can dodge some of these questions as I settle in but I don't particularly look forward to explaining why I am living with the town sheriff in Moon Beam Trailer Park.

Shenoah High School is beautiful. It is not one massive building like the other schools I attended, but set up with a collection of buildings lined up next to each other around a grassy square with park benches and a fountain. The entrance is guarded by a low maroon brick wall that wraps around the campus and boasts an iron worked gate carved intricately with metal ivy.

A bell that has no meaning to me rings somewhere on the school grounds and that prompts me to stop gawking, hoist my backpack over one shoulder, and follow a cobblestone path towards the main office.

With all the grandeur the campus exudes, the main office has much to be desired – it is little more than a trailer with a squeaky wooden door and a single plump woman with cat-eyes glasses clipping away at a keyboard.

"Hummingbird Anne Clements?"

She throws my name out into the air without looking up from her computer. I look around as if there may be another girl with my name standing in the small square footage of an office.

"Um…yes." I scoot my belongings closer to the desk. "How did you-"

"All the other students have been here since the beginning of the year. You are the only student to begin several months late."

I clear my throat to explain my unique situation but she doesn’t seem interested and I close my mouth again without making another sound.

"Here is your schedule." Finally looking in my direction, she holds out a rectangular yellow piece of paper at me. Her lack of eye contact is unnerving. "It’s after eleven, so you’ve missed Calculus, Debate, and half of Astronomy. You may go to Archer Hall to settle into your homeroom and then to the cafeteria for lunch. You missed orientation at the beginning of the year so you will be assigned a student to see you through the rest of the day. You are expected to bring the necessary supplies to the remainder of your classes. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, forcing a smile but voicing some insults in my head.

"Good."

She offers no more instruction and after an awkward moment, I pick up my backpack and step back outside into the cool late morning air.  I have no idea where I'm supposed to find my assigned student guide and the buildings aren't labeled so I take it upon myself to tour the square, trying to guess which buildings house which departments in a sort of game.

I finally find another soul in the form of a tall, blonde-headed girl with denim capri pants, a tight button-down white shirt and a light hoodie. I approach her for directions at the same time she turns and notices me.

"Hi," I say, giving a half wave and a half smile. "I'm new here and have no idea where I'm headed. Perhaps you could tell me where to find Archer Hall?"

She doesn't answer right away. I can see her mind working as she studies me and I immediately know I'm dealing with school royalty. My jeans are tattered at the bottom, I'm wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a green hoodie that's no where near as classy as hers, and dark gray Vans. I already know I'm screwed and I glance around for alternative help. I grew up with Darla so I'm familiar with how royalty works. I've never sought it and my disdain for it hangs on to me like stink on fish. There's no washing it off. I can't fake it.

"It would be the building over there," she says pointing to one diagonally across the green from us. It could be or it could very well not be. I don't know if she's telling the truth. Her voice is reluctant and condescending and there's a small laughter in her words that would make a more impressionable girl frantic that she was already failing at not fitting in. She's finished her judgment of me and it's not good.

But I'm a bigger person and I just give her a quick nod and say, "Thanks" before fishing my headphones out of my backpack and turning up my Discman.

"Headphones aren't allowed on campus," the girl says to me as I put them on.

"Luckily, I'm new here. I'm not aware of that rule." I head in the direction of the building she pointed me to.

"I just told you the rule!" she calls out and because I can't help it, because I can't quite wash the stink off me, I turn around and walk backwards as I point to the headphones and mouth "I can't hear you."

Birdie

The first couple of
classes are typical. The building I was directed to was indeed Archer Hall. The classroom is empty so I find a lone desk devoid of stuff and drop what little I have in my backpack to claim the space. An eraser and a sheet of lined paper. I then find Astronomy and finish the hour, relieved that the class is covering material I've already mastered at my last school. I file out of the room, glad that I wasn't subject to the first day introduction teachers love to do at the beginning of class.

Like a herd, the students move to lunch so the cafeteria is easy to find too. I pull out my packed lunch of cold toast and cheese and apple slices with peanut butter. Tim hasn't had time to do a full shopping trip and I had get creative with my choices.

I choose a table in the corner that's isolated without doing the traditional scan to scope the place out. I don't need a scan. I'm a woman with a mission and it doesn't include making fast friends so I have someone to pal around with for four months before I split.

It's probably why I'm surprised when a tall girl with a jet black ponytail plops down at my table. Another tall specimen. Does this school have a height requirement?  Her eyes are steel and striking and she widens them as she takes me in. Another assessment. She also reeks of royalty but something is off. Her pouty lips, slim figure, and blank tank top with a cropped button down over it fits the bill in terms of attractiveness. Her confidence fills up the empty table. Definitely a popular native. She's finished looking at me and is now surveying my lunch, her lips turning down thoughtfully as she nods.

"Interesting," she says, noting my nourishment.

"It's what was on hand," I say, biting into an apple slice. I can feel the peanut butter smear in the corner of my lip and my eyes never leave hers as I get it with my tongue. She just watches me back. What could she possibly want?

She holds out her hand for a handshake. "I'm Lacey."

Suspiciously, I shake it. "Birdie."

"I know. I'm your guide. For one of seven black kids in this school, you were kinda hard to find."

I shrug. "I wasn't trying to hide. Sorry you had to Where's Waldo me."

