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  Chapter 7

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  Normally, Clare looked forward to the weekend and this one would include going to the skate rink with her friends, but first was home. Her father’s boss and his wife were joining the family for dinner and that meant clean bathrooms, vacuumed rugs, polished furniture, washed tiles, and dusted curtains. That also meant nice clothes and Clare had plenty to choose from. Her mom, like all mothers, had a different opinion of what was nice. It seemed like a tradition or a ritual for Clare: changing clothes at least five times before it was deemed suitable enough. It had been going on for years and Clare simply expected it now.

  “Just wear the elf dress,” Stella moaned from her friend’s bed across the room as Clare stared dismally into her closet.

  The dress in question was a knee-length navy blue summer dress with silver laces on the back for flare. Clare had made it herself for a cousin’s graduation party and had been dying for an excuse to wear it again. The fabric was heavy and flowed easily, hence the name the girls had given to it.

  “My mom hates it,” Clare sighed, holding the dress up to herself. It was her favorite and any excuse to use it would be welcome. She always felt more positive and alive in the elf dress. It was a shame it was so low on her mother’s expectations for a well-dressed daughter.

  Stella stood up then planted herself in front of Clare’s laptop and scrolled through her many social media threads while she waited. She was subscribed to hundreds of fantasy pages, dance web sites, culture clubs, writer’s blogs, and even some geology scientists and journals.

  “Geez, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Stella laughed. “I don’t know whether to laugh at the moving picture describing plate tectonics or the spell to summon a dragon in ancient Aramaic. Can you read that?”

  Clare huffed from inside her closet. “No, it just sounds cool.”

  “I meant the thing about tectonics,” Stella snickered.

  Just then, a message alert came through on her game site. Stella clicked over to the next tab and was greeted by a big banner that read “Welcome to the Halls of Nolder!” It had been years since Stella had even logged into it. When they had all first met as eight-year-olds, they only had the board game version of this one. It had brought them all together and when they had internet access at last, they had haunted the cyber halls for hours every day together.

  “You keep up with Nolder after all these years? I thought we just played that other game. You know, the one where Al keeps cheating.”

  The words faded as she saw the message was from a Lord Alfred. Quickly making sure Clare was sufficiently trapped in a struggle with a hideous sweater, Stella opened the message.

  “So about skating this weekend,” it started out. “After a couple of hours, I wanna ditch with you and tell you about the colleges I may be getting into. Maybe you can look at them too. I hope you took that email I sent you seriously. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just think it’s time you starting getting your head out of the clouds.”

  If Al was good at anything, he was good at being persistent. Stella had known for years that Al was in love with Clare, but the crazy girl would not give him the time of day. She wanted to focus on school. To Stella, this relationship would only make sense because that’s what Al wanted too. As far as she knew, the dreams were intertwined. Clare was just stubborn.

  “I want to study,” Stella typed back, trying to guess what Al was hinting at.

  A few minutes later his reply appeared. “It’s the weekend. Would it help if I reminded you that Lance said to take the weekend off? It’s no secret that you like him, Claredy-cat.”

  Stella snorted. It was obvious and that was fine with her, personally. She had her eye on Max, whether he liked it or not. As if she had summoned him by her thoughts, another message appeared on her other page. Stella flipped to the other tab and read a note from Max.

  “Lance told me about the skating thing. Sounds fun. Do you want to go out for pizza after? Lance, Alice, and Jeff are good for that if you want to join. I haven’t asked Stella yet though.”

  Stella stared long into Max’s blue eyes on his profile picture. They were unsmiling, but alight with longing. She wondered if Max liked Clare. She’d always feared he was gay like some of the other goth kids at school, but had never bothered to find out. She hoped otherwise. She wanted those eyes to look at her that way.

  “Always with Lance,” Stella typed, hoping to tease him as Clare’s profile. “You know, some people may talk. Hahaha.”

  It was a few minutes before the reply came. “Not funny, Clare. Everyone says I’m gay.”

  About to reply with “Well, are you?” Stella stopped and saw Clare reappear from her closet with an armful of clothes. She grunted as she dropped them and a few pairs of shoes.

  “Was that my messages I heard going off?” she asked Stella, who had closed the whole browser and turned quickly to face her. “I was expecting a few.”

  “Nope,” Stella lied. “Was just looking around on some sites and stuff. So…” She walked over to the pile and began sifting through it. “What do you think of Lance?”

  Clare groaned. “Can we talk about boys later? Like tomorrow? I have to get this over with.”

  A smile crossed Stella’s lips and she began to help her friend again. When they had decided on a few outfits, an angry set of voices carried up the stairs. Her mother and father were arguing again over the leaking refrigerator and the old floor in the kitchen. Something about money, saving up for college tuition, and how they cannot buy nice things with kids still in the house.

  Clare’s face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s always our fault,” she apologized to Stella who was looking a little nervous. “I understand their desire to have nice stuff. They haven’t had any in a while. But the boys are still young. I just wish mom and dad would hold on for a few more years.”

  Stella nodded slowly. “Your parents aren’t the only ones with issues. Don’t worry.”

