This Girl Is Different (2 page)

“This is a geodesic dome?” Rajas asks.

“Very good.” I smile. “You’ve seen one before?”

“Sort of. A picture of one. In our Environmental
Science book.” He rolls onto his side and props his
head on one hand. “But that one was ugly. Gray steel
and asphalt shingles. This”—he nods at my house—“is
amazing.”

“Thanks.” A course in environmental science sounds
fascinating, but my school schedule is crammed with
requirements for graduation. The guidance counselor
left no room for electives. I suppose my whole life has
been electives, up until now. I rewrap my hair into a
messy bun and tell Rajas, “We ordered the kit from a
company in Oregon.”

“You built it?” He sounds impressed.

His interest feels as cozy as a warm sleeping bag
after a day trek through the mountains. “Sure. The kit
comes with all the parts, and a huge book of instructions.
It was tricky at first, but once we got the hang of
it, it was fantastic.” I smile at the Dome Home. “The
best part was that, about halfway up, it kind of came
alive—it popped up higher on its own. It lifted us with
it, on our little scaffolding. We couldn’t believe it. We
just about fell off from shock. And laughing.”

“We?”

“Me, Martha, and Rich. Her brother, my uncle.”

“That’s it? Just you guys?” Rajas asks.

I nod. “Just us.”

“Wow.” He lies back down and gazes at the sky.
“That’s amazing.”

“You like to build? I figured that out, see. Because of
the whole carpentry apprenticeship.”

“Very clever of you.” Rajas grimaces; he seems
embarrassed. “Yeah. Nothing like your dome, though.”
He shades his eyes to look at me. “I really just fool
around. Have a workshop in my garage. Made a couple
of tables and I’m working on a rocking chair.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. Someone once said
‘I’d rather build cathedrals than chairs,’ because chairs
are so hard to get right.” I smile. “I collect random
quotes.” I tuck some unruly strands behind my ears and
reach down to pick up Little Gray Kitty, who’s come to
say hello. As I smooth down the kitten’s ears, I say, “I’d
love to see your chair.”

Rajas looks startled. Like he’s surprised by my interest,
or maybe the fact that I just invited myself over. But
he smiles. It’s dazzling.

Jacinda appears from behind the curved frame of
the Dome Home. Right. Jacinda. She and Rajas are
together, probably.

We watch her
thwup-thwup
around the vegetable
garden to disappear into the barn—a regular barn,
wooden and dilapidated, here long before Martha and
me. Jacinda pops back out a second later. “Hey! There’s
a bunch of cats in here! And ohmigod! A cow!”

Rajas shouts to Jacinda, “A cow? In a barn? That is
insane.”

Jacinda gives him a withering look and disappears
again. “And chickens in a hut!”

“The cow is Hannah Bramble,” I call out to Jacinda.
“She’s friendly, but beware the chickens. They’re deadly.
Like piranhas with feathers.”

Jacinda flies past the chicken coop, lifting her knees
high as she runs to us. “Get out! Are you serious?” She
turns to make sure there are no chickens in pursuit.

Rajas cracks up. I can’t help but join him.

Jacinda collapses on the grass next to Rajas. She
pushes him like she’s mad but then starts laughing too.
“Just what I need! Someone for Raj to gang up on me
with.”

Rajas carries me inside The Dome. It sets my heart galloping
again.

“Thanks. Sit down, guys,” I say after Rajas deposits
me at the kitchen table. “You must be hungry.” Neither
of them sits. Instead they wander through my home,
looking up through the huge skylight, scrutinizing our
mandala-patterned cork floor, pressing their hands
onto the luminescent fabric of the walls.

“Holy cow,” Jacinda breathes, twirling in slow circles.

“This construction is so smart.” Rajas traces his
hands over the struts.

I smile and listen to them move around. It’s a comforting
sound, like a soft wind moving through pine
trees. No matter how much I try to distract myself, my
eyes return to Rajas.

