The Greyest of Blue Skies

The Greyest of Blue Skies - 2

Chapter 2

It's a five minute drive to the center of town, which is little more than two blocks of shops and restaurants: mostly small, family-owned business, and a handful of franchise operations. On foot, the journey takes under fifteen minutes. Julian and I, however, stop a few times along the way for him to point out some landmarks and homes of people I don't know where they're visible from the street.

"So, you're from Florida, aren't you?"

I look up at him in surprise. "How'd you know?"

"Your license plate," he says sheepishly. "I noticed it yesterday."

"Oh." He must be a keen observer. "Yes, I grew up there."

"How are you adjusting?" He quirks a grin and waves a hand at the snow everywhere. It's hard to miss. The sky above us is clear, but even that seems to have a layer of frost covering it. It looks more white than blue.

"Terribly. If you don't see me at school tomorrow, it's probably 'cause I've frozen to death. I don't know how you guys stand it."

He laughs, and oddly enough, I don't see his breath coming out in puffs of mist like mine. "It's pretty bad, I guess; we're right under the mountains. But you'll get used to it, even if you hate it. Winter's only just getting started."

He's right, and the thought of colder days makes me shiver. What I wouldn't give to be back in a warm climate...

"You look like you need a hot chocolate."

Perfect timing. "I would kill for a hot chocolate right now."

"Come on, I'll take you to the Sunburst."

I like the sound of that name. Julian leads me across the street to a cosy cafe with a sunburst logo and bronze-colored decor. Inside, it's fitted out with plush booths, magazine racks, pool tables, and a pinball machine. This must be where the kids hang out. My numbed skin welcomes the warm air as soon as we step in past the doors.

"Two hot chocolates, please." Julian orders at the counter. I make a move to get my wallet but he lays a hand on my arm and smiles. "My treat."

"Oh no, you don't have to, you've already given me a --"

"Don't worry about it; you can get me back next time."

Assuming there is a next time, but I suspect he's the kind of guy who would never let a girl pay for him. "Well... OK. Thanks, again."

We find an empty table and sit down. I ask him about school and it turns out he's a senior, a year above me. The waitress brings over our drinks and I cup my hands around the mug, letting it thaw my sluggish fingers.

We're in the middle of discussing our mutual bad experiences with English teachers when a group of three guys enter the cafe. They're a rowdy bunch, and I can see the waitress resisting the urge to grimace as she serves them.

"Yo, Julian!" One of them spots us.

Julian hesitates for a second before waving a hand. He throws me a look as though in apology as we are about to be interrupted.

"How's it going, man?" The other guys approach. "Whoa, who do we have here?" A freckled face leers down at me.

"Hi guys. This is Claire; she's new."

"Why, hello gorgeous," Freckles continues his attempt at aceing How to be a Sleaze 101 with the worst pick up lines in history. His two friends are, at least, normal. They're on the football team, as is Julian -- my first impression being correct.

Their conversation steers towards topics of which I have neither background knowledge nor any interest in, so I make an obvious point of checking my phone for the time and try to excuse myself.

"Sorry guys, but I have to get going."

"Aww, so soon?" Freckles pulls an exaggerated puppy face.

Julian seems mildly upset and offers to walk me home but I decline. "No, no, it's fine. You can stay with your friends. I need to help out my Mom with a few things, that's all." I hope that's enough to convince him. I don't want Julian following me all day.

His eyes show doubt, but eventually he relents. "OK. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Of course. Thanks for taking me around. I'll see you all tomorrow."

With a wave goodbye, I leave the coffee shop and brave the cold once more.

The way back is a straight route that's easy to remember -- there are only two roads out of the main shopping strip -- and yet when I start walking up the way I came, everything looks different, somehow. I could have sworn this was the right road but I can't see the landmarks we passed earlier, or where my house would be up ahead. My sense of direction is normally true.

I stop in the middle of the street, feeling a low rising panic start to swell. It's a tiny town, I tell myself, you can't get lost. The thought doesn't stop my breath from coming faster, chilling my lungs.

An even crazier sense begins to creep up on the back of my neck -- I can't escape the feeling of being watched. My eyes dart around but see no one. The street's deserted. What's wrong with me?

I take a few steps further to the end of the block, and can sort of make out a church across the road, several buildings up. The high steeple and gleaming metal cross are unmistakable. I don't remember one being there, but maybe someone can give me directions.

I check both ways when crossing, then all of a sudden I see a lone figure standing in the distance. Watching.

Who the hell is that?

But once I get to the other side of the road and glance back, he's disappeared. I stare hard at the space where he stood, but there's nowhere he could have gone in that split second. I've never seen him before.

Remembering the church, I resume making my way towards it, only to halt again. There's no church. In its place is a two-story building with a large antenna. My eyebrows furrow at this baffling sight before me. How could I have confused this for a church? I whip my head around and scan the street -- it's different again, but this time, I know where I am. I can see my house.

An icy breeze gusts over me and I shudder, realizing I've broken out in a cold sweat.

I've officially lost it. The cold has given me hypothermia or brain freeze or something, and I've gone insane.

I practically run the rest of the way home, not wanting to lose sight of it until I've felt the solid wood of the front door against my palm.