Chapter 10

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"McKenzie Rose Barlow: high school graduate." I repeat those words over and over in front of my bedroom mirror. It feels so good; I have to say it one more time. "High school graduate." Henceforth, I will no longer be treated like some school-age child. Instead, people will respect me for the responsible adult that I am. Oh, I feel as if I can take on the world right now.

We hung around the school for a little while after the ceremony had ended. I spoke with Tess and a few other girls from the squad; told them not to be strangers, and that just because we wouldn't be seeing each other as frequently didn't mean we had to sever ties altogether. I'll call her up soon. Maybe we'll go to the mall or to dinner or something.

While we were walking to the parking lot, Parker mentioned needing to pick up a special kind of mustard for the hot dogs, so Aurora went with them to the grocery store. Father needed to fire up the grill and mother wanted to prepare the meat, so we went home. I wanted to change out of my cap and gown and into something more aesthetically pleasing, so I was happy to go home. I want to look fresh for when Xander arrives.

I walk downstairs just as August comes home from school. He drops his backpack at the front door, then collapses face-first into the couch. "If I have to go back to that horrible place again, I will die!" His voice is muffled from the cushions, but his disgust is quite perceivable.

"Suck it up, wimp head!" I tell him. "You've got ten more years of it ahead of you. Not only that, you have boring lectures, ten-thousand word essays to write, and mountains of homework to look forward to."

He looks up at me, then slams his face back into the cushions. "I'm gonna die before the third grade, I just know it!"

Mother is in the kitchen chopping onions. She sniffs every couple of seconds, her eyes all red and watery. "If there is a way to cut up onions without crying, I want to know about it!"

"You should try freezing them before you cut them." I say.

"Freeze them? What on earth for?" She dabs the corners of her crying eyes with the apron that's loosely tied around her waist.

"The little stringy part at the bottom of the onion is called the Basal Plate, which is filled with a gaseous enzyme, and when those gasses come in contact with water, it burns. There's water in your eyes, which is the reason why your eyes tear up when cutting onions. But if you freeze them, it solidifies the gasses long enough to slice the onion without causing your eyes to tear up." I smile after delivering my explanation, feeling rather pleased with myself.

"Well, look at you; all knowledgeable and stuff."

"You should expect nothing less. I am a high school graduate after all."

August wails from the couch at the sound of those words. He better get used to being the only one in school.

Mother chuckles. "How about you use that knowledge of yours and help me cut up these vegetables?"

"Sorry, I can't. I don't want to get anything on me." I motion at the violet colored dress that I'm wearing.

"Alright then. At least get me a plate down from the cupboard. Your father will be needing these meat patties shortly."

Just as I grab a plate, Aurora charges through the front door, holding a squeeze bottle of mustard high above her head. "I have come bearing the world's finest mustard. It was harvested by hand from the rich fields of Camden, Maine, encased within the highest quality of plastic . . . and a bunch of other cool facts."

James and Parker follow from behind, though with much less enthusiasm than their daughter. Parker grabs the bottle of mustard from Aurora's hands. "Aurora, where are your manners? We knock before entering someone else's home."

I brush her scolding words aside with a wave of my hand. "It's fine, Parker. We've pretty much adopted her at this point anyway."

Aurora bobs her head up and down. "See, ma? These are my peeps. They know me here."

Parker moves into the kitchen to talk with mother, while James splits off to the back patio to help father with the grilling. Aurora takes me by the hand and guides me into the theater room. "Guess what, guess what, guess what? Too slow!" She pulls a crinkled white envelope from her jeans pocket. "It came!"

My mouth drops open just a little. "Is that what I think it is?"

A bright smile lights up her face and her eyes bulge with excitement. "We stopped by the house after the grocery store so I could get a change of clothes and this was in the mailbox when we arrived! You waited for me, so I wanted to wait for you." She rips open the flap without further delay, eyes shifting back and forth as she reads.

"Well? What'd they say?" It takes her a good thirty seconds for her to read the whole thing. All the while, I suddenly realize I've been holding my breath since she first started reading it; my lungs are burning. I exhale with a burst of words. "Tell me, girl!"

She lowers the letter to her side. "I didn't get in. They rejected my application." Her smile all but vanishes.

