Flat-Out Celeste

  “And what makes this burger so special? Why is it better than McDonald’s?”

  “Because McDonald’s is disgusting. and we do not eat there. We eat at Mrs. Bartley’s. The burger I have selected for you comes with no roll, but is instead served on spinach, then topped with chopped egg, bacon, walnuts, tomatoes, red onion, and a lemon vinaigrette.”

  Justin wrinkled his nose and shivered. “I can’t say that sounds good.”

  “I didn’t say it would be good. I said it would be an experience. But by ordering that burger, you get a double-dose of Harvard Square in one dish. I’d advise the addition of blue cheese.”

  “Then I will take your advice. I trust you.”

  “The alternative is that we go to Ben and Jerry’s and order a Vermonster. That is a twenty-scoop sundae with many candy toppings, and sauces, and such; and considering that you and I are both still shivering, ice cream holds little appeal now, correct?”

  “Yeah,” Justin agreed. “How about we do that in the summer?” He smiled. “I’m home all winter break, too. You know, some people pack up and do holidays in St. Bart’s or something, but we just stay in Needham and freeze.” A server set down a bowl of hummus on the table, and as Justin reached for a slice of pita, he swiped his hand in such a way that his fork sailed off the table, clanging as it landed on the floor. The server flashed him a look, and Justin muttered an apology. “See? I’m forever annoying people.”

  “I do not find you annoying,” Celeste offered. “I quite like your exuberance.”

  He took sugar packets from the table and began rolling and unrolling them. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “I do.” She didn’t like the disheartened aura that took hold of him.

  “I interrupt people; I fall down; I have irritating attention issues. People think that I don’t care about them because I forget to ask questions or stop listening to what they say. I’ve lost a million friends because of that kind of nonsense. Well, and I spill stuff. As you may, you know, have noticed.” He forced a smile. “I’ve driven every teacher I’ve ever had to the brink of frustration. I nearly failed a handful of classes in junior high… Whatever. You don’t want to hear this. Sorry.”

  “You are not annoying, Justin.” Intuitively, she put her hand atop his. “You’re not.”

  “I don’t know how you can say that.”

  “I would not lie to you. There are occasions to tell white lies, but this is not—”

  “Celeste, you’re sweet, but I’m bothersome. There’s no way around it.”

  “You do not bother me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t I bother you with all my… stuff?”

  Celeste was confused. “Why would you being who you are bother me?”

  “You say that now. Try spending any length of time around me, and you’ll think differently. I wear everyone down, trust me.”

  “You have created an unfair situation. You just asked me to trust you,” she said.

  “And?”

  “And you will not trust me when I say that I do not find you bothersome. That is not right.”

  He laughed. “You were on the debate team, right? I think the dean told me that. Dean Dean, remember? Anyway, you may be telling the truth right now, but you also may change your mind. I won’t hold that against you when it happens.”

  Celeste thought for a moment. She took the wrinkled sugar packets from his hand and gave him fresh ones from the ceramic holder. “Another possibility is that young Dean grew up passionately trying to prove himself in various non-dean careers, but destiny intervened and he was unable to fight fate, accepting a job as dean at Barton College, where he has now become a topic of amused conversation for students and staff.” She took a sip of her cider and then licked a dollop of whipped cream with her tongue. “And I won’t change my mind.”

  “I can be very hard to tolerate.”

  “Okay.”

  “I could drive you crazy. I have eccentricities.”

  Celeste waited him out.

  “I work really hard to manage them,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “Anyway, that’s enough of that. I don’t want to ruin this nice hummus section of the evening. Did we get baba ganoush, too? I love that stuff. Eggplant is not really my thing, but…”

  Celeste tore apart a piece of pita bread and watched and listened as Justin talked. When he paused for air, she bravely asked what she’d been avoiding. “Justin, I have a question for you.”

  “Yeah? Shoot.”

  “Tonight, why have you not asked me about attending Barton? Or regaled me with all of the educational attractions?”

