After Dakota (4 page)

First Period Economics: Cameron and Bryce. All the males in the room, suddenly awake at eight a.m., ponder the baffling (and fortunate) chain of events that led to Ms. Sarah Dickinson choosing a career as an economics teacher instead of an international sex symbol. Her chocolate fountain of hair caps the full F-B-B package.

Every time she writes on the board, these same males focus on nothing but the back of her form-fitting slacks. She writes on the board a lot that first day. Geoff Winters, in the same battered leather jacket he’s worn every day of high school, keeps squinting and saying he can’t read what she’s just completed. Ms. D keeps turning around and writing it all bigger, bless her heart.

First Period English: Claire. The bubbly Ms. Harper, surrounded by colorful grammar posters, tells the class all about herself (two cats, favorite pastime is skiing, favorite book is
To Kill A Mockingbird
) before passing out a freshly dittoed questionnaire. Some students begin writing immediately, others pause to sniff the ink first.

Something you should know about me as a student is __________________

My favorite thing to do on a weekend
is _____________________________

Claire writes her answers, thinking the whole time that they should cancel school for a day after someone dies.

Third Period English: Cameron. Mrs. Gordon (aka, Mrs. Gorgon) has been an institution at the school for as long as anyone can recall; she taught several current staff members, and even a couple of their parents. Her hair has been the same shade of gold, literal gold, for eons. And her classroom: the desks in their military rows, the bare walls.

“Quiet down, people” are the first words she says to them.

It’s when Mrs. Gordon puts on her reading glasses and is outlining everything a student can do to lose points in her class that the girl next to Cameron whispers, “I feel enlightened already.” The accent (British or Australian) makes him look over, and looking over makes his heart stop.

Dakota sits next to him. She wears a white fuzzy sweater, plaid skirt, black fishnet leggings. How is she here? Has he gone mad?

It takes him staring awkwardly for five seconds, or maybe thirty, to see just enough subtle differences – eyebrow color, mouth shape – that it’s not her. He could have skipped the obviousness and simply glanced sideways at her binder, where
Rosemary Vickers
is written in large cursive on the front. An unfamiliar name from his history here at school.

“…and let me tell you, there is no surer way to incur my wrath,” Mrs. Gordon says. Cameron tries to pay attention, despite the fact that a foxy ghost hovers in his peripheral vision.

Third Period Prep: Bryce. He sits in the Commons, the large central room painted in red and white, ringed with padded seating. The announcements come over the loudspeaker: yearbook pictures, schedule changes. Then Principal Rodriguez’s voice. “As some of you may know, we lost a member of our school family recently when Dakota Vanzant, class of 1982, passed away tragically. Our motto here is, ‘Once a Thunderbird, always a Thunderbird.’ In that spirit, I’d like to ask everyone to take a moment of silence.” Twenty seconds later, by the huge clock over Bryce’s head, Rodriguez says, “Thank you.”

Bryce wonders if the principal has had to say those words before. Or if he’ll have to say them again.
When
he’ll have to say them again.

Rebecca Hall enters and sits against the far wall. She’s always been known as Reblecha (usually behind her back). The acne beard, the big nose, the asymmetrical eyes – her whole face looks like it was put together in random, Mrs. Potato Head-style. The weirdest part about her, though, is her sister, Natalie, who’s a stone cold fox. Everyone assumes Reblecha is adopted, because how could the same genes have produced both girls?

“Hi, Bryce,” she says and waves. He waves back quickly before anyone important walks past and sees. He zips up his backpack and leaves, in case she’s thinking of sitting next to him.

Fourth Period World Affairs: Claire. Everyone knows that Neal Hagen migrates to a summer home when school’s over, for the purpose of surfing. Everyone knows he drives the cool VW van that graduating seniors get to autograph. And of course he’s the only male teacher on campus with a ponytail.

To Claire, he’s a hippie whose crowded classroom is decorated with a surfboard, various surfing and skateboarding photos, and a poster from the Olympics showing two men with their fists raised in the Black Power salute. She ends up sitting in the far back corner of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, to understand our world, you need knowledge of our world,” Mr. Hagen says from the podium after taking roll. “So, to that end, we’ll be having…” With great flourish, he tears down the blank sheet of butcher paper on the wall behind him. Beneath it waits a large world map, with the names of countries all covered. “…a geography bee!” A groan whips through the room.

