Flat-Out Celeste(Flat-Out Love II)

Celeste paused in her writing.



To be direct with you, group social events often do not work out well for me. I find them difficult. In fact, most social events are seemingly impossible for me to navigate in a way that does not alienate others. I hope you understand.

8. San Diego sounds to be a very appealing city, and a touristy boat ride and sandcastle building are attractive lures.

9. Architecture must be a challenging and dynamic major. I am undecided what to major in right now, although some specialty in literature holds appeal for me.





Best wishes,

Celeste



Celeste-

I understand about group events. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’ll make sure that you get an invitation just in case you change your mind. Okay? Maybe we could get together while I’m in town, and then it wouldn’t be a big group situation. Would you like that better?

I really enjoy emailing with you. Is that weird to say? I hope not.

-Justin



Words usually came easily to Celeste, but right now she had none. She sat for a few moments, trying to decide how she felt and how to respond. This was unfamiliar territory for her.

She walked from her room and to the kitchen. Although she had teased Matt the other day about wanting to take her out for hot chocolate, a cup of rich hot cocoa seemed in order today. Although it hadn’t snowed yet, it was certainly gloomy and cold enough out to set the mood for the upcoming winter. She heated milk on the stove and took sugar and dark unsweetened cocoa from the cabinet. It took a few minutes for the milk to come to a near boil, and as she whisked in the chocolate and sugar, a thought occurred to her. She abandoned the hot pot and scooped spoonfuls of sugar onto the counter until a solid circle of shimmering crystals formed. Then with the back of the spoon, she carefully swooped lines through the sugar.

Celeste took her cell from her back pocket and snapped a picture, which she then emailed to Justin.



Justin-

It’s perhaps rudimentary, but here’s my snowy owl for you.

-Celeste



The whoosh of the email echoed in the quiet kitchen, and Celeste noticed—with no small amount of shock—that her message contained two contractions.

“How odd,” she said to the sugar owl. “How very, very odd.”





Don’t Flinch
   



Celeste belted out the final la la la’s of the song as best she could, trying to keep her voice steady and clear. Auditioning for a band was nerve-wracking enough, so the expressionless stares from the three college boys in front of her were not helping. She replaced the microphone back on the stand and took an awkward bow.

It was hard, she was learning, to move easily in a skintight catsuit, but she had felt it appropriate to dress the part. Or what she guessed the part would look like. The costume selection from the school’s drama department offered a finite selection from which to choose. She would return it, of course, since Celeste was not a thief, but she did feel slightly guilty about taking it without asking. The flyer that she’d taken from the rocker in Harvard Square didn’t spell out too many details on song or fashion choices, and she didn’t know much about “skate punk” music, so it had been up to her to package herself. The girl at the salon this morning had been all too enthusiastic about coloring Celeste’s hair neon red, and even though she promised that it would wash out soon enough, Celeste was not yet comfortable with the red spiral curls that kept falling into her eyes. Now that the backing track was off, the room was eerily silent.

The lead guitarist of Flinch Noggins rubbed his lips together for a moment and shook some lint from his flannel shirt. “Huh. What did you say the name of that song was again?”

“The song is titled ‘The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.’ It was originally performed by The Band, but was made most famous by the talented Joan Baez,” she answered energetically. “You may have heard some of the Baez style in my performance, but I did try to put my own character into it.” She brushed her hair from her face and waited for a reaction. “I thought it smart to showcase my abilities in a song that conveyed strong political and emotional themes because many bands are driven by raw passions. It is a song about the Civil War. When the southern states were experiencing defeat. We have all experienced defeat and suffering, have we not?” In fact, Celeste knew that she was experiencing both right at that moment because not only was it clear that she was not about to be the next member of Flinch Noggins, but this catsuit had embedded itself between her butt cheeks in a truly uncomfortable manner. “I did not realize that the term ‘garage band’ was so literal and that bands do, in fact, rehearse their performances in actual garages. How… inspiring.” She glanced at the trash bins and the workbench piled with tools.

The drummer hit his sticks together and tapped his combat boots on the concrete floor of the garage. “Here’s the thing, Cecile…”

“Celeste,” she corrected him. “Celeste Watkins.”

“Okay, right, right. You’ve got a smokin’ look. I mean, you’re, like, seriously hot. But we’re hardcore, man, and that was all Joni Mitchell and stuff.”

She sighed. “Joan Baez. I do not know any of the popular skate punk songs, but I am a diligent worker and assure you that I could pick up your style very quickly.”

The guitarist shook his head. “It wasn’t even good Joni Mitchell, dude.”

“Joan Baez!” she said with frustration. But it didn’t matter. She walked stiffly to the dusty table by the door to gather her things. “Would one of you gentlemen mind lifting my bag for me? I have concerns about attempting to bend over in this outfit, lest I tear the seams. Or break a rib.”

