Megan

16

The sun rose and everything fell. Well, more specifically, I fell. As my skin met the chlorinated water of the community pool, I was struck by more than the likely millions of bacteria; I was struck with the irony of tripping over the sign that read (with inconsistent capitalization), “WARNING: No running next to The Pool to Prevent injury.”
When I resurfaced from the lukewarm water (tinted blue with chemicals that would probably cause a rash), the wind picked up. I pulled myself out of the pool, as my four friends watched with mixed expressions on their faces. We had all driven to the pool at 5:30am to experience what was supposed to be a sunrise swim to celebrate the last day of summer before our senior years of high school.
I stood up to my full height, which was not very tall. My doctor claims this was because I did not eat meat growing up. My mother, who insisted I become vegetarian after she became spiritually awakened (after divorcing my dad) from the innumerous self-help books (which she had bought second hand to resist capitalism), rejects this assertion and declares my shortness an inherited trait.
My skin prickled with cold as the air whipped against my arms. And my head. And every other part of my body that was soaking wet with pool water, otherwise known as every other part of my body. I pulled on a T-shirt, “Drift Happens,” that pictured seven continents with animated faces. My dad bought it for me from the Natural History Museum to coerce me into appreciating puns.
“That was quite the fall, Audrey,” Jonah said. Jonah is a culinary enthusiast who dabbles in tennis and is of average height and weight with brown hair and green eyes. He patted my back as though I was a player on a minor league women’s soccer team, though come to think of it, I’m not sure that “minor league” exists in soccer. I generally try to avoid physical movement and sports because of energy saving and environmentalism and other reasons of the like.
“I guess it’s just one of the things that happens when you trip over safety signs,” I replied with an attempt and failure to be smooth. Again.
“What’s next?” Katherine, my tan friend with dark hair and green eyes and a passion for animals and classical literature, asked the group. The question was really directed at Eliana, because she was the one who had organized the whole day with timetables and sticky notes and color coded ink. Eliana is ultra-organized and extremely good at everything I am not, which is a lot of things. She is good at drawing and painting and sports. We met in math class when I asked her for a pencil. Eliana had ten perfectly sharpened ones lined up in her pencil pouch, and I knew we needed to be friends if not for anything else then simply to take advantage of her pencil stash.
“Well,” Eliana began. I can’t remember how she finished that sentence because I tuned out. My relationship with Eliana is like that; she figures out the logistics, and I go along with them.
Once, in a fight, Eliana accused me of being incapable of planning anything, after which I attempted to prove her wrong by planning a spectacular road trip. Spectacular being a relative term, of course. Though I planned to travel by car to San Francisco from our little town in the outskirts of Sacramento, we had to take the bus because my mom took our car to a kombucha brewing workshop, Eliana’s car was in the repair shop, and Jonah’s car is a two-seater because he is stingy. It was still technically a road trip, of course, until we got off at the wrong stop and google maps made us trek through two miles of brush (definitely not a road) to get to the next bus stop. When we finally arrived in San Francisco, the meal we had was amazing because we were so hungry that our stomachs almost risked self-consumption. Relative to an average meal, you see, this one was great. By this logic, I declare that this trip was spectacular.
But I leave planning to Eliana now.
“Time to go, Audrey,” Anthony told me, patting my shoulder. Anthony is taller-than-average with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. He is a water polo player and a sucker for theater. He’s actually a pretty good actor despite the fact that he insists on spelling theater like a person from the middle ages (“theatre”).
I pulled on some shorts, and followed the group to Eliana’s car, which is a mini-van because she is basically a forty year old soccer mom in training. The minivan was Eliana’s only flaw: while she was always neat, the minivan was beat up. The doors had mismatching handles, with knobs on some of them and duct tape on most of them. The seats were worn and lightly coated in dust from camping trips.
“Nobody else jumped in the pool!” I complained as we piled into the maroon minivan.
“Technically, even you didn’t actually jump in,” Anthony pointed out.
I grumbled for another minute about a bruise on my hip as Eliana started the car.
“What happens now?” I asked Jonah in a whisper. We were sitting in the back of the van so that we could evade Eliana, Anthony, and Katherine’s arguments about music choices.
Jonah rolled his eyes at me before saying, “I guess you’ll find out.”
“I guess I will,” I retorted in a mocking tone as though I was his preteen sister.
