Before I WAKE: A Becoming LUNA Novel

5

As promised, Sylvia met me bright and early Saturday morning for our hike around the lake. When I pulled up beside her car, I could tell she was definitely dressed for the occasion. She was decked out in performance-wear, hiking boots and even had a CamelBak. I felt silly in my tennis shoes with my standard backpack and wimpy bottle of Aquafina. Also, it occurred to me that her idea of hiking might have been a bit different from my own.

           “You ready for a little adventure?” she asked.

           “I guess so,” I tied my jacket around my waist. “Listen, am I dressed okay for this?”

           “What do you mean? We’re just going to go for a little walk around the lake, not climbing Pike’s Peak.”

           “A walk? You don’t look like you’re dressed for a walk.”

           “Truth is, I don’t get to do this very often. I have all this great gear, but no reason to use it,” she spun around to demonstrate the entire ensemble. “So, I’m using this as my excuse.”

           “Well, where do we start?”

           “There’s a trailhead to the left. It’s a 3.6-mile course, out and back. Not much change in elevation and it should take us about 3 hours. Sound okay?”

           “I don’t have any other plans for the day,” I said.

           “We’ll take it slow since your lungs probably haven’t adjusted to the altitude here yet.”

 I hadn’t noticed the difference too much yet, but then I hadn’t exactly been working out hard core. Or trying my hand at soufflés.

I followed her toward the trailhead and together we started up the path. The path was worn and even covered with wood chips in some areas. I wondered whose job it was to maintain it and how they managed to get the wood chips all the way up there. It made me think of an old neighbor of mine in Illinois who had plans to spend a summer helping to maintain the Appalachian Trail after he graduated. It always sounded like a crazy-hard job to me, and I’m not sure why someone would volunteer to do that kind of work just for fun.

We wove our way deeper into the dense trees and as we walked along, I kept my eyes peeled for the bears and mountain lions I’d heard about. We definitely did not have those in Illinois. I wasn’t exactly sure what we would do if we encountered any, but since Mimi said it would be highly unlikely, I wasn’t too worried. “The lake is too busy for their tastes,” she’d said. “Occasionally a bear wanders into someone’s yard, but that only happens a little bit later in the season when they start getting desperate for food. And we haven’t seen a mountain lion around here for years.” Mimi supplied me with a can of bear mace anyway. “Just in case,” she’d said. “It works on overzealous men, too.” At that I rolled my eyes but accepted the canister anyway.

The trail bent around and back, leading us toward the lake and then back out into the forest. Sylvia pointed out spots of interest and local lore along the route. Places like Lover’s Ledge, “the rock,” and Starry Night, which was an open field area along the trail. From what she described, they were basically sites where families held picnics by day and teenagers and young adults went to hook up at night.

 The lake itself was beautiful. The water graduated from a light teal at the shallow edges to intense navy toward the deeper center. The colors were as vibrant as a box of Crayola crayons, and the water wasn’t cloudy or murky at all. Even from up high, I could see so far beneath the surface that I could clearly make out the rocks and pebbles on the lake floor.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said.

“Isn’t it? The color comes from finely ground rock.”

“That causes the spectrum?”

“Yeah, the particles are denser toward the center,” she said. “Or so they say. If you’re in the water, you can’t really see the variations in color. Only from up here.”

She’d been right about the altitude catching up with me so we stopped to sit for a moment, looking over the lake and watching a few small motorboats zip by.

“Are there lots of boats out there?” I asked.

“The lake isn’t big enough to support massive speedboats, but small fishing boats and row boats are allowed. Pretty much everyone who has property on the lake has some kind of boat or at least a canoe, but otherwise not really,” she handed me a granola bar. “There’s not like a yacht club or marina or anything.”

I munched on the granola bar and took a few sips from my water bottle. I wondered if I would be able to see Mimi’s house from there, but after squinting to try, I decided it would probably be easier in a month or so when some of the trees started losing their leaves. Or maybe if I’d thought to grab Mimi's binoculars.

Sylvia suggested we continue hiking. “We’re only about a half mile from the end of the trail,” she said.

I was surprised we’d already gone that far. “Where does it actually end?”

“Right along County Road W,” she said.

I had no idea where that was but I made a mental note to look at a map when I got back home. “Any more highlights on the trail?”

“Well, actually, we’re coming up on the crown jewel,” she said.

I wondered aloud what could be better than the lake.

“On your right, Renascor College,” she said. She gestured with her arms as if to say, “Ta da!”

“We hiked out here to see a school?” I asked.

“Well, we didn’t come to see the school,” she said. “It just happens to be on this route.”

