The Pace (2 page)

As soon as I sat down, my mom started picking fries off my plate and then hammered away on planning for my approaching eighteenth birthday. It was only three days away, and she couldn’t stop talking about it. For a minute, I thought she was turning eighteen again. She was always super excited about planning things, so I let her have her moment. My only request was that she keep it simple, and she said she would. I’d just have to wait and see if it held true.

The walk back to my car after lunch always seemed like it took forever, but I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think, and the scenery was great. The campus had the most fascinating trees I’d ever seen. Saying they were not normal would be an understatement. They were downright bizarre. One of the paths had a massive sized oak tree, with a huge trunk that split into four or five huge branches. The branches shot upward and curved over so the tips were touching the ground, like an enormous claw.

The west end of the campus had a group of trees whose trunks looked normal, but then the big branches sprouted out in all directions, spiraling like a neat array of curly fries. They were the strangest, most serene things I’d ever seen. I definitely didn’t mind the walk, and I hoped my photography class would have an assignment about nature. Even if it didn’t, I already decided I’d have to go back there and take a bunch of pictures of those anyway.

In the meantime, I needed something to do until school started, so I stopped at a used bookstore on my way home thinking I could find something to keep my mind occupied. It was a small store, and the woman behind the counter didn’t have to raise her voice much to greet me. I smiled back at her and meandered my way to the hardcover section. I was a little rough on my books, so paperbacks didn’t last that long with me. I needed something durable, and they had several shelves of them. I started at the top and searched my way through the titles looking for something old. Like a classic.

I had an odd interest in books that were worn, and it was even better if they had old inscriptions written in them—especially with dates attached. In those cases, I let my imagination run wild with what the previous owners looked liked. It gave the book more character.

About halfway through the romance section, my browsing eyes stopped on one that looked especially old. It was an Elizabeth Gaskell Victorian classic titled,
North and South,
and written on the inside of one of the browning pages was a faded message:
Happy 18th Birthday Sweetheart. Love Mom, October 8th 1962.

Talk about weird. I shuddered a little at the reference and then tucked it under my arm. It seemed fitting, so I took it home, fixed myself a tall glass of lemonade, and started reading it while soaking up the view on my back deck.

It was a good read, but it seemed like a strange choice for a gift to a daughter.
Unless
, I thought,
the daughter was like the heroine in the story.
She must have been strong, bothered by social injustices, and had a tendency to follow her heart. I sighed at the visualization and the book felt heavy, as if weighted with a story of its own. Reading it certainly served its purpose in keeping me occupied until Sunday, which happened to be my birthday.

In the morning, I woke up like any other day and went to brush my teeth. Only this time, I was startled by a bathroom inundated with purple and pink balloons.
Mom
. It was so like her. Taped to the mirror was a white piece of paper covered in bold, plum-colored hearts and all-capped letters, which read, “Happy Birthday. I love you.”

I smiled slightly before gently taking the paper off of the mirror and setting it aside. I looked at myself and stared. I didn’t notice anything different. I still looked the same. I wondered if I felt different.
A little bit
. I was eighteen, and that waskind of cool.

Maybe I would’ve been more excited if I knew what I was going to do with my life, but I hadn’t found my purpose yet, and it bothered me. I liked the medical field, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a nurse. I wanted something more innovative. Something a little more out of reach, and every time I tried to think that far ahead, things went blank, so I didn’t know. I blocked out the indecisive thoughts and started brushing my teeth, without looking back into the mirror.

“Sophie!” my mom shouted from below.

“Yes?” I yelled back, after I rinsed.

“Come on down. I have breakfast for you.”

“All right. I’m coming.” I was met halfway down the stairs by the smell of bacon. I reached the bottom step with a smile. It smelled good, and I was hungry.

I sat at the table while she insisted upon serving me all of my favorites. My plate was covered in scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, bacon, and an oven-baked grapefruit with cinnamon and brown sugar on top. My eyes widened. I zeroed in on the grapefruit first. By the time I was halfway done with the rest, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Do you want your present now or later?” she asked, practically bouncing out of her seat.

