A Beautiful Secret, page 4
She was lighting the grill when her dad came out on the deck and sat down. After exchanging pleasantries, he got to the point. “You have Tuesday marked on the calendar as a day off?”
Tegan nodded.
“Can you keep an eye on your mom? I have to go out of town on business. I can leave on Monday and be back on Tuesday night. I have a job interview on Tuesday.”
Tegan gripped the arms of her chair and asked, “Where?”
“Fort Lauderdale, Florida.”
It wasn’t intentional, but Sunday and Monday went by and Tegan did not tell Alli about her father’s job interview. Standing on the dock while a fisherman topped off his tanks, she felt the weight of the situation crashing down on her.
Dad is away looking for a job. What if he gets it? They thought enough of him to pay for plane tickets and a hotel. They wouldn’t do that unless they were serious about hiring him.
When the man was finished, she replaced the hose on the pump and walked his credit card inside for Alli to process.
“Tegan. Here.” Alli bumped her arm with the credit card and receipt. “What’s wrong with you today? You haven’t paid attention to anything I said.”
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
On the way home after work in Alli’s car, Tegan put the seat as far back as it could go and tipped back so she could recline and look at the ceiling.
After a long enough silence, Tegan said, “My dad is going out of town, interviewing for a job.”
“Really?” Alli asked, without taking her eyes from the road. “Where?”
“Miami.” Not really Miami, but Fort Lauderdale. Somehow, it was too cumbersome to say, and it was all the same to her. She had mapped it out. Eight hundred and forty miles, twelve hours by car. She would not be coming home for weekends.
Alli said nothing. Instead, she picked up her sunglasses and put them on. Tegan could see her knuckles squeezing the steering wheel. When she wiped her face with the back of her hand, it came away wet. She started to say something, but her voice came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat and said, “That sucks.”
Chapter 6
Of all possessions, a friend is the most precious.
Herodotus
Tim put the house up for sale by owner. The close proximity to the gulf started a bidding war. Weekenders from New Orleans competed with fishing guides, and the house sold for more than the asking price. The Favreaus’ asked for ninety days to move, but had to settle for thirty. Tim went to Fort Lauderdale to train under his predecessor, while Tegan started making an inventory of what would go with them and what they didn’t need or want. Tim’s employer had paid for moving expenses, but it wasn’t lavish. Their furniture was old, and her dad said that with the money from the sale of the house, they could afford to buy new furniture.
The first person who came to look at Tegan’s jon boat and traps bought them for nearly her asking price. Not included was her local knowledge and her connection to the Captain’s Cove restaurant. You couldn’t buy that; it had to be earned. The new kid Tegan trained to replace her at the marina was pleasant enough and appeared to be hard-working. He seemed directionless, but that wasn’t Tegan’s problem.
Her relationship with Alli had dissolved like a rusty piece of metal in salt water. There was no blame or betrayal, just the forces of nature reclaiming what was hers. To Tegan, it was a nightmare with no escape possible. A recurring nightmare, where no matter how hard she swam, Alli’s face drifted farther away until she slipped under the water to join the other dead things. Tegan would wake up gasping and clutching her chest, then lie in bed, waiting for the darkness to go away.
If there where some way to fix it, I would, but I just don’t know how. It was hard enough to see her every day, never having the courage to tell her how I feel, and now it’s too late. It seems like it’s always too fucking late.
There was a knock on the door. It was Alli on her bike. “Hi, Alli. Would you like to come in?”
“Not really. Can you come out?”
Tegan came out and sat on the edge of the planter, and Allie sat beside her. She finally spoke.
“I want to ask for a favor.”
Tegan shrugged, “Sure. What is it?”
Allie looked at her. “Can I have one of your paintings? I know it sounds crazy, but it would mean a lot to me.”
“Take which ever one you like. Take them all, if you want.” Tegan led Alli to her room. “Take whatever you like.”
What seemed like years had been only a matter of weeks. A few months ago, while stacking her traps, Alli took several pictures of Tegan with her phone and shared them with her. A candid photo often makes the subject look worse, but sometimes, once in a great while, the camera takes pity and the person looks better. This was one such magical photo.
After stacking the last trap, Tegan was laughing at something goofy Alli had said. The sunlight lit up her hair, and her expression was one of easy contentment. Ever since she’d learned she was leaving, she hadn’t smiled or laughed. Using the image for reference, Tegan created a pencil sketch, a self-portrait. She wanted it realistic, but not too real.
Tegan did not, could not, make the rounds to say goodbye to all of her friends and classmates before she left. It was too hard. She only had the energy to see the ones she especially cared for, including Mr. Jessup. She respected the Riveras too much to just disappear, so the day before she left, she went to visit them one last time. She had wrapped the self-portrait for Allie and made her promise not to open it until she had gone.
The farewell went worse than she expected. Everyone was crying, even Rick and Andy, Alli’s younger brothers. When it came time to leave, Alli walked her out, and they sat on the porch swing.
Alli put her arm around Tegan’s waist and her head on her shoulder. “Why does this have to happen? I thought that we had all the time in the world to get it right. I don’t know if I can do this.”