I looked ahead through the trees and saw a large renaissance revival manor that seemed to be perched on a bluff overlooking its own finger of the lake. It wasn’t so much a campus as an estate. It had to have been at least four stories, possibly five since I couldn’t really see the back side of it. Its walls looked to be made of finely cut Ashlar. On the main and second floors were grand inset verandas with massive columns along the sides of the arched doorways. I counted at least ten chimneystacks rising up from different sides. The front lawn was immaculately landscaped, the hedges trimmed into perfect topiaries. At the side of the building, I noticed a long staircase led down to a dock and boathouse below. A massive iron fence enveloped the entire estate.

“That’s the school?” I asked.

“Yup. Fancy-pants, huh?”

“I guess,” I said. It was wholly unlike any school I’d ever seen. Or any house for that matter. It was a massive building but, as far as I could tell, just the one building which seemed odd. “So what’s the deal with that place anyway?” I asked.

“Well, there are all kinds of rumors of course,” Sylvia said. She lowered her voice as if someone could be eavesdropping. Judging by the security around the place, it felt like a distinct possibly. “Some people say it’s just a super exclusive place for a bunch of snobby rich kids. At one time, I heard it was actually a rehab center, you know, where wealthy people send their kids who get mixed up in drugs or whatever. And Sathish heard it was a place where people go to ‘disappear’ for a while, if you know what I mean.”

I shook my head. “I don’t follow.”

“You know, like girls who get knocked up and need a place to hide out for nine months until the situation is remedied.”

“But there are guys at the school, too, right?”

“Yeah. Supposedly the male students are gay and need of ‘treatment.’ That one is totally untrue. I’ve seen the way those boys act around town. If they’re all gay then I’m the bloody Queen of England,” she said the last bit in a fake Cockney accent.

“Where do they come from?” I asked. After my run-in with a few of them earlier that week, my curiosity had been piqued. But standing there, practically in the shadow of the ridiculous school, I was beyond intrigued.

“All over, I guess,” she lifted the CamelBak straw to her mouth. “I assume mostly the East Coast, Europe and maybe California? But really, anywhere there are people with enough money and status.”

“How many students go there?”

“No one knows for sure, but probably only a few dozen. Less than a hundred for sure.” She chewed the straw. “A family at my parents’ club wanted to send their daughter there. No dice. Apparently, they made all kinds of offers and the school just kept saying, ‘No.’”

“So you can’t just buy your way in?”

“Well, maybe you can and my parents’ friends just didn’t have the means. But this is all hearsay and speculation. Like I said, no one really knows.”

“They came into the Cat this week,” I said.

“Who? The preppies?”

“Yeah. A few of them.”

“Which ones? Do you know?” her voice lilted a bit.

“One was named Addy.”

“Addy? Ugh. She’s a real treat.”

“I noticed.”

“Who else?”

“And Pete… I think,” I said trying my best to act nonchalant. I was a horrible actress.

“Is he the one with the eyes?”

“Yes,” I said a bit too eagerly. “I mean, right? They’re hard not to notice.”

Sylvia smiled and looked at me, the tiniest hint of a smile crossed her lips. “Oh, so Pete’s your type, huh?”

“Type? I don’t have a type. I just noticed he has really great eyes.”

“Yes he does. Henry is pretty good looking, too. Was he with them?”

“I don’t know. What does he look like?”

“Hot. If you didn’t notice then he must not have been with them. You cannot miss Henry. It’s virtually impossible.”

“How do you know so much about these people?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not sure if you figured this out yet, but Sathish and I are kind of the resident gossips. That’s why we work. We both like to be in the know and keep tabs on everyone, that sort of thing,” she said. She turned toward me. “Well, Vida, should we start making our way back?”

“May as well,” I said. “Since we’ve come to the end of the line.” She started walking back the way we’d come, careful to sidestep the fallen branch in the middle of the path. I followed her, turning back to look at the mansion in the woods one last time. I wondered what it was like inside. The interior had to match the exterior, right? And if it did, it had to be stunning. I also wondered what the students did all day. If there were so few of them, what did their classes look like? Or did they even have classes at all? Maybe they just had self-directed studies, new age kind of crap like that. And I wondered what their dormitories were like. In a mansion like that, did each student have his or her own bedroom? Or did they share a suite? I was lost in my own head until I heard Sylvia.

“Vi, you coming?” she called out. She was already thirty yards down the path.

I skipped along to catch up. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about Pete?” she teased.

“No, just thinking. Besides, I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend.”

“Who?”

“That Addy girl,” I said.

“Really?”

“Well, she sent me some pretty strong signals the other day,” I said, recalling the way she’d slipped her arm into Pete’s and put her head on his shoulder as they walked away. I was certainly not an expert in the ways of dating, but that seemed like a pretty clear message.

The trail took us right along the lake. Sylvia picked up a stone and threw it over the edge of the cliff, down to the water below. We listened for a splash. “So did you have a boyfriend back in Illinois?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Unattached. Nice. I don’t have one either,” she said. “Honestly, it’s not for lack of desire. But guys around here can be kind of lame.”

