Status: NaNoWriMo 2014 wooooo
Opaque
embers.
Clara sat in homeroom thinking she was a fool to had ignorantly assumed, misshapenly hoped that the embers of the old world, the past, wouldn't ignite again. She could already feel the heat of the flames rising back up, the smoke swirling into ice and fear. As a young child, her nights had been filled with nightmares, her afternoons with therapists, and her bedtimes with hugs and a certain smile she could never forget. Eventually, those nightmares faded and were replaced with dreams of happy things, but then...then that quaint, secure glass orb cracked. A childhood inside of that perfect little snow globe ended when Eliza Divine, Clara’s dear mom, was taken away in a shroud of mystery. After that, it was more therapists, more nightmares, and moving to Wisconsin to escape what had happened. Clara was equipped with new doctors and grief counselors and a dad who had changed from a man into a shell, nearly impossible to truly permeate. The nightmares left again, but came back briefly when Clara and her Dad moved back to Virginia, this time settling in Falls Church. It was then, at age 12, that Clara met Rebecca Michelle Baldovino at Saint Andrew’s Academy, and life seemed to start falling back into place and she felt she could sleep in peace.
And life went did go well for a good while, like playing a level of Tetris and winning, but a few years down the road, during the past school year, Leon Divine told his daughter he wanted to move from Falls Church to Jetmore, where they lived when Clara’s mom, you know. Clara sat back in her desk, watched the blocks stack up faster than she’d liked, and felt herself start to lose.
“Miss Divine! Good morning, how are you today?” Mr. Hancock hummed like the laughter of little kids making bubbles in their chocolate milk through a straw.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Happy Monday.” He marked the roll. “Okay, Mr. Rivera, where are you?”
Clara wanted the day to be over already. But most of all, she wanted to pretend that her dad hadn't said what he said. She wanted to pretend that it wasn't true, but she knew either way, her hands were bound to get burned.
◆◆◆
During the English block, Mrs. Judy, a spunky older lady with a frizz of a perm and a gap tooth, had the class discuss some themes from the chapters they had read in Wuthering Heights.
“And why has Heathcliff done all he has done? Why has he taken the time to acquire Thrushcross Grange? Why has he taken the time to associate himself with certain people?”
“Bitter love.” the boy who sat in front of Clara muttered out.
“What was that Aiden?”
Clara realized that this boy was Aiden Cunningham, the kid who had been mowing her neighbor’s lawn on Saturday.
“Bitter love. He really loved Catherine, but she married that other dude, and how does one get to someone? They hurt their loved ones and jump in to places that person is involved in.”
Clara nervously raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss Divine?” Mrs. Judy said as Aiden turned in his seat to look at Clara.
“Um, also, Heathcliff was trying desperately to get through to Catherine, that he had loved her so much, but he felt so betrayed that she did what she did, so he was trying to hold on to everything about her, while simultaneously destroying everything about her, too. Because his love for her was too great, but she let society control her actions.”
“Very good. So, let’s write some notes on the board. Can I have a volunteer?”
◆◆◆
When class was being let out, Aiden turned to Clara as she closed her notebook and tucked her pencil into the pencil case.
“Hey, you’re Clara, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Aiden. Nice to meet you.” he stretched out his hand and Clara shook it, a little bit flattered and surprised at his manners.
“You’re new here, huh?”
“Kinda.” Clara said standing up at her desk. “At least to the school. I actually lived here in Jetmore ten years ago.”
“No way! What elementary school did you attend?” His words were eloquent. He glided across the linoleum tile with Clara, towards the door.
“Oak Hill.”
“Awesome. Me too. When did you move away?”
“Me and my dad moved to Wisconsin after 2nd grade.”
“Oh, okay. Who was your teacher?” he opened the door to the hallway for Clara.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
“Me too! Actually, now that I think of it, I think I remember you. You wore your hair in pigtails and braids a lot.”
Clara laughed. “Yes, that was me.”
“Sweet. Well, I got to go to my next class. See you!”
Clara smiled as he walked away, but let her grin drop as she suddenly remembered he was the kid who had poked the back of her neck with pointy pencils all of second grade, then deny his actions when confronted by her for them. Despite this memory, she still didn't know what Rebecca had been talking about. He seemed liked a nice enough guy to Clara. And he smelled really good.
