Flecks of Gold (3 page)

We reached American government, and Kelson sat next to me near the back. Despite the teacher’s theatrical outbursts, it was hard to concentrate on the lesson. Kelson’s presence next to me felt palpable, like a firm pressure on the side of my body.

I was glad to leave that class and head to art. If art couldn’t make me relax, nothing could. The smell of wet clay, turpentine, and paint hit me as I walked in. My shoulders loosened. No one talked to me, but in art I didn’t care. I simply took up a piece of paper and began to draw what the teacher instructed, losing myself in the detail of the skull that sat on the table in front of me.

Like Mom, I considered myself an artist, but I was pretty sure no one saw their art the way I saw mine. When I lost myself in my subject, it was as if there was another hidden element, just out of reach. When I drew, I not only saw lines and shadows, but a different shape at the edge of the subject. It was more than imagination. It was a view that was beyond simple sight, a pressure like what I’d felt when sitting next to Kelson. It was something I knew I could grasp if I only had a key to understanding how. Whenever I contemplated this second sight, I felt slightly silly, but it was hard to dismiss it as my imagination when I saw the golden patterns so often.

The bell rang sooner than I expected, and I wondered why my other classes couldn’t have gone by as quickly. As I transferred piles of homework from my locker to my already overstuffed backpack, I noticed Kelson with a group of guys in blue letterman jackets. Short-skirted girls in tight shirts dripped off the boys’ arms like jewelry.

I studied Kelson covertly. He looked so at ease, so normal. His jacket was slightly different from the other guys, and I briefly wondered why. A sappy urge to walk over and say hello floated through my head as I watched, but when I looked away, I was gripped by a strong desire to flee his presence and feel like myself again. I strode quickly out of school, ready to get home and complain about the day to Mom. I’d walked about a block when I heard someone approaching from behind.

“Mary Margaret, wait up,” Kelson said. A whoosh of warmth, which somehow made me picture a blue-white mist, spread through me. It was pleasant, but my stomach clenched in reaction, and I turned around slowly. Amorous thoughts swam through my brain.

“Hi. How was your first day of school?”

“Fine.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

“You must have a lot of stuff to catch up on.”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. I don’t have much else to do. So what’s your letterman jacket for?” I asked, trying to divert the conversation from me.

He hesitated, and I had a funny impression that he was trying to think of an answer. “Swimming,” he finally said.

“That’s cool.” Thinking of follow-up questions was difficult with my head full of Kelson’s blue eyes. I tried to clear my mind. “Why is your jacket different from the other guys at school?”

“I didn’t really letter in this school. Actually, I just moved here awhile ago.”

“Oh, where did you come from?” I asked, trying to concentrate.

“Iberloah.” He gave me the strangest look, curious and mischievous, and so intense I looked away. “Have you heard of it?”

“No. It sounds really unusual. What state is it in?” I thought that it sounded more like a foreign name, but Kelson didn’t have a hint of an accent.

“It’s a small town in Mitiga—ah, I mean Michigan. No one who doesn’t live there even knows about it.”

I looked away, finding it easier to think that way. I’d never heard of the town, but Michigan was no desert. Hadn’t Kelson said earlier he’d lived in a desert his whole life?

“Do you swim?” he asked out of the blue. It took me a second to change gears.

“A little. I was kind of on a team in middle school.”

“Maybe we could go swimming sometime.” His grin now looked almost hungry.

I shivered. “Maybe.” Something was bugging me, but it was like a ball of knotted yarn in my head.

We reached my house and stopped in front of the cactus garden.

“Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Watching Kelson walk away again triggered the memory of the sour sweet aftertaste of the kumquat. Unease accompanied me into the house.

Mom wasn’t home, and I found a sticky note on the fridge reminding me that she’d be home by 5:30. I’d forgotten that she’d gotten a job. I was happy she’d found something so quickly, but a job at the Bernard Packing Company didn’t seem like a good fit. I wondered if she’d worn one of her long beaded shirts. They were her favorite, but if she was moving boxes they might get caught. I put my disappointment aside and settled down to do pointless English worksheets.

