Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [4]
That was one of the many things I loved about her. I thought she was perfect. The year before, every morning, I’d wait for her on this bench. When she got off the bus, she’d skip over to me and give me a big hug. And a smile. Christ, that smile … She made me feel like a king. A god. Just the way she’d look at me with those brown eyes … I would have done anything for her—including nothing. It wasn’t easy, but I was content for over three years with just kissing her. Turns out she did want something more, just not from me.
Brenda trotted across the lobby, not looking in my direction. Maybe she didn’t want to deal with her ex. More than likely, she didn’t even notice me.
“Logan, shut your jaw,” said Tim with his mouth full.
I glared at him. “I wasn’t staring.”
He threw his empty box in the trash. “Let’s get to class,” he said with a shake of his head.
When we arrived at the biology lab, a putrid smell nearly made me gag. I mean, it stank. Only when I saw Mr. Elmer opening the crates marked RUSH and PERISHABLE did I remember we were going to start dissecting frogs that day. Tim and I took our seats at our table. I tried to breathe through my mouth until I could tolerate the odor. Tim opened up a bag of mini candy bars.
At that moment, a new student walked in.
Let me say that again. A new student walked in.
When I started kindergarten twelve years ago, there were fifteen kids in my class. Looking around the lab, I saw six of them there with me. For more than a decade, I’d been in class with the same few dozen kids. Occasionally, students would transfer in and out (mostly avoiding the Department of Social Services), but for the most part, people didn’t willingly move to Boyer. On the rare occasions we did get new students, it was always uncomfortable. They’d come in cowering as the lifers smacked their chops and sealed vile arrangements with cartons of cigarettes.
Not this chick. She stormed into the lab as if she’d been coming there every morning. She had masses of curly rust-colored hair. Thousands of freckles dotted her cheeks and forehead. When she smiled, her green eyes scrunched and her wire-covered teeth were fully exposed.
She was almost amazingly tall. I was used to looking down at most women, but this girl had to be nearly six feet.
Her outfit was kind of strange, too. Her dress was completely black on one side and white on the other. Her earrings were such enormous hoops I thought they might be piston rings. She also wore pointy black boots and a matching beret.
Now, Mr. Elmer, despite his short hair and neat mustache, was kind of a hippie. He didn’t stand on formality; when the new girl barged in, he just sort of gestured to the stack of unclaimed textbooks, then to the empty table at the back of the room.
I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t look away. Girls this strange didn’t exist in Boyer. They lived in Columbia or Kansas City or places like that.
Just before the intruder reached the back table, Mr. Elmer looked up from the frogs.
“Actually, we’re starting a lab today. Why don’t you team up with a couple of other people?”
She didn’t break stride. Just grabbed a chair from the empty table and, without asking, sat down next to me. I quickly scooted to give her room.
The new girl sneezed three times, then abruptly shoved my books and things to the middle of the table. She neatly arranged her books and binder. Removing her hat, she turned to me. She wasn’t a striking beauty. Too many freckles, braces, frizzy hair. She looked like someone who’d model for that photography studio next to Ron’s Grill. Like the owner’s niece, maybe—presentable enough and would work for free.
But at the same time, there was something very pleasant about her. Maybe it was the way she obviously worked so hard to give the impression she didn’t care how she dressed. Or the tiny lines radiating from