That huge green sign was looming along the side of the Interstate. “Welcome to Vermont”. What did it mean? The message sounded friendly. But something felt extremely menacing.
“This is it, kids,” Mom announced cheerily from the front seat. “We’ve arrived! We’re officially Vermonters!”
Could anything be more depressing?
A few minutes later, another big green sign along the side of the road announced a rest area and visitors’ center ahead.
“Does anyone need to use the restrooms?” Dad asked. “We still have to drive for almost another hour before we get to our new home.”
Of course Cara did. And on reflection, so did I. The first thing I wanted to do as soon as we arrived in Vermont was to take a leak—maybe more.
The Visitors’ Center was an interesting experience. It was surprisingly modern, spacious and clean. It felt like a trap. I tried to warn Dad. But before I could get the words out of my mouth, Cara came running out of the ladies room screaming, “Axe murderer!”
A very confused-looking janitor followed her out, carrying a mop. My parents apologized to the man. Cara eyed him suspiciously. Rachel tried to conceal her self-satisfied amusement.
Our bladders eased, we piled back into our armored beast. Two miles later we got off the Interstate at an exit for Brattleboro, Vermont. Driving through the narrow and winding streets of this modest town, Cara kept her eyes open for pianos and for axe murderers.
From the seat directly behind Mom, Rachel pressed her face against the window, sneering at every new sight we passed. Rachel feigned no interest in Cara’s search for threats, but she was watching out of the corner of her eye, a faint smirk occasionally replacing the sneer. I was starting to smell a rat.
Fortunately, our suburban assault vehicle came factory-equipped with the GPS Navigation Radio. Otherwise we probably would have been circling around in those confusing, winding streets of Brattleboro until we ran out of fuel. Narrow streets, houses leaning menacingly out over them on both sides, numerous intersections with little more than stop signs to direct flow of traffic . . . and Brattleboro was allegedly one of the few bastions of civilization in the entire state!
We pulled up to a stop sign at a four-way intersection and my father took a moment to commune with his navigation system about our next move. While we paused, a green Subaru with Vermont plates rolled in from the street to our left and stopped at the intersection. The driver gave us a wave, encouraging us to go ahead, and offered a friendly smile.
My god! What was wrong with these people?!
Confused, Dad waved back tentatively and accelerated through the intersection. A right turn and a left turn later and we were on our way out of Brattleboro and entering the wilderness.
We drove north and west, deeper into the hills and forest, passing occasional houses and small service stations along the way. The views, I suppose, were nice in a nature-ey, I wonder if civilization will ever reach these parts, sort of way. Despite rare sightings of anything human, Cara kept a wary eye out for axe murderers. For some odd reason, every time we passed a small country gas station or convenience store I kept expecting to see an albino boy sitting on the front porch and playing a banjo. It was eerie.
Whenever we passed through a quaint village or small town, Cara grew tense. Rachel’s sneer became more intense. I couldn’t shake an oppressive sensation of missing teeth. The feeling was overwhelming.
After about thirty minutes we passed through a small town called Antioch. There was still the occasional automobile in evidence. But I don’t think there was a building in town more than two stories high! A handful of people were walking or lounging about, mostly toothless old gammers who were eyeing us warily. A sign leading north out of town identified the road as Route 42, with the communities of Preston and Canterbury apparently somewhere ahead. There was also a sign indicating that East Grange was another eleven miles up that road. I felt an incorporeal hand tighten around my throat.
A little more than fifteen minutes later we reached the Outer Limits of East Grange. And yes, that capitalization feels absolutely correct.
It was another small town, with perhaps six streets crossing the main route and what appeared to be parallel streets on both our left and right. That was it! We had arrived in The Wasteland.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask how this flyspeck of a town could possibly hold a manufacturing plant of any interest to a huge corporation like Appleton-Price,
“It’s the type of business they have here, Ross,” my father informed me. “Packwood Precision Optics makes very specialized instruments for the defense industry. And they use a proprietary manufacturing process that we think is going to become the industry standard for years to come. If I can help PPO expand their production capacity, and evolve the product line a bit, it’s going to create synergy with several A-P subsidiaries that can create new lines of products that will be in demand by our military, and militaries around the world, for decades.”
