The Second Window

Chapter One

Ifelt her eyes on me. I lifted my gaze, watching the woman maneuver her shopping cart down the aisle. Her thin frame approached with careful steps, passing two available cashiers so she could land at my check-out stand. She didn’t smile and I didn’t either, never comfortable with the brief but awkward interaction between us each week .

Olivia, your best friend’s here, Marlene murmured to me with a smirk as she handed our customer his receipt. I slipped the bread and eggs into a plastic bag, and placed them in the man’s cart.

Have a wonderful day, I said, forcing a bright smile. When he turned his back, I dropped the grin and my eyes darted to the next person in line. Jodie Porter unloaded her packaged goods onto the conveyor belt, the same fifteen items she always purchased—a few packages of instant noodles, canned soups, and tuna. One by one, the processed goods slid toward us. Marlene scanned them as I wondered how a woman in her mid-forties could maintain her lean build on such a diet.

A stranger to me, I knew nothing about Jodie except that she lived on the outskirts of town. People referred to her as a hermit because she rarely ventured from her home, and when she did, it seemed only long enough to purchase groceries. She was nobody important to me—just the occasional name carried through the wind when there was nothing else to talk about. However, like clockwork, I bagged her scant items every Thursday at four PM. The odd interactions I’d have with the woman would sometimes be the most interesting part of my shift at Wayland’s, a discounted store that served as employment during the summer, and now into my senior year.

I met her eyes again, which seemed to never leave mine, peering at me with an intense silence that I couldn’t explain. She didn’t frighten me, exactly. On the contrary, there was a meekness about her that suggested her gentle nature. While she hardly smiled, she didn’t have a mean face. It was more like the bland expression of a person who had little to smile about. Yet I wondered at her reservation, certain she had more to say than she ever allowed.

Jodie’s slender fingers pulled cash from her wallet and she handed over the bills. When she turned to me once more, her teary eyes alarmed me. She swallowed hard, like she was washing down emotions that rose against her will.

Are… are you okay? I asked, hesitating as I placed her grocery bags into the cart. Her hand fell swiftly on top of mine, squeezing my palm. Startled by the sudden physical contact, I jerked my hand away. I regretted my actions the moment her expression shifted.

Eyes wide, she shook her head, her mouth opening as though horrified by her behavior. A tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away in haste. I’m sorry. Sniffling, she snatched her three bags from the cart and scurried toward the exit.

Hey! I called after her. I exchanged a look of confusion with Marlene before following Jodie to the automatic sliding doors. Wait! It’s Jodie, right? She paused, sniffing once more. She looked back at me over her shoulder, eyes red and sorrowful. Um, can I help you to your car? I really should have double-bagged that one. I pointed to the bulging bag containing the heavy soups, grasping for an excuse to stall her from leaving.

The tiniest smile crept along the corners of her mouth. Her green eyes brightened beneath the sheen of tears. Relieved, I smiled back. Her next words fell from her lips in a low, quiet tone. You take care of yourself. Then she walked out into the cool air.

I stood there perplexed, watching this strange woman escape to the parking lot. Jodie had been a consistent presence in my life for months now, a once-a-week visit in which she spoke no more than a murmured, Thank you. Why did I feel a sudden permanence to her goodbye?

A familiar female voice called out from behind me. I need a bagger on lane three please!

I rolled my eyes and flipped around to see my friend Jordyn standing at the other end of the store, hollering into her cupped hands. I glanced at Marlene. My grey-haired co-worker pushed out her lips with a frown, throwing a hand onto her plump hip. I cringed and held up my index finger. One minute, I mouthed, and hurried toward Jordyn before she could garner anymore unwanted attention from my employers.

You know Marlene hates when you stop by, right? I said to my best friend. She beamed confidence at me with her wide smile, her lips stained in a bright coral that I could never pull off. Though only one-eighth Native American, the tan skin she’d inherited helped her get away with wearing colorful makeup combinations that I would never attempt on my fair skin. Jordyn also relished in the theatrics that I shied away from.

I’m a paying customer, she said, grabbing a box of powdered donuts off the shelf. She held them up to make her point, waving wildly at Marlene’s scowling face. Jordyn raised her voice again, like she was hollering at the deaf elderly. She’s just gonna bag these for me and I’ll be on my way!

I shook my head at her. You’re going to get me fired. Jordyn broke into the package and bit into a donut, dusting her mouth with white powder.

What’s it matter? It’s your last day.

