• • • • •
Seth’s house is unlike mine in almost every way. To compare our houses would be to compare Candy Land to a graveyard. Or something. After entering his room, it becomes very apparent that Seth isn’t from Whitehall. “Wow. Your room is awesome.” He owns a large Mac monitor and a comforter with the skyline of New York City.
Plus, about twelve pictures hang in clusters of three or four all over the walls.
I’m looking back at the black-and-white skyline comforter. “Have you been to New York?”
Seth shakes his head. “No. But I want to go to college there.”
“For what?” I ask, sitting on his bed.
“Photography.”
“Duh,” I say, slapping my forehead.
Seth plops down next to me on his bed. “I love big cities.”
“That’s a really sweet computer.”
“I have it for my pictures. I can see them better to edit.”
I look over and see a large flat-screen TV hanging on his wall in line with his bed. “How big is that?”
“Forty-two inches.”
“That’s huge.”
Seth laughs. “I’ll have to see your room sometime.”
“Ah, no. That’ll never happen now.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Nuh-uh. You have so much cool stuff. I look like Oliver Twist compared to you.” I immediately regret that choice of comparison.
“Is your name the only reason why you’re made fun of?” He moves again, to rest against his headboard with his hands behind his head.
I feel uncomfortable with that question, to be honest. I have never had to talk about why I am a constant target. Everyone just knows, and I’m not sure I want Seth to know all my faults, or my family’s. But I get the sense that his intentions are genuine.
“There are a lot of reasons I’m teased. But it started in elementary school.” I stand up and look at a black-and-white photograph on his wall. There are two small mountains that slope to a flat horizon in the middle of the picture, where the sun is setting. The mountains, the ground, all look barren. And the sun is only showing a sliver above the horizon. “Did you take this?”
“I took all the pictures in here.”
I look at another black-and-white one. It’s a face of an old man, and really close up, so you can see all the wrinkles and his big, black-framed glasses. He has wisps of gray hair falling around his ears, but he’s bald on top. He’s not smiling but not frowning either.
Another picture is a small aluminum boat on a mountain lake surrounded by trees. There’s one lone fisherman with one lone pole hanging out of the boat. But the boat is far away, so you can’t really make out any details.
“You’re really good.”
“Thanks.” He smiles.
Seth is waiting for me to continue my story. I guess I can tell him a few reasons why I’m teased, but I won’t tell him about my mother. At least not yet. And anyway, he will probably hear about it sooner or later. I mean, it’s like one of the town’s best stories. I doubt it will ever die. So I decide to tell him about the easy stuff: “Let’s just say I’m a walking cliché.”
Seth’s eyes narrow. “How so?”
“Gym class. Fumble. Fumble. Fumble.”
“Well, not everyone’s athletic.”
“You look like you’re pretty athletic.”
“I do okay at a few things. Track is my favorite.”
I shake my head. “I can run, but I can’t catch anything. Half the time I was called a girl in grade school.”
“Kids can be mean.”
“Once a target, always a target. I don’t even think it’s personal anymore.” I turn to stare at the sunset picture again. “I mean, I guess it is. But I have to tell myself it’s not. Otherwise, not sure I could make it through.”
There is a knock on Seth’s door. “Yeah?”
“Cookies,” says Ms. McLean on the other side of the door.
Seth’s eyes widen. He jumps up and lets Ms. McLean enter. She’s wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, and I notice this because she isn’t in the scrubs that I’m used to seeing her in. “Hi, boys. Some fresh-baked cookies? Compliments of Toll House.”
“Yum,” says Seth, taking three and then the plate, which he hands to me.
“Thank you.” I grab one of the warm cookies.
“I’ll just leave the plate with you two. Everything going okay?”
I nod.
Seth says, “Great.”
Ms. McLean smiles. “It’s so great that you have a friend over. And it’s Charlie, no less.”
“Okay, thanks. Bye, Mom,” says Seth as he blushes, closing the door on her.
But now I’m wondering why Ms. McLean said that. I hadn’t thought about the fact that I might not be the only one without friends. But Seth has an excuse: he’s new to town.
“Good, huh?” he asks, eating his third cookie already.
I take a bite absentmindedly, but I don’t respond. I’m having some stupid thoughts, like missing my mother, and worrying about having Seth as a friend, and screwing it up.
Seth cocks his head. “Something wrong?”
“Oh. No. Sorry.”
“Eat up,” he says, reaching for another cookie on the plate.
I take a bigger bite, and turn back to his photos. “The sunset one might be my favorite.”
Between chews he says, “It’s actually a sunrise. I like beginnings more than ends.”