That’s why we were here. So my father could create an efficient business that would manufacture products . . . to kill people. I wanted a do-over on my conversation with Nana!
We drove through East Grange in, I think, a bit less than twenty-seven seconds. And no, Dad didn’t give the armored beast any additional gas!
We left town after turning onto a road leading west. It wound in that direction for a minute or two, then turned north. After another minute, we passed a large wooden sign for “Ball Mountain Union High School” marking a paved road leading off into the trees.
Mom turned to Rachel and me, “There it is, kids! Your new school!”
Ball Mountain?! Sheesh! How in-your-face could the hetero vibe possibly get?!
Less than a minute later the road-to-nowhere meandered off toward the east. A discreet tan sign with brick red and white lettering advertising “Chase Falls” stood just ahead. We turned left at the sign.
“Here we are!” Mom announced. “Our new home! Chase Falls is a lovely little area. There are only eight homes around here, and none in sight of the others! It’s scenic and private!”
We followed the narrow road for a minute or two. A rather large two-story house stood at the end of the road. It was designed, I thought, to remind visitors of the Swiss Alps; only Heidi, her goats and a few alphorns were missing. But it was also a modern look. The building was faced with a lot of cedar and glass. A three-stall garage stood discreetly alongside.
Dad looked around and consulted his cell phone. “It looks like the moving van was delayed. But we can go inside and look around. Our furniture should be here in two or three hours.”
Three hours later, the moving van still hadn’t arrived. I thought it might have been ’jacked by a toothless gang lurking back down Route 42. And if that was the case, I figured it was better to let them have the furniture than to risk a confrontation with the indigenous peoples. I had noticed a low rumbling sound coming from the west and asked Dad about it.
“Oh, that’s Chase Falls,” Dad remarked.
Mom broke in. “It’s really lovely!” she enthused. “You might want to go take a look. There’s even a nice area at the base of the falls where you can go swimming . . . well, as soon as the moving van and your swim suits arrive.”
Having nothing better to do, I strolled off in that direction before Mom or Dad could suggest that I bring Rachel and Cara.
I remembered to pay careful attention to the path I took and to memorize landmarks. I completely forgot about the possibility of bears.
As it turns out, and quite fortunately, bears had no interest in Chase Falls. I guess there wasn’t a salmon run along the little stream that flowed from the falls.
The sound of the water became stronger the farther I walked. Eventually it grew to a minor roar. And then I saw it. It really was rather impressive.
Stepping through some dense undergrowth, I saw water dropping from a height of about thirty feet. It sprang out over the rock face of a hill high above and fell onto a jumble of rocks below. A modest pool of water spread out from the base of the waterfall and lapped against sandy shores. Across the pool, a stream about twenty-five feet wide carried the overflow downhill and into more woods to the west.
I was taking in the sight, actually a bit impressed, when I heard a voice.
“What are you doing here?” It was probably a reasonable question and it came from a guy about my age. He was dressed in a light green polo shirt and hiking shorts, had long dark hair, and appeared to be a few inches taller than me. He was probably approaching average height.
I looked him over, trying to assess his mood and whether or not he was a threat. I was particularly hoping that he would say something else, so I could see whether or not he had any teeth. But he continued to gaze quietly at me—a mild challenge, I thought.
I gestured back over my shoulder. “Uh, me and my family. We, uh, just moved in today.”
His expression relaxed a bit and his eyes appeared to show interest. “Oh! Is Alan Donnelly your father?”
“Yeah. I’m Ross”. My eyes narrowed. “How do you know my dad?”
