Page 31 of The Chaperones

Stella, the art teacher

Cassie is sitting in a camping chair outside her tent, letting the sun kiss her face. As I approach, I can see red along the bridge of her nose. It seems impossible that someone like Cassie Bent could burn.

“Cassie? Is now a good time?” I ask, nearly buzzing out of my skin. I’m actually doing this. It’s really happening.

Cassie’s eyes drift open. As her lips form a smile, none of the earlier tension is evident across her pretty, burning face. She leans against the forgiving arms of her canvas chair to stand, finds an oversize, floppy hat that on anyone else would look absurd but on Cassie is chic.

“Let’s do it,” she says.

We head toward the white sandstone trail that leads up to Potato Harbor, stark against the green hillside. Although we can’t see the ocean, it’s impossible to forget we’re on an island. It’s isolated and harbored. Ethereal and bucolic. Saturated with possibility. Or maybe it feels that way because I’m in love.

Cassie’s taller than I am, with longer legs that force me to trot to keep pace with her. It makes me breathless. Or maybe that’s the anticipation. I have no idea how to form the words that are nearly splitting open my skin.

“I’m sorry you had to sacrifice a weekend to babysit us,” Cassie says through exerted breaths. Even Cassie Bent gets out of breath walking uphill. “I hope you know how much we appreciate you being here. You’re so great with the kids.”

I am good with the kids. It’s why I managed to weather Sneakergate. Why no one blames me when they should.

“I’m happy to be here.” As I say this, I realize I mean it. Sure, there’s other versions of this trip that I would have preferred, but this is my community too.

“How’s everything going at school?” Cassie asks. “I’m sorry you got put in the middle of all that with Mona. I hope you know, you did nothing wrong. I would never let her retaliate against you. Jill won’t either.”

So this is why she thinks we’re here, because I’m worried about losing my job. Although it means she has absolutely no clue what I’m about to share with her, it reminds me how supportive Cassie is. How much she cares. About me.

Cassie stops walking. Her breath steadies as she says, “You’re the best art teacher the school has ever had.”

It’s all I can do not to melt into a puddle right there on that bright-white trail.

“The students make it easy. They have so much creativity in them.”

“Don’t do that,” Cassie interrupts. “Take the compliment. Don’t deflect.”

You don’t become Cassie Bent without claiming your space, without accepting the words of praise you deserve. As I stare into Cassie’s insistent face, I realize that I might be gaining a mentor here too. While I’ve dreamed of having Cassie buy my pieces in the school’s silent auction, of her using them in photo shoots, I’ve never dared imagine her as someone I could solicit for advice. I brace myself and follow the first nugget of wisdom she’s given me and harness my power.

“There’s actually something else I wanted to talk to you about. It doesn’t have anything to do with school. Or it does. Kind of. It’s not about what happened with Sawyer. Or maybe it is, a little.” I’m rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous. Travis thinks it’s cute. “It’s something that might come as a surprise. A good one, I hope.”

“Oh?” Cassie says flatly as she picks up the pace again, forcing me to stay on her heels to keep up.

“It’s about Travis.” His name slips off my tongue, silky and smooth. She pauses, so I pause, too, waiting for her to spin around with a huge smile, admitting that it’s a surprise but she couldn’t think of a more perfect one. In that split second where we’re both stopped, me staring at her narrow back as I prepare for her to embrace me, for it all to begin, I imagine our lifetime together. Thanksgiving, where I’ll bring my mother’s candied yams. Christmas, where I’ll string popcorn with Lily for the Bents’ tree. The portrait I’ll do of Cassie or maybe Lily, surreal yet flattering, which Cassie will hang in her house in Pasadena or Tahoe or Lake Arrowhead, houses I haven’t been to. Houses that, as the years together unfold, will become familiar to me.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.” I flinch as I say this. Wasn’t I listening to anything Cassie said to me? Claim my power. “Travis wanted to be the one to talk to you, but I didn’t feel right, spending an entire weekend here without telling you I’m in love with your brother.”

