Blind Squirrels Read online

  Second period was Chemistry and Mr. Raymond was the teacher. I thought he was sort of cute – shoulder length sandy brown hair, big blue eyes, and a round handsome face. He wore all the cool 70’s styles such as bellbottoms, leisure suits, and silk shirts. Most important of all, I became one of his favorite students.

  In the beginning, I was very much alone in Mr. Raymond’s class. The only two people I recognized were Jason Fetters – my seventh grade crush – and Felicia Houston. Mr. Raymond used a seating chart, so at first I didn’t have to worry about Felicia – she was on the other side of the classroom. At some time during the first week, Felicia asked if she could move. Apparently, Felicia and Mr. Raymond attended the same church, and he told Felicia that she could sit wherever she liked. She liked the seat right behind me, so there we were in the last two seats on the third row. There was plenty of ill will between us – Felicia had stolen Laura away, and she feared I would steal Laura back. Somewhere among all this animosity, Felicia and I had to tolerate each other enough to pass Chemistry. Hopefully, we’d both come out of the tenth grade alive.

  Third period was French 2. Monsieur Guest was back, and so was Karen. I found that Karen was much more annoying as a sophomore, and Monsieur Guest was much more nauseating in his absolute love of her. I wished that I could go back to World History and be bored to death.

  Along with lunch, fourth period also meant English and Mrs. Stokes. A light skinned black woman with a thick Southern accent, Mrs. Stokes surprised me with her knowledge of the English language. In my previous school years, English had been a bore and a bother, but Mrs. Stokes opened up in me a new desire to excel in grammar and – especially – in composition. Her pretty freckled face, large brown eyes, and friendly, open smile made me feel comfort in an otherwise lonely class.

  Second lunch was anything but lonely. Olivia, Aurelia, Dominique, and Diane Griffin started out at our favorite bench. As time passed, Barbara and Becky Daniels, identical twins that were in my English class, joined our lunch group. Eventually, Jake Hathaway began intruding on our lunch, but that would only last for a few weeks.

  Barbara and Becky looked almost exactly alike, and we sometimes called them “Barky” and “Becra” to mock their inability to individualize. Both girls wore their dark hair in boyish cuts, and they both had blue eyes. Their father was from Indiana and was in the Navy. Their mother was German, and they inherited her big bone structure and her fleshy build. The only notable difference in the twins was that Barbara had pierced ears and Becky did not.

  Fun was a synonym for both Barbara and Becky, but their personalities were somewhat different. Becky was more studious and more serious, and she sought to fit into cliques and befriend some of the stuck-up snobs. Barbara was goofy. She wanted to be friends with everyone, but especially the outsiders and the misfits because then she could laugh and joke about herself without fear of being teased or taunted. Both girls were personable and outgoing, and everyone liked them. It was an honor when they wanted to hang out with me.

  Jake Hathaway was Olivia’s first boyfriend in high school. I can’t recall how she met him – and she refuses to talk about him – but one day, he was just there. Curly brown hair on top of an average-looking guy; Jake was neither cute nor ugly. He had ordinary features with little distinction – that is until he opened his mouth. The words “Southern” and “country” aptly fit, but years later I realized that “redneck” was a much better description. Jake was loud and boisterous, and he also loved to touch whoever was near. I found myself in that situation way too many times. On several occasions, Jake walked me back to English with his arm around my shoulders or my waist. It was impossible to shake him. Olivia didn’t seem to mind, although later I realized that she might not have known about it. Blessed was the day when Olivia called it quits with Jake. He still came around sometimes, but it was easier to get rid of him when I didn’t have to consider Olivia’s feelings.

  Max was around during lunch on most days, and I noticed him watching me sometimes. Or maybe he was just watching my little group have a good time. He was also developing a lunch group of his own. Mason was one member, but the other guys were strangers to me. Most of the time, they spent their lunch propping up the auditorium with their backs and legs. This put them right in front of our bench and gave me a clear line of view.