Eliana ended up driving to a trailhead, which lead us to the top of a hillish mountain or mountanish hill, depending on your perspective. At the top of said peak, we were presented with sandwiches made by Katherine. She had been forced to make them this time because Jonah had made sandwiches for every other adventure we’d embarked on and he was “getting stuck in a culinary rut.”
We ate our dry sandwiches and recounted tales from the summer. Before long, I began to get thirsty, and promptly began the process of manipulating Eliana into sharing her water with me.
“Audrey, you know I love you, but it’s just too germy to share water bottles.”
“You’ve probably been exposed to all my germs ten times over. We’ve been friends for ten years,” I reasoned. I was then shocked by the fact that knowing people for ten years was the type of thing my dad did, and became horrified for a moment as I processed the idea that I was becoming my both of my parents at once.
“Airborne germs are different from other germs. Meningitis, for example, is transferred through spit.”
I sighed and complained until everyone agreed that it was time to go. I hiked back down to Eliana’s car with everyone, piled in, and began the process of mentally preparing myself for Eliana’s tendency to drive extremely slowly to be “extra cautious,” which is an experience that leaves me close to tears out of impatience.
Eliana put the keys into the ignition and started the car, which promptly begin to stall.
“Damnit,” Eliana swore.
“Damnit!” Anthony swore, smacking the dashboard of the car for dramatic emphasis.
“Let’s call AA,” I suggested levelheadedly.
“It’s Triple A, Audrey,” Eliana snapped, “And besides, we don’t have cell service.”
“Maybe we should get out of the car and walk to civilization,” I suggested.
“What a plan!” Eliana retorted sarcastically. “Let’s just walk!”
“Well,” Katherine interjected gently in her typical Katherine manner, “We could map out a good route on this paper map.”
And so we did. Eliana’s mood improved and before long, we were walking.
“Look!” I yelled cheerfully, pointing to a street sign. “Katherine Way!”
“I was named after that street,” Katherine told us, but she was lying. She was named after her great-grandmother, which we knew because her mother never stopped reminding her of it in front of us.
“I was supposed to be named Elaina, but my mother is dyslexic,” Eliana divulged. Anthony gasped melodramatically. Eliana elbowed him in the ribs.
A mile later, we passed another street. It was called Meadowlark Lane, which reminded me vaguely of a fairyland. I didn’t say anything, because if I did, Katherine would go all PETA and yell about how animals were exploited in fairytales which was one of the mediums that lead to our reliance on other beings for entertainment or something of that nature.
Soon, the streets became closer and closer together; a sure sign of human settlement.
“I think there must be cell service here,” Jonah said. He had been quiet for a mile or so before because he was hungry, which was his own fault. He snootily refused to eat Katherine’s sandwich, so Anthony ate it because he swims 2 miles every day and burns about ten times as many calories as the average human in everyday life.
“Why don’t you try your phone, Jonah,” Katherine suggested.
“I left mine in the car,” he admitted.
“I have mine!” I said excitedly. I pulled it out of my pocket, but soon realized it was dead. As it was on most days. Anthony’s had gotten water on his and it was now broken, and Katherine didn’t have a phone because she had once heard that they tested cell phones on animals early on in cell phone history.
We all looked at Eliana.
“Of course I have mine,” she bragged. “It’s just in...my purse--”
“Which you left in the car,” Jonah finished.
We kept walking. Soon enough, a car appeared at the bend in the road. We promptly stuck our thumbs out, but realized it was a five-seater, and would not be big enough for all of us. The car whizzed by.
“If I could have anything right now, I would have a cell phone to call a taxi,” Eliana sighed.
“I would wish for that sandwich,” Jonah replied.
“I would wish for a car and a burrito, because if you’re wishing something you might as well get a burrito out of the deal,” I added.
“Another car!” Katherine pointed out. This one was roomy enough for all of us. We stuck our thumbs out and the car pulled over.
“Hello there!” Eliana greeted cheerfully as the window rolled down. A pretty blonde woman sat in the passenger seat next to a man with a beard and stained shirt.
The woman said something in highly accented English that nobody could understand.
Eliana attempted to explain our situation to them. “Our car,” she gestured to their car, “broke down. We had to walk,” she walked in place, “to where there is a car mechanic.”
“I don’ta peak the Engleesh,” the woman said.
“Could we,” she gestured to the group, “ have a ride?” She pointed into their car.
The lady shrugged. “Apology,” she said.