  Clare watched her friend’s face cloud over as she turned away. The voices downstairs quieted a moment. This was just normal for every household. Right?

  “That’s why I play the game so hard,” Clare explained. “It’s not just an escape. It’s more than that, but it’s hard to explain.”

  Stella gathered her things together and slung her purse over her shoulder. “We all know what the game means to you, Clare. But your parents have a point. We are growing up. You should talk to Al more.”

  Clare frowned in confusion. “What does Al have to do with anything? Growing up? What are you going on about, Stell?”

  Stella sighed and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m going home.”

  As it turned out, the family that was supposed to show up for dinner had car trouble and called to cancel. But since the man was some big time guy in her dad’s company, the family had to make do and offered to come to them. This was, of course, all too acceptable to the other family. So the evening found Clare sitting around a stranger’s table awkwardly with her smiling parents and rambunctious brothers. Her father’s boss never had children.

  “So, Clare, what do you want to do when you graduate?” the boss’s wife asked her with a weird old lady kind of smile.

  Everyone asked that of senior students. If she was paid for her patience every time that or a similar question was asked, she’d never have to apply for scholarships.

  Before Clare could answer, her father stepped in with, “She’s very fond of teaching and geology, right? We’re very enthusiastic about the science.” He met her eyes and smiled.

  “Ah, yes, very promising,” the boss said, sipping his wine like a connoisseur. “There will be good money in that field with oil interest continuing to climb. Would you like to work with the oil company?”

  Clare stared across the table at her father. She was not angry, but she was not amazed at his interjection either. She knew how disappointed he was that she had not yet decided on a college or a career and it was almost the end of September.
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  “I like it,” she said, trying to sound aloof about the subject. “But I like it for the earth, not the money I can make from it. Besides,” she experimented with a meek smile, “I’m almost eighteen. How am I supposed to know what to do with the rest of my life? I’ve hardly lived yet.”

  All the adults laughed at her kindly. A child making a joke about money and life. Tears of anger brimmed her eyes faster than she expected. The meaning behind their laugh was painfully obvious.

  “What I mean is I want to do a lot of things. I just don’t know which one I like more.” She had to keep her voice in check. She was more upset than she should have been.

  “Ah, Clare,” the boss sighed, cutting into his expensive fish. “If I did what I liked, I wouldn’t live in this house with that car.” She humored him with a smile. “Well, I do like making money!” He and his wife shared a laugh at that. “And your father is a great worker too. Do you think he’d be able to support children in this economy with just any job?”

  Clare couldn’t stop herself from speaking now. “I think he’d make do.” The adults all stopped chewing. “There’s a teacher at my school who hates her job even though it pays the bills. She’s not happy.”

  Clare’s father shook his head. He was determined to save himself from his daughter’s radical views. “Happiness is not the point, Clare bear.”

  An old argument with her father boiled up inside her. They had had this conversation before.

  “Then what is?” she asked. “What if all I want to do is inspire other people?”

  “Then I’d tell you to get a real job,” the boss laughed at his own joke before he was even done speaking. She had to escape. “You have to grow up and face the real world sometimes.”

  Trying desperately to smile away the grownup’s words, she stabbed at her peas three times before realizing she was trying to eat the tiny things with a fork. Perhaps a change of tactics.

  “Is there a difference between growing up and maturing?”

  “Not really,” the boss said seriously. “Putting away childish things is key.” He was launching into one of his university lectures, she could tell. “The way you dream as a kid changes as you grow up.”

  “But you still dream,” she added.

  Seeing the conversation was going to pick up momentum, her father cut in with some comment about stocks even though it had nothing to do with his business. Then he babbled over himself instantly with politics. Clare realized she was probably embarrassing him.

  “May I be excused? I want to go and see your property. It’s very nice.”

  She got up from the table before she was excused and rushed out the door. She heard her mother apologizing for her daughter’s behavior and dress as she went out the front door, barefoot.

  She ran down the path that wound around the house until it ended in a gravel one leading into the backyard. She ignored the pinches and stabs in her feet and approached the white fence heading into the little woods serving as the hub of this wealthy neighborhood. Even in man’s attempt to urbanize, they had taken pity on the twenty acres of trees and creek and let it be.

  It wasn’t too dark that she couldn’t see where she was going, but she didn’t know this land and just ran. Her feet were muddy and splashes gradually marred up her legs with forest grime. When she reached a clearing not too far from the creek, she found some moss and flopped down. Her fingers dug into the soft green and the earth gathered under her fingernails. She waited until her panting had subsided then concentrated on the sounds around her. It was simple night sounds, but one rose above the others. A high melancholy howling. The sound echoed over the tops of the trees and water. It wasn’t a wolf howl, that much she knew. It was far more beautiful.

  She sat up and heard the crackle of twigs as someone walked near her. Leaping to her feet, she looked between the trees and saw a man heading in her direction. Their eyes met and he halted a moment in mid-step. She recognized him at once in his old clothes. The worn t-shirt had thrown her off at first.

  “Professor LeGrand?” she called.

  “That is you, Clare,” he sighed. “I wasn’t sure at first.”