  After lunch, the second half of English seemed to drag. Even Mrs. Stokes and her writing assignments couldn’t compare with the fun we had at lunch. At least the day would soon be over.

  PE was next. Olivia wasn’t with me this year, but one of my old friends from middle school, Samantha Pickern, was. Barbara and Becky were also in PE with me. Mrs. Ray was my teacher.

  Sam and I were best friends in sixth grade, and she, Laura, and I were best friends in eighth grade. This was the first time I had seen her at WMHS, and it was a great reunion. Sam was unlike my other friends; most were either a bit on the chunky side or extremely quiet and shy. Sam fit into neither of these categories. She was tall and thin – although big boned – and she was always outspoken. Soft blond highlights dusted her long brown hair which was thick and wavy. Emerald green eyes, a slightly pointed nose, and an ample mouth filled her long thin face. Freckles dotted her cheeks and sprinkled down onto her shoulders and arms. I had adored Sam the first moment I met her in sixth grade, and it was a pleasure to have her back in my life. Before long, Sam and I had slipped back into our old roles. She was my leader, and I was her follower. Boss and lackey. Master and slave. She said, “Jump.” I said, “How high?”

  Mrs. Ray was a middle-aged black woman. She was tall – at least six feet tall – and in excellent shape. I would learn that she was also a compassionate and understanding person. In contrast to all the other PE teachers I had ever known, Mrs. Ray seemed to realize that an overweight student might have problems in some activities. She always credited all who tried, not just the ones who succeeded. Ones who ran slowest were paired with ones who ran fastest, affording all teams a chance to win. She was truly a woman ahead of her times.

  Geometry. What a way to end the day. Algebra had been my favorite class; now geometry would be my least favorite. Proofs, angles, theorems...nothing could be more confusing. To top it off, most of the people I knew in that class were also people I detested. Please let the bell ring!

  Mr. Parish sat at his desk and greeted each of us as we entered the room. He was tall and thin and reminded me of Stan Laurel of Laurel and Hardy fame. He liked to teach while sitting at his desk and he rarely wrote on the chalkboard. Periodically, he would send someone else up to the board to write out a problem, and he would only choose students he really liked. That left me out. Sometimes I would just sit and wonder how he could teach a math class without writing on the board. He wasn’t easy to look at either. He had a pencil thin brown mustache, and he slicked his thinning reddish brown hair down flat on his head. His face was long and his features seemed stretched to fit. It was impossible to distinguish where his chest ended and his waist began – he was a veritable beanpole. His arms were long and bony, and his fingers looked like long thin peapods. His legs were so long that they bent awkwardly in his seat, making me wonder how he could bare to sit there for any length of time. But sit he did.

  Eventually I would meet and befriend several people in this class. Vivian, a junior, liked me right away. She was shy and quiet, but she liked to talk with me before class began. I thought she was very pretty with her olive skin, vermillion lips, and mahogany eyes. She wore large oversized glasses, and straight jet black hair framed her fragile face. Toby was a freshman, and he was also a spoiled brat. Being the only freshman allowed to take geometry, he felt that he was smarter than the rest of us. He wore his long blond hair in a ponytail most of the time. He was attractive enough – bright blue eyes, small round nose, and a sweet smile – but his curse was short tiny legs and a fat little body. We became acquainted, but I could never get passed his triple-X sized ego. Jack Wahl was a sophomore, and he hated geometry as much as I
did. He was born in Britain, but his accent was purely Southern. His hair was white-blond and cut to just above his shoulders. He wore aviator glasses over his pea-sized blue eyes and thick blond eyebrows. He had a long straight nose and high, prominent cheekbones while his lips were full and mostly colorless. His chin was square with a cleft, and he had dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Jack and I would become very close friends before the end of tenth grade.

  One day in September, Sam asked me if I’d like to get involved in a service club. I said that I would – I had already tried to get into one club that only chose elite and popular girls.

  “Which club is it?” I asked.

  “We don’t have a name, yet. There are only a few of us involved so far. We need some more members. I was hoping you would be interested.” It flattered me that Sam would ask.

