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  The word newbies hit me hard. “No, I just didn’t know. I can handle it.” I wasn’t exactly sure what I was getting into, but I knew I didn’t want to be separated from my new friend.

  Mr. Jeffers began the last of the “first-class” speeches I would be subjected to this year. It felt good that I could practically ignore it. Our table had its own agenda; we were our own class within a class to create as we pleased.

  Desiree helped me get started. We collected magazines from the stained bookshelf next to Mr. Jeffers’s desk. From those pages we searched for our inspiration. I skimmed through science fiction and architectural magazines while Desiree tore out pages from National Geographic.

  “I never asked where you moved from,” Desiree said, while flipping through the pages of her magazine.

  “Lake Arrowhead.”

  “This your first time in The OC?” Krystal asked.

  “It’s my first time anywhere,” I said.

  “Where’re you living?”

  “Umm...on Wheeler, right off Santa Clara.”

  “1340?” Andy asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, my curiosity beyond piqued. It was like my house was famous or something.

  “So, you’re the one who moved into the Taylor house…” He stopped and looked over at Blaine.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “TJ was a student here…a friend. He committed suicide a year ago,” Blaine said, his expression morose.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Andy said and dove back into his pile of magazines.

  I looked over at Desiree and her eyes dropped to her research materials, too. The table got uncomfortably quiet.

  By the end of class, Desiree had decided on a picture of a snowcapped Canadian Rocky Mountain range at sunset. I was not so decisive. I still had no idea what I was going to do.

  “Do you know what medium you’re gonna use?” I asked.

  “Acrylic. But I wouldn’t recommend that for you to start with.” Desiree smirked at me.

  “Good enough. That’s why I’ve got you to help me.”

  “You sure do,” she smiled and the bell rang at the climax of our flirty moment. We left together and zigzagged our way out of the classroom, through the quad, and toward the parking lot.

  “Desiree!” a voice called from behind.

  We stopped and turned. A casual-looking guy dressed in a rock T-shirt, plaid shorts, and sandals worked his way through the crowd.

  “Hey, Eli,” Desiree said. Her voice cracked, but her childlike enthusiasm remained authentic and vibrant. “This is Oliver. He’s new to the school.”

  Eli reached us and extended his hand. I met him halfway.

  “And Oliver, this is Eli, my boyfriend.” And as they were about to leave, Desiree stopped and turned back to find me still frozen in ambivalence.

  2

  Moved

  Just a week in and Jeremy already had the girls swooning. I seldom saw him at school. Our main time together consisted of our mile walk to school. I don’t think he was consciously avoiding me—just that he was preoccupied with his own life. After all, he was the big senior on campus. When I did see him between classes, he was never alone. He was already building an entourage.

  I passed him probably once a day and he would nod in acknowledgment, but he wouldn’t stop. He’d just keep moving with his admirers at his side, laughing and exchanging stories and anecdotes. People in his proximity were drawn to him. He got along with the guys, and he made the girls giggle and follow him around like puppies begging for attention. It took only three days before he wasn’t even walking with me to and from school anymore.

  How does he do it?

  It was Friday. I continued eating my lunch in the hallway of the humanities building. Desiree had been getting here just before class began, which didn’t leave us much time to talk. But her attitude toward me hadn’t changed. She continued to treat me as if we had known each other for years, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I couldn’t believe she had a boyfriend, which wasn’t to say she wasn’t desirable. She definitely was, but in that cute, girl-next-door sort of way.

  “You’re always hiding,” Desiree said, plopping down beside me.

  “What are you talking about?” I closed the novel I was reading and placed it on my lap. “I’m right here.”

  “You’re being antisocial. Why don’t you eat lunch with us?”

  “I was never invited.”

  “You just were. It has to be better than sitting here alone.”

  “Maybe I like to read.” I wasn’t going to let her make me feel guilty.

  “That’s such a cop-out. I like to read, too, but you don’t see me shutting myself off from the rest of the world while I’m at school. When you’re in a private setting—read. When you’re in a social setting—be social.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “So, are you gonna join us for lunch on Monday?”

  “Sure.” I was glad to be invited into her group but I also felt defeated, like she’d won somehow. “Who’s us?”

  “Eli and Anna.”

  I didn’t respond. Even though her friend Anna would be there, I still couldn’t help feeling like a third wheel—a feeling worse than being alone.

  Mr. Gordon approached from the backside of the hallway with a couple of students hovering around him. He greeted everyone genuinely and let us into the room. I grabbed my usual seat, as did every other creature of habit who filed into the classroom.

  “So, what did you think of The Epic of Gilgamesh?” Mr. Gordon asked while the last few students trickled in.

  A few hands shot up and the class discussion began. I looked over at Desiree, sitting on one of her legs and leaning forward. She had her elbow up on her desk, and her cheek rested in her palm. She looked happy to be listening and lost at the same time. Mr. Gordon kept the Gilgamesh conversation alive for nearly twenty minutes before weaving it into contributions of the Babylonians.

