The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted (3 page)

“Sure thing, Dad. I’ll catch you the next time.” She smirked, then finished her glass of water, grabbed her rain slicker, and slid it quickly over her head before stepping out into the cool drizzle. After locking the deadbolt, Aimee hid the key under the potted plant, then walked carefully down the slick driveway. Her dad was coming out onto the front porch. She waved at him, then jogged off hugging the curb to keep clear of the icy water splashing wickedly from passing cars. Several blocks away she stopped at the main intersection and pressed the pedestrian signal.

“Hey, Aimee!”

She immediately recognized
his
voice and whipped around. Aimee smiled. A blue sedan ap
proached. Dylan’s head was leaning out the back window. Robert Moore was driving and Trent Fry sat in the front passenger seat. Dylan’s beautiful face was being dusted by the light rain. His short, silky brown hair was wind-blown back, and a crazy grin stretched across his face and brightened his chocolate eyes. Robert ignored Aimee and revved his car waiting for the light to change. Trent glared at her.

Aimee asked Dylan, “Hey, what are you guys doing out so early?”

Before Dylan could answer, Robert stomped on the accelerator when the light turned, and the sedan blew past her. Dylan’s hand waved before it disappeared into the car. She started to sprint across the street. A dented, red van honked and swerved into the other lane to keep from hitting her. An arm stretched out of the driver’s window, displayed a third finger salute, then the van straightened back
into the lane and continued down the street. She thought,
Geez, crazy driver.
But nothing, not Robert
and Trent’s obnoxious behavior, or even almost getting run over, could distract Aimee. Her mind instantly returned to Dylan.

Dylan Townsend was a great diversion to the worrisome thoughts poking around in her head. He was a senior, too, at East Medford High. Gorgeous and tall with an awesome body from years of athletic training, Dylan was perfect. He was smart, unlike so many of his jock friends, and the starting quarterback for East Medford. He was so good he made State Varsity this year. The University of the
Cascades, one of several universities, offered him a full ride. And until a few weeks ago he dated Brandi Peters - Mr. and Miss Perfect - but that’s over. Aimee mused,
Too bad, for her at least.

Aimee and Dylan had classes together since ninth grade, but until last summer he didn’t act like she existed. She certainly noticed him though. He was impossible to miss. Now that they were more
than
just
classmates, Aimee couldn’t get rid of the crazy fluttering in her stomach every time she saw
him.

Before Aimee noticed, she made it back to the house without one more thought about her bizarre
dream earlier. Only Dylan occupied her thoughts.
She stood on the front lawn staring at her house.
Geez,
she thought,
my totally weird life almost feels normal, but with my luck it’ll never last.
She
sighed, then went inside to get ready for school.

Chapter 2 Nightmares

...Three weeks earlier

Today was like every other day. After the final school bell rang Aimee sprinted to her car, then sped to work. At seven she finished and hurried out, jumped into her beloved canary yellow ’71 VW, and tore home to get supper on the table before her dad could polish off a bag of chips and a couple beers while he waited for Aimee to arrive and fix dinner. Fortunately, his truck was still missing as she whipped her car into the driveway. Dad would be starving when he finally made it home so she needed to fix something fast. Since she was in charge of the kitchen, Aimee did her best to screw with her dad's addiction to junk food and beer, but he made up for it the other ten or twelve hours she wasn’t with him to police his lousy habits.

Zonker announced Dad’s arrival around seven thirty-five. Just like clockwork, he slid in the backdoor, hung up his coat, and hollered he was starving. He scooted up beside Aimee at the counter and gave her a fast hug while he snuck a peek in the microwave. “Mmmm, leftover Chinese, my favorite,” remarked Dad. Everything, when it came to food, was Dad’s favorite.

Dinner was quiet as usual, the silence only broken by a few nondescript exchanges about their day, peppered with a selection of casual one word responses. After seconds of General Tsao’s chicken, topped off with a bowl of peaches and a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream, Dad lingered at the kitchen table reading the paper while Aimee sailed through the mindless chore of washing the dishes and sweeping the floor.

