Chapter Two
I wake up before the sun. It�s 6:00 when I begin the day, and it�s still very dark outside. I only have to endure this for just a little longer before I graduate! I have a quick shower, brush out my hair, towel dry it a bit and blow dry it a bit but it�s still not 100% dry. I usually let it air dry during the ride to school. The cheerful anchors of Daybreak on CNN have already been in the studio for at least an hour, but they have the coffee flowing like rivers. In fact, they spoof that by giving away a Daybreak coffee mug every day for answering trivia questions.
Another day in the ol� uniform, another day of drudgery over at Panama City Prep. Because it�s a prep school, they stress that everyone know what colleges they want to go to and what majors they want by�hm, by freshman year of high school. I still don�t know and I�m a senior, so I�m kind of an anomaly. Over my four years in high school, my counselor has counseled me about ten times on what to do in college. There�s only one fly in her ointment. I don�t want to go to college. When I turn 18, I want to be free to see the world. I have a long list of places I want to fly to and take pictures of. Do I like taking pictures? Yes. That�s great, Evangeline. Please, just call me Eva. Okay, Eva. There are many job opportunities available for photographers. You could take pictures at special events or for advertisements. Here, let me give you a packet.
She always gives me packets that I never read. In fact, they�re in a pile on the floor. Maybe I�ll travel the world and write and photograph it. Do I have to go to college to do that?
I went upstairs, now fully dressed, to eat some breakfast. Dad was making French toast and his French toast is to die for. I can�t describe it in normal mortal words except for �yum�. My brother Mike is up, also hungrily awaiting French toast. Mike is 12 and I�m 17, a result of a �five year plan� my parents drew up after having me. At the time, my mom was fresh out of college after majoring in fine art and my dad was just a bassist in a band called Consumption. He was an Edgar Allan Poe geek and named the band Consumption after tuberculosis, the disease that almost all of Poe�s family succumbs to. Odd name for a band, huh? So these two young, idealistic, but cash-strapped lovers realized they needed to get somewhere in life. Mom enrolled in a course to get her realtor�s license. Dad learned about the wonders of owning franchises. He�s the owner of a Burger King, three �tropical department stores� that sell bathing suits and the ilk, and what will be a Starbucks in a matter of weeks, the first Starbucks in Panama City Beach. I can�t wait to go there. It�ll make the commute so much easier.
�Hey, Mike.�
�Hey,� he replies. I�m sure some hapless little sixth grade girl finds him cute with his little spiky hair and baggy jeans, emulating Tony Hawk to the best of his ability. French toast was served and I dug in, eating to my heart�s content and thinking about Boss. I mean, he�s my boss now. I�m supposed to think about him. Am I supposed to think about how we both laughed at the same time during Lost? Or how we talked about our favorite characters?
When my breakfast is done, I don�t have much time to get out onto the road before the rush hour starts. So, I make sure I�ve got my stuff together, say �bye to my family, and head out to Bonkura, where I see my phone waiting in the passenger seat like Mike does when he needs a ride. Shit! It�s got a new message, too. I get inside and buckle up, accessing my voicemail while I start out onto the road.
�You have one new message,� the voicemail lady tells me.
�I�m aware of that,� I told her coldly.
�To listen, press one.� Ugh! I took one hand off the wheel for a fleeting moment to press one. �First message, received January 13 at 10:49 PM.� Oh, I was already home by then, and just getting into bed.
�Hey Eva, it�s me,� Boss� husky Southern voice told me. �You�re probably already asleep by now, being that after you see Sawyer you get tired.� I smiled. �That�s okay. I�m getting tired, too, so after I say all this, I�m going to bed.� What would it be like to sleep in that weird bed overlooking a loft? �Anyway, I�d like to meet you tomorrow after school. If you don�t have to work, then why don�t you come back to Orangeville whenever you can? Call me before you come so I know you�re coming. I�ve got to start training you! Well, talk to you later. Bye.�
I don�t have to work today, so I�m going to haul ass to Orangeville as fast as Bonkura can take me. I pulled up in front of Rajani�s house and honked the horn in three short blasts, the signal Rajani knows to mean that I�m here. I started to pull the antenna out of my phone and push it back in. Pull, push, pull, push, a nervous tic I never gave up, pull, push. Rajani comes out of her house, half of a Pop-Tart stuffed into her mouth, and hops in.
�Morning!� I chirped.
�Nnrgh,� she replied before removing the Pop-Tart from her mouth. �Mm, you seem happy today.�
�I am!�
�What happened with that guy?�
�What gu�oh, the one who came to the shack?� Rajani nodded. �Well, I went to meet him at Barnacle Bill�s and we ate dinner.� Lie. �After that, we went to his place and watched Lost.� Truth. �Then, he took me home.� Truth.
