It Looks Like This Read online

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  Last

  It looks like this:

  Pink, mostly.

  Puffs of orange just below.

  The fiercest yellow way ahead, far, far ahead.

  Red slashed all across.

  All of it fading to blue, getting deeper and deeper as you go out.

  Underneath all that is the ocean, reflecting it back. All I can hear are the waves and the seagulls, all this calmness surrounded by an eruption of colors, deep strong colors.

  I only saw this once in real life. We stayed up late and walked to Mill Point Beach in the middle of the night. There was no light anywhere and we sat, blind, and we said nothing. We didn’t speak for the longest time, just listened to the ocean.

  Then the blackness started melting.

  This is what it looked like when the sun finally came up. I was so tired, we both were, but we did it anyway.

  We only saw it once because there wasn’t much after that, and now we can’t ever go again.

  This is what I see when I want to remember the good parts. This is what I see when I think of him, when I let myself think of him.

  We moved to Somerdale a little before the start of the school year.

  “We” means me and Mom and Dad, and my little sister, Toby, and our dog, Charlie.

  Dad has a job with a textbook publisher as a sales rep. The publisher is in New York City, but Dad sells to small bookstores and colleges in our part of the country. His region used to be the Midwest but now it’s the Middle Atlantic.

  Dad says they got rid of one of the sales reps to cut costs so they had to change everyone’s regions around to make up for it.

  We came to Somerdale from Sheboygan Falls. I miss Wisconsin. But Dad says if we have to live in Virginia, we might as well live near the ocean, and Somerdale’s right on the edge of the beach.

  We used to live near Lake Michigan, which is kind of like a small ocean. I used to stare across the lake when we went to the shore to see if I could see Michigan across the water.

  I never could because the lake is so wide. It was easy to pretend it was the ocean and we were right on the edge of the country.

  And now I guess we are.

  Mom and Dad were happy we got to move in the summer because then me and Toby didn’t have to worry about switching schools in the middle of the year.

  They told us that when they first said we were moving.

  Mom and Dad sat us down in the living room. They said it was a Family Meeting. Sometimes we have Family Meetings but not really that much. Toby and I sat on the small red couch that always feels kind of rough but not too bad, and Mom and Dad were standing and then Dad says, We have something to tell you.

  And then they told us we were moving.

  Toby said, What about Marla?

  Her voice was real flat and low, which is how it sounds when she’s her maddest.

  Dad said, I’m sorry, Toby, but we don’t have a choice. You’ll make a new best friend in Virginia.

  Toby raised her eyebrows.

  She said, Marla’s not my best friend, she’s my BFF. We’re supposed to be best friends forever, not best friends till middle school.

  Dad sighed.

  Toby said, That’s why it’s called a BFF, not a BFTMS.

  Dad said we might not like it much at first but it would be an adventure and we’d like it after a while. That’s when Mom said we got lucky that we were moving in a good season.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Toby said, I don’t want to move in any season.

  I don’t remember a lot before Sheboygan Falls because we had lived there since I was three and Toby was just a baby. We moved there from Milwaukee right after Toby was born.

  There’s only one memory from Milwaukee:

  Walking in between Mom and Dad in the park near the lake, holding both their hands so that my arms are raised over my head because I’m so small and they’re so big. We are walking along the edge and it’s around dusk.

  The sun is really deep orange and it’s coming through some of the buildings and getting in my eyes but it doesn’t bother me. Next to us the water is getting blacker and blacker, but there’s still a sliver of orange that is reflecting the sunset.

  I look up at Dad and he’s looking back at me and he’s grinning so wide.

  Then he and Mom lift me up together by my arms. My feet leave the ground and it’s like I’m floating, and I laugh and laugh.

  That’s all, though.

  Everything else is just fuzzy and barely there.

  Somerdale wasn’t bad at first.

  At first things were just new and everything felt different, and it was a bit weird.

  But there was a lot that was the same. The same kind of house and the same kind of town. Just different people. Like when they used to get a new actor to play the same character on a TV show after the old actor quit or something. Different people but basically the same.

  No one seemed to notice me at school on the first day, which was fine with me.

  I mean we were the new kids, but it was the start of the year and there were a lot of new kids. Also it was the start of freshman year for me so a lot of the kids didn’t know each other anyway if they came from different middle schools. And plus Toby was eleven and just starting middle school, so I bet it was the same with her.

  So there wasn’t much to notice. That was fine with me.

  At first it was just like that.

  I walk Toby to school every day that the weather is good. It usually is, especially at the beginning of the school year. I mean it can be hot sometimes, but there’s also a lot of cool breeze coming in from the ocean.

  Dad likes to talk about the cool breeze coming in from the ocean. He says it’s another good reason that we moved, so we can be near the water.

  Even though we were living near the water in Wisconsin.

  The school is a mile from home and it takes about twenty minutes to walk there.

  Toby and I leave at seven o’clock in the morning. We walk a bunch of blocks past other houses that look a lot like ours with dark red bricks and two trees each in their front lawns.