“I don’t think it’s just geography,” I said.

“Well, they’re either lame or they’re already attached. And they tend to go for the Eva Browns of the world.”

“Eva Brown.” I repeated, trying to place the name. “Dark curly hair?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“She works at the Cat.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, she’s pretty much… uh, dated every decent guy at our high school and most of the ones at college,” Sylvia said, choosing her words carefully.

“She seems nice enough,” I said. “I’ve only worked with her the one time, though.”

“Sure, she’s nice. She’s also really, uh, lucky. Guys seem to want to throw themselves at her feet. In droves. Kind of hard to hate her for it, but also kind of hard not to.”

She tossed a stick out of the way. “Anyway, that’s why everyone’s so interested in the preppies. They’re kind of exotic and unexpected. They mix things up a bit, chlorinate the gene pool, so to speak,” she said. “But as far as I know, no one’s ever actually gone out with one of them.”

“So maybe that’s part of the allure, too?”

“What is?”

“The unrequited love? The forbidden fruit? You know, all that cliché junk.”

“Maybe so.”

“It’s like lusting after a rock star or something. Part of the fun is that you know you’ll never actually meet them, or in this case date them, so you can fill in your own blanks,” I said.

We stopped at another giant rock along the path. Sylvia sipped from her water and looked at me. “I’m glad you moved here,” she said. “I mean, obviously, I’m not glad your mom died. But I’m glad that if you had to move anywhere, it was here.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, exactly. I felt a little guilty that I hadn’t instantly bonded with her as she’d seemed to do with me. And a little guilty that I’d only agreed to hang out with her because it was the path of least resistance. But, I decided that my “new beginnings” mantra was a good idea and one that I would stick with. “Me too,” I said. I meant it, although Sylvia wasn’t the reason I was glad to be in Weber Grove. Living with Mimi was probably the best part, since, not surprisingly, her hands-off parenting style closely resembled my mom’s. And the change in scenery was nice. Of course, having a girlfriend to pal around with, though a slightly foreign concept to me, was turning out to be kind of nice, too.

I vowed to stop being such a judgmental brat and just go with the flow.

New beginnings, right?

Since Sylvia decided we made a good pair, it followed that by the end of the following week, she’d taken to inviting herself practically everywhere I went. She’d even show up at the Cat during my shifts to visit, hang out and use the Cat’s free wifi. And I didn’t hate hanging out with her. The girl was like a sponge, collecting bits of information here, there and everywhere so she always in the know. If something was going on, Sylvia not only knew about it, but also who was involved and why.

Mimi was thrilled, of course. She loved that I seemed to not only have adapted to my new life, but I was even fitting in and making friends. And so quickly, too. For her part, Sylvia loved Mimi’s house and came over every chance she got, which did not do good things for my schoolwork habits. She’d come over under the guise of “studying for our chemistry quiz” and end up spending two thirds of the time blabbing about some guy and some girl or someone who’d said something that offended someone else. I tried to keep us on point, but it almost never worked.

           Sylvia’s parents belonged to the local country club, which meant Sylvia was an avid tennis player who’d been taking lessons and playing in tournaments pretty much since she was walking. She played in a competitive doubles league and invited me to come watch her upcoming match. “We can go a little early and you can help me warm up,” she’d said.

“You mean we can go early and you can size me up on the court.”

She smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. I know how the way that your mind works. And the way tennis people are.”

“’Tennis people?’”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it’s true. That’s one thing that is definitely the same in Illinois,” I said. “People who are serious about their tennis are the same no matter where you live.” It was true. They always wanted to size up the new kid on the court. Still, I was game. I wanted a chance to peek at the country club, which supposedly had amazing facilities, including like six indoor courts.

“Well, you want to come or not? The match is tomorrow at six,” she asked. She was sitting on a stool in Mimi’s kitchen, slurping a root beer float. Mimi had started the tradition of Monday afternoon floats, and Sylvia was a fan.

“If you have a racket I can borrow,” I said, looking at Mimi.

“Me? I’m sure I have one around here somewhere,” she said.

“Is it a wooden one?” Sylvia asked. She giggled.

 “No it is not. At least, I don’t think it is.” She shrugged.

“Well, I have about a dozen so you can always borrow one of mine,” Sylvia said. She used her straw to push the last clump of ice cream from the bottom of her glass onto her waiting tongue.

Mimi searched through her sporting gear in the garage. She had six pairs of skis, a bunch of fishing poles and even a set of golf clubs. But the only tennis racket she could find looked like Arthur Ashe himself might have used it. But it wasn’t the warped wood that made it impossible for me to use, it was the giant gaping hole in the strings. “Oops,” she said. “Guess it’s been a while since I played tennis.”

I groaned. Hopefully Renascor people don't play tennis.