  Class ended and everyone rushed off to their last classes of the day. Mr. Gordon asked me to stay behind. Desiree went ahead without me and cautiously glanced back before disappearing into the hallway.

  “You asked to see me, sir?”

  “How are you adjusting to your new surroundings?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The new school, new classmates, new adventures—how are you adjusting? Vice Principal Adams told me that you just transferred, and I wanted to make sure your school year was off to a good start.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s fine.”

  “Glad to hear it. How about your brother—how’s he adjusting?”

  “Jeremy? How do you know—”

  “Vice Principal Adams.”

  “Oh, right. He’s fine wherever he is.”

  Mr. Gordon took off his glasses and placed them on the desk. He became quiet, and I was about to show myself out when he said, “I’ve kept you longer than I should have. Sorry about that. You probably have another class to get to.”

  “It’s just art,” I said.

  “Just art? You probably focus more in that class than all of your other classes combined. Art isn’t just a class. It’s a passion. And passion is so important. Don’t fall victim to apathy like so many others.”

  “I won’t. I just want to do my best.”

  “Which is all anyone can ask for. I’ll see you in class on Monday,” Mr. Gordon said as he rose and began to erase the whiteboards.

  Students with a sixth period were already in their respective classes. Students done for the day hung out in the quad, reminiscing of the past week and exchanging plans for the weekend.

  I slipped into Mr. Jeffers’s class quietly and walked around the back of the room to reach my exclusive table. Desiree was already immersed in her project. She had outlined the entire picture of the Canadian Rocky Mountains in pencil and was now brushing on layer upon layer of vibrant acrylic colors.

  I decided I needed to get my work started as wel
l and got my canvas, muse, and supplies from the lockers next to our table. I’d brought a picture of the original Halloween movie cover to re-create. Yesterday, I’d finished drawing it in pencil, and today I would begin using pastels (which was Desiree’s recommendation).

  “I told Mr. Jeffers you’d be late,” Desiree said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said with a sly sense of accomplishment, as if she had done me some huge favor. “Are you in trouble for something I don’t know about?”

  “Mr. Gordon just asked me how I was adjusting.”

  “That’s weird,” Krystal said. She was also working with acrylics. Her picture was a close-up of butterflies fluttering above some flower petals.

  “He’s new here, too,” Sara said. She was working on some kind of abstract piece with watercolors. At this point, I had no idea what she was constructing.

  “Really? I thought you had him last year?” Desiree asked Sara.

  “No, that was Mr. Gibson. He retired.” Sara sloshed her petite brush around in a Styrofoam cup half-filled with discolored water and blotted it on a crumpled paper towel before mixing additional colors.

  I looked over at Andy’s and Blaine’s drawings and just felt more out of place in artistic aptitude. Blaine was drawing a mangled wreck of a car; and Andy, a graphic portrait of Barbarella.

  A sudden burst of energy hit me when the clock struck 2:50. I quickly put all my supplies away, wished everyone a good weekend, and left the table.

  “Wait up,” Desiree yelled after me.

  I didn’t feel like walking with her to find her boyfriend, but stopped anyway. “Could you be any slower?” I said.

  She caught up and walked right by, so I was then following her.

  The first week of school was finished. The thrill of the weekend was upon us. It felt good, and now I had a few days to sleep in and prep myself for another Monday. We sauntered through the quad, around the humanities building, and into the parking lot. Parents of the lowly freshman sat in their cars, lined along the sidewalk. Engines hummed, an embarrassing mixture of music polluted the air, and younger siblings argued in back seats. Passing the procession of waiting cars, we followed the student exodus to the edge of the school grounds.

  “Where are you going?” I asked Desiree as she continued down the sidewalk.

  “Home.”

  “Where’s your guy?”

  “Eli left early for work. Do you not want to walk with me or something?”

  I had company again. Desiree wasn’t Jeremy. She was better. We walked quietly for a few minutes. In the fields, there were students already getting in shape for the upcoming sport seasons. Walking to and from school was enough exercise for me.

  “So how was your first week as an Eagle?”

  “All my classes seem pretty good. I like art. I’ve met some pretty cool people,” I said, and it took me a moment to decide what to say next. “Since I’m gonna be joining you, Eli, and the girl you mentioned…”

  “Anna. I’ve known her since elementary school. She introduced me to Eli a few years ago.”

  “Is that how long you guys have been going out?”

  “No, only about seven months. We were friends first.”

  “So what happened?” I asked, but regretted saying so almost immediately after.

  “He was just always there for me. After a while, I started seeing him as someone more than just a friend.” She performed the air quotes. “We spent so much time together and, one night, the moment hit and we kissed. It felt like a natural progression. He helped me out of a bad time. A really dark place.” Desiree smiled and looked away as she talked about Eli.

  I was definitely ready to talk about something else. “Tell me about your family. Are you an OC native?” I felt like I was already catching on to the lingo.