Tegan put her arm around Alli’s shoulder and kissed her on the forehead. “I don’t know how to do it either. Everything I have is here.”
Alli pulled away and said, “Give me your hand.” She fastened her gold ID bracelet around Tegan’s wrist. “I want you to have this to remember me.”
Tegan turned it around until Alli’s name was facing up. “I’ll never forget you.”
Alli kissed her gently on the cheek and whispered, “You better not.”
Chapter 7
Nothing is so painful to the human mind
as a great and sudden change.
Mary Shelley
Everything they owned was in storage in Fort Lauderdale. Tim towed their little travel trailer behind his company truck while Tegan towed their seventeen-foot Boston Whaler. The move from Terrebonne Parish to Broward County was a shock. At least they let new aquarium fish stay in their plastic bag until the water temperatures were the same before pouring them in.
Tegan, her dad, and her mom stayed in the rented townhouse for a month before they found a house. The entire proceeds from the sale of their house in Louisiana was only enough for a down payment here, but they found a house with a garage, three bedrooms, and two and a half bathrooms. Behind the house was a big lake, and a stable with stalls for the four horses they didn’t have, and never would. With electricity, water and a sewer connection, they could store their travel trailer and boat out of the weather.
Tegan’s room was twice as big as the one she grew up in. Her dad bought her two new full-sized beds, bigger than the old twin beds, one for each wall, just like before. The movers transported her mid-century drafting table with no issues. With a cast-iron base and a teak strip surface, it had a gear and crank mechanism to change the angle of the surface from flat to sixty degrees. It was Tegan’s prized possession.
They spent the second month in the townhouse having furniture delivered and putting all their dishes and pots and pans in their proper places in their new house. Tegan’s mom gravitated to the bay window in the front room, so Tegan put her favorite easy chair and a side table next to it. Marion, her mom, spent most of her time there as she looked out the window.
There was evidence of kids in the neighborhood, swing sets and playhouses; evidence of teenagers, basketball hoops and soccer balls in the driveways. Teagan doubted there would be another Alli in her future.
Only sixty-four students were present at the mandatory orientation for incoming seniors, a tiny number compared to the student body of two thousand. At least fourteen appeared to be athletes, likely attending on scholarship.
St. Michael’s Academy in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, could afford to be selective. The football program attracted the top athletes from Broward County and beyond. If colleges provided the NFL’s training ground, St. Mark’s provided the training ground for college football prospects.
The school had not offered Tegan an athletic scholarship, nor had the school sought her out. However, her 4.0 GPA on her application transcripts caught their attention, and after a little haggling, the school offered her a full academic scholarship. The administration was reluctant to bestow prestige and legitimacy on single-year seniors, but she gave them an opportunity to bolster the statistics that attracted paying students—or at least, their deep-pocketed parents.
Tegan tried to concentrate as the speaker droned on and on, but soon all she heard was a faint buzz in the background. The inch-thick information packet listed everything that required to complete by Monday, the first day of classes. Tegan had submitted all the items the school requested. However, no one mentioned the sports participation requirements.
She stared at the schedule for volleyball tryouts scheduled for Wednesday, the third day of school, only five days away. Impossible. The physical packet required a specific sports examination by a physician, and certificates from classes on CPR and first aid. Tegan didn’t even have a primary care physician. How could she get a physical in time?
Her troubles weren’t over. On the first day at her new school, Tegan waited outside her first period class until other students filed in and tried to slip into Mrs. Wood’s creative writing class. She took a seat in the back, put her backpack on the floor and waited. Several of the students invented ways to turn around in their desks to examine her: borrowing a pencil, talking to the person behind them, stretching and yawning.
She appeared unconcerned about being the new kid. In clothes fresh from the uniform shop, Tegan wore a short-sleeve polo shirt emblazoned with the school logo combined with khaki slacks. With a pair of leather boat shoes and matching belt, a woven bracelet, and two small gold studs in each ear, she appeared confident and self-assured—while her guts churned with anxiety and resentment.
Mrs. Woods selected students to hand out textbooks and syllabi as the class began. “Good morning. Please welcome our new student. Miss Favreau, please introduce yourself?”
“Hello, Mrs. Woods. I’m Tegan Favreau. My family moved here over the summer from Louisiana.”
“Welcome to Saint Michael’s Academy.” To the class: “Be sure to invite her to a study group. Before you leave today, I want you to create groups of four or five to help each other with your assignments and required reading. We will have a group project at the end of the semester. I will not nag you or baby you. It is your responsibility to finish your assignments on time.”
Their first reading assignment, “The Necklace” by Guy de Maupassant, was due for discussion on Friday. At only ten pages, it was short, even for a short story, and Tegan had read it years ago. The students took turns reading aloud until the story ended.
Mrs. Woods addressed her students. “As this is the first day, I will go easy on you. You can use the remaining time to read your books and to create study groups. But, starting tomorrow, I expect only your best. Class dismissed.” Most of the students bolted for the door, capitalizing on their good fortune, while a few remained behind to create study groups—but none invited Tegan.
