In the last chapter, we met Riley and Sanford for the first time and they met each other for the first time. Riley seems to be interested in Sanford a bit and is clearly being nice to him but let's see how far this story takes them.
It was after school.
Riley stood at the steps of a small but tall red brick house, looking up at the windows.
"Sanford, a friend's here for you." His mother, Winefred Clark, called. (AN: Her name actually IS Winefred Clark, she's the sister of the murderer Gordon Stewart Northcott. Dayum, look who did her research!)
He walked towards the entrance and poked his head through the gap he had made with the door.
She smiled, "Hi—"
When he saw her face he quickly poked his head back in and without consent, his arm shut the door in her face.
She stood there for a couple of seconds, replaying the image of the shut door in her head with a cocked eye brow. She outlandishly turned around to walk back home but the door opened again.
He held it, not fully allowing her to enter but giving her enough grant to at least speak to him. "Sorry." He apologized awkwardly, not knowing himself why he closed the door.
She walked back up. "Hi. I'm Riley, from school."
"Yeah," he already knew her name. "I remember."
"Well, we've officially moved in." she turned to the side and pointed her finger at a small white house. "See? Four houses down." She looked back at him. "Mom told me to say hi."
He nodded, the look on his face a bit defensive but inquiring at the same time.
"Mind if I ask a question?" She cocked her eye brow and her face illustrated the look of curiosity. "Why are you so quiet?"
An awkward breath of laughter escaped and he cocked his eyebrow. "Uhh," Well, she's forthright. So he began rummaging through those files again. Why was he so quiet? Since when did Sanford Clark, the kid with so many friends become scared of his classmates? Then thoughts came rushing back to him, he felt his grip tighten around the door. He held back the memories. "Just a quirk, I guess." He said with hesitation.
A smile began to form on her mouth. "You are bizarre."
He didn't exactly respond, unable to recognize fascination.
"Well, there's another reason why I'm here." She moved on. "My father's working on a swing set for my sister. We're a little short handed, I was wondering if you knew your way around tools?"
Tools, no way. Not tools. He's seen and used enough tools. Enough to mentally scar him.
"I can't."
She cocked an eye brow.
"I've just… Got English homework I have a few problems with."
"Oh," She said disappointedly. They both said nothing. Riley turned back and walked down the steps. Sanford couldn't unearth the power to close the door.
Which was good because she turned her head back around. "Maybe I could help you sometime with English, if you're having some trouble."
With a look of disbelief, he shrugged and spoke "Y-yeah, sure."
Riley skipped back to her backyard and her father greeted her with a sigh and put down his tools. "Where were you off to?"
Riley sat by the half completed swing set. "I just asked if Sanford Clark wanted to help out."
"Darn it, Riley, leave the poor kid alone. The last thing a boy like him needs is a girl like you poking his neck."
Her breath escaped sharply. "I can't! He's the top candidate for my new project. I've decided to invest quite a good deal of hope into this discovery."
Riley's defense hit her father like rubber hits glue, he was too busy drumming a nail between a stubborn wood plank.
When Sanford shut the door he was startled by something and almost forgot to lock it. It was his mother, greeting him from the back with her arms folded before her chest and eyes bawling for an explanation.
"Who was that?"
Sanford sighed through his teeth. "Classmate. No one, Mom." He had his eye on the staircase and headed for it until his mother halted him with a palm on his shoulder.
"I heard her invite you over for something," Mrs. Clark smiled kindly, letting go of her son and taking hold on the small towel by her shoulder. She wiped the tips of her fingers and walked slowly to the kitchen. "You should go over, be a part of the community."
He made it as far as their front steps. The floor was bare of a doormat and the doorknob was coated perfectly with golden paint. Was it really okay to hit his coarse knuckles against such a fine door? He figured someone else was going to do so anyways so might as well be him. But Sanford couldn't bring himself to do it.
"Hey, there."
He turned his head to search for the origin of the voice and saw a middle aged man with a soaked blouse and bruised hands. He had his torso poked out from the white fence that bordered from the middle of the house.
Sanford walked down the front steps and over to the mysterious man. "Is this the Fischer residence?"
With just a small nod and smile, the man instantly became the second adult Sanford was friends with besides teachers and his parents. The first was Dan the mailman.
"Riley's not here, sorry to say." Mr. Fischer said. "helping her mother grocery shop for dinner."
"That's fine." He shrugged. "I'm just here to help out. I heard you were making a play set or something."
"Mighty kind of you," said Mr. Fischer, taking the fence door in his hand and opening it for Sanford to come in.
