Author's Notes:
First off, let me just say that this fiction is canon, in that it will not contradict anything in the Twilight saga, (If I mess that up, I'll be counting on you, dear readers, to let me know) but it has nothing to do with the canon characters. This is an original story, and at best there might be an oblique reference to the Cullens in a few chapters. This is your fair warning; there will be no cameos by anybody that you know.
I had the idea for this story after rereading the series; for Twilight to work and be the story it is, all the stars just had to align themselves perfectly. There are some kind-of-ugly parts, but mostly, the perfect vampire met the perfect girl, they had a (mostly) perfect courtship, the perfect wedding, the perfect baby, and Bella became the perfect vampire. I love that about the story; it's a fairy tale. My story is not, and I hope that you will enjoy it for that.
Lastly, this is a work in progress; nothing here is final until I post the last chapter. There are still a few characters whose heads are on the chopping block, there are some details subject to change, you know, the usual. If I change anything, I will make a big note of it, and let you know.
Disclaimer: Twilight, and all the characters created therein are the property of Stephanie Meyers. The characters in this story are original, and as such are my own intellectual property.
Tributary Otis, lyrics by Roger Clyne
Well I've traveled,
and I've seen the things I build, working
Workin' to bring me down
And I may be thirsty now
But, I will go beyond this thirst
And my tears I cry for you will all go dry
So I lay down on the floor, turn on my radio
Come on River Otis make me cry
'Cause I've been out all night
And I had to give up the fight
So come on River Otis make me cry
Come on River Otis make me cry
Fire and Ice
Chapter One
Today is my last first day at a new school. Of that I was certain, and the certainty filled me with a sadness I never would have expected to accompany it. I gathered my satchel, an olive drab rucksack, from the passenger seat of my car, opened the door, and took a fortifying breath as I stepped out of the familiar interior into the parking lot of a school whose unfamiliarity is as familiar to me as the last school I attended.
In the three years of my high school career, I have attended seven different schools in three countries; I lost count of how many schools I attended in elementary and junior high schools. I suppose that most people would expect me to be socially stunted with a record like that, but truthfully, I've always had an easy time of meeting new people. Making new friends comes more easily to me than keeping old ones, which is the only thing that made all the moving bearable. I never had time to really stop and think about the people I'd left behind while I was busy learning new names, new faces, and new ways of life. Today, though, was different. Today, I would meet the people I'd graduate high school with, the people who would sign my yearbook, and, hopefully, the people I'd remember when I looked back on my teenage years. The difference was staggering.
As I walked toward the building, I wondered if not being able to count on moving soon would make me nervous about making friends. For the first time, if I messed up, there was no do-over just a few months away. The idea made me queasy, and I was sure my pale skin had a greenish tint to it as I approached the long, low building that loomed before me. I saw the faces of the other students as they studied me, and they looked forbidding and disapproving, rather than curious.
Then, the doors were opening, and I breathed the smell of the school as I entered the Escanaba Area High; it was a smell that is somehow the fundamentally the same as every other high school, yet intrinsically different. I knew this place; I remembered it, or another just like it. Today wasn't different or scary; it was just another first day. I felt the green sliding from my skin as easily as water when I stepped from a pool, a smile spreading across my face.
"Hi," I stopped the nearest student to me, a boy about my age, "I was wondering if you could help me find the front office. I'm new." I offered the last with a hint of apology. I could probably close my eyes and find the office; school buildings never have innovative floor plans, but experience taught me long ago that you only get to play the I'm-new-won't-you-please-take-me-under-your-wing card on the first day. After that, if you hadn't laid some groundwork towards making new friends, you were labeled an outsider. Being an outsider made it hard to fit in. Being new made it simple.
The boy looked at me with wide eyes. I noticed for the first time that he was sort of brown all over; brown hair, brown eyes, brown rimmed glasses. He wore khaki pants with a brown long-sleeved rugby shirt. I didn't take my eyes from his, but I guessed that if I looked at his shoes or his belt or his backpack they would also be brown. He recovered quickly, and smiled. "I'm Brad," he introduced himself, "where are you from?" The question he called to me as he walked away, I understood that he was leading me to the office, not trying to get away from the obvious friendliness in his voice.
