Downcast - Cait Reynolds Page 0,1

he began to turn toward me.

My thoughts were drowned out between my wild heartbeat and jagged breathing, time standing still while also running too fast in an unstoppable rush.

"Stephanie!" My mother called from the back door. "Are you alright?"

I blinked hard again, my brain ricocheting from the whiplash of the broken moment back to the insistent present.

And he was gone.

So were my blood red dahlias.

"Fine, Mom," I forced myself to reply as fast and cheerfully as I could. "Just looking at the woods."

And the flowers that were no longer there.

**

It was the first day of my senior year of high school, and as I got out of Mom's used Prius, I reminded myself not to expect too much. It was pretty much a guarantee that my senior year wouldn't be the magical bonding experience that most teenagers had.

After all, there was a long list of reasons that I was part of the Snub Club.

Socially-awkward, extreme environmentalist, overbearing, over-protective mother. Check.

No known father. Check.

Forced to wear overly modest, baggy clothing (eco-friendly cotton, of course) by said mother. Check.

Not allowed to drive. Check.

Not allowed to go to the mall. Check.

Not allowed to sleep over. Check.

Not allowed to listen to rock music or read books unless approved by Mom. Check.

Nutritional, whole-grain, high-fiber, tofu-laden, packed lunches amid the PB&J and pizza crowd. Check.

Limited computer time and supervised internet access. Check.

Intelligence. Check.

Yeah, so as a result, I was going into my senior year of high school with no dates, no favorite top 40 songs, not even an R-rated movie under my belt. I only managed to eke out enough popular culture references by listening hard and observing harder.

"Have a good day, Stephanie," Mom chirped. "Did you know thinking positive thoughts can actually change your brainwaves if you do it consistently? Think positive thoughts today!"

"Thanks, have a good day at work," I replied not-so-chirpily, eyeing the unseasonably icy rain.

My tights were nicely soaked by the time I got inside the 1960's monument to ugliness known as Darbyfield High School, the embarrassing relative of the other newer, higher-ranked high schools in the Berkshires. The red bricks of the long two-story building were dark from the rain, and the badly-sealed windows were steamed up.

**

I went up the half-flight of stairs, from the gym to the main level, where I would see the same people I had seen every year since elementary school, though my view of them had always been from the bottom of the social totem pole.

The main hallway was just a lovely regurgitation of taupe walls, faded orange lockers, and brown linoleum floors. Despite its hideousness, it was the most prestigious hallway in the school because it was home to the senior class. Freshmen and juniors had the hospital green hallway, one floor up, and sophomores were stuck in the blue basement corridor where all the science classes were held, and things forever smelled like formaldehyde.

I couldn't help but feel a small thrill as I finally got to walk this hallway as a senior, despite knowing I'd never see a homecoming bonfire, or a football game, or dance at a prom. I fumbled in my backpack for the piece of paper that had my locker number and combination on it. After several frustrating tries, I finally got my locker open. I slung my wet jacket in there, pulled out my recycled canvas lunch bag and shoved it on the top shelf.

"Hey."

I looked over to my right to see Jeremy Sterling opening his locker. Jeremy had been my locker neighbor since junior high, as no one had ever managed to get between us in the alphabet. Since the age of 11, the order had been Mary Sarlls, Stephanie Starr, and Jeremy Sterling.

"Hey," I replied. There wasn't need for much else, for despite seven years of being locker neighbors, we'd never really gotten past the "Hey," "See ya," stage. I glanced to my left to see if freckled Mary Sarlls was there yet. She was, but two lockers down from mine.

I frowned slightly, surprised. Was it a mistake or was there someone new? Well, whatever, I decided. There were still ten minutes before the first bell, and I wanted to see Helen Jenkins, my best friend in this hellhole.

Squirming my way through the crowd of students was easy. The popular kids shifted instinctively, just enough to let me pass without actually having to speak to me or touch me. Kind of like the real reason the Red Sea parted was because Moses wasn't part of the "in" crowd.

Helen