Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
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The day outside completely disagreed with my foul mood.
The sun was out, shining down on the earth below, much more weakly than it does in the summertime seeing as it was the middle of February, but still enough to feel good on the skin. The evergreen trees lining the streets glowed in the dappled afternoon sunlight, hitting the redbrick buildings and illuminating their facades. A cool, sharp wind blew in my face, and leaves crunched as I biked over them, letting the downhill slope take me to the end of the street. Oak Point is a pretty beautiful town, at least thirty minutes from any other town in Oregon, surrounded on its sides by the Three Sisters, which are volcanic peaks, and Mount Bachelor, which is a dormant volcano-turned-ski-resort. But all of Oak Point's glimmering beauty was lost on me as I biked on by because all I could see was red.
I pedaled much harder than needed to reach the corner of the street, rounding it at about three times my normal speed. My heart was pounding, my forearms beginning to sweat, but I knew it was not just from the exercise.
I was positively furious.
What game did Ethan think he was playing? I fume to myself as I swerved to take over another biker, who glanced at me rather indignantly as I sped past him. Getting me landed in suspension, and for what? What sadistic pleasure does he get out of that?
I glanced up and down the street both ways before crossing without slowing down. A dissonant baseline and electric guitar pumped in my earphones, and Kim Gordon's atmospheric, distinct voice sung:
Spinning dreams with angel wings
torn blue jeans a foolish grin
burning down in the night
so cool so right
star power star power star power over me
And what about Will? I thought as I twisted the handlebar on my bike, feeling the resultant clank of gears shifting into place. He did nothing to help our situation. It's like he wants to get suspended. I get the fleeting realization that perhaps that was all planned — maybe Ethan told him to take the fall, just to make sure I got in trouble as well.
Looking back on it, that sounds pretty laughable, and honestly far too complex for Ethan. He wanted to torment me, sure, but he was never one for clever schemes. But when you're that mad — as mad as I was in that moment — you'll create any situation, think of any reason; any justification for mounting your anger ever higher.
The rest of the ride was mostly me think-screaming expletives at Will and Ethan as Sonic Youth blasted in my ears. I made it to my destination in record time, pulling my earphones out and locking up my bike in the front with my padlock before heading into La Promenade.
La Promenade is exactly as it sounds — a French-style cafe; or at least, that was its intention. That intention was only half-realized, though, as exactly half of the space was set up with obvious French inspiration: rounded, elegant-looking wooden chairs and tables as well as outside seating, a coffee bar with a marble-top table and padded stools, the soft lighting accenting the brown and creme colors, with the windows and glass door letting in as much natural light as possible.
