09/04/2012
Teen Fiction
Autumn Bow: First Love, Second Changes
by Weylin Scott-McKean, age 17
They say that summer is the best season, but I say it’s fall. Fall is when I first fell in love.
Her name was Jasmine and she was not only on the cheer squad and the volleyball team but also on the softball team, the soccer team and in the archery club. I had very little in common with her, well, except for the archery club.
One morning I was looking for something to eat, but the only thing in the fridge was beer. I swear if my mom were here she would have a heart attack…again. Beer was all there was, so I drank one. What the heck; Dad was passed out.
I was a ghost, invisible. Everyone ignored the dark depressing kid. Even kids in my school turned their heads as I walked by. So what! I headed to the archery field.
I heard the snap. It was a bow. Yet who would be there at that time besides me? I didn’t want to know. I turned around and tried to sneak away. Easier said than done. I stumbled into a trash can, falling as I knocked it over.
First thing I saw when I looked up was her face. She spoke and it hurt like no one had hurt me before, “I thought you were a half descent person, Terence, but the rumors are true! You’re just a good for nothing drunk. I bet Martians could smell you from here.”
“Well, of course you would think so. You’re Miss Perfect. Leave me alone. I’m here to get some archery practice in and to clear my mind.” I brushed passed her, but she grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. She proceeded to slap me. “How dare you come here smelling of bear, defiling the range and running away because I’m here. You are coming with me to practice. We have a tournament coming up, and you suck royally.” She dragged me to the field where she handed me a bow and ordered me to practice.
She took another bow and shot at her target. She looked different now, calm and almost happy, well, until she looked at me. In the club, Jasmine is one of the best and I’m THE worst, or so I let them think. She can hit the bull’s eye every now and then. I, on the other hand, don’t want anyone to know how good I am. It would just bring attention to me. I like being invisible. It doesn’t hurt that way.
But that day, darn, I couldn’t concentrate on missing, so I hit dead center. “Dang. I mean, wow, what luck!” I bet I looked as convincing as I sounded.
“Yeah, you’ve been faking being bad at archery. I saw your form, it was perfect. So who are you and where is the loser you switched with?” Oh, man, if looks could kill I would have witnessed a massacre. But not being one to be intimidated I straightened up, looked her in the eye and said,
“How about we make a bet? You win and I’ll answer all your questions. I win and I only answer the ones I want to?” I must have sounded confident because she looked shocked before accepting the terms.
We played a three-shot game. I let her take her shots first. There was a reason that she is one of the best—two bull’s eyes and one on the inner circle. But she was no match for me. Where she took her time and aimed, I shot my three rapid-fire—three bull’s eyes. If her jaw fell any lower it would touch the ground. “Before you start the interrogation,” I said, “I’m going to get a soda. Would you like one?”
“I’m… umm…” she got bright pink, “I’m not allowed to have soda.”
I had never heard anything more ridicules, “Not allowed by whom?”
“My mother.”
“Well, she is not here, so what’s stopping you?”
“I… umm… what if I get caught?”
“Like soda is the least of your worries, you’re hanging out with a loser on school property.”
I don’t know what it was but she finally accepted and asked for a root-beer. When I got back from the vending machine she was sitting under the cherry tree and it was in full bloom. The wind picked up, blowing through her auburn hair and making my heart stop. I’d never met anyone like her. I wanted to run my fingers though her hair…but let’s get out of my fantasies and back to reality. I handed her the can of soda. Her emerald green eyes looked at me like my mother’s used to.
“What would you like me to answer first?”
“Let’s start at the beginning. How long have you been a first-rate archer?”
“Umm, two months after I learned how to hold a bow.”
“When did you learn?”
“About 15 years ago.”
“Fine. Why don’t you flaunt your ability?”
I knew she would get to that, and I could barely keep my voice from cracking as I told her what happened. “It was three years ago when my mother died, she had a heart attack. It broke my father’s heart and caused him to stop going to work and he rarely eats anymore. We moved shortly after that and he enrolled me in this school. I receded into the shell that you see every day at school. I now rely on free school lunches and the ever present beer in my fridge. Does that answer your question?”
I knew she would feel sorry for me, but what she said blew my mind. “I know how it feels, and I’m sorry to hear your misfortune. I lost my father three years ago, but my mother took a different route.
She wants me to be perfect. So now I’m a perky, best-at-everything, know-it-all. Yet all I want to do is cry and let myself feel. But I know and my mother knows, that if we get emotional, we won’t be able to function anymore.”
That was when she got up, walked in front of me and extended her hand. I didn’t know what to expect, but I took her hand and found myself being pulled to my feet with the strength of one who could best anyone in an arm-wrestling match. But she did more. She also pulled me into a hug and whispered in my ear, “It’s time to let go. I know you loved her, and I bet she loved you. But she doesn’t want you to waste away. Besides, who is going to compete with me at the meet coming up?” She laughed as we both cried and hugged.
Jasmine had tamed me and I had freed her. After the hug we went back to shooting our bows and having a good time. I even got to show her some of the neat tricks I’ve learned like shooting multi-arrows and shooting while moving. We spent hours talking and shooting. When her mom came to pick her up, she hugged me good-bye.
On my way home I stopped in a grocery store and bought one of those hot and ready chickens. I got home to find my father up watching TV. I dropped the bag in front of him and told him to eat. We ate in silence and when I got up to go to bed he thanked me, his first real words to me since Mom died.
Things started to get better. Dad started to look for a job. I started to do better in school. I no longer pretended to be bad at archery. I started making friends. Jasmine and I continued to talk. We would meet on Saturdays. I would get us sodas and she would make me smile. I stopped drinking beer and she stopped some of her sports—stopped needing to be perfect.
I guess we both needed someone to talk to about what had happened in our lives.
Weylin Scott-McKean is 17 years old and part of the Scott, McKean and Zimmerman families of Conifer and Bailey, Colo. He is an avid writer, science honor student and theater buff. Comments to: [email protected].