"All over, really." I laughed, "My dad was in the military, so we never really stayed in one place too long. I was born in Chicago, though, and most recently, I lived in San Diego."
"California, eh? So, that explains all… that?" He waved his arm vaguely in my direction.
I laughed. "Maybe. Maybe, I just don't like earth tones."
"Ok, I had that coming," the smile was obvious, even though I couldn't see his face. Brown clothes aside, Brad could take a bit of teasing. We stopped next to a door with the word "Office" etched onto the glass in peeling gold letters that looked to have been put there in the 1950's. "It was nice to meet you…" He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name.
"Stella," I said with a roll of my eyes, letting him know I knew how awful a name I'd been stuck with, "Stella Bard."
"I'll see you around… Stella." And, Brad slipped into the crowd and vanished.
I spotted a girls' lav just two doors down from the office and decided to make a quick stop before I went in to get myself registered. Three girls were preening in the mirror, so I walked into the nearest stall and sat down. I waited a moment, flushed the toilet and walked to the closest sink, shooting a small smile at them while I washed my hands. One of the girls smiled back, and then the trio left, leaving me to contemplate my reflection.
My always pale skin, a gift from my Irish mother, was clear, almost translucent, with faint blue undertones. Just a few freckles adorned my small, button nose. I always had issues with my nose; it was too small, too cute, for my taste. My whole life, I'd longed for my father's larger nose with all the character that came with it, but I was stuck with the pixie-ish one in the middle of my face. I had a small mouth to match my small nose, but I took some comfort in knowing that however small my mouth might be, at least my lips were full and soft-looking. My eyes sat atop high cheekbones, and they were easily my best feature. My other features all seemed to be miniature versions of regular features, but my eyes seemed twice the size you'd expect. They were almond-shaped, wide-set, and fringed with lashes that were impossibly dark, considering my pale coloring. The irises were a deep lavendar, shot through with gold flecks. Secretly, I thought they reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor's incredible eyes.
My face was framed in hair so blond it was almost white with shots of color streaking through. Sky blue and light purple marched randomly through my hair as it flowed thickly just past my shoulders. One small tendril broke free of the rest of the mass and fell across my right eye. It didn't matter what I did to restrain it, that lock would always break free and reclaim the space in front of my right eye as its personal domain.
The clothing I wore would have seemed casual in San Diego, but here, I realized, they stood out like a freshman's best new outfit on the first day of school. My blouse was turquoise satin and fitted like a ruffled tuxedo shirt from the bust up, and was a long tube of ribbed black material from my chest to the top of my jeans. My jeans were stylishly worn and faded with casually perfect tears around the knees. They fit like second skin along my slim hips and down my thighs before flaring out to the ground with a pair of matching turquoise pumps peeking out. Nobody would ever guess that these jeans had been worn into perfection, rather than purchased that way. The worn hems were from years of dragging the ground behind me, rather than the artful design of somebody from the GAP. Because I was so short, barely five feet three inches, almost all of my pants had well-worn hems. I almost never remembered to take my pants in before I wore them, so unless my mother snagged them first, they ended up frayed and ragged.
Images of my mother sprang to mind. Mom hemming my pants, or cutting my hair, or destroying the kitchen while making dinner. I used to joke that her food was good, but not really worth the clean up, and she would laugh. We laughed alike, she and I, with our eyes closed and our mouths wide open showing our straight teeth, the sound musical. I missed the sound of our laughs ringing out together, filling the kitchen.
I gave my head a clearing shake as I opened the door to the office and smiled at the woman behind the desk. "You must be Stella." She greeted me warmly, "We're glad to have you here. Now, everything is in order on our end, do you have the paperwork we mailed you?"
"Yes," I said, rummaging through my rucksack, "It's right here." I pulled out the expanding folder I used to hold a copy of my school records, immunization records, and medical records. When you move as often, and sometimes suddenly, as I do, you learn the value of keeping your own copies on hand. I removed the neatly paper clipped bundle of forms she requested and handed them to her.
