New Town Motto

Gina Devers, school counselor at Sierra Lago High School, looked up from her papers and studied the solemn young woman sitting across the desk from her.

"So you must understand, since we have no school records for you whatsoever, we’re going to place you in the Junior class based upon your age," Gina said. "If you find the course work too difficult, please come see me immediately."

The girl nodded once, a shadow of a smile on her lips. "I think I will be able to keep up," was all she said.

Gina pursed her mouth and tried to hide her disapproval. This new student had been homeschooled her entire life so Gina doubted the transition to public school would be easy. The school counselor glanced down at her papers again. This time she looked up feeling a little more compassion for the young woman. "I’m so very sorry about your parents. I know this must be very difficult for you."

The girl nodded, but said nothing.

Gina shifted in her chair. She knew she needed to broach the subject, as the issue was underlined, in all-caps, and highlighted on the file, but she wasn’t sure how to begin. "It, uh, it says here that you’ve been in counseling while the state arranged care for you."mOnce again, a nod of affirmation, but no verbal response came from the young woman. Gina continued, "Are you still having trouble coping with your…" She paused as she searched for the right words. "Your grief concerning the accident?"

"I am not having trouble coping with my grief concerning the accident," the young woman said quietly.

"But it says here that you have yet to show any emotions about the death of your parents," Gina said, pointing to the papers in front of her. The silence in the room was oppressive. Gina wanted to say something to break the awkwardness, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

"The counselor assigned to me by the state had a very narrow definition of healthy grieving," the young woman said at last. "Tears. Crying. According to him, those were the only acceptable ways to mourn the loss of my parents."

Gina held her breath. For some reason, she was entranced by what the girl had to say. She edged forward on her seat in anticipation.

"No amount of tears could convey the loss I felt by what happened that night," the young woman said. "I cannot cry enough, so I do not cry at all."

There was silence again. This time Gina did not feel an awkward pressure from it. She flipped through the pages in the file and then closed the folder. "We’re already five weeks into the semester, so the choices of classes are very limited. I took the liberty of signing you up for the core classes you will need to complete your first semester of the junior year and still be on track to become a senior. As for electives and extracurricular activities, here’s a list of what is available." Gina handed the young woman two pieces of paper. One was her class schedule and the other was the list of electives and extracurricular activities.

"You can take up to three electives, but that will be a very heavy load with all that you have to do with your core classes. I suggest you just take one." Gina watched as the young woman scanned down the list. "I’ve arranged for one of the students here to show you around and help you get your bearings for the first couple of days," said the counselor. Then in a kinder, less business-like tone, she added, "If you find the transition to public school difficult or even if you just want to talk about all that’s happened, I want you to feel you can come to me."

The young woman nodded. And then much to Gina’s surprise, she smiled. "Oh, how pretty you are when you smile," Gina said without thinking.

"Thank you," said the young woman, blushing but still smiling. "Shall I go now?"

"If you could just wait out in the reception area, I’ll have the secretary call your guide." Both Gina and the young woman rose and walked out to the reception area.

As Gina handed the file to the secretary and asked her to call the student volunteer, the young woman sat in one of the chairs that lined the wall next to the reception desk. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall. If Gina didn’t know better, she’d have thought the girl had gone to sleep.

"Come see me later this week," the school counselor said before heading back into her office. The young woman opened her eyes with a questioning look. Gina gave her a reassuring smile. "I just want to make sure you’re doing all right." The girl nodded once, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the wall again.

The young man stumbled into the room, the zipper of his backpack gapping open allowing all his papers, pens, and books to clatter to the floor. The secretary glanced up and grinned. "Ah Robert, thanks for coming so quickly."

"No problem," he muttered as he knelt to pick up the mess and stuff it into his backpack. He brushed his disheveled hair back and stood up. "So where’s the new kid?" The secretary pointed her pen in the direction of the young woman. Robert couldn’t have been more pleased that his undignified entrance had gone unwitnessed by the new student. In fact, it seemed she was sleeping and he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He gave the secretary an unsure look and jerked his head in the new girl’s direction. The secretary just shrugged and went back to her Sudoku puzzle.

He walked over to the girl and stood, just looking at her for a minute. Her face was pale, beautiful, and sad. It was framed by thick, straight hair the color of dark chocolate. She was dressed in an odd, shapeless black dress that seemed to hang on her like a shroud that only came to mid-thigh. After another moment, Robert nudged her foot with his sneaker.