�Nothing else? Just that?� Rajani asked, almost prodding me for answers.
�Just that.� Truth. �You know, not everything happens like in your Bollywood movies. We didn�t sing and dance, or have a magical kiss under the moonlight, or any of that.� I chuckled.
�But you like my Bollywood movies!�
�Yes, I do. What I�m trying to say is that real life doesn�t always emulate Bollywood, though, although we may want it to.� Oh, that�s my wise words of the day right there! I chuckled. �You know��
�What?�
�He talks like Sawyer does.� I grinned and blushed.
�God! You and that Sawyer guy. Why don�t you just marry him?�
�Because a, he lives in Hawaii, and b, he�s already married. Oh, and c, we�re like 18 years apart. He was just becoming legal when I was just being born, and that is wrong no matter how you slice it.� I am morally upright.
�Okay, okay, you�ve convinced me. Hey, did you do that math homework last night?� Rajani asked, and my heart sank like a stone as I realized that no, I did not do that homework.
�No,� I replied gloomily.
�Me neither, so we�re both going down.� Rajani cackled.
�God, I can�t believe I forgot to do that!�
�Well, you have to remember what you did last night. You worked, wined and dined with some guy, you watched Lost, and then you went home and went to bed. Your night was packed, my friend.� Rajani chewed on the last of her Pop-Tart, or at least the part with the frosting inside. She can�t stand the crusts, so she always throws them out my window. �Feeding the birds!� she cries when she throws the crusts.
�For the record, we did not imbibe any alcoholic beverages,� I said in my patented stuck-up girl voice. I get a lot of chances to practice said voice because of the way that people at my school talk. Now I was coming upon the bridge to Panama City, which is always a pain in the ass to cross no matter what time of day it is. People drive like idiots and I just have to be pretty careful. Plus, it�s usually bumper-to-bumper traffic, but thankfully, the school is literally right across the bridge, so this is really the end of our trip. I got over into the rightmost lane and signaled my intention to turn at the first intersection.
One last right turn landed me right in the large school parking lot, filled mostly with big, shiny new SUVs and sports cars. I have the oldest car in the whole lot. I parked Bonkura in its assigned space and popped the trunk, where we always drop our backpacks and whatnot.
�Hey look, it�s the poor girl!� someone shouted.
�Go fuck yourself,� I replied. Honestly, the car does NOT make the person! Besides, my family paid my tuition, just like yours did.
�You handled that well,� Rajani told me reassuringly.
�Whatever. They�re dicks anyway.� I pawed around for my binder and found it partly obscured by my neglected math book. Befitting my obsession, my binder had a picture of Sawyer on the cover. Most girls here have collages of pictures of their friends doing things like posing in groups at school, posing in groups at the beach, and posing in groups at the mall. This may or may not be accompanied by a few choice quotes or in-jokes. I think my binder has a better picture.
��Morning!� Chris called out as we left the parking lot, heading towards the Upper School. We have a Lower School too, but that�s on the other side of the campus, probably to keep the cute little kids away from us cursing, bitchy older kids. Now, let me give some background here. Chris is the only openly gay kid at the prep school. I say openly because Chris knows some guys who are closeted. Hell, he even dated one of them, for about five seconds. But because Chris was mature enough to come out and just be himself, he gets a lot of shit for it from some of the people that come here.
�Morning,� Rajani and I said groggily.
�Can�t wait for your dad�s Starbucks to open up, Eva,� Chris said. �It�ll really help the commute seem shorter.�
�Amen to that, brother,� I replied with a yawn as we situated ourselves in front of the Upper School. You can see little clumps of people forming in the mornings. It�s a fascinating experiment in sociology, really, to see how everyone gets into formation. Occasionally�oh, who am I kidding, every day�some obnoxious little couples come by and grope each other. That�s putting it nicely. None of the administrators ever seem to notice this going on, which is a shame because it�s nasty and what if some of the little kids see it? Their parents will have to explain the birds and the bees a bit earlier than they expected. Won�t anyone please think of the children?!
I love The Simpsons.
Sooner, rather than later, the bell rings and we make our way into the building. The school is directly biased in favor of seniors because most of our classes, except for �studio� classes such as art and science, are on the first and second floor of a four-floor building. Our lockers are also situated in the same area. The halls quickly crowd up with boys and girls dressed exactly the same, and honestly, most of them look the same: tanned, tall, thin, blonde or brown hair�I think I�m going to a school full of zombies. I got to my locker and opened it with an elegant flick of my wrist.