"They're signed by your parents, correct?" She said absently as she thumbed through them.
"Uh, no." I said in a small voice, "My aunt signed them."
The lady looked up, surprised. "Sorry, sweetheart, but these have to be signed by your parents or legal guardian before we can let you enroll."
"My aunt is my guardian," I spoke softly, "My parents died three weeks ago. I have copies of their death certificates and the court orders awarding custody to my aunt, if you need them. She's my only surviving relative."
The woman's mouth made a horrified O. "No, no, that's not… necessary. I'm sorry about your parents." She trailed off awkwardly. One of my least favorite things about being an orphan, aside from the obvious, was that it made people feel uncomfortable around me. I hate awkward situations.
"Thank you." I said simply, taking my schedule from her. I had learned that thank you was the simplest response to expressions of sympathy. If you didn't elaborate, people were usually quick to change the subject. If they weren't, I was. "Uh, is there anybody who can show me where my first class is?"
"Of course there is, dear." The woman bustled from behind the desk, opened the office door and stopped a student at random, telling him where to take me.
The boy she stopped was beautiful. He was tall; probably a foot taller than me, and muscular. He was powerfully built, with wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered down to a narrow waist. He looked like the sort of guy that had attained his physique through work, rather than working out. His mouth was full, and perhaps a bit too wide, with an impossibly high Cupid's bow; his nose looked as though it had been broken at some point, giving him a roguish look. His hair was just long enough to reveal curls that looked like they'd never seen the business end of anything more than a quick rake of his hand. At first glance, I thought his hair was a deep gold, but as he turned his head, the light played on it, showing hints of red. The effect made his hair seem like flames atop his head. A few days growth covered his high cheeks and chin, and heavy brows sat atop strange, golden eyes. The effect was surprisingly wolf-like. His sleeves of his button down shirt were rolled back to reveal sinewy forearms that ended in the beautiful, long-fingered hands of an artist. The first moment, when his spicy, scent hit me, I was speechless.
In the moment it took me to regain my composure, he turned away from me and began to walk down one of the crowded corridors, with a long, rangy stride. He looked behind once with a raised eyebrow and an expression that said he didn't have all day to wait for me, and I followed, my shorter legs working hard to keep up with him. Tall people, and their ability to walk quickly without trying, have always irritated me. Well, tall people coupled with my own stature, at least, had always bothered me.
He stopped in front of a door, presumably the one to my class, but I'd been a bit preoccupied to notice where we were going, and asked me in a wonderfully deep, slightly hoarse-sounding voice if I needed directions to my next class. He nodded once when I said no, and disappeared into the crowd.
I was in a daze when I walked into class, but as the feeling wore off, it was replaced with irritation. Rudeness aside, being brushed off like that just plain stung. I kept my chin up, despite the blush I felt creeping into my cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I willed myself not to look grumpy, and surveyed the room, looking for a seat. I hadn't figured on the flame-haired boy being in such a hurry to get rid of me, and so I was earlier than I'd have liked to be. Only about one third of the seats in the class were full, and that made sitting down dangerous. Another thing I'd learned, in all my experience, was that inadvertently sitting in somebody's chair was not a good way to make friendly conversation. At the very least, they'd be irritated at having to say something, and there really wasn't a graceful way to apologize, stand up, and try to find another seat.
Almost as if to counter-balance the rudeness of my escort, who hadn't even bothered to tell me his name, no less, a friendly-looking girl wearing a long, flowing skirt, a pair of well-loved Birkenstocks, and bottle-green glasses motioned to a seat beside her. I gratefully slid into it with a relieved sigh.
"I'm Stella." I said, smiling in thanks.
"Laura." She smiled back at me, and her smile was the wide, perfect smile of somebody who until recently wore braces. Her hair was a short dark brown fringe that accentuated her long, graceful neck and shoulders. I was willing to bet my favorite new heels that she danced ballet without knowing more than her name. "Don't worry too much about Otis," she dismissed him with a graceful wave of her hand, "He's always like that. Nobody pays any attention to him anymore."
