The Lake Page 8

  “Are you coming?” Claire asks as she gets out of the car.

  “Um…ok,” I say getting out with her. I’m really not interested in the awkwardness of meeting one of Claire’s clients, but this building is so amazing, I almost can’t take my eyes off of it.

  “Welcome to Heyward Prep, Layla.” Claire smiles as my jaw drops.

  The woman in the front office greets us pleasantly and addresses Claire by name. She’s a tall, thin woman, older, with short graying blonde hair. She speaks with a sweet southern accent, reminding me of Paula Dean, warm and sugary sweet. She’s calmly thumbing through a stack of papers as Claire introduces her as Mrs. Whitman and informs me that without her the school would have crumbled years ago.

  “Oh, Claire, sugar, you’re too sweet! It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Layla. I hope you’ll enjoy your time here. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come see me. Ok? I’ve got your schedule right here, dear. You can find your classrooms today if that’d be helpful.” She pulls a small, rectangular piece of paper from the stack she’s handling and gives it to me, along with a map of the school. The map is quite intricate – color-coded and arranged by grade.

  “Yes, that would be great. Thank you,” I say as I accept the papers. I look at the map more closely and see that all my classes are on the east wing because that’s where all the senior classrooms are. The rest of the administrative offices are on the third floor of the main building, which I somehow already know is a place I never want to go. According to the map, it’s a floor filled with conference rooms and the offices of school officials who hold my academic future in their hands. A closer examination of my schedule reveals that all my classes are honors and to say I am thoroughly panicked is an understatement.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whitman, there seems to be a mistake. I’m not qualified to take honors chemistry or trig,” I tell her with cool concern in my voice. I’ll be here a lifetime if they expect me to pass those in order to graduate. I try to hand my mistake of a schedule back to her but she holds up her hands in refusal.

  “There’s no mistake, sugar. All the senior classes here are honors. Don’t worry, though. We have some brilliant students who are able to tutor you, and there are some students at the college who help us out with that, too. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of, dear,” she says nonchalantly, as if a tutor is going to somehow magically make me understand complicated math and science. This is going to be a very long year.

  “Um…ok.” I sigh and purse my lips. I twirl a lock of my long ponytailed hair as I contemplate this.

  Another administrator walks into the office and Claire becomes involved in an immediately heated conversation about how this year’s mock trials should be coordinated. I motion to her that I’m going to go ahead and find my classrooms and excuse myself.

  The main hall of the building is unlike any school I’ve ever seen. The floors are carpeted and the walls are painted a warm, khaki color. It’s incredibly inviting. There is no linoleum flooring or fluorescent lighting, which every girl here is sure to enjoy. Fluorescent lighting never made anyone look good. Along the walls are oil paintings of the school’s founders and board of directors, all in gilded frames. Of course, Gregory Meyer is at the helm of this ship. That doesn’t surprise me. I have the impression that Mr. Meyer enjoys being at the center of everything. Even his portrait creeps me out. It’s like the ones at the Haunted Mansion at Disney where the eyes follow you.

  Further exploration down the hall leads me to the library where my schedule indicates Study Hall is held. I pass through the heavy, solid wood door and the room is instantly like a dream. There are elegant sofas and the room is filled with rich mahogany furniture. A fireplace has wingback chairs strategically placed in front of it. The room looks more like a lodge than a library. The smell of old books fills the air, and I inhale deeply several times. There are two rows of tables with green banker’s lamps like the kind you see in movies. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and I have to make myself leave before I find a book and a corner and am never seen again.

  I find the east wing easily. Each room is marked with a simple “E” and the number of the room. There are six classrooms on each floor. The science and math rooms are on the first floor, which means my English, civics, and Spanish classes are upstairs. All the rooms are the same so I decide that I don’t need to go upstairs to locate my other classrooms.

  Walking back down the long hall toward the main building I see a gold-plated sign pointing to the dining hall. Dining hall? Why don’t they just call it a cafeteria? As I come within reach of the doors I see why. This is no cafeteria. The room is filled with large round tables covered with white linens. Each table has ten high-back chairs, and there are small floral centerpieces on each table. With four huge silver chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, the room is more like a hotel ballroom than a high school eatery.

