When Casey was Fourteen

by LQ Aredhel

When Casey was fourteen, she met a new kid. Until his arrival, Casey sat alone in English class and drama class (as well as her other five classes, but those were infinitely less substantial to her). She spoke, on occasion and only momentarily, with her English teacher and performed all drama requirements with ease and ability. After his arrival, however, and after his constant repetition of the word “why,” Casey’s true and steady lifestyle began to twist without informing her.

“Why do you only talk to Mr. Randolph?” David would ask her. “Why don’t you have any friends?” “Why do you write in your notebook so much?” “Why do you watch everyone like that?”

After each question, Casey gave the only answer she could possibly supply: a look of perplexity that far surpassed that of the-new-kid-David. She would then turn away from the sandy-blonde boy and discretely scribble the questions into her notebook, prepared to ponder them later.

At one point in time indistinguishable from most any other, David began to accompany Casey to Mr. Randolph’s English class. He asked more questions in a way that was less like prodding and more like a light tap on the shoulder. He seemed unbearably curious of her, and it was obvious that her peculiar glances were doing nothing to sate him. However, despite all the interest he showed before and during English class, Casey never saw him outside of that defined time. Casey wrote this in her notebook.

The questions pouring in from the new kid changed form as the weeks passed.

“How do you do so well in this class if you write the entire time?”

“Do you talk a lot in other classes so that you don’t have to talk in this one at all?”

“Am I bothering you?”

The last question greatly relieved Casey; it was finally one she could answer.

“No,” she replied earnestly. “You’re not bothering me.”

The new kid widened his pale blue eyes. Then he smiled. “That’s good.”

The rest of David’s questions were listed on a clean piece of paper in the back of her notebook. They went over everything from her relationships with her teachers to her clothes to the dozens concerning the notebook itself. Looking over them one night at home, Casey found herself asking questions back. Why did he want to know all of this? Why had the new kid suddenly taken such an interest in her, and what was she supposed to do about it?

As always, she took her questions to her mother.

“He probably has a crush on you, honey,” Mrs. Kidman told her, setting aside for a moment a sink of soapy dishes. “Didn’t I tell you it always pays to be yourself?”

“But what am I supposed to do about it?” Casey asked, feeling slightly nauseous.

“Just tell him you like him back.”

“But I don’t.”

“Then tell him you don’t like him and to leave you alone.”

“That doesn’t sound much better.” Mrs. Kidman smiled and returned to the soapy dishes without replying. “What, those are my only options?”

“Casey,” her mom paused her scrubbing and looked her in the eye. “Just be honest and be yourself. That way, nothing can go wrong.”

Casey was good at being herself; but, she had to admit, she was very good at being other people as well. Having been casted in a dozen plays before even entering high school, she knew well what it was like to pretend to be someone else. The characters she played were simple; they were happy, angry, or sad, and their reactions were written clearly in the scripts. It was child’s play to portray an emotion when all the motivations were right there in front of her. When she joined the high school’s drama class, she noted slight changes in the attitudes of the other actors; suddenly talent meant far less than connections and social status. Certain groups of people were simply going to get the lead roles, and everyone else outside of said group was an extra or a stagehand.

Thus monologues became Casey’s calling, as it was the only assignment that required just one person. She would perform her piece, receive critique from the teacher, and exit the stage hardly noticing the silent awe that filled the room.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” David asked casually one morning in English class.

Casey settled him with a stare. The question had made her mind instantly start spinning around the possibilities. As an adult…what would she do? It had been asked a thousand times by teachers in nearly every class she’d taken, but now the new kid wanted to know. It seemed important to tell him.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. David raised his eyebrows in surprise. What did she want to do? Something she was good at. Acting? Writing down questions in her notebook?

Her mouth closed. Once again, she had no answer.

David didn’t seem put off by this at all. With a pleasant smile he asked what she was doing after school.

“Going home,” Casey replied.

“Since you’re finished with your homework,” David began, “would you help me with mine? I’m going to the library to work on it.”

She slowly opened her notebook. “All right,” she answered cautiously without looking up. From the corner of her eye she watched as David turned back to his work. Casey scribbled furiously into her notebook.

What was it about this boy that made her want to talk to him? Why did she care so much that his questions receive answers? Her thoughts rambled on in the back of her head throughout the rest of the day, and after school she grabbed her English book and sat in the library at a table hidden behind shelves. David arrived moments later looking exhausted and disheveled. Casey narrowed her eyes at his appearance, curious but not even thinking to ask about it.

The-new-kid took his place across the table from her and pulled a book from his bag. After taking a minute to lean back and catch his breath, he smiled and began his asking. This time, though, all of his questions were about their grammar homework, and Casey felt herself at ease in his presence. After some discussion, the two freshmen quieted. David worked away at his assignment, and Casey pulled out a mystery novel, leaning heavily against the back of her chair and ignoring the corners of her mouth as they pulled into a smile.

The-new-kid David had trouble remembering rules for grammar. Every day during English class he would listen closely and at the end of the class he would turn to Casey and ask her to help him after school. It was possible, Casey thought, that the teacher moved too quickly through the lessons, and David needed more time to process each piece. She explained the day’s lesson at the hidden table in the library, and David understood.