I blushed again, thinking that somebody had seen our interaction, or lack thereof. "So, he's always rude, then?" Instantly I cringed, no need to play catty on the first day, no matter how badly my feelings were hurt.
"No, he's not usually rude." She shook her head with far more energy than I would have attributed somebody with her grace, "He just doesn't… participate." She looked unsure for a moment if that was the right word before deciding it was with a sure little nod. "He's always polite, and once in a while, if something comes along that really catches his attention he can be great to talk to, but it takes a lot to inspire that sort of enthusiasm. So, most of us just forget Otis is there, and when we do remember, we just shake our heads and remind ourselves that he's a little odd."
Her explanation didn't make me forget how badly stung I'd felt, but it did make me feel a little better about whether or not anybody else had seen it. Yet another thing I'd learned is that if the wrong person branded you an outsider, you might as well pack it up and go home. At least he wasn't that guy.
Otis. I said the name to myself. For some reason, I liked having a name to go with the face, and I liked that I wasn't the only person to get stuck with a name that belonged in the first half of the century. Somehow, the decidedly un-beautiful name balanced out the too-beautiful face that owned it.
The two of us chatted easily for a few minutes, and then we were joined by a girl whose gold-blond hair, creamy skin, perfectly symmetrical features, and dark blue eyes made her easily the most beautiful person in the room. She didn't seem to notice that more than one of the guys in the room stopped talking to watch her cross to the seat on Lauren's other side. The girl walked easily, but not with Lauren's grace; if she'd had that, this girl would already have been on the great stages of New York. Lauren introduced her as Elaine, and soon as it was polite to do so, Elaine buried her perfect nose in a book and began to read with obvious relief.
Biology II passed uneventfully; this class seemed a little out of order compared to the one I'd transferred from. I didn't recognize the material they covered today, but if they followed the syllabus, they'd soon be repeating things I'd already learned. As the bell rang, Elaine offered to show me to my next class, which turned out to be Calculus.
Just as Elaine was about to leave for her own class, an excited voice called her name. I was surprised to see the brown boy, Bradley, standing next to her fidgeting with the strap of his brown backpack. "So, you've met Stella? That's cool. I, uh, showed her to the office today, and now here you are showing her to Calculus…" he trailed off, blushing.
Elaine looked at him coolly; to her credit only a very small smirk graced her perfect mouth. "Yes, we have Biology II together first period. I offered to show her the way here." A little mischief danced in her eyes, "I was going to walk her tomorrow, just to make sure she didn't get lost, but maybe you'd like to come get her from our class instead?" Her eyes were wide with innocence, but she had to have known that she'd just made Bradley's day by practically inviting him to visit her.
It was nice to walk into the class already knowing somebody, and within minutes, Bradley had introduced me to his friend David Malcolm. I was happy to find that this class was in the same place I'd been in California, and because math was my worst subject, I was delighted to have made friends with the best two students in the class on the first day.
David was the picture of what we'd called the alpha-geek at my old school. He was skinny with straight pants, ancient red Chuck Taylor's, and a t-shirt advertising some anime I'd never heard of. He was outgoing and sarcastic, and managed to slide a Monty Python reference into the first five minutes of our conversation. He and Bradley, who seemed to be relatively quiet on his own, spoke in some geek code that I couldn't always understand, but made me laugh when I did.
Economics was just across the hall, so I wasn't in need of an escort, but I was pretty sure that if Bradley had known that Lauren and Elaine, more specifically Elaine, was in the class I would have gotten an escort anyway. Lauren looked through the rest of my schedule and offered advice on different teachers, while Elaine who seemed completely absorbed in her book, occasionally offered her opinion, proving that she was paying close attention to the conversation. She seemed excited that we would share fifth period History, and promised me that the class would be interesting.
I found my way to English on my own, wishing I'd come across a snack machine on my way. The scant breakfast I'd eaten this morning was wearing pretty thin, and I decided I was really looking forward to lunch this period. It was on that happy note and with a smile on my face that I walked into the classroom.