All three band members shot out of their seats and rushed to her side. The bass player reached her first and gently put her bag over her shoulder. “You don’t seem like much of a skater chick. You know, with the weird song and the talking and all. You don’t really fit in here.”

“I just thought… maybe I could.” She took a few perilous steps forward on her spiked-heel vinyl boots. “I do want to thank you for allowing me this opportunity. Goodbye. I wish the Flinch Noggins great success. I am sure you will find a suitable lead singer in no time. I am terrifically sorry for having wasted your time today. This was indeed an egregious error on my part.”

Celeste hobbled out of the garage and made her way to the car. She fumbled with her keys in the cold November air. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, yet she was not feeling very thankful right now.

“Hey, Celeste! Wait up!” The drummer bounded over and leaned against the car. “You all right?”

“Did I leave something behind?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You looked kinda bummed back there.”

“I am just fine. I must apologize again. I should not have come.”

“Nah, don’t say that. You did your own thing. I admire that. I’m sorry this didn’t work out. I’m Zeke, by the way. I don’t know if we even told you our names.” The drummer finished securing his long hair into an elastic and held out a hand. She put hers into his and met his look. His brown eyes were friendly, and she found this disarming, especially since the band was clearly unhappy with her performance. “Don’t be discouraged,” he said.

“The audition process is just a process. It is not, I know, a guarantee of acceptance.”

“Look, you did a nice job, although this Joan Baez is not really our thing. She must be a cool chick, though, since you like her.” His breath was white in the night air. “I’m not sure what’s going on with this outfit, ‘cause it doesn’t seem very you—Hey, wait a minute! I know you!”

“You do?”

“You’re in my chem class! Oh my God, I didn’t even recognize you!” He laughed and clapped his hands together. “Cool switchover, man!”

“You are in my class?” Oh no, this was not good. “I thought you were all in college?”

“Aww, the other guys are, and they don’t like to advertise that one of us isn’t, you know? They don’t want a high school kid in their sick band.” He winked.

“Oh,” she said nodding. “Sick. Very much so. Yes, of course.”

“At the rate I’m going, I don’t even know if I’ll get into college, but whatever. I’ll just hope the band takes off.”

“I see. I am sure you will do just fine. The good news is that anyone who auditions after me will look even better than they might have otherwise.” She forced a smile.
   



“You’re being too hard on yourself.” Zeke crossed his arms. “I’m glad you tried out, and you should be, too. I didn’t know you had this side of you. You’re so studious at school. Like, totally in another league. But I guess we have something in common, huh? I feel kinda honored that you tried out, man.”

“That is a gracious attitude despite its being clear that I do not belong here. I do not have the talent that you have. This is not really who I am.”

“It must be some part of you.” He nudged her softly with his elbow. “Listen, it’s freezing out here, so I gotta go back in. But I hope you at least had a little fun?”

“It was an experience.”

“Cool. I’ll see you after break. Have a good Thanksgiving!” Zeke ran back to the garage.

It took ten minutes for the car to warm up nicely and to stop shivering. As she drove home, Celeste understood something important: Zeke had been nice to her. Really, genuinely nice. Maybe Dallas’ effort to reach out had been sincere after all. And maybe Celeste should have replied to her text. Maybe it was not too late? It was a risk she would take.



Celeste: Dallas, thank you for recommending that romantic story to me. I did read it, and I enjoyed it immensely.



A white lie was allowed on occasion.

So between Zeke and Dallas, there were now two people at her school who were speaking to her. Two was a rather small number, but it was better than none. Not enough reason to get overly giddy, but it was something. So despite her underlying sense of discouragement, she did feel slightly happy this evening.

Until she pulled up to her house off Brattle Street in Cambridge and saw her parents’ cars. And another unfamiliar car. What? The plan was to get home before her family did so that she would have time to shower and scrub her hair back to its natural color and then change into regular clothes. How was she going to explain this unexpected radical new look? Her good mood evaporated. She was, in fact, quite angry. And the catsuit wedgie had reached new depths.

Celeste got out of the car and slammed the door. Then she thought better of making any noise. If she were lucky, she might be able to sneak in the house and up the stairs to the bathroom where she could lather the shocking red out of her hair. She walked slowly up the steps to the porch. Coming home usually comforted her. It was a safe place, away from so many troubling situations. She wanted nothing more than to skirt inside undetected and reclaim some normality.

Even though the door shut relatively quietly behind her, her father must have heard something because his head popped into the hallway from the kitchen. “Ah, Celeste, you’re home. Wonderful. Someone is here—Oh, God. Celeste? Erin, come here. Something is going on.”

“What in the world is the problem, Roger?”

Celeste widened her eyes, silently begging her father to let her go up the stairs. Standing in front of him in this body-hugging catsuit was most embarrassing.

“Uh, I think Celeste wants to change first. Before she meets our guest,” he said pointedly.

A guest? What guest?

