Just a Little Luck
6
The kids at school didn't like her at all. They pointed at her skin, sunburnt and peeling from the summer still, and whispered about her clothes, all winter appropriate with long sleeves, jeans, and scarves. Even the teachers stared at her openly, and tittered about how strange her family was. Amanda felt like a freak.
Ray didn't speak to her after the incident in class, and there weren't any clubs for her to join. Cliques were formed but she wasn't able to squeeze into any of them—didn't put her hair in curls, wear long, Victorian-era dresses or listen to the same music—so she was pretty much friendless.
Every day it was the same: get up, choke down breakfast, pretend that she wasn't dying of solitude in class, eat lunch by herself, class again, and then home, where she did her homework up in her room quietly, ate her dinner, and went to bed. With every rise and set of the sun, the pattern was like clockwork.
About a month into the school year, fall officially burning into the tip of winter, Amanda stumbled across the tombstones. Late in the post-school afternoon, with the sun blotted out by the clouds and a chilly breeze picking up from the east, she explored the woods behind her house, dry leaves crunching underneath her sneakers, hiding dips and roots.
As soon as she'd gotten home, her face splotchy with a flush of embarrassment hidden underneath her russet complexion, she changed into a v-neck long-sleeved shirt and jeans. With a quick kiss to Mrs. Benson's cheek, she bounded off to the woods—her newfound safe haven from the snarky comments from Josh as he went to his friends' house—and picked up a huge stick to poke around in the leaves.
She wasn't entirely sure how she ended up in the little canal, dry during the fall and blistering summer, but her butt was bruised and her elbow was skinned raw, a dusting of dry dirt stuck to the bloody skin.
The sun was blazing above her, having eased its way out from behind a cluster of thick, nearly opaque clouds, and warmed her face and her eyelids. She sighed heavily and draped her arm across her eyes, blocking out the sun.
In the distance, a dog barked but the sound echoed across the quiet roads. Despite kids being out and about, relishing in the cold weather and cloudy days, they were unnaturally quiet. Every time she saw the clusters of pale, graceful kids, she felt a spasm of loneliness and fear, missing her loud neighborhood with screaming and laughter and profanity while skirting around her new neighborhood's tendencies. Even Josh, irritating, know-it-all, moody Josh, had friends, while Amanda was left alone.
This is stupid, she thought fiercely, picking out the shredded remains of a dry leaf out of her scraped elbow. Tears sprang to her eyes. This is so stupid, this entire place. All the people—I hate them. Grinding her teeth, she pushed herself onto her knees and when she went to stand, she scraped her shoe on something stony. Startled, she shifted and looked over her shoulder.
Dozens of long, crooked shapes rose out of the bed of matted leaves, evenly spaced about. At first, she couldn't figure out what a giant Lego would be doing in the woods, because that's what it looked like. It took her a minute to realize what they were—headstones. Grave markers. As in dead bodies underneath the soggy ground, someone's loved ones lying under the ground, rotting away.
Her stomach lurched ferociously as she stared at them, hundreds of them, a sea of broken, crumbling arches, with washed-off letters or dates. She got to her knees and stared at the chipped letters that read "196…in loving mem…Jas…n", feeling her heart shatter in a million fragments at the sight of kids her age, maybe older, her grandparents age, left to rot in this desolate forest without any type of daily maintenance.
In loving memory my ass, she thought, pressing her fingertips against the etching, feeling tiny crumbs of stone fall onto her skinned knee. Wincing as they did, she noticed the dark shape drifting between the trees, a very human shape.
"Hello?" she called out to the figure, squinting into the glare of the sun. A cloud drifted across its glare, and she frowned when the figure seemingly vanished out of thin air, stepping behind a tree and never re-emerging. Dusting off her legs, she stood and walked slowly in the direction of the tree where the figure had hidden behind. She peered around the side and found no one.
Unsettled, she turned and headed back the way she'd come, humming softly to herself as she tested each step for hidden roots and logs. As she broke the tree line, she squinted down the road and spotted a stooped figure sitting on one of the porch steps that remained standing. Her feet slowed to a sluggish pace as her mind flew through the possibilities of who'd be sitting on her porch steps.
Mr. Benson was down at the local barbershop, getting his haircut, and Mrs. Benson was grocery shopping, having dragged a kicking, screaming Josh along ("mother-son bonding," she declared) so that smothered those possibilities.
As she drew closer and closer, she could make out a shock of vivid hair, long legs. Definitely male, if the sagging pants with an obnoxious tuft of fabric above the waistline was any indicator. A flash of bone white as he lifted his hand to his face.
Her steps slowed to a walk, dragging on the asphalt beneath her. Thick, harsh words gummed up her throat and made it hard to breathe, her nostrils flaring with every breath.
We aren't crazy.
It's not like an outsider like you would understand. Ray and I have been friends for years, all of us have. We're family.
She needs to learn her place, Ray.
Then, the whispers. Cruel comments.
That hair, so stringy and flat.
That skin, too tan to be natural.
I heard she's a lesbian.
She doesn't shave her legs, that's so gross!
How can she bear to wear all those layers? It's so nice out!
She gritted her teeth angrily and stomped up the driveway, yanking her hair into a droopy ponytail.
The figure on the steps stood up, wiping his hands on his t-shirt. Long, muscular legs encased with basketball shorts and ending in scuffed white sneakers that looked years old.
Sneering, she looked into the face and froze.
Pale eyelashes framed his pale lace-cap eyes.
Ray offered a tiny smile but Amanda didn't smile back.