Chapter 2
Strolling down the wider of two aisles in the school's greenhouse, I study the plethora of flowerless plants while I wait for Anthony to arrive. My fingers grace the tips of some dark green leaves. How can anyone tell the difference between these plants? They all look the same to me. I pull off my button-up shirt, preparing to weed.
Today turned out quite satisfactory for me, though kind of creepy. My mom was right about that Savannah would come and apologize to me, but what I hadn't expected was how apologetic she'd actually be. I laugh to myself as I remember what happened.
"Sonia, I'm so very sorry about yesterday," Savannah said, approaching my old beat-up, still garlic-reeking locker. "And all the other times, I just feel horrible. I don't know what came over me, and I don't even remember why I've been so rude to you all year. You're one of the sweetest, most beautiful girls in school and all I can figure is that I was extremely jealous of you. Will you forgive me—please?"
"Sure, Savannah, I'll forgive you. No worries." I started to step away, smiling, feeling like I was walking on air.
Savannah moved in front of me, clenching my hands in hers. "I've also told Principal Jenkins that it was all my fault. I...I hope that was okay with you," she said, her eyes sincere and pleading.
"Uh... great."
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked.
"No, not that I can think of," I said as I pulled my hands out of her grasp and started to walk away.
"Well, if there is anything I can do, you'd tell me, right?" Savannah followed me down the hallway, causing many of the other students to stop and stare. I don't know if it was more embarrassing or exhilarating.
"Yes, of course," I said, thinking that this new Savannah was almost worse than the old one. I finally got rid of her when I went to my social studies class, but at lunch, she approached me again.
"Please let me buy you lunch," she said in the food line. "And can I sit by you?" Her request was filled with desperation for my approval. "I'd be honored."
I tried to stifle a laugh and Ashley became speechless—something I thought was impossible.
"What did you do to Savannah?" Ashley asked, once we had successfully dumped her.
"I don't know. Maybe Principal Jenkins talked to her or something," I said, shrugging my shoulders. What was there to say anyway? I haven't told Ashley about my strange ability, mainly because I don't want my friends to think I'm a freak, which I kind of am. "Hey, your highlights look amazing by the way," I said, trying to distract her. Usually her hair is dark brown, but now—sun-kissed—it brought out the golden hue in her hazel eyes.
Before the last period, stalker Savannah approached me again. "Can I help carry your backpack? Oh, and I bought you some chocolate, but then I realized I didn't know what your favorite brand was so I picked out a few." She handed me a bag filled to the brim.
"The best thing you can do is to just ignore me, okay?" I snapped. Immediately after I said it, I felt bad. "I'm sorry. I just would like for you to go live your life and be happy. I'm not mad at you, I promise."
"Okay, I'll ignore you until you say so—no problem." Savannah walked off, her eyes pining after me.
I laugh a little again at the memory, though deep inside, I wish I had handled it better. I don't want to be mean, not even to Savannah, though it did feel really good getting back at her for how nasty she's been to me.
Bushes and short trees line the center of the glasshouse. Flowers and smaller plants run along the outer edges and sit in wood containers on top of wooden risers. It smells of musty, old earth, and it looks as if the glass walls and ceiling haven't been cleaned in decades. I'm still annoyed that I have to fulfill my punishment, even after Savannah went and explained to Principal Jenkins that it was all her fault.
Then a thought flashes through my mind. Maybe I could get Savannah to take this punishment for me. No one needs to know, and I'm sure Savannah wouldn't tell a soul and would be thrilled to do me a favor. It would also help me feel a whole lot better about all the mean things she has done to me in the past.
The greenhouse is hot and humid, but I never sweat. I'm glad I have never needed to worry about deodorants or smelling fresh. Then again, I wonder if me not sweating has something to do with being different.
"Are you Sonia?" I hear a deep voice ask from behind me.
I turn toward the young man who startled me. His light blue eyes immediately catch my attention. They are intense, yet kind, and his gaze stuns me so much that I forget to breathe.
"Yes," I say, taken aback, holding my hand out so he can shake it. Then I realize he's carrying two large terra cotta pots, one in each arm. "Sorry." My face warms and then butterflies flutter in my stomach. Guys don't usually have this effect on me—actually, no guy ever has had this sort of effect on me. But there's something distinctly different about him, and his narrow eyes and deep voice draw me in. I wonder why I've never met him before. He's around my age, so surely he must be a junior or a senior, and even if he graduated last year, I would definitely have noticed him—and all the other girls in school for that matter. For a moment, I struggle to find something intelligent to say.
He sets the pots down onto the ground, his forearms muscular and tan. "No problem, I'm Anthony." He wipes his dirt-covered hands on his faded jeans and shakes my hand. "I hear you'll be helping me over the next ten days for an hour a day?" He runs his fingers through his blond, wavy hair.