She gives a small smile. "Witty. That will help you in your determination to shun all things popular. Would you like the virtual tour of the school breakdown? We have the classic lunchtime division of students so you won't have to leave the table."

"Sure."

I’m not interested at first, but Lacey adds a funny one liner as she describes each group that has me pausing in my lunch and actually paying attention to where she’s pointing. “That’s your typical Dungeons and Dragons fantasy, middle earth rules group of bookworms over there,” she says, pointing to a table not far from mine. “I take an art class with a lot of them. Pretty cool kids when they lift their heads and look around in reality for a minute . The small timers are over there. They’re going to inherit their daddies’ farms or marry a Shenoah boy and perpetuate this small town. Well, those are the ones that plan to. There are others here who will do the same, they just don’t know it yet.”

She cocks her head at me and I reel back and say, “I just got here. Trust me, this isn’t where I’m setting up camp for the next fifty years.”

She shrugs and wrinkles her nose. It’s dismissive but oddly captivating, a gesture that shouldn’t fit her yet does. “Like I said, they just don’t know it yet. You never know.” She points to a far corner. “That’s my table. Jocks, cheerleaders, High School Gods, the typical popular make up.”

“I think I met the queen this morning.”

“Tall, blonde, impossibly beautiful?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yep, you met her. Rachel Tessman. She’s incredibly nice if you meet her criteria. She pretends to be nice if you don’t. If she feels threatened, watch your back. She comes complete with the second biggest house in town and a counterpart boyfriend.”

“Who wins biggest house in town?”

“The Lotts. Mayor Lott, the wife, and their three boys. The youngest one still goes to this school. He’d be the counterpart boyfriend I told you about.”

“Of course,” I say.

“Of course,” she echoes with a grin. She produces a Baby Ruth candy bar from her back jeans pocket, an odd place I think to carry chocolate. She unwraps it and almost demolishes half in one bite. "So what's your story?" she asks, licking caramel off her thumb in a loud suck. "How'd you end up bunking with the sheriff?" Her eyes shine with curiosity. "Word has it you're the new girlfriend."

I nearly choke on my apple. "Jesus, no. He's my uncle."

"I know. I read your file when I was assigned to you."

"They give guides the files?"

"No, they didn't give it to me. My boyfriend works in the front office. I helped myself." She flicks me on the arm. "I'm nosy."

"Then why the gross older boyfriend angle if you knew he was my uncle?"

"I said that's the word going around. I know better. Everyone else is guessing."

I flick her arm back. "Well, set them straight. Make your nosiness good for something."

She smiles. "I had to talk to you first. Didn't know if you were the rebel type who liked to feed on rumors."

"I'm not. Definitely not. Please kill this one."

The lunch bell rings and Lacey takes me to the green to point out which buildings  house the remainder of my classes.

“How are you getting home?” she asks me when she’s finished.

I blow a stray curl off my face. “I don’t know. My uncle dropped me off this morning but he’s already at work by the time school lets out. I guess I have to figure out which bus to take back.”

She pops some gum in her mouth and offers me one to which I shake my head.

“After the final bell, go to the low fence by the parking lot. I’ll meet you there. You can catch a ride with me.”

My surprise is evident on my face. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”

She gives a half wave and says, “See you later” before walking away. I stand there a moment, blinking the bright sun out of my eyes. I don’t know what just happened but I think I had one of the least suckiest first days of school ever.

Birdie

Lacey drives a 1992
Geo Tracker, complete with a soft top and stick shift. She informs me she paid cash for it from a garage in town and spent several weekends in there fixing it up with some mechanic named Ol’ Henry.

“You mean Henry?” I ask, jokingly. “Don’t knock him ‘cause he’s old.”

“No, Henry owns the supermarket,” she replies with a straight face. “Ol’ Henry is the mechanic. Get it right, Clements.” Her grin is infectious and I can’t help keeping one off my own face.  It’s a beautiful afternoon and she intends to take full advantage of it. She wants to put the top down on her car but it’s no easy push button. She directs me as we unclip, unvelcro, and unsnap a hundred different tie-down points until she’s able to roll the top off and stuff it in the back.

“No, it’s not convenient,” she says, answering my silent look. “But this baby was only $1,800. Fair price for a few buckles when I want the wind in my hair.”

Rachel passes by then, stopping next to me to say hi to Lacey.

“This is Birdie,” Lacey introduces me.

“Weird name,” Rachel comments, looking bored.

“Don’t be a bitch, Rach. She’s a nice one.”

Rachel’s face twists a little at the reprimand but the expression is brief and she soon has it composed in a smooth, aloof smile. “Jury’s still out for me, Lacey. I’ll make up my own mind.”

Lacey laughs. “You always do. You’ll have to get within arms length for her though. She wears a shield thicker than yours.”

Lacey climbs into the driver’s side. I don’t know the ride home arrangements. Rachel still hasn’t made a move for the door and I wonder if it’s too forward to climb into the passenger side. “You comin’?” Lacey asks, leaning over the stick shift. Rachel and I are standing on the same side so I’m not sure who she’s talking to.

Before I answer, Rachel says, “I can’t do top down. My hair doesn’t look sexily tossed like yours does after a drive. I’ll catch a ride with Gretchen.”

“ ‘Kay. Call me tonight.”

With that decision made, I climb into the front seat and drop my bag on the floor by my feet.