The first eight chapters of Kindling will release to all subscribers on Tuesdays and Thursdays each week. Starting with Chapter 9, only paid subscribers can see past the preview.
Previously, Scott and Kelly make their way to Sofia and hatch the plan to get the Kindle back. Read Chapter 3.
Chapter 4: Colleen and Connor
The Orme School, Arizona — August 1982
Colleen would never forget the first time she saw Connor. He was perched on the top rail of a split-rail fence with his football teammates, surveying the new students as they arrived down the dirt road, parents at the wheel squinting into the afternoon desert sun. His broad shoulders held up his bright green shirt with an Irish harp on it, the word Ireland spread across the front. Giant cottonwood trees shaded the team.
Her father parked their Cadillac a few yards across from the fence. With the boys watching, she was sure, she did her best to exit the car as gracefully as she had been trained. Open the car door, gently swing both legs around to the ground, and carefully push her tall, lean self out of the backseat of the car. Like a lady. Perfect exit, she thought. Connor must have noticed.
She breathed in the scent of her new school. Sun-baked dirt, aged manure, and the sweet scent of mesquite. Totally opposite of the beachy scents of the Pacific Ocean and its cool breezes from home. A large red barn framed one end of the dirt parking lot, assorted western style buildings ran parallel on each side, and a rustic arc made from tree poles squared the entrance. The ranch’s brand created from wood hung from the top of the arc in the middle.
While her mother executed the exit maneuver from the front seat, Colleen watched the other students ramble in. Some arrived in six-wheeled pick-up trucks and horse trailers. A dazed few meandered through the barnyard, clearly jetlagged from long flights from the Middle East. Many arrived in Arizona-plated cars, likely short hops from Phoenix.
It baffled her how two hundred students from around the world had found this co-ed boarding school an hour north of Phoenix on a three-hundred acre ranch. She’d read in the welcome material that one hundred-fifty students returned each year. Forty new students had arrived this year, most of them freshmen. Colleen was among the few entering as a junior.
Parents helped muscle duffles, boxes, and mismatched luggage. Everyone wore jeans, some wore boots, all looked ready for an adventure in education and boarding school living. Colleen, meanwhile, pressed her hands down her linen trousers, smoothing out the wrinkles from the six-hour car ride, adjusted her cute cotton crop top, and fiddled with her gold bracelets. Her white sandals immediately dirtied as she crossed the dusty parking lot to the check-in desk in a rustic, wooden shack painted red.
Above the door hung a hand-painted sign, “Deans’ Office.” A few cobwebs hung in the glass panes, and a fig tree ripe with plump fruit provided shade. “Welcome,” said Ms Davis, the Dean of Girls, as she handed her the padlock code to her dorm room and an information packet. “One of the boys on the fence would be happy to help with your bags.”
Colleen’s father signed the paperwork. She eyed the scene in the barnyard, watching parents hug their young adults. Many smiles beamed from both parents and students. Some students cried, others ran past their parents to their friends, hugging each other after long summers apart.
None of the boys, however, jumped up to help her.
“Ireland, come help Ms., huh, Colleen. Would ya?” yelled Mr Miller, the Dean of Boys.
“Yes sir, Coach,” Connor said. He dismounted the fence and trotted over to the Cadillac, tagged with plates from California. The car’s trunk popped open, revealing three well-crafted and matched Louis Vuitton luggage.
Her mother turned to Colleen, awkwardly putting both hands on Colleen’s shoulders for a rigid air-kissed goodbye. “Don’t eat starches. No bread. No potatoes. They’ll cling to your figure and ruin your look by midterms.” She turned to her husband, “Arthur, I’m ready.”
Colleen squirmed. She turned to her father to go in for a hug, but he shook her hand instead.
Connor witnessed the cold interaction.
“Hello, I’m Connor O’Connell, welcome to The Orme School.”
“O’Connell?” Colleen’s father hesitated when he said the name, paused, then: “Take the matched set there,” he ordered. “And don’t slam the trunk. The latch mechanism on the Cadillac is touchy. We don’t need to be finding a mechanic all the way out here.”
Oh god, Colleen flushed, please just drive away. She was thrilled to finally be here and away from California. It’d taken some convincing of her father, but he finally acquiesced. Her high school at home was full of spoiled wannabes looking for their next trendy high or pair of fashionable Jordache jeans. She craved the college-prep environment her new school promised; maybe her new volleyball team would win the Arizona state championship.
Connor removed the bags from the trunk, turned to Colleen, and asked, “What’s your room number?”
“The paper says Up Elliot One if that makes sense?” she said.
“Oh, that’s the best room on campus. Your parents must have done something correct.”
Connor grabbed a pull-wagon and loaded the three bags. Colleen waved good-bye to her parents as they drove away. The footballers remained on the fence, awaiting orders from the coach. Other students continued to find their rooms.
“Mind your step over this irrigation ditch. Easy to fall into,” Connor said. “We need to go across the lawn, behind the next building and up the stairs. This is Girls’ Camp. Dean Miller has me on a stopwatch to get in and out with you. Otherwise, we’d get busted for going out of bounds. Two one-way tickets home.”
“Oh god, I can’t get kicked out,” Colleen blurted. She heard how her declaration came out, too fast, and too much. She steadied herself. “Seriously. If my father had to drive that Cadillac back down the dirt road to collect me, my life would be over.”
Next: Marcus and Leenie arrive in Venice, and Leenie announces to the Grand Canal that they’ve crossed the finish line.
Author Notes:
The Orme School really exists; it’s where I graduated from high school in 1984. There truly is a Quarter Circle V Bar brand hanging from the pole gate, a red barn framing the dirt parking lot, and a split rail fence where the football players hung out. Sadly, the school closed a few years ago just two years short of its centennial birthday.
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