Trinity (44)

I don’t get a chance to talk with Pearl until Mr. Gleason’s class fourth period. I’d like to mention Abbey’s sister’s party to her, but Maggie walks by and gives me a cheshire grin, and that feels like a warning.

Also, Pearl seems a little on edge--I saw her kick her locker in frustration and also snap at Dylan earlier today in religion class. In her defense, he asked her for a pencil again and she--and the rest of the student body--are always giving him pencils, and every single time he loses them.

Right now she’s scribbling on a sheet of paper with some intensity, but she looks up at me when I sit down next to her.

“What’s up?” I ask her.

She shrugs, stares down at her paper--a homework assignment--and then puts her chin in her hands. “It’s just been a weird weekend, is all.”

I nod. “Yeah, me too, actually.” I wonder if Maggie is monitoring our conversation from the back of the room. Does sound travel that far? “Well, not that weird. It’s barely nothing--anything. Um, so what happened with you?”

She narrows her eyes a little at me, but gives me a tiny smile. “My favorite retreat, for starters. We got an abstinence talk, of all things. Which was, well, painfully awkward to say the least. But…”

I lean in, not sure there can be an upside to this.

She laughs and tugs at a lock of her blonde hair. It’s loose today, falling down her shoulders. “Well, Amber was there, and she’s not afraid to, uh, speak her mind.”

The corners of my mouth tug up, and Pearl laughs in a disbelieving kind of way, which makes me laugh too. “I’m sure she enjoyed debating the topic,” I say. I almost wish I was there to see it.

She just shakes her head, but a smile lingers on her face. “Oh, did she. She had to be removed.”

I rub my index finger across a scratch on the surface of my desk. “Did you talk to her at all?”

Pearl’s jaw moves silently for a moment before admitting, “Actually, yes.”

I open my mouth, about to speak, and Pearl’s wide eyes are staring at me, and she’s clearly also about to say something, her expression serious. “But--”

“Students, please. Settle down, class is beginning,” Mr. Gleason calls out, tapping the end of his pen on the board.

Pearl quiets, and I keep staring at her out of the corner of my eye during class.

. . .

In between classes later, I catch a glimpse of Pearl’s familiar blonde head, and I walk quickly toward her and grab her arm. “Pearl! I’ve had a thought!”

Pearl had been walking with her head down, an open binder in her hands--studying? She almost drops it when I catch hold of her, and she laughs a singular laugh and stares at me incredulously, like I’ve done something insane.

The tops of her cheeks are pink, and she draws me to the side of the hallway. “What are you talking about?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well. Do you still hang out with Henry on Mondays?”

Clearly thrown off by this question, Pearl shakes her head a little, but says, “Yes? Usually.”

“If it’s ok with him… I could come too? Just for today, because I want to hear about your weekend. And. I think you might want to hear about mine.”

A mixture of expressions cross Pearl’s face. “Why? What happened? Abbey’s party?”

I lean in, our foreheads almost touching. “I can’t talk about it at school,” I tell her, then pull away quickly, glancing around the hall. I catch eyes with someone at the end of the hall. A tall, darkly dressed (as usual) Sister Bertha.

I hunch my shoulders a little, as if that will make me blend into the crowd, but I’m relieved it’s just her. Speaking of… “Remind me to tell you about Sister Bertha, also,” I whisper to her, pulling her close again.

Pearl giggles, a response I wasn’t expecting, and she’s just staring at me with a wide smile, her gaze locked into mine. She visibly jumps when the school bell rings, and her face flushes. “Class!” she exclaims.

Usually I’m the one concerned with being late, but I just laugh and rush towards my next class. Late, but the doorways to our classes are just a few steps away. I think Sister Bertha’s still watching, but I don’t have time to check.

“Say yes?” I call to her from the doorway of my classroom. It’s still loud in there, class hasn’t started.

She’s barely moved, but she takes the time to look at me across the hall. “Yes.”

. . .

After school, I follow Henry and Pearl to the parking lot, where Jackson is waiting. I hadn’t really thought about it, but Jackson must pick them up every week.

Henry gets in the front, and touches Jackson’s hand when he’s settled in. I’m kind of surprised that he’s risking that, given that someone like Maggie or, goodness, Katherine, could be watching. Though I suppose Katherine already knows everything there is to know.

I climb into the back seat with Pearl, a violin case settled between us.

“I didn’t know you played the violin,” I say. I should have said something like, ‘thanks for driving me’ or maybe ‘thanks for agreeing to let me hang out with you’ but those all feel strange to say aloud.

Jackson turns the key, and the engine sputters to life. “Been playing since I was eight.”

As much as I love music, I’m still unable to actually create anything rhythmic. So, impressed, I say sincerely, “Wow, cool.”

.

What I find out next is that the three of them often go to a restaurant called Waffle Mixers on Mondays after school. And then I find out it’s because Jackson’s family owns it, and he lives above the restaurant.

“Does it smell like waffles every day? That’s amazing!” I tell him when we pull in to the parking lot.

Pearl just laughs, and Jackson says, “It does. But the downside is all the grease. It’s everywhere.”

Henry snorts. “It’s true. But it does smell good in there.”

We climb out, and enter Waffle Mixers. It’s small and diner-y and a man and a woman with Asian features welcome us, the man cleaning the counter and the woman bussing an empty table. She comes and gives Jackson a kiss on the cheek.

“This is new,” she says, looking at me with a raised brow.

“Trinity, this is Auntie Mai. That’s Quan.” He gestures to the man, who waves.

“You still don’t like Uncle Quan?” the man calls loudly. He’s grinning, and comes out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel.

Jackson snorts good-naturedly. “Sure, sure. I’ll call you Uncle if you call me Nephew.”

Mai tuts. “This boy, how do you deal with him?” she asks, addressing Henry. Waving a hand in Henry’s direction, she says to Quan, “We should have adopted this one, less trouble!”

Henry laughs, and Jackson just takes the dirty dishes out of Mai’s hands, shaking his head and heading towards the back kitchen. He’s clearly not upset, though, and he kisses Quan on the cheek too.

The rest of us–Henry, Pearl, and I–sit down at a booth, and Mai pulls a menu out of her apron and hands it to me. “We have the best waffles. And pancakes and milkshakes, too. Eggs, also. And more, but I recommend waffles, the best you’ll ever have!” To Pearl, Mai says, “Blueberry for my Pearl?”

Pearl grins. “Yes, thank you.”

Mai’s eyes narrow playfully as she inspects Henry. “A milkshake for you, boy. You grow thin.”

“And already making him sausage and eggs!” Quan’s voice drifts from the kitchen.

Jackson comes out of the kitchen then. “Auntie, please stop trying to fatten up Henry. You sound like a witch. He’s perfect the way he is.”

Mai tuts again and watches Jackson slide into the booth next to Henry. “Sure, sure. Blinded by love, that is how you are. You will see, once he has meat on his bones.”

Jackson just laughs, embarrassed.

Henry pats Jackson’s arm in consolation. “Eggs and sausages and a milkshake do sound delicious right now.”

Mai walks away, throwing up her arms. “I am always right, what did I say?!”

I glance at Pearl, and she grins and taps my menu. “The waffles really are delicious,” she tells me.

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

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