Olivia's Field

Olivia’s Field

By Kari Ann Ramadorai

Copyright 2013

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Angel, who wrote me a story, too.

Table of contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Afterward

About the Author

Chapter 1

Normally I’d have gone the extra three blocks around the private property that sat between my house and school. But the lot’s fence had disappeared late last week, and no one had staked a claim yet. Not even a for-sale sign graced the curb. I could see Howard Avenue over the high grass, so close and forever away. To be on time for math tutoring, I risked the short cut through the newly exposed, trash littered field.

Exhaustion teared my eyes. I’d given my all in a volleyball scrimmage with Sacred Heart this afternoon, so my thighs shook as I ran. Still, I dodged the trash around the edges of the lot to make my math lesson at Mrs. Campbell’s house.

Long dandelion stalks slapped my knees. I dodged rocks and suspicious piles of I-didn’t-want-to-know-what in the grass. Thankfully, the center of the field was clean. I lengthened my stride, confident of getting in a shower if I kept this pace.

My foot slipped on a rotting pumpkin.

Yup. I’d tripped on a vegetable.

I kept from falling face first with my hands.

Muscles honed through sports didn’t hurt one bit.

Nice, I said.

OK. Some people chewed their nails, some pulled their eyebrows. I spoke to thin air. Sue me. Well, don’t. I’m in high school, and my parents don’t make that much. Momentum lost, and truly embarrassed for talking to myself, I slowed to a walk a block from my house.

My parents said that this area had been affluent several generations ago. Like big-houses-with-servants type of wealth. This field was all that was left of one of those houses. About six houses' worth of land and lawn, but now that I was inside, I could see it was much bigger than a lot. Three gargantuan trees stood to the East. Weed-infested gravel paths wove through the grass.

Overgrown bushes reached toward me from all sides. One bush, a lilac near Front Street, was enormous. I hadn’t seen it over the fence last week, but now that I was here, I could tell it was older than my own house. The lilacs smelled amazing. There were also a couple rose bushes with branches so wide that they were trees themselves.

Dad said I never stopped to smell the roses. Ha. I smelled the flowers as I passed, though there weren’t any roses this time of year.

Weird.

Turning left, a field of long grass in full seed waved in the waning light. I didn’t know crabgrass from lettuce, but the huge flowers on the other side of the gravel path didn’t look like weeds.

Boulders settled at a crossroad, inviting me to stay with them a while. I wanted to stay, too, let me tell you. Everywhere, warmth radiated from the foliage. I inhaled the sunlight, smelling green things on the air. I closed my eyes and basked in the warmth and growth. This field felt like summer: sparkly and lazy. At the same time, it was Mom’s cocoa on a winter after noon.

It was everything I wanted, every place I needed. I’d be comfortable here.

The sun set behind the three story building next door, leaving a glow over the cedar trees and nothing on the ground. I hopped onto a boulder to breathe the last of the day.

A rectangle that might have been the house’s foundation stood nearby. I jumped down and walked through the field toward it. This area that had no vegetation. A hand wide emptiness patterned the ground.

I whispered, This must have been a beautiful place, once.

My voice broke the spell.

Something moved by the trees. I felt it move, like I’d have felt an earthquake. The hairs on my arm stood up, just on that side.

It must have been a bird, I told myself. Finally remembering to keep my thoughts private.

I scanned the field, but I was alone except for grass and trees. There was a feeling in my chest, though. A warm, glow-y belief-y feeling telling me that I needed to stop moving.

If I stayed, I’d stop obsessing about grades and college. My future could be here. No worries.

I reached down, needing to touch that loamy, sweet earth. Nothing else for it. Kneeling, wet my socks and got my knees dirty, but right now I was beyond noticing. I took a deep breath and put my hand on the empty strip of dirt. I felt sucked into the field.

Life was better here. I’d stay here a while longer.

I stepped over grass, moss and mushrooms to reach the cedars. The trees were too big to be very close. They occupied the east side of the field in a rough triangle. I stepped between them, leaving grass and field behind.

The bark felt rough and left red dust on my fingers. Touching it, a spark reached into my heart, arching from someplace inside that warm tree and hitting me in the chest like electricity.

I had all the feels.

I’d never leave.

The bark’s special, earthy smell made me smile. I inhaled the cedar spice, and pulled it deep into my lungs. My hand trailed over the gnarls and flaking bark. I walked all the way around the trunk.

On my second pass, I found a face. My science teacher’d told us a few weeks ago that humans find faces in nature because we need to recognize our mothers without knowing our parents. Maybe that was me, a kid looking for a connection in nature? I was like an ancient person looking at a constellation. I saw a person in the tree the way someone looking at the sky a thousand years ago saw a lion in the stars.

This mattered.

This place,

this tree,

mattered.

Shivering at the thought of a person inside the tree, I touched its nose. It crumbled on me. Bits of bark came off under my finger, desecrating the perfect image. I blew them away.

I looked for a face on the next tree.

There had to be one. I couldn’t see under the branches without getting close. No face, but the cedar was more interesting. It felt warmer, smelled stronger. I needed to touch it.

I put my arms around it.

Look at me, the tree hugger. I laughed at my own joke.

OK. I do that too.

This tree was a rougher cedar, but it was that rough feeling you got from peppermint bark: you wanted more while your mouth was still full.

I wanted to see that last tree, the one closest to Front Street, too, but that would have meant leaving the ceder I’d pressed myself against.

I couldn’t do that.

I leaned closer, squinting to see a face on the last tree, hating the idea of letting go of the one I had. It was too dark to see the last tree. It couldn’t possibly be as nice.

That was when it hit me.