“My dad mentioned his name. My father is the plant manager at PPO,” and then realization crossed his face. “Well, he is until you dad takes over. Soon, I guess?”
That was awkward. The guy didn’t seem angry. But he had to be a little resentful, didn’t he?
“Oh man, I’m really sorry.” I mean, I was. I sure didn’t want us to be here, did I?
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “I don’t care. My dad and I don’t really get along. Besides, if the manager position had become permanent, he probably would have got a big raise and used it to send me to military school. This way, dad has someone else to be pissed off at, and I get to stay here with my friends,” he smiled.
Talk about rubbing it in! Maybe he should be apologizing to me! Although my father taking this job really didn’t have anything to do with this guy or his father.
“Hey!” he said brightly, “I bet you’ll be going to good old Ball Mountain with me! If you’re not going away to school, we‘ll probably be seeing a lot of each other there. And after school, me and my friends spend a lot of time up here at Chastity Falls.”
“Uh, Chastity Falls?” Was this some odd Vermont pronunciation? “Doesn’t the sign say Chase Falls?”
“They call it Chase Falls. We call it Chastity Falls,” he smirked. “From Ball Mountain,” he pointed to the large hill looming behind the falls, “it’s not very far at all to Chastity Falls. You won’t believe some of the things that go on up here! I sure hope you’re no prude!” That smirk made another appearance.
“Not unless the definition of prude is a bit different here in East Grange,” I tried on a smirk of my own. He seemed to appreciate it.
“Rad! My man!” I guess that meant he approved. I figured I’d have to get this guy and his crew up to date with the way teens talk today. “Hey! My name is Jason. Jason Reed.” He offered his fist and we tapped knuckles.
For the next fifteen minutes, Jason filled me in on life in East Grange and at Ball Mountain Union High School. I learned that Jason, like me, was about to begin his sophomore year in high school.
The school was fairly small, with only about five hundred students in four grades. The teachers were basically okay, if a bit clueless. The principal was decent. His assistant principal was a major-league asshole.
Jason didn’t really like school but enjoyed the social atmosphere. He had a large group of friends. He figured that he would probably go to college after he graduated high school, but only because it was better than the alternatives.
Jason did enjoy being part of the theater program at school. But despite looking fairly athletic, he didn’t participate in any sports.
“I don’t imagine you do, either,” he said, noting my lack of height with a short glance.
When I mentioned my interest in soccer he looked a bit distressed. “Well, I guess it could be worse. But whatever you do, don’t go out for the baseball team! One of our friends plays and he’ll tell you, you don’t want to have to play in hostile territory with a ball cap on your head that says “BM”. You’ll catch a lot of shit for that!” A gleam in his eye underscored the play on words.
I cringed. “I can imagine. That must be the worst!!”
Jason thought for a moment. “Yeah. Pretty bad. Although there’s a town over on the Connecticut River called Bellows Falls. A long time ago, back before the enlightenment, some guy opened a gay bar in that town. Word spread to neighboring towns and some of the older people around here still chuckle about the guys from the gay town that used to wear “BF” on their athletic uniforms.” He didn’t seem to find that quite as amusing as the local uniforms.
“Of course today we would wear that “BF” with pride.” He paused as a thought hit him. “You know, I might even have some armbands made up . . . ”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying, but the tone seemed positive.
Jason glanced at his watch and announced that he needed to get home. “I’ll catch you around, Ross. Stop by my house if you want. I live about a quarter mile down that trail.” He gestured toward a narrow opening in the trees on the far side of the pool. We bumped knuckles again and he left.
Nothing had changed at home. The moving van still hadn’t arrived. Cara was whining. Mom and Dad looked frustrated. And Rachel was acting even less pleasant than she does when she’s on her period.
In desperation, Dad suggested that we go somewhere for dinner . . . like there was any way we were going to find a place to dine in Hicksville. I figured we would be better off trying to catch our own dinner. Although cooking it without appliances? Yeah, better to pile into the armored personnel carrier and go somewhere, anywhere instead of staying here and possibly emulating the Donner Party.
