I adjust the scarf under my thick jacket, keeping my neck from the bitter November breeze. The trees are sweetly whispering with the same wind that blows through my blonde hair. This is probably the worst time to clear our backyard from autumn’s leaf littering but it’s also the only time I get. Tarzan barks for my attention playfully from the patio. He knows I have to finish raking the leaves before he gets to jump into them.

It’s the weekend and I dread the coming hours. I have to buy a dress for the Fall Ball since I don’t own anything that would be suitable in the least bit. There is never any need. I go to school, I come home. I feed the animals and work with my Uncle in his veterinarian office built onto the side of the house. I have a bathing suit for hot summer days and a simple black dress for attending a funeral. If I ever need to look a little dressier for a holiday meal, I have a choice of loose tops to match with my unsullied jeans that have crystal-like studs on the back pockets. But a real dress? I’ve haven’t tried one on in ages.

I exhale through my chapped lips and look up at the sky. It’s still vivid white with little grey clouds here and there. Spending all day in school, it feels better to be out in the open. I sweep away the last bit of leaves and set the rake on the side of my house.

“Alright,” I tell my eager mutt. Before I even finish, he happily darts from his spot on the back porch and bounds into the air, landing on the piles I’ve raked. I’ll probably have to do it again tomorrow but to see the joy in his eyes is worth every second. After ten minutes of romping in the leaves, which are almost as scattered as they were when I began, I call him again. “Come on, Tarzan,” I say with a laugh. “I need a walk as badly as you do.”

Tarzan jogs up beside me as I wander farther from the house. My uncle doesn’t want me in these woods even though he knows I won’t be affected by what’s happening on the news. I take a deep breath and let the chilly air expand my lungs. They would know better than to harm someone like me.

Leaves fall from their branches around me like rain set on slow motion. Some are crumpled and brown while others are too weak against the wind which sighs above me. The motion sounds like a million fairy bells ringing sweet, indistinct melodies. I stare above to witness the silhouette of the tallest branches. The way they move remind me of being underwater and looking up at the sunlight’s reflection. The withering rain of leaves take my breath away. It’s my little stretch of paradise, no matter what season it is.

It’s quiet here, letting little interfere with my overflowing thoughts. Days like these are when I miss my mother most. Only she could talk to me in a way that made everything seem less daunting. Mom would go with me to the mall, giving advice on what color fabric would match my skin or how I should wear my hair. On the day of the dance, I’d sit on the bathroom stool having my makeup done, mom teaching me what she knows even though I’m a hopeless case, as I gush on about the boy who’s taking me and how he asked me to go. I’d say Byron’s eyes make me think of a blooming forsythia bush in spring, golden petals melting off into a green hue, and his insistence of getting me out of my shell makes it worth going to school. His smile makes me feel safe. Byron is the sweetest, most caring guy I’ve ever met and I feel lucky that he even noticed me.

I stop mid step. Tarzan keeps going further into the widespread trees while I furrow my brow and question myself. Did I really just think that? Of course Byron makes me feel happier. He’s my closest friend after all, making sure the weight of my hesitant personality is lessened. Sometimes I feel ashamed, like I’m bringing him down from his in-crowd to the place where only the introverted saps like me hide. I hate that I take him away but he never seems to mind. My boot kicks a stone out of my path. No matter which way I try and derive from the topic, I come back to Byron and the Fall Ball.

I’ve been to two dances in my life, both in middle school. Uncle David convinced me that I needed to interact with people before I became a hermit. We both knew he was joking but there was some truth to it. I went with the girls from my old Outdoor Explore club. They’ve since grown into their teenage years, choosing makeup and boys instead of the trees we bonded over. Most have probably forgotten my name but I don’t blame them. I’m still here. These woods are my home, more than the house I left in the wake of my secret daily hike.

Byron on the other hand grew closer to me. We were classmates since 7th grade but nothing more than the occasional passing of homework assignments. He smiled, said thanks, and I nodded my head. We grew closer in high school where he had to start taking the bus. I discovered he listened to the acoustic bands I like and that we both wanted to work with animals in our future. My uncle said to offer Byron a job like mine at his veterinarian clinic but I knew we couldn’t. If he works with me, we’d grow too close. Byron would find something out, I’d panic and the friendship I try so hard to maintain would be out of balance. Who would I talk to then?