She didn’t jerk awake, but instead opened her eyes with deliberate slowness. She met the gaze of the young man towering over her and then smiled that same smile that had charmed the school counselor. Robert stared for a second too long before saying, "Uh, hi."

The girl rose. "Hello. You must be my guide?"

"Yes. Yes I am." They stood looking at one another for a minute.

"I suppose this will help," the young woman said, shifting her gaze from Robert to the paper in her hand. "It’s my school schedule." She handed it to him.

He barely glanced at the page before looking back at her. "Are you ready?"

A flicker of some emotion Robert couldn’t discern crossed the new student’s face. She shook her head. "No, I’m not ready." He stood there, feeling strangely helpless. Then the young woman smiled at him again. "But that’s really beside the point, isn’t it?" She walked toward the door and Robert fell in step beside her. "I’m Delilah, by the way."

"My name’s Robert," he said. He pushed the door open and let her go through first.

"Nice to meet you, Robert," Delilah said, pausing to let him catch up.

As a general rule, Robert hated his name. He hated having to introduce himself for the very fact that he had to speak his own name. But when Delilah spoke it, for the first time, he didn’t hate it. He noticed that she had a very slight accent that caused her to barely pronounce the ’t’ at the end. It came out sounding like she said, "Nice to meet you, Robber."

"You can call me Rob," he said.

Delilah nodded and gave him an impish smile. "You can call me Delilah."

"All right, Delilah," said Rob, emphasizing her name and grinning.

"Looks like you have Algebra with Ms. Taylor first." Rob motioned down the hallway and they both fell in step together. "So, what brings you to Sierra Lago?" he asked as they walked.

"Oh, the usual," said Delilah with a nonchalant shrug. "Tragedy. Heartbreak. Despair." Rob opened his mouth to answer, but this was not the reply he had expected. He snapped his mouth shut and did a double take at Delilah. "Why are you at Sierra Lago?" Delilah said, ignoring Rob’s curious look.

Rob shrugged and said, "Oh, the usual." Delilah couldn’t help but laugh. "Accident of birth," Rob continued. "I’ve lived here all my life. And don’t let the mayor hear your reasons for being here. It might cause him to re-think our town motto from, ’A beautiful town by a beautiful lake’ to ’Sierra Lago – relocate for tragedy, heartbreak and despair.’"

"I’ll be sure not to mention it in front of the mayor." Delilah cocked a teasing eyebrow.

"Here’s your first class." Rob pointed at a door on the right. "I have to go to a different class now, but I’ll meet you here in the hall afterwards and show you where you need to go next."

"Thank you," Delilah said and reached for the doorknob.

"See you then." Rob turned and walked away. With her hand still on the doorknob, Delilah watched the young man leave. Her eyes followed his tall figure until he turned a corner and she could see him no longer. Delilah sucked in deep breath and entered the classroom.

True to his word, Rob was in the hallway when Delilah emerged from the classroom. He was leaning up against the wall next to the door, trying to ignore a small, round girl who was pattering him with questions and commentary at a break-neck pace.

"Delilah," he said with a relieved sigh. "How was your first class?" He ran his hand through his untidy hair making the sides stick out even more.

Delilah looked from Rob to the small girl beside him. "It was–"

"Who are you?" interrupted the girl with such fierceness Delilah almost took a step back.

"I’m Delilah. And you are?"

"I’m Julie Parker. I’m Rob’s most prized confidant," the small girl said with a toss of her head. Then to Rob, "She hasn’t been bothering you, has she? If she’s bothering you, I’ll make sure she stops."

Rob ground his teeth. "Julie, I was assigned to show Delilah around. This is her first day. She’s not bothering me. You, on the other hand."

Julie just waved her hand at Rob, dismissing his annoyance. "First day here, huh? What brings you to Sierra Lago?"

Delilah’s gaze flitted to Rob, who was running his hands through his hair again in an agitated manner. Her lips twitched a smile. "The usual," she said. Rob guffawed and then tried to cover his laughter with a fit of coughing.

Julie bristled, resenting the implied shared joke. "Well, I have to get to class. I will see you at lunch, Robert." With a huff and a flounce, Julie Parker steamrolled down the hallway.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Delilah let out a chuckle. "What, or rather, who was that?"

