4 - Holding Out for a Hero(ine?)

Nathan Stromberg was Gail Knitter’s hero. At least practically speaking, not in the style of watery actors  sobbing about someone they’d never met but adored from afar. Nathan had become Gail’s hero when he’d jumped into a lake in the Haerskov Forest to save a drowning dog. Bystanders had stood around shouting at the obviously doomed animal, giving it the sort of encouragement one might reserve for a flailing horse in the Kentucky Derby. Nathan had ripped off his boots and dove right in. The dog, a Retriever, was desperately hanging on to the large stick that its distressed owner had lobbed into the lake, apparently to test that the animal’s name matched its abilities. Why the dog wasn’t moving back to shore, despite having completed its mission, was unclear.

Nathan had the body of a swimmer, and Gail saw this theory proven. He had covered the distance to the distressed dog in Olympic time, and freed it from the clasping tentacle of pond weed that had wrapped around its leg. Gail had flapped nervously by the lakeside, wondering if this was going to turn from canine farce into genuine tragedy. Nathan had calmly helped the exhausted dog back to the shore, and was welcomed with hearty applause. Gail had immediately called her father, who was still settling in at veterinary clinic HQ. Gail, Nathan, the Retriever (named Pipi, after another brave soul), and her relieved owner had driven to the clinic. Pipi was given a thorough rub-down, and the all clear. Her dad had given Nathan a pro bono exam, sadly in private. 

Nathan was none the worse for a morning dip in one of Denmark’s less fashionable swimming spots. He had brushed the incident off with what Gail subsequently found out to be typical modesty. But she was in awe of him. She was then overjoyed to discover that not only did he attend the Copenhagen International School that she herself would start at that August, but that he was also seventeen. After they had said goodbye, and Gail’s father had left to drive Nathan home, Gail had rushed to her computer to check the class list she had only glanced at in Boston weeks earlier. Finding ’N. Stromberg’ on the list made her flush. Was this what love felt like? That feeling multiplied as the summer went on. Gail and Nathan met up multiple times. Her parents encouraged it, happy that Gail had made a classmate before the nervous beginning that all kids who move to a new school endured. Gail admitted to her best friend back in the US how she felt about this half-Danish, half-American boy. Mary had told her that she must ignore him completely if she wanted to encourage him. This made no sense to Gail, who decided to ignore the advice. She proceed to show much interest in her new friend. 

Gail and Nathan’s friendship blossomed, but always in the back of her mind was the sensation that something was not quite right. They laughed, talked, and did friend-things like going to the cinema. But Nathan seemed at times distant. It was if here were her big brother who was going off to war and was compartmentalizing himself, like a human Titanic, from his beloved sister in preparation for the worst case scenario. Gail finally came to the realization that she did not have a crush on Nathan. He was in the right place at the right time, but had become the person she wanted him to be; a friend in a city where she had no friends. His position as a future class-mate made this more concrete. She had been trying to squash a Nathan-sized peg into a boyfriend-sized hole. Now she moved him to the correct position, and he slotted neatly into the shape-board of her life as her new best friend. Mary would always be there, but Gail realized that a whole Ocean had already forced them apart. Gail knew that Nathan was in potentially the same position with his sister Fiona, who was even further away in San Francisco. However his tie to Fiona was stronger. Forged by the pain of their parent’s divorce, the siblings had committed to being in each other’s lives as much as possible despite being so far apart. So Gail’s first brush with love, much like a light flirting with a newly hatched moth, was extinguished. But the feelings and sensations stayed with her. She nestled them inside her heart, treasured possessions packed carefully for a day when they would be proudly taken out and unwrapped. That day arrived much sooner than Gail had expected. In fact, it was the first day at her new school.

Gail had arranged to meet Nathan before school. He would show her where to go, and make it feel less strange. Nathan had said that there were always new kids at year’s start. It was the nature of the school: a transplantable education. For kids of diplomats and executives, it was standard practice to cut and paste their children to the world’s network of International Schools. And transfers were easier to endure, parents seemed to believe, at the beginning of the year. Their offspring could be propelled into a class that likely had a few other victims sitting quietly, whilst long-time friends joked about their summer exploits.

As they walked, Nathan made obvious attempts to quell Gail’s nervousness with average banter about his mother’s latest exploits in the field of contemporary American art. They arrived at CIS, a school bustling with kids and adults almost as much as the busy commuter station of Østerport, which was on the opposite side of Stockholmsgåde. Nathan joked that the school’s proximity to Maersk’s headquarters made it likely that his father could check-up on him at any time he liked. But Gail knew that Nathan liked having his father close by. During the summer they had enjoyed coffee at a cafe near Churchill Parken. Also, several of Nathan’s friends had been baptized at St. Michael’s Church, its replica Church of England architecture somewhat at odds with the functional, corporate agnostic on the opposite side of the road. 

Walking into the school, Gail listened to the sounds around her. She heard the guttural native Danish speakers, and one boy threw a “Hej” at Nathan. He nodded without responding. Nathan had told Gail that he would help her with Danish - it was a requirement of partial government funding that all students be taught it - but she still felt nervous about learning such a harsh-sounding tongue. She wished that this enclave of Copenhagen was French-speaking. On the other hand, she was glad that English was so well spoken in Scandinavia. She would have no problems surviving with even a minimal dusting of Dansk.