�Man, I�ve got such senioritis.�
�I know what you�re saying. I didn�t bother with the homework. What�s the point?�
�Yeah, we�re graduating anyway.�
Those two voices come courtesy of the idiot boys with the lockers next to me. I never bothered to learn their names, but they fit the type of people I just described to a T. I think senioritis is a bullshit affliction. People try to pass it off as their excuse for everything, when really they�re just too lazy to do the work required of them. I mean, I may accidentally not do an assignment, but that�s purely by accident, not because of a stupid excuse. Who knows, maybe the colleges those two idiots applied to might see that their grades plummeted in their senior year and decide that they might not be as good as they once thought. Do colleges see senior year grades anyway? Ha-ha, no college for me, no siree, at least not at this point in my life.
I wanted my day to end so quickly, not just because I get to leave the school when the day is done, but because today is special as I get to see Boss again. For some reason, I couldn�t stop my mind from drifting away and thinking of him during first-period photography class, which is bad because I�m the teacher�s assistant in that class. When the teacher is too busy, I take over and help my classmates do things like bathe their pictures in the developing chemicals, adjust the enlargers, cut photo paper, and critique the pictures once they have emerged from their metamorphosis bath.
Did I mention that this class has everyone from freshmen to seniors in it, and that we also have a fully functional lab of Mac G4 computers to use for Photoshop? Oh, I�m also the Photoshop Maven. I help people through Photoshop when they�re not futzing around on the Internet playing games or going to joke websites instead of actually doing their work.
I stood over the tub filled with the foul-smelling developer�honestly, it smells like rotten eggs�and used a pair of wooden tongs to swish around some inept sophomore�s picture. Once a few minutes of this had elapsed, I picked up this picture and dropped it in the stop bath. At this point, you basically know how your picture looks, and I was now staring at a picture of that inept sophomore�s inept little girlfriend. She�s rather ugly, but I�m sure the general consensus is that she�s pretty, with her eyebrows plucked to the point that they�re barely there, her blonde hair, and her little tanned self. After 15 seconds in the stop, the picture of Uglina goes to the fix, where it chills out for about 5 minutes. Finally, it�s washed with cold water and hung up to dry. I have this process down to the point that I could do it in my sleep, and the 100 grade I have in Photography reflects this.
�Pretty hot, isn�t she?� Inept Boy suddenly asks me.
�I�m hetero, thanks. I prefer boys.� Where did I hear that before?
�Psh, whatever.� Inept Boy shrugs and rolls his eyes. �When�s the picture gonna be done?�
�Well, it has to sit in the fix for a few more minutes, then we need to wash it off so the developing chemicals aren�t hanging around still.� Doesn�t he know this already? �So it�s gonna be a few minutes.�
��Kay.� Inept Boy walks off. Oh! I know who said that thing about being hetero. It was Boss.
Second period British Lit is one of my favorite classes. You�d be surprised at how much my classmates slack off in there, too. It�s a seniors-only class, so it�s jam-packed with senioritis sufferers, as well as the Dream Team. That�s Chris, Rajani, and me, of course. We have real baseball jerseys that say Dream Team and our names on them because Chris� mom is an awesome seamstress. But that�s neither here nor there.
I have lunch at the beginning of third period. I forgot to mention that Panama City Prep operates on a block schedule of 4 classes that are 90 minutes long. You get a lot more stuff done, supposedly. The Dream Team has a bench with an awesome view of the bay out in back of the school. A cross-section of the entire school eats at the same time, but the Lower School kids are forced to stay inside while the Upper School kids are told to eat outside. We even have umbrellas over the tables for when it rains.
The water is calm today as we sit down. Rajani has ordered a sub sandwich from the cafeteria and is now busily picking off what she doesn�t like and throwing it onto the ground for the menagerie of ducks to pick at. Those ducks aren�t aggressive just yet, but given the fact that a large group of boys nearby keep playing keep-away with these ducks, they�ll get wild. Sometimes, boats go by here, too, but its captains�perverted old men, I bet�probably get disappointed when they see that this place isn�t a girls� school lifted straight from the set of a cheesy softcore porno. It can�t be helped.
Fourth period math, Algebra III to be exact, is the one period of the day that makes me want to shove my mechanical pencils into my eyes. I�ve never been good at math, I�ve always scraped by, and this class is no exception to that rule. I just don�t get anything in it, and worse than that, the Dream Team is completely disbanded! I�m stuck in this stifling fluorescent prison cell until the clock�s weary arms finally stop at 3 o�clock and the final bell of the day rings. On a technicality, it�s been the end of the day since 2 o�clock for the elementary school kids and 2:45 for the middle schoolers, but they don�t count in this situation. As soon as that stupid bell starts ringing, directly after the crappy school TV news show has been played, I snatch up my stuff and just run for it. I don�t care who I knock over on the way to my locker, I just want to get home, and today I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
Rajani noticed, to say the least.
