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    Rebecca and Savanah
    Rebecca and Savanah
    Rebecca and Savanah
    Ebook149 pages2 hours

    Rebecca and Savanah

    By Cameron Glenn

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Gifted Middle School students Rebecca, who had just lost her mother, and Savanah, who's parents recently got divorced, become friends. A coming of age tale of the bonds and limitations of childhood friendships and growing.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCameron Glenn
    Release dateJan 28, 2017
    ISBN9781370607358
    Rebecca and Savanah
    Author

    Cameron Glenn

    Cameron Glenn grew up the third of seven children in Oregon. As a child he dedicated hours to the pursuits of basketball and cartooning, as well as waking up way too early for his paper route in order to earn money to buy toys, candy and comic books. He also loved to read and write, which he continues to do voraciously. He currently lives in Salt Lake City after having earned a BA in literature from Boise State.

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      Book preview

      Rebecca and Savanah - Cameron Glenn

      139

      Rebecca and Savanah

      By Cameron Glenn

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2017 Cameron Glenn

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      REBECCA AND SAVANAH

      Written in 2004

      Chapter One

      A sad thing happened to Rebecca.  Her dad died in the beginning of summer from a car accident.  At first she wanted to learn all the details of how it happened.  Then she didn’t want to know, why would it matter?  Sometimes, when the pain felt unbearable she’d envision a yellow smiley face and mumble the mantra everything will be fine.  Sometimes that would help, for the same duration the pain of a pinprick on a finger lasts.  She’d force a fake smile to all the old people, trying to be nice, who’d tell her it’s all for God’s reasons, you’re just a poor little girl who can’t yet understand.  If that were true she wouldn’t feel like a plush animal with the stuffing ripped out, or so suddenly frightened of the world.  She wishes she could feel the death served a greater good, but couldn’t, like one can’t become dry in a thunderstorm by pretending to be a sweatshirt tumbling inside a dryer.  Twelve is too old for make-believe. 

      She felt she could throw cars and smash brick walls, like The Incredible Hulk or whatever superhero got power from rage.  She felt guilty.  Stages, the counselor called them.  Her feelings, apparently, were predetermined by a pamphlet.  She made up names for her various ways of crying the way Eskimos have a hundred names for snow.  Rebecca loved music.  Some amazing web sites helped her to develop a collection of albums and songs she thought college age cool kids would approve of: Interpol, The Smiths, Coldplay, The Shins, The Strokes; this music will engulf and comfort me, she thought.  But in her sadness, even music, like everything else, diminished some from its previous glory; became closer to soupy grey porridge.  She was a guitar prodigy, proficient at it, yet she stopped practicing; she used to practice at least two hours a day.  It became harder to daydream about getting a record contract. 

      By the time the summer of her dad’s death ended, she felt acceptance more often.  Her mother moved the disfigured family to a new neighborhood.  Rebecca had to start the seventh grade at a new school, without any of her old friends, who she felt five years older than anyway now. 

      Rebecca remembered a quote, but she couldn’t remember from where it came--the funeral or the counselor or maybe from Abraham Lincoln.  It went something like, the worst kinds of tragedies are those which strike the young because they haven’t yet realized life is full of sorrow.

      CHAPTER TWO

      The alarm clock radio played a bland song.  Rebecca made a silly scream while yawning.  Three dreams woke her that night.  Her jean jacket had a The Clash, button on it.  The Clash, played every song like the clouds soaked red, ready to doom down Armageddon on the world, and The Clash shouted against it—go out in defiance.  She threw her jacket on her bed.  Steam became thick in the shower.  She wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror.

      The week before her dad died a friend told her, If I were as pretty as you I’d never be sad.  Rebecca knew her old friends had envied her for having Jr. Angelina Jolie lips, eyes so intensely blue, hair so oil-slick black, and being the only girl who didn’t wear make-up and still looked like she could be a future model.  They teased her for being tall, with lame taunts of stork legs, and lanky.

      Things like the irony of a bowl of lucky charms in front of an unlucky unfortunate girl never manifest until after her dads death.  She swirled the cereal and dunked the pink hearts and green clovers in the grainy milk.  Jack spilled his orange juice, Megan cried and her mom told Rebecca’s little brother and sister, the twins, (only an amazing awesome coincidence they had the same names as the members of The White Stripes) to change their shirts.

      Rebecca got in the Honda.  The radio played the same bland pop song which had woke her up that morning.  The radio plays the same songs over and over.  The clouds looked like they had come from a jar and been spread by a butter knife.  She didn’t talk with her mom until the car stopped in front of her new school.  Rebecca wished the car hadn’t stopped.  She liked the feeling of a car in motion. 

      Jefferson Middle School, the Wildcats, colors green and white, seventh grade, all loomed in front of her.  But what if I’m still not fine after a while she wondered.