  Then we turn onto this one street where the houses are bigger and different colors, with yards and gardens and horseshoe-shaped driveways.

  This is where some of the richer people live, but I mean most everyone in Somerdale has money.

  After that we turn onto a bridge that goes over this wide creek. The rich people’s backyards face the creek.

  Once we get over the bridge we are basically on school property. The school has a lot of land, though, and has a small woods on the side near the creek so we have to walk by that first.

  The high school and the middle school are right next to each other on adjacent lots. Dad says this was to Save Taxpayers’ Money.

  He says it with this kind of approving smile, thin and short. He always has that same expression when he’s talking about Saving Taxpayers’ Money.

  We will get to the schools with a few minutes to spare, and sometimes I give Toby a dollar for a muffin or a cookie or something. Even though we always eat breakfast at home.

  Just ’cause she’s kind of cool.

  Then I’ll squeeze her shoulder and she’ll go off to the middle school and I’ll go off to the high school.

  That’s just about every day the weather is good.

  Toby
and I are just turning onto that one street where the rich people live when I see Victor.

  Victor’s a kid in a couple of my classes, Biology and Art. I don’t really know him or anything. In Biology he sits with another kid, Fuller, and they talk a lot. Mrs. Ferguson gets annoyed at them.

  I don’t think they’ve known each other long. On the first day of school, Mrs. Ferguson had us all sit in assigned seats at eight different tables. Each table has four stools around it and a sink off to the side and gas hookups for Bunsen burners. It’s kind of like my seventh-grade Science class.

  Victor and Fuller were put together at one of the tables. I’m at the table behind them. I watch them sometimes because I have to face them when Mrs. Ferguson is at the front of the class. They didn’t talk to each other much for the first week.

  I mean they would say small-talk things like Can I borrow a pen? or What page are we on?

  I watched them. After a week or maybe a bit longer, Victor said, Hey.

  Just like that.

  When Fuller came in, I mean.

  Fuller looked at him for a bit and then said, Hey.

  That was it, though.

  But the next day they started talking a bit more.

  After a couple weeks they seemed to be friends.

  This morning Victor’s standing at the edge of one of the driveways and smoking a cigarette and looking at his phone. He has on black jeans and a green T-shirt too big for him. He brings the cigarette up to his mouth, holding it between his first two fingers, and then he takes a drag. And then he pulls the cigarette back down with his thumb and index finger.

  He keeps doing that, switching his fingers, and then he looks up from his phone at us. His hair gets in his eyes and he brushes it away. Straight and parted and really, really dark.

  I can’t tell if it’s his house or not, but I sort of doubt it ’cause he’s smoking, and he’d probably get in trouble if his parents saw him. It’s a mostly gray house with weird spires that remind me of Disneyland and a long, winding gravel driveway. There are three really wide willow trees.

  I love willow trees.

  I’ve never smoked before, except one time to try it when my friend Kris back in Sheboygan Falls got one of his stepsister’s packs of Virginia Slims. That’s supposed to be a girl’s cigarette but it was all he could get.

  We both tried it. Kris could do it pretty easily because I think he’d done it before. He said he got a buzz going.

  I tried to inhale it like he showed me, but it just made me cough a lot. Kris said that happens to everyone the first time but then it gets better.

  I didn’t really want to try again, though.

  Anyway, Victor seems to know what he’s doing, like he smokes a lot. I bet he does.

  He just keeps smoking and staring at us as we turn onto the rich people’s street and walk toward the bridge over Blushing Creek.

  After we get past a few houses, Toby says, Who was that?

  I say, Nobody, Toby.

  She says, Is he in your grade?

  I say, Yeah.

  She doesn’t say anything for a minute.

  Then she says, He smokes like a damn pro.

  She’s always saying stuff like that. I mean stuff that normal eleven-year-old girls don’t say.

  I say, Don’t say damn. Mom’ll get mad.

  She giggles a bit and says, Whatever you say, Mike.

  I’m leaving the bathroom right after Biology and I hear:

  You’re Mike, right?

  just as I open the door.

  I sort of stop in my tracks because it takes me by surprise. The door starts closing and it hits the back of my heel. It hurts a bit, but not that much because I have thick sneakers on.

  I look around and it’s Victor. He’s standing off to the side near the water fountain.

  I say, Yeah.

  He says, Mike Mike Mike.

  Just like that. Three times really fast, kind of under his breath. He isn’t smiling or anything but he isn’t frowning either.

  He says, What are you always looking at in class?

  I say, Huh?

  He says, In Ferguson’s. You’re always staring at me and Fuller.

  I don’t say anything.

  He says, Why are you always staring at us?

  I say, I’m not.

  He still doesn’t look mad or upset. He doesn’t look anything, just blank.

  He says, I see you staring all the time.