  I don’t see an entrance to where the students pass through the kitchen and receive their lunch from the industrial size pot it’s held in, only a set of swinging double doors. No…it can’t…they couldn’t actually have wait staff here! I’m in shock at the mere thought. I’m used to packing my lunch and I certainly don’t want to draw any more attention to myself than I already will, so I better find out from Claire if I’m absolutely crazy, or not.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t show you around the school. Did you find everything ok? What do you think?” Claire asks as we pull out of the parking lot.

  “No problem. Yeah, I found everything just fine. It helps that all the senior classes are in one place, and the library is amazing,” I say.

  “Isn’t it? High school wasn’t like this when I was there!” Claire says.

  “Speaking of that…I have a really silly question.” I take a deep breath before I ask the most bizarre question I have ever asked. “Do they have…waiters…in the dining hall?” I’m astounded that I even have to ask the question for clarification.

  “Yes. Ostentatious, isn’t it?” Claire says.

  “It just seems…weird. Doesn’t anyone bring their lunch?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer is.

  “Oh…no. There’s a menu of about five or six things that rotate each week. It’s never the same menu two days in a row. It’s all really good food, though. Sometimes Mr. Meyer holds lunch meetings here when the entire firm is involved. There’s a professional chef on staff and he runs the place like a five-star restaurant.” Claire pauses. “You have to remember the lifestyle that these kids are used to, Layla. Their parents don’t want them treated any other way.” Claire’s explanation reminds me that I have a lot to endure this year. I’m grateful for Will and my new friends, knowing they’ll protect me from the pompous, dark side.

  Claire and Luke’s office is on Main Street in downtown Davidson, just a block up from the Village Green. Claire has to run in for a few minutes so she gives me the option of getting a tour of Meyer, Fincher and Marks and waiting in her office or doing something else. Because I really don’t want to have an up-close stare down from Mr. Meyer, I opt for something else. I notice the bookstore Luke told me about and I’m sure I can fill my time there while I wait. Claire pulls up to the curb right in front of Main Street Books and as I get out I tell her I’ll go to the coffee shop if I finish in the bookstore before she’s done. The blue trim around the windows and the red door immediately invite me in. It looks old, which I interpret as dedicated. From the outside it seems like the kind of place that has worked hard to fight the giant booksellers, but always prevails. It’s the kind of place that remembers you and what your reading preferences are by your face, not your frequent buyer card.

  It isn’t a huge store, but the warm brown wood floors and white shelves draw me in and I feel right at home. After seeing my class schedule I think I better get a jump on the help I am certainly going to need in trigonometry and chemistry. I’ve never been a member of the “nerdery”, but I’m also not one to wait until I’m utterly and completely lost before I ask for help.
I pass the racks with Davidson College apparel and browse the aisles until I find the section that should hold math tutorials. After looking for a few minutes I find one book that I think might have what I’m looking for so I pick it up and begin flipping through the pages.

  “Trig, huh? If you’ve got Professor Donavan be sure to bring him Cowtails and caramel crèmes; they’re his favorite,” a young man says. His Main Street Books nametag reads Marcus.

  “Oh, I’m not a student at the college.” I say.

  “So your idea of fun on a Thursday summer afternoon is brushing up on your trigonometry?” he quips.

  “No. I just got my schedule for this year and if I don’t get a head start on this I’m going to be a senior next year, too,” I say trying to sound casual about my deficiencies.

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m a math major at Davidson. I’d be happy to help,” he says extending his hand. “I’m Marcus…Reynolds.”

  “I’m Layla…Weston. It’s nice to meet you.” I shake his hand and smile. “That actually would be great. I’ve got enough to think about this year without having to go prematurely grey over math.”

  “What are you talking about? This is your senior year – the time of your life!” Marcus is an enthusiastic guy and very down to earth. He’s my kind of people.

