1
Rita Flutey held her sides, tears streaming down her round cheeks as she laughed, her hearty chuckles dissolving into gasps as she ran out of air.
“That is utterly indecent!” she protested, attempting to compose her features into a stern expression and failing miserably.
“Oh, bah, you know it was funny!” Zahira retorted, delighting, as always, in her ability to force her politically correct friend to laugh at the type of jokes she so loved to rail against. The latest had involved a Baptist minister, a lesbian, and a Mexican on a roller coaster – it was the sort of joke most construction workers would blush at, but she delivered it effortlessly.
“You’re getting us funny looks,” Zahira complained, good-naturedly giving the incapacitated Rita a shove over the few feet that had stretched between her and the balding man standing in front of the cash register. The man was staring backwards disapprovingly…it wasn’t until Rita abruptly stopped laughing and turned scarlet that Zahira noticed the polo draped over his unremarkable frame – neatly embellished across the left breast were the words: “Minister: Ridgeton Baptist Church”. She snapped her features into an appropriately grave, apologetic expression…but then her lips began to twitch, and a bubble of mirth began rising within her. She barely had time to turn around before letting loose with a fit of her own giggles, which didn’t subside until the man had huffily paid and stalked out. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she laid a box of condoms, whipped cream, some strawberries, a padlock, and a length of chain from the hardware department onto the conveyor belt.
The man behind the counter raised his eyebrows at the selection, glancing between the items and his customer, his polite workplace smile warming noticeably.
“Find everything you needed?” he asked, a slightly suggestive undercurrent creeping beneath his polite tone. Rita glanced up quickly – he had a beautiful voice. His dark blue eyes flicked towards her for a moment, as if verifying that there was nothing of interest there, and she quickly lowered her own to dig through her purse.
“Oh, at least the bare necessities,” came Zahira’s light, ready response. Rita didn’t need to look up – she’d been watching her friend’s routine for what felt like forever, and she knew that as she dug a cloth bag stuffed with money from within her purse, Zahira was smiling innocently and glancing at something over her right shoulder, her pink halter top doing very little to hide her caramel-tinted curves. She looked up just in time to catch the tossing of the hair, and suppressed a smile as she shuffled through the money.
“Twenty-one seventy-five,” the man announced smoothly. Rita bit her lip to keep from laughing as she pulled out the amount. She glanced up to find the chain “accidentally” wrapping itself seductively around the man’s wrist as it trailed into a plastic bag – she never failed to be amazed by the lengths people would go to to flirt with someone they perceived as …adventurous.
“Paper, please,” she corrected, her voice lacking the allurement that characterised the trim girl leaning flirtatiously against the conveyor belt. The cashier glanced at her with a look of irritation, which was quickly masked with a generic, customer-friendly expression.
“Of course,” he murmured as he complied.
“Are you having a good night?” he asked, his tone enriching as he turned his attentions back to Zahira.
“Not as good as it will be in a few hours,” she replied with a wink as she took the money from Rita and pressed it into his hand. He bit his lip, obviously fighting to maintain an appropriate expression as he sorted the money into the drawer and printed the receipt, his eyes flickering up to meet and hold Zahira’s as he held it out with an impish grin.
“You enjoy your-“
“Oh, I’ll enjoy my evening,” she promised, catching his hand in her own and writing something on his palm with the pen intended for people to sign things with.
“And you enjoy yours, as well,” Zahira said smoothly, taking her receipt and turning to leave with a nearly theatrical flip of her glossy, black hair. Rita bent to collect the bag, snorting as she noticed that the cashier – “Kai”, apparently – was still staring after her. At that moment, she noticed what was written on his palm, and gasped.
“Zahira Nouri!” She exclaimed warningly. Zahira spun around and, with a speed that her earlier, deliberate motions implied was impossible, grabbed her friend’s wrist.
“Time to go!” she called cheerfully over Rita’s stuttering protests, pulling her out the door.