The moving van didn’t arrive until Monday morning. We survived the weekend. But I don’t imagine anyone is ever going to be bringing up fond memories of that weekend at family gatherings.
Dad had to leave for work before the van arrived. Living three days out of an overnight bag didn’t put him in the best of moods. But at least he wasn’t likely to take it out on the people at PPO. He left muttering about making some calls and persuading the board at Appleton-Price to buy the moving company so he could help “correct” some of their dysfunctional operating practices. From the sound of his comments, I think he was contemplating more than motivational talks.
On his way out the door, Dad mentioned something about checking into signing me up for the soccer team, but he was fairly distracted. I didn’t pursue it. I knew that the team must have started practice weeks ago. And showing up three or four weeks into practice sessions, with battles for positions already mostly settled, and—not to boast too much—with my skills, I would probably create a lot of anger and resentment. I would miss playing this year. But it just wasn’t worth trying to get involved so late in the process.
The movers arrived, unloaded our belongings, and departed in an ungodly hurry. We spent the next week trying to sort through the mess they had left and to find items that we knew had been loaded on that van. We really didn’t even have the chance to pick out our own rooms. Mom stalked through the house pointing and ordering, “You there! You there! And you there!” By the end of the following weekend, we were stressed, still disorganized, and in no shape at all to begin life at a new school. But ready or not, school was starting.
My encounter with Jason had been encouraging. But I was still worried about making a good first impression at school. Clothes make the man, someone once said. But this man was having trouble finding clothes that fit properly.
Somehow or other, the stress of finding out we were moving, the move, and dealing with the moving company from hell must have caused me to lose weight. None of my clothes fit well.
I found Mom in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for us.
“Mom! I need a belt! None of my pants fit right!” I suppose I may have sounded a little dependent . . . and whiny.
“Well, put on a belt.” Mom is nothing if not practical.
“But I can’t find my belt.”
“Well where did you pack your belts when we moved?” Again, practical.
“I don’t remember!” I forestalled the next exchange. “But really. I’ve looked through all of the packing containers with my name on them. I’ve looked absolutely everywhere!”
“Ross,” Mom was trying to remain calm . . . and practical. “The moving company wouldn’t have any reason to steal your belts. Take your time and look again.”
Rachel glanced at me, then down toward my waist. She looked surprised . “Belt? Where the heck are your pants?”
Horrified, I looked down and saw . . . my pants. Rachel was smirking at me, although on her it
looked more like a sneer.
Rachel always found a way to irritate me when she was irritated. I guess it helped alleviate her frustration if she could annoy someone else. It didn’t help me.
I tried to ignore her and stepped out onto the patio. The temperature seemed warm for first thing in the morning, but a steady breeze suggested that I dress for slightly cooler weather.
“Mom!” I went back into the kitchen. “Should I wear a long-sleeved shirt or short sleeves? When I go outside, one minute I’m warm and the next minute I’m cold.”
“Well. then wear a long-sleeved shirt.” Practical mom yet again.
“But I really wanted to wear my Darien polo shirt for the first day of school.” I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? It gets at least one of the getting-to-know-me questions out of the way without anyone having to say anything.
“Then wear the polo shirt and bring a hoodie, dear. That way you’re prepared for hot or cold flashes.” Mom gets snarky when we try her patience too much.
“But, Mom! I can’t find any of my hoodies! I don’t know where I packed them. I looked everywhere!”
Rachel glanced up from her breakfast again. “Do not embarrass me today, dweeb! I’m not going through my senior year in this primitive hellhole known as the girl with the menopausal baby brother!”
I was too stressed to take much more from her. “Just fuck you, Rachel!” Mom looked at me sharply, but Rachel dropped the bomb.