“Thanks anyway,” Eliana sighed. They drove away.
“Let’s visualize a nice, big car with seats enough for all of us,” Katherine suggested, closing her eyes lightly. Sometimes I wonder if she and my mom are the same person.
“Just please don’t let it be Steven,” Eliana begged. Steven was the douchebag who broke Eliana’s heart in Junior year.
A car turned around the bend. It was a big silver SUV with a license plate that read “SIENNA 13.”
“Oh, God,” Eliana breathed. It was Sienna, who is Steven’s girlfriend. She would be nice, except that she is infatuated with Steven as though she is the doting mother of a spoiled toddler.
“I’m thirsty,” I complained, “I don’t care if it’s Sienna!”
But it wasn’t just Sienna. One of our other classmates, Alexander, was with her.
Alexander is my mom’s best friend’s son, so I’m forced to spend time with him on a tri-yearly basis despite the fact that he is one of the most aggravating people I’ve ever met. It’s not any one trait that bothers me, but the combination of them. Like the way he says “prolly” instead of “probably” and gives people nicknames and is unsettlingly charismatic. He also gives me life tips and encouragements whenever I run into him. The other day, he told me it would be “extremely flattering” for me to get a haircut and then he ended it by saying, “Just so you have a guy’s perspective.”
They pulled over.
“Oh you guys!” Sienna whimpered with knotted eyebrows. “What are you doing out here?
We explained the whole story to her.
“Poor things!” She cooed. “Hop right in to the back there.”
We piled in.
“I actually just repaired a car that was stalling,” Alexander began. I groaned inwardly, “I’ll just take a quick look when we get back to your car, Eli.” Alexander is an autorepairman, which he thinks is cool.
“Thanks so much, Alexander,” Eliana replied in her falsetto voice.
“I’m actually going by Alex now,” Alexander said. “Sienna came up with it.” He stroked her blonde hair. We gaped at each other behind their backs. They’re dating? Anthony mouthed. Looks like it, Katherine mouthed back gravely with a grimace.
“Do you have any water, Alexander?” I asked.
“Really--call me Alex, Aud!” Alexander corrected, addressing me by my least favorite nickname.
“I have maple water,” Sienna replied, handing me a carton from Trader Joe’s with a maple leaf on it. “It’s rich in magnesium and vitamins and is so yummy!” I felt the urge to pour the fancy water over her head but resisted out of thirst.
I opened the carton and took a sip. I made a face but drank the entire carton as though I had been stranded on a desert island for two days with nothing but seawater to keep me alive. I was still thirsty.
The rest of the car ride only took about 15 minutes, though we had been walking for nearly 3 hours.
I removed my seatbelt violently for emphasis and raced out of the car.
“Wow, Aud, you sure couldn’t wait to get out!” Alexander joked.
“I just can’t stand to sit, Alexander!” I lied, mostly just so that I could squeeze another use of his full name in before he left. In truth, I felt as though I had just attempted to outrun a very angry person for seven miles, failed, and then been electrocuted (through the legs only) in a freak accident during which exposed electric wires grazed my highly fragile skin.
“Let’s get this car started!” Alexander said in his most surfer-esque voice, though he had only been to the beach three times and never once touched a surfboard.
He opened the hood and ambled around for a while before diagnosing the problem, which I have since forgotten, and then fixing it.
“Looks like you’re ready to go!” Alexander finally said. “I’ll just try this baby out,” he tapped the hood, “to make sure she’s in working order.” After he had finished, he hopped out.
“Is there a bathroom nearby?” Alexander asked.
“Just over there,” I said, pointing to a little toilet house at the foot of the hillish mountain.
“I thought that was the visitor’s center!” He replied, laughing. He began walking over to it.
“Could you get me some paper towels, Alex? I think some maple water spilled in my backseat,” Sienna called after him.
“There aren’t any paper towels in there. It’s more of an outhouse type of a situation,” Anthony said.
Alexander retreated as quickly as he could.
“It’s no big deal, Alexander!” I said. “We’ll walk over there with you if you want,” I added to be condescending.
“Okay, could you?” He asked. I felt a surge of pity for him.
We walked over to the outhouse, all seven of us. Anthony gave him words of encouragement. I patted him on the back as though he were a player on a minor league women’s soccer team. It took him about ten minutes to work up the courage to do anything, which left me with a great deal of satisfaction with life.
Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.