By Friday, Tegan realized that if her first week was a harbinger of the rest of the year, it would suck. At her old school, attitudes like those of her new classmates were rare. Here, nonstop competition for popularity and status created a caste system. The popular students comprised the aristocracy, followed by the jocks, fashionistas, academics, stoners, and losers. There were a few that defied classification, like the herbs and spices in a bottle of Italian salad dressing. Shake it up, and it always settled with vinegar on the bottom and the oil on top, while the herbs and spices just swirled around in between. Students seldom had an opportunity to change their peer groups. It didn’t bother Tegan, because she had no desire to compete for something she didn’t want.Monday morning on the second week of classes, Tegan tried to blend in, unnoticed—but even in flats, she towered over most of the other kids in the hall. She liked her classes and teachers, and the course difficulty was about the same as in Louisiana.
Tegan missed Louisiana. She missed having room to explore the lakes and bayous and rural living peacefulness, instead of asphalt, buildings, and crowds. In the least noisy corner of the cafeteria, Tegan opened her usual lunch of a sandwich, a banana, and a granola bar. In the lunchroom, the other kids yakked away, and no one else brought a sack lunch.
On the way home from school, Tegan had passed a few groups of riders on horseback. Horses were popular in Davie, which touted itself as an equestrian community. Tegan decided horses were too much work. You had to care for them every day, even when you didn’t ride them.
Once home, Tegan headed for the kitchen. Food was an essential part of living down on the bayou. Back home, everything was fresh. Fish, crawfish, shrimp, clams, oysters, gator, and frog legs came straight from the gulf and bayou. Here, everything came from the supermarket. Catfish, broccoli, and dirty rice went into the oven to stay warm. The flickering light from the television illuminated the family room, and the silence seemed to suck the air out of the space.
Tegan put her hand on her mother’s shoulder to let her know she was home. Her mother put her hand on hers in acknowledgment before she returned her eyes to the silent screen. The back door led out to the lake.
Sitting in the darkness, Tegan wondered if anything in her life would ever be normal. Her father must have known how hard it would be for her, but they never talked about it. Never talked about what it meant to a teenager to be ripped out of the only life she had ever known.
Dinner was a dreary affair, with several attempts at small talk that ended in awkward silence. Tegan’s mother played the same game again, pushing her food around on her plate so that it would appear she had eaten more. It worried Tegan that her mother was down to one hundred and fifteen pounds, when she should have been one hundred and forty.
The doctors explained that her resistance to counseling compromised their ability to help, and the medication they prescribed didn’t seem to make any difference.
With the dishes washed, Tegan returned to her bedroom to contemplate a photograph of a roseate spoonbill. With bright pastel pink feathers and long bills with a broad, rounded end, spoonbills used their beaks to disturb the mud, which enabled them to feed on small fish and crustaceans. Standing in the water as the sun sank over the bayou, Tegan envied the bird. Tegan longed to be there, deep on the bayou, barely breathing, wishing the moment would last forever.
Chapter 8
Never be bullied into silence.
Never allow yourself to be made a victim.
Accept no one’s definition of your life; define yourself.
Robert Frost
On Wednesday of her second week at St. Mark’s, Tegan nibbled on a sandwich when she realized a girl with jet-black hair was walking towards her. She glanced down and pretended to read her book. A lunch tray clattered onto the table.
The girl asked, “Hey, newbie, what’s up?”
“Not much. How are you doing?” replied Tegan.
“Hangin’ in there. I’m Gina.”
“Hi, I’m Tegan. How do you know that I’m new here?”
“I’ve been here since seventh grade. Nice accent.”
“I didn’t know I had one.”
“Oh, please!” Gina laughed.
“Okay, you got me. I’m from near New Orleans.”
“Cool. Is Mardi Gras a big deal down there?”
“Oh yeah, it gets crazy. Parties, parades, you name it. People come from all over, but I didn’t live in New Orleans. We lived farther south down on the bayou,” Tegan told her.
“The bayou? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope, the bayou is cool. Lots of fishing and boating and stuff.”
“Really?”
From her phone, Tegan showed Gina some pictures of herself canoeing, fishing, and frogging.
“Is that a frog? What do you do with them?”
“You never had frog legs?” Tegan’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“No way!”
“They’re really good. You ever eat a chicken wing?”
Gina shook her head, “Too many calories and too much fat.”
Tegan told her, “A frog leg is like a chicken wing with almost no fat, and few calories.”
The racket in the lunchroom abated as the period drew to a close and students made their way to class. Gina asked, “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” Tegan said. “Seventeen in October. How old are you?”
“Seventeen, eighteen in October. How come you’re a senior if you’re only sixteen?”
“I skipped kindergarten and went right to first grade,” said Tegan. “What date is your birthday?”
“Nineteenth. Yours?”
“Twenty-sixth.”
“What are you reading?” asked Gina.
Tegan pushed the book across the table. “It’s a biography of Claude Monet, one of the first of the Impressionist painters.” She didn’t mention that the art department had decided that her two Monet sketches had been deemed authentic, and were now on loan to the LSU Art Gallery, to much acclaim.