“Not much of a threat, Rossie, when we all know you aren’t even capable of swinging that way.” The allusion to a humiliating and very personal experience left me speechless. Her expression was stone, cold evil.
And that was the final straw. It was completely disgusting! No, I wasn’t interested in having sex with a girl. I found the idea of incestuous sex with a girl even more disturbing. And incestuous sex with Rachel? Just chop off my dick right now! That was never going to happen! I screamed incoherently as I headed back to my room to search for . . . something?
Dad knocked on the door to my room. When I opened the door he handed me a belt. It was a dad belt, old fashioned, narrow brown leather with a pale tan back. He must have bought it in the ‘90s. It was very businessman.
“It’s what I wear, Ross,” he said when he noticed the look in my eyes. “You can live with it until you find your own clothes. Now get ready quick so I can drop you kids off at school. Until we find somebody to bring the Beamer up here, your transportation choices are my schedule or the school bus.”
I saw his point. I knew I had to hurry.
But that belt! Dad isn’t fat, but he has grown comfortable. And my waist wasn’t even thirty inches before I developed my little moving-stress, weight-loss disorder. After I fastened it, the belt went almost another quarter of the way around my waist! I figured I’d just have to leave the tail of my polo hanging out, let that cover any flaws, and hope for the best. I was used to dressing well and dreaded the terrible first impression I would make, even at a place called Ball Mountain Union High School.
Dad slowed down enough for Rachel and I to tumble out of the Tahoe in front of the high school, then sped off toward the town to drop Cara off at her school. Rachel and I immediately separated. I mean, it didn’t upset me, but she disappeared fast!
Entering the school for the first time was a bit uncomfortable. I got a lot of curious stares.
A number of students and staff were milling about. I saw lots of teeth. That was a good sign. Even the elderly janitor standing by the office door with his broom appeared to have a full set of teeth, although I suppose they might have been dentures.
He was standing next to the door to the School Administrators’ Office, my first stop, so I gave him a friendly smile as I passed. He smiled back. Yup. Those teeth looked real. That was good.
I waited in line at the school secretary’s desk. There were eight of us; apparently all new students in the district. The line moved briskly. In less than five minutes I had my student handbook, school map, my locker number and combination for the lock, and my schedule of classes. The secretary even gave me a warm greeting and a cheerful goodbye. Interesting.
Back out in the main corridor the confusion had intensified as more students were arriving. The secretary had told me that we would all gather in the school auditorium for a brief address by the principal, so I consulted my map and headed in what appeared to be the right direction.
I was used to a much larger school, but there still seemed to be a lot of students gathered in the back of the auditorium and starting to filter down toward the seats. I was standing in the back of the room, trying to figure out where I should sit, when a sharp thump on my shoulder drove me straight into the wall.
“Watch where you’re going, idiot,” a voice commanded.
I regained my balance and looked around. A huge guy was walking away. It just added humiliation to my embarrassment when I realized that he must have had to bend down a bit and drop his elbow to drive it into my shoulder. Several of the students gathered in the area seemed amused. The petite brunette on the big guy’s arm (hip?) glanced back at me and looked a bit uncomfortable about the incident. Even I could tell that she was gorgeous. Except for the extreme height difference between the two, they looked like stereotypical high school royalty. Barely thirty minutes into my career at my new high school, it appeared that His Highness didn’t approve of me.
“I see you’ve already met Max Packwood,” a cheerful voice informed me.
I looked back and saw Jason Reed sauntering into the auditorium. He looked me over skeptically and then guided me toward a seat in the back of the room.
“I thought you might drop by and see me,” he pouted. “Didn’t I make a good first impression?”
I groaned. “I’m sorry, Jason. I meant to come over. But our moving van didn’t show up for three days and it got crazy trying to get the house together before school started.”
“Well . . . It’s okay. I forgive you,” he smirked. “I’m a sucker for anyone who will at least pretend to like me. A nice smile helps, too.”
We shared a laugh.