The boy took off his hat, running his fingers messily through his locks and taking a good look at the garden he'd never seen except from outside. "Are you working with pre-chopped wood, sir?"
"Sure thing. Why?"
A 700 pound weight was lifted off his shoulder. "No special reason, sir."
Riley returned home to a beautiful melon colored sky and the sound of silence when she had expected to hear the striking of a hammer. She stepped into the house to find her father taking in a cool glass of water with his wife stocking the refrigerator up with vegetables and frozen fish.
"Done already?" Riley took a seat by the tiny dining room table. Her baby sister, who sat on the corner of the room copied her big sister, saying "already" with the baby-ish talent she had of taking her r's and turning them into w's.
"Surprisingly, yes," her father said. "Your friend Sanford came to lend a hand. Good boy."
Riley's green eyes widened at this and she sucked on her lower lip in thought. "Really?"
The final school bell rang. Riley tripped on the third front step of the school trying to catch up to Sanford Clark.
"Hey!"
He cocked his head back and saw Riley Fischer, who else.
"Who's your teacher?" She caught up.
Sanford's brow raised. "What?"
"Your English teacher," she said this as if it was a matter a fact thing.
"Mrs. Samuels, why?"
"Well, I'll have to know who your teacher is if I'm going to help you with English." She walked on ahead of him, leading the way to his own home.
"Listen," He caught up with her, "You don't gotta do this."
"But I told you I'd help you out with English someday and you did me a solid by helping out my father. Besides," She spun around her right heel, her dress and hair flying with her as she turned to face him. "I heard you're terrible at English." She walked on.
He was left there, mouth half open in skepticism that he'd just been insulted.
Nonetheless, Riley was right. Sanford had given five months of schooling, among many other things, to his revolting cousin Gordon. Over the months, he'd lost sight of some things but not many. Most of the therapists and adults he talked to assumed that the terrifying, more recent memories he'd been through over at Northcott ranch buried any remaining memories with any importance such as math or whether e indeed did equal mc2. But the truth was that he remembered these things. He almost depended on these things. Late at night when there'd be nothing left but the demons of his guilt to be afraid of, he'd look back to what Mrs. Lowe had said about exponential growth. Things like literature? Things that need heart, morality, and love were what were hard. Anything good and sweet like that, he'd buried down with the kids at Northcott.
This was why Riley was in front of him now, back against his couch and reading on of the poems he'd written and gotten a D over. Sanford sat in front of the coffee table before the couch, his palm holding his cheek, awaiting some sort of response.
She laughed and put the page down. "This isn't a poem. This is a shopping list. Or something with heart equivalent to that."
He took the page back and stuffed it back in his bag crossly. He cleared his throat and said in defense, being embarrassed for the first time in a long time, "It's not like I spent a huge amount of time working on it."
"That's problem number one." Riley started, clearing her throat and straightening her back for a very sophisticated voice she was preparing to exercise. "A poet must always dedicate a fair amount of his daily routine to his art." She stuck her tongue out teasingly. "Then again, I'm not a poet. I'm a scientist," she said proudly.
She read the disbelief on his face like a person reads a pamphlet.
Riley rolled her eyes, "I know what you're thinking. Biology, not my best subject but I can't help myself." Her voice softened and the glow in her eyes grew and some of it escaped from her mouth as she spoke, "I want to be a scientist."
She shook her head and brought herself back to English. "But I managed to get an A- on my last poem."
She pulled it out of her notebook and handed it over to the boy who put it down after a few glances.
"This is about mustard and ketchup."
Riley scoffed. "So?"
"Who's your teacher?"
"Miss Coleman." She answered, openly.
"That's why. Coleman's one of the easiest graders at Brickwall."
She frowned in incredulity. "Want my help or not?"
He sighed, deciding that beggars can't be choosers.
"It doesn't matter what its about. As long as you have passion for it." She propped her elbows onto the coffee table and held the sides of her face. "Now," she started, impishly. "What do you have passion for?"
"Passion?"
"Or hate, actually. A person like you would typically relate to the more cynical sides of poetry better. Tell me about the trauma in your life."
"Trauma?" He swallowed.
"Yeah."
"I'd rather not think about it."
"Come on."
Sanford was beginning to sweat, there wasn't a day when he'd forget about Northcott ranch. He came so close to not thinking about it but there it was again, irking him. With every blink he took, he heard the sound of axe hitting bone. He tried hard to keep his eyes open because of this and his eyes began to water- it actually wouldn't have made a difference if he closed his eyes or opened them.
