Al Bruno III
Those green eyes were to blame. They caught Thelma
French's gaze and held her fast; everyone else, the other students,
teachers, and chaperones, seemed to fade away.
The gymnasium had been made to look like a disco; dim
lights and streamers of foil and paper decorated one side, while the
other was cluttered with chairs and refreshment tables.
A drooping banner proclaimed that this was the '1982
Spring Dance', but most students weren't dancing all that much; most
just milled around in small groups. The A-V club geeks were working the
sound system, arguing about treble settings, and taking requests from
kids who ordinarily wouldn't even speak to them. The guys from the
football team kept as close to the cheerleaders as they could without
actually having to step out onto the dance floor. The theater club kids
hovered near the exits, whispering conspiratorially and rolling their
eyes with mock agony at each song.
The boy who owned those green eyes didn't belong with any
of those groups. He didn't even belong at this school at all. Thelma
wondered if he might be some other girl's date or if he was just
crashing the dance. In the pause between one song ending and another
starting up, she found all she could hear was the pound of her
heartbeat.
She wondered if she dared to go over and talk to him. He must have noticed her staring by now.
How could he not notice her? After all, she was the only
student of Chinese descent in this small Florida high school and a
gray-eyed tomboy at that. She suddenly felt self-conscious; a few hours
ago, her jeans, suspenders, and black T-shirt had seemed like a cool
statement. Now, she just felt ridiculous.
Someone said something to the green-eyed boy, and he looked away. The spell broken, Thelma wandered over to the refreshments.
"Hey." A red-haired boy walked up to her, "I didn't think you'd come."
"Hey, Winston." It was her former boyfriend. He was named
after a rich grandparent he had never known and hated it, "It's a free
country, you know?"
"Yeah, whatever. The whole thing's a joke anyway. The stupid principal won't let them play any metal."
"Who wants to dance to Iron Maiden?" Thelma had been on
three dates with Winston Smythe before she had broken it off. At first,
she thought he was cute and funny, but he turned out to be just another
dog in heat. He had grabbed her chest at the movies, her ass at the
roller rink, and Thelma did her best not to think about what he had
tried at Homecoming.
The song Abracadabra ended, Funky Town started up,
and the theater club kids started to howl with laughter. Robin Vance
came running up to them. She was wearing a billowy, low-cut dress and a
suicidal pair of heels. Every male in the room, be they a student or
teacher, was watching her cleavage. She hugged Winston from behind, "Hey
Eddie. I was getting lonely... Oh. Hi Thelma."
They were both watching Thelma intently, wondering if she
would get angry or upset. Thelma didn't feel much of anything except
amazement that her ex-boyfriend had finally gotten someone to call him
by his middle name. "Hi." Thelma said, "You two going out now?"
Robin's mouth was smiling, but her eyes were pure venom, "Hot and heavy."
"Great." Thelma said, "Good for you."
"Who are you here with?" Robin asked. Winston was already looking bored.
Thelma said, "I'm here alone.”
"Oh!" Robin snorted, "That's so sad."
Winston took her by the hand, "Let's go out to my car. I gotta hear some Krokus before I go outta my mind."
That's the line he used to get me out to his car during Homecoming. Thelma realized. I hope she's ready for him to whip it out during his air guitar solo.
She probably is.
Some fresh air was in order, so Thelma headed out to the
school's side entrance. It was supposed to be locked, but none of the
chaperones seemed to have realized that the lock never quite caught. She
wasn't alone; five or six other students had found their way
here—mostly nobodies and wannabees. They were talking and smoking,
trying to sound jaded and world-weary. No one talked to her; no one
offered her a cigarette or even a snide comment about her outfit.
Typical. She thought. She wished that Peanut and Samantha were there.
Thelma was adopted and shipped off to America by birth
parents who were only interested in having a son. Sometimes Thelma
wondered if her natural mother had ever held her, if she ever mourned
her. Not that it mattered; the Frenches were good parents. They worked
hard to take care of her; if anything, they sometimes worked too hard.
The only thing she really had to be miserable about was they had moved down here.
For the first decade of Thelma's life, she lived in the
same city and attended the same school, The Blessed Heart Academy in
Albany. The Blessed Heart Academy was a Catholic school that aimed to
maintain a non-denominational atmosphere. The students attended the
school from first grade through graduation. Thelma had been having lunch
with the same four friends since the age of six, creating a close-knit
group.
Unfortunately, work had dried up for her father, and he
had been forced to take a job in Florida to keep his creditors at bay
and his daughter in shoes. At first, Thelma had been thrilled at the
idea; visions of amusement parks and beaches filled her mind. It was
only later she found out they were moving to Lake Wales, a small town
almost dead center in the state. In the two years since they'd gotten
here, she'd been to the beach three times and Disney World twice. Her
Dad's work just kept him too busy to be around more; he was always
leaving early and coming home late. Sometimes Thelma didn't see him for
days. Her Mom had found a job, too; at first, she just worked at the
fabric store to help pay off the outstanding bills, but soon, she found
she had a taste for it. In a matter of a few months she was practically
running the store.
