“Maria!”
She jumped as she pulled the latch on her locker. The door flew open and the innards of the overpacked cubby spilled onto the tiles. She scrambled to the floor.
“God, I’m sorry,” Chris Cecil said, kneeling beside her and helping collect the scattered chemistry notes that had slipped from her text book. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s alright,” Maria replied, waving a hand dismissively. She peered up at him, tucking a sheath of hair behind her ear. “I really need to clean that thing out.”
Her mother was always berating her for not following Jake’s neat freak example. Even Devon had been more organized. Her room was a disaster of discarded clothes and open make up containers, her hair dryer, straightener and brushes scattered in front of the mirror that sat on the floor by her bed. Dad had hinted that perhaps she would do better in school if she showed more responsibility with her belongings.
“Yeah me too.” Chris rose to his feet. His eyes drifted over the binder in his hand, his brow furrowing. “You are studying something for West’s class about World War One?”
Maria extended an eager hand for the John Kipling binder in his possession. “Something like that.”
“I had a great uncle or something that died back in 1914 on my father’s side. My grandfather’s family is from England.” He rubbed the back of his thick neck as he handed it over. “He was a lord or something. I don’t know much about it.”
“Cool.” Maria nodded, tucking the binder under her arm and shutting her locker.
Tall and athletic, Chris Cecil played on the lacrosse team. Maria knew nothing about the sport. Her father was a rabid Red Sox fan, so she’d grown up with a glove on her hand. All three of them had played, Jake and Devon in baseball and herself in softball till she’d gotten to high school. Her father had been devastated when she had decided not to go out for the freshman team. She had a good arm according to him and it wasn’t a lie. She could really throw a ball. She wasn’t bad at bat either.
“You know we are changing up lab partners in chemistry class for the last time this semester,” he said, getting right to the point. “I wanted to know if you’d like to be my partner?”
Maria peered up at him in surprise, juggling the binders in her hands as she transferred them to her messenger bag. “Why?”
He laughed at her abrupt reply. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be cool.”
“You know I’m failing that class. You’ve heard Mr. Barnard rail on me enough,” Maria stammered, stunned by his request.
“Yeah but I’m not worried. I’ve got a solid B, so you can’t sabotage my GPA that much.” He smiled and reached out for the two heavy text books she was struggling to grasp. “Where is your next class? Can I walk you there?”
Maria shrugged. “It’s Mr. West’s history.”
“Perfect. Right on my way to English.”
After saying goodbye to Chris at the door, Julie caught a glimpse of him in the hallway as she scooted into the room behind Maria. She hooked arms with her friend as they walked to their seats by the window. “Was Chris Cecil carrying your books for you to class? Like this was 1955?”
Maria sank into the seat, hooking her bag strap over the back of the chair. “Yes. I have no idea where that came from.”
“You know he and Katie Morrison broke up like a month ago, right? She’s going with Kyle Scott to prom,” Julie whispered eyeing red headed Katie in the corner.
“No, I didn’t know that.” Maria gave her a weak grin. “He asked if I wanted to be lab partners with him.”
Julie gasped and shook her friend’s shoulder. “No way! And you know he’s not doing that to get a good grade in the class.”
“Oh gee. Thanks.”
Julie snorted. “I’m just kidding.”
“No, you’re not. But that’s okay because it’s the truth,” Maria conceded.
With this little spark of normalcy, a boy from her own time showing interest in her however vague, Maria felt more at ease than she had in months. At least since the first time she’d gone into that stainless steel room. And certainly, since they had received the news about Devon.
It was nice having a rumor hound for a best friend as well. Julie Dale wasn’t a gossip, but she was a good listener. She’d been the quiet girl for years throughout elementary and middle school till she had learned to fade into the background. Now she had enough secrets on the kids in their class to make a killing if she ever went into blackmail.
“He doesn’t have a date yet for prom either. You could be one of the only freshmen going to prom, other than Katie Morrison, if you play your cards right.”
“Like either of us would know how to play our cards.” Maria laughed at her friend as Mr. West came into the room.
