LAVENDER TOWN: Chapter 2

It’s Wednesday morning at last.  I know people don’t normally care about Wednesdays, but after today I’m off for four days.  Thanksgiving recess is a wonderful thing.  I’m really hoping for a quiet vacation at home because the past few days have been particularly taxing for me.   Why?  My mother has reappeared in my life for the first time in three years.  Unfortunately, it's not so much because she wants to see me as it is that she's dying.  I've been visiting her at the hospital after school everyday against her best wishes.  It's left me an emotional wreck to be sure.  I digress, but I could live without this right now.
When I've been at school this week, I find I've been rushing through everything as though moving faster might bring me to the end of this ordeal a bit sooner.  Even I know that sounds ridiculous.  And I haven't seen any flying pigs yet, so I guess it's not working.  
Of course, my rushing around caused me a lot of trouble yesterday.  After bumping into one of my classmates in the hall, my ankle has been killing me.  I think I'm going to try and take it slow today.  I don't feel like having this thing get worse.  Much as I want to see my mom as often as I can, I don't know if want to share a hospital room with her.
But the worst part is that I feel like someone was watching me all day yesterday.  It was totally creeping me out.  I hope it's just in my imagination though.  The last thing I need is some weirdo following me around all day every day.   


Chapter 2 – Lavie’s Number

I limp out of my room, dressed and ready for school.  My grandmother smiles at me as I walk by and asks if I’d like pancakes for breakfast.  How could I say no?  I never met a pancake I didn’t like.  “Do you need me to do anything?” I ask.
“Just get comfortable.  I’ll have them for you in a moment.” I do as she says and sit at the table next to my grandfather who has his face deep in the newspaper.  His breakfast is already gone.  I honestly can’t believe how fast he eats despite his age.
“We hardly saw you last night.” He looked up to ask.  “Is everything going all right at school?”
“Yeah.  Two of my teachers gave us extra huge homework assignments yesterday.  I was up ‘til two o’clock doing it all.”
“Why’d they do that?  You do something wrong?” my grandmother asks as she comes in and places a plate of pancakes in front of me.
It never fails.  My grandparents are wonderful people with the best of intentions.  But if anything – and I do mean anything – goes even slightly awry in my life, they immediately assume I must have caused it with some epic wrongdoing.  Contrary to popular belief, I’m not much of a troublemaker.  I’m so shy I don’t even have friends to persuade me to do bad things.  
And even if I wasn’t shy, I still probably wouldn’t have many friends.  Most of my classmates expect me to be some stuck-up snob because I come from a rich family.  But just because my family’s wealthy doesn’t mean I am.
I know what my grandparents are technically accusing me of.  I’m gay.  And thankfully they’re tolerant of it.  Tolerant but ignorant.  It bothers me that they seem to think my being this way means I’m capable of something wicked.  They always seem to be waiting for THAT phone call; whatever THAT may be.  Besides, this is not something I intend to pursue while I’m going to a Catholic high school.  I’d probably be crucified.  As a result, none of my classmates know, and I think its better this way.
“No, grandma, I didn’t do anything wrong.” I answer.  “There was just a lot of work that needed to be covered before the weekend so we got more than usual.” The last part is a lie.  I mean, I can only imagine telling her the truth about how my classmates were causing trouble, and her interpreting it in such a way that I rallied them to do it.  
I try to finish my breakfast quickly so I could be on my way, but my grandmother sits next to me and gives me the “you know we love you” speech: “You know we love you, right Lavie?  And we only want what’s best for you.  We just wish you’d reconsider some of your choices in life.  I know your grandfather and I would be ecstatic if you did.  And just think how happy your mother would be.”
I do love a good guilt-trip.  I get this at least once a week.  I guess she thinks that if she recites it enough, maybe one day I’ll go “You know, grandma, I think I like boys now.”  You know, since it’s a “choice” apparently…
To her surprise, it hasn’t happened yet.  Go figure.