When I saw him, I stopped abruptly, the smile falling away from my mouth. If there'd been a smile on his face, which I doubted, it was long gone when I saw him. Our eyes met for a moment, with an almost visible electrical crackle before I raised my chin and continued in to find a seat. As luck, or Otis's appalling manners would have it, all the empty chairs in the classroom were adjacent to his. I picked the one behind him on the right and sat down to fume. I already knew that I didn't share this class with anybody else I'd met, or Laura and Elaine would have told me. Unfortunately, sitting here glowering the way I was wouldn't earn me any new friends. The thought was enough to push my face into a smooth mask. Under the circumstances, it was the best I could do.
Needless to say, I didn't make any new friends before English started, but I was slightly gratified to see that Otis looked as tense as I felt. He never turned around to look at me, but I had the feeling he was aware of every move I made during the entire class. The jerk probably had eyes in the back of his horns.
So, if the company was bad, at least the class looked interesting. The instructor, Mr. Martinez, handed me a well-worn copy of Thomas Hardy's "Return of the Native", a book I'd already read and loved. I decided that reading about poor, doomed Eustacia Vye would probably cheer me up. In fact, her name alone (names worse than mine were rare) made me feel a little happier. I opened the book and scanned through the first chapter; the wild and desolate heath was the sort of place I'd like to visit someday.
Class ended after some reading, some discussion, and a writing assignment, and it was time for lunch. This class was in the last lunch period, and I already knew that I Lauren and Elaine had third lunch, so I wouldn't be able to sit with them. I hoped that I would see David or Bradley, and that they'd have an empty seat they wouldn't mind me taking. I smiled thinking that Bradley would definitely offer me a seat, just so he could talk to me about Elaine.
As luck would have it, neither David nor Bradley was in the cafeteria, so I was on my own. I scanned the landscape for an empty table, and again came up empty. I sighed in frustration, and then I saw him. He was sitting alone at a table, of course, and I decided that since it was his fault I'd been in too bad a mood to find a lunch companion before class he could just deal with sharing a meal with me.
I strode across the room purposefully, sat my plate at the seat in front of him, and sat down before he had time to react. "Hi, I'm Stella, and you would have already known that if you'd said one word to me this morning." I'd meant it to come out slightly teasing, but instead I sounded like an accusation.
"I knew your name when I walked you to class, and I'll bet you knew mine by the end of first period. Introductions seemed unnecessary." His weight shifted forward like he was about to stand.
"Everybody is looking at us. If you get up and walk away now, you'll draw unnecessary attention to yourself," I said calmly, taking a bite of my apple.
Without a sound, he eased back into his seat, but he didn't look happy about it. Several minutes passed as I ate my apple, and Otis didn't move. I'd never seen anybody so still in my life.
"Are you holding your breath?" I asked, unable to keep a slightly nasty edge out of my voice. Being around this guy was definitely bringing out the worst in me.
"Yes. I'm trying to commit suicide with the limited tools at my disposal right now. If you don't stop talking to me, I'm going to have to test the effectiveness of the plastic knife." His voice was less nasty than mine, but it was not at all friendly, either.
"Well, let me know how that turns out. I'll keep your fans," I motioned to the other students around us, "posted on your progress."
He chuckled at that one, and it was a nice throaty sound. Surprisingly, I found myself wanting to hear the laugh more than I wanted to make him scowl. It was still close, though.
"So, have you always lived here?" I asked him conversationally, taking a small bite of my pizza. Every cafeteria I've ever eaten in makes edible pizza and French fries. Everything else is a crap shoot.
"Oh, so we're friends now?" He asked me raising an eyebrow.
"Of course not," I replied acidly, "I'd like for everybody to see me making nice with you, and being pleasant, so that people don't think I'm as socially stunted as you." This was said with a smile, to make it appear to anybody watching, and a few still were, that we were having a normal conversation rather than raking the flesh from one another's bones.
"Well, then, in that case… My name is Otis Wallace, I moved here last year, I'm a Scorpio, and I enjoy amusement parks, ice fishing, and dining with pushy blondes." He smirked in my direction, "Please, tell me all about yourself."