  “Yeah, well…I just moved here and I’ll be going to Pretentious High,” I say.

  “You’re a student a Heyward Washington Prep?” he says, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

  “Yes. Is there a problem with that?” I don’t like the way he said it. It’s ok for me to mock the school with my friends, but I find Marcus’ remark insulting.

  “Oh, uh, no. You just don’t strike me as the type to go there. First of all, you’re in this store looking at academic books. Second, well…you’re polite. Sorry, you threw me off.”

  “I’ll…let it slide this time,” I smile, easing up. “So you could really tutor me?”

  “Yeah, definitely. In fact, I’m on the list of tutors for your school through the college. Just sign up and put my name down. They’ll call me and get us connected.”

  “Then I suppose I don’t need this book today,” I say putting it back on the shelf.

  “I was just getting off work. Do you want to go next door and get a Coke, or something? It’ll save us the introduction time when we start tutoring.” Marcus says taking off his nametag.

  “Sure. I was going there anyway to wait for my aunt,” I say.

  We leave the bookstore and walk to the coffee shop next door. It’s the same place I first met Will and I blush a little as I remember the icy mess of his drink.

  As we sit down at a table in the window I think about how lucky I am to have met Marcus. If he’s on the list of tutors for the school he’s certain to be a big help. They won’t let just anyone near their precious students.

  “So exactly how terrified of trigonometry are you?” he asks.

  “About as terrified as I am of chemistry. Both are honors classes. In fact, all of my classes are honors. English, Civics, even Spanish, I’m not worried about. But these two will be the death of me.”

  “Well, I’ll be able to help with trig more than chemistry, but I’ll do my best to get you through both,” he says.

  Marcus has dark brown hair and light green eyes. He’s attractive by anyone’s standards. He’s tall, but not as tall as Will. Will seems to have become my benchmark, which really isn’t fair to Marcus, or any guy for that matter. It doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m buying my time until I graduate and I can go back to Florida. If things continue to go well with Luke and Claire, I’ll at least have family to visit for holidays, and friends to see while I’m here.

  “That’s great. Have you tutored a lot of Heyward students?” He obviously has an opinion of them, so I wonder what his experience with them has been.

  “Not a lot, but I’ve had enough experiences with their kind of people to know that I don’t need to have any more. You were a surprise.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Just be sure to be on guard. There are some people associated with that school who are like vultures. If you don’t protect yourself, they’ll eat you alive.”

  Claire walks by and spots us in the window of the coffee shop as she comes in.

  “Did you find what you were looking for? You haven’t been sitting here long, have you?” Claire asks.

  “No, not long, just a few minutes. I found a book that I thought would help, but then I met Marcus. He works in the bookstore and goes to Davidson. He’s on the tutor list for Heyward. Marcus, this is my aunt, Claire.” I say.

  “It’s very nice to meet you Mrs. Weston,” Marcus says, standing to shake Claire’s hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too, Marcus. You’re smart to get a head start on this, Layla, especially since Luke and I will be zero help in trig or chemistry. I’m very glad Layla found you, Marcus. Do you want anything, Layla,” Claire asks as she moves to the counter.

  “No thanks,” I say quickly.

  “I’m glad she found me, too,” Marcus says. He smiles right at me and it occurs to me that he might actually be flirting. The possibility that Marcus could be interested in me isn’t nearly as preposterous as the idea that Will ever could be. I dismiss it still because I need Marcus’ help to get me through trig and I can’t cloud my interaction with him with the vain ideas of a silly schoolgirl.

  Claire buys herself a drink and I join her at the door to leave. “It was nice to meet you, Marcus. You’re welcome at the house anytime for tutoring,” Claire says as she exits.

  “Nice meeting you, too, Mrs. Weston,” Marcus says.

  “I’ll fill out the tutor request when school starts. So…I guess I’ll see you soon,” I say.

  “I look forward to it.” He raises his hand in a brief wave as I make my way through the door.