“You have plumbing.” Jacinda sounds pleasantly
surprised. She’s peeking behind the door to the bathroom.
Built of oak planks, the walls and ceiling of the
bathroom are the only square, straight, flat walls inside
the Dome Home; they support the sleeping loft.

“Mmm-hmm.” I hop to the fridge for ice—which I
wrap in a dishtowel and tie around my ankle—and the
jug of iced tea. “If you need to use the bathroom…this
might sound weird, but it’s a composting toilet, so the
toilet paper goes into—”

“No no, I’m good.” Jacinda waves her hands. “I
guess I just didn’t expect you would have a bathroom
in this kind of place.”

“Sure. Plumbing, electricity, hot water.” I pull a knife
out of the block to slice some bread. “The stove and
oven use propane from the tank outside. Solar panels
do the rest.”

“Ohmigod! Raj, come look! Evie has Ganesh!”
Jacinda touches the elephantine figure sitting on our
ecumenical altar among other sacred objects: more
Hindu deities, small Buddhas, ceramic crosses from
Mexico, a calligraphic verse from the Qur’an, a Star of
David inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Martha and I collect
them on our travels. Icons from the world’s religions.

Rajas stands next to Jacinda to look at the collection.
“No one around here knows who Ganesh is.”

“Hazards of living a small town,” I say. “Martha and
I were psyched there’s a food co-op and a Unitarian
church. But still, no diversity. Especially with religion.”

“So true,” Jacinda says. “Here, the biggest choices
here are, like, Catholic or Protestant. Or Unitarian.”

“But you’re Hindu? Both of you?”

“Yeah. Our moms are from Bombay.” Rajas picks up
a hand-carved Buddha, turns it in his hands. “They
drag us to Binghamton University for Diwali and stuff.”

“My dad is, like, a Methodist?” Jacinda says. “And
Raj’s dad is agnostic, so everyone just compromises.
Sometimes we go Unitarian.”

Why on earth would their entire families compromise
with each other? Oh no. Are Jacinda and Rajas
engaged or something? Before I can speak, Rajas turns
around to face me. “Haven’t I seen you there, at the
Unitarian Church?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” I manage to stay cool, but inside, I’m
dying. He’s noticed me there before! I take a deep
breath. Calm down, girl.

“Just sometimes?” Jacinda asks.

I nod, try to focus on her question. “I think all religions
have the same message: Love each other.
Respect a Greater Spirit. But I also believe there’s a life
energy, like a current, going through everyone and
everything. You know the Walt Whitman poem ‘I Sing
the Body Electric’?”

Jacinda’s eyes are starting to glaze over. Oops. I
guess I was starting to ramble.

“Anyway,” I say, trying to sum up. “Martha and I go
different places, depending where we are. Or I do yoga
or just lie on the grass and meditate. Same idea.”

“Sounds like you’ve lived all over,” Rajas says.

“I’ve traveled all over. But I have a rule that you
haven’t actually
lived
somewhere unless you’re there
more than two years. So I’ve only really lived in Seattle
and Montreal. And now here.”

Rajas makes a face. “I’d take those other places any
day of the week.”

“Oh, Raj, don’t be a hater.” Jacinda flicks her hand at
him. “Upstate New York is beautiful, right, Evie?”

“Definitely. What Leatherstocking Country lacks in
diversity, it makes up for in natural beauty—”

“Wait!” Jacinda freezes. “Where’s your TV?”

You have to appreciate her non sequiturs. “We don’t
have one.” I hop across the kitchen to the other cupboard.
“But we’re not complete Luddites. Our computer
plays DVDs. And we have the…what do you call it?” I
snap my fingers like I’m trying to remember. “It’s a collection
of tubes that information slides through. The
Tube-A-Tron? No. The InterWeb?”

“You mean the
internet
?” Jacinda looks concerned
about me.

Rajas rolls his eyes. “She’s kidding, Jay.”

“You are?”

