Chapter 1
Juan Ramón Jiménez once said that if someone gives you ruled paper, you write the other way. I know that a lot of people do not know that. They follow societal norms because they care about what other people think. My mother pitied them. Those who do not look or act like they do are outcasts. Outcasts think and act like any person does. I know because I am one.
The date was November 7, 1977, when my world went crazy. Jimmy Carter had been president for nine months, and Maverick was the most populous town Virginia had ever seen. Everybody knew one another. It also happens to be my place of birth. My mother, Uncle Kevin, and their parents lived there their whole lives in a tiny, one-story, teal house in the suburbs.
I have always felt sort of sorry for my mother. She had me when she was sixteen, and let’s say it was not a pleasant time. My whole life she told me my biological father had died in a car accident before I was born. She recounted this story to my grandparents and Uncle Kevin. They were her rock throughout her entire pregnancy.
As for the whole town, they were not so accepting of her having an illegitimate child. People would often stare at her or whisper judgmental comments behind her back. Some accused her of doing it to get attention while others blamed my grandparents for not putting her in a local private Christian school. Almost all of my mother’s friends turned their backs on her. She never told me any of this, of course. I’m recalling what I read in her journal.
My mom went on to write about how hard college was, especially because she had to juggle studying and raising me with the help of her family. She then went on to write about how guys refuse to date young single mothers. This is not to say raising Sabrina is a burden because it is not! she wrote. It has been a blessing. I was happy to read that.
We moved into a two-bedroom apartment as soon as my mother turned twenty-two. It was also conveniently located near the high school where my mother worked as an English teacher. Most teachers choose to live in houses. My mother was not one of them. She wrote that, in renting out an apartment, there would be enough money left for bills and our necessities.
I admire her for it. She put up with years of bullying in favor of keeping me and never regretted it. I think it made my mother stronger. For the first sixteen years of my life, I was the only person she had in her life. Then Mr. Amoretti came along.
Several gray clouds overshadowed the sun, and fresh snow blanketed the ground. I looked out the car window to see students and teachers piling into the school. A couple of them stopped to taste snowflakes. My mom and I got out of the warm, red Sudan into the cold atmosphere.
Mom put her hand on my back. She wore a brown coat, a matching hat, a white sweater, black leggings, and high heels. She carried the white purse I had given her on Mother’s Day. I wore a purple coat, earmuffs, tie-dyed shirt, black pants, and shoes. Most of my classmates were also dressed appropriately, which made me glad.
“Have a good day, sweetie,” Mom said.
“You too, Mom,” I said, smiling.
I walked a little ways ahead of her and through the brown double doors at the top of the concrete steps. Posters of people asking others to join their clubs or help the environment decorated the white walls. Students either put their things inside the blue lockers or talked to their friends. I walked to locker 217, and after hanging my pink backpack on the hook, looked at myself in the tiny mirror on the door. For a solid two minutes, I stared silently into my gorgeous brown eyes. A strand of brown hair was in front of them, so I quickly put it back behind my ear before putting on my red lipstick. I cringed. The red looked so unnatural, so not me. Remember our motto, I thought. The saw can turn the square peg into a circle.
I looked around me. The other girls had their hair up in ponytails or straightened. Mine was curly. Great, I thought. I stand out like a sore thumb. I was relieved to see I was not the only one that stood out that day. My friend, Vanessa Wiest, walked up to me, her red hair hanging loosely on her shoulders. She wore a blue shirt, bell-bottom pants, and shoes.
“Hey, Sabrina,” she said.
“Oh, hi, Vanessa,” I replied. “What is happening?”
“We got a new computer from Apple,” said Vanessa, smiling.
“That’s cool,” I said. “Speaking of, how are your folks?”
“They’re fine, thank you for asking,” she said. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s good, too,” I replied. “Well, except for the fact she does not have a boyfriend yet,”
“Casanova hasn’t come her way?” said Vanessa. “That kind of stinks. At least she has you,”
“Yeah, I know,”
“It’s like the song. We have to keep on the sunny side of life,”
“Always,”
“Say, Sabrina,” said Vanessa, “can I please ask you something? It’s been nagging at me since we started our sophomore year two months ago,”
“Come on, Vanessa,” I said. “You know you can ask me anything,”
“Ok, here it goes,” said Vanessa.
There was a brief moment of silence.
“What happened?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I said, confused by her question.