"Uh...yes, that would be me," I say, hoping he doesn't know exactly why I've been sent to help him. That would be embarrassing.
Anthony cocks his head to the side, his eyes scanning my face as if he's trying to read me. "You don't seem like a rebel."
I cringe inwardly. "What do you mean?" I ask, even though I know exactly what he means, and from his comment, I suspect that he knows what I did to get sentenced to work here.
"I'll spare you," he says with a smile. "Let's get started, shall we? Follow me." Anthony heads toward the exit of the greenhouse.
I'll spare you? His statement is rather rude, even though he said it in the sweetest way. Walking behind him, I can't help but check him out. I laugh silently at myself because I never, ever check guys out. Ashley thinks there's something wrong with me, but I just chalk it up to never having met the right guy. Anthony's loose jeans cover what I think looks like strong legs and a firm behind, and his white and red Liverpool t-shirt hugs his chest and broad shoulders.
"Did Principal Jenkins tell you what you'd be doing today?" he asks without turning around to look at me.
"Yes, of course," I say, slightly annoyed, and definitely not wanting to discuss anything about the humiliating meeting with someone I just met.
"Well, you're not dressed suitably for weeding," he says, almost mockingly.
Immediately on the defensive, I say, "Why do you say that?" I think I've done an excellent job in choosing a comfortable and appropriate ensemble to do all the dirty work in: jean shorts and a tank top.
With an abrupt motion, Anthony swivels around and comes closer. "You'll be crawling a lot, so you'll want long pants made of thin cotton or linen. If you wear shorts," he eyes my shorts and frowns, "the bugs are going to eat you alive and the skin on your knees will become all scuffed up. Do you have a sun hat? Or sun screen?"
"No." I wouldn't need either because oddly enough, I never burn.
"And you're going to get sunburned." He rolls his eyes.
My blood boils. "No I'm not. I never burn," I say dryly.
He grabs my arm, startling me again, and examines it. "Let go of me!"
"You're as pale as an albino," he sneers.
"I adapt well to the...sun." I pull my arm back forcefully. Who does this guy think he is? He seems like—no—he is the gardener from hell.
Anthony opens the squeaky glass door. "If you'd like, you can start tomorrow when you have the appropriate attire." He walks out and the door slams shut behind him.
I'm ticked off that he doesn't even show me the decency of holding the door. Flinging it open, I follow after him. "No." I march up behind him. "I'll be fine and I want to start today so I can get it over with as quickly as possible."
Anthony picks up a few rusty gardening tools. "Suit yourself." He continues across the large grass field behind the school, and then skirts around to the building's northern brick wall.
It's difficult keeping up with his fast pace. "Do you always run to your destinations?" I breathe heavily.
"I'm not running. I'm just in a hurry to get this done so I can catch my soccer game."
"Soccer?"
"Yeah, you know where they kick the ball with their feet and—"
I interrupt him. "I know what soccer is." Why is he acting so condescending toward me? I just met him and I've been nothing but nice. I can't see his face, but I get the feeling he's rolling his eyes at me.
"Many girls your type don't, and I doubt you really know anything about the sport," he says, still moving at an unusually fast pace.
"You never walk alone!" I shout.
Anthony stops dead in his tracks, swivels around and glares at me with a puzzled expression. "What did you say?"
"You never walk alone," I repeat, clearly articulating every word. 'You never walk alone' is Liverpool Football Club's slogan.
"How did you know that?" Although shocked, a shadow of a smile emerges on his lips.
I'm proud that I actually know something about soccer, and that judging from the shirt he's wearing, Liverpool is probably about Anthony's favorite team. "My dad's favorite soccer team was Liverpool."
He narrows his eyes and steps in my direction. His presence is daunting, leaving me suddenly breathless, so I lean back a little.
"Doesn't he support them anymore?" he asks.
"Why would you think that?" My defenses are at their peak. He can mess with me, but not my dad.
"You said 'was,' right?"
"Oh." I don't really want to share with Anthony the details of my life, especially since he's been acting like an idiot, but despite my better judgment, I decide to answer anyway. "No, my dad passed away about a year and a half ago." I try not to get emotional. That would be the most awkward thing to have happen, and I don't want to give Anthony any more reasons to think less of me.
His firm expression melts into a compassionate one. "I'm sorry to hear that." He starts walking again at a slower pace.
"It's okay, I'm almost used to it now," I say in an attempt to snap him out of his suddenly melancholic state. His mood swings are exhausting to keep up with, and I have barely even spent fifteen minutes with him.
"That's what you think you ought to say, isn't it? That's what I used to say to myself for a long time," he says.
"Did your dad die, too?" I regret that I judged him so harshly.
"No," he says.