At first, her developing friendship with the new kid was something Casey thought best not to talk to her parents about, especially her mother. While she’d never really kept a secret from them, their last conversation about David having a crush on her instilled a wedge between Casey and her mother. After a week of after school study sessions, though, Casey finally told her mother about them.

“I think it’s romantic,” her mother said.

Thus the presence of the wedge had been justified.

From the table across the room, her father looked over his news paper. “If you tutor younger kids through the school,” he said, “then you could use it on your transcript to get into college.” The older, dark-haired man smiled. “Not that you need it, honey.”

Casey sat at a stool in front of the counter and between her mother and father. “It’s nothing like that,” she explained. “He’s just…my friend, I guess.” Her parents simply smiled at this.

At one point, her mother asked her what other classes David took, and what his hobbies were. She had no answer. The next day after school, she asked him a question for the first time. He looked surprised but not unhappy.

“Where do you go after this?” she asked lightly.

David smiled and lowered his pencil. “I have soccer practice every day at four.”

“You play soccer,” she stated, letting the idea float around in her head for a moment.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been playing every since elementary school. It’s kind of been my dream to go pro, but it’s tough.”

Thinking back on it later, Casey was amazed that she could gain so much information from one question. She now knew not only one of his hobbies, but one of his dreams as well. She wrote this in her notebook.

As she was walking along to English class the next week, Casey was surprised to find that David was not by her side. Just before she arrived at class, she spotted his sandy-blonde hair down the hall standing next to a locker. He was laughing and chatting with a shorter, black-haired boy. Casey raised a brow and entered the classroom.

Well, that’s that, she decided while pulling out her textbook and dropping it onto her desk. David finally found other friends. He was without them for a while because he was new, so he talked to Casey to make up for it. Now she could go back to her normal, quiet high school life of being content to be ignored.

David entered the classroom just before the bell rang and took his normal seat next to Casey. There was no time for random questions before class: the lesson began immediately. Afterwards, David leaned over to her desk. His face was helpless, confused. He smiled half-heartedly and asked, “Are you busy after school today?”

Casey shook her head. “I’ll be there.” His smile became a real one and he gathered his things into his bag. Casey did the same, a small smile growing on her own lips.

Over the next few days, Casey frequently spotted David in the hallways with the black-haired boy, and sometimes another boy and a girl, but he never again missed walking with her to English class.

Their after school study sessions continued as well, though David sometimes left early when his soccer practice was at three instead of four. Casey soon realized that David was asking her fewer and fewer questions. In fact, the two freshmen spent the majority of their time together either talking about grammar or in silence. Casey was enjoying herself, and she most enjoyed glancing up from her novel to see David’s dark lashes fluttering over a page of work, brows furrowed in concentration.

In November, the drama class performed a selection of skits and monologues for the parents and classmates of the students. Casey chose the short, poetic monologue of a Southern woman escaping her physically abusive husband only to find herself living with her emotionally abusive sister. Casey felt no anxiety on stage and the piece was performed flawlessly. After the show, a grinning David made his way through the crowd, three friends in tow, to her and congratulated her.

David introduced his friends to Casey as Jess, Keith and Nico. “Keith and Nico are on the soccer team with me,” David explained, the grin still in place.

Casey nodded, debating whether or not to make her face look interested. She gave in and smiled. A small “hi,” though, was all that came out of her.

The subject somehow flowed smoothly and quickly away from her performance and onto music. Keith had “scored” two backstage passes to a Killers concert; Jess and Nico goofed carefully about competing for them, but Casey noticed that they both stood close at either side of Keith even as other audience members made their way around them. David realized they were blocking an aisle, and the five of them moved to the sidewalk outside.

Jess looked down at her watch. “It’s only eight. We can still make it to the Black Cat if we leave now.” She looked pointedly at David.

The sandy-blonde boy looked to Casey. “Do you want to come with us? Meister is playing at nine, it should be really cool.”

Casey blinked. In her left eye she saw David. In her right eye, she saw Jess, Nico, and Keith. Images of a dark place and blurry faces crossed her mind, and she shook her head.

David nodded, pressing his lips together. “I’ll see you at school Monday.” They left and Casey walked the opposite way, towards her parents’ car.

Casey saw David on Monday, and tutored him after school. Nothing had changed, except she now noticed the faces of his three friends in the halls. They usually didn’t see her. David never again invited her to do anything except tutor him in the library. So she was content.

One Friday in the library, only a few weeks after the drama class’s performances, David surprised Casey by breaking the usual silence.

“I’m moving,” he told her, “to Pittsburg with my dad.” He packed his English book away. “I’m leaving on Sunday. I told everyone else last week, but…” he trailed off. David stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. Casey remained in her seat. “I wasn’t really sure how to tell you, so there it is. Thanks for the grammar help.” She still hadn’t moved. David chuckled nervously. “I guess I’ll never see what’s in that notebook, huh?”

Without a second thought, Casey slid the notebook across the table to him. David stared down at it, and the silence was different from before. Finally, he said, “Bye, Casey,” and was gone. The notebook remained at the end of the table.