Strays (11 page)

M
y closet wall reflected the terrible week I'd been having. I was running out of space to bash and was forced to branch out to the side walls of my closet, but it was cramped and hard to get a direct hit.

I had been looking forward to the bonfire all week, but now I just felt exhausted and deflated. I was a bad student, a bad dog trainer, and a bad friend.

Earlier in the evening, our neighbor with the dog had knocked on our front door. Thank God Dad hadn't been home because she had come over to inquire about the construction we were doing.

“There's no construction,” I had said.

“Then what was all that hammering?”

I realized she was referring to my closet aggression. “Oh, that, yeah. We're putting up a photo wall,” I lied.

“So it's done now?” she asked. “I was trying to nap.”

I wanted to ask her how she was able to nap with her dog barking all the time, but instead I just said, “Yeah, pretty much done.”

Talbot had been texting all afternoon, asking if she could come over first to my place so that we could walk down to the beach together. I ignored her because I didn't want her to come over and figure out that I didn't have a mother. She left me a long message saying I had better look cute. I didn't even know what that meant. Ashley and Sierra would have known exactly what to wear. Sierra had a flair for the dramatic (think corduroy bellbottoms and sequined headbands), and Ashley just understood fashion—which jeans fit which body type and what colors were in for each season.

My closet consisted mostly of ratty jeans and even rattier T-shirts, but I pulled the most respectable of each from the lot and culled together some semblance of a wannabe cute outfit. Jeans, black V-neck shirt, and a fuzzy orange sweater I'd bought on Front Street at a secondhand store the previous year.

“You kind of look like a bonfire,” said Talbot when I found her on the beach, drinking out of a water bottle that had been refilled with beer.

Not quite the look I was going for.

“When's Oak coming?” she asked.

“We're meeting in five minutes at the trash cans by the volleyball courts.”

“Trash cans…how romantic,” said Talbot, apparently determined to make fun of every decision I made tonight.

She introduced me to a few people, some from Clark and some from Santa Cruz High—more students I hadn't even seen before.

There were about eighty kids so far, gathered in various groupings along the coastline. Santa Cruz had so many cool little beaches, I was surprised Talbot had chosen this one, but as the people poured in, I realized this beach, adjacent to the touristy Boardwalk, might possibly be the only one large enough to accommodate the growing crowd.

As I scanned the expanding mass of high schoolers (and a few local kids who hadn't done much but surf since graduating high school) I was surprised to see two familiar faces: Ashley and Sierra, who had their shoes off and their feet in the water.

It couldn't hurt to say hi.

“I'll be right back,” I told Talbot and headed toward the ocean.

“Hey!” I said, walking close to the water's edge, trying to avoid getting my shoes wet.

The two of them turned around and registered that it was me, their troubled friend. They eyed each other, not sure what to do.

“Hey, Iris.” Ashley was the first to speak. Her voice was gentle and inviting.

“How's your summer going?” I asked. It felt weird to be making small talk with people I once considered to be close friends.

“So fun!” said Sierra. “I move out to the dorms in a month! I've just been running around like a crazy person trying to get everything organized.”

“She bought every gadget known to man,” said Ashley.

“I did not,” protested Sierra, eyes focused on the wet sand, not quite ready to make eye contact with me.

“What college student needs an espresso machine, a popcorn popper, and a bread maker?” asked Ashley.

“Oh my God, you guys, look,” said Sierra, pointing up the beach toward the volleyball courts. We all turned around. “It's Hoodie Boy!”

I smiled, excited to see him, knowing he was there to meet me.

“He's such a freak!” said Sierra, flipping her head so that her hair whipped in front of her face and then putting her sweatshirt hood over her head, mimicking him.

Ashley laughed before pulling her own sweatshirt above her head.

This was my chance to get their friendship back. All I had to do was join them in their teasing, and they'd accept me.

I couldn't bring myself to do it.

