Secret Lucidity(95)
I make my way through the congested halls and watch as everyone clumps off into their groups of friends and heads out to the student parking lot while I walk solo. The humidity hangs heavily in the air, and when I hop into my car, I blast the air conditioner and release a somber huff. Since I’m still learning my way around this town, I plug my address into my car’s navigation, and when the pin drops, I shift into drive.
Palm trees line the streets that take me to my new home, but I feel so far from paradise with the density caged within my chest. When I pull into the circular drive in front of the house my mom and I just moved into, I park and rest my head back against the seat and look through the sunroof.
Deep green palm fronds hang overhead against the bright blue sky. The moment I found out I would be leaving Plano, Texas, for Tampa, Florida, I was excited. I mean, who wouldn’t want to trade landlocked pavement for water and sand? I psyched myself up for the move, but I didn’t consider how lonely I’d be without my friends and family. I’m a million miles away from comfort and familiarity.
Inside the airy, two-story, stucco home, the echo of my shoes against the tile of the foyer is the only sound that greets me. I make my way up the stairs and into my bedroom, which overlooks the pool out back. Tossing my bag onto my bed, I pull my phone out from my pocket to check the time.
3:27PM
I’m an hour ahead of my friends back home, so I drag myself into my bathroom and unpack a couple of boxes to pass the time until they get out of class. Once my belongings are put in place and organized, I toss the empty boxes over the railing that overlooks the foyer, too lazy to walk them down the stairs.
When I go back to my room, I hear a splashing from outside. Looking out my window, I find the pool guy cleaning out the filter. It’s only after he stands that I recognize him. A voyeur, hidden behind the white plantation shutters that are closed over my windows, I spy on Kason as he walks over to grab the leaf skimmer. I slant the shutters to face upward so he can’t see me as he takes the hem of his white work polo and uses it to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
His long athletic cuts are evident in his arms and also his legs that show beneath his khaki shorts. I wonder if he plays any sports or hits the gym, because he’s more defined and filled out than most of the boys my age. I debate whether to go say hi, but talk myself out of it when I remember how fast he bolted out of class when the final bell rang.
The buzzing of my cell phone pulls me away from the window, and when I see Molly’s name lit up across the screen, I smile and take the call.
“Finally. I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”
“How did it go?” is the first thing she says, and the sound of her voice has a wave of homesickness washing over me.
I flop onto the bed and groan. “Ugh. Okay, I guess. Being the new kid blows, especially since it’s nearly the end of the year. Everyone is already secured in their cliques, and then there’s me . . . the Texan with a hick accent.”
“We’re not hick,” she defends. “We’re . . . Southern.”
“Well, whatever you want to call it, it isn’t what these kids are. My blonde hair fits in, but these girls are walking around in shorts that barely cover their tiny butts.”
“Seriously? At school?”
“Apparently, the dress codes aren’t enforced, if there’s a dress code at all,” I remark. “And I need to go on a diet of X-Lax and water.”
Molly bursts out in laughter. “You are certifiably crazy. You don’t need to lose a pound!”
“Not according to Texan standards, but I doubt these people feast on fried pickles and ranch.”
“More like kale salads and soybean smoothies?”
“Totally!” We both giggle, but mine is weighted in sadness. I wish Molly were here with me. No one gets me like she does.
“Hey, can I call you later? We’re all going to Finn’s house before the basketball game tonight.”
“Tell everyone I said hi, okay?”
“Of course,” she says before adding, “I miss you, Ady.”
“I miss you, too.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and sulk my shoulders as I look around my half-unpacked room. These items may have come from my old room back home, but nothing feels the same. My mom and I only moved here a few days ago, but it’s enough time for me to feel the loneliness setting in. With her starting her new job, I know she’ll be working longer hours than what she used to back in Dallas, which make me just that much more lonely.
When I hear the wrought iron gate clank, I move toward the window to find that Kason has left. I look at the pool and think about how, back in Texas, we’d have to wait until the end of May for the pools to open and then only be able to swim for a few months before they closed back up. Here it’s hot enough to take a dip right now, and then I think about what Micah said about Indian Rocks.
In need of a little weight to be lifted off me, I decide a drive-by might help me clear my head. But it won’t be enough. I’ve always been a person who finds security within friends, and unless I put myself out there, I’m going to be miserable. As much as I hate having to be overly extroverted, I know I’m going to have to fake it until I make it.
I kick off my shoes and dig through a few boxes in search of a pair of flip-flops, which will be more suitable for the sand. After I drag the boxes from the entryway and out back to the trash cans, I get into my car and plug my destination into the GPS. When I hit the Gandy Bridge and have water all around me, I open the sunroof, roll down my windows, and breathe in paradise.