Shadow of the Past (2 page)

“Come on-a my house, my
house, I’m gonna give you everything. . .”

Chapter Two

Mark Watson liked to watch people, but
watching a couple of senior girls in short-skirted field hockey
uniforms instead of where he was going was what almost got his face
smashed in.

His foot stopped the stairwell door
just before he completely collided with it, but when he tried to
twist out of the way his feet went haywire and he toppled to the
ground.

“Oh, God,” a girl’s voice said. “I’m so
sorry!”

Whatever mumbled, irritated remark he
was going to make was swallowed when he looked up and saw her in
the doorway. She had long red hair loosely tied back and her pale
skin was lightly dotted with freckles. It was the kind of relaxed,
“oh, this old thing?” beauty that you were born with or spent your
whole life trying to emulate.

“Here, let me help you,” she said,
offering her hand. After a second he took it and pulled himself
up.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat
and failing to shake the sad and unpopular off of his
clothes.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m new and--” she
was interrupted by the sudden shrill ringing of the late bell. “And
now I’m late.”

“Well,” Mark said, running a hand
through his shoulder length hair. “If you, ah, let me know where
you’re going, I might be able to help you get there.”

“Well,” she said. “If I remember my
schedule right, I’ve got Chemistry in 213. I’m just trying to
figure out which way the numbers go.”

“With Reynolds?”
Be careful, jackass. This could be using up
whatever small quota of luck you’ve been allotted.

“Yeah.”

Well now you don’t have to
worry about playing the lottery. Way to go.

“Well, I was heading that way myself.
Would you care to, ah . . . walk with me?”

She smiled, and he realized he was too.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “Renny rarely cares if you’re
late.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m
Christine.”

“Mark.” His hand twitched at
his side. Handshake? Wave? Salute?
For
fuck’s sake stop fidgeting!
“This way,” he
finally waved down the hallway.
Maybe you
can pretend you have epilepsy.

Mark found himself falling
behind as they walked, taking in how she confidently moved down the
hall, a total opposite to his hunched, drawn-in shuffle. He was
drawn to everything about her
.
This was the kind of instant crush he’d have every
once and a while; a magnetic snap that would grab him by the senses
and lead him around like a dog. It’d be great if it didn’t make him
feel like a pathetic loser who never did anything about
it.

His junior year at Cedar Ridge High had
started a month ago and until now it looked like it was going to be
the same as every year. He’d spend time in his room, Steve and
Clara would try to get him out of his shell, and he’d do just
enough homework to keep up his straight C average. He’d thought
that after getting some wheels this summer he’d be able to turn
over a new leaf, but it’d dawned on him this morning that he was
simply incapable of changing and that clung to him like a lead
shroud.

And then he realized the field hockey
team had a game today, and they’d be in uniform all day. That made
things a little better.

The dream last night didn’t help any
either. He’d been having it or one like it for the past few weeks.
They just jumbled images of a 50s neighborhood, a swirling darkness
that filled him with dread and the sound of metal scraping against
metal. There was a low, whistling tune that was irritatingly
familiar and then it was shattered by an explosion of pain in his
head, and he’d find himself rolling or falling out of bed with the
smell of ashes so strong he’d be gagging.

“Is it over here?” she said, glancing
over her shoulder at him.

“Yeah,” he said, widening
his strides to walk at her side. “Last door on the left.”
Easy, Casanova. This is directions, not progress.
You’re still the boy who broke down in elementary school when his
aunt died; who Mr. Wallace humiliated at the blackboard in seventh
grade for not understanding fraction addition; the kid who got hit
in the face with a basketball and cried as the whole class watched
in disapproving silence.

Talking to a new girl meant none of
that stuff had to have happened. It could just be dead and buried,
never to be reanimated in an awkward moment of lulled conversation.
Last year when he was about to ask his lab partner Stephanie Murphy
out she filled the awkward moment of silence by asking if he’d been
that “boy who cried that time.”

Christine pointed at the door on the
left, and he nodded. Mark sat in his usual seat near the back and
stifled an incredulous laugh when she took the seat next to him.
She gave him another little smile as she got a crisp new notebook
out. He smiled back, now fumbling with his bag, putting every fiber
of his being into doing it without dropping something.

“So,” he said as they were packing
things up after class, “where are you heading now?” Forty minutes
of not studying chemistry had gone into coming up with that. It
beat out “You’re a goddess” and “I want to have your babies,” but
not by much.

“Lunch.”

“Really,” he said. “Me too.” This was
torture.

“Great,” she smiled.

“Would you like to . . .” Mark started,
and then seized. Asking her to eat lunch with him caught in his
throat, the very notion of doing so contrary to everything inside
him. He had to say something, he realized, not just stand there
gaping like a fish.

“Do you think you could show me where
the cafeteria is?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “That’s . . .
well, it’s something.”

Cedar Ridge High might have a fancy
brick and glass exterior that showed the quiet dignity of age with
the fresh breath of the modern, but beneath its comforting exterior
lay a place that dignity and freshness had mutually agreed was
beneath them. There’d been places like this before. Sodom, Dresden,
Fallujah, and now, CRH cafeteria. Jocks, goths, thugs, emo kids;
all mixed together in a horrific mash-up of cliquish teen
disharmony.

“Well,” he said, having to raise his
voice a little to be heard over the crowd. “Here it is, in all its
glory.”

She took a step forward, scanning the
room for anything familiar. She looked back at him. “Aren’t you
coming?”

“No, I usually eat lunch
outside.”

“Thanks for warning me,” she smiled.
“What, you were just going to abandon me here?”

