Angela 2. David A. Bedford

he felt no attachment there. Angela gave him a semi-sweet, semi-sad smile.

      “It was nice to have you here this summer,” she said. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

      “If I stayed, I would only do it to be near you. You’re a great kid.”

      Angela felt chill bumps and almost cried. Andrew had been so preoccupied, even surly, after the divorce, that this display of affection took her by surprise. She studied his face. There was still hurt in his eyes and his smile was tempered by care.

      “I’ll miss you,” she said.

      “I guess I will, too,” Andrew answered, resuming his tough-guy, slightly sarcastic persona. He turned and walked away before Angela could say any more that was on her mind. One step at a time, she thought. She sat on her bed, unsure of what to do next. Thelonius trotted into the room and jumped into her lap. She swung her legs onto the bed and stroked the cat’s fur along his back. Thelonius purred loudly and closed his eyes. Angela could feel herself relaxing as she continued to pet the lustrous black fur. She looked down and the cat was asleep. Angela smiled, took a deep breath, and fell promptly asleep as well.

      ***

      “I guess teenagers and cats were born to nap!”

      Angela woke up suddenly on hearing her mom’s voice and sat up. Miffed, Thelonius stood, arced his back, stretched his front legs and then, turning his offended back to Angela, jumped off the bed and made a grand and studiously dignified exit. Angela checked her clock. She had been sleeping thirty minutes and she felt refreshed.

      “Come on, sleepyhead,” urged Susan with an amused air. “I could use some help preparing dinner.

      “Sure, Mom.” Angela followed Susan, stretching. “I guess Thelonius’ calling in life is to help people forget their worries. I got too relaxed.”

      Angela enjoyed talking to her Mom while preparing meals. That evening, even Andrew joined in, peeling potatoes.

      “How many do I do, Mom?” he inquired.

      “Keep peeling for as long as you can stand it, then stop. There are never too many potatoes.”

      Dinner was noisy and entertaining, the girls telling about the first day of school and laughing, and Andrew teasing his sisters, especially Amy.

      “You’re not in second grade,” he provoked.

      “I am, too! I’m big now.”

      “You’re a punk and you’re just telling me that to confute me.”

      “I’m not ’futing you. You’re a punk. Mom, what’s ’futing?”

      “Andrew, go easy on her.”

      “Punk squared,” insisted Andrew.

      “Punk googleplex!”

      “Punk infinity!”

      “You’re the biggest punk in the multi-burst!” ended Amy triumphantly.

      “Well, you’re the smallest punk, so there!”

      “Mom!” protested Amy, threatening tears.

      “Andrew, that’s enough.”

      “Ok, Mom. Sorry, Amy.”

      “Hmm!” Amy crossed her arms and pouted.

      Angela had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and empathy for them both. She leaned over and hugged Amy. “He does that because he loves you. And I you love you, too!”

      “You don’t tease me,” said Amy, looking unsure whether she should be mollified just yet.

      “Well, that’s just boys. They’re slower, you know. We have to cut ’em some slack.”

      Amy smiled at Angela. “Yeah, they’re slower.” She looked at Andrew, grinned impishly and jutted out her chin. “Ok, Andrew,” she challenged. “I’ll cut your slacks. I love you anyway, so there!”

      Andrew reached out his arm and mussed her hair affectionately. “Thanks for cutting my slacks, Amy.”

      Angela smiled at him, fighting back laughter and feeling that he gave her joy and frustration all rolled into one. The rest of the evening was pleasant and she went happily to bed to rest up for day two of eleventh grade.

      ***

      The day began sunny, hot, and humid. Angela was sweating uncomfortably just from walking between the car and the school entrance. Thinking longingly of the beach and the water, she stopped as soon as she went through the door to soak in the air conditioning. Fiona and Benjie joined her and they followed the crowds into the auditorium. Today they were starting with an assembly, followed by an abbreviated schedule in the morning.

      Breaking with their classroom custom, the three found seats toward the back on the left side. They supposed that, if they were front and center where she could see them easily, the principal, Mara Petty, would take it as a deliberate offense. The students all stood and recited the Pledge cacophonously, then ebbed to a mumble (Benjie was saying “…ommmm, ommmm, ommmm…”) for the pledge to the Texas flag, which a rare common consent had afforded the status of inferior and pointless.

      “Good morning, students,” Petty boomed into the sound system. She paused. The reverberations echoed to silence and all was quiet. If she had expected the students to answer, she showed no signs of it.

      “Welcome back, everyone, and to the new students I say thank you for choosing our high school! Our growing enrolment is a tribute to the quality of our programs.” She smiled.

      “It’s the only high school in the district!” whispered Benjie. Fiona shushed him automatically.

      “This year our emphasis will be citizenship,” the principal went on. “Citizenship means good behavior, obeying the school rules, consideration, and support for authority.” The three friends looked at each other. “I have reassigned the school newspaper to Mr. Newsom. We will not tolerate the kind of disrespect some people displayed last year.” Angela, Fiona, and Benjie were sure she looked in their direction. “You will not challenge those who have been elected and selected to serve over you. Learning this lesson will serve you well in your future careers and in life. Work hard, mind your own business, and enjoy your years at Sam Houston High!”

      As they walked to class after assembly, Fiona was fuming.

      “Serve over us!? What kind of illogical drivel is that?”

      “Calm down, Fiona,” urged Benjie, switching their usual roles. “We all understood clearly what she meant.”

      Angela said, “She is such a sad woman.”

      “I think she’s plenty happy making us miserable whenever she can,” countered Benjie.

      “Mmmh!” replied Angela and sighed.

      ***

      It was a good week overall. English, history, and dance classes, plus the anticipation of the planned cookout on the beach on Saturday, more than made up for Newsom and Logan. There had been no run-ins with the principal and the KittyKats were quiet for reasons only they knew.

      On Saturday morning, Angela, Susan, and Amy had an early breakfast. Andrew had returned to San Antonio on Thursday, saying good-bye to Angela before she went to school. He seemed in better spirits than he had been during the summer. Angela wondered what he was doing and how he was feeling as she helped Susan make the final preparations for the cookout.

      Just before one o’clock they drove to the recreational part of the preserve on the west side of Oso Bay and set up their things at a table next to a grill. Sonya, who had come with them at Angela’s invitation, was looking everything over, her eyes shining with excitement. She pointed to a large bag that Susan had placed against the grill pedestal.

      “Is carbon, no?” she asked.

      “Charcoal.