Redwood High

Chapter 1

I leaned forward, earbuds in place, as I peered out the car window watching the trees and hills go by. The air breezed through my hair. I could feel it’s satisfying sensation tingling at the very root of my scalp. I didn’t enjoy this all the time, or maybe I did, I was just too busy to notice. How could I? We were always caught in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. There has always been something about nature that spoke to me. Whether it was the serenity, the unusual and pure beauty, or the calmness that came with it, I had just always felt at home around nature, yet something about this one irked me.

Perhaps it was because my Mom and I had decided to leave our home in Los Angeles, California, and move to a small town in Virginia called Redwood. As someone who had been born and raised in a big, thriving city, it was a little hard for me to accept the fact that we were making a move to somewhere smaller and quieter.

Then again, I had never really been much of a social kid, nor did I make lots of friends. I was sort of an introvert, always finding social interactions awkward to begin with; that world was my parents’.

My Mom, Elena Dawson, was a social butterfly, one who thrived on society and everything it had to offer. She always attended parties, events, charity galas, and so on, yet she still found a way to manage to be a good mother and a good wife. My father also complemented her since he reveled in the fame that came alongside being a millionaire businessman. They always went to those events together, throwing parties of their own amidst it all, and I had never felt neglected in any way. It was no wonder my Mom had decided to leave LA after my father’s death. She just couldn’t handle staying in that world without her “partner in crime.”

The death of Grant Dawson, my father, was still something I couldn’t grasp, and it had everything to do with the circumstances of his death.

He had woken up from his nap on a Sunday evening, and we had all sat down for dinner. After some banter and a romantic dance with my Mom by the fireplace, he had planted a sweet kiss on my forehead. He announced he was going for a meeting with a business partner of his. Of course, my Mom had been hesitant to let him go that late at night, but he managed to convince her and put her at ease.

When he didn’t return that night, my Mom called the cops, who could only declare him missing after 24 hours, but we didn’t have to wait that long. A few hours later, my father’s car was found at the bottom of a lake, and there was no saving him.

They had written off his death as an accident, blaming it on the massive storm that had occurred that night. Something in my gut kept telling me my father had died under mysterious circumstances, but what could the words of a seventeen-year-old do to sway anyone?

It had been two months, and even though my Mom, so strong and brave, was all smiles as she drove us to our new home, I knew she missed him, and she was broken inside.

“Oh, Katrina, I can’t wait to start this new job. You know I’ve always wanted to be in fashion, right?” My Mom’s calm, angelic voice flowed into my music-free ears.

I rolled my eyes at her attempt to make it seem like everything was fine, but I could see through her, and then I turned to face her with a small smile.

“Yes, Mom, I know,” I replied.

“Don’t give me that look, Katrina,” she coaxed. “I know you’re not as excited as I am to move to Redwood, but I promise you it’s going to be amazing there, okay?”

Her assurances did nothing for me. It wasn’t that I hated the move; it just felt like we were running from everything that reminded my Mom of my Dad, but I didn’t dare say that. It would merely hurt her.

“I know it will be amazing, Mom, we’re going to be together after all.”

I smiled, this time genuinely.

“I love you, Mom, but you really should start calling me Kat now; new town, new life … remember?”

I had been trying to get her to call me Kat since I was five, but she never budged. Hopefully, she would now that we were headed toward a fresh start.

She chuckled instead, her beautiful brown eyes shining with a twinkle and her brown skin glowing underneath the sun. “You are always going to be my Katrina, bebé. It’s such a beautiful name; I don’t know why you insist on shortening it,” she said. “You know, your father chose that name…” Then she went on and on about my father, and I immediately put on music to tune her out.

It wasn’t that I hated listening to stories about my father. It was the fact that she spoke of him like he had been dead for years when it had only been two months, and the fact that she seemed to be over it grated on my nerves.