"That was the thorn in my side," said Rob with a grimace. He took Delilah by the elbow to steer her in the opposite direction Julie had gone. "Julie seems to think that I am the, quote ’beautiful, misunderstood genius’ unquote, of the school. She has made it her personal quest to see to it that I achieve all the recognition that is due me. Her words, not mine."

Delilah bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling too broadly. "I thought the purpose of a thorn in the flesh was to keep one from becoming conceited. This would seem to have the opposite affect."

Rob looked at Delilah with surprise. She was the first person in the school to understand his biblical reference. "Believe me," he muttered, "every interaction with Julie is humiliating. With her around, I won’t ever have the chance to become conceited."

By this time they had come to the room for Delilah’s second class. "See you after," Rob said. Delilah nodded and this time entered the room instead of watching Rob walk away.

The school day progressed much the same way. Rob would escort Delilah to her next class, always with the promise of being there when she would come out again. They had different schedules for lunch, so Delilah was on her own in the cafeteria during her lunch period. She ate little and sat alone.

Rob showed up just a few minutes before the lunch period was over. Delilah’s next class was chemistry. They walked together with the ease of old friends. For some reason, Rob felt relaxed around Delilah, though that was not usually the case with most of the girls in school. He always felt so self-conscious about his height, but with her it didn’t seem to matter. Maybe Delilah’s lack of self-consciousness about how oddly she was dressed made Rob feel less insecure as well.

"Thanks Rob," Delilah said as he directed her to the correct classroom. "Too bad we don’t have lunch together. I hate eating alone if I don’t have a book." For a split second Rob actually considered pursuing the logistical nightmare of getting his class schedule shuffled around to have lunch with Delilah. She added, "Tomorrow I will be sure to bring something to read."

Rob nodded. "I hate eating alone too."

Delilah smiled. "When you have a good book, you’re never alone." With a wink, she walked into the classroom. When Delilah emerged about an hour later Rob noticed her face seemed drawn and even more pale than when he first met her, if that was possible.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she stepped toward him.

Delilah nodded, a small smile wrinkling the edges of her eyes. "It’s okay. I just get tired easily." She sucked in a deep breath and tried for a bigger smile. "Where to next?"

Rob glanced down at her class schedule. "English with Mr. Sommers. Are you sure you’re all right?"

"I’m fine," she said, her shoulders sagging with weariness. "Please, let’s go."

Rob nodded and placed a hand beneath her elbow to offer what little physical support he felt he could. "How have you liked your classes and teachers so far?" he said, trying to make light conversation.

"I cannot tell yet. It’s so different from what I’m used to," Delilah said. "Do students really learn like this? I cannot think of a more distracting environment to try to concentrate in. There’s always someone whispering, or interrupting, and the teachers seem to spend more time trying to get the class quiet than they do on their lessons."

"You get used to it," he said. "What were you used to before? I always thought Sierra Lago was pretty run of the mill when it came to high schools."

They had reached Delilah’s classroom, but she stopped and turned to Rob before entering. "I was homeschooled."

Rob’s eyebrows shot up in a bit of surprise. While not unheard of, it wasn’t a common practice in Sierra Lago. "I can imagine that public school is pretty different."

Delilah nodded. "I’ve pretty much been self-directed since I was fourteen. I find this method of," she almost smiled, "learning a bit disconcerting." She held Rob’s gaze for a minute. "Thank you for showing me around today. I know it can’t be the most pleasant of tasks, but I do appreciate your kindness."

Rob flushed and found he couldn’t maintain eye contact. "It was no trouble, really. I would be happy to help you out tomorrow. Your Tuesday / Thursday schedule is a bit different and I know you still have an elective you have to decide on."

"I will see you tomorrow then. I think I can find my way out of the school from here."

"I’ll meet you outside on the steps by the front entrance before school tomorrow," said Rob.

Delilah nodded her consent and then disappeared into the classroom.

Delilah entered her final class for the day feeling both stoic and relieved. She had downplayed her discomfort at this new school environment to Rob. She didn’t want more pity. She didn’t want more people to claim to understand what she was going through. A quick glance around the room showed only three desks available. She picked the one next to another open desk. After spending most of her days by herself, this constant crush of her peers was exhausting. The fewer people around her, the more she felt she could breathe.