  “I’m sorry. I got all caught up in my crap, and you’ve been so patient and nice about it all. I didn’t realize that you had more questions. Shoot. I’m ready.”

  In that moment, it became clear that this night was not about Justin’s pitching Barton. She didn’t know what it was about, but that was okay. In fact, it was lovely.

  “Actually, no. I do not have questions.” Celeste smiled.

  After another stop for burgers, followed by coffee at Starbucks (which was very good, but noticeably absent of snowy owl foam images), Justin drove her home.

  Their drive was quiet, neither of them saying a word. Silence between two people could be unbearable or it could be comforting, and this was comforting. The confines of the car created a shelter where it was just the two of them and where Celeste felt safe. Protected. It was unexpected, but undeniable. Watching Justin drive was mesmerizing, the way he maneuvered traffic and crowded streets with an ease that was such a contrast to the parts of him that were more touched with chaos. She liked the relaxed, thoughtful look on his face as he drove. Celeste looked out of the window at the dark sky as music filled the car. She didn’t know the song, but the lyrics resonated. Perhaps too deeply.

  “I am unfamiliar with this musical selection, Justin. What are we listening to?”

  “This? It’s ‘Shine.’ David Gray. I love his stuff, and this is one of my favorites. I guess it’s kind of a sad song, but it’s hopeful, too. I think he’s saying that love is complicated, that life is complicated. There are hard paths we go down, but there can be determination to survive and thrive in the face of adversity. We make choices. I don’t know… That’s the thing about music. You get to make it mean whatever you need it to mean. But anything that has to do with rising from the ashes always gets me.” He pulled up in front of her house. “We all have to overcome something, right?”

  She nodded. “We do.”

  The car was cozy and perfect, and she didn’t want to leave; a degree of melancholy took over when Justin turned off the ignition and got out. Celeste undid her buckle and reached for the door handle, but he had rounded the car and opened the door for her before she could. The air was bitter, even more so than it felt just ten minutes earlier in Harvard Square. As she stood, she said, “Thank you so much for the Barton information that you’ve given me over this holiday weekend, and of course for this evening. Please extend my gratitude to the admissions staff as well. I am highly appreciative and humbled by all of the attention. I will give the school the same thorough consideration that they have given me.” Celeste winced as he shut the car door.

  “Oh. Yeah, absolutely. I’ll, uh, I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “That is very gallant of you. Thank you.” She led the way up her front steps, walking as slowly as possible. By the door, under the porch light, they both stopped. She looked at him. His expression was hard to read, but he kept his eyes on her. There was more silence between them, and she had no idea what to do with it. Celeste tried unsuccessfully to retrieve the key from her jacket pocket without taking off her white mittens.

  “I’ll get it for you.” Justin slipped his hand into her pocket and fumbled for the key. Being so close to this boy felt divine, and the touch of his hand brushing against her waist, even through fabric, made her wonderfully dizzy. It was Celeste’s hope th
at he never found the house key and that they remained stranded on this porch for all of eternity. Alas, that was not the case. “Want me to unlock the door for you?” he asked.

  His eyes were such a spectacular steel gray in this light. And his hair had so many tones to it. The all-over light brown, but then some much lighter strands and a few dark streaks that ran from his temple…

  “Celeste?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She snapped back to reality. “It is fantastically cold this evening, is it not?”

  Justin jiggled the key in just the right manner such that it opened with little fuss. He pushed on the door and handed her the key as he stepped aside so that she could pass in front of him. He dug his hands into his pockets. “I should… I should get going. I’ve kept you out late enough.”

  She turned in the entryway. “I had a very enjoyable evening. Thank you for your time.” Well, he had hugged her at the beginning of the night, so it seemed only right that she do the same. She focused on the top button of his jacket, which was easier than looking at him, and reached her arms over his shoulders. Celeste leaned in and touched her body to his.

  This was to be a brief, friendly hug.

  But then she found her cheek resting on his shoulder, and she could smell the hint of aftershave. His arms circled around her body. Celeste closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him. He squeezed back.