“You know what I mean,” replied Vanessa. “You have changed, and I’m unsure if it’s for the better or the worse. You’ve changed your whole look. I have always known you to be someone who likes to dress in all black. This new hippy style isn’t you. What happened?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just going through a phase,”
“Ok,” said Vanessa. I could tell from her tone that she didn’t believe me.
The bell rang. Vanessa and I walked and talked on the way to homeroom.
“Oh, and by the way,” said Vanessa, “I hear that Beau Goodman is thinking of asking you out on another date,”
“Beau?” I said.
“Yes,” said Vanessa. “Are you guys, like, officially boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“No,” I replied. “Maybe. I don’t know. We have been on two dates already, and I am always the one who calls his landline,”
“That must stink,” Vanessa said. “I feel for ya,”
“Thanks, Vanessa,”
"You're welcome,"
"God knows what the future holds," I said. "I may not get a boyfriend until I go to college,"
"No one said that love is easy," said Vanessa with a shrug. "Life is hard, especially when you are an outcast at school,"
She was right. Vanessa was the most intelligent girl in our class, having been on the honor roll for three years. I was the second most intelligent student who got straight A's and B's in all my classes. Like Vanessa said, this made us outcasts. The popular kids always found ways to humiliate us. One of them put bubblegum in my hair during an assembly the week before. I told my mother I had put it there by accident because I knew that if I told her the truth, she would only make things worse by telling the principal. The same could be said for my Uncle Kevin. If the principal did not do anything, he would sucker-punch the child responsible.
My Uncle Kevin was thirteen when I was born. Despite his young age, he vowed to be the best father figure I could ever ask for. Whenever my mom was sick, he would be the first to come to our apartment and nurse her back to health. He would do the same for me even though he was married to my Aunt Roberta and had two children.
I sometimes wondered who my birth father was. As I said, he died before I was born and did not have any living relatives. Uncle Kevin and my grandparents said they did not know anything about him. All I had was a name: Michael Monroe. The story of how they met was always the same. It did not matter because I had Uncle Kevin and my Grandpa Bill.
We passed my mother's classroom on our way to Mrs. Arkin's homeroom class. I was shocked to see her and Mrs. Arkin standing outside her door. Mrs. Arkin was a stout woman in her thirties with a pointy chin. Her dark hair was tied into a bun, and she wore a long pink dress. I had the habit of talking during her lectures and thought she was telling my mom about this. I motioned for Vanessa to stop.
"What?" asked Vanessa.
I put my finger to my lips and said, "Shush,"
"So, Kim, what's the snitch?" Mrs. Arkin asked.
"Well," my mom said with a smile, "I finally met someone!"
"No way," Mrs. Arkin replied, astonished. "What's his name?"
"His name is Achinoam," my mom said. "And he's a doctor. I met him through a mutual friend of ours at a coffee shop five months ago,"
"Oh, a doctor!" said Mrs. Arkin. "Do you know what his field is?"
"I think he said pediatrics,"
"In other words, he is great with the kids,"
"Yeah, baby!" my mom exclaimed.
They high-fived.
"I wonder how he felt when you told him about Sabrina," said Mrs. Arkin.
"She is all I talked about on our first date," my mom said. "He said it was fine he is dating a single mom with a teenage daughter, and I was so happy to hear that!"
"Does he have kids?"
"No," my mom replied, her smile fading. "He has not been blessed with any children. Achinoam is a bachelor. He claims the rest of his family lives out of town, so he goes and visits them a lot,”
"Oh, well, I feel sorry for him," Mrs. Arkin said.
"I am sure he will love Sabrina,"
"I am, too," said Mrs. Arkin. "She's a great kid and all, but a little chatty during my lessons,"
"Yes," my mom said. "Thank you for telling me. I will talk to her about that,"
"Alright, said Mrs. Arkin. "Goodbye, Kim,"
"Goodbye, Miriam,"
My mother walked into her classroom, shutting the door behind her. My heart skipped a beat. My mother finally had a boyfriend! Judging by how much Achinoam liked her description of me, he seemed kind-hearted. Keep in mind people lie, I thought. We will have to see if he is who he says he is.
I turned around. Vanessa had a smile stitched on her face like a ragdoll.
"Yay!" she said, hugging me. "Your mom finally found a man!"
"I know," I said. "And you're choking me,"
"Mmm, sorry," Vanessa said, breaking away.
"That's ok," I said. "I'm curious as to why my mom has not told me about him yet,"
"Maybe she thinks you aren't ready right now," Vanessa said with a shrug.