“You gave him our number! And, more importantly, my name!” Rita raged, tossing the paper sack into the trunk of her ancient black station wagon along with a small pile of others. She stalked towards the driver’s seat, ignoring Zahira’s outstretched hand and hopeful expression as she unlocked the heavy metal door and wiggled the handle to wrench it open.
“Get in,” she commanded irritably, gesturing with her full key ring.
“Well, it is your number,” Zahira replied in an innocent tone as she climbed through to the passenger side. She’d driven there, and had parked so close to the buggy pool beside them that she couldn’t open her door.
“Don’t give me that. You constantly pull this crap, Z!” Rita exclaimed as she slid in after her, slamming the door and yanking out her seatbelt.
“Yeah, but you love me,” Zahira proclaimed confidently, silently leaning over and holding her face next to Rita’s with a wide, exaggerated smile. Rita glanced up from shoving her seatbelt into its holder, starting, her heartbeat increasing rapidly.
“Holy hell!” she exclaimed. She shoved Zahira back to her side of the car and poked the key into the ignition.
“No, I don’t. I’m leaving you at the house next time,” she grumbled, backing out.
“Oh, well, if you’re that upset, I guess I’ll just walk home,” Zahira said in an exaggeratedly sad tone, opening the door and sticking a foot out over the passing concrete. Rita slammed on the breaks.
“Damn it, Z, shut the door!” she yelled. Zahira braced herself against the dashboard, then calmly turned to look at her with wide eyes, sticking her bottom lip out.
“Do you promise you won’t be mad at me anymore if I do?” she asked in a childish tone.
“No, shut the door and put your seatbelt on,” Rita replied tersely. But her frown wasn’t quite so pronounced, and her voice was shaking with the effort of maintaining its stern tone.
“Pleeeeease, Rita? Pretty please, with whipped cream and a couple of those strawberries and a baked armadillo on top?” Zahira begged. Rita sat in silence for a moment, trying to control her expression, then let loose a brief chuckle in spite of herself.
“When I get raped and killed, I am holding you personally responsible,” she warned, her tone light.
“That’s okay. After all, how much can funeral expenses be?” Zahira asked, shutting the door and patting the dashboard.
“We already have a hearse.”
2
The black station wagon pulled up to the house a half-hour later, neatly sliding into it’s customary spot in front of the awkwardly angled mailbox.
“Ah, the mailbox is still standing – Zahira must not have been behind the wheel lately. Maybe there’s a reason Muslim women aren’t allowed to drive,” an effeminate voice purred from somewhere above as the girls opened their doors.
“Hey, you, religious prejudices are nobody’s friend,” Zahira grumbled, scowling playfully upward at the skinny white boy perched on the porch railing of the home the girls shared.
“Yeah, tell that to the minister,” Rita said dryly, walking to the back to unlock the trunk.
“What took you so long? She didn’t make you go to Ridgeton again, did she?” Mark asked, sliding down the stair rail and joining her at the back of the car.
“Of course she did,” Rita said, rolling her eyes as she dug through the trunk, then handed him a paper bag.
“That’s your stuff. But have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? She takes the shopping list, marks off what can be construed as kinky, and insists on driving to that God-forsaken little town to buy it,”
She grumbled.
“Um, still here,” Zahira called, leaning against the car’s side with folded arms.
“And she gave some guy my name and our phone number!” Rita continued, ignoring her. Mark simply smiled, used to their bickering as he held his sack in one arm, his other hand on his hip.
“Well, was he cute?”
“It doesn’t matter to you – those pants are so tight you won’t be able to have kids, anyway,” Zahira interjected, trying to get him back for the Muslim comment. Mark laughed, reaching over to pat her cheek.
“And you wonder why you’re taking the freshman anatomy course for the second year running,” he teased, then backed away.
“Well, I must be going, Michael’s making spaghetti tonight,” he shared, grinning. Rita frowned, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him with a curious expression.