      The first day of school is like a movie premier.  They might as well roll out a red-carpet and have all the fashion police paparazzi people blather about who’s hot, who’s not, who has style, who doesn’t so are therefore deemed worthless.  All the school big stars make a big fuss over themselves and ignore everyone else, merely the extras.  No one paid special attention to Rebecca although she stood out by her tall height and striking looks.  She hadn’t received the memo listing what the trends would be so went without a sparkly belt and lip gloss necklace.

      Hi I’m Rebecca.  I’m new.  My dad got crushed in a fatal freak car accident at the start of this summer so I didn’t fly to Disneyworld or Europe or go camping.  She thought of what she might say to introduced herself, but didn’t say that.  Instead she said in her first class after the teacher asked everyone to introduce themselves: I just attended Madison last year.  I like Dolphins and Panda’s.  I play the guitar and my little brother and sister are named Jack and Meg just like The White Stripes.  In her subsequent introductions she didn’t mention that she had attended rival Madison (she didn’t like being booed) and took out the White Stripes reference after one classmate said they suck.

      Thank you nice to have you Mr. or Mrs. Teacher would then say and classmates playing whatever dumb get to know you memory game would repeat her name.  The English teacher, apparently thinking them still in elementary school, made them clap syllables of their names.  Rebecca laughed along with everyone else at the boy who clapped twice for Matt.  

      Rebecca hummed while spinning the dial on her locker.

      What song is that? a girl by her asked.

      Huh?  Oh, it’s not a song, Rebecca said.

      It sounded good, the girl, a locker neighbor, said.

      Yeah sure, Rebecca said.

       I do that all the time, the girl said.  Sing or hum or rap without even realizing it.

       Sometimes it’s best not to think too much, Rebecca said.

       You’re new.

       It’s that obvious?

       No sparkly belt or lip-gloss necklace.

      Oh yeah, Rebecca said then laughed.

      I’m also new.

      Oh.  They stick the new girls’ lockers together apparently.

      I’m Savanah, the girl said.

      I’m Rebecca.  Are you in the sixth grade?  The girl looked small to Rebecca.

      Savanah laughed.  No.  Although I don’t know why I laughed.  I should be.  But I’m in seventh, like everyone else in this hall. 

      You skipped a grade?  You don’t look like a nerd, Rebecca said.

      Savanah laughed again.  Well thanks.  It’s impossible for me to look like a dork since I’m so cool.  No, just kidding. 

      I like your hair like that.  In the two pony tails.

      Well first day of school I thought I’d do something crazy with my hair I guess.  Life’s about hair risks, right?  Is your hair naturally so black? Savanah asked.

      Yup, Rebecca said.  And these boobs are real too, she said, opening her jean jacket, flashing her flat chest.  She smiled at Savanah’s loud burst of laugher. 

      I’ve got mine done last week, Savanah said, tugging her gold T-shirt down over her flatter than that chest.  Maybe extreme for an eleven year old, but I’m mature for my age, so I’ve been told, she said sarcastically. 

      Rebecca laughed. 

      I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone I skipped a grade, Savanah said.  I hear being smart isn’t currently considered cool.

      Don’t worry, it’s not like I know anyone to gossip to, even if I did believe in gossip.  Which I don’t, Rebecca said.

      Me either.  It’s so dumb.  There was too much of it at my old school.

      Mine too, Rebecca said. 

      We have American Government together next.  I saw it on your schedule, Savanah said, pointing.

      Oh, Rebecca said.  I’m the only one carrying a class schedule around.  Pretty dumb, huh?

      No, Savanah said, I have my baby blanket in my locker, to pull out in case of emergencies.

      Really? Rebecca asked.

      No, Savanah laughed.  We better go.  Don’t want to be late.

      Rebecca followed her, walking faster than she had all day.

      Anxiety, shock, fear, brings depressions.  To be happy, relax, enjoy, afford.  Rebecca sometimes wanted to hide and die and have highways built over her and maybe it would be better if lightening disintegrated her in her shoes.  She never felt that way before her dad died.  Everything glowed, then as quick as a shooting star, the world fell, and she hadn’t known before it needed to be supported.  Some people don’t do well in life, she realized.  Her thoughts used to twirl breezy ideas high about the colors, stripes, and smoothness of pretty rocks, and how holding a pretty pink smooth rock with a white stripe through it could feel so happy—feel like gripping the world.  Satisfy the instant, entertain nonstop games, be frivolous, see that God is in sunshine and everywhere the sun shines which is everywhere and everywhere is happy.  After her dad died she felt bloodless and transparent.  She had sung and skipped and played, and then she tripped and broke.  She worried that her newfound pessimism, her father’s unintentional post-death gift to her, might never leave, and how horrible if she

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