Page 3 of September Lessons
Ms. Tichenor wasn’t there today, which suited Leigh-Ann fine. She saw enough of her “favorite” teacher that summer, when their volunteer duties at the B&B Waterlily House overlapped.Always the most awkward thing.What did one call their teacher outside of school? Didn’t help that Anita Tichenor was what most of the kids called “chill.” Leigh-Ann could have totally called her Anita at Waterlily House and not garner a second glance of admonishment. But it felt so wrong!
Gone from the cafeteria were the long benches and tables that once pulled down from the walls. They had since been replaced with short, square tables and plastic chairs, making the cliquing of classes easier than ever. Leigh-Ann hadfriends,sure, but she was always the first one voluntarily pushed out when the chairs were filled and the teacher on duty got miffed at the cramming of more around a single table. It didn’t bother Leigh-Ann, though. Really. She liked her solitude, especially since the school district allowed students to have their phones out at lunch. Leigh-Ann either caught up on her homework (which she didn’t have yet,) or she read a book on her phone. Or, more than likely, she scrolled through the Tumblr app and hoped the nudity that was supposedly banned didn’t show up the moment an adult walked by behind her.
The only person to approach her corner table that auspicious day was someone she barely recognized.
“Hey.” The new girl – Carrie, was it? – dressed in torn-up jeans and a baggy black and gold plaid shirt placed her tray on the table. “Can I sit here? Everything else is booked, if you catch my drift.”
The first thing Leigh-Ann noticed about Carrie wasn’t the eyebrow piercing (technically against the dress code, but rarely enforced) or the set face that conveyed she had seen a few things.She’s got an accent…Sounded vaguely Oregonian, but… thicker. Not quite Texan. Definitely a drawl that Leigh-Ann had not been expecting. Probably because most of the drawls around Paradise Valley were faker than the so-called designer threads on Amanda Ardison’s body.She’s such a liar…
“Sure.” Leigh-Ann moved her tray closer to the edge of the table, not that Carrie needed the room. “You’re that new girl, right?”
Carrie’s smile was more tired than friendly. Yet she sat, her tray unceremoniously pushed to the side the moment her butt touched her chair. “Yup. That’s me. Y’all got you eyesight in fine form today, I see.”
Leigh-Ann cocked her head. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, sorry, did my accent give me away? Can’t help it. Tried to shut it off when I moved here a month ago, but all of you Oregonians are dropping y’alls like a tornado tore up Texas. That’s before I touch upon the number of Confederate flags I saw on my drive up I5.”
“It’s a weird place, I guess,” Leigh-Ann said. “I never really thought about the way we talk. Just sounds like TV to me.”
Carrie picked up her sandwich while happening to glance at Leigh-Ann’s binder. Quite conveniently, the nameLeigh-Ann Hardywas written on the spine in silver gel pen. Most of it had faded away after a few years of use, but there was no mistaking that it was hers. “What’s your name again?” Carrie asked. “Lee-Ann?”
She didn’t flinch. “Lay-Ann.”
“Huh?”
After swallowing a bite of sandwich, Leigh-Ann said, “It’s pronounce Lay. Like the chips.” The chips they didn’t get to eat in Clark High, because the school district couldn’t strike a deal with Frito-Lay or whomever.
“Weird.”
“Yeah, well… that’s how we say that around here.”
“You kidding?” Carrie snorted. “How many people calling you Lee?”
“Too many. There are a lot of out-of-towners around here. Half the teachers have an aneurysm when they find out I’m not the only one. About a county over there’s a town called Ashleigh. Spelled like Ashley, but it don’t sound the same.”
“Oregonians are weird.”
“You never told me where you’re from.”
Carrie popped open her chips and let them spill in the corner square of her tray. By then, more than a few of their classmates looked over in their direction. Either Leigh-Ann was now the most popular girl in school, or she had officially become a pariah – but in a school that size, it didn’t matter. Even the Lepers talked to the “cool” kids on a daily basis.
“Alabama,” Carrie said, her accent jumping out like a cat from a crate. “Northside. Pretty rural like this place. Where half the town is a trailer park and the other half are people in old houses thinking they’re something special.”
Leigh-Ann didn’t laugh, although Carrie sure thought herself brilliant. “I live in a trailer.”
“No shit?” Carrie snorted. “Obviously, y’all got trailer parks. Sorry if I offended you.”
“I’m not offended.” It took a lot more than that to offend Leigh-Ann. “Just Oregon ain’t that much different from the South, I reckon.”
Carrie looked at her as if she didn’t know whether Leigh-Ann did that on purpose. “But y’all say ‘leigh’ wrong, apparently.”
Shrugging, Leigh-Ann pulled a bit of crust off her sandwich. “You move here with your parents? What they do?”
“Nah. I’m living with my aunt and uncle in Roundabout. I had to… transfer.”
“Transfer? From Alabama?”
“It’s a thing.”
