Flat-Out Celeste

  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 wond
er 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.