“Can I help?” Dad finally peeked up from the story he was reading. His timing was always impeccable.

“Uh, nope, thanks anyway,” she said as she tucked the last plate into the cabinet. “All done. Now on to homework.”

He closed the paper and smiled. “Dinner was good. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said and headed off to the den. Quickly the loud drone of TV filtered throughout the house.

Aimee entered her room and switched on the desk lamp, grabbed Mom and Dad’s photo, then dropped into her chair. She had a few minutes to spare to look at the photo - a nightly habit. She
touched the glass. “I love you,” slipped from her lips.

Finally, she grabbed her textbook and quickly flipped to the chapter bookmarked.
Even though she needed to study for her test, Aimee couldn’t get focused on economics. Her past was on her mind tonight. In therapy, Dr. Sanders told her life sucks once in a while, but it’s been exceptionally normal these days. It hasn’t always been that way. She wished she could erase her early teens, but they were in many ways the corner, as Dr. Sanders described it, that she needed to round to get better.

After receiving Mom’s death certificate from Aunt Lauren, Aimee snapped. All the suppressed feelings of guilt and abandonment flooded out leaving her an empty shell. She doesn’t remember much of the first year of her teens, and Dad and James won’t talk about it either. It took two years and endless hours of therapy to feel anything again. Pain, anger, and every healthy feeling in between got lost in those few years. Somewhere around her fifteenth birthday, she emerged from her fog. She wasn’t completely healed. At least she didn’t feel numb anymore. She felt happiness, handled disappointment, but mostly she learned to bury the guilt. The nasty feelings had all countless times been prostrated in front of therapists, every detail analyzed, and then all the screwed up pieces intentionally eradicated so she could get on with life. The pills - anxiety and antidepressants, and multiple others in colorful combinations - made it easier at first, but eventually she coped without being drugged.

Aimee's family hung tight with her during her illness, but what few friendships she had were history. She salvaged her friendship with her best friend, Chelsea, after the storm died down. Now, three years later, Aimee has a few good friends, and she can walk down the halls at school without worrying about what everyone thinks about her, but she still thinks it's easier being a chameleon.

The upcoming fall also preoccupies her thoughts. James and Sacha are finishing their second year at the University of the Cascades. If everything goes as planned, she'll move to Eugene in August to live with them and start her first year at UC. James convinced their dad that he and Sacha could keep an eye on her, but he still worries about Aimee leaving. The past few months he has started hovering over her again like he did when Aimee was sick, watching for any signs that she's cracking under the pressure of her senior year. Once in a while he’ll drop a comment about how good the college is in Ashland. His subtle attempts at trying to persuade Aimee to change her mind and stay close to home are lame, but she thinks he's worried about himself as well. Her absence is sure to reopen a hole in his life, one that has taken years to mend.

For the past three years Aimee's tried to be the perfect daughter to make up for all the trouble she thinks she caused. She makes straight A’s. She never misses work. And she keeps her dad fed and the house clean. When she does hang out with her friends, she's always home on time, and never touches anything that warps her brain. And, unlike most eighteen-year-olds, she rarely passes up a chance to hang with her old man. ...

...“Aimee, are you busy Saturday morning?” Dad asked as he popped his head through the doorway. Aimee jumped. “Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t hear you open the door. I’m trying to do some last minute cramming for a test tomorrow.” She took a deep breath, then answered, “Uh, nope, I’m not going into work until two.” Aimee grinned. She knew exactly what he was scheming.

“I’m scheduled for an eight o’clock flight. Could use a copilot. You know Mel’s a friggin’ motor mouth. It’s never as peaceful as when you go with me.”

“I think I can get up that early.”

“What do you mean you think you can get up that early? You’re up before me when we go flying on Saturdays.”

“Well…uhh...I...I have a date Friday night, but I don’t think we’ll be too late.”

Dad’s eyebrows peaked. “A
date
? Anyone I know?”

Aimee could tell he wasn’t going to let this slide. He looked too pleased to hear she was breaking tradition from her routine of studying or working on a weekend night.

“You might.”

