Southern Exposure Read online

  * * *

  Mrs. Hall looked up as I stepped into the front office. "Well, look at you, any problems?"

  "I missed History."

  "Oh, that Mrs. Warner will mark you with an unexcused absence for sure. What happened?"

  I thought back to the girls in the bathroom. "I felt sick to my stomach. I think it was the tuna salad."

  "Oh dear, you shouldn't eat the tuna until after Halloween. I'll straighten things out with Mrs. Warner. I'm sure she'll understand."

  "Thanks."

  "Did you have any classes with Cathy?"

  "Art, we sit at the same table."

  Her smile seemed to go beyond mere casual interest. "That's nice. I hope you two can be friends." She turned back to her computer screen. "Have a nice evening, hon."

  When I got to the door, I realized I hadn't gotten my schedule signed. "Um, Mrs. Hall?"

  "Yes."

  I held up my schedule.

  "Don't worry about it. It was just a formality any who."

  I walked to the front door with the word 'formality' rattling around in my head. Formality, a rule—surely what she meant, a custom or ritual, a ceremony—ceremony, that was it, I remembered some kind of ceremony. "Formal." I almost walked into the door.

  "Hey."

  "Oh, hi Cathy, I didn't see you."

  "Yeah, like you were in a trance or something. What did you mean by formal?"

  "Oh nothing, just something Mrs. Hall said about formalities."

  "Yeah, she's all about formalities." Cathy's voice had an edge to it.

  "Well, listen, I really should be going. I have to do something about that portfolio."

  "Don't you have one? I mean everyone in GT has a portfolio, right?"

  "It's nothing like that, it's just packed away. I'm not exactly sure where."

  "Oh, well it was nice to meet you—I mean I'm glad you're here."

  "Me too."

  I'd left Cathy at the front door, so it took me a second to locate the student lot around the corner. As I walked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, the word formal kept repeating in my head. A formal, I was trying on a formal gown and I hated it. It must have been homecoming or prom. There was a woman with me, although I didn't have a clear image of her. It must have been her dress and she was trying to pin it so it would fit me. The dress was a hideous shade of pink coral with a plunging neckline that just wouldn't work with my slender figure; but the woman was so—insistent. I looked up as I started to step off the curb and jerked to a stop. There was a group of boys, more precisely Derrick's crew, hovering around my car.

  "Oh!" A woman yelped as she ran into me sending the folder in her hands tumbling into the street. She looked a bit dazed—as well she should have. Running into me would be like running into a brick wall.

  "I'm sorry." I apologized, stooping down to pick up her folder.

  "Are you alright?" She asked. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going."

  "I'm fine." I held out her folder.

  "Thank you," she said, taking it from me. "Are you Izzy Faulkner?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  "I'm Mrs. Warner, your—"

  "History teacher. I'm sorry I missed class, I—"

  "Ate the tuna. Yes, Mrs. Hall called me." She smiled as she seemed to evaluate me. "I'll have your book for you tomorrow. You didn't miss anything important. I know what it's like to be in a new school. Well, I'm glad I ran into you, literally I suppose. I have to run and pickup my daughter. I'll see you tomorrow."

  I looked back toward my car as she headed across the median toward the teachers' lot. The boys in the parking lot, near my car, were laughing at our exchange, but it had a mean vindictive edge, not playful teasing. Were they waiting for me or just admiring my car? I considered my options. I could go back in the school, but that would just delay the inevitable. I could confront them, but that would undoubtedly ruin everything, or, or what? I stepped off the curb and the boy I'd faced off with outside the cafeteria—Derrick—curled his finger, beckoning me toward them. The perceived threat had already compromised my restraint and I started forward. In the lot behind my car, Tink stepped out from a hedge of forsythia. I slowed.

  "What's the matter," Derrick taunted, "afraid to take your medicine?"

  My pace quickened again. I was already on the balls of my feet, hunched forward, stalking—attack mode. In the distance, Tink was vigorously shaking his head. It was getting close—losing total control. The urge to pounce pulsed through me. Suddenly the shrill blast of a whistle from the football field pierced the air. My last shred of control stopped me mid-stride.

  "You guys plan on practicing today?" A familiar voice called. It was Coach Singleton.

  The boys groaned and slowly slinked off toward the field.

  "TODAY!" Coach ordered.

  The boys double-timed it across the lot. When I turned back, Tink was standing next to my car.

  "New friends?" He joked.

  "You won't say anything to Elizabeth will you?"

  "About what? I was just afraid they were gonna drool all over the paint. Can't have 'em ruinin' the paint, can we?"

  "Thanks. Want a lift?"

  "Sure." Tink climbed in the passenger's seat as I slipped in behind the wheel. "Why don't you swing by the field on the way out."

  "You think that's wise?" I started the engine and pulled out, my effort with the clutch only causing a couple of jerks.

  "Not bad, I knew you'd catch on."

  As I drove past the practice field, Tink pointed at the boys, a kind of guy warning, I hoped it would help more than hurt. The boys did look surprised, like where did he come from. Once we were past the field, Tink leaned back in the seat and looked me up and down. "Well, you're not covered in blood; that's good."

  "Very funny."

  "Gotta hand it to ya missy, you showed a lot of restraint today. You should feel mighty proud. Yes ma'am, mighty proud indeed."

  "You won't tell then?"

  "What's to tell? Na, as I recall it, you managed quite well—know I couldn't have done it." Tink scratched at his arm vigorously.

  "You painted yourself?" I pondered.

  "Didn't see how I was going to keep an eye on you in broad daylight if I didn't. I gotta say though, this stuff is really annoying. Don't know how you manage it."

  "I know what you mean. This is the longest I've worn it. Can't wait to get home and scrub it off."

  "Ya got homework?"

  "Not really, but I need a portfolio for tomorrow."

  "Portfolio?"

  "Yeah, art stuff."

  "Like Benjamin's? Bet he'd lend you some of his paintings."

  "No, nothing as elaborate as that." I thought for a moment. "Guess I'll have to run out to the store for some supplies, but I can't stand this paint a minute longer, so it'll have to wait until tonight."

  "That's what I'm talking about. Doin' stuff after dark is the only way to go."

  "You don't have to come. If I can handle school, the store should be a breeze. Can I ask you something?"

  Tink nodded.

  How to word this, "Well, about the car—"

  "Too much for you?"

  "No! Not at all, but you know that stuff you told me back in the garage this morning?"

  "Yeah."

  "Could you repeat it?"

  He chuckled, that belly laugh of his that made you just want to cuddle him like a big overgrown teddy bear. "Someone to impress?"

  "Nothing like that, the girls asked—"

  "The girls!" He choked.

  "Oh all right! The boys at school said it was a waste for someone like me—presumably they meant female—to be driving such a cherry car. I thought I might dazzle them a little. You know, put them in their place."

  He nodded and pulled the piece of straw he'd been chewing out of his mouth like what he was about to say required some kind of reverence. "It's a three-eighty-three stroker, forged internals, aluminum heads, fuel injected, makes about four hundred and
fifty horsepower." He smiled and stuck the piece of straw back in his mouth. "That about cover it?"

  "Yeah, that should do just fine."

  He thought for a moment. "Ya know, the girls might take it as a challenge. No racing, understand. You don't have enough seat time."

  "Ya think!"

  Tink sat silently, grinning from ear-to-ear the rest of the ride home.