Not wanting to disappoint her, I answered, “Now is good.”

She sprang from her chair and returned with a box that made me laugh. There I was turning eighteen, and she had wrapped my present in pastel pink paper with teddy bears on it. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

“Open it!” she said.

I untied the enormous bow and pulled back the wrapping paper. It was a box for a 10.0 megapixel digital camera. “Mother!”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. What were you thinking? You did
not
have to do this.”

“Sure I did. You need a camera for your class, and you’re always talking about taking pictures.”

“Mom, I needed a camera. Just a regular digital camera. I didn’t need all this.”

“Would you stop it? You deserve it. It’ll be something you can use for a long time.”

I reached over to give her a hug, and she squeezed me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” I stood up to put my plate in the sink when she added, “I’m not done you know?”

“Mom, I told you not to do anything for my birthday. You do enough for me already.” I turned around and she was pouting. “Okay, fine. What is it?” I asked, holding back a smile.

Turns out, she had dinner plans, too. She was going to play up this milestone with all she had. There was no sense in trying to get around it, so I quietly returned to my room to wait until it was time to leave. I spent most of the afternoon talking to Kerry on the phone and taking pictures of the panoramic view. By 3:00, she alerted me that it was time to go. “By the way,” she called up. “Wear some nice pants or something.”

“How nice?” I yelled down.

“Just no jeans,” she answered, tapering off.

All right. No jeans
. I went over to my closet and scanned my wardrobe. I didn’t have much in the way of dressy clothes, but I found a pair of black capris, and a black and white pinstriped tank top. I had a pair of black slip-on sandals that were dressy but comfortable, so I threw those on, too. My purse was an oversized burgundy bag. It was a little too casual for my outfit, but I liked the style, so I grabbed it anyway. I didn’t wear earrings, only a necklace, which was a cross pendant covered in brown stones that I bought off consignment, and that was it for me when it came to accessorizing.

My mom was much more done up. She was wearing black capri pants, too, but she had on a teal satin shirt, with a gold chain around her waist, earrings, and a ton of bracelets. It was a far cry from her medical coat and scrubs.

It wasn’t long before I figured out that we were headed to San Francisco.

She took me to a seafood restaurant with panoramic views of the bay. It was definitely not a place where we could’ve eaten in jeans, and the entrées were way more expensive than anywhere we usually ate. I really felt she was going overboard, so I told her again.

“Mom, this
really
isn’t necessary.”

“Sophie, you’re my only daughter. I want you to have a nice birthday. My little girl is growing up. It’s a big deal.”

I felt a little uncomfortable. She went out of her way to make me happy, and I worried about what she would be like when I moved out. I couldn’t picture her by herself, but I pushed it out of mind for the time being and shifted my attention to the menu.

It was a bit extravagant. I didn’t understand half of what was on it. I ordered the only familiar sounding thing they had for my entrée, which was their Rock Cod Whole Fried Fish. The menu said it was their own fish and chips, and I liked fish and French fries, so I thought it was a safe choice. Then they brought it out to me, and it was staring at me, literally.

I didn’t realize that whole fish actually meant
whole fish
. I was in shock looking at the little guy sitting on my plate all fried up. My mom started laughing, but I didn’t find it funny. I was not about to eat something that was looking at me. She quickly offered to take the fish and gave me some of her lobster tail, which I ate with my fries. It was very good, and it made me full. But, not too full to start in on the triple-layer chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream that was waiting for us when we got home.

The next morning, it was official. My senior year had started. I turned on my computer and logged into my school homepage. All of my classes were listed on the main screen. I clicked on each, one by one, and printed the course syllabus and assignment checklist. Then, I worked my way through each class’s typical Day 1 assignments, which usually consisted of posting something about me on the discussion board and responding to another classmate’s posting. It was an attempt to get the students in the class to interact. In a traditional school, it would be like the teacher making a student stand in front of the class to introduce himself and reveal his hobbies, and then randomly forcing another student to verbally respond to the presentation.

