Sunset Over Chocolate Mountains by Susan Elderkin

Author:Susan Elderkin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2000-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

11

From the windows of Santa Catalina Elementary School you look out on to the foothills of the Santa Catalina mountains. Sometimes, higher up where the sides of the mountains are sheer and bald, you can see climbers pinned to the surface, little figures in black or white or red. From this far away they don’t appear to be moving, just sunning themselves like butterflies with open wings.

I wish I was out there, instead of here.

—You talk funny, says Loretta, the big girl sitting opposite. She has very small eyes packed tightly to the sides of her nose and her voice is scratchy like a violin. Where were you born?

—In Arizona.

—You don’t sound like it, the way you speak. She looks at Martha, to her left, and raises her eyebrows in a way she’s copied from people much older than her.

—Can you read and write? asks Martha. Martha has tight black curls and a faceful of large, uneven freckles.

—Yes.

—D’you hear that? ‘Oh, yes!’ She’s stuck up.

Jane, the girl sitting next to me, gives me a weak smile. She has dark blond hair with a greenish tinge that sticks together in clumps. Blue veins show through the delicate skin beneath her eyes. From the way she’s looking at me I can tell that she’s normally the one who gets teased, and she thinks this will make us friends.

I decide I’ll make friends with Loretta and Martha, not Jane. They’re brawny and loud, and it’s safer to be on their side. At recess, Martha gives blood-curdling screams on request. Loretta runs up behind the boys, grabs them round the waist and lifts their feet clear off the ground. The boys shuffle nervously around her, half fascinated, half afraid. She tells us her father is a boxer and is going to be in the Olympics.

Everyone brings their lunch in small plastic boxes with handles. Sometimes they bring strawberry jelly sandwiches, sometimes it’s peanut butter and jello. The sweeter the better, as a rule.

—I can make those, says my father. Just leave it to me.

I learn the rules very quickly, and I pass them on to my father. The strawberry jelly must not have seeds in it, and the peanut butter has got to be smooth, not crunchy. The bread must be white and pre-sliced and you must never have anything resembling the sort of food adults eat, like a chicken leg or a piece of cheese, or anything wrapped in aluminum foil. My father nods and takes it all in. Once, I tell him, a boy named Simon Bartholomew brought in a banana and they teased him about it for a week.

—So mashed banana sandwiches are out? My father looks disappointed.

—I don’t know, I tell him. I’ll check.

—If anybody’s ever nasty to you, my father says that night as he brushes my hair with long, downward sweeps, the thing to do is to shut your eyes and imagine you’re somewhere else.

—Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two.

—You’re always safe in your own head. You can make anything happen. You can imagine that you’re a tree, for instance.

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