  Chapter 9

  I spend the rest of the afternoon with my iPod and ear buds at the edge of the dock. Will has been giving me some Music 101 lessons. Last week’s homework was to check out the classics like Miles Davis. We listened to a couple of them in the car to and from Grandfather Mountain and I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised. I’m bobbing my head up and down embarrassingly to the music when Will appears behind me, poking me in the shoulder.

  “I hope that’s old music you’re listening to,” he says, startling me so much that I jump a little.

  “Oh, my gosh, Will! I almost fell in the water!” I jump up quickly and playfully punch him in the arm. I take a quick step back as I’ve startled myself with this behavior. It was the move of a girl completely comfortable and at ease with not only Will, but also herself. I’m shocked, and pleasantly surprised. Could that really be me? I ask myself.

  “I already told you that I was here to rescue you.” He smiles that perfect smile and I realize that the answer to my question is yes. “So you checked out the school today. What’d ya think?”

  “Gosh! Word travels fast around here. Well…it’s the nicest school I’ve ever set foot in, and I understand it’ll be the best food I’ve ever eaten as well. I’m mostly looking forward to spending time in the library. It was spectacular.”

  “Listen, I’ve got an errand to run for Luke. Do you want to come with me, along for the ride?”

  “Sure, sounds fun.” It sounds like more than just fun. It’s a chance for me spend time with Will. It is a perfect opportunity in my quest to know him.

  Will needs to get nails, screws, and plywood – items that reveal nothing of my unmerited surprise – at the hardware store. While Will gets the things he needs, I look around the store and think of my dad. I’m obviously quiet and by the time we leave the store I haven’t said more than ten words.

  “Hey, are you ok?” Will asks.

  “Yeah. I was just remembering my dad. When I was a little girl I used to go to the hardware store with him. He was really handy and always had a project going. One of my favorite things was to help him, and by help I mean I kept him company while he w
orked. Being in there just…it reminded me of him.” Talking about my dad is hard, but easier since Luke has engaged me in such normal conversation about him, but as the words leave my mouth I realize that sharing my feelings with Will is surprisingly easy. He makes it that way. Everything in me wants to trust him. When I talk, he looks at me with unwavering attention. He fixes his eyes on me and I can see he’s listening. It’s comforting to be heard.

  “That’s good. It’s important that you have those memories. It keeps him with you. I think that’s a special thing, Layla, and you should never lose it,” Will says smiling softly, his voice smooth and reassuring.

  We get back to the house and Will takes his purchases down to the basement. He and Luke emerge a few hours later as Claire and I are fixing dinner.

  “Thanks for your work today, Will. You’ve got a good eye. I’m glad I’ve got you around to help me with this. I’ll see you tomorrow?” I’m still confused as to what the basement project has to do with me, but have to admit that I’m becoming curious to see what they’re doing down there.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Weston. I appreciate the opportunity. I really love the work.” He pauses before he hesitantly addresses me. “So…I was going to hang out with Tyler tonight, but…” As he stares at me I somehow feel like that’s my cue.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?” I ask without knowing if it’s all right with Luke and Claire. “Is it ok with you?” I ask Claire, remedying my error. She smiles softly and nods and I turn to Will and wait for his reply.

  “Yeah, that sounds great. Thank you,” he answers, smiling heavenly. As he pulls out his phone and presumably texts Tyler that he won’t be meeting up with him, my heart leaps. Just as quickly as it leaped, it falls flat as I recall Will’s propensity for quick mood changes. I could be on the receiving end of his smile all day, but I don’t know how much more of the swings I can take. After the night at the movies and then on the bridge, I have no clue where I stand with him. One minute he’s making a point to be with me, but in the next he’s doing everything he can to get away. Do I say something to him? Where is this in the rulebook of how to be friends with a guy? I don’t want him to go, so I decide to walk cautiously through the evening waiting for Will’s smiles to turn to frowns. For now I’m happy that Will is here. He could be anywhere else but right now he’s choosing to be here with me. I need him. I need his friendship. I’ll just have to be especially careful so I don’t give him any impression that I have the wrong idea about our friendship. I can’t lose him.