"Fine, I'll play, but only because you asked me so nicely. My name is Stella Bard, I'm also a Scorpio, I live with my aunt, I enjoy art, flamenco dancing, and having bamboo shoots shoved under my fingernails. Lacking the bamboo shoots, I love dining with pushy, sarcastic boys who irritate the crap out of me." I smiled angelically.
"You live with your aunt, eh? Are you one of those problem teenagers whose parents can't cope with them and send them to stay with relatives, then tell people it's because they travel so much and it really isn't fair to keep jerking you out of schools?" He leaned forward, clearly enjoying our verbal sparring.
I, however, was no longer smiling. Tears sprang to my eyes, "My parents are dead, and despite it being unfair to move me somewhere new every six months, they took me everywhere they went." I stood up, and began walking to the door.
"Aw, crap." I heard Otis mutter behind me, the sound of his chair telling me he was following, "Stella, I'm sorry." He walked very close to me; to an outsider, it would look like we were leaving the cafeteria to take a walk together during the remainder of the hour.
We walked down the corridor in silence, and as fast as I walked, he was able to keep up effortlessly, which was just as well, because left to my own devices, I would have wandered aimlessly through the halls. Otis guided me through with a hand on my lower back, until we reached a doorway that led to a wide lawn with a baseball diamond and a small set of bleachers. He gently pushed me forward, until we were safe from prying eyes. My composure lasted only as long as it took him to whisper that it was safe, then the sobs that hadn't come since I'd heard about the accident coursed through my body.
Otis stood less than an arm's span behind from me; I could feel his presence, but he didn't move closer, and he didn't waste breath by murmuring stupid platitudes like it's going to be ok. For some strange reason, that made me feel comforted. When my crying began to subside, I felt his hand on my shoulder. I turned toward him, and he handed me a handkerchief. At any other moment, I'd have laughed at the absurdity of being handed a handkerchief, but in this moment, I was purely grateful that he had something for me to dry my eyes on.
"That was the first time, wasn't it?" His voice was quiet, and strong, and I knew that he was talking about my outburst.
"Yeah," I sniffed, "I was starting to feel inhuman. It's been three weeks since…" I whimpered, and the tears started again, but this time wordlessly.
"The first time's the worst. I'm sorry it was because of me." The apology in his voice was apparant.
"It had to happen sooner or later. I was enjoying myself up until the crying started."
He laughed. "We were arguing viciously and you were enjoying it? Either you're sick, or I'm that bad at it, and it's a miracle I don't have a whole slew of friends."
"Is this the part where I'm supposed to tell you that you aren't the monster you pretend to be?" My face was probably still pretty bleak looking, but resuming our banter was starting to make me smile a little. When I looked at Otis, though, he face was sort of sad looking.
"No, Stella, I am very definitely a monster." He shook his head, almost as though to clear the thought from his mind, "I'm not the boogeyman, though. I don't like to make little girls cry. Or mostly grown ones, for that matter." He hesitated for a moment, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"
I took a deep breath. "There really isn't much to tell. My father, the Major, was in the military, and my mother was the perfect officer's wife. We were the perfect All-American patriotic family; the Major wouldn't have it any other way. We moved a lot. A lot." I emphasized, in case he hadn't grasped the point. "The Major was raising me to be superhuman, I think. My whole life has been in preparation for a life in the military. I'm fluent in three languages, I hold a black belt in both Judo and Isshinryu karate, and I took dance for five years. I ride at advanced intermediate level, I have my SCUBA certification, and I can fly a plane. I'm not even eighteen," I laughed bitterly, "and I can fly a plane.
"Anyway, the being the perfect daughter thing was starting to get old, I guess. That's the only reason I can think of for the whole teenage rebellion thing. I dyed my hair, which drove the Major crazy; I refused to take the ASVAB, which made him nearly murderous. We weren't really on speaking terms when he died.
"There was a ball we were supposed to attend," my words came more slowly now that I was getting to the hard part, "It was some diplomat's something or other thing. We had something different every week, and I stopped keeping up a long time ago. Anyway, some of my friends from school had invited me to a concert. I really wanted to go, but my father refused. He told me, 'Duty comes first, then fun.'
