Entangled Summer (2 page)

Kenzie’s foot pressed on the gas, accelerating her mom’s second-last husband’s sports car, to highway speed— four miles
before
we hit the highway.

Pushing limits, stretching boundaries, breaking the rules, that was always more Kenzie’s thing than mine. I always secretly wanted it to be my thing, but I was never very good at doing anything but the right thing.

Kenzie and I had been friends for as long as I could remember having friends. She'd been there for all of my bad girl shame moments, for first kisses, and first ditches, with unwavering support. She looked like the love child of Lenny Kravitz and Pink, if they’d ever hooked up. Her infamous Kiss-My-Asterix shirt impressed me, cause it totally matched her attitude. I still remember the day we met. A few years after my parents had died, and I’d switched schools after moving in with my grandparents. Fifth grade, Davie Chalmers had nicked my pencil case again, and Kenzie marched straight up to him in the middle of math class and demanded that he give it back, before she did indescribable things to parts of his anatomy neither of us had even come close to seeing in real life. He handed it back and I spent an hour after school with her in detention hall, just to say thanks. That was Kenzie. Guess her the-whole-world-can-suck-it attitude still impressed me today. But right now, pretty much everything about my butt-kicking best friend was making me want to wring her meddling neck.

“Now, just pretend you love kids and nature and puppets and all that crap, and you’ll do fine.”

I propped my stiletto heeled feet up onto the dash. “You're insane. Have I ever told you that before?”

She glanced over. “Once. Maybe twice.”

“Well good.” I scowled through the window. She meant well, I know. But I was dressed up like hooker Barbie for a job I had no chance of landing, and my feet were already killing me in her killer shoes.

“Okay, so here’s how it goes. There’s a series of interviews. You know the standard fair. Who are you, why do you want to work here, if you could save the orphans and the whales how would you do it, blah blah blah.”

“They could ask that?” It had been a while since I’d been on an interview. Not since tenth grade when I’d applied for a job at the market. The owners had been friends of my grandfather’s. The only question they’d asked was if I could work Sundays. This sounded a lot harder. My stomach knotted as I listened to the rest of her drill. I’d run lines with her countless times, this felt the same, only in reverse. I was the one doing the rote memorization. With a lot more at stake.

“Now repeat after me. I
love
working with children.” She sang, her perfectly manicured fingers hugging the wheel.

I rolled my eyes, but repeated the blatant lie. Not that I had anything against them. Kids were great. Maybe it’s because I never had any younger siblings around to get used to and didn’t do any babysitting either, or maybe it had something to do with my own less than normal childhood. But for whatever reason, they made me uncomfortable.

“If you make it past the first round, then you move on to the second and finally the third. Word is that if you make it to three, you’re golden. But the first round is the hardest.”

Her foot smashed the brakes at a red light, jerking us to an abrupt stop. Immediately she fished out a tube of lipstick from inside the cup holder.

“Shouldn’t I have had more than thirty minutes to prepare for this?”

“Don’t sweat it. I emailed them your resume last night.”

I shot her a look. “My resume. I don’t have a resume.”

She beamed, pausing her lipstick application for a second. “You do now. You’re welcome.”

The light changed and we continued driving for another fifteen minutes before Kenzie steered the jeep off the main highway onto a dirt road.

I slumped back against the seat. I wasn’t a huge fan of the country. Too quiet, and not enough going on to distract me from my thoughts. Granddad said that if you listened hard enough, you’d hear the voice of God in the woods. Not sure if that’s true or not. Either I never listened hard enough, or the voice of God sounded an awful lot like my own personal demons.

At some point along the drive, I must have nodded off, because I was roused by an elbow to the ribs.

“Wake up sleeping beauty, we’re here.”

I yawned and stretched, before opening the car door. Once we stepped outside, I froze. This was no regular summer camp. It was like the set straight out of a movie. Hogwarts meets Camp Half Blood. Twelve foot irons gates locked behind us, lined with a thick row of hedges which made seeing inside, or escaping, virtually impossible. Inside it was like a small village. Meandering paths, through wild grass and massive log buildings, with intricate architecture. It was more like a summer retreat than a school.

“Come on,” Kenzie urged, when I’d been gaping too long. “Punctually counts.”