“What? No! God, no! I just . . . well,
Juniors and Seniors get to eat lunch off campus, so I usually eat
outside. You just, well, you said you wanted the cafeteria, so I
was trying to help.”

“I know, I’m just messing with you.
Want some company?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’d be
great.”
If by great you mean “A great
opportunity for you to continue looking like a fucking fool,” then
yes, by all means, let’s go have ourselves a sammich with a side of
crippling shame.

There was a small park behind the
school dotted with some other kids in various clique-sized groups.
Climate change, plus New Jersey being New Jersey, made the weather
warm and mild. He led her over to his usual spot for lunch a
secluded bench under a tree.

“Wow,” she said when they sat down.
“That was something alright.”

“Yeah,” Mark said. “They’ve been trying
to get a tighter grip on stuff for years.”

“Still, I’m just glad I talked my Dad
into not sending me to private school,” she said, getting a lunch
bag out.

“Around here? Your family must be
pretty loaded.”

“Yeah, well, my dad thinks we’re not
rich enough. He’s getting a pretty big raise with this new
job.”

Better and better. Beautiful and rich.
If only she’d quit giving him false hope, then she’d be
perfect.

“Hello?” she called, waving her hand in
front of him with a slight smile. “Are you still in
there?”

“Yeah,” he said, blushing. “Just
thinking. Sorry ‘bout that.”

She shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.
What about?”

“Oh, just . . . stupid crap. The
usual.”

She looked at him for a moment and he
thought that she was going to call his bluff, but she just ate her
sandwich in the sudden, uneasy silence.

“So, ah, where’re you from?” Mark
asked, trying not to sound as lame and desperate as he felt.
Coolness. Deep, inner, once in a lifetime coolness was what he
needed, and he could feel it just within his grasp.

“Well, I was born in upstate New York
and then we moved to Cincinnati for four years, Cleveland for five,
Pittsburgh for three, and most recently Boston for four. This,
however, is the first time I was able to get my dad to let me
attend public school. The great schools are supposedly why we
picked this town.”

Mark smiled. “That’s what a lot of
people say. I think the schools were really good in the 70’s or
something, but this place has pretty much gone to hell. In the past
couple of years we’ve had more fights and stabbings than ever
before. A lot of people blame it on an ‘increased gang presence’ or
something like that, but that’s just crap.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. My dad
hears ‘stabbings’ and his head’s going to explode and the leftover
bits are going to move me to boarding school”

“Well,” Mark shrugged, “there hasn’t
been one since last spring so I think you’re stuck with us for
now.”

“Believe me, I hope so. Every other
private school, no matter where you go, is full of these prima
donna rich kids who think they’re the shit.”

Mark smiled a little bit. “Aren’t you a
‘rich kid’?”

She shrugged. “Well, you’ve got me
there, but at least I still try to be a human being.”

“Well, you’re way better than the
others,” he said. “When most of the people here run me over they
don’t say a thing. You at least talk to me.”

“It hasn’t seemed like they’ve been
able to stand to talk to me either, so I guess we’re stuck
together.” She smiled and Mark could feel his five-minute lifetime
allotment of coolness slipping away.

“Well, I hope you don’t feel too
‘stuck.’ I’m kind of a social pariah, so hanging with me may not be
wise. Y’know, if you want to keep your options open.”

“I so don’t care about that anymore. I
tried so hard to do the whole popular girl thing in Boston but I
just morphed into an uber-bitch. I think I just need some time to
chill.”

“Well, I know how that goes,” he said,
replacing coolness with outright lies. “I’ve had some things that
I’ve had to work out too, and, y’know, it’s just something everyone
goes through.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Oh, it was . . . ,” Mark brushed some
stray hairs from his face, finding something interesting across the
way to look at. “It was just some . . . family stuff. Nothing too
major, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so just
prying away, like you’d wanna discuss your crisis of faith or
whatever with a stranger.”

Mark chuckled. “No, can’t have a crisis
with something you don’t have.” He opened his mouth to say more,
and then stopped. “You’re not, like, religious or anything are
you?”

“My mom kinda is but my dad’s too much
of a workaholic for church. Personally . . . I think that’s one of
the things I’m trying to figure out.” She paused. “So you don’t
believe in God or anything?”

Mark studied the ground, trying to pick
his words before he blurted out more nonsense.

“It’s not that big a deal or anything,”
she said. “If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

“No, I’ve had this conversation before,
kinda, but my friends are . . . well, they’re a little divided on
the issue.” He looked up at her. “But hey, I don’t want to be weird
or anything. I mean, we just met and we’re already delving into the
big questions and all.”

“Well, I’ve had my fill of stupid
conversations about clothes and TV and all that shit. But if you’re
not comfortable talking to me-”

“No, no, I’m comfortable!” Mark blurted
out.

“I hope so,” she laughed. “I’d hate to
see you when you’re uncomfortable.”

“Well, y’know, it’s just that I’m
enjoying talking to you, and I don’t want you to flee in terror or
anything.”

“I won’t flee in terror, Mark. You’re
far too nice.”

“Well, I can’t think of anyone who
wouldn’t be nice to you,” he said, trying not to grin like an
idiot. “But the whole God thing . . . no, I don’t believe. I don’t
believe there’s some big old white guy with a beard sitting in the
cloud that’s got Pat Robertson’s back and making sure the teams
that pray the most make it to the Superbowl.” She laughed, and he
paused to enjoy it. “I just can’t accept the fact there’s something
out there guiding our lives for some master plan. There’s too much
wrong with the world for me to accept that.”