Willow went home from school with mixed emotions that Friday afternoon. Though she was proud of Shayla in the way in which she handled her three antagonists, she still felt uneasy about her relationship with Razzel. She didn’t mean the things she said to her when they argued, but the heat of the moment got the better of her patience.
When Willow walked through her front door, she was happy to see that her mother had worked a morning shift and was home early.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Baby. I just put a chicken in the oven. It won’t be ready for about two hours. I got a twelve-pounder - the way your brother eats. While it’s roasting, I’m making a run to the supermarket. The grocery list is way too long for Kresh Fruits. Grand Grocers has some good sales this week.”
“Need some company?” Willow asked as Mrs. Krimble put on her coat.
Mrs. Krimble looked at her daughter for a moment before responding with a question of her own.
“How are things with Razzel?”
Willow shrugged.
Mrs. Krimble sat on the sofa and invited her daughter to join her.
“You know, Willow, I may not be as good at these talks as your grandmother was, but I do know a thing or two about holding onto a friendship.”
“She’s just such a hot-head, Mom, and I - ”
“Let me finish, Willow.”
Willow sat at full attention as she fought the urge to glower at her mother’s curtness.
“I love your Aunt Klisa, you know that. We were best friends growing up and although we didn’t have everything in common, we always loved spending time with one another; shopping, going to the movies, talking about boys… But there was a time, when we were teenagers, where we didn’t speak for two years.”
“What?”
“That’s right. And if you ask me what our fight was about, I couldn’t even give you the details. The problem was, neither of us wanted to make the first move in making amends. In our minds, whoever approached the other would appear to be admitting they were wrong. So, two stubborn teenagers, living under the same roof, ignored one another. We pretended to get along fine in front of Mom and Dad, but when they weren’t around, we wouldn’t even make eye-contact.”
“When did you start speaking again?”
“Now those details, I can give you. In her senior year of high school, Klisa fell for this guy, Franklin Smildridge. She was madly in love with him and, let me tell you, he was really cute. They dated for a year before he left to attend college out-of-state. Klisa was heartbroken. They wrote each other and spoke on the phone constantly. Just a few days before he was supposed to come home for the holidays, Klisa received a package in the mail. Franklin had sent her an expensive new coat that Klisa once admired in a store window. She was confused as to why he hadn’t delivered the gift himself, until she read the letter that accompanied it.”
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“Uh, oh.”
Mrs. Krimble nodded, brows raised as she continued her recollection.
“Said he met someone else and it was too difficult for him to maintain a long-distance relationship ... begged her forgiveness.”
Willow shook her head, disheartened.
“I found her sobbing in her room on her new coat; spotted the wrapping paper on the floor and a crumpled letter on her bed. It didn’t take an investigative reporter to realize what had happened.”
“Did you say anything to her?”
“I didn’t need to. I placed my hand on her shoulder and when she turned around, she could see, by my expression, how terrible I felt for her. Fight or no fight, I hated to see my sister in that way. We hugged and cried for 10 minutes.”
Willow smiled.
“That night, we threw her new coat and Franklin’s letter into the fireplace and watched them burn. Neither of us muttered another word about Franklin Smildridge, or our silly fight.”
“That’s great.”
“No, it’s not great, Willow.”
Willow was taken aback.
“We lost two years of friendship over some silly fight and I hate to think how much more time we would have lost if she’d never gotten that letter.”
Willow understood her mother’s preaching and knew she was right, but …
“She basically called me weak, Mom. If I call her now - ”
“You do what you think is best, Willow,” Mrs. Krimble cut in, standing up from the sofa, grabbing her keys from the coffee table. “We’re out of ice cream. What was that flavor you loved so much?”
“Cinnamon Pretzel Dough.”
“That’s right. You and Razzel ate two cartons that weekend you were upset about something that happened at school.”
“Real subtle, Mom.”
Mrs. Krimble kissed her daughter on the forehead and made her exit without saying another word.
Willow asked Wyatt to keep an eye on the chicken, knowing he couldn’t eat it for a while. She decided to take a walk to Shashaw Park.
Upon her arrival, Willow wasn’t surprised to find herself alone. Between the time of day, and the December chill in the air, the park was completely deserted.
Willow enjoyed the cool air. She preferred it to the heat of the summer, especially since she hated wearing shorts or skirts.
There was a grassy knoll just past the sandbox where Willow loved to sit under a large oak tree and think without TV’s blaring, phones ringing or dogs barking. Willow especially loved it in the Fall and Winter when the park was usually empty.
