Description: Strange Girl CHAPTER ONE I STILL GET asked about Aja, where she came from, what it was like to be her friend, to actually date her, whether the stories about her were true, and who--or what--I really thought she was. The last question makes me smile, probably because I understand it''s hard to talk about Aja without sounding like a nut. That''s what I try telling people who want to know about her. She was a mystery, a genuine enigma, in a world that has more trouble each day believing in such things. And now that she''s gone, I think she''ll forever remain a mystery. At least to those who loved her. And to those who feared her. My name''s Fred Allen, and I was a seventeen-year-old senior in high school when I met Aja. I was heading home on a hot Friday afternoon after a boring two weeks of classes when I spotted her sitting in the park across the street from campus. I''d like to say I saw something special about her from the start but I''d be lying, although later I wondered if she might have been kind of strange. There was a perfectly fine bench five feet off to her left but instead of sitting on it like a normal person she was kneeling in the grass and plucking at a few scrawny daisies, while occasionally looking up at Elder High''s sweaty student body as they poured into the side streets or else cut across the park toward their homes. The sweat was because of the humidity. From June until October, it hovered around 90 percent. But the stickiness was usually vanquished by a brief autumn that blew by in a month or less, and was replaced by bitter winter winds that were so cold they''d bite your ass off--even if you had the bad taste to wear long underwear to school, which only the principal and the teachers did. I suppose it could have been worse. Elder could have been located in North Dakota instead of South Dakota. Our northern neighbors were something of a mystery to most of us. I mean, it''s not like anyone went to vacation up there. All we really knew about them was that they were always lobbying to change their name to just plain "Dakota." For some reason they thought that would make their state sound more inviting. Go figure. Anyway, the thing that struck me about Aja at the start, besides her love of grass and daisies, was that she stared at many of the students who walked by. She didn''t smile at them, didn''t say hi or bat her long lashes or anything seductive like that. She just looked straight at them, which probably made most of them feel uncomfortable. I noticed the majority looked away as they strode by. I mentioned her long lashes, and yeah, I did happen to notice she was pretty. Not beautiful in the usual social-media way, but an easy eight or nine on Fred Allen''s relatively generous scale of one to ten. Even at a distance of a hundred yards I could see her hair was dark brown, shiny, and that her skin was the same color as my favorite ice cream--Hagen-Dazs Coffee. Yet I didn''t equate her with ice cream because I wanted to take a bite out of her or anything gross like that. It''s not like I felt some mad rush of seventeen-year-old hormones and experienced first love for the twentieth time. I just sort of, you know, noticed that she looked nice, very nice, and that her long lashes framed a pair of large, dark eyes that were, sadly, not looking anywhere in my direction. That was it; that was my first impression of Aja. Oh, there was one other thing. I did happen to notice that she had on a simple white dress that didn''t quite reach to her knees. The thing that struck me about the dress was--not that it was filthy--it looked like it could have used a wash. Introduction to Aja complete. I went home and didn''t give her more than a few hours of thought all weekend. And no, honestly, my fantasies were not a hundred percent sexual. I mainly wondered why a girl her age, if she was new to town, wasn''t going to school. It was just a thought. Elder High, my school, was the only one in town for someone our age. Monday morning I heard about Aja from my best friend, Janet Shell, five minutes before our first period, calculus, started. I was taking calculus because it was an AP class and my parents were obsessed that I ace as many hard classes as possible so I''d go to college and not grow up to be as miserable as they were. That was sort of a joke in our household but, unfortunately, it was mostly true. My dad sold new and used cars at a Toyota dealership in a neighboring town of ours, Balen, which actually had a multiplex where the speaker system didn''t sound like a jukebox and there was a generous selection of eight movies. Unlike Elder''s sole theater, where you had to wear 3-D glasses just to keep from squinting at the sagging