Riley leaned in closer to inspect the expression on his face which she'd never seen before. "What are you thinking about, Sanford Clark?"
He was pulled back to reality and he wanted so desperately to retreat back to his room and be left alone. He could not do it. Switch back and forth from a world where he could have friends and he could talk to Riley Fischer normally and the world of reality where he wasn't a good person and could never be a good friend.
"Uhm," Sanford swallowed. "Nothing."
Her bright eyes sparkled and broadened, "You are bizarre."
He threw his hand on the table and turned his head away, "Stop saying that." The silence begged for the question to be asked. "Why are you here, Riley."
She sat back against the couch with a cocked eye brow but played along. "I told you, I said I'd help you out with Engli—
He cut in. "No, not like that." He scratched his head. "Why are you talking to me?"
She began to take offense. "Am I not allowed to?"
"You don't want to be friends with me, Riley."
She pursed her lips and spoke through the corner of her mouth, "Interesting", and pulled out a pencil and opened up her notebook to an arbitrary page.
"People avoid me for a reason, people stare and mark down and hate for a reason." Sanford declaimed. "But that doesn't even scrape off the icy surface of what I deserve to be treated like."
She looked up from her notebook, "this some line from a novel?"
He tugged on his bangs from irritation. "What? No—
"Good." She looked back down at her notes.
"You don't get it—." he took a breath, "Stop trying to be nice to me, trust me when I say I don't deserve it."
She looked up for the last time, her notes ready for his confirmation. She drove the notebook before him with her forefingers. "Take a gander."
Sanford took a break from his rant to see what she'd been writing.
You don't want to be friends with me
People avoid me for a reason
People stare
People mark down
People hate for a reason.
It doesn't begin to scrape off the icy surface of what I deserve.
Stop being nice
So trust me
When I say I don't deserve it.
"That's all you," she said.
He looked up from the page. "She'll never buy anything this lame."
"Excellent work, Mr. Clark." Mrs. Samuels said with a smile, bringing her fingers up to lift the delicate ends of her glasses. "You've managed to express a slice of your life as poetry. Do you see where art is derived from? It is derived from the soul."
He pulled the strap of his book bag over his shoulder. "I understand, ma'am."
"Good work." With her consent, he was allowed to leave the classroom.
Sanford had lost ten minutes of his lunch time to Mrs. Samuel's praise but it was worth it for a B+. While he ate his chocolate pudding he thought about how that glossy new grade would look on his report card.
But all thoughts escaped him once Riley propelled her tray before him, granting herself a seat before him right after.
"How did it go?" She beamed sweetly.
His chocolate pudding hit his tray and he gave in to the urge of glancing to his side and take a good look at the table. He secretly readied himself for glares, he was sure they were eyeing him. This hadn't confirmed his prediction. The nasty glares weren't directed at him this time. No, he was certain they were looking at Riley.
He whispered, "What are you doing?"
"I bet she liked it" She laughed, penetrating the thin membrane of her juice box with a straw. She took a sip, "so listen, I have something to tell you."
He was hardly listening to her. Sanford kept looking back at the table, they kept staring at her- eyeing her- marking her down- turning her into an animal in their minds. He gritted his teeth and drove her tray to her chest. "Get out of here," he said. With that, he seized his tray into his arms and stormed out, heading for the closest disposing bin.
Riley looked down with a grimace, going over what he had said in her head. Eventually she settled on an suitable verdict. She pulled up behind him and pinched his arm to catch his attention, "What's your problem?"
He shook his head, stuffing his tray with the rest of the used dining ware and muttered under his breath, "From the top of the list?"
When he turned around to sit back at his table, he took a glance at Riley's face and couldn't muster up the leg power to walk away. She stared at him, biting her entire lower lip like she was trying desperately hard to intimidate him and not look down like a defeated coward ling.
He took a breath and said quietly, "we can't be friends."
The bell rang and the two looked up. The tables began clearing themselves.
Riley took one last look at Sanford. "I thought we already were", and stormed away to the opposite direction.
Riley kicked the fence door open, deciding she wanted to cool off on the swing set. Her bag was thrown on the floor and she gave it an extra kick to release some of her frustration.
Her mother stuck her head out the kitchen window, "Hey, cool it Riley! What's wrong, babe?"
She sighed loudly, "It's over, he's a failure as a candidate."
Mrs. Fischer heaved a sigh, "maybe its for the best."
"Right," Riley mouthed, rolling her eyes.