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She sat on the cool grass, pondering the events that had taken place during the last several months of her life. Her mind raced with visions of the people she had helped … the loss of her grandmother … regaining Shayla's friendship … losing Razzel's... It had been quite a ride. She felt a stream of emotions flow through her: wonder … joy … sadness, and even anger. She suddenly found herself thinking of Grandma Trisha’s dialogue: “Never lose her, Willow … you need one another…”
As Willow’s meditation weaved in and out of her relationship with Razzel and her grandmother’s final words, she found herself contemplating something that had been bothering her ever since her grandmother’s passing: How did Grandma Trisha know about her secret and what did she mean by, “You'll be hearing from me soon..."
While astray in her thoughts, Willow heard voices in the distance. She looked up and squinted to see a group of skaters entering the park, boarding towards her. As they approached, she could see there were four of them; three boys and one girl. Willow didn’t recognize any of them. They looked as if they were old enough to be seniors in high school.
As they rode past her, one of the boys gave Willow a menacing stare. She watched them as they boarded away from her, passing the swings, the monkey bars, growing smaller and smaller until they vanished behind the brush of the tall trees.
Willow decided she'd better head back home before it got any darker. She reached the south gate when she heard rustling behind her. She whipped around frantically to spot two squirrels chasing one another up a tree. She smirked, shaking her head at her own paranoia.
Just as Willow was about to turn back around to exit, she was startled by a hand on her shoulder. With all of the emotions still flowing through her, she lashed around and struck her would-be-assailant on the bridge of his nose with the bottom of her palm.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" said Willow to the boy on the ground who was holding his bloody nose. "I didn't realize it was you! Are you okay?"
"Oh, never better," the young man replied with as much sarcasm as he could, tilting his head back to slow the gush of crimson oozing from his nostrils.
Willow instinctively reached for her hair-kerchief but she was wearing a wool cap, which was completely useless at the moment. She was relieved to see the boy pull out a tissue from his pocket to stop the bleeding.
"I wasn't sure you'd recognize me without my ponytail, " said the Kresh Fruits employee in a nasally tone, getting back to his feet, "but I never imagined I'd get this kind of reception."
"I'm sorry," Willow continued to apologize. "I didn't even look at you. I was just startled and I - "
"Hell of a palm-strike you got there, Willow. Nice reflexes. Wouldn't wanna face you in a steel cage."
Willow let out a slight chuckle.
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"That's actually the only move I know. See, this girl - " Willow paused to re-think her response, " - my best friend … she’s a martial arts fanatic and she insisted I learn to defend myself.” Willow grasped the friendship bracelet around her right wrist. She wore it every day for six years; placing it around her wrist in the morning had become second nature to her.
"Your friend's right. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."
The boy wiped his nose, and Willow was relieved to see the bleeding was already beginning to subside. She knew she couldn’t heal him and risk revealing herself to someone who was practically a stranger. She didn't even know his name.
"I really am sorry."
"Forget it. I deserved it … ever since the day I snapped at you at my register. I just hated being there, you know? Forced to work for my uncle for less than minimum wage just because me and my mom are staying at his house?"
"So, I guess that day with the jars …” said Willow, “… I should have kept my mouth shut? Let Mr. Kresh fire you?"
"Nah, you did good. I hated working there until I thought I wouldn’t be allowed to anymore. Thing is, I really hated moving here from LA. It’s just too quiet."
Willow looked slightly insulted. She loved the tranquil surroundings of Samoset. How dare this guy from the West coast insult her suburban New York town.
"I just tried to keep to myself," the boy continued. "Tried to block out Snoreville under my headphones with some Metal."
Willow was slowly beginning to grow agitated. That was twice this guy took a dig at the town she grew up in.
"But you know," said the boy, wiping his nose once again," the more I worked in my uncle's store, the more I began liking it here. Some interesting characters here on the island."
Willow smiled.
"I can't argue that."
"So … I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you. I just resented being there at the time. I never had a job before, but then again, I never had spending money either." The boy pointed to the slender MP3 player attached to his belt, no doubt replacing the huge clunky CD player Willow had seen him sport during their previous encounter.
"Apology accepted,” said Willow, “if you can forgive me for going all paranoid victim on you."
The boy dabbed his nostrils with the bloody tissue and gave a huge sniff.
"No harm done; I've had worse injuries than this."