We followed the lighted path toward a massive building with a tall steeple.

Two boys with nearly white blonde hair and the strangest eyes I’d ever seen, stood on either side of massive double doors. They smiled as we entered. It wasn’t until we walked past them I noticed they each had one silver eye and one brown one. I smiled back a little fazed, not by their appearance, but by the eerie way they both moved in exact synchronization. When we entered the main hall there was a large waiting area. And in it sat at least two dozen people, all likely hoping for the same job we were applying for. Summer school instructor to the super rich.

Some had guitars, and nose rings. Others had tattoos, piercings and green hair. One girl with strange markings on her neck had brought an entire easel, a fistful of brushes and a palette loaded with oil paints.

“See,” Kenzie whispered, “we fit right in.”

I fingered my bone straight black and teal hair, wishing I hadn't given up the red. I’d chopped it to shoulder length when grandfather got sick. And then ombre-dyed the ends blue when he went into hospital permanently.

Kenzie with her tattoos and me with my blue hair, we seemed just the sort of misfits this place was looking for and that made me relax a little. But these people were someone I wasn’t. Prepared. The school had dozens of creative classes that ran over the three month summer session.

A tall slender woman with bright green eyes and red hair stepped out into the middle of the crowd.

“Welcome everyone, to Wanderlust Academy Summer Arts Program Recruitment.” She spoke with a slight accent. “We’ll be calling you by your appointed time slot, so please pay close attention.”

I noticed the way her gaze kept locking with mine. It was unsettling, as if she knew me or something. Which I can pretty much guarantee she didn’t. Even Kenzie noticed.

“Do you know her?” she whispered. But then her name was called first.

She gave me a determined half grin before she marched boldly into the office behind the redhead.

I was so out of my element. A few years of sculpting hardly qualified me to teach at a prestigious art camp. I glanced around the room, checking out the other applicants. Each one had an impressive portfolio, without a doubt. Mine, had to have been weak, aside from whatever Kenzie padded it with.

The walls were lined with group art projects. I stared at the designs, one after another. They felt more like one-one-upmanship than collaborative art. But what did I know. I was a loner who preferred the solitude of my sculptures, over colliding with the egos of others. Maybe the need to collide stemmed from a desperate need to belong. It took confidence to stand alone. At least I'd convinced myself it did. They were checking me out with as much curious speculation and judgment as I had. I fidgeted, wishing I was in my favorite black sweatshirt, so I could tug the hood up over my head and hide from what was sure to be yet another epic fail moment.

Silver trays of sandwiches and wraps of every variety were delivered to the long table under the window, by one of the wonder twins from the front doors. At one end was organic coffee, herbal tea and bottles of imported water. Nothing but the best, apparently. My stomach made a rude gurgling noise, and I realized I was starving. But no one else was eating, so I held off for a full five minutes before deciding the noise my stomach was making was worse than being the first one in the food line.

I stared at my e-reader glancing up periodically as one name after another was called. As people left their first interview, some, like Kenzie were ushered into another room, further down the hall. And others were escorted back out the main doors, where I imagine the wonder twins would show them to their cars and see them safely off the property.

When I got bored with the selection of novels loaded on my e-reader, I switched to the pamphlets and brochures about the school that lined the tables. I flipped over one that featured a picture of a group of children wearing hand painted t-shirts. ‘Wanderlust Academy... Magic happens when you let your mind wander’.
Catchy
. I scanned the list of previous attendees. A ton of well-known celebrities had apparently attended a summer of two. The school had a rich and eclectic history, having changed ownership multiple times, the last as recently as a year ago. Every type of creative and artistic class imaginable was offered. Too bad I hadn’t heard of this sooner. I’d have preferred teaching sculpting classes, or painting, or something arts related. But according to Kenzie those had been filled months ago. I knew nothing about puppetry. How was that even a class? If the newest owner, Troy Bellisaro, hadn’t come in and insisted it be added to the curriculum, I’d still be back in my apartment, fighting off the mice. Instead of being served gourmet sandwiches and beverages while waiting to be interviewed. Part of me started to want this job in a way that made me uncomfortable. I’d gotten used not getting what I wanted. So a new desire springing to life was not a welcome feeling.
Stay detached,
I self-lectured, as I helped myself to a fourth rice paper veggie wrap.