"Oh, Rora! I'm so sorry." Those words seem so cliché and empty, but I don't really know what else to say. "Maybe you can apply to some others schools next Spring?"

"It's not fair." Her voice is soft and strained.

"I know."

She whips her head around and looks me straight in the eye. "No, you don't! You don't know what it feels like. You're rich. You have your whole future provided for you, and whatever you want it's handed to you on a silver platter!" She bolts past me and out the back slider towards The Bluff. Mother and Parker look up in concern. I raise my hand, signaling that everything is fine, then chase after her.

As I dart across the fairway, a twosome of golfers are on the tee box about three-hundred-yards away. I see one of them swing and then a split second later hear the crack of the club colliding with the golf ball. I used to be afraid of running across the fairway when golfers are poised to hit, but I've done it so many times through the years it doesn't scare me anymore. A white speck sails high above my head and bounces down the fairway.

Aurora is standing a few feet from the edge of The Bluff. She's always been the fearless one when it comes to heights, but I really don't like how close she is right now. The rocks and dirt supporting that ledge have mostly eroded away over the years; it isn't as structurally sound as it used to be. "Rora, why don't you step back this way?"

She doesn't move.

"I needed it," she whimpers. "I needed to get into that school. It was my passage to getting a good job, to having a prosperous future."

"You still can. And you will, Rora. You just have to believe in that." She spins around to face me. I use that opportunity to reach for her hand and guide her a safe distance from the edge.

A hush settles over The Bluff; the wind is calm, birds silent. A stabbing pain seizes my heart when I think about all the times Aurora and I have come to this spot, knowing now that in three months time we're not likely to visit this place ever again, and even if we do, it's not likely to possess the same enchantment it once did.

My entire life I've yearned to be treated like an adult, to obtain respect from those around me and to be considered one of them. But now, standing here reflecting on the past, I suddenly wish I could venture back to those years, the years when Aurora and I would race to this spot after school just to play hide-and-seek or to gaze up at the stars once the sun had vanished from the sky. Back then, we made promises to each other that we would always do everything together, talk often even if it was simply to say hello, and to never allow more than a week to go by without seeing one other. We even planned our weddings, what our dresses will look like and who our bridesmaids will be. But no matter the amount of force you exert to oppose it, time marches on, and those promises we once made are merely just sweet memories in the wind. We aren't those two little girls anymore who used to concern themselves with nothing more than Hannah Montana and Style Magazine, or when our favorite boy band breaking up was the worst of our fears. Life was much simpler back then.

A gust of summer breeze sweeps through the area sending oak leaves and other debris into a whirlwind. I switch my gaze back to Aurora. She mirrors my melancholic stare; her eyebrows are practically knitted together in a solemn expression. We can read it on one another's face—our childhood is ending. Our futures are hurtling towards us faster than we can fathom it. Is this natural? I don't believe Aurora is upset about me getting accepted into college and not her. She's never been one to exhibit jealousy, which allows me to believe her anger isn't anger at all, but rather fear—fear of living the rest of her life without me in it, or perhaps being left alone while I'm away at college. Is she afraid I'll forget her?

In the distance, mother calls for us saying that lunch is ready. I'm suddenly not hungry, and even the thought of Xander arriving soon can't wholly remedy this dysphoric feeling.

I draw Aurora in close, wrapping my arms around her. "You and me, it's a forever kind of thing. And that will never change."

* * *

The fragrance of flame-broiled meat grows more potent as we walk through the iron rod gate bordering our backyard. August had invited some of his dweeb-y little friends and they're now running around trying to spray each other with the garden hose. If so much as a drop of water gets on my dress, I'm gonna throw that little punk off The Bluff.

Father is behind the grill flipping burgers. It isn't often we grill out, but I can tell he enjoys it. It must be a guy thing; it emphasizes his manliness or something. He hands me a plate with a burger on it, knowing very well I don't eat red meat, then laughs at the repulsed expression I must have on my face. Beef is just so disgusting. It's all goo-y and dripping with blood and you have no idea what goes on at the slaughterhouse. So instead, I move past the grill to a table covered with a red and white checkered blanket and make myself a salad. Meanwhile, Aurora is behind me piling her plate high with a two patty burger and a hot dog beside it, then layers it with lettuce, pepper jack cheese, tomatoes, and onions.