  He walked up to her, a walking stick in one hand and a camera around his neck. He was wearing old jeans and a Guns ’n Roses shirt from an original concert. His long hair was down for the evening walk.

  “I didn’t know teachers did cool stuff,” Clare said, pointing to his camera. “What are you looking for?”

  LeGrand smirked and studied the branches above. “I do cool stuff all the time.”

  Just then, the melancholy howl echoed throughout the woods. Clare spun around to look.

  “I’m looking for him,” LeGrand said. “And please, I know it’s weird, but when we’re not in the classroom, call me Alexander. Or Alex. Whichever.”

  It was weird to Clare. She’d been taught to respect authority her whole life. Especially school teachers. But this private school was different from the public middle school she’d gone to.

  “What is making that sound?” she asked, following him as he picked his way through the bramble toward a lake she had not seen before.

  “I’ll show you,” he whispered as they broke through the trees.

  Below them was the lake. Probably one hundred years ago it had been a quarry, but now it was filled with water and they could look down on it about thirty feet from the rocky cliff face. A few miles beyond the lake, she could see the brown patch that had once been her ranger’s fort and campground. It was far away, but visible. The memory of falling came back to her. Gwen’s hand taking hers. The little angry elf’s wide black eyes. The dragon’s claws.

  “Wow, someone has a lot on her mind,” Alexander mused, squinting up his face as he aimed his camera. He snapped a shot and held the screen out for Clare to see. On the glowing visual was a plain looking duck floating on the water.

  Clare looked down and saw it. “He’s cute,” she said.

  While she watched, the duck threw his head back and howled. The melancholy call erupted from him and echoed around the quarry, up to them, and then out over the woods. Clare gasped.

  “Exactly,” Alexander said. “Not what you expected, was it?”

  Clare shook her head, grinning wildly. “I had no idea what could make that noise. But it’s just a duck!”

  “Not a duck,” he corrected her. “This guy is called a loon. Just a common loon though.”

  A giggle was prompted by the name and he joined her. “Yes, crazy,” he agreed. “But doesn’t it make it better that he’s just a duck? When something like that makes such a beautiful sound, you have to ask yourself, ‘Why do you sing like that, duck?’”

  Clare glanced over at her eccentric history teacher. “Why is he calling like that?”

  Alexander sat back against a rock and put his hands in his pockets, studying the floating loon. He sighed. “He’s saying to his mate, ‘where are you?’ He’s waiting for her to call back.”

  The conversation had suddenly taken on a tragic and romantic turn. Wanting to see what would happen, Clare took a few quick steps closer to the edge to look over.

  “Where is she?” she asked, her face screwed up in wonder. “Is she…?”

  Alexander didn’t reply. He waited and so did Clare.

  This was her life. Calling and waiting. Was her call as sad as the loon’s? Did the loon even know if his mate was out there? If not, would he just call and call, waiting forever?

  Clare relaxed back onto her knees when nothing answered the sad wail. How depressing.

  “I’ve never had a mentor.” She closed her eyes in frustration. More and more she had been speaking out of turn. “Not that you care, of course,” she tried to recover. “Just thought you should understand my lack of authority in life in case I do something really dumb some day.”

  Alexander shrugged and smiled. “Some of us never get mentors or proper adult figures to look up to. My brothers and I didn’t. But that’s memoir-fodder.” His tone was casual. He was honest
ly not judging her. This put her at great ease.

  From out of the trees, a longer, louder wale came! The loon turned around on the lake and faced the woods again. He howled loudly in the other direction. A few breathless moments later, the second howl came. In the blink of an eye, a second loon flapped out of the woods and landed with an elegant splash next to her mate.

  Clare smiled. She pushed herself up and joined Alexander on the rock where he was reviewing his images.

  “I hate these new cameras,” he grumbled. “But they do allow me to take more pictures and better ones than I ever could have imagined. But I get so turned around on them.”

  “I didn’t know you took pictures,” Clare said, leaning over to see. “I thought all you did was weird history.”

  “You like my weird history,” he reminded her, cocking his eyebrow.

  She smiled and nodded before returning back to her contemplative state. Alexander noticed.

  “So, what brings an elf maid such as yourself out here on this cool evening? You don’t live around here, am I right?”

  A short sigh escaped Clare. She was angry at her parents, her dad’s boss, the city for tearing up Sun Age, and herself for not knowing what she ought to do at her age. In truth, a lot of things brought her out here.

  “I don’t know what to do with my life,” she said. “But it’s not just that. I have friends and parents, but I feel so lost.”

  He nodded and put his camera down. “Do you have any ideas?

  “Yes, tons! I just don’t know which ones to do and which ones will get me ridiculed. I’m so scared of what people think of me.”

  “That should be the least of your worries,” he said forcefully. “Here, let’s pretend I’m your mentor for a moment.” He faced her. “What you are good at and what you want to do are what matters. There a million and one ways to make money and a living. If what you love happens to do that, then good for you. If not and you still really want to avoid a lifetime commitment, then do it and find another way to make money on the side. But not one that disturbs your life and happiness. If what you want has a good effect on you, it’s the right thing.”