screen. My mom also worked in Balen as an executive secretary for a boss that couldn''t have spelled her job title. My parents were both smart, and they loved each other, I think, but when I asked why they hadn''t moved away from Elder--like, say, before I was born--they just told me to pass the salt. What I mean is, the way they fell silent whenever I asked about their past made me feel like I was somehow rubbing salt in old wounds. I joke about it now--a bad habit, I still joke about most things--but it did worry me that they weren''t happy. Janet Shell, on the other hand, was super happy, or else she knew how to act the part, which according to her was all that mattered. She was taking calculus because she was smart and loved math. But she was cool, too. For example, although a straight-A student, she intended to get a C in calculus simply because she didn''t want to get elected our class valedictorian. Besides hating the spotlight, Janet knew if she was required to give a speech to us graduating seniors, there was no way she''d be able to resist telling us that virtually our whole class would still be living in Elder when our ten- and twenty-year high school reunions rolled around--her way of saying that the majority of us were destined to be losers. "Have you seen the new girl yet?" Janet asked before Mr. Simon showed up his usual five minutes late. We''d had him as our math teacher three years running. The guy came into class reeking of pot almost every morning until Halloween rolled around, when he''d switch over to some kind of mysterious blue pill--Janet swore it was the stimulant Adderall--and lecture us on three chapters a week instead of his normal three pages. Naturally, Janet''s question about the "new girl" piqued my interest. I''d been looking for her since I''d arrived at school. Still, I acted cool. "Nope," I said, adding a shrug. "Bullshit. You must have seen her. You just blushed." "I don''t know what you''re talking about." Janet looked me over. "Her name''s Aja--A-J-A. It''s pronounced like Asia but with more of a J sound. She''s a total fox, super exotic-looking. She just moved here from a remote village in Brazil. Everyone''s talking about her but I hear she''s not talking much. The word is--she''s not stuck-up, just quiet." Janet paused. "What do you think? Want to ask her out?" "How about I meet her first, then decide?" I said. "Okay. But I think with this one you''re going to have to act fast. She''s no Nicole. You can''t wait two years to get up your nerve. She''ll go quick." I felt a stab of pain that Janet had so carelessly brought up Nicole but hid it. "What makes you so sure? She might be picky." Janet wavered. "True. But a ton of guys are going to hit on her. She''s a looker and she''s got money and she knows how to dress." Recalling the plain, dusty dress Aja had been wearing in the park, that surprised me. "Really?" Janet caught the note in my voice. "You have seen her, you bastard. Why do you lie to me when you''re such a shitty liar? Tell me the truth, have you talked to her?" I sighed. "I saw a new girl last Friday while walking home from school. She was sitting in the park, plucking flowers. I''m not sure she''s the same person you''re talking about." "Right. Like this town has a surplus of beautiful girls." "Hold on a sec. You''re the one who says us guys are always judging a book by its cover. Well, what are you doing? So she''s pretty. So she''s got expensive clothes. She could still be a jerk." "She''s not, she''s cool." Janet leaned closer, lowered her voice. "I met her, I spoke to her." "When?" "Ten minutes ago. We only exchanged a few words but I sensed something unique about her." Janet paused. "You know the last time I said that, don''t you?" "Ages ago. When you met me." "That''s right. That''s why you need to ask her out." "I''ll think about it." Mr. Simon stumbled in right then, smelling like Colombian Gold, and told us to open our textbooks to chapter three. It was Janet who had to remind him that we hadn''t covered chapter two yet. I spent most of the class digesting what Janet had said. I''d learned long ago to take her insights seriously. Janet was not merely smart; she had an uncanny intuition when it came to people. She said 99.99 percent of the population were sheep. If she liked Aja, it meant she was more than a pretty face. I saw Aja in third period, before lunch, in American History. We were in the same class. Just my luck. Maybe, I thought, maybe not. My usual seat was in the corner, all the way in the back. Aja came in two minutes after me and sat down in the first row, but the last seat, by the windows. Basically, even though we occupied the same

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