After breakfast, I hobble into my car.  It’s a hunk of crap for all it’s worth.  For one thing, the speedometer doesn’t move from zero no matter how fast I go.  It makes for an exciting, little guessing game every time I drive.  But at least I can focus on how fast I go pretty easily since the only radio station I can pick up is twenty-four hours of static.  I guess I probably could listen to cassette tapes; you know, if they made those anymore.  It’s not even aesthetically pleasing.  The bold vomit green color that used to decorate the outside has been chipped away over the years to reveal all sorts of charming shades of rust.
Did I mention that there’s no brand or make labeled anywhere on this thing.  Either it was torn off before I got it, or the makers didn’t want their name attached to it.  So if anyone asks what I drive, I say, “It’s an Ember.  Short for embarrassment.”
I get on the road, and rattle my way to school (oh yeah, it makes all manner of obnoxious noises too).  Along the way, I pass our town sign as I do everyday.  Not even a welcoming sign, being in the middle of town, it serves only to remind drivers that they’re in the middle of nowhere.  Nobody’s ever heard of Lavender Town, and nobody has reason to.  We’re practically an offshoot of the Twilight Zone; if you wander in, your life will only change for the worse.  
Unfortunately, I’m named after this town.  Or rather, I’m named after my great grandmother who was in fact the namesake for the town.  Somewhere along the line this somehow made our family quite wealthy, but I don’t know the details.  Truth be told, it’s always seemed a bit odd to me that we became prosperous for founding a town that nobody gives a crap about.  
Not far up the road, I happen to see someone in my school’s uniform walking.  At the rate she’s going, there’s no way she’ll make it to class on time.  I decide to do my good deed for the day and pull over.  I fling my body over the passenger seat to roll down the window on that side, banging my bad ankle on my own seat in the process.  With a crinkled face in an attempt to hide my agony, I call out “Need a lift?”
The girl looks up, revealing herself to be my classmate, Amanda Kertigan.  In all honesty, I don’t know her very well.  She has a reputation as being kind of hardcore bitch, but during the only dialogue we’ve ever exchanged, (which was yesterday, incidentally) she seemed pretty nice to me.  Beyond that I only know her because she’s in all of my classes.  Has been since freshman year, actually.
Amanda always seemed gloomy to me, but when I called to her, her face simply lit up.  She’s got a cute smile.  She seriously needs to that more often.  
Who am I kidding, she’s cute all over.  I really like the way her raven hair hangs in front of her face.  It manages to cover enough to give her an air of mystery, while not hiding any of her features, like the tiny mole beneath her right eye.  And her bright blue eyes are a beautiful contrast to that dark look she seems to be going for.  
And I should probably stop checking out the girl I’m offering a ride to.
Amanda enters my car slowly and cautiously.  She appears as though she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.  Like she’s almost savoring it.  Then she stops and asks, “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
My face immediately straightens out and I say, “No, I changed my mind.  Get out of my car.”  The smile quickly ran from her face.  I felt so bad but I couldn’t help myself after she asked such a silly question. “Of course I don’t mind.  Come on in.”
She thanked me as she climbed the rest of the way in and sat down, resting her backpack on her lap.  “You can throw that in the back if you want.  But don’t throw it too hard, the Ember’s fragile.”  Amanda raised a brow at the comment, but soon shrugged and complied.  When she put her seatbelt on, I revved up to zero and continued on our way.  “So, do you always walk to school?   I’ve never seen you come this way before.”
“No, I just started today.” She replied.  “Usually I take the bus, but I needed to try a new, more reliable approach.  That fat bitch, Miss Marshall is going to have me suspended if I’m not on time for class.”
“You’re kidding.”
“And for every day I’m late following that she’s taking five points off of my average for the year.”
“Aren’t you like the smartest kid in our class?  If you can manage those grades while missing maybe five or ten minutes every day why would she actively seek out ways to hurt you?”
“I think she doesn’t want anyone else to succeed.  She just wants everyone to fail at life like her.”
I laugh, but truthfully, this irritates me big time.  “So you were walking to school to get there sooner?  What time did you leave?”
“I must have been walking for a little over an hour.”
And she was still going to be late at that rate.  I know I still have time to spare but I begin to drive faster to be on the safe side.

The remainder of the ride carries on quietly.  Every now and then, I glance over toward Amanda, who seems to promptly whip her head in the other direction every single time.  I can’t help but feel like there’s something she wants to say.  I mean, speaking from my own personal experiences, I am known to hope someone will ask for my opinion, so I won’t have to freely give it.  That’s my accursed shyness at work.  Amanda on the other hand, as far as I know, isn’t that shy.