Her dad tipped his head toward the staircase and Celeste clopped across the wood floor, rushing as fast as she could in the impossibly high shoes. But just when she grabbed the railing, Erin’s voice raised another octave. “Celeste! Please come say hello.”

“As you wish,” she barked back. “I would be happy to meet this guest of ours! What a goddamn smashing delight!” With a toss of her hair, she lifted her head high and walked confidently, if not steadily, past her still-stunned father and into the kitchen.

“Language,” he warned in a whisper.

“Good evening.” Celeste waited for the reaction.

“Holy…. Ha ha!” Fantastic. Matt was here too. And not doing a smooth job of acting normally. “This is the best day ever.” He scooted his chair closer to the kitchen table and rested his chin in his hands, taking position to watch the scene unfold. “Hi, sister of mine. How was your day?”

Celeste glared at him. The smile plastered on his face was entirely unamusing.

Erin cleared her throat and swooped to Celeste’s side. If there was one thing Erin was good at, it was pretending nothing was amiss when everything was amiss. There was a slight shake in her words, but otherwise she sounded remarkably cheery. “Aren’t you colorful today?” Her fingers gripped Celeste’s arms just a little too tightly as she pivoted Celeste around to face the small love seat. “You have a visitor.”

There in front of her was a boy.

And she had seen him once before.

In front of Border Café.

Dear God, what was he doing in her kitchen? And on today of all days? She was finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Especially with his big blue eyes twinkling up at her, and his thick hair all messily pushed back from his face.

“This is Justin Milano,” Erin said.

She gathered whatever poise she could and extended her hand. “It is a pleasure to—Wait, what?” Celeste turned to her mother. “This is who?”





One and the Same

“Justin Milano. All the way from Barton College in San Diego. He’s home to spend Thanksgiving with his family.”

“And so he came here?” Celeste whispered.

Justin stood and shook her limp hand. “Hey, it’s really nice to meet you finally. You were on the school’s contact list, so I just gave a call earlier; but you weren’t here, so I talked to your mom for a while. I mentioned your fishy teacher, Mr. Gil and how he’d gone to Barton, and she said how awesome Mr. Gil is, and then she said that you were out, but that I should come on over anyway. Hope you don’t mind?” He then tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and lifted up and down on his toes. “I told your mother about how much Barton was interested in your attending, and how we’d emailed a bunch, and your mom had lots of questions about the school.” Justin took a quick breath. “This is a great area you guys live in. I love Cambridge and used to walk up and down by the river and explore all the old houses on the side streets. Really charming houses with such style. Did Celeste tell you that I’m an architecture major? I guess I’ve always been interested in buildings. I love it all. Doors, eaves, porches, roofs. It’s the little things, not just the main structure of a house. The character, the feel.” He swayed side to side. “Oh, so, anyway, it’s nice to finally meet you. I said that already, didn’t I? Sorry.”
   



“That’s perfectly all right. I’m going to open some sparkling water. Would you like some, Justin?” Erin asked.

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

“Celeste? For you also? Why don’t you sit down with Justin? Dinner should be ready soon, and then perhaps you can tell us about your day.”

“Yes,” Matt piped in excitedly. “We’d love to hear about your day.”

Celeste swallowed hard and then sat down next to Justin. Who was gorgeous. The weight of her family’s stares could not be ignored. Whether they came solely from her outrageous look or because she was sitting next to a boy, she wasn’t sure. Both were humiliating. She looked straight ahead and focused on the boiling pot of water on the stove. “My parents and brother are a bit taken aback by my appearance right now.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I guess this isn’t exactly what I thought you’d be like, but it’s certainly a striking statement. Really, I mean, the hair is wild.”

“I am returning from an audition,” she explained.

Matt snickered. “An audition for something legal or illegal?”

She glared at him. “Legal, of course. A local band was looking for new talent, so I performed to the best of my abilities.”

“I didn’t realize that you sang,” Roger said. He, too, seemed on the verge of giggling, yet Celeste found nothing funny about this situation. “How did this audition go?”

“Very well. The band is most interested in having me join as the lead singer, but I have to evaluate my commitments.”

“Really?” Erin handed glasses with water and lime slices to Justin and her. “You know, I used to sing with a small ensemble in college.”

Matt nearly jumped out of his seat. “Mother-daughter duets tonight, I beg of you!”

“Shut up,” Celeste snapped.

“Just an idea, just an idea.” He waved his hands innocently.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Erin said. “Homemade spinach pasta with pesto. Green beans on the side. And salad. I’m trying out a theory that monochromatic meals deliver a certain pleasurable sensory experience. Roger and Matt, would you help me while Celeste entertains her guest? And, Justin, I look forward to hearing more about Barton. I admit I know very little, although I do know that it has a remarkable reputation. One of those schools that I believe is undeservedly under the radar. We’re so happy you’re here.”

The open kitchen allowed her family a perfect view of the loveseat while they finished cooking. She sat stiffly and stared straight ahead as she tried to identify a way out of all of this.