Knock Knock Knock, Knock Knock Knock
Both Mrs and Miss Fischer looked up.
Sanford pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his free hand stuffed in his pocket and fidgeting with a paper clip as he waited for the door to open. But he heard a voice from his side instead
"What do you want?" Riley had her body lunged over the fence, her light eyebrows so tightly pressed against the top of her eyes and filled with a charming rage.
Sanford walked down the steps and readied himself for an apology. "I'm sorry for how I said some stuff." Her neutral expression called for more. He cleared his throat, not being prepared with anything else to say. "Thanks for the poem," he forced a weak smile on his face. "I'll go now."
"Come on." She opened up the fence door. "There's something I still have to tell you."
There was a silence as he followed her into the garden. She saw him look around.
"Like the house?" She said, sitting down on the swing set. She suddenly looked up with her fingers pressed against her lips, "Whoops, I forgot you've already been here."
He put his bag down, taking some time to run his hand over the swing. "No, I like it."
She looked up in thought, "I think I like your house better. Your mom's got nice drapes." He said nothing. "Your house still looks new, how long have you lived there?"
He drew his hand back. "My whole life," he lied.
"Wow, your dad must take care of the place good." She laughed under her breath. "My dad's a dunce with tools and stuff like that. Our last house was a mess."
"But where did you live before coming to Vancouver?"
"Chicago."
He looked up. "America?"
Riley laughed, "Of course."
His face stiffened and like a kid who'd been caught in a game of hide-and-seek, the game was over. He was back at square one. She must know. She must know about Gordon. She must know about Collins. There's not a person in the world that hasn't heard about the Collins kid. She must know about me.
"I've got to go, Riley." He started for the fence but took a step back, only to grab his bag.
"What!"
He took his first steps away from her and she stood up, not bothering to even dust off the sawdust off her dress from the brand new swing set.
"Wait, Sanford, don't go!" She clenched her fists. "There's something I haven't told you yet!"
He'd concocted somewhere up in his mind that she was conspiring against him the entire time, she knew. She had to have known and now she was going to open her mouth and tell him all about her repugnance and loathing for animals of his kind. He didn't desire to hear what she had to say. He just turned around and lifted his foot, about to take his first last step out her property.
She bit her lip in annoyance and pounded her fist against her dress, she'd decided to tell him whether or not he wanted to hear. "Sanford Clark!" She pointed. "You have been specially selected out of a collection of candidates and specimens to be my new project."
He turned around, the look on his face pricelessly confused. "Excuse me?"
Riley sighed, releasing her clutch on her dress and letting out a breath she did not know she had been holding. Biting her lip, she let her eyes roll to the corner of her eye while she thought. She'd decided. "Come with me."
The look on Sanford's face had not changed. He blinked and realized that he had been standing that way for quite a while and Riley was by the doorway.
"Well, hurry up!"
And it was as if a remarkable current of air had run through the open doors and clutched onto Sanford's wrist. And it tugged, and Sanford followed Riley.
"I am about to show you something I have never ever shown to any other kid except for myself." She blocked the door marked "RILEY'S ROOM" with her entire body, arms stretched over the walls. Then she raised her arms and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him against the wall brutally: "You have to promise not to talk about this with anyone other than me!"
He was startled by her sudden zeal and fume and yelled a little louder than the voice in his head did, "I promise!"
Riley was amazed by his abrupt gusto and a smile began to form on her face, as if she was sure that she wanted Sanford to be the first kid to see whatever it was she was hiding behind her door.
Without further a due, she opened up the door.
The first thing Sanford saw was a few boxes around the corner of the room and a small messy bed but he looked up and saw over the short Riley's head, a desk covered with empty jam jars, tiny boxes, and coca-cola bottles.
After further inspection, he noticed strange greenish molds in about five or four jars, gummy black gunk in the rest, and even some bottles with colorfully angular things he couldn't make out lodged inside of them. On the wall before the desk were images of the loch ness monster, the elephant man John Merrick, and first hand interviews with Big Foot's wife.
She watched his dazed expression proudly. "Impressive are they not?"
Sanford said nothing.
"I've got one of the most remarkable collections of bizarre things in the entire continent." She beamed. "Wanna know my dream?" She sat down on the bed. "I want to open up a museum."
Despite his silence, Sanford was especially fascinated at this point.
"Imagine it!" She stood up again. "RILEY FISCHER'S REMARKABLE MUSEUM OF THE BIZARRE!" Riley giggled, "See this here?" she brought the largest jar up to his face. "These are the rotting remains of a seven legged spider."