Mom didn’t come home until six. The dinner I’d made was cold, and I was considering calling the number on the fridge when she walked painfully through the front door.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She sat down on the recliner with a groan. “No. I didn’t think it would be so hard. My arms feel like jell-o, and my back aches, and look,” she warbled miserably, holding up the end of her beaded shirt. Several strands had been torn out.

“Oh, Mom, I’m sorry. Maybe you shouldn’t wear a beaded shirt tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I have any without beads,” she said helplessly. I could tell that her exhaustion was making her melodramatic.

“You can borrow mine. Why don’t you eat and then head to bed early?” I microwaved a plate of shepherd’s pie and took it to her in the living room.

“So today was your first day at a new school. How’d it go?” She tried to put energy into her inquiry.

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. Just go to bed, okay? I don’t want you collapsing on the job.”

“All right, but I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

I cleaned up dinner and then went to curl up in the easy chair. By the time I started reading my chemistry textbook my eyes were drooping. Without realizing, I drifted off to sleep, the book sliding from my fingers to the floor.

W
hen I woke,
a wild orange rose with pink tips rested atop my homework on the coffee table. It was already wilting from lack of water, and its fragrance tickled my nose. I was surprised that Mom had gotten up so early. I just hoped she would fare better at her job today.

I quickly dressed, shouldered my backpack, and lurched through the door. Kelson was walking slowly past my house when I came out.

“Hey,” I said.

“How’s it going, Mary Margaret?”

“Fine, I guess.” Talking to him seemed easier now. The pressure I had felt yesterday was still there, but less intense, like a phantom touch compared to the strong push from before.

“So why’d you move here in the middle of the school year?” Kelson asked.

“It’s because of this guy,” I said. “It turned out he was only dating my mom to steal her paintings, and then he threatened us. Anyway, we moved here because we weren’t sure what else to do.”

I wanted to pull the words back into my mouth.
Why did I tell him that?
When we reached the school, I still felt disconcerted.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” he said.

Right. No comments, nothing. I’d said too much, and I could tell he just wanted to escape. Part of me was glad, but another part, one that was growing alarmingly fast, was miserable. I tried to wipe away my feelings as I went to my first class of the B-day schedule. It was called adult roles, and I was only taking it to learn some budgeting skills so Mom and I wouldn’t starve. Scanning the room, I was shocked to see Kelson waving at me. I wondered why he was in the class.

I hesitated before sitting next to him, but there was nothing else I could do. If I sat somewhere else, he’d be offended, and so far he was the only person who’d been nice to me.

The class was intriguing, but I could tell Kelson was bored. He kept glancing at me like he wanted to talk, but I buried my nose in my notebook.

He caught me on the way out of class. “So, Mary Margaret, where are you off to next?”

Did he always have to use my full name? “Computer graphics.”

“Hey, really? Me too. I’ll walk with you.”

We arrived just as the bell rang. The only free computers were across the room from each other so Kelson and I separated. I felt like I had a split personality. I wanted to get away from him, but I also wanted to be near him. Every time I saw him, I felt a sweep of warm fog and my stomach flipped. When the bell rang, Kelson came up to me, smiling.

“You want to go to lunch?” my mouth blurted without my consent.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

We sat down at an empty table in the corner of the lunchroom, and I started to relax. Kelson started talking about the wonders of modern technology, and even though I thought it was a little strange—after all, Michigan wasn’t exactly stuck in the Stone Age—I was glad I could sit there and just nod when expected.

After my next class, medical anatomy, I got lost looking for calculus, so when I walked in I was too flustered to do anything but sit down quickly. Then I felt a swell of warmth. I looked up, and there, sitting across from me, was Kelson. I felt confused, thinking he shouldn’t be there, but as I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t remember why his presence would be strange. A soft blanket enfolded my mind, and I felt flushed and giddy. It was hard to concentrate with Kelson’s presence dominating my thoughts, and I shook my head several times to clear the fog, but it didn’t work. As soon as the bell clanged, I rushed out of the classroom

I almost ran to my locker, but I wasn’t fast enough. Kelson was waiting for me right outside. At the sight of him, I felt my knees give way a little, and the fog rushed back.