I laugh. “Sorry! You’re too easy.”

“That’s what all the boys say,” Rajas mutters. Which
seems weird.

“Shut up!” Jacinda says, not mad at all. She turns to
me. “Don’t listen to him. I’m saving myself—”

“For her anonymous internet—InterWeb to you,
Evie—lover,” Rajas finishes for her. Frowning, he adds,
“Real smart, Jay.”

“Shut up,” Jacinda tells Rajas, more serious this time.

What? Are they kidding? I am so lost. Are they not
together? She has an InterWeb lover? It makes no
sense. But from Jacinda’s scowl, now is not the time to
ask. Besides, even though they seem comfortable and
familiar, I have to remember I just met these guys. It’s
none of my business.

Jacinda puts her hands on her hips and takes stock
of the Dome Home again. “Seriously, this place is pretty
cool. But no TV? I cannot relate.”

I shrug. “Martha and I usually just talk, read, hang
out.”

“Or, like, use the InterWeb?”

“Exactly.” I smile. Despite her dainty, pretty-girl
appearance—which is the polar opposite of what I’m
used to—and her way-too-tempting gullibility, she
seems solid, like she’s got depth and weight.
Figuratively, not literally: the girl is teensy. I hop on
my good foot to set a jar of honey on the table.

After a quiet moment, Rajas points to the woodburning
stove in the middle of the dome. “You heat
with wood. This place is insulated enough? Is there
some sort of liner for the winter?”

“Yes.” I lean on the table; my ankle is killing me.
“The winter liner covers the whole thing, sort of like a
huge tarp. Unfortunately it dims the light from all our
windows. But there’s a vent at the top to keep air
moving.

“You’ve probably figured this out by now.” I point to
the different areas of our home. “That’s Martha’s space,
behind the curtain. Living room, kitchen, bathroom. I
have the loft upstairs.”

“No walls. Not much privacy,” Rajas observes. He
tilts his head to read the spines of the books on our
bookshelves, which, along with the curtain, carve out
the space between the living room and Martha’s room.

“I don’t really need much privacy. After sharing a
tent with Martha and Rich the whole time we were
building this place, my loft is total bliss.” I pour iced tea
into clean mason jars for drinking and set a plate of
sliced bread next to the jars of honey and blueberry jam
Martha and I made. “Please, have something to eat.” I
sit and put the ice, melting into the dishtowel, onto my
ankle.
Ah.

They both seem reluctant to stop looking around,
but make their way over and sit. Rajas takes big gulps
of his tea.

Jacinda takes a sip from her jar and sets it down,
holds up a thick slice of bread. “Is this from that cute
bakery up in Sherburne?”

I shake my head while I chew a bite, swallow it.
“Fresh from the Dome Home oven.”

Her eyes go wide. “You
made
this? Here? Like,
rolling out the dough and everything?”

I smile. “Kneading the dough? Yes.” Smearing more
jam onto my slice, I say, “It’s not rocket science, I
swear.”

Jacinda inspects the bread. “Maybe not. But I don’t
know how to do it.”

“I’m happy to show you sometime.”

“How about the jam? You made this too?” Rajas
asks.

I nod. “And the honey’s from our bees.”

“You keep bees. Why am I not surprised?” Rajas
smiles his half-smile and bites off another chunk of
bread. His dark, dark eyes get round. “Amazing, Eve.
Really good.”

My cheeks go hot; Rajas calls me Eve, not Evie like
everyone else does. It sounds so smoldery on his lips.
It makes me feel older. Sort of…sexy. Warm in the
tingly bits.
Eve.
Yowza. I hop across the kitchen to plug
in my phone.

“You have electricity out here?” Jacinda asks.

Before I can answer, Rajas gripes, “Were you not listening?
Did you not notice the solar panels outside?”

Instead of getting snarky, Jacinda smiles and shrugs.
“I must have been distracted by Hannah…what’s your
cow’s name again?”

“Hannah Bramble.”