Julie jutted out her jaw in mock frustration and shoved her shoulder before sitting back in her seat. She didn’t argue the point though. Neither was as socially adept as others in their class like Katie and the girls on the dance team. They weren’t bullied, definitely not Maria after Devon’s death. But neither of them was the type of freshman invited to prom. They both had a couple friends, made average grades, and worked backstage on the school play for fun; simply unextraordinary.
Maria tried to ignore the nagging thought that maybe Chris was only reaching out to her because of Devon. Though she wasn’t invited to upperclassmen parties, some of them remembered Devon before he’d graduated. It had become fashionable to say you had been his friend, whether that was true or not.
“To continue our discussion of the Great War, I have found another video on the internet and burned it for you to watch and take notes on.” Mr. West had already earned tenure and had given up on actively teaching, other than to wax poetic about the impending apocalypse following the September 11th attacks. Videos were how he ‘taught’ his classes. “Miss Hart, would you like to go out into the hallway and read an article I printed instead?”
Maria reddened as the class turned and stared at her. It seemed Mrs. Dale had talked to Mr. West following her episode on Monday. She shook her head and opened her notebook, steeling herself in anticipation.
“Very well. Mr. Gomez, please get the lights.”
This video was downright boring. If Maria hadn’t been invested in the subject, she would have zoned out like the rest of the students as the narrator discussed the various ruling families of Europe at the end of the 19th century. As the screen flipped through pictures of the nearly identical cousins King George V of England and Tsar Nicholas II, Maria slipped an envelope out from underneath her history book.
The paper was rich and heavy, much nicer than the dollar store variety she used with her school supplies. Gently unfolding it, she laid it across her notebook and read the swirling handwriting for the umpteenth time. She hid her smile as she scanned the first few nervous lines.
Dear Maria,
I hope you won’t think I’m being forward if I call you by your first name. After all, we are childhood friends of a sort. I received your letter by my sister not two weeks ago. I apologize for not replying sooner. I have been away at school and unable to get home for the holidays.
I heard you slipped onto the Bateman grounds to leave the letters for me and my sister. How very daring of you! You could have been seen! I am most thankful you weren’t. You say that your parents have discovered our secret. I suppose it was only a matter of time. I don’t completely understand the methods by which you are transported, but it sounds like your mother and father are too intimately linked for it to have remained hidden.
I am merely grateful that I may see you again. I apologize that I was not myself the last time we met. I fear I was recovering from a bout with the flu. I must confess, you caught me by surprise with your clothing as well. It seems fashion has changed drastically in ninety years, though I suppose that’s to be expected.
August will be a lovely month for your next visit. It is my birth month, I turn 15 on the seventeenth. My sister says this will be the best birthday present I could receive, though I believe a motorcycle would be as welcome a gift. I’m only joking of course.
I have never been one for expressing my feelings, at least not in the way you do. I believe the eras we have been raised in are very different in that respect. But I cannot tell you how pleased I was to read that you were not ready to say goodbye. Because I am not willing to let you go either. I know only time will tell but for now, I am most thankful for our friendship.
Most sincerely and in thoughtful friendship I remain yours,
John Kipling.
The fluorescent lights turned on in a furious glare. Maria’s head snapped up. She had been reading the letter over and over, lost in her memories of 1912. She’d even managed to block out the reminder that in a matter of three years from that time, John would be dead. There was only his sentiment that he didn’t want to let her go. Though a simple phrase, it was enough to make her forget all about Chris Cecil, her new lab partner.
Julie peeked over her shoulder as they collected their books. “What is that? Is that your handwriting?”
Maria quickly folded it. “Of course not.”
“I was going to say. I barely remember any of our cursive lessons from back in the fourth grade except how to write my own signature.”
Maria got up from her seat. Julie stood a little shorter than her with skinny arms and long legs. She quickly applied a layer of clear lip gloss before following Maria to the door.
“So?”
“So what?” Maria laughed casually, hoping Julie would drop the subject. No such luck.
“Who is it from?”
“Just a friend?”
“What kind of friend writes a letter that nicely? Is he some kind of Renaissance Faire enthusiast?”
Maria cut down an opposite hallway. “I’ll tell you some other time.”
“You’d better!”
Maria huffed out a sigh of relief and decided she would keep John and Bird’s correspondence at home from then on.
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