Mother places a pitcher of lemonade on the table. "Oh, Kenzie, while you were out on The Bluff, a boy called saying he wouldn't be able to make it today."

Disappointment grips me. "Did he say why?"

"I'm not sure, dear. Something about needing to meet with representatives from some college."

Go figure. I knew the possibility of spending time with Xander was too good to be true. It looks like I put on this nice dress for nothing.

We finish eating and I set the salad bowl down on the Bermuda grass of our lawn, then lean back in the lawn chair. The sky is starting to turn an eerie grayish-blue color. The rain that had held off during the ceremony looks as if it will return, this time to unleash its watery wrath upon the earth. August and his friends are now doing cannonballs in the swimming pool, ignoring mother's admonishing tone to get out of the water for fear of lightning. A few moments later, a bolt of lightning zigzags across the darkened sky followed by a boom of thunder. August and his friends squeal like the little girls they are and race inside the house dripping wet. Everyone else scrambles to bring the food inside before the rain starts to fall. It was then that mother notices that we have run out of hot dog buns. She asks if father can run to the store and get some more, but I offer to do it instead. I'll convince Aurora to come with me. I figure it will give me some time alone with her. Hopefully, she'll open up about how she's feeling. She's hasn't said much since discovering her college application was rejected, and I don't like it that's she's being this quiet. She's never quiet.

I head upstairs to change into jeans and sneakers, expecting that I'll have to brave the rain at some point, and slap on Hawks baseball cap, pulling my ponytail through the opening in the back. Aurora is already waiting for me by the front door when I come back downstairs. August and his friends are now playing video games in the theater room. Mother scolds them for sitting on the theater chairs with their still dripping swim trunks.

Just as I move past father's den, a daring thought strikes my brain. What if I were to take my Mustang instead of the Benz? No one would have to know. The store is only a few miles up the road; I can be back within an hour and mother and father wouldn't have to be the wiser. All I need is the key.

While mother attempts to shoo the boys off the chairs and upstairs to change, I sneak into father's den. I hear his voice coming from the other room, so I think it's safe to say he and James are watching the golf channel. At least I hope they are. Golf is quite possibly the only sport that can hold father's attention for more than five minutes at a time. I can't fathom why—it's incredibly boring. But right now, I don't care. It should allow me enough time to grab the car keys and slip out without being caught. I never thought I'd say this, but I think I just found a reason to love the game of golf.

The drawer father had tossed the key into squeaks loudly as I slide it open. I stop halfway, fearing that its obnoxiously loud protest will alert father, but I force myself to continue. Inside, there's a notepad and calculator along with a few ink pens. Beneath the notepad is the key! I lay my fingers on it just as a rush of wind stirs behind me. I jump from fright and snap my head around. Our cat had leaped off the bookshelf and onto the back of father's office chair. I hate that thing so much! I'll never forgive August for bringing it home. A few months ago, he came home from school with this ugly—and ugly is being kind—looking cat. I'm not even sure if it deserves to be called a cat. He begged mother to let him keep it. For whatever reason, she agreed. I later did some research on it and discovered it's called a Sphynx cat. Unless you wish to have nightmares every night for the rest of your life, don't look it up. Trust me. It's just plain creepy.

"You stupid cat! You scared me half to death." I keep my voice low, shooing the mangy thing out of the room.

Father's voice emits with sudden intensity, followed by approaching footsteps—he's moving in this direction! I begin to slide the drawer closed, but it gets stuck halfway by a stray piece of paper lodged in between the grid. The footsteps grow louder—he's coming! I consider leaving the drawer halfway open, but if I do, then he'll notice that it's open and then realize the key is gone.

I can't back out now.

I squeeze my fingers between the grooves of the grid and free the paper, then slide the drawer fully closed. Father's shadow dances on the hallway wall as he turns the corner of his den. I drop to my knees and curl up in the chair space beneath his desk moments before he enters the room. He murmurs to himself, wondering where his reading glasses are. I hold my breath as he circles around behind his desk, knowing that if I exhale, he'll no doubt feel the rush of air on his legs.

This would be a really bad time to sneeze.

A few seconds later he mutters something in delight, then walks out of the room. I release the air from my lungs in a long sigh of relief.

It's time to take my graduation present for a test-drive!

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