Trinity (36)

Katherine Davies’ house is huge. Ok, maybe not huge, but it’s pretty big, which makes a lot of sense because she does have five siblings. What’s actually huge is her family’s plot of land.

As my mom was driving us closer and closer to Katherine’s, I began to wonder how she even knew where to go, considering she refuses to use a GPS. The entire landscape was filled with fields and fields of knee-high plants and telephone lines, and beyond that, just sky. Against all odds, though, my mom pulled up to a large house next to a big barn next to a field that, I think, goes on forever.

I stare up the drive at the house, which has a wooden sign tacked up next to the door that spells out ‘Davies’ in hand-painted letters.

“I’ll have to pick you up at six, at the earliest,” my mom tells me, glancing at the clock. It’s four-thirty. “I’ve got to go across town and drop off the dry-cleaning before they close.”

“Ok,” I reply, grabbing my backpack and stepping out of the car. I see movement near the barn, and I shut the car door and edge closer. I can hear my mom pulling away behind me.

The large barn doors are open, I find, and there’s students inside. Even from here I can see them. They’re spilling out of it, some of them around the side of the barn, hidden from the view of anyone in the driveway.

For the kids outside, there’s lawn chairs and a firepit, though it’s too warm and early in the day for a fire. There’s a tire swing, as well, hanging precariously off the limb of an oak tree, one of the only trees in sight. Inside it's mostly empty save for the colossal tractor and a handful of students sitting on bales of hay, Katherine and Andrew at their center.

All in all, I think there’s about thirty kids here, which is a sizeable chunk of our class. Also, there’s not a backpack in sight.

“Trinityyyy!” comes a sing-songy voice to my left. I realize I’ve been standing and staring into the barn for a strange amount of time, and I look around sheepishly.

Maggie’s waving an arm from the tire swing, laughter bubbling out of her as she’s pushed higher and higher. She lets out a screech as the oak tree’s branch groans.

I dart over, being sure not to get hit by the tire or Maggie’s flailing legs. Mary Kate is standing just below her, giggling as she pushes Maggie with even more force. A few other kids sit and watch, presumably waiting for their turn.

I would be more worried about the potential death-trap that is a tire on a rope, but something about Mary Kate catches my eye. For one, she’s not wearing a uniform--no one is, which is bizarre, but nothing I haven’t seen. She’s dressed in a similar fashion today as she had been at Maggie’s birthday party: a striped top and overalls, a little beaded necklace, patterned socks. But beneath the sleeve of her short-sleeve shirt is ink. A sun and moon spiral across her skin. Is it possible that she has a tattoo?

Mary Kate reaches out and grabs the tire with both hands, skittering her shoes into the dirt with the force of it as she’s pushed backwards. It successfully slows Maggie down, though, and the tire jerks back and forth for a moment before calming into a slow spin.

Maggie shakes out her hair and slides off of the swing. “This thing is great. Trinity, you must try it!”

I shake my head and clutch the straps of my backpack. “No thanks.”

Mary Kate has folded her arms, and I try not to stare at her tattoo. Maybe it’s temporary.

Within about a minute of talking to them--and observing my surroundings--it becomes clear that this gathering is less like Easter planning and more like a party. Maggie reveals in a hushed tone that Katherine hosts big parties every so often, always in the barn, and always resulting in some kind of drama.

Charles Lee appears then, and chuckles when he spots my backpack. I still haven’t set it down, and it’s begun to hurt my shoulders. “You know we’re not doing any real work, right?”

I frown, because why would Katherine say it’s an Easter meeting if it’s not? But I don’t have a chance to answer, because Mary Kate has pulled on his arm and is kissing him on the cheek and wrapping his arm around her waist.

I’m just beginning to feel uncomfortable with her display of affection when some boys come out of the barn and shout for everyone to come in.

As it turns out, Charles is wrong, and we do plan who can do what for the Easter talent assembly. By the looks of it, Katherine’s friend Flora did all of the planning beforehand, and she and Katherine are just doling out responsibilities now.

To my surprise, I see that Kelly is here, sitting on a hay bale between two other kids on the other side of the barn from Maggie and I. For a moment, I think that we might decorate for the assembly together. But he volunteers for something else, and Maggie signs us up to greet families at the door. I’d rather not, but I tell her it’s fine.

By the time that part of the meeting’s over, it’s barely past five o’clock. Katherine stands and tosses her long hair over her shoulder. “Enough of that, now. Since it’ll be a talent show, who’s got a talent to show off now?” Andrew’s already on his feet. “Looks like Andrew is going first,” she says with a hint of irritation.

He flashes a grin at her, then the crowd. “I’ll need a volunteer!” he bellows, and someone groans, while his friends holler. He glances back at Katherine, who’s pouting, then back out at the crowd.

Maggie snorts and leans closer to me. “What is this, a magic trick?”

He chooses Katherine’s friend, Flora, who blushes as she stands. She’s slight, which must be why he picked her, because he immediately grabs her about the waist and hauls her into the air. After just a moment, they collapse into a pile of hay, and Andrew’s friends whoop louder.

Katherine starts to talk, but Andrew stands and pulls up Flora behind him. “Anyone else?” he asks the group. “Or I’ll demonstrate on Flora again!” He reaches for her, and she laughs and squirms out from his grasp.

“I have got something more fun,” Katherine states loudly. “It’s a bit of a guessing game.” She stomps over to a cluttered table in the corner of the barn, and pulls something off of it. “This belongs to someone at school, so we’ll read some and see if anyone can figure out who.”

I strain my neck to see around the girl sitting in front of me.

My stomach plummets. It’s a brown journal, well-worn and well-loved.

Pearl’s.

.

.

.

(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

.

(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/454423/trinity-35)

(next part: https://theprose.com/post/456598/trinity-37)