  I say, You sit in front of me and I’m just looking that way because Mrs. Ferguson is talking.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  For a couple moments we just look at each other. I don’t know what to do because he isn’t doing anything and he doesn’t really have any expression on his face. He’s looking at me like I’m a rock or something.

  After a while he blinks and says, Don’t stare at me in class.

  And he walks off.

  I have some friends.

  I’m not like a popular kid at my school or anything but I have some friends.

  These are my main friends:

  • Ronald

  • Jared

  • Terry

  Also there are some kids in my classes that I talk to sometimes, but we don’t really hang out after school or anything.

  Terry is a friend from church, but he goes to a different school, so I only see him every now and then. We don’t have a lot in common, really. He’s in my youth group and seems to like talking to me for some reason, so we became friends. But we aren’t like best friends.

  Jared and Ronald and I hang out after school and on weekends and stuff. Plus we eat lunch together.

  I met them at freshman orientation just before the school year started. They were nice to me and I didn’t know anybody.

  Victor walks away, and I watch him leave, not sure what to do.

  Then I go to lunch. I usually get to the cafeteria late because Biology is kind of far away from that part of the building.

  The tables are either square or circle and seat four or five kids. Sometimes kids put them together when they have big groups. They aren’t supposed to, but usually the teachers don’t do anything because they don’t care and everyone knows it’s a stupid rule anyway.

  Jared and Ronald and I always sit at the same table, a square one in the far corner, near the band hall and the side entrance. We like it there because it’s more open and we can watch people walk in and out of the school and around the elective classes.

  Jared is already there when I show up.

  I sit down and say, Hey.

  He says, Hi, dude.

  Sometimes Jared says dude even though it sounds weird coming from him. He’s taller than me, taller than most kids, and really skinny and kind of awkward. He has a kind of nasal voice, but not like ridiculous or anything. His hair is straight and really dark brown, and it hangs down over his ears and covers his face a bit. He has a big nose, which I think he’s self-conscious about. He’s kind of pale and has red lips.

  I asked him once why he says dude like he was a football player or something, and he rolled his eyes and said, I’m being ironic, dude.

  I don’t mind that he’s awkward, because I know I am too.

  I say, Where’s Ronald?

  A voice really close by says, Right behind you, dumbass.

  Ronald comes around and sits down. He doesn’t look anything like Jared at all. He’s a bit shorter than me but not as skinny, and his hair is kind of curly and strawberry blond, and really messy. He said once it was because he was part Welsh, and that’s also why he has light skin and all those freckles too. He likes to wear loose button shirts and jeans that cover the backs of his shoes.

  I say, Hey, Ronald.

  He says, What’s going on, Mike?

  Ronald frowns at his spaghetti. He looks a bit disgusted but also kind of resigned. They have spaghetti every Wednesday, and Ronald always gets it even though he complains about it and even though he could get something else if he wanted.

  H
e picks up one of the strands of spaghetti and holds it in front of his face, pinching it between two fingers. He looks at it for a few seconds, not saying anything. Jared and I watch him.

  Then Ronald leans his head back, lifts the spaghetti high over his face, and lowers it into his open mouth.

  Then we hear someone approaching our table. Jared looks up. Ronald doesn’t notice until he hears the girl’s voice.

  She says, Hey, are you using this chair?

  She’s older, maybe a junior or senior, dressed in shorts that are probably too short for the dress code and a bold turquoise shirt with short sleeves. She has really bright glittery lipstick and auburn hair and she’s very pretty.

  Ronald brings his head level again and just looks at her. There’s a tip of spaghetti hanging out of his mouth. His eyes are wide. Very slowly, he sucks the spaghetti tip into his mouth and starts chewing.

  He says, Hey there.

  The girl looks back at Ronald. She still has her hand on the fourth chair at our table. I can tell she doesn’t know what to say.

  Jared says, No, you can have it.

  His voice cracks just a bit.

  The girl smiles wide and says, Thank you!

  And then she takes the chair and leaves.

  We all watch her go for a while, and then Ronald turns to Jared and punches him in the arm.

  He says, You idiot, I was talking to her.

  Jared snorts and rubs his arm. He says, She didn’t want you, she just wanted the chair.

  Ronald turns back in the direction she went and shakes his head, slowly. He says, Man, she was smoking.

  I look over. In the distance I can see her sit down at one of the big groups of two tables pushed together.

  I say, She had a lot of makeup on.

  Ronald says, Yeah, that’s what smoking is.

  We are in the middle of doing depth exercises in Art.

  Mr. Kilgore has us draw two of the same objects, one near and one far away, and explains how to draw one of them smaller than the other to give the illusion of depth.

  It is kind of pointless because I already know how to do all that, but Mr. Kilgore gets mad sometimes if you don’t do things his way. He tells us exactly how to draw lines between the two objects to make a convergence and tells us about shading and how that can help with the illusion.

  Mr. Kilgore likes to make us follow a bunch of rules when we draw. It’s pretty stupid. I told Mom that once, but she said that it might look that way but maybe he knows more than he seems to.