Before long I pass the spot marked with rocks placed in a giant oval. I shiver at the sight but attempt to keep my eyes away. There, the nameless monster sleeps for eternity. Soil was spread over on top to render it less noticeable but each day I fail to breeze past without guilt festering in my heart. I loathe that man but keep moving. Tarzan knows well enough not to go near there either. But I know now I am only a few yards away from where I want to be.

“In beauty may I walk,” I recite to the air. Tarzan speeds ahead to the large maple tree we stop at every day. Inside the loose knot about a foot above eyelevel, I’ve hidden the thing I hold closest to my heart. “All day long may I walk. Through the returning seasons…”

The chant soothes me as I remove my mother’s turquoise necklace from the decayed hole. I would never keep it in the house, it feels too special. It deserves its own exclusive place. The chain wraps around my fingers and I feel the comfort of my past.  My feet continue to move in a circle around the tree. The necklace was a gift from my father when I was still in her belly. He said it reminded him of the good in the world outside of his mother’s culture.

Dad was half Navajo. Most people wouldn’t realize I have Native American in me from a glance. Most of my looks I took from my mother’s German and French side of the family: blonde hair, cloudy blue eyes, and slightly upturned nose. From my father I inherited wide cheekbones, round face and full bottom lip. I don’t know much about his way of life but I try to keep some parts of it alive. Like the chant. Though it’s meant for a healing ceremony, non-natives recite it on walks to lift spirituality. I lean my head back and listen to the organic sounds around me, taking in the natural wonder of the world.

“In old age, wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk. It is finished in beauty,” I mutter to the tree. Tarzan comes up beside me and sits, panting from his overexertion. I rub the thick fur over the back of his neck and turn back to the trail that leads to my house. “It is finished in beauty.”

.

Two hours later, my nerves are in a jumble from being so close to the general population. Bill was left in charge at the Carrington Animal Clinic for half an hour while I’m driven to the mall. He knows me better than most, helping me like an uncle while my real uncle is more like a father. It explains why I’ve turned out so tomboyish. All the adults in my life care about caring instead of appearances. Even Mrs. Englesson, Bill’s wife, is more into sports and her volunteer work than being pretty. But unlike me, she’s naturally a beautiful person. I’m a plain-jane kind of girl.

Uncle David pulls into the fire lane outside of the mall and unlocks the van. I sigh, gripping the strap of my purse and the handle on the door tighter. My driver clears his throat at my inward battle.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tag along? I could—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I feel weird enough as is.”

My uncle shrugs his shoulders and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. I gather my courage behind my closed eyelids, preparing for the Saturday crowds. This many people make me nervous. My eyes snap open when I’m passed another $50 to add to the two hundred I was given at home. I raise a brow at him.

“Geez, how expensive are dresses?”

“I’m not sure. But better safe than sorry,” he says. I stuff the money into my jeans pocket and open the door with a clunk. “Send me pictures. I know you. You’ll try on three things, hate them and then buy the cheapest dress you can find that covers you up to the neck.”

“So I should dress like a prostitute to fit in?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” He sighs and checks the traffic in the mirrors. “I can only park here so long. It’s either you go in and buy your gown or we get pizza and you have to tell Byron that you’re too scared to go.”

“I vote pizza.”

Uncle David pushes my shoulder jokingly. I roll my eyes with a little groan. After another deep breath, I shift my legs out and hop down onto the yellow painted curb. The van door is slammed shut and I start the nerve-racking walk to the main entrance. He drives off while I escape into the sliding doors feeling more vulnerable than outside in the open. That’s what you get for living an isolated life.

Warm air blasts into my face as I enter the colossal building. The two stories entice me to walk further in, passing stands in the center either pleading for me to buy cell phone cases or to try their new lotions. I brush past their offers and turn right to find the majority of the clothing shops.