A few minutes before the bell rang, another student walked into the room and slipped into the open desk to Delilah’s right. Trying to dispel her disappointment, she glanced over to greet the newcomer with a shy smile. He wore a baseball cap pulled so low over his eyes that she could barely see his face. His attention was already devoted to a worn paperback he had pulled out of his back pocket before sitting down. Feeling more curious about the newcomer than she could explain, Delilah searched for the spine of the book to see the title. It was The Brothers Karamozov.

For the first time that day, Delilah initiated a conversation with another student. "Pardon me for interrupting," she said, as she always hated it when people interrupted her when she was reading, "but is that what we’re studying in this class?" She motioned toward the paperback.

The young man gave her an irritated glance and muttered, "Not hardly." He returned to reading, but seconds later he paused again even though Delilah had said nothing else. He pivoted in his seat to look at her, giving Delilah her first real glimpse of his face. He was staring at her in disbelief.

Delilah met his gaze with an uncertain smile. Her uncertainty vanished to be replaced by her own stunned disbelief. Never in her life had she seen anyone so preternaturally beautiful. From the deep violet blue of his eyes, to the curve of his lips, to the perfect slant of his cheekbones, the student looked exactly like she imagined Adonis, the ever-youthful Greek god of legendary beauty, would appear. If she could just look at him for the rest of the class period, Delilah would have been perfectly content.

"Why would we study literature that wrestles with issues of faith and doubt, free will and fate?" said the young man. Though his words were full of cynicism, his expression was still one of disbelief. It was as if Delilah held some secret he had long been searching for and was now moments away from unlocking.

"Because that might lead to questioning what one believes about the world. About life and death. About men and all their curious destinies," said Delilah, feeling a bit star-struck, but still managing to maintain her wits.

"And we certainly can’t have that," said the young man. Even his unfriendly sneer could do nothing to detract from his appeal.

"Okay everyone, let’s see how we can butcher the English language today," said the teacher as he walked into the room and dropped a stack of papers on his desk. "That’s right, boys and girls, your first papers are graded, signed, sealed, and soon to be delivered." The teacher, Mr. Christopher Sommers, scanned the room with a droll look in his eyes. "But first, some housekeeping. Hat off, Mr. Ward. Feet out of the aisle, Mr. Crenshaw. And please put the cosmetics counter away, Ms. Wallace."

The student next to Delilah grudgingly took off his ball cap and stuffed it under the desk. A mop of tousled hair fell over his forehead. Delilah tried her hardest not to look at him. She wanted to stare. She wanted to move her desk closer to him. She wanted to reach out and stroke his golden blond hair and speak to him just to hear his voice answer her. And most disconcerting of all, she didn’t know why. Fortunately, Mr. Sommers distracted her from these dangerous thoughts.

"Also class, we have a newcomer today." The teacher paused to refer to a paper on his desk." Her name is Delilah Kendall." Mr. Sommers stretched out a hand toward her. "Welcome, Ms. Kendall." Then without missing a beat, he dived into his lecture. "Now, let’s discuss a little something I like to call prose. Everyone know what prose is, right?"

Delilah was grateful that her introduction was brief. While none of the other teachers she had met that day made any particular impressions on her, she found that she liked this bombastic and somewhat sarcastic teacher. Delilah forced herself to give Mr. Sommers her full attention, no matter how much the student next to her tugged at her concentration.

"After reading these sad attempts at prose, I decided that I have neglected to give you enough examples of excellent writing." Mr. Sommers perched himself on the edge of his desk and continued to pontificate. "I know your personal reading includes mostly the voice-to-text narration of TikTok videos or ridiculous teen lit, so if you ain’t getting it from me, you ain’t getting it anywhere." He reached behind him and scooped up a book. "While not officially sanctioned reading – thank you state board of education – I brought in one of my favorite authors, Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Lend an ear, children, to this."

Delilah smiled with genuine pleasure and leaned forward in her desk. Mr. Sommers flipped the book open to a marked page and cleared his throat before he began reading. "A motionless figure stood out in a patch of shadow on the cobbled street. The flickering amber glow of a cigarette was reflected in his eyes. He wore dark clothes, with one hand buried in the pocket of his jacket, the other holding the cigarette that wove a web of blue smoke around his profile."