Willow smiled once again.
During their previous encounters, Willow hadn’t noticed the boy’s piercing green eyes. She couldn’t understand why, but they appeared to make the boy easier to engage. He also seemed less menacing with his hair down. It was a lot longer than Willow had expected.
"So, why haven't I seen you at school?" she asked.
"Oh, do you go to Gripnest High?"
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Willow was embarrassed; it never occurred to her that the boy was in high school. "Oh, um … no," she replied, suddenly dropping her gaze to the floor. “I go to Ginkelman - Middle School … eighth grade.”
"Oh, okay. I guess we'll be schoolmates next year then. I'm only a freshman."
Willow looked up again, relieved to find she wasn't too far off in assuming the boy's age.
After a moment of awkward silence …
"My name's Trist, by the way," said the boy, putting out his hand for Willow to shake it.
Willow’s nerves suddenly began to race once again. If she made contact, she would heal the boy’s trickling and, no doubt, throbbing nose. She needed to think of something quick.
"I'm just getting over a bad cold ...” she said, faking a sniffle, “... still sneezing into my hands and all. Don't wanna spread any germs.”
Trist retracted his hand.
"I wish you were concerned about germ-spreading when you were introducing your hand to my face," he joked.
Willow couldn't help but smile again.
"Trist, huh? That's an interesting name."
"It's short for Tristan, but I hate it, so ..."
"Well, it was nice to officially meet you, Tristan – uh, Trist."
"It’s cool; it doesn't bother me when you say it, for some reason."
Willow blushed.
"So, I guess I'll see you …” said Willow, suddenly feeling coy, “… at the market." After she said it, she realized just how lame it sounded.
Trist smiled at her.
"Need an escort home?"
Willow's palms were clammy and her heart was pounding in her ears. She was dying to accept Trist’s offer, but she knew her mom would freak out if she saw her 13-year-old daughter being accompanied by a strange boy from her older brother's high school.
"No, I'll be fine. I walk this way alone all the time," she said, trying not to sound too disappointed.
"Cool, well, see ya ... at the market," Trist said, playfully, waving goodbye. "Sorry if I scared you."
Trist turned around and made his way toward the North gate. He stepped onto Brighton Street and sprinted across the avenue. He made a left and continued on his way. If he looked back at all, he would have seen Willow's eyes glued to him the entire time.
Next Chapter
When Willow walked through her front door, she was happy to see that her mother had worked a morning shift and was home early.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Baby. I just put a chicken in the oven. It won’t be ready for about two hours. I got a twelve-pounder - the way your brother eats. While it’s roasting, I’m making a run to the supermarket. The grocery list is way too long for Kresh Fruits. Grand Grocers has some good sales this week.”
“Need some company?” Willow asked as Mrs. Krimble put on her coat.
Mrs. Krimble looked at her daughter for a moment before responding with a question of her own.
“How are things with Razzel?”
Willow shrugged.
Mrs. Krimble sat on the sofa and invited her daughter to join her.
“You know, Willow, I may not be as good at these talks as your grandmother was, but I do know a thing or two about holding onto a friendship.”
“She’s just such a hot-head, Mom, and I - ”
“Let me finish, Willow.”
Willow sat at full attention as she fought the urge to glower at her mother’s curtness.
“I love your Aunt Klisa, you know that. We were best friends growing up and although we didn’t have everything in common, we always loved spending time with one another; shopping, going to the movies, talking about boys… But there was a time, when we were teenagers, where we didn’t speak for two years.”
“What?”
“That’s right. And if you ask me what our fight was about, I couldn’t even give you the details. The problem was, neither of us wanted to make the first move in making amends. In our minds, whoever approached the other would appear to be admitting they were wrong. So, two stubborn teenagers, living under the same roof, ignored one another. We pretended to get along fine in front of Mom and Dad, but when they weren’t around, we wouldn’t even make eye-contact.”
“When did you start speaking again?”
“Now those details, I can give you. In her senior year of high school, Klisa fell for this guy, Franklin Smildridge. She was madly in love with him and, let me tell you, he was really cute. They dated for a year before he left to attend college out-of-state. Klisa was heartbroken. They wrote each other and spoke on the phone constantly. Just a few days before he was supposed to come home for the holidays, Klisa received a package in the mail. Franklin had sent her an expensive new coat that Klisa once admired in a store window. She was confused as to why he hadn’t delivered the gift himself, until she read the letter that accompanied it.”