The sun was down.

I’d lost track of time. Somehow, I pulled myself away from the cedar tree.

I ran through the empty lot, hurtling over rocks and keeping an eye out for sneak attack vegetables.

Dandelions painted my knees yellow. I ran through the high weeds anyway. Who even knew that there were dandelions around in November? It must have been because it was so warm in this field.

Mrs. Campbell’s gonna kill me, I said.

Mrs. Campbell’s late policy was straightforward. She spent the time she had to wait for me picking out problems from my previous lessons. I would have to do them before we started today’s lesson, to remind me what I needed to know. She said it also prompted me to use my manners. Then I’d have to do all the odd numbered problems from school on top of this week’s assignment. More work was enough to make me pick up the pace, exhaustion or no. Mrs. Campbell was sweet, really. All I had to do was stay on her good side.

I reached the sidewalk at a sprint. I’d have to skip my shower and turn in an unfinished lesson, and I smelled like practice, all sweaty and gross.

I drudged toward Howard Avenue with the ground sucking at my shoes. Pink clouds caught the last of today’s sunlight far away, making my street feel even darker.

Dad lounged outside, waiting with my books. He yelled, You’re late, Olivia! while I was still half a block away. He was an elementary school teacher, so he was always home for my brother and me. He was the teacher the kids wanted to hang out with after class, so he knew every family in town, and I was unlikely to get a date. Ever.

He had a good feel for what was going on with people on our street, too. I guessed that was why he sat on the steps. Dad was getting the vibe, way too often.

I pretended I didn’t hear him. This far away, it might have worked, but I reached him in no time flat. Thanks. I’ll be back in an hour and a half or so, I said.

Hey, got time for a game tonight? I’ve been reading up. Strategy, my girl. He tapped his head. He actually talked like that.

Frustration, thy name is parent. I said, Lots of homework, probably no time for chess tonight. He put his chin out over the steps. I knew that look. I’d been getting it since I could toddle. I stink right now, I whined.

I can handle it, he said. Crazy hippie gone parent. Really, he was the son of some crazy hippies and had never left his roots. I didn’t think he’d ever left this neighborhood. I’d never live like that.

I flew back up the steps and gave Dad his obligatory cheek kiss then hurtled down the cracked pavement. Mrs. Campbell lived eleven houses down Howard Avenue from me, back past the empty lot. There wasn’t a chance I’d make it in time. I held my breath and ran.

For the letters of recommendation, I whispered. For the grades.

Happy anticipation and dread mixed in my stomach: happy not to run anymore, dread of Mrs. Campbell’s face when she saw my blank homework. I’d do better next time.

Nobody’d make me do it. This was all on me. I paid for tutoring myself. I got pretty good grades. Not great, not good enough yet, either. My parents didn’t see the point of extra classes. No disrespect, but my parents didn’t know I needed perfect grades.

Life couldn’t be this boring. I’d seen the same fifty people forever. I wanted to be the best. A scholarship would get me out of this totally predictable routine.

I found a way out: college.

The result?

I took life way too seriously.

I passed the empty lot on my way back and glanced at the field. Someone was hanging out under the trees.

My trees.

I veered off the sidewalk for a better look. The soft grass pulled at me. I almost sat down.

Movement under the trees kept me upright. It wasn’t someone. It was two someones. How dare some degenerate seniors take up my trees as their hang out.

Olivia! Mrs. Campbell called from down the street.

I have to get to Mrs. Campbell’s, I told the air.

My shoulders and hips moved, but I still couldn’t pull my face away from the cedar-scented breeze, from those guys. They had to be guys; they were big.

You’re late!

Coming, I whispered.

My face never left the shadowy, lounging figures. I was sure there were two of them, just like I was sure I’d never seen them before. Not in class, not on the street.

I stubbed my toe on a rock walking toward them.

Olivia! Mrs. Campbell must have seen me. She sounded pissed.

Coming! I whispered. I turned away. The evening’s cold caught the sweat drying on my back. Mrs. Campbell waved from her front stoop. Coming! I yelled to the ex-chem teacher.

I turned back to my road and got goosebumps all over my arms. I couldn’t shake the feeling those guys watched me run down Howard Avenue.

Chapter Two

I grabbed a shower and joined dinner late.

Trust me. It was necessary.

Mrs. Campbell had given me extra homework problems for tardiness. A lot of them. Was she kidding? These lessons were life and death. She didn’t need to dole out punishment. I absorbed every detail of every session. Every detail I could remember, anyway. I’d thought about giving the real SAT a try this spring thanks to Mrs. Campbell’s tutoring, since I’d almost aced my PSAT math section earlier this month. Thanks to babysitting to pay for tutoring, I had no trouble with the last two tests in class. That had to be enough to bring up my grade from earlier in the year. And last year. Studying was my life. I babysat, though.

That’s social.

Sometimes I asked if the grades were worth sacrificing my social life. I’d have a life after high school if I kept this up. I just needed to get out of school, out of town, and I’d be able to spend time making friends and come back to see everyone on holiday weeks. Then I’d remembered that these friends were the same people I’d seen my whole life and that they’d go to college and come home for vacation. If I didn’t ace classes for a scholarship, I’d be here, waiting for my friends to come home for the summer unless I got my act together.

When I complained that my school had too many over-achievers, my parents said, Of course your grades are going to suffer unless you apply yourself. Just give it an extra hour a week.

They meant that hour between midnight and one in the morning, probably. Maybe I’d eat lunch over a book.

The thing was, I nearly killed myself with work.

My parents paid for volleyball. It didn’t seem like they were the types, but they believed in sports. Volleyball created community, teamwork, and