I browsed another brochure, while munching on my wrap. This Troy guy was from my area. He’d decided to purchase the school, when he heard it’s previous own had fallen ill. So he was the savior type. Nice. That had to have been his motivation, because none of his credits indicated anything even remotely related to the arts. He’d done some corporate stuff in New York. Graduated top of his class in Harvard law. And studied past-life regression and paranormal studies in the UK? Wow, talk about eclectic. He’d traveled most of the world and held an undergraduate degree in medicine. What was this guy, a hundred? That’s a lot to accomplish in one lifetime.

I was so engrossed in Troy Bellisaro’s accomplishments, that I didn’t hear the door open and the redhead call out my name.

“Last call for a Nora Dultry,” she said with her faint British accent.

I jumped up, sending an avalanche of brochures to the floor. “Here. Sorry,” I mumbled around a mouthful. I chewed fast, trying not to choke, while collecting my mess.

She didn’t look impressed, peering over the top of her square, polka-dot-framed bifocals. “Follow me please Ms. Dultry.”

I did and we entered the room so many others had entered and exited today.

“Good afternoon. I am Miss Strange, and I’m here to delve into whether or not you would be a suitable fit for our academy.”

Her spiel sounded like she’d recited it a dozen times already. She gestured to a wooden chair with a tall back. “Please. Sit.”

Swallowing back the ball of nerves climbing up my throat, I did as I was told.

Miss Strange didn’t bother to sit, but continued to wander around the office. My gaze shifted to the plaques and framed diplomas lining the dark paneled walls. Grace Eleanor Strange. Psychiatrist. Grace Strange Psychotherapist. Grace Strange Clinical Hypnotist and NLP Practitioner.

Nowhere did it say anything about her arts training or her position at the academy. Like Troy Bellisaro’s qualifications they glaringly lacked an art focus.

“So, please tell me why you would like to work here Ms. Dultry.” She didn’t turn to look at me when she asked the question.

I straighten in my chair. “Well, I’ve always loved working with kids- I mean, children.” I said.

Her pacing stopped, but she didn’t respond.

“And I received an arts scholarship to return to college.

“You took a year off? Why?”

“My grandfather got sick. I had to stay home to look after him.”

“And now?”

“Well, now...” I shifted uncomfortably. “He’s in hospital full time, so...” Were these questions allowed? What did my personal life have to do with getting a summer school job?

There was a long silent pause. For a second I started to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. And since I could only see the back of her, it was a very real possibility.

Finally she turned abruptly and marched to her desk. She slid into her chair and flipped open the manila file folded in front of her.

“Well, let’s go over your documentation. I see here you have a few recommendations, from,” she glanced up, “your friend Kenzie? And your art teacher. Hmm. How quaint.”

I nibbled my thumbnail, expecting the worst. It was like being sent to the principal’s office for something you didn’t do, hoping you don’t get caught for the thing you
did
do that they don’t know about yet.

“No real experience teaching.” She flipped through a few more pages. “Or working with children.”

When her eyes peered up at me over her bifocals, I cleared my throat. “I uhm, well, I used to babysit.” I said. Then I mentally smacked myself in the forehead. What happened to all of the coaching Kenzie had given me. It’s like all the right answers had jumped overboard, leaving me with nothing but one stupid reply after another. I pressed my clammy palms onto my thighs. “I think you’ll find everything else is intact. My diploma, schooling, college acceptance, criminal reference check, uhm... oh yeah, first aid.” I added.

She pursed her lips, and flipped the fold shut. Pushing back her chair she rose then paced a few steps, hands locked behind her back. “The thing is Miss Dultry, the students who come to our summer school are... special. You might say they are gifted.”

“Yes, I know.”

She paused to gaze through the window. “I don’t think that you do,” she said, then turned to look at me. "But you will."

I forced a smile because well, I didn't know what to say to that really. Just as I was wondering what her next question would be, she crossed the room to shake my hand.

“Thank you for coming in Miss Dultry.” She gestured toward the door.

Interview over, I guess? I walked toward the door, then paused to look back. “Thank you for your time.” I said, then quickly made my escape.

Okay, wow. Strangest. Interview. Ever.