After Dakota Part 2

Hopefully, no girls have invented a system like this for rating boys.

Bryce and Cameron both agree the next girl at the punch bowl is a nine, mainly because of her little black dress that shows off both B's. After her, the boys look at each other and remember where they are.

At home later, Cameron changes into a T-s.h.i.+rt and shorts, then goes through his ca.s.sette collection in the wooden storage box until he finds the one he has to play today, in Dakota's honor: the Star Wars soundtrack. He cranks the volume, closes his eyes and pictures the yellow letters crawling out into the infinite. Pictures her.

Outside his window, past the blazing orange berries of the pyracantha bushes, the sun goes down on this rapidly fading summer.

FIRST SEMESTER.

AUGUST DECEMBER, 1983.

7.

Bryce and Claire used to sit at the breakfast table and fight over who got to read the back of which cereal box while they ate Cinnamon Life or Fruity Pebbles. Or their dad would drive to Winch.e.l.ls early every Sunday morning, knowing there are few things like the joy of waking up to a box of fresh donuts. Or their mom would make pancakes with food-coloring smiley faces on them.

Today, the first day of school, the whole family sits together for scrambled eggs and toast. "You'll look out for your sister, show her where all her cla.s.ses are?" their mom asks Bryce.

"Mom, I'm not a first grader," Claire says.

"Honey, it's a big campus. Much bigger than your last school."

Unspoken here is the understanding that, other than her brother, Claire will be friendless on this big campus.

At the front door, mother hugs daughter and whispers, "I know a lot has happened. You're going to do fine."

Claire and Bryce ride to school in Bryce's pee-colored car. Cameron drives right behind them, in that big vehicle of his that makes Bryce's look like a Hot Wheels toy. Bryce babbles for most of the drive: snack bar... cafeteria... campus patrol... cholos... top locker...

At a stoplight he asks, "Wooden nickel for your thoughts?"

"What d'you think it was like when the plane crashed?" she says. "I heard if you fall from really high up that you like pa.s.s out before you hit the ground."

"I dunno. Look, this isn't really what I want to be thinking about on the first day of school, okay?"

"I'm just trying to understand why that happened to her."

"Sometimes only G.o.d knows," Bryce replies. "Next time I ask what you're thinking, make something up, ok?"

The singer on the radio keeps repeating Abracadabra.

Cameron pulls up next to them at a red light. He says through the open window, "Paaaahdon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?" and both boys laugh. Sometimes Claire feels like the older one when these two are together.

They circle the campus parking lot, looking for a s.p.a.ce. Out the window, other cars, skateboards, bikes, swerve around each other. Like looking at an aquarium full of exotic new creatures. Legwarmers. Mohawks. A boy carries a blasting radio on his shoulder. Most girls' hair is twice the size of their heads, in contrast to Claire's, which always lies flat despite her best efforts.

They park, but Cameron skips the spot next to them and keeps driving. "He's paranoid about someone denting his car," Bryce says. "He has to get as far away from everyone else as he can."

Claire gets out, puts her backpack on like normal until she sees everyone else wearing theirs only on one shoulder and immediately switches. "You don't have to hold my hand and walk me around," she tells Bryce. "I can figure it out."

The closest bathroom is empty. Claire locks herself in the stall, unzips her backpack, and takes out Dakota's shoes. She'd taken them with her on her last night as the petsitter. The shoes were too good for the Salvation Army, and it's not like Mrs. Vanzant would start wearing them. Claire told herself she would just try them on, to see if they fit which they didn't, exactly, but what's an inch or two? When she walked out the Vanzants' door she had the Tarot cards too.

Claire ties the shoes and puts her old ones in her backpack. After someone else comes in the bathroom, pees, and leaves, Claire does a quick makeup job in the mirror: swishes of blue across her eyelids, her lips a smear of red. She walks out, ready as she'll ever be.

8.

First Period Economics: Cameron and Bryce. All the males in the room, suddenly awake at eight a.m., ponder the baffling (and fortunate) chain of events that led to Ms. Sarah d.i.c.kinson choosing a career as an economics teacher instead of an international s.e.x symbol. Her chocolate fountain of hair caps the full F-B-B package.