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“Uh, oh.”
Mrs. Krimble nodded, brows raised as she continued her recollection.
“Said he met someone else and it was too difficult for him to maintain a long-distance relationship ... begged her forgiveness.”
Willow shook her head, disheartened.
“I found her sobbing in her room on her new coat; spotted the wrapping paper on the floor and a crumpled letter on her bed. It didn’t take an investigative reporter to realize what had happened.”
“Did you say anything to her?”
“I didn’t need to. I placed my hand on her shoulder and when she turned around, she could see, by my expression, how terrible I felt for her. Fight or no fight, I hated to see my sister in that way. We hugged and cried for 10 minutes.”
Willow smiled.
“That night, we threw her new coat and Franklin’s letter into the fireplace and watched them burn. Neither of us muttered another word about Franklin Smildridge, or our silly fight.”
“That’s great.”
“No, it’s not great, Willow.”
Willow was taken aback.
“We lost two years of friendship over some silly fight and I hate to think how much more time we would have lost if she’d never gotten that letter.”
Willow understood her mother’s preaching and knew she was right, but …
“She basically called me weak, Mom. If I call her now - ”
“You do what you think is best, Willow,” Mrs. Krimble cut in, standing up from the sofa, grabbing her keys from the coffee table. “We’re out of ice cream. What was that flavor you loved so much?”
“Cinnamon Pretzel Dough.”
“That’s right. You and Razzel ate two cartons that weekend you were upset about something that happened at school.”
“Real subtle, Mom.”
Mrs. Krimble kissed her daughter on the forehead and made her exit without saying another word.
Willow asked Wyatt to keep an eye on the chicken, knowing he couldn’t eat it for a while. She decided to take a walk to Shashaw Park.
Upon her arrival, Willow wasn’t surprised to find herself alone. Between the time of day, and the December chill in the air, the park was completely deserted.
Willow enjoyed the cool air. She preferred it to the heat of the summer, especially since she hated wearing shorts or skirts.
There was a grassy knoll just past the sandbox where Willow loved to sit under a large oak tree and think without TV’s blaring, phones ringing or dogs barking. Willow especially loved it in the Fall and Winter when the park was usually empty.
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Page 95
She sat on the cool grass, pondering the events that had taken place during the last several months of her life. Her mind raced with visions of the people she had helped … the loss of her grandmother … regaining Shayla's friendship … losing Razzel's... It had been quite a ride. She felt a stream of emotions flow through her: wonder … joy … sadness, and even anger. She suddenly found herself thinking of Grandma Trisha’s dialogue: “Never lose her, Willow … you need one another…”
As Willow’s meditation weaved in and out of her relationship with Razzel and her grandmother’s final words, she found herself contemplating something that had been bothering her ever since her grandmother’s passing: How did Grandma Trisha know about her secret and what did she mean by, “You'll be hearing from me soon..."
While astray in her thoughts, Willow heard voices in the distance. She looked up and squinted to see a group of skaters entering the park, boarding towards her. As they approached, she could see there were four of them; three boys and one girl. Willow didn’t recognize any of them. They looked as if they were old enough to be seniors in high school.
As they rode past her, one of the boys gave Willow a menacing stare. She watched them as they boarded away from her, passing the swings, the monkey bars, growing smaller and smaller until they vanished behind the brush of the tall trees.
Willow decided she'd better head back home before it got any darker. She reached the south gate when she heard rustling behind her. She whipped around frantically to spot two squirrels chasing one another up a tree. She smirked, shaking her head at her own paranoia.
Just as Willow was about to turn back around to exit, she was startled by a hand on her shoulder. With all of the emotions still flowing through her, she lashed around and struck her would-be-assailant on the bridge of his nose with the bottom of her palm.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" said Willow to the boy on the ground who was holding his bloody nose. "I didn't realize it was you! Are you okay?"
"Oh, never better," the young man replied with as much sarcasm as he could, tilting his head back to slow the gush of crimson oozing from his nostrils.
Willow instinctively reached for her hair-kerchief but she was wearing a wool cap, which was completely useless at the moment. She was relieved to see the boy pull out a tissue from his pocket to stop the bleeding.
"I wasn't sure you'd recognize me without my ponytail, " said the Kresh Fruits employee in a nasally tone, getting back to his feet, "but I never imagined I'd get this kind of reception."