�Damn! How fast are you going?� she asked, grabbing onto the dashboard as I managed a rather sharp turn out of the parking lot, near a sign that read Speed Limit 15.
�Like 30,� I replied nonchalantly, tapping the end of a CD that was sticking out of my player to make the CD go into the player. �I feel like some Morning Musume. Do you mind terribly?�
�Not too much,� Rajani said. �Eva, I got a question for you.�
�Shoot.� That�s what I�m going to do today!
�Why in the name of Hitler�s matching bra and panties set are you going so bloody fast?!�
�Hitler�s matching bra and panties�you Brits are so silly! And I�m going this fast because I got some important shit to take care of, my friend.�
�What�s so important?�
�I�� I looked over and saw my phone. �Open up my phone and press 1 for a few seconds. The voicemail lady will start talking to you, and when she prompts you to, press 1 again and listen to the message.� Rajani obediently followed my instructions, as if I were holding her hostage and this was my only demand.
�Training?� she asked once she was done. �Are you going to take another job?�
�You could say that.� Being an assassin is a job, right? It�s not one you would see a listing for on Monster.com, but that doesn�t mean it�s not a job. It�s just a rather unsavory one. Now I�m talking British. Bloody hell.
�Are you going to quit the shack?�
�No! How could I ever quit the shack when I love all of you too much?� Rajani loves compliments. Who doesn�t?
�Aw, heart-warming!� Rajani exclaimed, placing her hand over her heart right as I pulled up to her house. �All right, Eva. I�ll see you tomorrow!� She reached out and picked up her stuff, opened her door, and jumped out of Bonkura.
�Bye!� I shouted after her while she walked up the steps to her house. As soon as she was in, I hightailed it off to Orangeville. I don�t even remember what happened in between my leaving and my getting there. I�m pretty sure I stopped for red lights, because I always do, but everything in between that is a blur. Whatever I did got me into the Orangeville parking lot, and I was soon at the door to loft number 2677, pressing the bell over and over.
�Good Lord, hold your horses,� I heard Boss tell me from inside. Hold your horses? He answered the door. �Oh, Eva. Good, I was hoping you would come. Did you get my message?�
�I did. I just forgot to take my phone inside when I got home.� I shrugged sheepishly, fully aware of how dumb that excuse sounded.
�That�s okay, we all forget things sometimes. I�m surprised you remembered where I live. I thought I would have to call you again to reinforce the memories.�
�Reinforce my foot,� I said dismissively. �You live in Orangeville. It�s hard to forget Orangeville. So, what�re we doing today?�
�I think you�re smart enough to know how to handle one already, but you probably just don�t have one, so I got you a present. Well, I got you a few presents. Come on in.�
�Gladly.� I stepped inside and saw two small bundles on the coffee table. �Those the gifts?� I pointed to them.
�Aren�t you sneaky?� Boss asked sarcastically. �Yeah, Schoolgirl, they are.�
�I told you to stop calling me that!� I snapped, fuming.
�Sorry. You�re just funny when you�re angry.�
�Won�t be so funny when I�� I opened the two gifts and saw a mass of metal shine in my face. I squinted to see better and saw a pistol and a switchblade, both still partly clothed in their gift wrap. The pistol was just a standard-looking one, one that wouldn�t look out of place on 50 Cent. It said Browning on the side. The switchblade also looked fairly common, just a little black chunk of plastic with a small button on the side. Because I have always liked to push buttons, I pushed this one, and the blade swung out as if to greet me. I found this amusing, so I chortled slightly.
�So, do you know how to work these things?� Boss asked.
�I guess. I mean, all you have to do with the gun is squeeze the trigger, right?� I looked over my new Browning. I think I will call it Brownie.
�Basically, yeah. You also have to load cartridges, too, but that�s incredibly easy. These are 9 millimeter bullets, too. In fact, you hold in your hand the King of Nines. Isn�t that a nice name?�
�Nah, I like Brownie better.� I looked towards the blade. �I call this one Bitey.� Another Simpsons reference!
�Bitey?� Boss raised his eyebrow at me.
�Yeah, Bitey. So, are you going to show me how to use Brownie and Bitey?�
�I�ll show you all you need to know, but we can�t do it in here. The sounds would echo off the walls, the management would call me, and I�d probably be evicted.� Honest to God, the first thought to come into my head was �I could let you stay at my place if you got evicted�. But, I think he knows what he�s doing. �I know a place out pretty far away, even past the subdivisions.�
�Past them? That seems impossible.� The subdivisions are spreading.