“So what did I do to upset that Max guy?” I wondered. “There was plenty of room for the two of them to walk past me.”
“Max doesn’t need a reason to dislike people,” Jason said. “It doesn’t cost him anything. Before your dad’s company bought Packwood Precision Optical, his dad employed half of the town.”
“That Packwood?” My shoulders slumped. “His dad owned the company? He must be a pretty big deal here and the tool already doesn’t like me!”
“Don’t worry about it.” Jason didn’t seem concerned. But then, it was my life that could suck, not his. “Max is a total prick. Nobody says much because of his family, but nobody really likes him, except for a few that are impressed by his money.”
“Like that girl who was with him? Although,” I said, thinking out loud, “she didn’t seem real happy about what he did.”
“Aislinn? You like her?” It was a bit of a non sequitur, but Jason seemed to be watching me carefully for a reaction. “No. She’s cool. She’s just a little out of her depth.”
Jason leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Aislinn is in our class. She was just another kid for years. Nice. Not too bright. Ordinary. Then things started changing. Puberty hit. When it was all over, she was so hot that even I think about her at night sometimes.” He grimaced.
“So she’s in our class?” The implications took a moment to set in. “Does that mean we’re going to be sharing classes with Magilla Gorilla, too?”
Jason snorted. “Not likely. Max is a senior. He just prefers younger girls. Aislinn had been dating Ryan Terry, our class president last year, since we were in eighth grade. But Max set his sights on her and finally lured her over to the dark side just before summer started.”
He leaned in even farther. “The Packwoods are assholes.” He reflected for a moment. “That’s probably why old man Packwood likes my father so much. With Max, it’s like father, like son. But where the old man’s entire life is PPO and being a dick to the people there, Max is obsessed with being a dick and OPP.”
Several adults were gathering on stage and it seemed like the assembly was about to get started.
“Don’t worry too much about Max,” Jason whispered. “Stick close to me and my friends. We’ll have your back. Besides, your old man is running PPO now. Not Packwood.”
That was actually an encouraging thought. I smiled inwardly as some older guy on stage stepped toward the microphone and began to speak.
Two hours later, we had been welcomed back to school and I was sitting in my second class of the day. Math was a brutal way to start the school day, but I was actually enjoying my History class.
There was some guy sitting a couple of seats ahead of me who spoke with a really interesting English accent every time the teacher called on him. He looked to be about average height, with a trim, athletic build. His light brown hair was styled really neatly—so much for my theory about hair being cut with a chainsaw up in the sticks—and fell to just below his collar. I really couldn’t take my eyes off the faded designer jeans he was wearing. There was something I had to know about them . . . maybe what was in them?
The bell rang to end class. Jason stood up next to me. Somehow, I had forgotten he was even there.
He caught my eye and glanced deliberately toward that guy with the intoxicating English . . . jeans?
“That’s Trevor Beevor-Pounder. But he’s not, you know.” Jason winked.
I must have looked as confused as I felt.
“Trevor and his family moved here from someplace outside of London at the start of our freshman year. All the girls went crazy for him right away. But he’s not a Beevor-Pounder.” He was looking at me expectantly.
“So, what? Is he adopted?” I was flailing, trying to understand what Jason was telling me. “Or are they in, like, the Witness Protection Program, or something?”
Jason laughed out loud. It was even more appealing than his smirk.
“Trev plays for the team.” He took another direct, questioning look at me, probably wondering if I was a congenital idiot. “We all have lunch after fourth period. Make sure you join us. Trev will be there.”
I think I was finally starting to get the message. But how did Jason get the message about me? I certainly hadn’t said anything. And I was pretty sure I had been careful to avoid giving any clues. I mean, even with a mouth full of teeth, I still hadn’t been sure how Jason might react to that news.
I was confused, but also starting to feel hungry. I was looking forward to lunch. But first I had brief stops to make in Graphic Arts and Physical Education.
Copyright © 2024 Nico Grey