  “I’m interested. Who else is involved? Anyone I know?”

  “Let’s see. There’s Rita Daltery and Beverly Corley. Do you know Lindsey Moore or Debbie Carson? How about Kevin Cone or Max Savage?”

  “Wait a minute. Did you say Max Savage?” Now she had my attention.

  “Yeah. Do you know him?” Sam was one of the only people in the world who didn’t know that I loved Max.

  “He lives down the street...”

  “You like him, don’t you? Come on. I can see it all over your face. Wait till I tell him!”

  “You’re like thirteen months late on that one. Donna beat you to it.” Sam knew Donna from middle school.

  “Donna, huh? I always thought she was cool. Way to go Donna! I still wish it could have been me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll still find a way to take advantage of your knowledge.”

  “Probably. Well, I guess there’s no more question then? You’ll join the club?”

  “Why not?”

  The next meeting was on the following Wednesday. Sam escorted me to Mrs. Kalakos’ room, the teacher who was sponsoring the club. We were the first ones there, and we took seats in the front left corner of the room – opposite the door. Sam went up to Mrs. Kalakos’ desk to tell her that I wanted to join the club.

  “Great! Welcome, Katrina. We plan to make this the best club on campus.” Mrs. Kalakos was peppy and friendly. She was younger than most of the other teachers at WMHS. A headband held her auburn hair back and exposed her bright, sunny face. She had a habit of holding her eyes wide open, and her long eyelashes gave them the appearance of tiny sunflowers.

  “Call me ‘Kat,’ please,” I said.

  Just then, the door opened and several people rushed in. One of them was Max. I expected to see shock on his face. Instead, he just smiled at me and sat down in the seat next to Sam’s. Everyone finally arrived, and there were sixteen of us. The fair-sized turn out pleased Mrs. Kalakos.

  “First of all, my new members need to fill out a standard form so we will know who you are.” Mrs. Kalakos handed me and six others a sheet to fill out. “As you’ll notice,” she continued, “there is no name listed under ‘Name of Club.’ Our first order of business should be to name the club and elect officials.”

  Hands went up, and several names emerged: Friends Club, Totally Cool Club, The Fun People’s Club, and The Party-Hearty Club. All losers.

  Sam brought up an interesting point, “Most of the popular clubs have French names. Mes Amies...Mais Oui...Of course, I don’t know any French…”

  Fortunately, I did know a little French. “How about Bons Copains? It means good friends.”

  I was quite amazed when everyone liked it. And so Bons Copains was created. The club became official when Mrs. Kalakos turned in our information forms and submitted our club name and our elected officials. Matt Bruin would be President. Beverly Corley was Vice-President, Debbie Carson was Secretary, Kevin Cone was Treasurer, and Pete McDermott was Master-at-Arms. Our stated purpose was to work towards the betterment of William McRee High School. Our true purpose was to get together and have a good time.

  Bons Copains met on Thursdays after that. We started meeting in Mrs. Kalakos’ room, but after-school meetings weren’t working out for everyone. Matt and Pete’s football practice was the greatest problem. We finally voted to meet on the first and third Thursday of the month at a member’s house. The first night, we would meet at Debbie Carson’s. Sam was the only person in Bons Copains that I knew very well, and I was nervous about going to a stranger’s house. I worried that Sam might not be there when I arrived, and then what would I do?

  Debbie lived in Braxton Hills, and my mom was taking me to her house. After circling around several times, I saw a girl walking in the street that looked familiar. We pulled up to her and I asked her if she knew where Debbie Carson lived. She told me she was on her way to Debbie’s, and she asked me to join her. She was Lindsey Moore, and she lived just a few houses away from Debbie Carson. I asked if they were good friends. She told me that she didn’t really know Debbie at all because she had only recently moved to Braxton Hills.

  Debbie Carson opened the door. Lindsay and I were the first ones to arrive. I felt absolutely out of place my nerves were on edge. I realized right away that neither Debbie nor Lindsey was overly excited to hang around me, so I stood by the front door looking for Sam. She arrived just as I was thinking of leaving the house for the empty front yard.