Two students whispering behind Delilah distracted her momentarily from the passage. She glanced around in irritation and noticed that a good three-quarters of the class wasn’t paying attention. Without exception, all the girls in the class were obsessing, some more discreetly than others, over the student who had removed his hat. Even the boys in the class seemed to be subconsciously imitating his attitude and posture. Delilah, who was more self-aware than most, noticed that when she had leaned forward in her desk, she had also leaned a bit to the right. She straightened and focused again on the teacher.

"Now compare that to this." Mr. Sommers took the paper on top of the stack. With an exaggerated shudder, he read, "His muscles rippled beneath his shirt like so many bighorn sheep butting heads for dominance and breeding rights. Patricia could only gasp, which nearly caused her to choke on the bubble gum she was chomping on like it was her last meal before her execution." The teacher slapped the paper back onto the top of the stack. "Hardly, ’let me compare thee to a summer’s day.’" He scanned the room in silence for a moment, which brought the class’s attention back to him.

"Writing good, descriptive prose requires you to use all of your senses. Taste, sight, hearing, smell, touch. Your writing needs to encompass all of these when you’re describing a scene, a place, or a person. And you need a good grasp of what makes for a compelling metaphor or simile and what is just ridiculous." Mr. Sommers hopped from his perch on the edge of the desk and picked up the stack of papers. He continued speaking as he passed them out. "Mr. Cordez, if you really want your reader to experience murder most foul, don’t just say the blood spattered across the villain’s face. Describe how the blood felt. Was it still warm? Was it slippery and slimy? How did it sound when the knife penetrated through the ribs to puncture the lung? Was there a hissing noise? Did the victim gape in silence or with wet rasps?"

Some "ewwwws" came from the more squeamish in the class.

"Now, we’re going to try this little exercise again. Next class I want you all to write about your summer vacation. Yes, yes, I know it’s a flashback to grade school," Mr. Sommers said in response to the chorus of groans. "But I want you to concentrate on describing your experience using all of your senses. Don’t just tell me what it looked like. Let me know what it sounded like. What did it feel like? What did it smell like? Smells are a powerful link to memories. A whiff of baked cinnamon will send me back to my grandmother’s kitchen faster than a dissertation on home cooking."

By this time, Mr. Sommers had reached the student next to Delilah. "Nice work, Mr. Ward," he said without fanfare and then moved on. "And horror of horrors, I’m going to have you each read aloud what you’ve written." More groans, louder this time, filled the classroom. "Why, you ask. Good question, I answer. Because we also need to discuss pace and timing."

For Delilah, the class was over much too quickly. It surprised her how much she had liked both the class material and the teacher. She always thought it trite and a tad unbelievable when people talked about inspirational teachers who changed their lives. Not that Mr. Sommers was about to change her life, but at least his class was enjoyable.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, the girl who Mr. Sommers told to put away all her makeup, sashayed over to Delilah’s desk. It wasn’t hard to determine that greeting the new girl was just a ploy to get closer to the student sitting next to her. "Hi, my name’s Ashley," she said, shifting her attention from Delilah to the young man and then back to Delilah again.

"Nice to meet you. I’m Delilah." Delilah watched Ashley’s with curiosity. Since she wasn’t around her peers much growing up, Delilah found Ashley’s behavior a bit humorous, like an adult seeing through the ruse of a toddler.

"I just wanted to warn you that Mr. Sommers is so hard. He assigns so much homework. Don’t you think that he’s a total dungeon master?" This last comment was directed at the young man, who was fishing around under his desk for his cap.

Catching up his hat, he jammed it back on his head and slid out from behind the desk. "Taskmaster, perhaps?" he said. "I doubt Mr. Sommers has a dungeon."

Ashley was not dissuaded by her verbal mix up. "Yeah, he’s just so hard.”

"I rather enjoyed the class," Delilah said. The young man just grunted and strode out of the classroom without looking back.

Ashley crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at his retreating figure. "Well, that’s the most I’ve ever gotten out of him." Then she turned back to Delilah. "It must be you. You’re good luck!"

Delilah shook her head. "I doubt that very much. Anyhow, it was nice meeting you Ashley." Getting out from behind the desk, Delilah also exited without looking back.