Maybe it was her way of coping, acting like nothing was wrong, or it had been long enough for us to move on with life, but it wasn’t mine. My father’s death was still so fresh in my mind, and the vast hole his absence had left in my heart wasn’t going to be healed anytime soon.

Memories of him flashed in my head as we zoomed past the sign that said Welcome to Redwood, and instead of letting them go, I embraced them.

Sounds of his boisterous laughter rang in my head. Images of him caring for me, dropping me off at school, kissing my forehead, and mussing up perfectly combed hair flickered through my eyes.

As I listened to The Pine Ridge Boys’ “You Are my Sunshine,” I felt hope bloom within me. Maybe, just maybe, this town would make a difference in my life, and things wouldn’t be so bad.

I leaned back and basked in the warmth of the sun as I looked forward to a new start.

Chapter 2

“Katrina, dear, wake up…we’re here,” came a sing-song voice that roused me from my disturbing sleep.

I had had a weird dream where an unknown masked man was chasing me while continually repeating the words, “You are next” as I ran for my life.

I jolted awake to the sound of my Mom’s voice, happy that I had somehow been released from the grasp of that horrible nightmare.

Opening my eyes to my Mother’s perfect teeth and movie-star smile, I peered out of the car to look around my surroundings. I was met with the sight of a house with a porch, white picket fence, rocking chair, garage, and everything. A small garden peeked out proudly from the side, and I would have bet my entire trust fund that there was a swing set in the backyard. It was the ideal American home and a far cry from the mansion we had lived in, but I had always thought the mansion was simply too big anyway.

I opened the door to the car and stepped out, breathing in the clean air of Redwood while my Mom joined me.

“Oh, I have a good feeling about this place,” she gushed, clapping her hands in excitement while I lugged our suitcases out of the back seat.

If I hadn’t seen her broken down in tears with a bottle of vodka clutched underneath her arm the night before my Dad’s funeral, I would have sworn she couldn’t have cared less about his death. Did she? She never cared about him? Or did she? However, I had seen her that night. I was also a first-hand witness

to how much they had loved each other, so there was no doubt she had been devastated. What amazed me was how fast she seemed to have gotten over it.

We had explored the house while waiting for the moving truck to arrive, and when it finally arrived, I was stationed inside, making sure the boxes were being taken to the correct rooms when I heard my Mother yell for me.

There was something in her voice that I hadn’t heard before, and I was suddenly worried. I hurried out of the house, my Vans squeaking on the floor. I could see my Mom staring at something behind the truck, but I couldn’t see what it was, so I jumped off the porch and ran. By the time I got to her side, I was breathless and had to crouch, hands on my knees and head bent, to catch my breath. I finally raised my head, and my breath caught again at the sight before me.

Standing before my Mother was a boy that seemed to be around the same age as me or a little older. He had on a baseball cap, but I could see a mop of dark hair peeking out from underneath, and he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking me over with interest.

I instinctively put up a hand to tame my long, curly mass of blond hair, feeling a little self-conscious about the fact that my nose was slightly crooked from falling off a friend’s treehouse in middle school. There I was, dusting the smear of dirt off my clothes, painfully aware of the sweat that glistened on my forehead from carrying and arranging boxes. Yes, I knew I was beautiful, but the Mom jeans and dark wrinkled band t-shirt I was wearing, coupled with my tired appearance, did nothing to build my confidence.

Next to this six-foot-tall Adonis, I looked like a scruffy ten-year-old tomboy. I had never felt the urge to dress up as other girls do until this moment. Suddenly, my subconscious began to chastise me for not smacking on at least a little lip gloss and a dab of foundation when we’d gotten up this morning.

I threw a reproachful glance at my Mother, trying to convey the message A warning would have been nice.

She was completely oblivious.

“Katrina, bebé, I wanted you to meet Jake Grayson. He and his Mother are our next-door neighbors.”

My Mom beamed as if she had just told me Christmas came early … and I loved Christmas.

“Kat, Mom,” I mumbled.