  When she finally took a step away, she said, “So. Again, thank you for the evening. It was a pleasure to meet you, Justin. I do hope that the rest of your holiday vacation is amiable.”

  He smiled. “Goodnight, Celeste.”

  “Goodnight, Justin.” She shut the door and immediately rushed into the dark piano room. She leaned against the wall next to the window and caught her breath. Then she waited a moment before rolling to the side and peeking through the shade. She needed to watch as he left her.

  Well, not left her. That was a bit dramatic, not to mention utterly unreasonable. He wasn’t leaving her; he was going home. And then back to California. Where he belonged. Justin made it back to his car all too quickly. In the movies, the boy always looked back, but Celeste didn’t know if this was a case in which the boy should look back or not. She didn’t understand what this night meant, what Justin meant. But she wanted him to look back.

  He didn’t, though.

  What he did do was reach the driver’s side door and throw a hand up in the air, punching the night sky twice. And under the fuzzy light from the moon, she could see him smile.

  THE UPRISING

  DECEMBER. SNOW AND ice setting in. Night skies taking over in the afternoon. If it weren’t for Justin, Celeste would be on the verge of buying one of those anti-seasonal-depression lights. His constant correspondence lifted her spirits more than she could have imagined. There was truly something to be said for waking up to one of his late-night emails or getting a mid-morning text with a picture of his coffee froth.

  Today she was between classes when his text came through. A picture of particularly swirly chocolate lines greeted her.

  Justin: Frothy Saucy Rorschach Test starts now.

  Celeste: Am I to understand that you intend to read into my psyche based on what image I see in this photograph?

  Justin: Yes! C’mon! Play along.

  Celeste: If you insist. I believe this experiment is as valid as reading tea leaves, but I will comply.

  Justin: You have thirty seconds to answer. Don’t overthink this. Tell me what you see.

  Celeste: If you are waving your hands in some sort of eerie, mystical way…

  Justin: Sorry, sorry. Proceed.

  Celeste: I see a gnome on a surfboard.

  Celeste: Or possibly hieroglyphics that translate to read, “Wandering leads one to the church of alpine sheep.”

  Justin: Fabulous! Based on your interpretations of this image, I decree that you are a woman with unusual religious beliefs who has a latent desire to engage in water activities with ceramic figurines.

  Justin: Gotta hop in the shower before class.

  Justin: Miss you.

  The impulse to scream out and wave her phone to those around her was strong, but instead Celeste bit her lip to keep from smiling. She was sure that no one in her chemistry class was interested in the fact that some boy said he missed her. To Celeste, however, this was a monumental occasion. She read the two words that were so simple and so yet moving. Miss you. She found her seat in the classroom. Replying made her both uncomfortable and exhilarated.

  Celeste: I miss you, too. Have a nice day at school.

  “Celeste, put your phone away, or I’ll take it.” Her teacher frowned and then turned to the blackboard. “Everyone settle down. Class is starting.”

  Zeke, the drummer from the band of her failed audition, Flinch Noggins, tiptoed into the room and slid into the seat in front of her without their teacher noticing. He reached a hand over his shoulder and held his palm up to Celeste. For the second time that day, she fought a smile and lightly tapped her hand to his. That was, she knew, not a bitch slap. It didn’t seem to fit in with Matt’s description of a high-five, though, so she would have to ask him about this hand-to-hand maneuver. Whatever it was, she had pulled it off.

  Her concentration was shot today, which she found odd. Focusing on class material, losing herself in it, was her strength. But today there were social distractions, which for Celeste were unfamiliar and overtook even the most challenging and fun of chemical equations. It was all right. She could let her mind drift for one class if she wanted to.

  And she did. She wanted to think about Justin and his emails and his spilling things. The way his pale blue/gray eyes were perfectly framed by his light brown eyebrows. She liked his eyebrows, which seemed stupid. One does not obsess about another’s eyebrows. But he did have nice ones. And his hands. Maybe it was because he gestured constantly that night in Harvard Square, but she’d ended up watching his hands closely. There was grace, she felt, in the way he moved them. The way he moved his whole body, really.