“Right,” Jacinda says. “And the piranha chickens.”

“Sharks with feathers.” Rajas laughs.

“Killer hens.” I’m laughing too.

What’s it been? Only an hour or two since Rajas and
Jacinda and I met. But it’s already so…easy. It’s amazing:
Some people you know for years, but you never get
past feeling stilted and awkward. They never understand
you. Other people, they walk into your life and
bam
. It’s just so right. You feel like you were meant to
be part of each others’ lives. It’s never happened to me
with kids my own age. School hasn’t even started yet,
and already it’s happening. Already I know I’ll never be
the same.

There are only three things that can kill a farmer: lightning, rolling over in a tractor, and old age.

—B
ILL
B
RYSON, WRITER, B.
1951

“So.” I shift the ice on my ankle. “How did you two
meet?” Isn’t that what I’m supposed to ask, if
they’re involved? I will be a big girl about it. I
refuse to be jealous. This girl is different.

Jacinda and Rajas exchange glances. Rajas lifts his
shoulders in an offhand shrug. “Known each other
forever.” He doesn’t say more, like there’s nothing
more to say.

Jacinda takes a big bite of bread; she swigs some
iced tea to wash it down. “Yum, Evie. This is so good.”
Thank God she’s not one of those girls who doesn’t eat.

“But how did you meet?”

Jacinda swallows. “If you must know, Raj used to
clobber me with blocks—”

“Only when you were being a brat—”

“
And
he used to pee in the bathtub.” She sticks her
tongue out at him, pleased with herself. Again, I am
totally lost. Jacinda must notice my confusion because
she says, “Seriously? We’ve known each other forever,
like Raj said. We grew up together.”

“So, you’ve been friends for a long time.” How did
things get romantic between them? At first I was
attempting civilized conversation, but now I’m truly
determined to get information.

“Friends?” Rajas laughs. “No.”

“We are not
friends
,” Jacinda states matter-of-factly.
“Our moms are sisters.”

“See?” Rajas picks up another piece of bread.
“Boring.”

“Oh.”
Oh!
If their moms are sisters, Rajas and Jacinda
are…cousins. Cousins! I smile so big my cheeks hurt.
Wow. They seem so close. How cool is that? Family and
friends at the same time. Not that I would know; Martha
and Rich are the sum total of my relations. “Cousins!
That’s fantastic!” I enthuse.

“If you say so.” Rajas, still eating, sounds noncommittal.
But Jacinda stops chewing and narrows her eyes
at me, as if she has just figured out why I’m so thrilled
with this news. A slow Cheshire Cat grin draws itself
across her face.

Quick, change the subject before she says anything.
“So. What’s school like? Got any tips or secrets? Am I
going to survive?”

It does the trick, because Jacinda’s eyes twinkle with
excitement. “Don’t worry. We’ll show you everything
you need to know, won’t we, Raj? What classes do you
have?”

“Let me grab my schedule.” I scoot my chair to get
up, but Rajas holds out a hand to stop me.

“I’ll get it,” he says. “You stay put, rest that ankle.”

“Thanks.” It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I try to take
it that way, instead of feeling like a damsel in distress
again. My ankle is hurting; the ice feels good. “It’s on
my desk. In the loft.”

He looks concerned. “Is it safe to go up there? Should
Jacinda go? Is there girl stuff lurking about?”

I laugh. “It’s safe. You’ll be fine.”

He grins his lopsided grin, which makes my stomach
flip. He climbs the ladder. “Holy crap.”

“What?” Jacinda pops out of her chair to investigate.

I try to see around her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. This is just…” Rustling sounds come from
the loft.

“Let me see!” Jacinda moves Rajas over to give herself
room on the ladder. She climbs, somehow managing
to maintain modesty despite her short sundress.
The girl’s got skills. “Aha!” She grabs the schedule.

“Wasn’t talking about the schedule, Jay. Look.”

“Holy cow,” breathes Jacinda.

