This Girl: A Novel

and snatch the helmet off his head and toss it onto the couch. “Caulder, go get in the car. I’ve got to grab my stuff.”
    Caulder heads outside and I scramble to gather all the papers scattered across the bar. I was up past midnight grading. I’ve only been teaching eight weeks now, but I’m beginning to understand why there’s a teacher shortage. I shove the stack of papers inside my binder, then shove it into my satchel and head outside.
    “Great,” I mutter as soon as I see the U-Haul backing up across the street. This is the third family to move into that house in less than a year. I’m not in the mood to help people move again, especially after only four hours of sleep. I hope they’ll be finished unloading by the time I get home today, or I’ll feel obligated to help. I turn around and lock the door behind me, then quickly head for the car. When I open the car door, Caulder isn’t inside. I groan and throw my stuff in the seat. He always picks the worst times to play hide-and-seek; we’re already ten minutes late.
    I glance in the backseat, hoping he’s hiding in the floorboard again, but I catch sight of him in the street. He’s laughing and playing with another little boy that looks about his age. This is a plus. Maybe having a neighbor to play with will get him out of my hair more often.
    I start to call his name when the U-Haul catches my eye again. The girl driving can’t be any older than me, yet she’s confidently backing up the U-Haul without any help. I lean against my car door and decide to watch her attempt to navigate that thing around those gnomes. This should be interesting.
    I’m quickly proven wrong and she’s parked in the driveway in no time flat. Rather than hop out to inspect her parking job, she kills the engine and rolls down her window, then props her leg up on the dash.
    I don’t know why these simple actions strike me as odd. Intriguing, even. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel, then reaches up and tugs at her hair, letting down her ponytail. Her hair spills down around her shoulders and she massages her scalp, shaking her hair out.
    Holy hell.
    Her gaze falls on the boys playing in the street between us, and I can’t help but let my curiosity get the best of me. Is she his sister? His mom? She doesn’t look old enough to have a child that age, but I’m also at a visual disadvantage being all the way across the street. And why is she just sitting in the U-Haul?
    I realize I’ve been staring for several minutes when someone pulls up beside her in a Jeep.
    “Please don’t let it be a guy,” I whisper aloud to myself, hoping it’s not a boyfriend. Or worse, a husband.
    Why would I even care? The last thing I need right now is a distraction. Especially someone who lives right across the street.
    I breathe a surprising sigh of relief when the person who steps out of the Jeep isn’t a man. She’s an older woman, maybe her mother. The woman shuts her door and walks up to greet the landlord, who’s standing in the entryway. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m walking toward their house. I suddenly have the urge to help people move today, after all. I cross the street, unable to take my eyes off the girl in the U-Haul. She’s watching Caulder and the other little boy play, and hasn’t once glanced in my direction. I don’t know what it is about her that’s pulling me in. That look on her face . . . she looks sad. And for some reason, I don’t like it.
    I’m standing unnoticed on the passenger side of the U-Haul, staring at her through the window, practically in a trance. I’m not staring because of the fact that she’s attractive, which she is. It’s that look in her eyes. The depth. I want to know what she’s thinking.
    No, I need to know what she’s thinking.
    She diverts her attention out her window and says something to the boys, then opens the door to get out. I suddenly realize I’m about to look like an idiot just standing in her driveway, staring. I glance across the street at my house and contemplate how I can get back over there without her seeing me. Before I have a chance to make a move, Caulder and the other little boy run around the U-haul and smash into me, laughing.
    “She’s a zombie!” Caulder yells after I grab hold of them by their shirts. The girl rounds the U-Haul and I can’t help but laugh. She’s got her head cocked to the side and she’s walking stiff-legged after them.
    “Get ’em!” I yell to her.