“His name is Oak,” I said and walked away from them, toward the trash cans by the volleyball net, not even turning around to look at what I know must have been astonishment on their faces when I approached him. He and I hugged for a long time, then pulled away from each other, and he kissed me on my cheek.

“That was a nice welcome,” said Oak. “Have you been here long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe? I ran into some old friends from school,” I said, waving over to the girls, who were standing there dumbfounded, staring at me.

“Looks like this is gonna be huge,” said Oak. “I got like twelve texts about it. I bet all of Santa Cruz High will be here.”

That would be my absolute worst nightmare.

I tried to be in the moment with Oak, but my mind kept wandering to all of the potential run-ins I could have here tonight—all of the possible glares from fellow classmates.

“You look nice,” Oak said, and I stopped worrying. “Do you go to lots of bonfires?”

“Yeah,” I lied. Truth was, I'd seen them plenty of times from afar, but I had felt too intimidated to join in.

A small group gathered with their guitars and drums in a circle on the sand. Others were taking turns going into the center and dancing.

Oak took my hand and led me down the beach, away from the crowds, and we sat down in the sand.

“Don't you think it's kind of funny? You and I both made the dean's list last year, and now here we are, working for dog rehab,” he said.

I had no idea Oak had also been on the dean's list. As I tried to remember the other students' names etched on that plaque, I vaguely recalled seeing his name on it and wondering who in the world that was.

“Oh, wow! That was you?” I said. “I didn't realize…so what colleges are you applying to?” I took off my shoes and dug my toes into the sand.

“I'm not going,” he said, leaning back onto his elbows.

“Yeah, right,” I retorted. “Dean's list and you're not applying to college.” It sounded ridiculous—the kind of thing you say to parents when they piss you off enough to really scare them. The kind of thing Talbot would say.

Oak sat back up, serious. “Not everyone has to have a degree to be successful,” he said. “I know what I'm good at—computers. I'm better at programming than most professional adults. I'm so good, in fact, that the Feds thought I was an entire ring of computer geniuses. After that whole thing went down, I was invited on a talk show in LA, but I said, ‘No way!' I'm not going to be anyone's puppet. I'm ready to start my own life, Iris.”

I never thought about things that way. I had been on a specific path my whole life, a path that I thought was unchangeable—go to high school, then Brown. It was just a given for me.

“But don't you want to have that college experience?” I asked, thinking about how many hours I'd spent with the girls talking about what college would be like—how we'd decorate our dorm rooms, the kind of guys we'd meet, how good it would feel to take charge of our own lives.

“What, getting drunk and cramming for more exams? Count me out,” said Oak. “Besides, I already have my independence; I live in our back house. My parents never even go out there. They totally respect my space. What about you? Do your parents give you space? Or are they always on top of you?”

It would be so easy to lie to him, like I had with Talbot. That way I wouldn't have to answer any questions. He wouldn't have to look at me with sad eyes.

“It's just my dad. My mom died about two years ago.”

“That sucks,” he said. It was the perfect reaction.

I smiled. “Yeah, it totally sucks.”

“How did she die? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Drunk driver,” I said, looking over at Talbot dancing wildly in the center of the drum circle, her beer-filled water bottle in her hand. In another world it could have been Talbot who had been behind the wheel the night my mom died. I tried to shake that thought—tried to separate my new friend from the girl who got busted for driving drunk. But it wasn't easy.

Oak didn't barrage me with a million questions. He didn't try to comfort me. We sat there quietly for a moment, and then he changed the subject.

“So when do you get your new dog?” he asked.

I had been so distracted by the library incident and then getting ready for the bonfire that I hadn't thought about Roman. But when Kevin had said I wouldn't be working with him anymore, I instantly regretted opening my big mouth. Roman had scared me, but I didn't want to completely give up on him.

“I don't know. I feel bad, like I cried wolf or something. Kevin took it so seriously.”

“He had to. You have to feel safe with your dog,” said Oak.