The first store I wander into is the biggest department store in the Wakeburg Mall. If this place doesn’t have a decent dress, I have little hope for the rest of my day. The interior design section is already baring red and green ribbons, completely skipping over the holiday of gratitude. There’s more advertising for Black Friday than Thanksgiving and even more for Christmas. But I keep moving to the back and up the escalators. It takes five minutes to find the large assortment of dresses designed with sequins and bright colors. It’s stationed between the boys section, where most of the t-shirts bare superheroes, and kitchen supplies. I ignore the strange setup, sling my coat over my arm and start searching.

In front, three mannequins stand tall with their hands stationed on their plastic hips. The middle model wears a sky blue dress covered in rhinestones around the bust while the rest drapes down to the floor. Tulle hangs from a broach dazzling on the center of the chest and wraps around to the back, trailing like the veil of a Victorian bride. I check the tag but as soon as I see those black printed numbers, my eyes widen from disbelief. Three hundred dollars for a dress? No, thank you. The two dresses on either side of it have the same pricing. I skip over all the other beautiful gowns right away and head for the clearance rack. I have no idea what I’m looking for or what size I need so this will be an awfully uncomfortable adventure.

“You’re in my class, aren’t you?”

I whip my head around. A distraction from shopping, even if it’s a boy who I don’t actually know, is entirely welcomed. He struts up to me casually with his hands in his coat pockets while I step away from the juniors section. He’s pretty tall and thin in a gangly sort of way and atop his head flaxen hair sits in a scruffy mess. I hold my jacket in both hands and glance up at his angular face.

“Which class is that? I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

“Oh, then my bad,” he says with one side of his mouth curved up in an enticing half-smile. It’s a kind of look that makes regular girls weak in the knees. “I should have known. I would have remembered someone like you.”

He holds out his arm for a handshake which I hesitantly accept.

“So do you go to J. Buch High?”

“Rosemary High school,” I tell him. My hands nervously recede to hold my jacket again. “I’m doing the last minute shopping for the Fall Ball. It’s been so long since I’ve worn a dress and I’m nervous to even try one on. Then to have to buy it is even scarier.”

Consciously, I want to stop talking but something about him gives me the need to explain everything. Maybe it’s the vibrant life in his eyes or his inviting smirk. The excitement of the mall around us continues to move, people brushing past to get their shopping done before heading to the restaurants that circle the mall outside. The daunting feeling I had on the bus earlier this week is returning, making me want to end our conversation. My shoulders shudder but I keep my chin parallel with the floor.

“Going to the dance, huh? Maybe I could take you. If you give me your number I’m sure we could work—”

“Oh! That’s okay. I have a date and… and… I should get my going. I don’t have all day to be here.”

The stranger advances, making me more aware of the claustrophobia I’m trying to ignore. I back until I hit the white stand for the mannequins but it doesn’t stop him from getting even closer. His overpowering deodorant invades my nostrils which isn’t pleasant. I don’t think he realizes how not interested I am.

“Then look me up online. We definitely should know one another. My name’s Derrick Gor—”

“I have to go!” I rush into the dress department and hide beside the sales rack. Derrick looks like he’s about to follow me in but a girl that has very similar defined features and fair hair pulls him away. He glances back and waves like he knows we’ll meet again. I shake my head, taking deep breaths to slow my thundering pulse.

I don’t know what it is about talking to boys that makes me feel pure terror inside. Each time I leave them hanging, there’s always a tinge of regret. I’m afraid and yet I want to let myself go. My inhibitions rule out and I’m left as a quivering mess. But he might be an exception to succumbing to my apprehensions. Derrick’s eyes were more than curious; they seemed menacing for a teenager.

My reflection catches my eye in the thin mirror hanging on the wall. Red splotches are developing on the skin under my shirt’s neckline. They come from my nervous tension getting the better of me. If I don’t get my dress soon, I’ll be a walking lobster of awkwardness. No one wants to see that.

I select a simple purple dress in a size 5 and a black dress with ruffles in size 7 before rushing to the dressing room. After this, Tarzan and I are going for another long walk. I’m going to need a lot of outdoor time to rid myself of the memory of today. Dirty blonde hair falls into my eyes as the dresses are flung onto the hook screwed into the locked door. My fingers tighten around the materials that feel too good for an unimpressive girl like me. I nod to myself. I’ve had enough of people to last the weekend.