"Yeah, maybe," I said.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. I tried to pay attention to my teacher's instructions, but I was busy thinking about my mom and her new boyfriend. I wondered if he was American because Achinoam did not sound like an English name. Thank God it isn't a Russian name, I thought.
Keep in mind my story takes place during the Cold War. I opened my eyes in fear. What if Achinoam was a Russian or Chinese spy? What if he was a CIA agent? These questions swarmed around my mind like a bee in a hive.
Beau and his friend, Jordan Phillips, met me outside on the concrete steps after the last bell rang. He was tall with blond hair and blue eyes. He wore a black shirt with The Beatles on it, pants, and shoes. Jordan's dark skin glistened in the sunlight that melted the snow. He wore a purple sweater, bellbottom pants, and gray shoes.
"Hey, Sabrina!" said Beau.
"Hi, Beau," I said. "Hi, Jordan,"
"Hi," Jordan answered, smiling.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Casanova here has something to ask you," said Jordan as he nudged Beau playfully in the stomach.
As soon as Jordan was out of earshot, Beau turned to me and asked, "Can I hold your hand, mademoiselle?"
"Yes," I said, smiling. Oh my gosh, is this it? Is he going to ask me out?
"I was wondering if you would like to be my girlfriend?" said Beau.
My whole world stopped spinning. My heart was racing.
"Yes!" I exclaimed.
A couple of girls said "Aw," from behind us. Beau hugged me.
"Jordan!" he called. "Jordan! She said yes!"
Several people started clapping. Jordan ran up to us so fast I thought he would fall and break his leg.
"That is awesome, man!" he said, giving Beau a high-five.
"Yeah," said Beau as he let go of me.
I did not care that Jordan made it slightly awkward. All I cared about was Beau and how good it felt when he held my hand.
"Are we still on for tonight, bro?" asked Jordan.
“Yes,” replied Beau.
“Sweet,” Jordan said. “I’ll see you at my pad,”
“See you,”
Beau and I walked down the steps and into the parking lot.
“So,” I said after a long moment of silence.
“So,” said Beau.
“How is photography class coming?” I asked.
I had known Beau since the third grade. He’d always had a hardcore photography addiction. He would take photos of birds, trees, and occasionally people. The only difference was the ones of people were candid. One time, Beau showed me his darkroom during a playdate. We were ten at the time. He showed me all of the different photos he had taken, which sparked an interest in photography in me. Beau explained how he made sure the animal eyes were not hurt by the camera flash. I guess that was what made me fall in love with him.
“I have this cool picture I wanted to show you,” he said. “I was jogging downtown the other day, and I saw this couple kissing each other on the lips. They reminded me of us,”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny photograph. The couple stood on the steps of the old library. In the background were several cars parked at a red light. The man’s brown hair was greased back, and he wore a white shirt. The woman’s hair hung down to her shoulders. She wore a green shirt. I felt my heart drop when I saw her.
“What?” Beau asked, concerned.
He turned the photograph around so he could see it.
“Holy cow, that’s my Uncle Achinoam,” he said.
“The woman he was with is my mom,” I said.
The man walked hurriedly up the concrete steps, carrying a box. At the top of the steps was a white door. He knocked. An old man in a black and white suit opened it.
“Thank you, sir,” the man said. “Is the General here to see me?”
“Yes, sir,” the other replied.
“Thank you,”
The man walked through a series of doors until he entered a dimly lit room. A large window was off to the left, firmly placed in between two large bookshelves. In front of the window was a desk. Seated at this desk was a man in a green uniform.
“Good evening, Martin,” the man said.
“Mr. General,” the man called Martin replied.
The man in the green uniform turned on the lights.
“What have you got for me this time?” he asked.
“Oh, something exciting,” Martin said. “What’s even more fascinating is the story behind it. It is a very odd specimen from the town of Maverick, Richmond County, Virginia,”
He set the box down on the desk. The man grabbed a pair of box cutters and cut the tape before opening the box.
“Ah,” he said. “Yes, a very odd specimen indeed,”
“Like I said, you will not believe the story behind it,” said Martin. “They claim this thing once belonged to a man. Someone found it in this place the local children call The High Castle. They put it in the town’s national archives where it remained for several years. Our friend in Maverick told me about it. He believes the story is true. Wait until the Soviets hear about this scientific breakthrough!”
“I agree,” the man said, grinning.