Not forever, I clarified. Just until after the holidays so I can focus on the end of this semester.

Jordyn blew out air through her pursed lips and tossed her head. You don’t even need this job. I’m pretty sure you’re the only senior at Westmont Academy who’s still going through the unnecessary motions of accepting hourly, minimum wage.

I made a face at her comment. "Jordyn, just because my parents can pay for everything, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t gain work experience for myself. That’s the whole point of why I signed on."

With typical nonchalance, she said, "Well, I, for one, am glad you’re done working here for a few weeks. That will give you more time to tell me what that was all about." She pointed her donut toward the doors where Jodie Porter had exited. There was no sign of her now, though I still had a clear visual in my mind of her anguish.

I don’t know. She started crying during checkout and then took off. I’ve never seen her show that kind of emotion before. Well, any emotion, really. I wonder what’s up?

Jordyn shrugged, wiping her fingers onto her jeans. Want to follow her and find out?

We are not going to do that.

Fine, be boring. Look, everyone’s entitled to a bad day, including the town hermit. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s managed to survive on her own so far.

Jordyn’s words didn’t make me feel any better. Something about my interaction with Jodie weighed on me, but I knew Jordyn wasn’t interested in talking about her unless I was willing to do something about it. I caught my friend’s gaze shift behind me and she squinted. She raised an eyebrow.

Besides, you’ve got problems of your own to worry about. She put her hands on my shoulders, and spun me around.

What am I looking at? I asked, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Leave it to Jordyn to make me guess, rather than just tell me. She rotated me forty-five degrees.

"Not what. Who. She dropped her voice to a whisper. Past the cashiers. Aisle twelve."

I loved her to death, but sometimes her games were a bit much. Jordyn, come on— I stopped, suddenly very aware of just who she was pointing out to me. I caught a glimpse of his smile first, gleaming brightly against his bronzed skin—a deeper brown than I remembered, and a compliment from his Brazilian mother. I’d almost missed him, hidden behind the cluster of kids clamoring for his attention. But then I heard his laugh, boisterous and infectious. Unique.

And stirring memories I resented.

I crossed my arms over my black apron. What is Andre Steele doing back in Arizona?

Jordyn inhaled noisily, letting out her breath as she spoke. I don’t know, but Brazil sure did a nice number on him.

I scowled and nudged her with my elbow.

But we still hate him, she corrected, giving a nod of solidarity.

Of course we do. We watched him disappear down aisle nine with his posse. Another burst of laughter trailed behind him, coupled with giggles from the girls hanging on him and the other guy slapping Andre’s back like they’d never heard someone so funny.

Then again, Jordyn added, Four years can change a person. Maybe he’ll surprise you.

I stepped away from her, returning to my position at the end of the register. I grabbed the boxes of toothpaste and floss sliding past Marlene and tossed them into a fresh bag. I never liked his surprises.

Chapter Two

H e’s back. Did you hear?

With the buzz of his name, my steps faltered. I looked for him and avoided him at the same time, hearing his name throughout the day, but not yet running into him. Jordyn chuckled, linking my arm and dragging me down the school hallway. Relax, Liv. Maybe we’re wrong. Andre could be an entirely different person now.

I let out a sound weighted with skepticism. Or the same jerk that made the awkward years of junior high even more awkward for late bloomers like myself.

"Late bloomers…" Jordyn snickered at my word choice.

Stopping at my locker, I fidgeted with the combination. Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t know anything about that term. Having Jordyn as a best friend only emphasized the stark contrast between our development back then. Not only did she have thick, dark hair that belonged in shampoo commercials, but she’d been the first to grow curves in all the right places, with straight teeth and perfect eyesight. My own long, blonde hair and blue eyes might have sounded good on paper, had it not been for the condemning era of braces and glasses. It wasn’t until eighth grade that I caught up to my peers, also dropping the braces and ditching glasses for contacts. Andre had been long gone by then.

After swapping out a textbook, I slammed my locker shut. Have you heard yet why he’s back? Who transfers schools two days before Thanksgiving?

Looks like you can ask him yourself.

Her words brought me to a halt. I peered into my psychology class from the frame of the door. I couldn’t see him clearly because of the circle of teenagers pressed around him, a buzz of energy welcoming him back home like a celebrity. He’d been one of us after all, raised in Kingman and attending Westmont Academy since kindergarten. We had even sort of been friends through elementary school, hanging out with the same kids at recess and birthday parties. There’d been a natural divide by the end of sixth grade, when rifts separated our social circles. I didn’t interact with him much after that, except when I fell victim to his pranks. He and his friends had a reputation for making their audience laugh, mostly at other people’s expense.