I arrive at the school and find a parking space.  I usually try to get here early, so it’s safe to say she has at least twenty minutes with which to not be late.  
“Thanks again for the ride.” she says before getting out of the car.  I watch as she reaches over her seat to grab her bag from the back.  She opens the door, climbs out and starts heading for the school, but she doesn’t move fast.  At the speed she’s going now she might not make it to the building in twenty minutes.    It’s kind of surreal to watch; almost as though she’s in a daze.  It seemed for a moment like Amanda was in such a hurry to get out of the car.  But now that she’s out, she’s hardly moving.  
Wait a minute.  Is she waiting for me?
I finish gathering my things and climb out.  “Hey, Amanda!”  I call out to her.  Her head immediately turns to me.  She’s wears a relieved smile.  I don’t know what exactly she’s looking for, but her reaction more than confirmed my theory that she wants something from me.  I limp as quickly as I can to her.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“It’s from when we bumped into each other yesterday.  Don’t worry, I’m fine.” I explain, uninterested in my pain.  “I just wanted to ask if you wanted anything?”
“Wanted anything?” She speaks slowly as though nervous.
“Yeah, um…” I hadn’t thought this far ahead.  “Did you want my phone number?  If you ever need a ride to school, just call me and I’ll pick you up.  This way you don’t need to walk for hours in the cold to get here.  Because I could do that.  If you’d like... anyway.”  
Amanda looks bewildered beyond compare.  I can’t tell if she’s horrified or flattered.  Personally, I’m the former.  I feel really embarrassed for even asking.  I just know I’m blushing; I feel like my face is going to go up in flames.  
Finally, she speaks, “That… that would help a lot.  If it’s no inconvenience for you, I’d really appreciate that.”
“Okay, great.  Let me see, I’ve got something to write with in here somewhere.”  I pull off my backpack and sit on the ground to start fumbling through.  I find a pencil by having its point impale my finger.  
“It’s doesn’t need to be right this instant.  You can give it to me when we get to class.”
“Right.  Of course.” I pull my hand out of the pocket of my bag.  Thankfully, I didn’t puncture the skin, but god, does it hurt.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I’m going out of my way to help her.  I mean, I know what I’m doing; I’m trying to impress her.  But it’s not going to mean crap unless she swings that way, which she probably doesn’t.  So I think I should quit while I’m ahead.  If I don’t push too hard, in the very least I can still make a friend.

From there we walk to class together in an awkward silence.  It’s particularly awkward since we both have something to say.  The catch is I still don’t know what she wants and I’m not saying what I want.  
We enter Room 201 together.  We’re not the first students to arrive, but it’s certainly not crowded.  Miss Marshall is there, writing something on the blackboard.  I half-expected an expression of shock from her upon seeing Amanda come through the door.  But no, it seems she could not afford to drop her scowl even for a second.  I’m especially surprised by the way she doesn’t even make any backhanded compliments congratulating her on her attendance or anything.  
Amanda and I both take our respective seats.  Then the rest of our classmates crowd in.  I start writing out my phone number to give to her, but before I can get up, the bell rings.  No worries.  I’ll get it to her after class.
Miss Marshall wastes no time.  “Take your homework out.  I’ll be collecting it and grading it as a test.  Anyone who doesn’t have it gets an automatic zero and a detention.”  
Clearly, she hasn’t calmed down since yesterday.  To be fair, my classmates were being kind of rowdy, but it was nothing that deserved punishment as this.  Simple calling out of turn shouldn’t result in the massive homework assignment that it did.  What bothers me even more are the epic proportions of the grade.  Honestly, it’s very possible I’ll fail it and that’s totally unfair.  It’s not like I was the one causing a ruckus.
And neither was Amanda, barely even in class yesterday.
But lo and behold, when she arrives at Amanda’s desk, I hear quite vividly, “See me after class, Kertigan.”
After collecting these she sits down and says, “You will all sit in silence for the remainder of the class and do the work I’ve written on the board.  If anyone speaks or does work for another class, you’ll receive another zero and detention.”  With that, she begins filling out detention slips.  Five minutes pass and she lifts from her seat and passes them out to the students who didn’t have the homework.  My, she’s in rare form today.

Normally, I’m totally in synch with the school’s bells.  I hate to be late, so I tend to start packing my things in the last minute of class.  This way I can leave within seconds of the bell.
But today the bell rings and I sit there.  I want to make sure I give Amanda this number.  Yes, I know I’ll be in every single class she is today, however I’d like to get it to her before I just look like a fool going, “Remember this morning when I was going to give you my number?  No?  Here it is anyway.”  Yeah, that’ll score me some points.  I won’t look desperate or neurotic or anything.
I watch as all of my classmates pass my desk and exit the room, most of them grumbling about the work along the way.  It’s only now that I start putting my things away.  While I do so, I happen to hear (or eavesdrop if you will) Amanda talking with one of my other classmates, Chris Gambadoro.
“You didn’t do the homework?”  Chris gasped.
“I didn’t even know what it was!” she snapped back.  “And even still, I went to bed earlier so I could get here earlier.  I didn’t have time.”
Amanda stomps over to Miss Marshall who says, “Everyone else may leave the room.  Now.”  Well, that sounds ominous.
I stand and throw my backpack over my shoulders.  I turn to the door and walk out, continually eyeing Amanda along the way.  As I leave the room, I turn to Chris and without giving myself a moment to think, I ask “What do you think is going to happen to her?”
Chris jumps.  I think I startled him.  I can’t say I’m surprised seeing as we’ve never talked to each other before.  I guess I don’t talk to anyone normally.  It’s a real shame because it’s not as though I want to seem unapproachable.  Somehow, I just think no one wants to talk to me.  That probably sounds ridiculous but that’s just how I think.
“Uh, well…” he starts to talk as he walks.  I follow.  “I’m a little worried personally.  I didn’t see her give Mandy a detention slip.”  
I can’t help but notice his eyes are shifting.  I can’t tell if he’s deep in thought or if he’s awaiting a random ninja assault.  He speaks. “Why are you so concerned about Mandy?  Are you guys friends?” I guess it was the former.
“Funny you should ask.  We sort of just met less than an hour ago.”  I say.  “But she seems pretty cool.  I’d hate for anything bad to happen to her.”
“Yeah.  Me too.”