�Trust me, it�s possible.�
So, now I�m going out to the middle of nowhere, seated in the car of the man I�ve gotta call my boss, I�m holding a gun in one hand and a switchblade in the other, and I�m watching the sherbet-colored houses of Panama City Beach fly by me in a daze. Oh, how things can change!
Eventually, the car stopped. Boss was right; we were literally in the middle of nowhere. There was no sand or ocean nearby to clue me in to wherever we were, nor were there any familiar landmarks. In fact, we were in a somewhat deep thicket of woods. The scenery was decidedly creepy, so I held on to Brownie and Bitey.
�Don�t worry, I�m not going to hurt you or anything.� If there�s anything I�ve learned from endless hours of making fun of trashy Lifetime movies with Mom, it�s that when a guy says he won�t hurt you, undoubtedly, he does. Of course, I become even tenser. �I�m just gonna teach you how to shoot a gun. It�s deceptively simple. I think we won�t have to shoot at but one tree with you. You�re a smart cookie. You catch on real quickly.� Even though I�m supposed to be tense, I break character for a moment because Boss� little Southern accent is just adorable. The words he uses are fun. �But one�. �Real quickly�. Both of my parents are damn Yankees, as they were, who came down to Florida to seek solace from the tough Massachusetts winters. I don�t have a Southern accent at all.
�Was there a compliment hidden somewhere in there?� I asked sarcastically.
�Only all over,� Boss answered. �Okay. You see that tree over there?� He pointed to a small tree. In this moment, I felt somewhat bad that I would be shooting at a tree, and I expressed my concerns by making a small sad noise. �What�s wrong?�
�I�m going to shoot that tree? But it�s alive!�
�If you can�t shoot a tree, how can you ever learn to shoot a human?� Oooh, ethical questions. I love these. However, through it all, I know he�s right. I�ll just have to put up with it and shoot this tree.
�You�re right. Show me whatever you have to do.� I acquiesced.
�Well, first, you switch off the safety.� He did so, and I watched attentively, moving my thumb in the air in the same way he moved his. �Now, you aim. Hold on, gotta put up the target.� He dashed over to his car, opened the trunk, and took out a piece of paper with a target drawn on it. It�s one of those targets that wouldn�t be out of place on a police shooting range, meaning it has that human silhouette on it. He then took this target and stuck it on the tree by hammering a nail into it.
�So, where do I aim?� I asked when he came back over.
�Ideally, you want to hit somewhere fatal on a person: the head, the neck, the chest. But if you�re just trying to cause someone an ungodly amount of pain, you can aim anywhere else. However, right now, let�s act like we�re shooting to kill.� He took a hold of my arm. �You should use both your arms because you�re a novice. Don�t worry about looking like a novice, either. We were all there once.� We? Would we be the only two assassins in this city?
�Like this?� I asked, gripping Brownie with both hands.
�Just like that. Good form. Hmm�� Boss squeezed one eye shut and stared at the tree for a good thirty seconds or so. �Surprise me.� He backed up far enough that he wouldn�t be hurt by shrapnel or whatever. Nervously, I squeezed the trigger and heard the loud crack explode from within Brownie. It made me shut my eyes in self-defense. When I opened them back up, I saw that there was a new hole in the head area of the silhouette.
�Jesus, Annie Oakley, why didn�t you tell me you knew so much about shootin� a gun? We could move past this segment if you weren�t so scared. You flinched when you shot, and that�s dangerous. Don�t ever close your eyes.� He moved up next to me. �Think of something you really like that gives you courage.�
Hmm, that�s a good query right there. Well, I love my family and friends, and they give me courage to do new things. Not sure if they would necessarily approve of this new venture, though�but fuck it, they give me courage anyway. I�m thinking of them.
�Shoot again,� I heard Boss say, and I obeyed. Bang�this time, I�m not scared, and I don�t flinch, and there�s another hole in the head of that little silhouette.
�I did it,� I said, amazed.
�Thank you, Captain Obvious,� Boss said sarcastically. �You were amazing. I think we�re done with guns. But you know what? I�m going to postpone the switchblade lesson until tomorrow because I�m getting tired and should be getting on home. You�re a fast learner, Eva.� He went over to the tree and�this was amazing�he pulled that nail out with his bare hands. I thought that that was what the little claw thing on the hammer was for. I was too amazed to say anything, though, so I just hopped into his car and let him drive me home.
CONTINUE to Chapter Three
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