I’m already hopping over to the ladder. They must
have discovered my scale models—of cities, communities,
villages, buildings. I beam; I can’t help it. Is there
anything better than cool people appreciating something
important to you, something that reflects who
you are, something you’ve built yourself? It’s so soulsatisfying.

Rajas holds one of the models over the side of the
loft, so I can see it. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks. Did you see my Eco-Village? It’s totally
self-sustaining. In theory.”

“Ohmigod, you did these?” Jacinda’s bare legs disappear
over the ladder and I hear her shuffling around.

I smile. “I love to design. It just makes me happy.”

“You are seriously gifted. You totally have to go to
Cornell.”

“Yeah,” says Rajas. “Makes sense now.”

They are quiet a little longer, looking at my models,
before they climb down. Jacinda has my schedule. She
looks it over.

“We have Global View and gym together!” Jacinda
squeals. “That’s so fricking great!”

Rajas grimaces. “So you both have Brookner.”

“Shut up,” Jacinda practically growls. Before I can
ask what they’re talking about, Rajas takes my schedule
from Jacinda so he can have a look.

“Um…do we have any classes together?” I ask, trying
to sound casual.

“Just lunch, if that counts,” Rajas says, sitting.

Jacinda studies my reaction. “Oh, it counts all right.”
She looks at me like I’m very amusing.

The crunch of gravel turns our attention to the
driveway. The Clunker shudders to a noisy, clanking
stop.

“That would be Martha,” I say.

Rajas and Jacinda stand up as my mother bursts into
the Dome Home.

“What is that hunk-of-junk gas-guzzler doing—”
She stops when she sees Rajas and Jacinda. “Oh. Well,
hello there.”

“Martha.” I give her my dirtiest, tone-it-down look.
“This is Rajas and Jacinda. We met down at the creek.
The car in the driveway”—I over-enunciate to be sure
she gets the point—“belongs to Rajas. Its name is the
Blue Biohazard.”

In seconds, Martha’s face flashes from annoyance
to surprise to intrigue—I’ve never brought two
strangers to the Dome Home. She takes my hint and
plays it cool. “Good to meet you.” She extends her
hand. “No offense about the car. I drive a hunk of junk
too.”

“None taken,” Rajas laughs. “Good to meet you.” He
peeks out the door to get a look at Martha’s van.

“Hi, I’m Jacinda.” She pumps Martha’s hand. Martha
looks at me with a Where-did-you-pick-up-this-strange-specimen?
look. It’s the same look—Did-you-just-get-back-
from-the-moon?—Jacinda has been giving me all
day. Standing next to each other, they are a study in contrasts:
Martha with her big frame and wiry silver hair, a
dingy shirt, pants, and practical shoes; Jacinda in her
pixie cut and little dress and sparkly flip-flops.

“Jacinda…” Martha’s eyebrows twist while she thinks.
“That’s an unusual name. I swear I’ve seen it—” She
snaps her fingers. “Aha! Are you the babysitter from the
flyer?”

Jacinda claps her hands, delighted. “Yes! That’s me!
Which one did you see?”

“The Horny Singletons Pack.” Martha crosses to the
kitchen area and opens the refrigerator.

“The…
what
pack?” Jacinda looks bewildered.

“The Help for Single Parents group at the Unitarian
Church,” I explain. “HSP. Martha says it stands for Horny
Singletons Pack.”

Martha reappears with a carrot. “Because that’s
what it is. A wolf pack of unmarried horny horndogs.
The fact that they happen to be divorced, and have kids,
is somewhat extraneous.”

I give Martha a dirty look. “One: it’s
not
a Horny
Singletons Pack. And two: it’s good for you.”

“So you say, darling.” She chomps a piece off the
carrot, holding the remainder like a cigar, wagging the
ferny top. “What’s the story here?”

“Rajas and Jacinda helped me out of a pickle. I
twisted my ankle.”

Martha flies over and kneels to touch my foot. “Is it
sprained?”