Dad continued, “Well, are you going to disclose his name, or do I have to impose my parental rights to get it?”

Aimee sighed. “Dylan Townsend.”

“Dylan Townsend...” he pondered out loud, “…the kid who made State on Varsity this year?”

“I think that’s him,” she answered not surprised Dad knew him. He studied the sports section of the local paper like a nun reads the Bible.

“
Impreeeessive
,” he whistled through his teeth.

Aimee, on the other hand, was unimpressed by Dylan’s prowess on the field. This past summer, after their junior year, she and Dylan worked together at a camp for at-risk children. Aimee was a volunteer. Dylan’s time was court-ordered community service, restitution for a speeding ticket. But after he satisfied his two week obligation, he stayed another four weeks until summer two-a-days started. He said he found the little ankle biters really cool. They hung on him as if he was a superstar. Aimee had to admit she was happy he stayed. He was a really cool guy away from his groupies. He didn’t treat her like she was a pariah, the way his friends treated her. She expected him to ignore her after they returned to school, but surprisingly, he continued being nice to her despite his friends.

“Amos, that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. Then he added, “You know I want to meet him before you go out, and where you’re going, you know, the standard rundown.”

“Yes, Dad, will do.” Aimee was blatantly aware of Dad’s pertinacious hovering, a conditioned response from dealing with her adolescent hysterics. Dad looked relieved that his daughter was finally exhibiting normal teenage behaviors. He squeezed her shoulder and smiled before disappearing down the hall.

The idea of a date with Dylan, the captain of the Varsity football team and East Medford High’s debate team, gave her jitters. During the summer he had been so easy to work together, despite
the obvious differences in their social hierarchy. Dylan’s one of “them”
,
a popular kid, gorgeous, rich,
and Aimee, well, she's a chameleon, definitely not one of “them”. Until recently Dylan had a girlfriend, Brandi Peters, disgustingly beautiful, and another one of “them”. But she’s history, according to Aimee's source, Chelsea Jenkins. She looked into the mirror, sighed and said quietly, “Oh, well, what am I thinking? One date. That’s all it’ll be. I can do
this. I
need
to do this. Have fun, act crazy…well, at least act normal.”

No wonder her dad was relieved to learn Aimee had a date. She knew he was concerned about her dim interest in the opposite sex, or for that matter, anything remotely normal for an eighteen year old. Being good, it appeared, seemed to be just as worrisome to a parent as being reckless.

Aimee was too tired to continue studying so she quickly got ready for bed. Finally wrapped tight under the covers, she stared at the green splotches on the darkened ceiling. Dylan kept resurfacing in her thoughts. She tried to force him from her mind. She was mortified to admit how she really felt
about Dylan. There was no way he felt the same. After a few deep breaths,
she sighed, then rolled over.
Zonker moved over and melted his warm, plump body into the back of her legs, and mimicked her sigh. She snickered. After several minutes, she drifted away into dreamland.

The vibration of Aimee's phone, tucked under her pillow, interrupted her slumber. She raked the sheet, finally hitting it, then flipped it open.

“Uh…hello,” she mumbled.

Chelsea exclaimed, “Hey, wake up, you rat! How come you didn’t call me back? I can’t wait until
tomorrow.
O...MIII…GOD,
you gotta tell me everything, you hear me, every little detail!” She sounded
completely ticked. Aimee pretended she didn’t know what Chels was talking about.

“Chelsea, you woke me up. It’s eleven.”

“Aimee, you’re my best friend, aren’t you?” asked Chelsea. “You know I tell you everything. How could you not tell me something this important?” She continued without letting Aimee answer. “So, okay, Jana and I are at the basketball game tonight, and we’re sitting a couple rows behind Nicole and Brandi, anyway, I heard Brandi tell Nicole that she heard from Travis that Dylan
asked you out, Christ, you should have heard her go on about Dylan and you, you can tell she is
sooo
friggin’ jealous,
Dylan Townsend
, are you kidding me, I mean like he is
sooo
friggin’ hot, you better
tell me everything, every little juicy detail, and like what’s up with you, how come you didn’t tell your best friend?!”