I don’t mean to say the L-word for the first time to Trav’s sister. It’s too true to hide. I want to sing it from the hills, Sound of Music style, to lock arms with Cassie and skip through the valley. I want to paint landscapes, portraits of Travis, without hiding behind abstractions. I want to drown in all the corny beauty that comes with being in love.

When Cassie turns, her face is so stern and cold it’s almost ugly.

“No,” she spits at me. “No, no, no.”

Reflexively, I step back like she’s hit me, stumbling on the slick rock beneath my feet. I steady myself before I fall.

“I know it’s a surprise,” I say meekly. Why am I being meek? Cassie needs me strong right now. Assertive. Travis does too. “It was a surprise to me. To both of us. But we aren’t breaking any rules. Travis has nothing to do with the school anymore, and you know as well as I do that whole thing with Sawyer was complete BS. It’s actually what brought us together. We supported each other through—”

“Stop. I can’t hear this.” Cassie throws her hands over her face. When she lets her arms fall to her sides, her expression is full of pity. “I know how charming my brother can be—you’re not in love with him. And he’s definitely not in love with you.”

Her words gut me. She knows nothing about us, the way he checks in on me throughout the day, sending me Elizabeth Barrett Browning sonnets or photographs of street art he thinks I’ll like. She doesn’t know how he brings me flowers every time he comes over, that they hang to dry across my apartment so I can make art from our love. She doesn’t know how we lie in bed all day talking about Kant and Dadaism, about all the places we’ll travel together. She doesn’t know about Saturday mornings at the farmers market and Sunday-afternoon bike rides along the LA River. She knows nothing about us at all.

“Stella—” Cassie’s voice softens, like she’s breaking up with me. I can feel her wanting to put her hand on my shoulder, to help me through this heartache. It’s that softness that undoes me. Because she isn’t trying to be cruel. She’s trying to protect me. This makes me realize what I’ve subconsciously known all along. Travis is going to break my heart. He’s going to wreck me.

“Maybe this wasn’t the right way to tell you,” I hear myself say. I’m no longer in my body. I’m floating above, ready to be swept away by the wind, suddenly forceful, that whips my hair. “I’m sorry,” I apologize as I start running down the hill. I’m not sorry, but I can’t claim power, not in the way Cassie tells me to.

The wind propels me down the slope we just climbed, causing me to trip slightly as I race away from Cassie and the truths I’m not ready to confront.

No one notices the way I barrel into camp, panting like I’ve seen a ghost. Everyone’s engaged in the slow, in-between moments of camping. Hammocks are lumpy with bodies. Boys kick a soccer ball in the center of camp, while the girls sit in a circle underneath the pine trees, tying friendship bracelets from the embroidery thread I brought.

“Psst,” I hear over the drumming of my ears.

“Psst,” it says again. It’s coming from the hillside about thirty yards away.

“Over here,” the brush whispers. I stare at it, perplexed, certain this is the consequence of too much acid when I was a teenager, the flashback hallucinations I’ve heard about but have never experienced. I take a step in the direction of the noise. I’m unprepared for what I’ll find.

“Stella,” I hear louder, more shrill. It’s coming from the camp, and it isn’t a vision. It’s Yoo-Jin, signaling to me like she’s calling a waiter. “There you are.” She loops her arm through mine like we’re coconspirators. “Sawyer needs help tying off her bracelet.”

I let her guide me across the campground, my eyes darting back to the brush, certain I’ll see some demon, the ghost from Wyatt’s story. As Yoo-Jin escorts me toward the girls, I continue to stare at the bushes until something farther up catches my attention. Cassie. She walks toward camp at a comfortable pace. When she spots me, her face is completely neutral, like it’s all been settled. Travis idolizes his sister. I hear it in the way he calls her a genius and the way he works hard to ensure everything she does is a success. Her opinion matters to him above anyone else’s, above mine, even. If she thinks this relationship is wrong for him, soon enough, he will too.

Only it isn’t over, not yet. Because, for the next two days, I’m trapped twenty miles off the coast of home, with Travis’s sister.