I wanted to find my place here, without having to cut my hair or buy Wranglers—to still be myself, just myself living in Coleman Creek. That first month, no one had been rude or unfriendly. They just hadn’t seemed to know what to make of me.
Enter Marley. After the day I caught her reminiscing about her mother in her classroom, everything changed. We’d become friends, and I’d been able to relax some.
A month into the school year, she’d asked me to help her plan a scavenger hunt for the families at Back-to-School Night, since we’d recently discovered how much we both enjoyed word games. Together, we had devised clues meant to encourage attendees to check out places like the library and student resource center. Throughout the process, she’d shown me things that helped me feel like I was more a part of the school.
“See this sculpture,” Marley said, pointing to a large metallic structure outside the back entrance. I could have best described its shape as a human/giraffe hybrid. “Everyone calls it ‘Horsie.’ It’s had that name since before I was a student here. Supposedly, back in the seventies, there were some seniors who came to school wasted. They hopped up on top and kept shouting, ‘giddy up!’ until a teacher pulled them off. Now it’s a tradition for all the seniors to do the same thing at one point or another, except with cell phones, there’s more evidence.”
“Did you do it?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.” She winked.
Our next stop was a wall outside the gym listing the names of former students who had given their lives in military service, starting with World War Two. “There are so many,” I remarked, “considering how small Coleman Creek is.” I knew from my pre-move research there were only about five thousand residents.
“Lots of kids go into the military here. It was actually a pretty big deal for my mom that all three of her daughters went to college. The VA sponsors big parades on Veterans Day and the Fourth of July, and everyone comes out.” She pointed to a name listed under the memorial for the Vietnam War. “My great uncle,” she said. Her finger continued its journey to one of the three names under the Iraq War. “I went to school with Garth Tomlin. He was two years above me.”
I thought of my own high school graduating class in Seattle. To the best of my knowledge, no one had gone into the military.
“It’s awesome that you honor them this way.”
“Yeah. Small town life, I guess. Part of the deal is we are always finding ways to notice one another. Not only memorials and parades and other traditions, but just caring. And being nosy, of course.” Her fingers brushed the names again. “I’m not sure if I told you this, but I actually lived in Portland for five years. I sort of resented the anonymity. Not even meeting my neighbors, you know? I was never so lonely as when I was surrounded by a hundred thousand people.”
I’d gone to college in Oregon but had lived in Seattle most of my life. I recognized the feeling she’d described.
“I think I understand.”
“There’s no right way to live, obviously. Small town or big city. Coleman Creek just has its own culture, I guess, the same way anyplace else does.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like that you’re curious, that you ask questions about it.”
“Well, I like that you answer them without making me feel like a dumbass for asking.”
She laughed heartily. “They mean well,” she said, referring to our colleagues, who actually had attempted to be welcoming.
Standing in the hallway, trying to come up with a respectful scavenger hunt clue for the memorial wall, I realized that, with Marley, I didn’t feel like the new guy. I felt comfortable, an unfamiliar sensation.
We finished up our tour. She pointed out which of the bathrooms the students insisted was haunted, and the cafeteria table that had once collapsed under the weight of Coach Hurley’s lunch cooler. As we walked the corridors, she talked about upcoming school events. An annual roller-skating fundraiser in the gym. The marching band’s rummage sale. A spring carnival where all the teachers would take a turn in the dunk tank.
We ended near a supply closet. Marley didn’t open the door but warned me it held loads of holiday lights and decorations. “We go all out in December, James. You’ll see.”
She’d smirked, and now I understood why.
As we reached our cars, I felt the buzz of a text come through.
I checked to make sure it wasn’t anything important, but nope, it was just the same stupid notification I’d been receiving for the past few weeks. The edge of a headache threatened as I frowned.
“Everything okay?” Marley asked.
“Oh, um, yeah.” I sighed. “I’m not even sure how they got this number, but I keep getting messages from my old high school about our reunion.”
“Ooh fun. My ten-year happened this past summer. It was a blast.”
I grimaced. “I doubt mine will be. Since I haven’t exactly kept up with anyone. Plus, having a reunion in December is just wrong. Isn’t this time of year busy enough?”
“It’s next month?”
“Um hmm. I assume whoever’s doing the planning thought it would be fun to have it holiday themed. So, it’s the third Saturday in December. I guess I just need to tell themnodefinitively and block this number.”
I hadn’t wanted to engage at all with whoever was on the other end of those texts and had hoped ignoring the messages would be enough. But the constant reminders were making me itch. I didn’t want to think about high school or this reunion, let alone spend an evening catching up with my old classmates.
“You don’t want to go?”