Walking into the classroom was nerve wracking, but Gail kept her head up, eyes open, and tried to smile her best smile. The classroom wasn’t large by American standards. It had four blocks of banded tables seating up to six students each, one side being left free for the teacher or their assistant to sit at. Nathan courteously took her elbow, and guided her to the table in the far corner by the windows. Gail guessed that this was a premier spot. There were two students at the table already: a boy and a girl, and both of them knew Nathan. He introduced her to the boy, who was called Erik, and then to the girl, who’s name was Yasmine. Both welcomed her in perfect English, but Gail noticed that Erik sounded somewhat like the Danes, but with a sing-song undertone which she found pleasant. It honestly sounded like Erik was speaking English in an elvish dialect. Yasmine was easily identifiable as British, but not having a good ear for regional accents of the Isles, Gail decided not to pigeonhole her as English just yet.

Students filtered into the class as the half-past eight start time approached. There was no sign of the teacher. Two of the kids, a girl and a boy, had come in had gone to sit by themselves without talking to anyone. Nathan scribbled ‘rookies’ on his notepad, which made her smile. She decided to talk to the two other new kids during the day. The rookies had to stick together after all.

At eight twenty-five a small, balding man with glasses and a briefcase strolled in. Nathan gave Gail the thumbs up. She took that as a sign that the teacher was a plus. The teacher introduced himself as William Priest. He said that the students could call him William. This was an informality that Gail was not used to at school. She would find it strange addressing a teacher by a title other than Mr., Miss or Mrs. She decided that Mr. Priest would do for now. Mr. Priest withdrew a piece of paper from his case and did a head count. Then he tutted, looked at his watch, glanced at the clock above the door frame, then looked back at his watch. Gail counted seventeen students, including herself. That was a staggeringly low figure. She wondered if someone had made a scheduling mistake and half the class were in the wrong classroom. 

Just as Mr. Priest announced the start of class and moved to close the door, Gail heard the sound of running approaching. This was followed by the sort of screeching that Gail reserved for jumping backwards sharpish onto a sidewalk. She heard muttering from outside, and a piercing Danish word which sounded like it might have been rude if she’d understood it. She looked at Nathan. He was wincing, and looking at Mr. Priest. If their teacher understood what the dilatory person outside had said (which Gail was sure he did) then he chose to ignore it. He stood, looking out into the corridor with a neutral expression. Gail noticed Mr. Priest was drumming his fingers against his leg. She figured him for a strict time-keeper. She heard the slam of a locker door, then another Danish expulsion followed by an even louder slam. 

Mr. Priest stepped out of the way, and into the classroom walked the most beautiful girl Gail Knitter had ever seen. Mary’s sun was well and truly eclipsed. The summer love she’d had for Nathan came out of its heart-niche, changed color from purple to a light, blueish haze and exploded. The tall, athletic girl with tanned, muscular legs, and waist-long auburn hair muttered an apology to Mr. Priest. She then sauntered over to their table, dropped a sports bag onto the floor, and sat opposite Gail. At this point Gail realized that her mouth was hanging open. She closed it. Her teeth clicked in disgust at the awfulness that their jaw muscles had just perpetrated. 

The girl looked straight at Gail with a quizzical look that Gail couldn’t read. Then the girl looked at Nathan, who was sat next to Gail, and made saluting gesture which Nathan returned with a smile. Gail’s pulse had jumped, and she was sweating under her armpits. Desperate to avoid showing any sign of imperfection, she clamped her arms to her sides. This only made the sticky feeling worse. Mr. Priest ran through the register, calling the names alphabetically by surname. The girl’s name was Jensen, Christina and her name preceded Gail’s on the register. When Gail answered to her name, Christina gave her a jaunty smile. Gail translated this as, “Hey, we’re name buddies!” 

As the final name was acknowledged, Mr. Priest formally welcomed them to the start of what he said would be the most important academic year of their lives so far. He asked them to pull out the timetable, which had been posted to them late in the summer. Gail tried not to stare at Christina, but couldn’t help it. The morning sun, streaming through the window turned Christina’s hair into a shining halo of radiance. Christina looked up and winked conspiratorially. Gail blushed and tried to engage with Mr. Priest’s recitations on expectations for the coming year. But inside she was far from concentrating on times, classes, assignments, and the small to large learnings that they would (probably) enjoy. Instead she slipped into a daydream of romanticism, and was only snapped out of it by the physical duplication of Nathan’s knee nudging hers. Mr. Priest approached their desk with a pile of books that he proceeded to hand out.

Gail put the books in her bag without looking at them. Mr. Priest continued talking about who would be teaching what, where and when. Gail knew she was an excellent student, so was comfortable drifting off again in dreamy strands of Christina Jensen’s hair, which floated tantalizingly away from the mothership in random wisps. Looking at the clock above the classroom door, she watched the second hand as it tocked with a repetitive monotony she found irritating. All she wanted was to get to the first break, so she could be introduced to Christina. But staring at a clock was a guaranteed way to ensure that time slowed down without the alibi of relativity. She gave up and returned to the world of the classroom. Here her life now existed, in an educational bubble that contained not only the promise of her future as a vet, but now two people she wanted to be a part of her life: Nathan Stromberg, new best-friend and confidant; and Christina Jensen, potential ??? and doubtless destined to be the subject of many diary entries (never to be revealed to anyone, under any circumstances, EVER!).