Here Lies a Father. Mckenzie Cassidy
cover was dark blue with a small pair of eyes and rosy lips set in the middle, and my copy had been shoved inside so many backpacks over the years it no longer stayed closed. On the inside cover someone had written a giant 15 in black permanent marker for record-keeping purposes. Lines stamped under BOOK 15 held the names of every student who ever had it, one I recognized from Catherine’s graduating class. I scanned the classroom. Students opened their paperback copies; some ran their fists down the spines to further bend them open, and each carefully wrote their names on the empty lines.
The door opened and a girl with the reddest hair I had ever seen stepped inside. Everyone was relieved because it took Mrs. Garrett’s attention away from lecturing the class. The girl closed the door gently behind her, seemingly terrified of slamming it, and marched up to Mrs. Garrett with her head down like she was in trouble, a folded piece of paper in her hand and an artsy Bohemian purse bouncing on her thigh. She whispered something into Mrs. Garrett’s ear.
“Oh yes, Eveline, thank you,” she said, checking the class roster attached to a cracked clipboard.
Mrs. Garrett had long curly blond hair with strands of silver, which she kept tied out of her face, an understanding face, and the kind that didn’t frighten you when you asked a question. Her classroom was bare except for vintage posters of book jackets from the works of famous authors like Steinbeck, Hemingway, and Whitman. For an English teacher like Mrs. Garrett, an expressive girl such as Eveline Ryan was just the type of student she dreamed about.
“Please have a seat. Everyone, this is Eveline Ryan,” said Mrs. Garrett. “Yes, she’s late today and this is an example of what not to do, but she’s new to town and we’ll save the public beheading for another day.”
A couple of girls in the back rolled their eyes. They saw her black combat boots, her frayed jean shorts with blue leggings, her long eclectic necklaces, and they didn’t understand her—nor did they want to. Eveline got on my last nerve too and she’d been in the room for less than five minutes, yet what I felt toward her wasn’t disdain like the girls in the back. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but her presence made me nervous. My heart beat vigorously and my palms got sweaty. I don’t know what it was about her, but she got me all worked up.
Eveline searched the classroom for an empty desk without really looking at anybody and the only free spot was next to me. She took off her olive-green coat with fur around the hood. Underneath she wore this white blouse that reminded me of peasants in a Renaissance festival. Her skin looked soft, smooth, and fair in a way that reminded me of cream. She set herself down gently into the plastic seat beside me and slid her small, round behind into the grooved crease. A subtle trail of freckles spread across her cheeks and nose. Fluorescent light from above slipped across the curves of her neck like one of those famous marble sculptures. Her deep red hair, like a tree burning in the night, was draped across one shoulder but kept within a loose braid that allowed thin strands to slide across her face.
Mrs. Garrett droned on about the book she had passed out, how it was a classic story about love lost and yearning to be someone else in life. The truth was, I’d stopped listening. Her voice transformed into this mechanical thrumming and blended with the sound of the ticking radiator. My eyelids drooped heavily downward and the thought of sleep was more desirable than anything I had ever wanted. My neck loosened and my head shifted back and forth; not even an explosion would’ve roused me. Nothing held my attention for very long, and besides my poor marks in school, my inability to focus may have been the reason why teachers hated me. Teachers loved Catherine, and it was because they expected me to be more like her that they were irritated when I turned out to be such a disappointment.
Someone tapped my arm at just the moment when consciousness surrendered to dream. I jerked upward and my eyes bulged open. Eveline. Her fingertips were on my forearm. I looked at her questioningly. Her blue eyes were hypnotic, spellbinding, and reminded me of reflections of the ocean on a sunny day. I twisted forward in my seat. She thought she was helping me, but now I was aggravated about being woken up.
Are you okay? she mouthed at me, flashing an amused grin.
And I just nodded.
Her smooth thighs, pressed against that plastic chair, were all I thought about on Marie’s living room couch. In the dark I sat up and glanced out the living room window; a crescent moon partially lit up the forest around the house. I thought again about that morning we met. Never had I expected she’d be more to me than a girl I once sat next to in class. Thinking about her was the safest thing to do. In fact, it’s all I could do after she had vanished from school. After what had happened the night of that awful party, I couldn’t fault her for leaving town, yet I wished I’d known where she went. Most of all, I hoped that she was okay and not just one more person in my life to whom I never got to say goodbye.
I sat back on Marie’s couch and stared up at her off-white ceiling. Another memory came to mind, one I had avoided as long as I could—the day when Catherine called and told me Dad had died.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.