Claire can’t believe this; it’s like her mom called the school and arranged for them to schedule something easy for her, to make up for not going to Sandia. Her dad used to be a Continental Airlines pilot, and whenever he came home from a trip, he would sit down with her, Bryce, and a world map to mark his route.

He presented them with trinkets – the geisha doll, the colorful money, exotic liquor bottles like a wizard’s potions for himself – from far corners of the globe. He taught them
Konnichiwa
and
Bonjour
and
Goddag
.

Claire told him that one day she would go to all the places he’d been, and even more. Then he retired to work as “a desk jockey” at the airport, in order to be home with the kids more. The kids understood this wasn’t his idea.

Mr. Hagen says, “Last person alive gets a prize. And my admiration. We know which is worth more.” He asks everyone to stand. “First question goes to Isabel Arnold.” He points with a yardstick to a spot on the map. “Name this country.”

Claire says, “Ecuador.” Everyone turns, mystified, including Isabel Arnold in her stonewashed jeans and jacket. “Sorry,” Claire adds. “I thought we could just say it.”

Hagen says, “You’ll get your turn, Miss…”

“Claire Rollins.”

The real Isabel says, “I was going to say Ecuador,” then throws Claire a not-friendly look.

Hagen sticks a colored pin in the map. “I’ll give you that one. Next is Ryan Asher.” Hagen points.

Ryan uhhhhh’s under his mohawk. To Claire’s credit, when she pipes in with “Poland,” she does so quietly. Just not quietly enough. The looks her way are less curious now, more hostile, accompanied by shushing.

The game goes on and more names are eliminated. Claire gets three answers – Hong Kong, Norway, Algeria – right.

It eventually comes down to Isabel vs. Claire. The crowd has a clear favorite, applauding when Isabel gets an answer right. A slick-haired kid angles himself in front of Claire when it’s her turn; she stands on her desk to see the map. Every eye in the place locks on her. The feeling in the room, the hope that she’ll fail, is palpable. She finally says, “Tasmania.”

“We have a winner,” Hagen announces, tossing Claire a king-sized Snickers.

Claire points at Isabel and lets loose a “Ha!” just like when she beats Bryce at anything. Only here it doesn’t go over so well. Groans and boos follow. Isabel’s mouth hangs open.

The bell rings to cap the anti-celebration. The class files out, a few tossing final looks and comments at Claire on the way. She stares at her orange shoelaces until she’s the last one left.

Fourth Period Computers: Bryce. Ever since he saw the movie
WarGames
, he’s thought about being a cool hacker, having a codename and government agents looking for you. Unfortunately, the type of things these computers do is a lot less cool: math problems and basic graphics and sending text from the screen to the imposing printer in the corner, with its lolling tongue of paper.

While Mr. Terry, glasses on the end of his nose, goes over the class syllabus, Bryce types things like

C:/ Hack Pentagon

And

C:/ Missile Override

In return the screen tells him
Unknown Command
. Ronnie Youngblood, a Navajo kid who seems not to have heard of a comb, and has probably said a total of ten words since freshman year, sits next to Bryce. He either grunts or chuckles at each of the commands; it’s hard to be sure.

Lunch: Cameron. Starting junior year, the outdoor snack bar is the only place to be seen. The fence might as well have a NO UNDERCLASSMEN ALLOWED sign. Funyuns and Doritos, Nestle Crunch and Hot Tamales all hang on display at the window. The two parallel lines are long and populated with types who don’t like waiting; Cameron knows to have his order and money ready long before reaching the front.

At a table, Bryce dips French fries into a chocolate shake; Cameron squeezes packets of mustard onto a gray hamburger. Geoff Winters joins them, his skin always moon-colored, like he lives in a world where the sun never rises (which is almost true, given the amount of time he spends in the school theater).

“I’m about ready to pass out,” he tells them. “I only got nine hours’ sleep last night. Brutal.”

The three review their classes and teachers thus far, until they turn their attention to each girl who enters.

Jennifer Robinson.

Cameron: “Seven.”

Geoff: “I can’t go higher than five.”

Bryce: “You’re crazy. I’d do her in a second and slap myself for waiting so long.”

Tanya Vigil.

Cameron: “Six. Maybe six-point-five.” The others nod; sometimes things are just objectively true.

Nicole Steinbach. Terri Watson. Rachelle Wilson.

Bryce says, “Oh. My. God. Susannah got new jeans over the summer.”