“I think so.”

She drops her carrot—it lands on the table next to
my iced tea—and takes a closer look. She moves my
ice pack and holds her hands above my ankle. It’s a
restorative energy thing. She closes her eyes to focus
the healing vibrations. I don’t even want to look at
Rajas and Jacinda; who knows what they’ll make of
this? Of her? They’ve been great with me, but Martha’s
a whole other level of different.

“Nice. A ’61 minibus.” Rajas is admiring it from the
doorway.

Martha opens her eyes and grins at him. “Why, yes
indeedy! That’s The Clunker. My pride and joy. Are you
a connoisseur?”

Rajas nods. “Can I take a look?”

“I’ll do you one better.” She tosses the keys to him.
“Why don’t you take her for a spin?”

Rajas looks at her in utter disbelief. “Really?”

“Sure. Take Jacinda in case you stall and need a
push start.”

Jacinda looks from Rajas, to me, to Martha. “You’re,
like, just kidding, right?”

“Only one way to find out.” Martha shoos them
toward the door. “Go on. Live a little. You’re only young
once,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“All right. Thanks!” Rajas smiles. “Be right back.”

“Take your time. If her door falls off, just slide it back
on the rails.”

Jacinda looks horrified. “Okay…” She sees that Rajas
is already outside. “Ta-ta.” She
thwup thwups
to catch
up with her cousin. Cousin! I let out a contented sigh.

Martha cocks an eyebrow at me. She locks her gaze
into mine. Squinting, she sets her palms on my shoulders,
and smiles. “Well, well, well, my darling,” she
says, “looks like lightning’s struck.”

She’s like that, Martha: intense and cryptic and
funny. When she was twenty-three and following Phish
with her brother Rich, she got pregnant with me by a
guy they’d been hanging out with. The family folklore
is that, nine months later, Martha went into labor at the
start of a show. Her midwife friend had disappeared
into the sweaty crowd. So, to deliver me, it was Rich,
or no one. He says it was the best—and scariest—trip
of his life. And he quit hallucinogens after that.

I know nothing about my dad. “We had some good
times,” is all Martha will say, “but he wouldn’t have
been a good father.” Rich just rolls his eyes when I ask.
The most he’s ever told me is, “The worst thing about
that dude is he would sell shrooms to anyone. Even if
they were clearly going to have themselves a bad, bad
trip. Dude had no scruples.”

Rich is the only constant man in Martha’s life. She
says she prefers it that way. The way she talks, it might
seem like she doesn’t believe in true love. And maybe
she has lost faith in the possibilities of finding it for herself.
“You and me: we’re enough,” she’ll say, tending
the garden or boiling apples for applesauce. “I’m not
opposed to the occasional one-night stand, when I get
particularly…lonely. If you know what I mean. But you,
Evie, will have great love in your life. You will fall
deeply and powerfully and fiercely in love. It will be as
undeniable as lightning striking deep into your core.
And I’m sorry to say, my darling, that with great love
can come great pain.”

I gape at Martha as she sits down next to me at the
kitchen table.
Lightning.
My throat has gone dry. “What
did you say?”

“You heard me.” She lifts my leg onto her lap,
cradling my ankle. “I know lightning when I see it.”

I stare out the open door and realize I’ve been practically
holding my breath since Rajas left, waiting for
him to get back. Oh man. Martha saying it makes it
real. And overwhelming. “I don’t feel good.” I get up
and hop to the bathroom. My stomach is swirling. “I
think I’m coming down with something.”

“You’ve got a fever, all right,” Martha says, “for
Rajas!” Swishing her hips, she begins singing. Some
song about fever lasting all through the night.

“It feels more like food poisoning,” I tell her.

“Oh, darling.” Martha is still moving her hips.
“Sometimes lightning takes its toll.” She’s swirling; I
feel like hurling. She wiggles her eyebrows at me and
starts singing again,
“You give me fever. Fever!”