Like that Valentine’s Day when I found a rose-scented candle on my doorstep with a cheesy poem about smelling the aroma of romance. Flattered and curious, I lit the wick inside my bedroom. Moments later, I found myself diving into the hall to escape the fumes streaming like fireworks from the hidden smoke-bomb. Coughing through a thick cloud of vapor, I threw my window open just in time to catch Andre and his buddies sprinting away from the bushes, their obnoxious laughter trailing behind them.

I crossed my arms at the memory, recalling a hazardous number of other pranks, such as when he placed an opened ketchup packet on my seat before I sat down, or the drive-by water balloon launches that nailed both Jordyn and me in the chest. Yelling at him while he hung his head out the window and laughed was the last interaction I had with Andre before he moved to some city in Brazil that I’d never heard of before. The same aggravating grin beamed back at me now, recognition lighting up his brown eyes. I leaned back, uncomfortable with the sudden eye contact, but he quickly moved on, turning his head to animatedly answer someone else’s question.

You know my rule, Olivia, Mr. Warner said as he pushed past me and swung his satchel onto his desk. Last ones standing become my volunteers for this morning’s demonstration!

I turned to my friend. Don’t make me go in there alone.

Sorry girl. She held up her camera bag. Hitting the dark room. Got me some film to develop! Besides, not to be mean, but Andre looks plenty occupied with everyone else. You’ll be fine. She threw an arm around my neck. I’m working through lunch to get a jump start on this assignment. I’ll meet up with you at your house after school.

I joined the hustle of students finding their seats, leaving Andre standing alone in front of the class. His eyes roamed the desks, which our teacher had formed into a large circle to promote healthy discussion. When Andre made a move toward the last empty seat, Mr. Warner placed a large palm on his shoulder.

Hold on now, he said. Since you’ve caused quite a stir in my classroom, why don’t you take a minute to introduce yourself? Although, it appears everyone knows you but me.

Andre cleared his throat, garnering a full audience once again. While he was of average height, everything else about him commanded attention. His hair remained dark like I remembered, almost black. However, he’d shaved it close to his scalp on the sides, tight and clean, leaving the thick middle portion long and gelled. My childish grudges aside, even I couldn’t ignore his captivating features, and that was no easy feat when school uniforms dictated our attire. His warm skin tone and athletic build modeled the khaki pants and white button-down shirt with ease, adding sharp appeal with the red and grey striped tie.

All right, so I’m Andre Steele. I grew up here in Kingman. He lifted his hand in greeting at the two guys in the back who hollered out his last name like they were at some sporting event. I moved to Manaus, Brazil just before eighth grade because my dad got a promotion. But uh, he got sick so we had to transfer back home.

Oh, Manaus, Mr. Warner cut in. How fascinating to live in a city surrounded by jungle. And neighboring the Amazon.

Andre nodded. Yes sir. It was pretty cool.

Wonderful experiences I’m sure. Welcome back, Mr. Steele. Andre made a move to sit down but Mr. Warner held him back once again. Not so fast. I am a man of my word, and I did say the last students standing will be my volunteers. Andre appeared unsure of what was about to happen, and I hid a smug smile. Mr. Warner’s quirky teaching methods often involved blindfolds and unsuspecting victims, which oddly drew students to fill his class. That, and the rumored easy A.

Now you’ll know what it’s like to be put on the spot in front of your peers, I thought. Karma’s a—"

Olivia Cole.

My eyes widened when Mr. Warner called my name.

I do believe you were also one of the last to find your seat. Come forward please.

I bit my lip, not daring to look at Andre. It was like Mr. Warner could read my mind, and was punishing me for it. Please don’t let this be some cheesy team-building activity, I murmured to myself, unable to imagine standing within the same personal bubble as Andre. Mr. Warner pulled two chairs into the middle of the circle of desks, facing each other.

Come on up here, Olivia, Mr. Warner said, guiding me to the center of the room. And one more… Jackie. The redhead smiled nervously as she joined us. Now, the exercise today may seem more intense than others, but I believe it will be a powerful teaching moment for those participating, as well as those observing. However, it might push you further than I have required of you before. If, at any time, you choose to abandon this assignment, that is your right to do so. That said, I do need one of you to volunteer for the hot seat.