“How do you know?” Cameron asks. Susannah Kramer and her less-attractive girlfriend take their place in line, both of them wearing side ponytails like twins from a Dr. Seuss book.

“Please. I memorized every outfit she wore last year.”

“We know what Bryce is gonna be thinking about when he milks the eel tonight,” Geoff says.

The three boys have
F.T.E.
written in Sharpie on their backpacks. Fight The Establishment. Cameron and Bryce became known among their teachers as The Famous Two (occasionally the Famous Three if all the boys had class together), cutting loose with such acts of subversion as writing their names upside down on their papers, farting on command during class, running through the empty girls’ locker room and turning on all the showers. And their performance art masterpiece: pretending to be old men that couldn’t hear in class, turning off imaginary hearing aids when a lecture got boring, hobbling slowly to the bathroom on invisible canes in order to be gone as long as possible.

Cameron asks, “Do either of you guys know a chick named Rosemary Vickers?”

“She’s in my science class,” Geoff says. “Transferred here from England for senior year.”

“You talked to her?”

“No, she was telling Katrina. Why, you like her? Want me to find out if she has a boyfriend back over there? Maybe his name’s, like, Nigel.”

“Nigel… Pemberton,” Bryce says in his C-3PO voice. He and Geoff repeat it back and forth, trying to out-British each other.

Cameron cuts in, “I don’t like her. I don’t even know her. Just wondering.”

Lunch: Claire. The hot, noisy cafeteria hums with the smells of cooking meat and B.O. Trays with little milk cartons. Chili con carne ladled over piles of corn chips. The freshman and sophomore cliques sit together, already formed. The back table is where the retards sit, just like in middle school, where teachers have to help them eat and food scraps pile up on the floor. Claire could get in line, get a tray of food and plant herself somewhere. Maybe a group will feel sorry for her eating alone and invite her to join them. Then they can do it again tomorrow and the next day and the next, until she has brand new friends.

No, thank you.

She walks back out, past the boys bouncing a hacky sack off the sides of their feet. Past the girls with their lunches in matching Tupperware containers. Over here, the big swimming pool inside the high fence. Over there, the athletic field, a rectangle of green decorated with white numbers.

Claire enters the library, its yellow and black FALLOUT SHELTER sign above the door. On the wall right inside is a row of school yearbook covers, dating back to 1965. In the 1981 spot: Snoopy and Woodstock, signed by Bryce. He won the cover contest that year and sure strutted around the house like an Olympic gold medalist. He probably traced it anyway.

On second thought, she doesn’t want to be in the library either.

She and her friends used to wonder about the weirdos in middle school who ate alone – like, you don’t have even
one
friend? Now she’s become one of them, a sad phantom on the periphery of everything. She sits on the edge of a planter and eats Mr. Hagen’s Snickers bar. Across the grass from her, a group of older boys in leather jackets, pocket chains, and scuffed jeans stands under a tree, smoking cigarettes.

Isabel from social studies, along with four other girls, walks toward her. Isabel sees Claire and whispers something to the group. They all stare at her as they pass by. One of them says, “Nice shoes.” Claire’s tally, halfway through the first day of school, friends: zero, enemies: five.

Bryce and Cameron walk up as she finishes the chocolate. “I thought you wanted me to buy you something,” Bryce says.

“Don’t worry about it. I had this.”

“Well, don’t tell Mom I abandoned you and made you eat candy for lunch.” He cocks his head. “Since when do you wear all that makeup?”

“Who’s that?” Claire asks, indicating the gang at the tree.

“Smokers’ Tree,” Cameron says. “You used to be able to smoke anywhere on campus, but the principal stuck ‘em all over there.”

Bryce points on the sly. “See that guy in the middle, the one who looks like he’s twenty five? That’s the Spawn of Satan.”

“In human form he goes by Ricky Zaplin,” Cameron says.

“What’s so bad about him?” she asks.

The boys look at each other. Bryce: “Nothing, other than he’s terrorized us since elementary school. Loogies, Indian burns. One time he put Cam’s head in a – ”

“Ok, never mind that,” Cameron cuts in. ”He’s also scammed with half the girls here.”

“I bet you a thousand bucks he has V.D.,” Bryce says.

“You don’t have a thousand bucks,” Claire replies.

Bryce puts on his caring big brother voice. “Claire, trust me and stay away from him.”