Kelsie’s hands shaped the clay into symmetrical, even pieces and she built them up absentmindedly into something beautiful. I couldn’t do what she was doing if I gave it my full attention and effort.
She pissed and moaned about Saxon, and I sat and made noises of agreement with her sentiments without ever actually saying anything about him. I was ashamed to feel a sense of relief, like Saxon was free for me to pursue now. Because it was dangerously tempting to think of him that way.
And I knew that Kelsie was right; there wasn’t anything behind all of his mystery except a bunch of bullshit.
Hadn’t Saxon said that I could see clearly through everything?
Though if I agreed with the theory that he was full of shit, then his assessment of me kind of went out the window too.
“Ugh!” Kelsie grunted and smashed her clay into a heap.
“Kelsie!” I yelled. “Are you insane? That was beautiful.”
“I’ll make another one.” She rolled her head back on her shoulders. “I so need a girl’s night. Are you up for hanging out tonight, Brenna? It would be so fun. We can get a movie and paint each other’s toe nails,” she pleaded.
And the truth was, I didn’t have to think about it too much, because I really liked Kelsie, and I really wanted a girl to hang out with. Plus, if we got closer, Saxon got pushed farther out of my circumference by default.
And that left Jake Kelly. I felt a little flutter in my heart when I thought about him and his crooked smile and silvery eyes, quoting The Odyssey to me. Well, at least referencing it to me. I liked the rough, calloused feel of his hands and the quiet depth of his voice. He was no show off. He didn’t brood.
“I’d love to hang. Do you know what movie? Mom will probably be happy to swing by Castle Video and pick something up.”
“How about a really cheesy girl movie? One that will make us cry? Like The Notebook,” she sighed.
I got into it. “Let’s make it an awful, cheese-fest Nicholas Sparks tribute night. Let’s get A Walk to Remember and Dear John, too.”
“Love it!” Kelsie gushed. “And we’ll never tell a soul.”
“Never.” I drew an ‘x’ over my heart with my finger.
The bell rang and I rushed to gym, excited that I had plans on a Friday night that involved something other than Danish television, my parents, and a good book.
I caught sight of him as I sprinted out of the locker room, late to the track.
“Run, Forrest, run!” he called. A group of guys with him laughed and jostled. I wasn’t sure what spirit he had said it in. Was he joking with me or mocking me? I decided that my mom’s advice was the best; just ignore them and they’d go away.
Apparently, my mother never tested her theory on high school track fans. Word had gotten around that I was a decent runner and now I had a little cheering section. At the top of the hill, where the soccer game was in play, I heard hoots every time I rounded a lap.
I put them out of my mind. Students weren’t technically allowed to have iPods during gym class, but I flipped up the hood on my long-sleeve shirt and kept it in. I blasted the music and kept running, loving the feel as my muscles expanded and contracted, loving the cold air that blasted in and out of my lungs.
When I was in middle school I wasn’t fat or thin. I was average, but I was soft, undefined, and easily winded. My body felt like some awkward giant robot someone dropped a brain into. It was difficult to navigate. When I got to Denmark there wasn’t a ton to do, and everyone rode bikes everywhere, so I did, too.
My bike was my freedom, and soon Mom and Thorsten were sending me to the grocery store, the post office, the bakery, and the butcher on errands and trips. It broke up the monotony of the day. After a while, they let me take my bike to the train station where I could get on the train with my bike, put it in a storage unit, and be able to go all over; sometimes to the beach, sometimes to the bigger cities to see a movie or do some shopping.
That wasn’t the only physical change. Thorsten encouraged me to buy a lot of clothes when I was there. “I don’t want to brag,” he would brag, “but Denmark is known for the excellent quality of their clothing. You should stock up, Brenna. You can’t find things made this well back in the States.”
He was right, and I did. Which explained my eclectic wardrobe. I knew kids checked it out now that I was back in the States, but I was still too new for anybody to say anything to me. I started to think there was a downside to being a little cooler than I was before I left. Like maybe people felt that, because I dressed better, I was suddenly quiet because I got snotty.
In reality, I felt so out of place, and I had this sinking feeling like there was really never going to be much of a niche for me in high school, especially since I’d chosen to go Share Time.
In the midst of all of my memories and thoughts, I smashed into Coach Dunn on the track.
“Hello?” she bellowed. I almost knocked her over. “You have potatoes in your ears, Blixen?”
Luckily, my ear buds had popped out and fallen into the depths of my sweatshirt when I ran into her. “Sorry Coach Dunn.” I noticed I had moved up in her esteem; I went from a number to a last name.
“Try outs are in two weeks. I better see you there,” she glowered.
“I’m thinking about it seriously,” I called as I jogged back towards the locker room.
“Blixen!”
I looked back.
“You broke yesterday’s record!” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.
I wondered if I was suddenly good at running because I had gotten used to doing my favorite thing (zoning out and obsessing over something) while I did something physical (riding my bike) while I was in Denmark. Once my blood got pumping, I just went to that place in my head, and I let my mind wander anywhere it needed to go. I’d be awful at any sport that required I pay attention or actually think, but give me something on a track where I can just wind up and go, and I’m golden.
Saxon waited for me in the hall.
“Why don’t you wear those tiny shorts when you run, like they do in the movies?” His voice was low and sexy, and he knew it.
“Because I’m not in a movie. I know it’s confusing, since you obviously live ‘The Saxon Show’ day and night, but some of us just want to live a boring, old, normal, high school life, you know?”
“You’re the furthest thing from boring I can imagine.” He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I actually felt all of those little hairs on my arms stand up when his fingertips brushed my ear.
The bell rang, and he put his hand back where it belonged. It didn’t even surprise me when the urge to grab his hand and lick it ran through my mind. I’d been thinking such weird things the past few days, I didn’t even acknowledge half of what passed through my brain anymore. We started walking down the hallway. “So, let’s hang out tonight.” His invitation sent a shiver down my spine.