He jumped, taking a step away from it as Riley picked up the bottle beside it.
"This coca-cola bottle supposedly had a severed thumb floating inside of it." She put it down and took in her hands a tiny blue box.
"This is a sixth leaved clover."
Sanford wasn't afraid to bring his face closer to this one, a clover seemed hardly dangerous.
"That was before my baby sister Lilly harked it back out after eating it," Sanford drew his face back. "Now it's a 1 and a half leaved clover."
Sanford still couldn't find anything to say.
"And this," Riley's voice softened and her hand reached for the right desk drawer and her delicate fingers wrapped around a notebook. She held it, softer than the rest of the things she had so enthusiastically brought to Sanford's face. "This is you."
He looked at her then back at the notebook. He flipped the pages quickly. "There's nothing in it."
"Yet." She smiled, taking out a piece of paper from the same drawer. "Sign this, Sanford. It's the official contract."
The childish handwriting, how the lines were written in a slight slant, it was almost laughable. Yet Sanford read the thing with as much vigor and sincerity as that reflected in her eyes.
"In exchange of me helping you with your homework every day, I expect, in return, a session at the end of each visit regarding your bizarre behavior."
He looked up at her. The situation begged for the question "Are you serious?" but the look on her face made the question obsolete.
He felt as though he'd go to hell if he denied.
He raised the contract to her. "I can't, Riley."
Out of the blue, a knock on the door.
Riley shifted her eyes from the contract to her mother, who stood leaning against the door with a smile plastered on her face, then back to the contract. She snatched it out of his hands and behind her back.
The two shakily turned themselves to Mrs. Fischer, heels together.
"I don't believe we've met, Sanford." Mrs. Fischer strolled towards him. She was a thin woman, her hair in tight red curls and her face was bright and beautifully crafted. But Sanford noticed that her beauty was different to that of Riley's. While Mrs. Fischer's friendly air and disposition was much like Riley's, as was Mr. Fischer's persistence and enthusiasm but none of their physical attributes did Sanford see in Riley's face.
Sanford ran his fingers through his hair before reaching over to shake Mrs. Fischer's hand. "Sanford Clark, ma'am."
"I know who you are, honey." She beamed. "I want to thank you for letting Riley feel so at home here in Vancouver. I hope she hasn't been exasperating you too much."
Riley blushed, "Mom." She groaned.
"Will you be joining us for supper?"
"No, ma'am." Sanford was quick with his answer. "I actually should be heading home now. Mom will be worried."
"Right, dear." She smiled, watching Sanford make his way out the room. "Tell your mother hello for me."
Riley saw the contract in her hand and jumped up. "Sanford wait!" she took his hand in hers and for a moment, startled him with the touch of her hand for the first time. She slipped the contract into his hand and said "Please sign it, Sanford."
I must have read this contract about fifty times. Thinking this, he had to propel himself away from his desk and give himself a good slap on the face to wake himself up. Calling this a "contract"? This was a piece of schoolbook paper. You could see the rips she had made when pulling it out of the paperback.
"She spelled pledge with two 'g's." Sanford muttered beneath his breath. I'm not actually thinking of signing this am I?
But then he saw her face pop up in his head. Her smile had him let go of all his arrogance; it didn't matter if the contract was written in crayon or blood. It mattered even less if he got homework out of the deal or not.
Little thought passed through his mind when he signed the contract that night.
Anyone would have laughed at this sight. A folded up sheet of inky white paper held between Sanford's rugged, scarred hands and Riley whose hands were as fair and supple as a daisy petal. This person would have laughed even harder at Riley's face when she took the paper by both hands and saw his signature written below in blue ink.
Her face rose from the contract and the glow in her eyes shook as her gaze seared deep into Sanford's consciousness and good will.
With her unchanged face she spoke quickly, without a second thought, "May I hug you Sanford Wesley Clark?"
He lost his balance a bit at this, comically pulling his bag strap further over his shoulder and with a red face, muttering a stutter, "D-don't do that."
She saluted him gladly, "Understood."
Riley lifted up her hand, awaiting his. She took his bruised paw and gave it a good business man shake. And with the same bright welcoming smile she'd greeted him with every morning; she opened her delicate mouth and spoke, "Welcome to the Remarkable Museum of the Bizarre."
She'd told him to meet her by the bus stop bench about half a block away from Brickwall High for their first examination which would be held at Riley's garden. She'd arrived at the meeting place ten minutes earlier than he.