"I'm sorry," Willow continued to apologize. "I didn't even look at you. I was just startled and I - "
"Hell of a palm-strike you got there, Willow. Nice reflexes. Wouldn't wanna face you in a steel cage."
Willow let out a slight chuckle.
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"That's actually the only move I know. See, this girl - " Willow paused to re-think her response, " - my best friend … she’s a martial arts fanatic and she insisted I learn to defend myself.” Willow grasped the friendship bracelet around her right wrist. She wore it every day for six years; placing it around her wrist in the morning had become second nature to her.
"Your friend's right. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."
The boy wiped his nose, and Willow was relieved to see the bleeding was already beginning to subside. She knew she couldn’t heal him and risk revealing herself to someone who was practically a stranger. She didn't even know his name.
"I really am sorry."
"Forget it. I deserved it … ever since the day I snapped at you at my register. I just hated being there, you know? Forced to work for my uncle for less than minimum wage just because me and my mom are staying at his house?"
"So, I guess that day with the jars …” said Willow, “… I should have kept my mouth shut? Let Mr. Kresh fire you?"
"Nah, you did good. I hated working there until I thought I wouldn’t be allowed to anymore. Thing is, I really hated moving here from LA. It’s just too quiet."
Willow looked slightly insulted. She loved the tranquil surroundings of Samoset. How dare this guy from the West coast insult her suburban New York town.
"I just tried to keep to myself," the boy continued. "Tried to block out Snoreville under my headphones with some Metal."
Willow was slowly beginning to grow agitated. That was twice this guy took a dig at the town she grew up in.
"But you know," said the boy, wiping his nose once again," the more I worked in my uncle's store, the more I began liking it here. Some interesting characters here on the island."
Willow smiled.
"I can't argue that."
"So … I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you. I just resented being there at the time. I never had a job before, but then again, I never had spending money either." The boy pointed to the slender MP3 player attached to his belt, no doubt replacing the huge clunky CD player Willow had seen him sport during their previous encounter.
"Apology accepted,” said Willow, “if you can forgive me for going all paranoid victim on you."
The boy dabbed his nostrils with the bloody tissue and gave a huge sniff.
"No harm done; I've had worse injuries than this."
Willow smiled once again.
During their previous encounters, Willow hadn’t noticed the boy’s piercing green eyes. She couldn’t understand why, but they appeared to make the boy easier to engage. He also seemed less menacing with his hair down. It was a lot longer than Willow had expected.
"So, why haven't I seen you at school?" she asked.
"Oh, do you go to Gripnest High?"
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Willow was embarrassed; it never occurred to her that the boy was in high school. "Oh, um … no," she replied, suddenly dropping her gaze to the floor. “I go to Ginkelman - Middle School … eighth grade.”
"Oh, okay. I guess we'll be schoolmates next year then. I'm only a freshman."
Willow looked up again, relieved to find she wasn't too far off in assuming the boy's age.
After a moment of awkward silence …
"My name's Trist, by the way," said the boy, putting out his hand for Willow to shake it.
Willow’s nerves suddenly began to race once again. If she made contact, she would heal the boy’s trickling and, no doubt, throbbing nose. She needed to think of something quick.
"I'm just getting over a bad cold ...” she said, faking a sniffle, “... still sneezing into my hands and all. Don't wanna spread any germs.”
Trist retracted his hand.
"I wish you were concerned about germ-spreading when you were introducing your hand to my face," he joked.
Willow couldn't help but smile again.
"Trist, huh? That's an interesting name."
"It's short for Tristan, but I hate it, so ..."
"Well, it was nice to officially meet you, Tristan – uh, Trist."
"It’s cool; it doesn't bother me when you say it, for some reason."
Willow blushed.
"So, I guess I'll see you …” said Willow, suddenly feeling coy, “… at the market." After she said it, she realized just how lame it sounded.
Trist smiled at her.
"Need an escort home?"
Willow's palms were clammy and her heart was pounding in her ears. She was dying to accept Trist’s offer, but she knew her mom would freak out if she saw her 13-year-old daughter being accompanied by a strange boy from her older brother's high school.
"No, I'll be fine. I walk this way alone all the time," she said, trying not to sound too disappointed.
"Cool, well, see ya ... at the market," Trist said, playfully, waving goodbye. "Sorry if I scared you."
Trist turned around and made his way toward the North gate. He stepped onto Brighton Street and sprinted across the avenue. He made a left and continued on his way. If he looked back at all, he would have seen Willow's eyes glued to him the entire time.
Next Chapter