◆◆◆
Clara bit into a granny smith apple, letting the tangy taste touch her tongue. Situated in sitting alone, she pried open Wuthering Heights to start another chapter. Before she could get through a single sentence, someone slammed their plastic lunch tray down in front of her.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” a girl smiled at Clara. Her hair was a red flame that danced around her face and shoulders. Clara recognized the girl from English class.
“Sure.” Clara swallowed a bite of apple.
“I’m Britta. You’re Clara, right?”
“Mmhmm. Yeah.”
“I saw you talking to Aiden Cunningham after class.” she smirked and let her fork dive into the salad she was eating.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah— and you were blushing!” She gushed.
Britta swallowed some romaine. Clara secretly hoped that she would choke on the leaves. Why was Britta suddenly jumping into her business?
“Was I?”
“You so were. You must think he’s pretty cute.”
“He’s nice.” Clara pulled out a PB&J sandwich from her brown paper bag.
“Have you met his brother or sister yet?”
“Nope.”
“They’re all so different. It ‘s really funny actually. Maren is a freshman. She goes to a lot of parties. Let’s just say she has a reputation. Their older brother, Mason, he’s over there.” She pointed to an adjacent table. “Mason’s a senior. He’s on the football team, and he’s super good, but, no offense, don’t expect him to give you the time of day…”
A blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy, with a similar face shape to Aiden, briefly looked over at us from the other table. Britta slapped my hand.
“Quit it! Geez, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”
Quit what? “Oh, sorry.”
“Well, I guess you can’t help but stare. He is one beautiful fella.”
Oh, Clara thought, that’s what she was talking about, duh! Britta was extroverted, much like Rebecca, but annoyingly extroverted. Rebecca was extroverted in the way she’d make you feel better if something was wrong. Rebecca would throw the perfect surprise birthday party, but Britta, Clara presumed, would be willing to throw someone under the bus for popularity. Clara thought that that wasn’t a very efficient way to become well-liked, but life is completely unfair, she’d learned. Sometimes people kill innocent people. Sometimes moms turn up dead and their six-year old daughters see their blood on the walls. Sometimes the bad people win.
“I heard that you used to go to Saint Andrew’s. What was it like?” Britta’s brown eyes pressed Clara’s.
“Just a prep school. I wore plaid skirts and polos and we read from the Bible.”
“Why’d you transfer?”
“My Dad and I moved from Falls Church and JHS is closer to our new house.”
“Oh, okay. Did your parents get divorced or something?” she crinkled her face like a piece of paper.
What the heck? Since when do people blatantly ask such personal things? Clara, slightly irritated, kept her composure.
“My mom’s been dead for ten years.” Her voice was flat.
“Oh.” was all Britta said before leaving the table, swishing her mane of flames as she teetered away on her high heels. She probably still has her mom, Clara thought.
And life went did go well for a good while, like playing a level of Tetris and winning, but a few years down the road, during the past school year, Leon Divine told his daughter he wanted to move from Falls Church to Jetmore, where they lived when Clara’s mom, you know. Clara sat back in her desk, watched the blocks stack up faster than she’d liked, and felt herself start to lose.
“Miss Divine! Good morning, how are you today?” Mr. Hancock hummed like the laughter of little kids making bubbles in their chocolate milk through a straw.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Happy Monday.” He marked the roll. “Okay, Mr. Rivera, where are you?”
Clara wanted the day to be over already. But most of all, she wanted to pretend that her dad hadn't said what he said. She wanted to pretend that it wasn't true, but she knew either way, her hands were bound to get burned.
◆◆◆
During the English block, Mrs. Judy, a spunky older lady with a frizz of a perm and a gap tooth, had the class discuss some themes from the chapters they had read in Wuthering Heights.
“And why has Heathcliff done all he has done? Why has he taken the time to acquire Thrushcross Grange? Why has he taken the time to associate himself with certain people?”
“Bitter love.” the boy who sat in front of Clara muttered out.
“What was that Aiden?”
Clara realized that this boy was Aiden Cunningham, the kid who had been mowing her neighbor’s lawn on Saturday.
“Bitter love. He really loved Catherine, but she married that other dude, and how does one get to someone? They hurt their loved ones and jump in to places that person is involved in.”
Clara nervously raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss Divine?” Mrs. Judy said as Aiden turned in his seat to look at Clara.