The stars were bright tonight, as bright as they got in
Florida anyway. Thelma had never appreciated it before, but there was
something about the New York skies that made the stars seem a lot
closer. Thelma picked out the constellations, an old game from
childhood, a way her Dad had shown her she could occupy her mind on
nights when sleep didn't come easily. All around her, the
other kids were gossiping and laughing. Thelma would have
loved to join in, but something held her back; maybe it was the
suspicion that she was one of the things that was regularly gossiped
about.
It didn't help that she had come to realize she was seen
by the boys as a prize bass that they all wanted to try their hand at
landing. A year ago, she had overheard a bunch of them talking about
Asian girls as though they were all a race of sexually submissive
tigresses.
Thelma found herself blushing half with anger and half with... well, she wasn't quite sure...
Embarrassment? Anticipation?
That was the reason she had tried to make her relationship
with Winston move slowly, even though there were times when she had
wanted to give in to him.
What held her back was the thought that if she were a
prize bass to be landed, what would a boy do once she was hooked? Would
she still have a boyfriend, or would there be a catch and release so the
next guy could try out her supposedly exotic charms?
"Everyone notices Vega." A voice said beside her.
Thelma froze. It was the green-eyed boy...he was talking
to her! Close up she could see that he didn't look like a boy at all.
Yes, his chin was smooth, but his bearing made him seem much older.
"What?" She asked once she'd found her voice again.
"You're looking at Vega right?" He said, "The bright one.”
"Um, yes.”
He leaned in closer, putting his head beside hers and
pointing up into the sky, "Right below Vega, there are two stars. See
them?"
"Yes," Thelma felt his hand settle into the curve of her hip. He smelled like sweat and dust; he wore the scent like cologne.
"If you look closely, you can see that those two stars are actually two sets of binary stars."
Thelma almost lied, ready to tell him she could see it all, but she stopped herself, "I'm sorry, I can't-"
"Well, the streetlights don't help. Maybe some other night." He stepped back from her, "My name is Brad, Brad Waterman."
"Hi, Brad." She took his hand, it was cool to the touch, "I'm Felma Thench... damn. I mean Thelma French."
"Funny," He smiled at her, "you don't look like a Thelma."
"I'm named after my late Aunt." She said, "My father's sister. She died before I was... born."
His laugh sounded like a grunt, but the smile made up for it, "That's how I got my middle name. Hugo."
"You have an Aunt Hugo?" They both laughed at that.
Some students made their way back to the dance, while
others dawdled, made out, or kept watch for chaperones. Thelma found her
gaze wandering from Brad's green eyes to his square jaw, then to his
broad shoulders and down over his chest, all the way to his...
"You like the belt buckle?"
"It was just, very... noticeable."
"It's kinda my family crest. My old man never thought much
of it. Thought of himself as an American first, you know? He didn't
have any use for the old traditions. So he made the family crest into a
belt buckle to piss off his old man."
Thelma risked another glance. It didn't look like much of a
crest to her, just a knot of silver and bronze. "And now you take it
seriously to piss off your Dad?"
Brad smiled, "Well, Grandpa's stories of the Old World sound a lot better than what we have now."
The first carload of parents pulled up to the main
entrance, and three of Thelma's classmates crowded into the back seat.
Brad's words left her thinking of that awful day last year when the
President had been shot. She remembered the Principal, Mr. Rosenberg,
getting on the speakers and delivering the news in a shaky voice. The
ordinary class schedule had been scrapped, and the students spent the
last few hours of the day in whatever classroom they had happened to be
in at the time of the announcement. A lot of students ended up talking
with the teachers about what it all meant. Thelma had heard that the
history teacher, Mr. Sheehan, had given a rousing and patriotic speech
about how the nation was bigger than one man and that America would go
on.
Sadly, Thelma's teacher of the hour had been Mrs. Kushner,
and she spent the rest of the day telling them that the actions of John
Hinckley had been prophesied in the book of Revelations and that God
was going to send all their parents to Hell because they watched Three's
Company.
The worst part for Thelma wasn't the impromptu sermon or
the moment of pointless insanity that precipitated it. The worst part
for Thelma was that she didn't care. Family, friends, and even the hot
and cold running acquaintances of Lake Wales High School mattered, but
the suffering of strangers, even important ones, meant nothing to her.
Thelma often wondered if that made her a cold person.
"What time are your parents picking you up?" Brad asked.
You are not telling him you rode your bicycle here. Thelma thought, Don't you dare!
"I don't have a curfew." She said, and that was
technically true. She didn't have a curfew because she had never pushed
her luck by staying out past midnight. "Do you want to go back to the
dance?"
"Not really. You want to go for a walk?”
"I'm not... I don’t..."
He had already started moving, “It’s just a little ways."
"Where?" She found herself running to catch up with him.
They walked quickly until they were clear of the school. Once they were
on the county highway, they slowed their pace, "Where are we going?"
"Just up to Spook Hill. My place."
"That's not too far," she thought aloud, talking herself into it, "barely even a mile. Do you live with your parents?"
"No. I have a place with my friends.”
"You're not in high school, are you?" She asked.
"Nope." He gave her a sly look, "It's not too late to turn back if that worries you."
Next: Chapter Two →