"I've put his duties first my whole life. In fact, his duties were my whole life. My whole life. So, I got the scissors and destroyed the gown I was supposed to wear, which is a shame, because it was really pretty, and I was looking forward to wearing it, and we fought like crazy. Finally, they left without me, and the major promised that he was sending me to a military school when they got back, but that never happened."
He'd mentioned his parents, and I wanted to ask him about it, but I hesitated before deciding I had nothing to loose.
He told me that his story was basically the same, minus the three languages and flying lessons, but that his father had outlived the argument and sent him off, like he'd threatened, and that they never got past their resentment of one another, and then his father took ill suddenly and died.
"I tried to forgive him, but the best I can come up with is the knowledge that however big a mistake it turned out to be, my father was doing what he believed was the best thing. He was imperfect, but he was trying to be a good father."
I told him that I wanted to forgive my dad, but that I was having trouble with it.
"Are you still mad at him?" he asked, giving me a long look.
I sighed again, and looked out at the field and though for a long moment before I answered, "Yes. I'm still mad that he couldn't think beyond his own ambitions to give me a chance to find my own. I'm angry that I was too passive-aggressive to just tell him how I felt instead of doing things that I knew would hurt him. I'm pissed off that his quick-fix was to ship me off like a defective appliance, rather than try to make me happy. And, I'm so pissed off that he went and died in the middle of the biggest fight we ever had that I can hardly stand myself.
"And, of course, I feel bad about that." The last a whisper so low I didn't think it was possible for Otis to hear me, but somehow, he did.
"Of course you feel bad about it," he agreed, "You're only human, after all." His voice was low and understanding.
"Being human sucks." I muttered, proud that bitterness only tinged my voice.
"The alternative is worse." He assured me.
I thought about it for a moment before replying, "I'd like to be a jelly fish, 'cause jelly fish don't pay rent."
Otis groaned loudly. "Jimmy Buffett? Really? You're going to quote Jimmy Buffett right now?"
"Remember that concert I mentioned?" I said grinning broadly. Just like that, the dark mood passed, at least for the time being.
"Of course you're a parrot-head," he said with a roll of his eyes, "I've known you for an hour, and already you're the most impossible person I've ever met in my life."
"Look who's talking!" I shot back, "You're like social cyanide."
"Oh, I like that one. Mind if I adopt it as my online handle?"
"Be my guest. It suits you," I laughed, really laughed, like I hadn't since before the accident, "Just remember whose idea it was."
"Come on, we'd better head in. I'll even show you to your next class."
"Oh, goody. Will you also pretend I don't exist?" I deadpanned.
"I'll do you one better, Stella," Otis countered, "I'll pretend you're something that needs to be scraped from the bottom of my shoe."
"Sold." I agreed, as we walked companionably toward the building.
As it turns out, Otis and I had fifth period history and sixth period PE together. I was grateful that PE was last; nothing sucked worse than being sweaty and overheated the rest of the day. In history, I chose a seat between Otis and Bradley, and started gabbing, thanking him in advance for helping me find calculus the next morning. He was polite, but even though I'd expected him to jump head first into a conversation about Elaine, he seemed reserved. The dark-haired boy sitting next to him snickered, but when I looked at him, he tried to cover his mouth, and pretend he was coughing.
I was in a social danger zone. On one hand, I was being laughed at, which is never good on the first day, on the other hand, making a big deal about it could make it worse. I was trying to decide how best to proceed, when Lauren floated into the room with an amused expression in her eyes.
"Hey, Stella!" She greeted me warmly, "I was going to introduce you to Bradley's twin brother, Brady, but I see you've already met him. The dork behind him is Matt."
"Sorry, Stella," Brady smiled as he offered his hand, "It just seemed rude to stop you. Also, you can bet I'm going to be giving Bradley a hard time about taking you to class tomorrow."
"Don't worry," Lauren chimed in, seeing the anxious expression in my eyes, "The two of them are always like that. You didn't give him fuel so much as you gave him a new angle on an old story."