Now I'm thoroughly confused. First Anthony seems kind, then rude, then he's a complete jerk, and now he's relating to me without having something to even relate to? No wonder I've never met him before—Principal Jenkins probably keeps Anthony locked up in the greenhouse so he can keep the crazy gardener away from good students and use him to punish students who have strayed from the straight and narrow.
As we come around the corner to the western side of the building, the sun blinds us. "My father abandoned my mother when I was young." Anthony's voice softens considerably.
Fluctuating between defensiveness and guilt, I feel like I'm on a roller-coaster ride. "I'm sorry, I guess it's kind of the same as my dad." I hold my arm up to block the sun.
He cracks a sideways smile. "Kind of." He looks so much more approachable with a smile on his face—almost kind.
"So, are you a senior?" I ask.
"Yes."
"I thought I knew all the seniors at Sarasota High."
"Apparently not," he says.
I don't like how vague he's being especially since there's so much vagueness in my life already. That's one of the reasons I like Ashley so much. She always speaks her mind so I know where I am with her, but with Anthony, it's as if he's trying to dodge every question I ask, and vagueness coupled with the few rude remarks he's been throwing at me, makes me not want to be around him.
We stop in front of the school. "This is where all the weeds are." He gestures to the entire front side of the red brick building. Four royal palm trees stand on either side of the oak front doors, and plants that looks like weeds blanket the beds below them.
"They go on for miles!" I say—exaggerating—but only slightly. "It's going to take way more than ten hours to get rid of them all." I hadn't noticed how overgrown the front of the school actually looks, as I always park and enter in the back.
"Well, you're welcome to work for more than ten hours. Do you know which ones are the weeds and which ones aren't?" he asks.
I make an apologetic face. "Not really, they all look like weeds to me."
Anthony laughs, shaking his head, his hair catching the afternoon sunlight. "So I guess I'll need to teach you the difference between weeds and flowers."
"Yes, definitely, or you can just tell Principal Jenkins that I'm a complete waste of time and that it would be best if I didn't weed with you."
"Ha, ha, ha," he says sarcastically. "Nice try, but we need these weeds out by the end of the year, and it's your duty now, too."
I frown, the burden of responsibility descending on my narrow shoulders. I could always get Savannah to take over for me. I smile. But something tells me I should give it a few days before I decide, at least until I have Anthony figured out a little more.
* * *
I get home at 6:56 p.m., nearly two and a half hours after school ended. As soon as I begin a project, I have a hard time stopping, but after Anthony left at 6:30 p.m., I wasn't going to continue on alone. I figure it will take me at least ten more, three-and-a-half hour days if I am to complete the project with Anthony's help.
Anthony weeded on the opposite side of the school the entire time, making conversation with him impossible, and the only communication after that was to exchange phone numbers.
"Just in case I need to reach you in an emergency," he said and then he ran off to soccer practice.
My mom's SUV stands in the garage when I get home. I park my dad's silver Jetta in the driveway, unlock the stained glass front door and take a left into my room. Anthony was right about a few things; my knees feel raw from all the digging and crawling; and though my skin didn't burn from the sun—he was wrong about that—it would have been nice to have a wide-brimmed hat to keep the bright sun out of my eyes.
"Mom?" I yell as I head for the kitchen.
"I'm in here," she hollers from her bedroom.
I adjust my course and walk through the living room into the master bedroom. Sitting down on the king-sized four-post bed, I sigh. "Any news on your sister?" I ask gently.
"No, not yet." Her face falls and tears glaze her eyes. Heaps of neatly folded clothes stand in piles on top of the ocean blue duvet. She folds a towel.
"I'm sorry," I offer.
She gives me a soft smile. "What about you? You look exhausted."
I lean back, letting myself fall into the soft bed. "I am exhausted—and look at my knees." I lift one knee up and reveal the scratches and bruises on it and after that show her my blistered hands.
"Looks like you worked hard today." She moves on to matching the socks up. "If you keep this pace up, you'll be done with your commitment in no time." She smiles.
"Well...I might just stick with it until the job is finished," I mumble.
"Really? I thought you said you had too much homework and that you have to study for your finals."
"I do, but I'll be careful to manage my time," I say. "Besides, it's nice to be able to contribute to my school, right?"
"Is there something you're not telling me?" One eyebrow arches way up to her forehead.
"No," I say, because there's truly nothing to tell—yet—at least. Ever since the no-kissing lecture, my parents have forbidden me from having a boyfriend, and so far it hasn't been a problem. But I know if I even hint that I found Anthony slightly attractive, I'd get another talking-to.
"The reason you're not allowed to kiss anyone before you turn eighteen," my dad said once, "is that you'll never get rid of him and if you're not one hundred and ten percent sure about whether or not you want the guy around for eternity, don't kiss him. He'll follow you to the ends of the Earth and beyond, and you'll be sorry." I believed him then and I believe him now.
"I promise, if there was something to tell, I'd let you know right away," I say. At least I think I would.