It was completely ridiculous, but teachers were able to get away with it online, because there wasn’t the complete embarrassment factor. Luckily for all of us, we didn’t have to actually stand up in front of a class, but it was still awkward. “Hi, my name is Sophie, and I’m a senior. I like listening to music and reading on my deck.”

Then, I could always count on a classmate’s reply. “Cool. I’m a senior, too. I like music, too.” I did that for all six classes. When I was done “introducing” myself, I opened up each course, found another classmate’s posting that no one had replied to yet, and said what everyone else says: “Cool. Nice to meet you. I’m a senior, too.” Then, I moved on.

I went right to my assignment checklists for the whole semester. I could see every assignment, when it was due, and I could start them as soon as I wanted. Surprisingly, I had a lot due that week. The 12th grade was looking like it was going to be a bear. I grabbed my Zune and lay on my bed listening to my favorite playlist until I felt motivated to start it all. It took about an hour for the motivation to kick in, but eventually, it did.

By the following week, I had a regular routine down, and I even got ahead on my assignments. I was reaping the benefits of online learning and was stoked about an upcoming photography project. For the assignment, I was able to use a subject from nature. The bizarre claw tree on campus immediately came to mind, so on Thursday, I headed to lunch with my camera tucked in my bag.

This time, I couldn’t wait for our lunch to be over. I was eager to get my pictures, and my mother was being extremely inquisitive. She asked what seemed like a zillion questions about my classmates. She wanted to know if I had anything in common with any of them, because she was dying for me to find a local friend. I tried to give her a little hope.

“Yeah sure, Mom, I met a few seniors who like music.”

“Really?” she said, perking up. “That’s so nice. You’re a senior and you like music, too.”

“I know. Can you believe it? What a coincidence,” I replied, eyes wide.

“Very funny, Sophie. You
need
to open up and meet people. Go to the social gatherings. You may find out that you actually have a lot in common with them…besides music.”

“All right, I will,” I said, hoping that would satisfy her.

When we finished our lunch, I took more time on campus than usual. I captured a bunch of pictures of the oak tree, and then I headed back to my car. When I reached the parking lot, I received a text message from Kerry. It read: CHEM TEACHER SO HOT. I laughed to myself as I neared my car. I didn’t have time to text her back right then, because it was really rude to take a long time getting out of the space while the vultures were hovering. Instead, I got in my car, set the phone down, and decided I would text her back at the first red light I came to.

I turned to back out of the space, and my phone went off again.
What now?
I thought to myself, as I glanced in my lap. I picked up the phone and opened the message. Kerry again: YUM YUM, it read. I smiled, set the phone in the console, and resumed my previous task.

Just then, a tremendous jolt and crunch sound happened simultaneously. I slammed on the brakes and said a word my mother wouldn’t have approved of, and then I snapped my head around to see what had happened. That’s when I realized I’d backed right into a car passing by. A quick rundown of questions flashed through my brain, such as:
What just happened? How bad is it? What do I do? Do I call Mom? Do I call the cops? Do I get out? Is this person going to kill me? Am I an idiot?
The only answers I could come up with were, yes, I was a complete idiot, and yes, I should get out and apologize quickly.

I opened my door and walked toward the back of my car. I didn’t even look at the damage to my car. I was too busy quickly coming up with an apology in my head. My thoughts were interrupted by the image of a huge dent in the side of the shiny black car, made by yours truly. Horrified, and not knowing what to do, I searched for the owner who was making his way around his own car, sizing up the damage as well.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, looking like a deer in headlights. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t see…” About halfway through my attempt at an apology, the boy looked up from his car to me. His eyes got wide.
Oh great,
I thought.
I’ve really done it. I’ve ticked this guy off. And how embarrassing, does he have to be so cute?
I swallowed and stared at his face, which was incredibly proportioned. There wasn’t one feature that overpowered the other, and the perfect combination was topped off with strikingly dark brown hair that curled slightly at the tips. I didn’t know which feature I preferred to focus on, so I settled for his equally dark eyes, which were, by that time, piercing through my guilt. He looked so intimidating and strong, but boyish at the same time. I didn’t feel afraid. I felt terribly guilty and completely and utterly embarrassed.