I wondered how long Bradley had harboring a not-so-secret crush on Elaine.
"OK, you got me," I smiled and eyed Brady's distinctly non-earth tone jeans, the acid green t-shirt, and black glasses, "But I won't make that mistake again."
"Sure you will," Brady said, his voice teasing, "Bradley and I are alike in every way except our sense of fashion, our interests, and who we hang out with."
"So, you share a last name, and maybe a bedroom?" I asked, playing along with his joke.
"Not much else." Matt chimed in, having gotten over his sudden coughing fit.
We chatted for another few minutes before the bell rang, and Otis was neither a part of the conversation nor separate from it, a concept that puzzled my outgoing brain. He never contributed to the conversation, and didn't seem expected to, but the conversation flowed around him, almost companionably, anyway.
During most of the day, Stella's new teachers had just let her integrate herself into the class; one had introduced her to the other students, but even she hadn't made Stella stand up. Mr. Perrigan, the history teacher, on the other hand made her stand up and answer a bevy of crazy questions.
"Good afternoon," he'd greeted her, "I trust you're enjoying your first day here?"
"Yes, sir," I replied with ease, "So far everybody I've met has been very helpful and friendly." I had no fear of speaking in front of the class, although it was my least favorite way to spend a first day.
"Great. Please introduce yourself, tell us one thing about yourself, and tell me your favorite moment in American history."
I couldn't believe he managed all that with a smile. I took a deep breath, and tried to think of something interesting about myself that didn't seem freakish.
"My name is Stella Bard, my favorite sugar cookies are my favorite, as long as they're soft. If they're hard, I prefer peanut butter, and my favorite moment in history is the caning of Senator Charles Sumner." I started to sit down.
Mr. Perrigan eyed her thoughtfully, "For those you who are unfamiliar with the story, during the debates on whether to admit Kansas to the Union as a free state or a slave state, Senator Sumner delivered a rather passionate speech during which he was very critical of both the Illinois Senator, Stephen Douglas and the Senator from South Carolina, Andrew Butler, who were both supporters of Kansas being admitted as a slave state. One of Senator Butler's contemporaries, Representative Preston Brooks took offense to the speech, and entered the Senate chambers with a cane and beat him half to death with a walking cane. While he didn't die, and eventually recovered enough to resume his seat in the senate, in the northern states, Senator Sumner became a martyr to the cause, and in the South, Representative Brooks received barrels full of walking sticks from his adoring public.
"That is a very Interesting choice, Miss Bard." He finished while the class laughed at the story.
I glanced to my left and noticed that even Otis was smiling, and for some reason that made feel happy.
As much as I enjoy history, I was ecstatic when the bell finally rang. I'd been looking forward to PE since lunch; I hoped that today wouldn't be one of those lame days, like square dancing. I needed some action today, even if it was just running laps around the gym. In the event I was disappointed by the class activity today, I was prepared to stay after school and get to know the track.
Getting to know the track was a game my dad made up when I was little and didn't want to go running. He would tell me that I should get to know every crack and bump in the track, and treat them like old friends. It worked, because for years, I'd jog my laps and say hello to all of the cracks, and even call them by the names I made up for them. When I was struggling for my first mile, I'd remind myself that I had to say hi four times, when I was working my four miles, I'd visit 16 times. I'd stopped talking to the track years ago, but the habit to memorize all the cracks was firmly ingrained in my personality.
I was pleasantly surprised in PE. Ms. Brenner, the tough-looking old bird that ran the class decided to allow a free day; we could to do whatever we wanted, so long as we were moving. I smiled happily at the lack of restrictions, and challenged Otis to a game of one-on-one. We'd barely been playing five minutes when I noticed a group of guys looking longingly in our direction. I suggested we switch to three-on-three, and Otis and I would act as team captains.
The competition was fierce; at least once the walk-ons got the idea that it wasn't a good idea to go easy on my, but no matter how hard I played, Otis was just a little bit better than I was. It was a challenging game, but not so off balance that I felt like victory was forever out of sight. I'd had worse first days, so all in all, I was feeling pretty good about things as I walked back to my car after the last bell rang.