“Um, also, Heathcliff was trying desperately to get through to Catherine, that he had loved her so much, but he felt so betrayed that she did what she did, so he was trying to hold on to everything about her, while simultaneously destroying everything about her, too. Because his love for her was too great, but she let society control her actions.”
“Very good. So, let’s write some notes on the board. Can I have a volunteer?”
◆◆◆
When class was being let out, Aiden turned to Clara as she closed her notebook and tucked her pencil into the pencil case.
“Hey, you’re Clara, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Aiden. Nice to meet you.” he stretched out his hand and Clara shook it, a little bit flattered and surprised at his manners.
“You’re new here, huh?”
“Kinda.” Clara said standing up at her desk. “At least to the school. I actually lived here in Jetmore ten years ago.”
“No way! What elementary school did you attend?” His words were eloquent. He glided across the linoleum tile with Clara, towards the door.
“Oak Hill.”
“Awesome. Me too. When did you move away?”
“Me and my dad moved to Wisconsin after 2nd grade.”
“Oh, okay. Who was your teacher?” he opened the door to the hallway for Clara.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
“Me too! Actually, now that I think of it, I think I remember you. You wore your hair in pigtails and braids a lot.”
Clara laughed. “Yes, that was me.”
“Sweet. Well, I got to go to my next class. See you!”
Clara smiled as he walked away, but let her grin drop as she suddenly remembered he was the kid who had poked the back of her neck with pointy pencils all of second grade, then deny his actions when confronted by her for them. Despite this memory, she still didn't know what Rebecca had been talking about. He seemed liked a nice enough guy to Clara. And he smelled really good.
◆◆◆
Clara bit into a granny smith apple, letting the tangy taste touch her tongue. Situated in sitting alone, she pried open Wuthering Heights to start another chapter. Before she could get through a single sentence, someone slammed their plastic lunch tray down in front of her.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” a girl smiled at Clara. Her hair was a red flame that danced around her face and shoulders. Clara recognized the girl from English class.
“Sure.” Clara swallowed a bite of apple.
“I’m Britta. You’re Clara, right?”
“Mmhmm. Yeah.”
“I saw you talking to Aiden Cunningham after class.” she smirked and let her fork dive into the salad she was eating.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah— and you were blushing!” She gushed.
Britta swallowed some romaine. Clara secretly hoped that she would choke on the leaves. Why was Britta suddenly jumping into her business?
“Was I?”
“You so were. You must think he’s pretty cute.”
“He’s nice.” Clara pulled out a PB&J sandwich from her brown paper bag.
“Have you met his brother or sister yet?”
“Nope.”
“They’re all so different. It ‘s really funny actually. Maren is a freshman. She goes to a lot of parties. Let’s just say she has a reputation. Their older brother, Mason, he’s over there.” She pointed to an adjacent table. “Mason’s a senior. He’s on the football team, and he’s super good, but, no offense, don’t expect him to give you the time of day…”
A blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy, with a similar face shape to Aiden, briefly looked over at us from the other table. Britta slapped my hand.
“Quit it! Geez, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”
Quit what? “Oh, sorry.”
“Well, I guess you can’t help but stare. He is one beautiful fella.”
Oh, Clara thought, that’s what she was talking about, duh! Britta was extroverted, much like Rebecca, but annoyingly extroverted. Rebecca was extroverted in the way she’d make you feel better if something was wrong. Rebecca would throw the perfect surprise birthday party, but Britta, Clara presumed, would be willing to throw someone under the bus for popularity. Clara thought that that wasn’t a very efficient way to become well-liked, but life is completely unfair, she’d learned. Sometimes people kill innocent people. Sometimes moms turn up dead and their six-year old daughters see their blood on the walls. Sometimes the bad people win.
“I heard that you used to go to Saint Andrew’s. What was it like?” Britta’s brown eyes pressed Clara’s.
“Just a prep school. I wore plaid skirts and polos and we read from the Bible.”
“Why’d you transfer?”
“My Dad and I moved from Falls Church and JHS is closer to our new house.”
“Oh, okay. Did your parents get divorced or something?” she crinkled her face like a piece of paper.
What the heck? Since when do people blatantly ask such personal things? Clara, slightly irritated, kept her composure.
“My mom’s been dead for ten years.” Her voice was flat.
“Oh.” was all Britta said before leaving the table, swishing her mane of flames as she teetered away on her high heels. She probably still has her mom, Clara thought.