Justin leaned in and spoke softly. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind, but your parents invited me to stay for dinner. I don’t have to if this is too weird.”

The top of his arm touched hers. Celeste’s entire body felt flush. She had no idea why. It must be the embarrassment of being caught in this ludicrous getup. It was possible that she might now overheat in this vinyl catsuit and simply dissolve into nothing right in front of him. It was not a totally undesirable concept.

This situation was unfair. She’d had no warning whatsoever that she would be meeting the person she had been emailing and with whom she had been exchanging snowy owls. The plan had been… Well, there hadn’t exactly been a plan per se, but she certainly had never intended to find herself face to face with Justin. Nor with the boy who got down on one knee for her. Nor that those two would turn out to be one and the same person.

And now he was staying for dinner, and she was dressed in a highly inappropriate manner.

“We are overjoyed to have you as our dinner companion,” Celeste said. “If you would please excuse me, however, for a few moments so that I might change into more fitting dinner attire? Well, or less fitting. Looser, you see. Proper attire is what I mean. I appreciate your understanding.”

“Of course.”

Celeste tried to stand, but her body was nearly crippled by the catsuit material that fought her attempts to get up from her sunken position on the loveseat. She tried using her hands to push off, again to no avail.

Without saying a word, Justin moved from his seat and took her by the hands, smoothly pulling her to stand. There were only inches between them, and Celeste could not bring herself to look him in the eye. In her boots, she was a bit taller than him, so she looked down and found herself gazing at his shoulder. And the way his simple T-shirt fell over his chest. He was on the thin side and had an average build, without the bulging muscles or tattoos she’d just read about in Dallas’s romance book, but she found his physique to be entirely flawless.

“Wow,” he said slowly. “Wow.”

She did not know what he meant by this, but she didn’t get time to wonder for long, because the step to the side that she took to put distance between them caused her to stumble. Justin’s arms were under hers before she even got close to hitting the ground.

Well, there. Now her humiliation was complete. Yes, perhaps vomiting or something else having to do with body fluids could take this one step further, so she should perhaps be thankful for the little saving graces. At least now she had something to say at the Thanksgiving table tomorrow when they listed what they were grateful for. Wonderful.

“You okay?” he asked as he lifted her back onto her feet.

This time, she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him.

“I am,” she said breathlessly. “Thank you.”

She waited for him to drop his arms, but he didn’t, even as she trembled. “I know you… I remember,” he said.

Neither of them moved.

A shattering plate sounded loudly, immediately followed by the hiss of water boiling over onto the stove.

“Roger! The pasta!” Erin yelled. “And, Matthew, please clean up that dish that you dropped. What is wrong with you two? Snap out of it.”

Witnesses, Celeste remembered. There were witnesses to whatever strange occurrence had just transpired. “I… I must change outfits now. I shall be back soon.”

She made it to the hall and out of sight without incident, for which she was grateful. Her boots came off after ample tugging, and only then did she attempt the flight of stairs to her room. Stripping off the catsuit took a few minutes, but it felt heavenly to be out of that horrid thing. She didn’t have time to shower, so the silly neon red hair would have to stay. Putting on a hat would just make it look as though she was trying to hide the color. Plus, Celeste was not the Fedora or cowboy hat—or any hat—sort of a girl. A low ponytail at the nape of her neck would have to do. Loose jeans and a taupe open cardigan over a plain shirt helped her mood slightly, although she was still noticeably shaky.
   



“Stop it,” she ordered herself. This silly physiological reaction was unnecessary. So what if he knew that she was the girl who curtsied to his bow? So what if she’d enjoyed his debonair performance outside Border Cafe? She would salvage this situation by simply going downstairs, pretending that her hair was back to normal, and conduct herself like the smart young woman that she was. He was a Barton College student liaison here to inform her and her family about the school and encourage her to apply. That’s all. She would listen and nod. Then she would never have to see him again, and this entire fiasco could be put in the past.

After dinner, she would thank him for staying to eat a monochromatic meal with them, make it very clear that there was no need to continue communication because she was not going to apply to Barton, and then she would send him on his way before things got even more out of hand. And she would never walk down Church Street past Border Cafe again.

For some reason, the idea of eliminating Justin from her world made her sad, but she was resigned that it needed to happen.





Blur

Celeste was never going to forgive her family for abandoning her after dinner and leaving her alone with Justin. She was quite sure that Matt did not have any schoolwork that had to be done on the night before Thanksgiving “come hell or dead turkeys,” and her parents’ last-minute trip to the grocery store seemed highly suspicious. There was no plausible reason for them to run off like this? but she was now stuck with Justin. As much as she wanted him gone, she couldn’t just throw him out as good manners should always prevail.

What was he still doing here anyway? Dinner was over; he’d given a great Barton College spiel and answered the six hundred questions that her parents asked, so it was time to leave. Perhaps he was inclined to give a more personal plea one on one?