“Hi,” he said.

My brain refused to come up with any words, even “hello.” I just couldn’t look away from his crystal blue eyes.

“Walk with me?” Even though it was formed as a question, it was a command. He held out his hand, a smile playing on his mouth. I watched in astonishment as my hand reached out and grabbed his. We started walking, and warmth spread up my arm.

I wondered idly, as the fire extended from my hand to my entire body, if I would succumb to heat stroke. I couldn’t seem to form an intelligent thought. Every time I started to wonder why Kelson was so interested in me, my thoughts would switch to the pomegranate bush we’d just passed or the size of the cracks in the sidewalk. By the time we reached my house, I could barely see my door, much less think that I should walk through it.

“Can I come in?” Kelson asked.

I started to say yes, but stopped. “No.” I flushed in embarrassment as he jerked back, looking surprised. “The house is still a mess, and I have to do a lot of homework, so I don’t think it would be a good idea. I’m really behind.” I shut my mouth, realizing I was starting to ramble.

He studied me but smiled after a moment. “No problem. You wanna walk to school with me tomorrow?”

“Sure. See you tomorrow.” I slid into my house, shutting the door and then leaning against it, taking deep breaths. The strange mishmash of emotions and thoughts started to clear immediately. It was strange how confused I became around Kelson. It wasn’t like me at all, and though I felt practically euphoric near him, a twinge of fear laced through me now that he was gone. It was like I lost control whenever he was near.

I wandered into the living room and slumped onto our plaid couch without noticing Mom sitting on the recliner. She looked up from her romance novel.

“Hi, honey, had a hard day?” Her sky-blue eyes scrunched in concern, and she put her book down to come give me a hug. I buried my head in her shoulder, feeling her silky hair against my face and smelling her reassuring scent of oil paint, turpentine, and lavender. Then it occurred to me that she shouldn’t be here.

I pulled away. “Why are you home?”

“Um.” She looked away. “Well, it seems I’m not quite cut out for the job.”

“What? What happened?”

“I tripped and fell onto a stack of boxes. Everything inside broke.” She shrugged, but her eyes looked miserable.

“Still, it was an accident. They can’t just fire you.”

“They didn’t. I decided it was best to resign before I broke anything else.” Her lips curved in a small smile.

“Oh well, it was a horrible job, anyway. We’ll find something better for you.”

“Of course we will. With my Mary on the case, anything is possible. Now, enough about me. Let’s talk about you. I want to know everything.”

I told her about my classes, but I didn’t want to talk about Kelson. By the time I finished, Mom was outraged at the amount of homework I was expected to do. I just laughed. It was nice to have someone on my side.

I tried to tell Mom about Kelson at dinner, but I couldn’t form the words. Finally, I just asked her if she’d worked on a painting that day. I listened half-heartedly as she told me her plans to paint a desert landscape. Though I couldn’t seem to tell Mom about Kelson, I couldn’t get the thought of him out of my head. I yearned to see him while at the same time I dreaded it. I’d never felt this mixed up before.

“Tell me about my dad,” I said suddenly. I had no idea what had prompted me. I’d never dared to ask Mom about him before, but I wanted to know what he’d been like. Had she felt the same fog in his presence that I felt around Kelson?

Mom looked as surprised by my question as I was. She recovered, though, and smiled sadly. “Your dad looked a lot like you. He had dark, wavy hair that he wore to his ears. His eyes and skin were like yours, but his eyes had a little brown at the edges. We met in college. I was trying to lug a huge canvas back to my apartment, but I kept dropping it every few steps. He came to my rescue, helping me with the canvas all the way back to my place. We started talking, and he told me he’d been touring the campus to see if it was right for him. After meeting me, he decided it was. So he enrolled, and we started dating.

“Your father was a wonderful man, though a little odd at times. It took awhile to get used to him, but he was very sweet. He constantly did things that made me feel special, and he was grateful for the simplest things. I guess his kindness rubbed off because he always made me feel like I was more somehow, like I was worth something.” Her face fell, and I guessed she was thinking of Joe.