They then made their way to Riley's garden, chatting about Charlie Chaplin on the way while exchanging thoughts about Principal Powell at the same time. This continued on even through halfway of their examination. They started with Sanford's English Homework first, giving them a total of twenty minutes for inspection time.
Sanford was secretly worried the whole way about what she would ask him. Would she go straight to the root of his trauma? Or would she ask him what his favorite color was? Would she ask him where he'd been seven months ago? Or would she ask him about his father's birthplace?
The examination wasn't at all like he had imagined. She was not asking, interrogating, grilling, or quizzing. They were talking, conversing, sharing, and as lame as it sounds: exchanging.
It was almost like she had sneaked him into sharing things with her, with that exceptional magnetism of hers which would reel in words out of his mouth like hooks did fish. She'd lie on the ground, her belly on a blanket and her chin cradled between her soft palms.
They talked about his relationship with his parents. How he wished he had a sibling to keep his parents company in times where he felt lonely and isolated and different. He spoke about how he wishes he could laugh with them just once, he wished a moment could arise where silence would let them make jokes with one another and laugh about the idiotic outside world and sing about how no one knows them like they do each other.
It was laughable how much she managed to squeeze out of him. He went home that night and as much as he'd hate me for telling you this, he cried. With his back against his door and his head buried in his arms between his knees with his tears streaming far down his neck. He cried.
The next day was a Saturday. While some kids were busy watching Chaplin's new film, combing out their hair, or wandering around parks with each other, Sanford and Riley woke up that morning preparing themselves for their second examination.
Sanford began to grow used to saying "Hey" out of pure habit. Before, he'd have to prepare his greeting in his mind a minute or two before saying anything. The truth was that he was inspired by how Riley would greet him, with a face so chock-full of blithe she'd raise her head and sing "good morning" or "hi there" or "hey, Sanford". He might have liked it when she said his name the best. But to the smallest degree did it make it the best. Sanford, Northcott or not, wasn't so sentimental about little things like that.
But greetings only lasted for so long and the real escapade would begin.
"Today we will delve deep into the vast uncharted subjects of academic self-assurance." With her fingers interlaced with one another and her chin sweetly above it she began the examination.
Sanford scratched his head, "There's not much to say."
"That's the same thing you said yesterday," she said.
"You already know that English isn't my best subject."
She nodded, "It's an emotionally stimulating class."
A sharp, gruff laugh escaped him, "I'm not made out of stone, I have some sort of emotional range." He continued after some thought and hesitation, "I'm just not comfortable sharing it with Miss Samuels."
With a new type of smile which Sanford saw for the first time only, Riley pursed her lips together and sucked in a conceited grin, "I'm glad you're comfortable sharing stuff with me."
He rolled his eyes in jest "Miss Samuels never wrote a contract." There was a silence and Sanford involuntarily filled it in, "Numbers though, sciences and stuff, there's nothing personal about that."
She put her finger to her chin, recalling a memory and with her eyes rolled to the side of her head she said, "A teacher's had me sign a contract once. It had something to do with an agreement to refrain from property damage." She recalled an incident where she'd "stolen" some samples off of a teacher's rare exotic plant. "But that was in my old school: Saint Graham's School for Girls."
He caught a glimpse of the not-at-all-distant future where Riley would ask him where he attended before Brick Wall. Avoiding this at all costs, the only thing he could come up with was: "Oh."
"Where did you go for junior high?" And there it was.
"The Scholastic Conception Academy," he lied.
"Oh, did you have any friends there?"
He ran his fingers through his bangs and brushed them over his eyes, "I can't remember. It was long ago."
It was quiet for a while and Riley disliked the touch of silence on her skin. "So phys ed counts as academics, I suppose… Why don't you do any sports?"
Ah, sports. "I'm not a fan of the whole team idea, its too much responsibility. Besides, I've got a bad left arm. Can't do a thing with it."
It was true. Back at Northcott, besides driving around the country and collecting kids, another hobby of Uncle Gordon's was to beat Sanford. Sanford's body had a peculiar habit of rolling onto his right side while being beaten, curled in that defensive fetal position which helped him little. This plus the never ending pressure the hammering of the axe did to his left arm made it almost useless to this day.
"What happened to it?"
Another silence and, "Fell down the stairs," he lied again.
Riley's face lit up, "I actually have an article in my notebook about a guy born with two left arms. I can show you a picture if you'd like—"
He drove his hand down his face, "No thanks, Riley—"
She reached into her backpack, her tongue sticking out of her lower lip as she felt her way for the book. While she did this, Sanford felt a slab of guilt roll down his throat and down to his feet- she'd be fumed if she ever found out he lied to her.