Celeste crossed her legs, sat back in the living room arm chair, and clenched her hands together. Justin was surveying the bookshelves. She watched him, watched the way he slid his hands from his pockets to his hair, watched the way he never stopped moving, and watched how his expressions were animated and ever-changing each time he turned around to ask her about something that caught his attention. First-edition books, a pressed leaf in a shadow box, an award her mother received for her charitable work.

She also noticed, with a certain level of discomfort, that each time he walked past her spot, she was eye level with the top of his jeans. Celeste was not one for noticing boys and their backsides, but it was nearly impossible not to be cognizant of his, since it was right there in front of her. Maybe it was because she didn’t have a lot of experience assessing male body structures that Celeste found the way his jeans fell over the curve of his—

She turned her head away. What was wrong with her? One should not leer lasciviously at a student liaison. Or at anyone, for that matter. He really needed to leave. Immediately.

“How long are you home for?” she asked.

Justin spun around. “I go back on Sunday. It’s pretty much a whole day of travel to get to San Diego from Boston. You know, getting to the airport early, then I have a layover in Denver, and all that. I don’t mind airports, though. Lots of good people watching.” He grinned. “I like checking out other people, you know?”

It took her a moment to reply. “I do know. Yes. That is a more recent interest of mine.”

He bounded over to the couch and lay half on his side, resting his elbow on the arm and holding his head in his hand. “Do you like airports? Traveling?”

“Oh. I have never been on an airplane. I know that must sound incredibly odd.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Never?”

“No, never. There has been no occasion to do so as of yet. When we go on vacation, we stay in New England. Driving is simpler.”

“Yeah? I get that. Airports pretty much rock my world. I once got stuck at O’Hare for nineteen hours, but I really didn’t mind because it’s a big enough airport that I camped out in different concourses for hours at a time and went into every store there. Also, I had a really good fake ID, and so after I’d used a Sharpie to map out the entire airport on napkins I went to a bar and drank a bunch of Old Fashioneds. My dad loves those, and I thought it’d be funny. But then I drank too much and fell asleep and missed my flight, so that added on another five hours. Also, I blew my nose with the airport-map napkins and got black ink all over my face and freaked out my seat mate with my crazy face when I finally did get on the airplane. So you’ve never been abroad?”

She blinked. “I have not.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” he asked. “For Thanksgiving.”

“Just dinner here. With Matthew and my parents. We do not make a big fuss over holidays. We are a very small family.” The way he had his eyes fixed on her was unnerving. “And you?”

“We’re going to my cousin’s house in Harvard. Hey, speaking of Harvard, I assume you’re applying there? I applied, mostly for kicks. Didn’t get in of course, but I like to think it was their loss. Worked out fine in the end, but I won’t say that my self-esteem didn’t take a little hit. I kind of set myself up for that because it was a big reach school for me. In the end, it’s best for apple picking; that’s what I’ve decided.”

“I do not believe that an apple course is offered at Harvard. Or maybe—”

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, Harvard, Mass has great apple picking in the fall. Lots of orchards. When I hear the word ‘Harvard,’ I’ve decided to think of picking apples instead of in-your-face rejection.” Justin sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees. He looked down. “I’m so sorry. It must be impossible to keep up with me. I don’t know why I forget that.”

Celeste adjusted the sleeves on her cardigan and set her hands in her lap. “I like apple picking very much. And while I do not have much knowledge of airports, you make them sound very entertaining.” She took a breath. “Or maybe they would only be entertaining with you. I cannot say for certain.”

He looked up and gave a half smile. “Hey, Celeste?”

She didn’t understand the look he was giving her, but still, she couldn’t not smile back at him. “Hey, Justin?”

“I was wondering if—” His eyes darted to the side. “Holy crap, is that the time? God, I’ve really got to go.” Justin stood up and patted his pockets. “Keys? I think they’re in my jacket. Your dad put it someplace. No, wait, my keys are right here. But my phone? I’m totally supposed to be helping with food prep. I gotta run. I could stay here and talk to you all night. Oh, there’s my phone. With my keys, of course.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “Anyhow… I really had a good time tonight.”
   



Celeste retrieved his coat from the front hall closet. “Thank you so much for coming by and telling us about the positives Barton has to offer. It was very generous of you considering that your schedule must be tight on this short trip home.”

“I landed earlier today, went to my parents’, and then called your house. Priorities, right?” The way his eyes glistened and his face lit up was nearly too much for her. She had to get him out of here. She had no idea what she was feeling right now, and that was very disconcerting.

She ushered him aside as she opened the front door. “Good night and happy holidays.”

He took his phone from his pocket and handed it to her. “Punch in your number for me, okay? Do you mind? I can just text you, and then you’ll have mine.”

“Here is my number, should you need it.” She couldn’t imagine why he might need her phone number, but she did as he asked to avoid prolonging his departure. “Okay, then.” She handed him back his phone. “Good night.”