Andre, Jackie, and I exchanged glances, shuffling in place.

Don’t look at me. I’m just the new guy, Andre said, raising both hands in front of him and stepping back.

Coward.

Jackie bit her lip, her expression matching her nervous giggle. Her wide eyes pleaded with me.

I guess I’ll do it, I said, wanting to get this over with. How bad could it be?

Somehow, I knew you’d be the brave one, my teacher whispered as he guided me to one of the seats. His words made me nervous. What did I have to be brave about? He pulled Andre and Jackie aside to quietly give them instructions, and then handed them each a sheet of paper. Andre’s brows furrowed while he read the notes.

Nah, I can’t say this—

A simple demonstration, Mr. Warner interrupted. There’s always a purpose to these things. Olivia, he continued, taking a seat across from me. You’re an honors student, are you not? I nodded, wondering what my high GPA had to do with this. How do you feel about math?

Considering I was acing calculus, math was the least of my concerns. I felt my classmate’s eyes on me, some of them wide with wonder and others snickering in anticipation. I gathered my confidence, throwing one leg over the other. I leaned toward Mr. Warner with my hands resting comfortably on my knees. Try me.

Excellent. I will ask you a series of questions and your only task is to answer them correctly, speaking only to me. Let’s begin. What is four times twelve plus ten?

I laughed. Fifty-eight. Mr. Warner nodded at Andre. I gave him a sideways glance as he studied the paper in his hands. He knelt beside me. Too close to my bubble. Mr. Warner called out again.

Twelve times seven.

Eighty-four. I swallowed, focusing on my teacher but very aware of Andre’s cologne creeping into my territory. His face inched closer to mine.

Nine times seven.

Sixty—

You suck. The words came from Andre, a harsh whisper falling against my earlobe.

I frowned at him before glancing at Mr. Warner. Sorry, sixty—

You can’t do anything right.

I narrowed my eyes, reducing my peripheral vision and zeroing in on Mr. Warner. I understood where this was going. Even still... Um, what was the question again?

Nine times seven.

Jackie’s soprano voice slid into the conversation. Everybody’s watching. Be careful. They’re coming!

Sixty-five. I mean, sixty-three.

Mr. Warner called out another equation but I missed it, suddenly barraged with words from Andre and Jackie, their whispers more insistent. Louder. Overlapping.

Stop talking.

Where did the ball go?

You will never make it.

1, 2, 4, 10, 17, 21, 8…

She can help you. No, don’t let her help!

Mr. Warner continued to call out, but I couldn’t answer him. Not correctly anyway. My cheeks flushed, heating from the pressure and my inability to recall simple math.

Twenty-eight plus eight.

Thirty-six divided by nine.

Their voices overpowered me. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, both humored and embarrassed by this demonstration. In front of the whole class. Completely flustered.

You’re nothing.

At last, I turned to him. He stared back at me, though I couldn’t read his expression. Couldn’t decipher anything. Andre’s words were the last I heard before Mr. Warner applauded, ending the charade. I whipped my face away from Andre and stepped away from the chair.

Olivia, I’m so sorry! Jackie said with a squeal, laughing with a strange hiccup as she dropped her paper. She wrung her hands. I felt so bad doing that to you!

I smiled at her, running my fingers through my hair. It’s fine. Just part of being a forced volunteer, right? I pushed out a laugh, hoping to hide the residual discomfort within me. However, I still felt it, like a balloon inflating and ready to burst. I wasn’t used to failing. While I understood that I’d completed the demonstration as intended, the inability to provide the correct answer felt foreign to me. Then there was Andre… I met his eyes once more, just long enough to know they were still fixed on me. No smile. His eyebrows pinched together. There was something more between us. Something that I wasn’t quite ready to explore.

My attention darted to Mr. Warner when he spoke. Olivia, I know that was difficult. Please share some of your thoughts with us after that experience.

I wasn’t about to share the insecurity I felt. It was too reminiscent of a place I hadn’t stepped into for a long time. A period of time that Andre had only made worse by directing unwanted attention on me. Back then felt too much like today, except I knew it wasn’t his fault this time. I was taking it personally, but the feelings persisted all the same.

Still needing to answer my teacher’s question, I straightened my posture, trying to shake off any evidence of self-conscious weakness. I recalled last night’s optional reading assignment. "Well, it was obviously an example of schizophrenia. The voices were supposed to be in my head, one aggressive and belligerent and the other… kind of random and anxious, I guess?