She eventually found it, and then began to flip through the pages. One page with a black and white photo of a family which was most definitely not Mr. and Mrs. Fischer caught Sanford's eye.
"Hey, what's that?"
Riley didn't bother to take a look at what he was referring to, "My parents." She looked up from her notebook and laughed softly at Sanford's face, he was confused—those weren't her parents. "I look nothing like Mom and Dad, Sanford."
"I thought that but I figured it was my imagination."
Riley wouldn't look up again, she looked determined to find that two-lefted man's photo but Sanford knew she was trying to avoid the subject of her parents. "What happened?"
She smiled softly, "Oh, my biological parents deserted me." She put her notebook down for a moment and began reciting her story with a sad, quirky enthusiasm, "Mom and Dad found me in an abandoned school house, like one of those sappy life novels, can you believe that? … They left this picture with me. I thought I'd keep it in the notebook as an entry to my museum: an example of the botched human organism."
"I'm sorry."
"You wouldn't believe how much hate, selfishness, and dishonesty this world harbors." She picked up her notebook and continued to look for the photo, "But that's why I want to make this museum. Give the people something to be fascinated by and inspired by. Let them know that strange things don't always have to be bad things."
At that moment, Sanford wished he wouldn't let her down.
"See, two left arms."
Sanford cringed at the new photo Riley had shoved before his eyes.
Sanford arrived home that day with a pot of stew for a body. He felt like a hollow bag of skin jam-packed with mixed emotions and ingredients.
He firstly felt guilty for lying to Riley, he also felt stupid for not expecting him trying to hide his past and Riley trying to know his past to conflict with each other, and lastly he felt satisfied of how much he had learned about Riley. Was it fair to her that he found out more about her than she did about him that day? He didn't know but he felt like he was breaking no rules by being curious about this girl. He was breaking rules, however, by lying.
The rest of the week went by rather predictably, ignoring their idiosyncratic examination focus areas. They had discussions about careers and favorite animals in the same minute. One moment, their talks would be quirky and laughable but in an instant they could change and like a switch would be flicked on in Sanford's heart, she'd trigger sentiments and passionate emotions of profound misery, liberation, regret, and sometimes contentment. Sanford had luckily been able to keep his secret from Riley. But it was no longer about the secret anymore.
Over the days he found himself trying to learn as much from her as he could. He'd go home going over what she had said about the balance of life and how the disruptions to that equilibrium or the bizarre, despite being resented all make that equilibrium possible. With Riley, it was either understand or don't and he tried his best to understand. And for the last three days of the week, he legitimately had forgotten about Northcott ranch. Until Wednesday the next day.
"Today, I'd like to start by thanking you for staying with us for so long. The Remarkable Museum of The Bizarre is very grateful."
Sanford felt his pale cheeks turn a bit pink. Sometimes he wished she'd drop that Museum stuff with him.
With a dreamy sigh, Riley completely flipped her temper from professional to unprofessional. She laid down on the grassy soil, "Do you believe in reincarnation?"
He gave the idea some thought and found that he had no thought to spend of the consideration. "Life itself is enough; I don't want to go thinking about anything bigger than it."
But Riley was an explorer and she'd discover life and beyond life and beyond the world and beyond the universe. Sanford knew this and was caught in this charm of hers.
She turned on her side, lifting her head up and holding it up with her hand, "I think I was Amerigo Vespucci in my past life... If you were someone in your past life, who do you think you were?"
"Abe Lincon," he joked.
They shared a nippy moment of light laughter.
She laid back again, spreading her arms out to pet the soft blue grass. "It makes you think, doesn't it? Is a person's passion or trauma a product of your soul or a product of your life?" Her eyes were lost in the clouds, "If my parents hadn't left me, would I have turned out to be the incredible scientist I am today?"
"I think the events of your past make you what you are but it doesn't make you who you are."
Riley turned her head to Sanford, pushing herself up to meet his eyes, "I think I've gone backwards in all of this." She tucked her legs beneath her dress, "I know who you are but I don't know what you are."
He scoffed, "Are you saying I'm a thing? Not human?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing. Human beings are selfish, dishonest, cruel creatures."
"Please, don't say that," he said. "Stop expecting me to make you promises of what I will be for you. I don't think I can take being a letdown."
"But you wouldn't be. I want to know about your past."
"You don't really mean that… Trust me."