“Good night, Celeste.” He walked backwards past the threshold and onto the porch. “Okay, bye.” Justin moved from side to side. “I’ll call you or text you or something, yeah?”

“Sure.”

He took another few steps back. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Was he never going to leave? “Yes, happy Thanksgiving to you and your family.”

“Oh, yeah, I meant to say a happy Thanksgiving to your family also. Not just to you. But mostly to you, because, well…”

She eyed the staircase behind him. “Justin, please be careful because—“

“It’s called muddling. Did you know that? You probably did. When they mix sugar and bitters together for an Old Fashioned. I can’t say as I recommend that drink, or any drinks. It’s why there’s a legal drinking age—“

Justin took yet another step back, and Celeste let out a gasp. She rushed forward as he tripped down the flight of steps that led to the front walk, stumbling over his feet, but somehow managing to land upright.

“I’m okay!” he shouted. “See? Ta da!” He raised his hands and shook his palms. “Don’t look so worried. I do worse all the time.”

Paralyzed at the top of the flight, she looked down. She had no idea if she was supposed to assess him for injuries or trust that he was all right. She didn’t want to hover over him or embarrass him.

“I have never tasted bitters,” she said calmly. “Or bourbon for that matter. Is that what an Old Fashioned is made of?” The way he looked up at her with relief and gratitude nearly knocked her breath from her body. “You are sure that you are all right? You have not twisted an ankle, have you?”

“Bourbon or whiskey. Either can be used, and both are decently disgusting if you ask me. I do sneak a gin and tonic now and then, but I’m not a drinker. Just so you know. And I have not twisted my ankle,” he said with a nod. “I assure you.”

“Then I must commend you on a most exquisitely handled descent,” she said. “You have shown fine recovery skills.”

Justin tucked his hands into his pockets. She noticed that he did this a lot. Well, in the few hours that she’d been around him. He was prone to looking charmingly bashful. Justin sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Oh, God, you must think I’m… something. I know, I know, I’m kind of a hot mess, huh?”

“I think,” she said carefully, “that it was very nice to meet you, Justin Milano.”

He nodded and started to turn away. “I’m not going to walk backwards this time, okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

He walked to his car, opened the door, and looked back. “Hey, Celeste?”

“Hey, Justin?” She bit her lip.

And with startling grace—especially because he had just toppled down the stairs—he got down on one knee and swept his hand from one side to the other. “Bye.”

Because she was unable to think clearly, and because she was not in control of her body, she took a step back and recreated her formal curtsy. “Bye.”

Watching him drive away filled her with massive relief. He was gone. This insane night was over. But as Justin’s car rounded the corner, other feelings crept in. Sadness? It made no sense. Of course he had to leave. He had Thanksgiving preparations to make. She had red dye to wash from her hair. And then she had her senior year to complete, and college to attend. And a new identity to formulate. She was very busy.

But when Celeste finally made it upstairs, she did not go directly to the shower to wash her hair. Instead, she found herself making a phone call.

“Hey, you! I was just thinking about you and was going to call. My plane landed a few hours ago, and I’m just getting settled. What’s going on, sweet pea? How are you?”

“There is no time for pleasantries, Julie. Something has happened,” Celeste whispered into the phone. “Something very complex.”

“I see. Then let’s hear it. What complexity has occurred?” Julie was as steady as ever. Just the sound and familiarity of her voice was exactly what Celeste needed. It brought her back to the days when Julie lived down the hall. When Julie took care of her and brought her a new life in so many ways. Having a friend six years her senior was helpful, since Celeste needed all the worldly wisdom she could get.

“A boy was at the house. I did not invite him, but nonetheless he was here. First I saw him in Harvard Square, and he bowed and I curtsied, and then he appeared at the house tonight unscheduled, and I stumbled and he caught me, and then he stumbled, but I did not catch him. Not because I am heartless, but because I was not in the position to catch him. Physically, that is. Although I suppose emotionally, as well. However, he is quite self-sufficient. I am humiliated, given that I failed to present myself properly, and certainly not as top-notch collegiate material, which was, of course, the purpose of his visit to the house. I feel sure that my red hair and figure-hugging catsuit did not give me the studious air I would have opted for.” Celeste threw herself onto her bed and put a hand over her eyes. “I am unclear what has happened tonight. A myriad of emotions is overtaking me.”

“Celeste?”

“Yes, Julie.”
   



“You have red hair and are… dressing differently?”

“There was a failed attempt at becoming lead singer for a band. Never mind that right now. There are more pressing matters that require your attention.”

“Take a breath.”

“But I curtsied, and he got down on one knee! What is that supposed to mean?”

“Wait, what? Did someone propose to you?”

“No, of course not. That is an alarming presumption.”

Julie’s giggle was not well suppressed. “Okay, then. Start from the beginning.”

“His name is Justin Milano, and he is a student liaison for Barton College. They are courting me.”

“The college is courting you or Justin is courting you?”

