She'd learned that the hard way, too. They did the dishes together the way they always had, ray washing, Mia drying, the radio on low. A comfortable silence that had taken years to become comfortable. Later, after she'd gone to bed, Rey sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water and thought about Boh Harrove, and about how some things follow you, not because you let them, just because that's what they do. Monday came, Maya got up early.
She didn't make a production of it. No anxiety spiral, no outfit crisis, no speech about how she didn't want to go. She'd done first days too many times for any of that. She just got up, showered, made toast, put on jeans and a dark green top that Ry thought looked like her mother's favorite color. She came to the kitchen door with her backpack on and said, "I'm ready. " They drove to the school in the pickup.
Greystone Falls High was on the north end of town, a long, low building in the functional style of schools built in the 1970s. When the priority was space over aesthetics, the lawn was well-kept. The parking lot was filling up. A banner hung across the entrance. Gryston Falls Hawks state football champions 2022 and below it newer still bright district champions 2023.
Ray pulled up to the drop off lane. Maya sat for a moment looking at the building. Want me to go in with you? Ray asked. She gave him a sideways look.
The look that said, "Dad, no. Right," he said. She opened the door. Then she stopped. "Turn back.
It'll be okay. " She said to him, "Not to herself. " He understood that. She was reassuring him, telling him not to worry. He nodded. She got out, shouldered her backpack, walked toward the entrance without looking back. She had Linda's walk, too.
That particular kind of forward motion that said, "I know where I'm going, even when I don't. " Ray sat in the dropoff lane a moment longer than he needed to. Then he drove to the garage. Inside the school, Via found the main office without asking for directions. She'd learned to read the architecture of school buildings the way Ry reads, patterns repeated everywhere. She got her schedule, her locker, a map she didn't need.
The woman at the desk, a small, energetic woman named Mrs. Pellegrino, who had the manner of someone who had welcomed 10,000 new students and intended to welcome 10,000 more. Told her coach Burch ran tryyouts and opened practice on Thursday afternoons. Told her the cheerleading squad had placed second at regionals last year and were very competitive. Thank you, Mia said.
The kids here are friendly, Mrs. Pelgro said in the way that people in small towns say things they want to be true. Mia smiled and said nothing. The first half of the day was ordinary. Two of her teachers were good.
The kind who actually taught rather than performed teaching. One was indifferent. One was clearly counting down the years to retirement. He found all of this within the first hour of each class. The architecture of classrooms, like the architecture of buildings, revealed itself quickly once you knew how to look.
She ate lunch in the cafeteria, chose a table near the window, not too isolated, but not in the thick of things. A comfortable margin. She was reading when she heard it. Not directed at her, but not yet. Just overheard, "Who's the new girl? " Two tables away.
A group of boys, football players by their size and the way they occupied their space in the cafeteria. The easy ownership of boys who had been told since they were 12 that they were important. Maya didn't look up. Transferred from Memphis, I think. Another voice said, "Coach Burch said she's coming to Thursday practice, huh? " A pause.