Not realizing we were walking together, we come to the next class, almost late.  A few of our classmates, Russell and Valerie approach us, or more specifically, they approach Chris.
“Where the hell is Kertigan?” Russell demands of him.
“Probably getting suspended, unfortunately.” Chris says with a frown.  He comes off as being a happy guy by nature so his frowns are sort of contagious.  I frown too.
“This is the second time in a row that bitch is letting us down.” Valerie chimes in.  I am very much taken aback by her total lack of empathy.  “Now we’re not going to have the math homework again!”
“Maybe you could just do it yourself.” I say surprisingly loud.  The three of them all turn to me as though not one of them had any idea I’d been standing there for a while.  They all share a shocked look on their faces, but there’s an extra hint of rage exclusive to Valerie’s face.
“And who the hell are you to talk to me like that?” I don’t like admitting it, but Valerie’s quite intimidating when she’s mad.  I actually take a step back.
Thankfully, Chris comes to my rescue saying “She does have a point though.  Mandy has enough on her plate to deal with, without having her friends backstab her like that.  She’s barely got time to do her homework let alone other people’s.”
“I don’t remember ever saying I was friends with her.  And she is NOT sitting at my table in lunch period anymore.”  Well, I’m sure Amanda will be heartbroken about that.  “And you can just tell your little girlfriend that too.” Her eyes shift from Chris and home in on me. “Or is she your little girlfriend.  I don’t even care.  Just keep the bitch away from me or I’m gonna kill her.”
The bell rings and Valerie and Russell sulk off to their seats.  I think Chris and I are both stunned by that outburst.  I, in particular, can’t help but be very troubled by the way she referred to Amanda as “my girlfriend”.  Does she know about me somehow?
Then Chris grabs my shoulder and says, “Don’t let what she said get to you.  Valerie’s just talking out her ass.  She always does.  She doesn’t mean any of it.”  He proceeds to his seat.
And so that’s what it comes down to.  It’s not that she’s found me out somehow.  It’s that she was trying to offend me.  It was the best ammo she had.  To her, “gay” is probably just a standard insult.  Ouch.
“Maybe you’d like to sit down so we can start class, Miss Jennings?” my teacher suddenly speaks up.  I look up to discover I’m still standing in the front of the room.  I survey all of the students, most of whom are snickering.  Chris has a concerned look on his face.  I think I can see him mouthing out “what are you doing”.  Valerie looks smug.  She must be so thrilled that I look like an idiot in front of everyone right now.  Russell isn’t even paying attention; he’s far too busy scratching his head at an open math book.  
Amanda’s seat is empty.  So is mine.  I fill it and class begins.

And it couldn’t take longer to end.  It’s not even third period yet and already I don’t feel like being here anymore.  The bell rings and I’m set to go; like, for the day.  I’m seriously debating going to the nurse’s office and claiming to be sick so I can just go home and start my vacation a couple hours early.  For some reason, I don’t do that though.  Instead, I slow down and drag my feet to my next class.  My ankle starts bugging me (it’d be the perfect excuse to go home with too) but I try to ignore it.  I hate being such a goody-goody sometimes.
The classes that follow are equally long and boring and stupid.  It would figure that today of all days would have to drag.  The most exciting part has been how between each class, Chris and I meet and discuss whether or not we’d heard anything about Amanda.  The downer is that neither of us had seen her since first period.  Interestingly enough, he had learned from someone else that there was also a substitute teacher in all of Miss Marshall’s later classes.

