Called. That was how she thought of it. It didn't make any sort of logical sense, but emotionally it felt right. She'd seen an article on the Wine Country in the Arizona Republic's Sunday magazine supplement, and had found herself drawn, pulled to the area. For two weeks the idea of moving had grown within her, making her nervous and anxious, growing from a desire to a necessity in her mind, intruding upon her daily thoughts until she thought she'd go crazy. It was as if something inside her was telling her that she had to move to Napa. She'd fought it at first, but she'd finally given in. She had always been one to trust her instincts.
Of course, whether they moved here or someplace else, they still would have had to move. She had no choice in the matter. She had not been laid off from the bank, as she'd told Dion. She'd been fired and threatened with prosecution. Dion probably suspected more than she'd told him and more than he let on, but she doubted that his ideas and suspicions were anywhere near as bad as the truth. The truth was that the boy had been sixteen and that he'd been seriously and permanently injured, and that if the bank manager hadn't been involved as well, she would probably be in jail or on trial at this moment.
What was wrong with her? she wondered. Why did these sorts of things always happen to her? It wasn't as though she didn't try to live a normal life; it was just that this craziness kept intruding. As much as she tried to walk the straight and narrow, there was always someone or something waiting to tip her off balance. She wasn't entirely blameless.
Much of it was, in fact, her own fault. But it just seemed like fate wasn't doing her any favors.
All of that was over, though. This time things were going to be different. She was not going to fall back into her old habits, her old patterns. For the first time in her life, she was going to be the type of mother that Dion wanted. The type of mother that he deserved.
She finished one last sip of coffee, dumped the dregs in the sink, then walked into the bedroom to get dressed.
* * *
"First day!" Dion nodded as he sat down to breakfast. On the table before him was a pitcher of orange juice, two slices of toast with peanut butter, and a choice of two cereals. He looked over at his mom, standing next to the sink and pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was obviously nervous. She only played Harriet Nelson when she was under extreme pressure or extremely worried--ordinarily, they ate breakfast in silence, fending for themselves.
Of course, this was the first day for both of them.
"Are you excited?" his mom asked.
"Not really."
"Be honest."
"More scared than excited." He poured himself a glass of juice.
"You have nothing to be scared about. Everything's going to be fine."
He drank his juice. "You're not nervous?"
"A little," she admitted, sitting down in the chair next to him. He noticed that she was wearing a tight dress which clearly outlined the fact that she was wearing no bra. "But it's only natural to be a little jittery at first. After the first ten minutes, though, it's like you've been there all your life."
For you maybe, Dion thought, but he said nothing. He wished he was a little bit more like his mom in social situations.
He wished she was a little bit more like him.
"Come on," she said. "Hurry up and eat. I'll drop you off at school."
"That's okay. I'll walk."
"You sure?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Embarrassed to have your mommy drop you off, huh?" She smiled. "I understand. But in that case you'd better eat even faster. It's about a fifteen- or twenty minute walk, I think."
He poured himself a bowl of cereal. "Well, maybe you can drive me part of the way," he said.
She laughed. "Deal."
It was an old redbrick schoolhouse, the kind seldom seen outside of movies. Two stories with indoor hallways, the main building housed both classrooms and administration, stretching parallel to the football field. A tall clock tower topped the adjoining auditorium. The gym, set slightly apart from the other two buildings, was much newer and much uglier, constructed of plain gray cement.
Dion stood across the street from school, waiting for the bell to ring and dreading it at the same time. His mouth was dry, his palms wet, and he wished to God that they had never left Arizona. He was not good at meeting people. He hadn't known that many students at his high school in Mesa, and he had been there since freshman year. Coming to a new school, starting from scratch ... it was going to be tough.
At least it wasn't the middle of the semester. He was thankful for that.
It would have been much worse to walk in on classes already in progress, where all the relationships would have been established and cemented for the year. Now, at least, he would be in on the courses from the beginning. He might be new, but he would be able to start off on somewhat equal footing with his classmates. He would have a chance.
There would probably be other new kids here as well, students who'd transferred to the school over the summer, students who, like him, would be looking for someone to meet.
He walked across the street and up the steps into the schoolhouse.
Coming to a new school was frightening, but in a way it was also exciting. He knew no one in Napa, so no one would have any preconceived ideas about him. He carried no baggage. He was, as far as the students here were concerned, a blank slate, and he could create of himself anything he wanted. A few well-placed lies, the proper clothes, and he could be a jock or a party animal or ... anything.
Theoretically.
Dion smiled wryly. He knew himself well enough to know his place in the school hierarchy. He was neither athletic nor spectacularly handsome, neither a class clown nor a bravura talker. He was smart but not in the subjects guaranteed to bring him social acceptability. As much as he might try to alter his personality, his true nature would undoubtedly win out over any self-imposed public image.
He was not going to be Joe Popular here either.
But that was okay. He was used to it.
He stood outside the classroom and looked down at his schedule as if checking to make sure the room number was correct. He knew perfectly well that he was in front of the right room, but this conspicuous display of his newness somehow made him feel more secure, less afraid.
Students pushed rudely past him, around him, entering the class. He had half hoped that Napa High would be like those sitcom schools on TV where friendly students would notice his discomfort and immediately try to make him feel at home. No such luck. He was ignored; no one even noticed him.
He walked into class, aware that he was sweating heavily, and glanced quickly around, taking in the lay of the land. The desks in the middle of the room were taken, he saw, but there were a few open spaces in the back row, and the front row was entirely free.
He opted for the back.
He could hide better there.
Seating himself in the middle desk of an empty trio, directly behind a sullen-looking boy in a dirty T-shirt and a heavily made-up Hispanic girl, he looked around the room. He had expected the kids here to be cooler than those in Mesa. After all, this was California. But the students surrounding him all looked faintly anachronistic, the boys' hair a little too long, the girls' appearance a little too casual.
Obviously the latest wave of fashion which had crashed over Phoenix had come directly from southern California, its edges lapping only faintly at the northern part of the golden state.
He looked down again at his schedule of classes: American Government, Algebra II, Classical Mythology, World Economics, Rock History, and AP English. He was enrolled in what, for this school, was the standard college prep lineup. His sole elective, and the only class which looked like it would be any fun at all, was Rock History. The others were strict by-the-book academic courses, although in the case of the mythology class he had chosen the lesser of two evils; the alternative would have been a foreign language.