Every time she writes on the board, these same males focus on nothing but the back of her form-fitting slacks. She writes on the board a lot that first day. Geoff Winters, in the same battered leather jacket he's worn every day of high school, keeps squinting and saying he can't read what she's just completed. Ms. D keeps turning around and writing it all bigger, bless her heart.

9.

First Period English: Claire. The bubbly Ms. Harper, surrounded by colorful grammar posters, tells the cla.s.s all about herself (two cats, favorite pastime is skiing, favorite book is To Kill A Mockingbird) before pa.s.sing out a freshly dittoed questionnaire. Some students begin writing immediately, others pause to sniff the ink first.

Something you should know about me as a student is __________________.

My favorite thing to do on a weekend is _____________________________.

Claire writes her answers, thinking the whole time that they should cancel school for a day after someone dies.

10.

Third Period English: Cameron. Mrs. Gordon (aka, Mrs. Gorgon) has been an inst.i.tution at the school for as long as anyone can recall; she taught several current staff members, and even a couple of their parents. Her hair has been the same shade of gold, literal gold, for eons. And her cla.s.sroom: the desks in their military rows, the bare walls.

"Quiet down, people" are the first words she says to them.

It's when Mrs. Gordon puts on her reading gla.s.ses and is outlining everything a student can do to lose points in her cla.s.s that the girl next to Cameron whispers, "I feel enlightened already." The accent (British or Australian) makes him look over, and looking over makes his heart stop.

Dakota sits next to him. She wears a white fuzzy sweater, plaid skirt, black fishnet leggings. How is she here? Has he gone mad?

It takes him staring awkwardly for five seconds, or maybe thirty, to see just enough subtle differences eyebrow color, mouth shape that it's not her. He could have skipped the obviousness and simply glanced sideways at her binder, where Rosemary Vickers is written in large cursive on the front. An unfamiliar name from his history here at school.

"...and let me tell you, there is no surer way to incur my wrath," Mrs. Gordon says. Cameron tries to pay attention, despite the fact that a foxy ghost hovers in his peripheral vision.

11.

Third Period Prep: Bryce. He sits in the Commons, the large central room painted in red and white, ringed with padded seating. The announcements come over the loudspeaker: yearbook pictures, schedule changes. Then Princ.i.p.al Rodriguez's voice. "As some of you may know, we lost a member of our school family recently when Dakota Vanzant, cla.s.s of 1982, pa.s.sed away tragically. Our motto here is, 'Once a Thunderbird, always a Thunderbird.' In that spirit, I'd like to ask everyone to take a moment of silence." Twenty seconds later, by the huge clock over Bryce's head, Rodriguez says, "Thank you."

Bryce wonders if the princ.i.p.al has had to say those words before. Or if he'll have to say them again. When he'll have to say them again.

Rebecca Hall enters and sits against the far wall. She's always been known as Reblecha (usually behind her back). The acne beard, the big nose, the asymmetrical eyes her whole face looks like it was put together in random, Mrs. Potato Head-style. The weirdest part about her, though, is her sister, Natalie, who's a stone cold fox. Everyone a.s.sumes Reblecha is adopted, because how could the same genes have produced both girls?

"Hi, Bryce," she says and waves. He waves back quickly before anyone important walks past and sees. He zips up his backpack and leaves, in case she's thinking of sitting next to him.

12.

Fourth Period World Affairs: Claire. Everyone knows that Neal Hagen migrates to a summer home when school's over, for the purpose of surfing. Everyone knows he drives the cool VW van that graduating seniors get to autograph. And of course he's the only male teacher on campus with a ponytail.

To Claire, he's a hippie whose crowded cla.s.sroom is decorated with a surfboard, various surfing and skateboarding photos, and a poster from the Olympics showing two men with their fists raised in the Black Power salute. She ends up sitting in the far back corner of the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, to understand our world, you need knowledge of our world," Mr. Hagen says from the podium after taking roll. "So, to that end, we'll be having..." With great flourish, he tears down the blank sheet of butcher paper on the wall behind him. Beneath it waits a large world map, with the names of countries all covered. "...a geography bee!" A groan whips through the room.