Celeste let out a loud sigh. “The college! Focus, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. Continue. Slowly, please, and give me details in chronological order.”

“Yes, that is a smart idea. I knew that you would be good at managing this situation. Here is what has transpired so far. I should not say so far. It is over. If I say so far, then it leads one to assume there will be more incidents that will transpire, and there will not. But I will tell you the details of these past, never-to-be-repeated-or-added-to events.”

“Oh my God, you’re killing me. Tell me now!”

Celeste started with the emails and narrated all of the events leading up to Justin’s tumble down the stairs and subsequent departure. Julie needed to have all of the facts in order to assess the damage properly.

“This is all most awkward. Yet, Julie? I feel exhilarated. I am experiencing strange sensations.”

“Is there a chance—you know, just maybe—that you have a crush?”

“A what? I do not have crushes. I have college to prepare for and dye to wash out of my hair. And… and… college!”

“Okay,” Julie said calmly. “It was just a thought. Although even if you aren’t interested, it sounds to me as if he may like you.”

“No. That is not the case.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. I am agitated and must take a shower now. Thank you for helping me put this situation to bed. Er, not to bed. One should not reference a bed when speaking about Justin. That would be highly inappropriate. And a cliché. We have put the matter to rest. There. It is done. I have externalized the chaotic events of the day, and now I can return to my normal stasis. Good night, Julie. Thank you for your guidance.”

“I didn’t exactly—“

“Good night!”

She took a thirty minute shower and shampooed her hair repeatedly, which did not seem to do much to remove the dye and then wrapped it in a towel as she stood on the floor of the shower. She reached for her oversized robe and tried to relax into the familiar comfort of the thick terrycloth. The day had officially been washed away, and she could move on. Except that when she got back to her room, she heard the sound of a text coming through.



Justin: Friday night? You, me, and Mr. “I Wear Two Watches” Fritz? Appetizers? Anywhere you want!



Celeste pulled the robe tighter around her and threw the phone into her pocket. She flinched when the sound of two more texts came through the fabric.



Justin: Oh, it’s Justin, by the way. You might not have my number in your phone yet.

Justin: I could pick you up. 7 pm?



This was not part of the plan. Perhaps it had been an unrealistic expectation that she could vanquish him and pretend he didn’t exist. She had to admit that there was a part of her that felt uncharacteristically comfortable corresponding with him. Communicating in person, however, was an entirely different story. Justin didn’t really know anything about her, and the way that she had presented herself tonight in that getup certainly hadn’t given an accurate picture of who she really was. If she were, for some reason, to agree to meet with this Mr. Fritz, she would strongly prefer that it happen in a more formal environment.

Her phone went crazy.



Justin: I know where you live.

Justin: Wait, I didn’t mean that in a creepy way…

Justin: Hello? Oh gawd… Did I freak you out?

Justin: I just meant that I would know where to pick you up. And it’s not like I’d show up in a van with the windows all blacked out. That’d be super creepy.

Justin: I drive a Prius.

Justin: Nobody gets abducted in a Prius, right?



Celeste laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. Then she sighed. She would have to reply.



Celeste: I am not sure that is a good idea.

Celeste: This meeting with Mr. Fritz, that is. Clearly abduction would not be a good idea.



He wrote back immediately.



Justin: But you’ll think about it?



Celeste squirmed.



Celeste: I will think about it.



That should put him off for now. He would forget about her by then anyway. That’s what she wanted. Or what she should want. It had taken years to perfect her tunnel vision; she saw her parents, Matt, and Julie clearly, while everyone else in the world took on a hazy blur.

Justin should be a blur.





Push

Justin didn’t forget about her. Celeste woke to a text from him.



Justin: Happy Thanksgiving, Miss Celeste! This is my best effort at a coffee turkey.



She shook her head. Justin had attached another chocolate sauce drawing in the froth of his coffee. His was an utterly wild personality, she decided. She thought about what to write for a moment, since she absolutely had to reply. If one is sent a holiday greeting, one must reciprocate.



Celeste: Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Justin. I believe your turkey has a degenerative disease. He does not look well. Where are his feathers?

Justin: Of course he doesn’t look well. He knows death is imminent, but not from a degenerative disease… He saw me sharpening my axe.

Celeste: Did he drop all of his feathers due to fear?

Justin: I pre-pluck. Also, he is not as ugly as depicted here. My drawing skills may be limited. (Don’t tell my architecture professors!)
   





What was she doing? Celeste had made the decision to distance herself from him and end their exchanges. She had to stop this nonsense. So she blocked him out of her thoughts and went about her holiday.

Frankly, Thanksgiving at the Watkins house often seemed freakishly more like Groundhog Day, in that they ate the same meal every year, played the same game of Scrabble (literally every year Matt managed to get a triple-word score with W-O-L-V-E-R-I-N-E which they all let him play, although technically it probably wasn’t allowed), and then they all crashed early after overeating. It was a nice enough day, just not particularly exciting.