  Celeste snapped out of her daydreaming when a new fact became utterly clear. Julie was right: she had a crush.

  This was a first.

  A joyous and devastating first.

  Justin was a college student, presumably surrounded by outgoing, social, and fun girls at school. Celeste was not in a league to compete with them. Realistically, he was simply an incredibly nice guy who liked her on a friend level, and that was more than she’d had in ages—and never before with a boy. Therefore, long-distance texts and emails could continue in their current form. Who knew if she’d even see him again?

  It was, she acknowledged, probably better that they remain online friends. Very little risk with decent odds for continuation.

  But, oh, she wanted to see him again. To watch the way he moved.

  The bell sounded loudly, and she jumped in her seat.

  Celeste rushed to her locker. It was lunch period, and she wanted very much to finish reading her book. It was one of those days when she was more grateful for e-readers than she could say. Not that she should be embarrassed that she was reading Gone with the Wind, but since she was often found reading literary classics in tattered old bindings, being found reading what was arguably closer to a soap opera felt uncomfortable. But the story was so romantic. Scarlet was out of her mind, Celeste had decided. Celeste found Ashley to be an utter drip, and she did not support Scarlet’s many outrageous choices and behaviors, yet she couldn’t put the story down. The fiery passion, Scarlett’s dedication to getting what she wanted, the dramatic backdrop of the Civil War? It was impossible not to be lured in.

  Celeste shoved her bag unceremoniously into her locker and grabbed her lunch card and tablet. If she hurried, she could grab the small table by the exit and keep her back to the room. Abandoning the drama room was a recent change, but she believed it a necessary one. Hiding in a costume closet was borderline bizarre, and frankly she felt to blame for the whole singing audition fiasco. Besides, the cafeteria had a
ctual windows, and therefore sunlight, and one needed a daily dose of vitamin D.

  After reading for only five minutes, though, she found herself unable to shut out the conversation from the next table.

  “How the hell do I know how to fill out these damn college applications? I don’t know what they want.” Someone let out a grumbling noise and dramatic sigh.

  “Right? This personal essay bull is impossible. I’ve got three weeks to get all of these in. I’m drowning,” another person said.

  “What if I don’t get in anywhere? Am I going to have to spend another year at home? Oh God, kill me.”

  All of her applications had been completed in full months ago. They’d all even been done in time for early decision deadlines had she wanted an early acceptance, but considering that she still had no clue which school she would choose, she had simply submitted them for regular decision. Her visits to UPenn and Princeton this month with Erin had been lovely. Or they should have been lovely. She couldn’t lie to herself; she was shockingly uninspired. Maybe it was just going to be impossible to imagine herself at any college. She would select a college to attend when the time was right.

  The unhappy mumblings from the next table continued. Celeste couldn’t help herself. She backed up her chair and walked the few steps to where three miserable looking girls, including Dallas, sat, their food untouched.

  “Hello,” Celeste said. She hadn’t spoken to Dallas much. Or at all. But she was standing here now, and she couldn’t very well run off all scatterbrained and the like.. “I am terribly sorry to interrupt you, but overhearing your plight was unavoidable given our close proximity. I might be able to help if you have interest.”

  “Hey, Celeste.” Dallas gave her a weak smile. “This is Leighann and Jennifer. What do you mean you could help?”

  “I have spent the past five years preparing to apply to colleges, and I have done extensive research on strategies to successfully master the art of submitting applications. If you would like, I could assist you.” Celeste’s heart was pounding, and her voice was trembling in the most appalling way; but she couldn’t let any visceral reactions stop her. She was in the midst of initiating an interaction with her peers—really for the first time in years—and she had absolutely no idea what had propelled her to such foolishness. “The application process is intimidating, even belittling at times, and I could certainly consult should you be interested.”