Claire can't believe this; it's like her mom called the school and arranged for them to schedule something easy for her, to make up for not going to Sandia. Her dad used to be a Continental Airlines pilot, and whenever he came home from a trip, he would sit down with her, Bryce, and a world map to mark his route.

He presented them with trinkets the geisha doll, the colorful money, exotic liquor bottles like a wizard's potions for himself from far corners of the globe. He taught them Konnichiwa and Bonjour and G.o.ddag.

Claire told him that one day she would go to all the places he'd been, and even more. Then he retired to work as "a desk jockey" at the airport, in order to be home with the kids more. The kids understood this wasn't his idea.

Mr. Hagen says, "Last person alive gets a prize. And my admiration. We know which is worth more." He asks everyone to stand. "First question goes to Isabel Arnold." He points with a yardstick to a spot on the map. "Name this country."

Claire says, "Ecuador." Everyone turns, mystified, including Isabel Arnold in her stonewashed jeans and jacket. "Sorry," Claire adds. "I thought we could just say it."

Hagen says, "You'll get your turn, Miss..."

"Claire Rollins."

The real Isabel says, "I was going to say Ecuador," then throws Claire a not-friendly look.

Hagen sticks a colored pin in the map. "I'll give you that one. Next is Ryan Asher." Hagen points.

Ryan uhhhhh's under his mohawk. To Claire's credit, when she pipes in with "Poland," she does so quietly. Just not quietly enough. The looks her way are less curious now, more hostile, accompanied by shus.h.i.+ng.

The game goes on and more names are eliminated. Claire gets three answers Hong Kong, Norway, Algeria right.

It eventually comes down to Isabel vs. Claire. The crowd has a clear favorite, applauding when Isabel gets an answer right. A slick-haired kid angles himself in front of Claire when it's her turn; she stands on her desk to see the map. Every eye in the place locks on her. The feeling in the room, the hope that she'll fail, is palpable. She finally says, "Tasmania."

"We have a winner," Hagen announces, tossing Claire a king-sized Snickers.

Claire points at Isabel and lets loose a "Ha!" just like when she beats Bryce at anything. Only here it doesn't go over so well. Groans and boos follow. Isabel's mouth hangs open.

The bell rings to cap the anti-celebration. The cla.s.s files out, a few tossing final looks and comments at Claire on the way. She stares at her orange shoelaces until she's the last one left.

13.

Fourth Period Computers: Bryce. Ever since he saw the movie WarGames, he's thought about being a cool hacker, having a codename and government agents looking for you. Unfortunately, the type of things these computers do is a lot less cool: math problems and basic graphics and sending text from the screen to the imposing printer in the corner, with its lolling tongue of paper.

While Mr. Terry, gla.s.ses on the end of his nose, goes over the cla.s.s syllabus, Bryce types things like C:/ Hack Pentagon And C:/ Missile Override In return the screen tells him Unknown Command. Ronnie Youngblood, a Navajo kid who seems not to have heard of a comb, and has probably said a total of ten words since freshman year, sits next to Bryce. He either grunts or chuckles at each of the commands; it's hard to be sure.

14.

Lunch: Cameron. Starting junior year, the outdoor snack bar is the only place to be seen. The fence might as well have a NO UNDERCLa.s.sMEN ALLOWED sign. Funyuns and Doritos, Nestle Crunch and Hot Tamales all hang on display at the window. The two parallel lines are long and populated with types who don't like waiting; Cameron knows to have his order and money ready long before reaching the front.

At a table, Bryce dips French fries into a chocolate shake; Cameron squeezes packets of mustard onto a gray hamburger. Geoff Winters joins them, his skin always moon-colored, like he lives in a world where the sun never rises (which is almost true, given the amount of time he spends in the school theater).

"I'm about ready to pa.s.s out," he tells them. "I only got nine hours' sleep last night. Brutal."

The three review their cla.s.ses and teachers thus far, until they turn their attention to each girl who enters.

Jennifer Robinson.