By Friday morning, Celeste’s hair had paled to an unattractive, muted pink. She stared in the mirror. “I have been deceived. Viciously deceived. The stylist lied to me about the ease with which one could remove neon red dye from one’s hair, and I do not recall a conversation about various pink stages.” She stomped her foot in frustration and squeezed her eyes shut. “I would like to return to my normal state, please!” she shouted. “I have learned a valuable lesson about going to extreme measures in searching for a new identity, and I have given up on that quest. There is no need for discoloration at this time.” She opened her eyes and frowned. Evidently screaming and begging were not going to fix this. Eleven shampoos in two days. She would just keep at it and hope for the best by the time school rolled around on Monday. And maybe by then she would be able to break this habit of talking to her reflection. There: two goals for the long weekend.

She heard a text alert. Her heart flew to her throat. Celeste peeked at her phone.



Justin: I’m picking you up tonight. You can’t say no! I have to suffer through a group event this afternoon, and I know you won’t go to that, so you would give me something to look forward to if you went shrimping with me later!



This was, without question, the first time someone had indicated that being with Celeste would be a reward rather than some sort of irritation. She didn’t understand why he would want this. Justin was the one with all of the entertaining qualities, not her. Replying to this text felt impossible.



Justin: Please?

Celeste: I have pink hair. If it were a wall paint color, it would be called “Faded Bubblegum” and no one would select it for decor.

Justin: I loved faded bubblegum. It’s a rare and valued shade. Maybe I’ll dye mine to match.

Justin: We don’t have to meet with Mr. Fritz. Is that better?

Justin: And I’ll take you for Camptown shrimp. NOW YOU CAN’T SAY NO EVEN IF YOU WANTED TO! #savejustin #shrimpforever



Celeste laughed. She had never seen any value in hashtags, but maybe that could change. Justin was going to rather extreme measures to entice her to attend Barton. And it did sound as though he would like a respite from his school liaison duties.



Celeste: You have convinced me. I accept. Thank you for the invitation.

Justin: Yippeeeeeeee! I’ll tell Mr. Fritz that I need to duck out early from this horrible event. You’ve saved me!

Celeste: Shall I meet you at Border Cafe then for celebratory shrimp?

Justin: Absolutely not!



Celeste felt her stomach drop. She had again misunderstood a communication with someone.



Justin: You’re the one saving me, and I’m not letting my woman of salvation travel around the dangerous streets unaccompanied. #chivalryaintdeadbaby #sendhelp #sendshrimp #hashtagsgoneinsane #hashtagsdonotbelonginatext #whatever I’ll pick you up at 7, okay?

Celeste: If you like. Thank you for the ride. That is very considerate of you.

Justin: You betcha. Catch you later?

Celeste: Yes.

Justin: #idontactuallylikehashtagsijustcantstop

Justin: Okay, see you tonight. Really going this time.

Justin: Signing off.

Justin: I’m sure your hair looks awesome. Don’t worry.

Justin: I understand, though. My aunt worries all the time that someone might see a gray hair if she hasn’t had time to get it colored, and then the world would implode. Or explode. One of those. Whichever is more dramatic.



So… she would meet with Justin for one last Barton discussion over the now–infamous Camptown shrimp.

At six forty-five that night, Celeste sat poised formally on the piano bench in the music room, just off of the front hall. It was the first time she was wearing her snow-white pea coat. As much as she loved it, there had never been an occasion to wear such a stylish coat, but there seemed no reason not to go out in it tonight. She pulled on her matching white gloves and hat, both with fake-fur borders. After the disastrous first meeting with this college representative, Celeste was determined to make a more studious, appropriate impression. It was her hope that the white ensemble would eradicate any memories of her in that ridiculous audition outfit. Although she wouldn’t attend Barton College, it remained important to her that she come across as pulled together. Muted pink hair and all.

From her seat, she could keep an eye out for Justin through the large window, and she could also hide from her parents, both of whom seemed omnipresent this evening. Celeste did not desire to be hovered over in any manner, and both Erin and Roger had been suffocating her for the past few hours.

“Still not here yet?” her father asked as he came into the room.

“It is not yet seven,” Celeste said with exasperation. “He was not here at six twenty, and he was not here at six thirty-four, as neither of those times were the agreed-upon time. Stop asking.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just checking.” He stepped fully into the room and moved to sit next to her on the bench. “Scoot over, kiddo.”

She obliged and made space for her father in front of the piano.

“You haven’t played in a while, have you?” he asked as he hit a few keys.

“I have not.”

“Play a little something now? I miss the sound of your music.” Roger leafed through assorted sheets of music. “You used to love playing.”

“I do not love it anymore.”

Erin’s voice rang from the hall. “Is he here? I thought I heard a car?”

Roger jumped from his spot and peered through the blinds. “What kind of car does he drive? Why isn’t our porch light on? Quick, Erin, turn it on!”