Riley felt offended at this point. "I won't trust you!"
Sanford howled back, "How can you expect me to trust you if you can't do the same for me?" he ran his fingers through his coarse hair, pulling it over his face, "This is horse shit."
Riley diverted her attention to the ground, "I don't understand why you're being so difficult with this" Then she aggressively called for his attention, "A scientist can't work with the surface of a specimen, she must discover it down to its roots."
Sanford kicked his foot off the ground and shot up, "I'm not a specimen, Riley!"
"Hey!" She did the same.
"I don't want to do this anymore." He turned for the fence and began trudging in its direction.
"You can't say that now! You signed the contract!"
His feet froze and he turned around. With a brutality she'd never seen in him she saw him prod towards her with a gloomy fire in his eyes, "You think I signed the contract to be researched on!"
She tugged on her dress, "What's wrong with you all of a sudden! We have fun don't we? I just want to figure you out!"
"I don't want people to figure me out! Why can't you figure that out!"
"Do you want to be figured out or not!"
"I don't know!" He felt a force haul his insides from his gut out of his mouth, "I don't even know what there is about me to be researched on or thought about, so how can you when I can't myself?"
"What is it that you so desperately don't want to share with me! As a scientist, you owe me the truth!"
"You don't want to know!" He maliciously hissed, his voice resuming the low, gruff intonation of an animal. They both felt as though their lungs would explode at this point.
"Yes, I do!"
"You wouldn't understand!"
"How could I not!"
"Stop being so stubborn!"
"Stop being so cagey!"
"Do you really wanna know!" Sanford's blood had boiled down to the only solid remaining in his heart which he had failed to unravel to Riley, the truth.
"Yes!" All thought dispersed.
"I've killed before!"
And for the first time, Riley ran out of words to say.
"Okay!" Sanford was so full of rage that he'd failed to realize that his eyes began to water and his voice carried on as the shaky, hoarse tone of a screaming child. "Don't you get it? I don't belong in a museum; I belong in a jail cell" with that, he drove his fist through the shallow branches of a tree beside him, spinning on his heel and heading for the road.
They hadn't spoken to each other in two weeks after that. Sanford noticed Riley looking at him many times but he'd turn his head to the ground or the other side every time.
But when school was over and there was no one to lecture him or talk with him after seven hours of Mrs. Samuels and Mrs. Flemming, he'd head for the bus stop bench where they'd meet each other and hold his head by his forehead and think about where he'd go from there. He supposed he could take the bus somewhere but the place he wanted to go wasn't attainable by bus.
"I remember seeing your name in the paper."
He looked up and saw Riley with her head poked over him from behind the bench. She dragged her feet babyishly; her hands locked behind her back as she made her way next to him. With a quick spring she plopped herself on the seat next to him. "I'm sorry about your uncle."
Sanford kicked the ground, "Don't feed me that cock-a-bull empathy stuff! The bastard deserved it."
A small sigh of relief escaped her. "You're right." Silence took over as Sanford focused his attention on the grimy ground. "You know, I heard about the murders at Northcott ranch everywhere in Chicago. People were reading into it like bingo numbers." His persistent silences made her face him abruptly, demanding his attention with a nudge, "I'm not going to feed you some story about how I don't care and I'm not disturbed. The truth is I am." She had his attention, his eyes shifted from the floor to her difficult face. "But, this makes you an even better entry to my museum." She felt the way the words tasted in her mouth and decided what she had said was true. She faced forward, hiked her leg up over the other and rubbed her chin. "Yeah, yeah, you are. I just might have hit the mother load with you."
He felt a tickle rise up from his belly and vibrate within his throat, it escaped as a breath of air and he was laughing. His laughter sounded hoarse and strange, Riley had to watch him. He let go of his belly and sighed, "Riley Fischer," her eyes lit up, "You should be an entry to your own museum."
Sanford half knew that Riley had said that stuff to make him feel less uncomfortable. But it worked.
From there, the two resumed talking about everything that had happened at Northcott. Everything from how Sanford was talked into leaving Canada to how he was beaten and forced to take part in the savagery. She had asked him why he had done it, his response came to him instantly but left a bitter spiciness in his mouth- he said he was scared and she looked at him with a peculiar stare. She hadn't offered to change the subject that whole day and Sanford never wanted to change subjects, he spoke of every detail- replaying each haunting memory in his mind, watching Riley's expression and interpreting his fate within the depths of her eyes. By this point, Riley knew more about him than anyone ever hoped to know. And though Sanford did not know it yet, he knew her just as well.