PENUMBRA

Chapter 2

Siuslaw High School had a total number of 391 students; all the kids here were raised together - I would just be the new girl in the big city, a curiosity. Maybe if I looked like a real Miami girl, I could take advantage of that. But physically, I never fit in anywhere. I was supposed to be tanned, athletic, blonde—a cheerleader, maybe—all things compatible with living in Sun Valley. Instead, despite the constant sun, I had ivory skin. And I didn't have the blue eyes or red hair that could excuse me. I've always been skinny but kind of soft and obviously not a jock; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself—and without hurting myself and anyone else who got too close.

When I finished putting my clothes away in the antique pine chest of drawers, I grabbed my toiletry bag and went to the only bathroom to wash up after the day's travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed out my damp, tangled hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked paler, sicker. Seeing my pale reflection in the mirror, I had to admit I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I didn't fit in. I don't get along well with people my age. Maybe the truth is that I don't get along with people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in tune with me, never quite on the same page. Sometimes I wondered if she saw the same things as the rest of the world. Maybe there was a problem with my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. I didn't sleep well that night, even after crying. In the background the constant noise of rain and wind on the roof did not disappear. I pulled the old plaid blanket over my head and later added the pillow as well. But I didn't get to sleep until after midnight, when the rain finally subsided into a quieter drizzle. All I could see out my window in the morning was thick fog, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping towards me. Breakfast with Peter was a silent event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hopes were in vain. Good luck usually avoided me. Peter left first for the police station, his life. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table, in one of the three mismatched chairs, and surveyed the small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mom had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago to get some sunshine into the house. Above the small fireplace in the tiny adjoining room was a row of pictures. It was impossible not to notice that Peter never got over the loss of my mother by staying in this house. It made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to get to school too early, but I couldn't stay there any longer. I put on my coat—which was sort of like a biosafety suit—and stepped out into the rain.

It was still drizzling, not enough to soak me as I took the house key, always hidden under the eaves, and locked the door. The squelch of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the usual crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't stop and admire my car again, like I wanted to; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty humidity that enveloped my head and clung to my hair under my hood. Inside the truck it was nice and dry. To my relief the engine caught quickly, but it was noisy, roaring to life and then revving at a loud volume. Well, a pickup this age would have its flaws. It wasn't difficult to find the school, although I had never been there. Like most other things, it was close to the highway. It didn't look like a school—what stopped me was the sign, which said it was Siuslaw High School. It was a group of identical houses, built with brown bricks. There were so many trees and bushes that at first, I couldn't calculate their size. Where was the spirit of the institution? I wondered wistfully. Where were the screen fences, the metal detectors? The no cellphone policy? Even if it had one, cellphones are waste of time, letters by hand are one thousand times better.

I parked in front of the first building, which had a little sign above the door saying secretariat. No one else had parked there, so I was certainly off-limits, but I decided to find out inside instead of driving around in the rain like an idiot. I reluctantly left the cab of the rusty truck and walked down a small stone path flanked by a dark hedge. I took a deep breath before opening the door. Inside, the environment was well lit and hotter than I had imagined. The office was small; a small waiting room with padded folding chairs, stained orange carpet, notes and awards cluttering the walls, a large clock ticking loudly. There were plants everywhere in big plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough green outside. The room was divided in half by a long counter, crammed with wire baskets filled with papers and brightly colored flyers taped to the front. There were three tables behind the counter, one occupied by a large redhead with glasses. She was wearing a purple T-shirt that immediately made me feel overdressed.