  “Pretty much. Most of my life we’ve lived in our current house,” Desiree said. “I live with my mom and little sister, Melanie. My parents split up six years ago, and my dad moved to Lake Forest. So he’s still around. But he remarried a woman named Jill. She’s like twenty years younger than he is—she thinks she’s like my older sister—drives me crazy.”

  We came to a busy intersection, separated only by stop signs. There were no crosswalks, but Desiree didn’t think twice before stepping into the street. The cars stopped and I hurried after her before the cars saw me as a target.

  “I hear you. I live with my mom and stepdad and understand how hard it is accepting someone new into the family.”

  “Yeah, but she’s not part of our family. She’s a drug, a distraction,” Desiree said, finding a tie for her hair to keep it out of her face in the unpredictable breeze. “She’s not right for him and everyone knows it. He got swept away by the fact that she’s young, has big boobs, and threw him a little attention.”

  “And I didn’t think you were capable of disliking anyone,” I laughed.

  She didn’t join my laughter. I had a feeling her dad had cheated on her mom, but I definitely didn’t want to say anything to even insinuate such a thing.

  “So, you live with your mom and stepdad. Anyone else?”

  “Jeremy and Frolics. Jeremy’s a senior. Frolics is our golden retriever. That’s it,” I said, plucking a leaf from a bush as I walked by. I ripped it piece by piece until it was gone.

  “What about your dad? Where’s he?”

  I knew the question wasn’t far away. “He died when I was really young.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s no big deal, I didn’t know him. He was in the Marines and killed before I was old enough to remember him.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Desiree said again. “I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, not able to say more. Little was spoken to me of my father. His name was Nicholae, and Mom told us he was killed on active duty. His body was flown home and buried before the fire that leveled our first house—the fire that stole everything from me except Mom and Jeremy. I was five when it happened and all my memories from the incident and before it were lost with all the rest of my childhood belongings. I think about what it would have been like to know my father, wishing at least one picture of him could have been recovered from the wreckage.

  We wound through neighborhood streets, walking on the sidewalk when there was one and along the edge of the street when there wasn’t. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional passing car and small teams of gardeners mowing lawns and blowing the clippings everywhere.

  “Are you into music at all?” I asked, trying to revive the conversation.

  “I love music!” Desiree exclaimed. “That’s how I study and draw and—I guess I have music on most of the time. If there was a soundtrack to my life it would definitely be played by Elliott Smith. I’ve got all his stuff. I like music I can zone out and relax to. It helps me get into a creative frame of mind. Music that takes me away.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “I’ll make you a CD. You have to listen to him! It’s a prerequisite for being my friend, I mean it!” Desiree said and stopped abruptly. “Well, this is our street.”

  I had been paying so much attention to her that I hadn’t even noticed we’d walked all the way home.

  “Our street?”

  “I’m right over there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder, across Santa Clara.

  “You live on Wheeler, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Thanks for the company.” Desiree stood close, crossing one foot over the other.

  “Of course,” I said, rocking slightly on my heels.

  “Well, have a good weekend.”

  “You, too.” I took a step back.

  “I will.” She took a step back.

  “Okay.”

  Despite a quickly approaching car, she ran across Santa Clara. The car had to brake to avoid hitting her. She seemed unfazed by her near brush with death and continued across gracefully.

  I
watched her for a moment to see if she’d look back. She didn’t.

  I marched down my side of the street, up my driveway, and through the gate to the left of the garage. The side door was open and the washing machine roared in place as I entered the laundry room. All I had to do was set one foot in the door before Frolics excitedly attacked, snorting and grunting. His tail was flailing like a whip.

  “Settle down, dumbbell,” I said as I pushed him aside and made my way into the kitchen.

  “Hello?” I heard Mom yell from somewhere in the house.

  “It’s me,” I called back and went straight to my room and threw my backpack down on the bed. I took a seat at my computer and googled Elliott Smith. Hundreds of links flashed onto the screen and I clicked on the first YouTube page listed. When that song was over, I clicked to another, and then another. On another tab I scanned his Wikipedia page, which covered his independent success, his Academy Award Nomination, his major label breakout, his later albums’ success and…his death in 2003.

  As I read, I was mesmerized by the music playing in the background, mellow and melancholy. How could I have not listened to him before? The intricate acoustic guitar work and his sad, soulful melodies made me think of Desiree. I pictured her lying on her bed listening to headphones, trying to hold back tears. Her listening to these tragic songs seemed like a contradiction to the playful girl I saw in school.

  “Pizza’s ready!” Mom yelled from the kitchen.

  I glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen and couldn’t believe where the time had gone. I turned off the Web browser and joined the rest of the family.

  “So you made it through your first week of school,” Richard said as I sat down at the table.

  “Yup. It’s interesting how everyone seems to know about our house, you know, about the family who lived here before us.”

  Mom and Richard exchanged glances, and Jeremy became suddenly attentive. It seemed he’d been waiting for this to come up, too.

  “Oh? What kinds of things have the kids been saying?” Mom asked.

  “That TJ Taylor, who went to our school, committed suicide here.”

  “In Oliver’s room,” Jeremy blurted out.