“I did. I do, it's just, sometimes I don't think I'm the best match for that dog. It's like he has too much going on in his head.”

Oak put his hand on top of my own head and began jostling it around. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was the perfect person to help Roman, and I had just abandoned my duty. I had to get him back. I hoped Kevin would understand that Roman had caught me in a moment of weakness. But I'd be stronger. I just hoped it wasn't too late.

Oak and I had both become transfixed by the crashing of the waves—the rhythm of the tidal pull. Oak scooted his body closer to me until I could feel the heat emanating between our faces. I turned to look at him, and he did the same, both of us reveling in the moment right before a first kiss.

Then he leaned toward me and pressed his lips to mine. They were salty from the ocean air. Everything was perfect.

I caught a glimpse of Talbot, taking another turn in the drum circle. She flung her hair all around and shimmied, waving her arms freely up in the air. In the middle of her twirling, Talbot caught sight of us in the sand and came running over. She nestled herself between the two of us and, putting her arms around our shoulders, pulled us in close.

“Hello, my little lovebirds.”

I was going to kill her.

“What's up?” I said.

Talbot pulled a beer out of her jacket pocket and refilled her water bottle. “Want one?”

I shook my head no.

“How about you, Oak?”

“Thanks, but I can't afford to get into any more trouble.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Talbot, tipping her head back and guzzling.

The sun had completely set, and the bonfire grew and glowed from across the beach. There was something magical about hearing the waves in the background and seeing people's faces lit up by the flames of the bonfire.

I couldn't think of another person I'd rather share this night with than Oak.

But just when I thought that the night would be nothing but successful, a jerk from Santa Cruz High, who had obviously been drinking, ambled toward me and shouted, “Hey! It's the psycho from school!”

I hadn't been prepared for this type of assault.
The waters rose fast and furious
; I could practically taste my rage rising through the back of my throat.

His screaming had attracted the attention of the crowd. I couldn't just let him call me out like that. Before I knew it, I was on my feet.

“You're a wild one, aren't you? Is she?” the guy asked Oak and winked, mistakenly thinking they were about to share some knowing fraternal gesture. He moved around me like a bullfighter taunting a bull. He had forgotten one small fact—that once in a while, the bull would lunge out and attack the fighter, stabbing him through the chest with his sharp horns.

“Iris, let's get out of here,” said Oak, taking my hand and trying to lead me away from the tenuous situation.

“Let go of me,” I said, throwing his hand from mine.

By now a large crowd had gathered, all staring at me, waiting to see what I would do. The taunter was still moving around me, waiting for me to pounce, waiting to see the beast in action, wanting to see proof of my reputation. If he came any closer, I would have no choice but to attack.

Oak put his hands on the perpetrator's shoulders. “That's enough, man,” Oak said, trying to get him to stop.

I was angry with the guy, but now I was growing angry at Oak. Why did he feel as though he had to step in and rescue me? I could take care of myself. Once Oak had sent the guy on his way and the crowd dissipated, I walked away into the darkness, back toward my house.

It felt good to be alone. But it didn't last long.

“Iris! Wait up!”

I turned around. Oak was running toward me.

“Leave me alone,” I shouted back. But he moved faster than me and was soon at my side.

The fog was filling the streets as though someone were standing there with a fog machine. The haze danced and swirled around streetlights.

“Iris, just let me talk. I was only trying to help you!”

I whipped around quickly. “I don't need your help! I'm fine on my own. I have been for a long time. You don't need to rescue me. I'm not some damsel in distress.”

We were standing in the middle of my street, yelling at the top of our lungs. A few lights turned on in people's houses, but I didn't care. The neighbor's dog began to bark.

“Just please go home,” I said and continued up to my house and walked through the door. The people on the bottom story of our duplex must have been visiting for the weekend because their lights turned on—their weekend of relaxation interrupted by an angry teen on the street who didn't know what she wanted.