  “You want to sit by Max?” she asked me.

  “I couldn’t do that!”

  “Of course you can.” She took my arm and dragged me behind Max. There was one empty spot right beside him, and she pushed me into it. I stumbled and almost ended up in his lap, but he chose to ignore my graceful entrance. I sat down without touching him. He looked at me and said, “Hi, Kat.”

  I smiled and forced out a soft, “Hi.”

  We received our club jerseys at that meeting, and we were to wear them every Thursday. The jerseys were navy blue with gold lettering. Mine was number five, and it said “Kat” on the back. Max’s carried number twelve and the nickname “Beach Bum.” Sam’s number was twenty-one, and it said “Bewitched,” a reference to the TV show.

  After taking care of business, we had refreshments. Sam teased me about Max, but she did it quietly. I met a few of the members that I didn’t know, and I began to feel more comfortable. The next meeting would be at Rita’s house on the first Thursday of November. We were going to discuss our Christmas party.

  Felicia and I were talking. Laura had let Felicia read a story I had written, and Felicia wanted to see more. First, I had to know Felicia, so we began talking before Chemistry. Felicia was originally from Georgia, and she had a charming Southern drawl. She claimed to have descended from a wealthy Southern plantation owner, and she normally looked down her nose at lesser individuals such as me. But my writing fascinated her. I wasn’t exactly good enough to be her friend, but she would sacrifice breeding for talent.

  Soon, she was candidly telling me intimate things about her life. I soon knew that she was in love with an older boy named Joe that lived in her neighborhood. She had been having sex with him for over six months. He was almost twenty years old, so I found the whole thing shocking. At the time, I was very innocent about sex and other adult situations.

  Felicia also told me that she was the youngest of four children. She had a brother named Bernie, and two sisters, Denise and Martha. All three of her siblings were attending college at The University of Georgia, and Felicia planned to enroll there after high school. She just took it for granted that she’d be accepted since her great-great-great-great granddaddy had been so rich and important to Georgia.

  Eventually, I became satisfied that Felicia was sincere about reading and enjoying my writing. The first story I wrote for her was a comedy-western. The main characters were Fair Felicia, Jovial Joe, Miss Kitty Kat, Magnificent Max, and Bad Bart (the bad guy, of course). Magnificent Max had to save Miss Kitty Kat from the handsome yet ruthless Bad Bart while Fair Felicia had to win Jovial Joe away from her nemesis, Beguiling Belinda (Bart’s wife). A final gunfight left Kat in Max’s arms and Fel
icia deciding that Joe wasn’t worth the bother. Felicia loved the story.

  More stories would follow. Felicia became a big fan, and she showered me with praises. What I didn’t know was that she was sharing my stories with everyone she knew. Pretty soon, I had requests from people I’d never seen before. I was becoming a sought after author. After recovering from the initial shock, I started enjoying every minute.

  The fair came to town, and Jack Wahl asked me to go with him on Friday night. We ended up riding with my mom, and Donna came with us as well. I have to admit that I was a little bit taken with Jack, but Max still held the key to my heart. Jack seemed interested in me, too. At the fair, he held hands with me, and we rode all the rides together. Of course, Donna was always tagging along, but that was okay.

  Back in my mom’s van, Jack, Donna, and I piled into the back exhausted. Jack sat in between Donna and me – with his arms around both of us. We drove to Donna’s house first to let her off. I told her goodbye then watched in amazement as Jack kissed her goodnight. I never knew if he wanted to kiss me. I was so mad that I wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the ride to his house. He seemed genuinely confused with my silence, but my pride was hurt too much to care what he was thinking. At his house, I curtly said goodbye and slammed the van door in his face. I cried myself to sleep, but, by the next morning, I was over my heartbreak. I knew I didn’t really love Jack. I just desperately wanted a boy’s – any boy’s – attention. It still stung when I thought about Jack kissing Donna, but I would soon get over it.