Hiding From Us

3. robin

‘‘Robin! I’m not going to call you again! Get up!’’ 

     Dad. I do not want to get up. 

     ‘‘Come on. Up. Now.’’

     Why now? Why not in another three hours?

     ‘‘Robin, I’m not letting you miss the first day of ninth grade.’’

     . . . 

     Oh. 

     I sat up and shut my eyes tight as a wave of vertigo washed over me, and I tried to collect my thoughts. Wednesday. September third. Seven thirty-four a.m. First day of ninth grade. 

     On the floor, my tablet screen flickered to life as a text came in. It was Kim:

     i know ur sleeping.

     I replied: stalker. i’m awake now.

     As I dressed, Kim sent me a link to, like always, a ski video. This one was one of the better ones she’d sent me—epic flips filmed in slow-motion and people cruising through shoulder-deep powder. It did have a nice beat, though, and I did an un-self-conscious twirl in front of the mirror right before the video ended. 

     thx for the confidence, I texted her. 

     There was definite joy in her response: haha :) no prob. see u @ school. 

     And, after hastily getting some orange juice and cereal into my stomach, crushing the last of my school supplies into my backpack, and fighting with my older sister about who got shotgun, I did. I stood in front of the school with twelve minutes until class. I wasn’t really a stranger to this place since my dad worked here, but it felt like crisp, virgin territory. Suddenly I felt afraid. 

     Someone called, ‘‘Robin!’’ and I turned.  

     It was Grace. Grace was basically the goody two-shoes in our grade; she was shy and quiet and nervous, but we’d known each other since kindergarten. She’d confessed her many fears about high school to me several times. 

     ‘‘Gracie,’’ I said, ‘‘how are you? Did you remember to eat breakfast?’’ Knowing Grace, she’d probably been up since the crack of dawn, checking and re-checking to make sure everything was all set. 

     Grace gave me a tiny smile and replied, ‘‘Yeah. Mom made cinnamon waffles so that I wouldn’t forget.’’ 

     ‘‘Yum. I can’t remember the last time I tried one of those.’’

     ‘’My birthday sleepover?’’

     I snapped my fingers. ‘’Ah, yes. Right. We need to do that again sometime. So. Are you ready, Gracie girl?’’

     She frowned. ‘‘For high school? Um, no. It’s just . . . here. Summer went by too quickly.’’

     ‘’I know, right? Oh, hey, there’s Kim.’’

     Kim didn’t seem at all fazed by the hugeness of the school/students and how short she was, or the fact that the walls almost demanded everyone to be self-conscious and yet she wore her rasta tank-top, sandals, and denim capris like it was a summer day. Which it wasn’t. 

     ‘‘Hey, my peeps,’’ she said enthusiastically. ‘‘Did you know that there are a lot of ugly guys here? But there’s also a lot of cute guys. It evens out.’’

     Grace frowned. ‘’Um, okay. Is this’’ —she raised a finger on each hand to do quotation marks— ‘’‘Mission: Get a Boyfriend’ or something?’’

     ‘’No. It’s just me remarking the noticeable attractiveness between the guys in our grade and the guys in grade ten and above.’’ Kim laughed. ‘‘Like, there’s a big difference.’’ 

     Laughing, we went inside and did the usual freshmen stuff that freshmen do on the first day: received schedules, organized lockers, struggled to find our way around the school. I managed to breathe easily during my first two classes. At break, Kim, Grace, and I found a table in the forum to eat our muffins at. 

     Halfway through, someone clapped me on the shoulder and I looked up. 

     Shain said, ‘‘Robby!’’

     ‘‘Oh, hey.’’ I pushed Grace over a bit so that Shain could sit, and Kim moved to let Shain’s boyfriend Erick have a seat. I couldn’t remember how long they’d been dating for. 

     ‘‘Green toque today,’’ Kim commented. 

     Shain laughed. ‘‘Yep. How’re you guys enjoying high school?’’

     ‘‘It’s cool.’’

     ‘‘Meh.’’

     ‘‘Not as scary as I’d thought.’’

     Suddenly Erick laughed and said to Shain, ‘‘Fifth fret, six eight time. Cool. But. Scary.’’ 

     Shain grinned and laughed silently, never breaking her gaze from her boyfriend’s eyes. They really had a solid relationship. 

     Kim said, ‘‘What the hell,’’ just as the bell rang. 

     I checked my schedule and groaned at the sight of Socials. One by one, the five of us left the table. Erick put his arm around Shain’s waist and told her another quiet joke that I didn’t understand. 

     ‘‘They’re really cute,’’ Grace said. 

     I nodded and stopped for a moment as a boy with blond hair rushed past me. Grace, however, failed to notice that she was in his path. 

     ‘‘Grace,’’ I said, ‘‘watch—’’

     They collided, knocking books to the floor and screeching shoes. The blond boy grabbed Grace’s shoulders to keep her from falling, his eyes sapphire eyes wide. Grace’s hands clutched at the front of his polo. She looked up, and he looked down, and it was kind of like one of those cheesy moments in a romance movie where their eyes lock and an invisible symphony plays in the background as people move around them in slow-motion. Except it was reality. 

     ‘’Oh my gosh,’’ Grace murmured, hesitating between oh and my. ‘‘I’m . . . I’m sorry.’’

     The blond boy smiled. ‘’It was my fault,’’ he replied. His voice was crippled with an accent that had to be European. German, maybe? 

     Grace released his shirt and the boy released her shoulders, and they both knelt down to gather the books, and I watched as—no way. This only happened in movies—their hands touched. 

     Suddenly Kim was there, touching my shoulder and saying, ‘‘Hey, come on. We’re going to be late.’’ So I left Grace and followed Kim. 

     Later, as Grace hastened into Socials with flushed cheeks, I said, ‘‘Who was he?’’

     She held up a small scrap of paper. ‘‘His name was Adrian. He’s from Germany.’’ She took a deep, deep breath and then looked at me. ‘’He gave me his number.’’