My stepfather was putting a bowl of oatmeal on the table. “Hey, Fa.” I kissed him on the cheek. ‘Fa’ is what kids in Denmark call their dads, and since Thorsten is from Denmark and not quite my dad, ‘fa’ seemed like a good alternative.
“Ready for the new day, Brenna?” Thorsten had wide, white, straight teeth. He’d never even had to see an orthodontist. They sometimes made me wish I was his biological kid, just so I could have avoided my painful faceoff with braces.
“I think I am.” The force of my lie made my oatmeal sit heavy in my gut.
“Do you want a ride in?” he offered.
“No, Fa, it’s cool. You have a long drive to work. Anyway, the bus is okay with me.” I pushed my congealing oatmeal around in the bowl. “I wish we were close enough to ride my bike in.” I shot a pleading look at Thorsten, who looked at my mother expectantly.
“You know I don’t like it.” She sighed. “Danish people are used to bike riders, Brenna. This isn’t Denmark. Cars aren’t going to be expecting you. What if you get hit? What if someone grabs you and takes you?”
I did what I knew was the only thing that might possibly work. “That’s cool.” I made sure to keep my voice only very slightly depressed. “I’ll miss the exercise, but I’ll get over it.”
I could feel her wavering, but I didn’t look up. I couldn’t blow my spot now.
“Brenna, you would only be able to do it for a few weeks. Soon it will be freezing and then it will start to snow.” Her voice was full of worry.
Then she was quiet, waiting for me to beg or plead or cry, but there was no chance of that. My mom was a master at persuasion and getting what she wanted; I learned my techniques from the master herself. Finally, she gave a loud sigh.
“Fine. But you need to leave now, so you have plenty of time. No riding with your iPod on. And keep your cell in your pocket.”
I squeezed her shoulders tight and smacked a kiss on her cheek. “Love you!” My jacket and backpack already in hand, I breezed a kiss on Thorsten’s face and beat it before she had a change of heart. “Have a good day, Fa!”
“You too!” He focused his conspirator’s smile on his iPad, but I caught it.
“Be good! Be safe! Love you!” Mom followed me to the garage where I unlocked my bike and grabbed my helmet. My iPod was safely hidden in my pocket. I needed my music, but didn’t need my mom to worry. As if she knew my intent to break the rules, she grabbed me and kissed me again.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “I’ll call you before I leave school.”
My mom looked like she might cry, just like she had on the first day of school every year of my life. For the first time, I felt like crying, too, so I knew I had better hit the road fast if I wanted to make it to school without puffy, red-rimmed eyes.
I got on my bike and started pedaling. I was going to have to bike close to five miles, but I was up for it. I loved the freedom of it. I liked being able to get myself places. My birthday was October 11th, and I would only be turning sixteen, so even though I’d be eligible for my permit, my license was far away. Until I got it, my bike was the best chance I had for freedom.
I pedaled hard; I didn’t want to be late on my first day. I gulped down the clean smell of cool air mixed with the sweet and rotten stench of dead leaves and the acrid smoke from burn piles. I focused on the blood pumping through my legs and the strong beat of my heart. I had been a fairly sedentary kid before the big Denmark adventure, and the farther I got from that kid, the less I even wanted to pick any of her old, lazy habits up again.
Before I knew it, I hit the high school, all three stories of sandy-colored stone with wide front steps and a patio with trees and bushes and benches. There was a completely empty bike rack where I parked, chained my bike, and walked into the front office with my eyes trained straight ahead of me.
The school had the same weird familiar/unfamiliar feeling that my room had. I toured it and the tech school one time back in eighth grade, when I was so excited to start high school I could hardly contain it. I didn’t know then that I would leave for an entire year within a few months. Only a few of my friends even knew where I went.
I wondered if anyone would recognize me. I was so nervous, I couldn’t look at anyone.
“Brenna? Brenna Blixen? Is that you?”
I turned and saw a girl with bright red lipstick and curly black hair. She was a little heavyset and had a big nose, but she was cheerful and smiley. She did have a big bow in her hair, but I tried not to hold it against her.
“Meg Yakovy?” I was suddenly folded in an excited hug.
“Yeah! You look great! Did you really go to Germany with your parents and the Peace Corps?” Her curls shook around her excited face.
“No. I went to Denmark. My step-dad inherited some land and a house, and we went there so we could fix it up.” I wiggled in her firm grip and she let me go.
“Oh.” Her face fell, apparently disappointed by the fact that it hadn’t been the Peace Corps and Germany. “So, did you, like, meet some hot Dutch boys?”
“Danish,” I corrected. “Um, no. I was in Jutland. It’s a lot of farms and stuff. We didn’t have any neighbors my age.”
Her eyes shimmered with agonized, sympathetic tears. “That must have been so, so terrible. Just you and your parents.” She shivered and closed her eyes. “I would have killed myself.”
“Uh, it wasn’t so bad.” I hadn’t been in the company of someone my age for months, but she seemed weirdly dramatic.
“Well, you look really pretty! You should try out for the fall drama. It’s The Miracle Worker. It’s going to be amazing.” Only she said it ah-MAHZ-ing. And shivered again. She was making me kind of cold.
Aha. Meg and drama club. How could I forget her belting out “Tomorrow” all through seventh grade when she landed the lead in Annie?
“I will, uh, think about it.” The idea of getting on stage and performing sounded almost as appealing as hot pokers in my eyeballs, but I didn’t want to make the first person who talked to me hate my guts off the bat. “So, it was good seeing you, but I have to check in at the office.”
“Alright!” She hugged me again and shook me back and forth a few times. “It was so, so good to see you, Brenna. I am so, so glad you’re back.” Another warm, perfume-dense hug.
Meg was a nice girl. She signed ‘HAGS’ in my yearbook at the end of eighth, short for ‘have a great summer,’ and added the obligatory, ‘See you in high school!’ But, other than that, I could hardly remember her talking to me. Maybe high school just made her even friendlier?
I made it to the office unnoticed and waited behind kids who didn’t like their schedules and were pretty much being told to deal with it and get to class. Harsh, but it made the line move really quickly.