I arrive at the cafeteria for lunch, but it seems the moment I step in there is an unnerving announcement over the speakers: “Attention students.  Will senior, Lavender Jennings, please come to the principal’s office immediately.”  I can’t even begin to know how to react to this.  What could I have possibly done?  I turn back away from the only period of this day I was looking forward to, and I head to the principal’s office.
It occurs to me along the way that I may have seen the principal only once or twice since I started going to this school four years ago.  And it’s not as though I was ever called to his office.  I think I just saw him walking through the halls before.  Truthfully, I couldn’t pick him out of a crowd.
I arrive at his office, and take a deep breath.  With my lunch bag still in one hand, I use the other to grab the knob and push in the door.  Before me, I see something I did not expect.  Amanda, Miss Marshall and some guy behind an important looking desk.  I could only assume he’s the principal: Brother Kenneth Hogan.
“Please take a seat, Lavender.”  He speaks calmly.  It’s weird hearing my full name.  I know that’s what it says on my birth certificate, but nobody really calls me that.  Even my mom says “Lavie”.
I take a seat next to Amanda, whose face is positively as red as can be.  It’s as though every drop of blood in her body rushed to her head all at once.  
“Tell me, Lavender.  Do you know Miss Kertigan here?” I’m not sure what he’s getting at, but it all sounds very foreboding.
“Yeah, I do.  Amanda’s in all of my classes.  Always has been.”
“Are you driving her to school?” I think I get it.
“If she wants me to, I don’t have a problem doing so.  It’s better than walking in the cold for hours.”
Brother Kenneth looks up to Miss Marshall standing beside his chair. “Are you satisfied then, Barb?” he says with a bit of an exhausted smile.  “These two girls are in your first class together.  If they ride together, they won’t be late and there won’t be any more problems that require three hours of my time, correct?”  Miss Marshall looked like she wanted to punch him in the teeth.
“Sorry to take up your time, Lavender.  I just wanted to confirm Miss Kertigan’s story for Miss Marshall here.  And since it appears she’s been telling the truth for quite some time, it appears there’s no need to suspend her.” He explains.  “On that note, you girls can go to lunch.”

Moments later, Amanda and I are standing outside his office.  She smiles and thanks me.  “So, uh… what happened there?” I ask.  Everything happened so fast, my mind hasn’t quite caught up.
“She wanted to have me suspended for not doing the homework I didn’t know we had as punishment for the insubordination of the class I wasn’t at.  I guess that was just as bad as being late in her world.” She tells me.
“Miss Marshall really has it out for you, huh?  I wonder why.”  I start.  Truthfully, that’s not the part I’m most curious about though.  “Why was I called down here?”
“When her story wasn’t good enough to get me suspended, she tried to call me on the lateness thing, so I…” she suddenly hesitates.  That proud smile she spoke through shrinks away.  Her pale features are replaced again by that red face I saw in the principal’s office.
“What?”
“Well, I explained that you’d be driving me to school from now on.  I’m sorry.  I guess I kind of used you to save my own ass.”
“I told you I would.” I produce from my pocket, my phone number. “If you ever need a ride to school or… whatever, just give me a ring.”  She eyes me, but her face remains toward the floor.  
And then the strangest thing happens.  With the clear opening, I lean in and kiss her on the cheek.  I don’t know why I do this.  For whatever reason, it simply seems like the right thing to do.  To little surprise, Amanda lifts her head in a hurry.  She wears a look of shock, but gives no sign of whether she’s appalled or pleased by this last action.
“Cheer up, Amanda!” I say with a big smile attempting to cover it up.  “You’ve done nothing wrong.  Nothing you should be ashamed of.  So don’t be.” I say those words to myself inside as well.  There’s nothing wrong with who I am; I’m not hurting anybody.
Amanda’s face does not stop being red.  I get the feeling she doesn’t get encouragement often.  Neither does she get kisses (especially from other girls).  I keep wearing my smile, and it finally catches on.  Embarrassed as it may be, she shows me that warm, comforting smile.  I want to kiss her again on that sweet grin but common sense stops me this time.
She takes the number at last and thanks me. “I don’t know why you’re helping me so much, but thanks.  I probably will call you come Monday.”
“I look forward to it.” I turn and start walking back toward the cafeteria. “Come on.  You can sit with me during lunch.”
“What happened to my table?”

I typically try my hardest to be an optimistic person.  Lately, with everything going on in my life, its been particularly difficult.  However, it’s odd to say this, but I think that I’m finding hope again in a pessimist like Amanda.  I wish I could’ve spoken to her sooner.  I mean, as I’ve said before I’m not looking to pursue a love life while I’m in school, but if I could just not be alone; that would make me happy.
And I think Amanda makes a good friend for me.
I hope she feels the same.

I hope she calls.