“Why are you on our supplies list?” she asked him, laughing.
“Because you love me,” he returned, grinning.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Rita murmured under her breath.
“Carry Romaine’s bag up, please. Zahira, this one’s yours, and you can get Chloe’s…I’ve got mine and the one for everybody,” Rita continued, distributing the paper bags and shutting the trunk. The trio turned and walked up the steep, cracking concrete steps to Rita and Zahira’s front door.
The building was one of a kind, and had obviously been remodelled with students from the campus a quarter of a mile away in mind. From the front it appeared to be a duplex – and for the most part, it was. Each side had been designed to have a bathroom, a living room, and two tiny bedrooms or one spacious one, depending on which side you got. In the back, though, part of the middle wall had been knocked out to allow the sides to share a relatively spacious kitchen and back door. This arrangement worked out perfectly for the group of people that had rented it at the end of the second semester the previous year – Zahira and Rita had been roommates on campus, and had bonded nearly from the moment they met, despite the marked differences between them. Chloe and Romaine had been dating since middle school, and when Chloe’s parents found out and gave her the choice between Romaine and them, she had been elated to find a place she and Romaine could afford where she could finish her senior year at the same high school. Rita had taken it upon herself to find a system that allowed them all to get by fairly easily: in the kitchen, a small stand was placed against the wall holding a fishbowl and a pad of paper. Throughout the week, people would write their needs on the supply list and put money in the bowl.
Somewhere along the way Mark had come along – nobody was sure how, or who knew him first. But he was now a permanent fixture, as was evidenced by the ease with which he found the key wedged under a loose piece of concrete on the second step from the top. He let them in, sat Romaine’s bag on the kitchen counter, and turned to leave through the back door.
“I’m off. Thanks for the groceries!” he called, walking down the back steps.
“Don’t forget to recycle your bag!” Rita called after him, putting cereal boxes onto a shelf.
“Hey, everyone! It’s the Lorax!” He teased, walking backwards and gesturing with his free hand, then falling off the last step and into the dirt.
“That’s what you get!” Zahira called playfully after his retreating figure.
“That’s what who gets?” a slightly younger voice questioned from the left side of the kitchen, the sound soon followed by its owner as Chloe wandered over to the paper bags to search for her own.
“Mark. He fell off the steps,” Zahira shared smugly, a pint of ice cream and a spoon clutched in her hand as she climbed onto the counter.
“Oh. Is he okay?” Chloe asked absent-mindedly, not really caring about the answer – in the time she’d known Mark, he’d fallen quite a bit, and he had yet to be injured.
“Yes,” Zahira sighed, opening the ice cream and digging her spoon into the middle.
“But he got his pants dirty,” she added, brightening considerably. Chloe gave up on the bags for the moment and shook her head, smiling.
“You two kill me,” she laughed. Just then, Rita returned from putting her things in her room, picking up on the conversation as she removed the ice cream carton from Zahira’s hand.
“And I’m going to kill you if you don’t start using a bowl, because you’re going to kill us with mono or syphilis or God-knows-what-other diseases you may be carrying,” she chastised jokingly. Chloe laughed, sitting at the table and pulling a thick textbook from her leather messenger bag. Rita reached over her shoulder to sit the smaller of the paper bags in front of her.
“This is yours. I got the stuff for your bike, but I didn’t even know where to start with school supplies. You know, if you got your parents to sign for your license you could go get them yourself…” she hinted, pouring the leftover money from the shopping trip into the fish bowl. Chloe shook her head, her expression instantly grim.
“Not today, please,” she said wearily, “I’ve already gotten hell from Mr. Duffy. He yelled at me for, like, half of Calculus today because I got a ‘C’ on his stupid test and didn’t bring it back signed. Which is ridiculous in and of itself,” she added, her tone sharp, “Because Molly Wilkinson got an ‘A’ and I know, for a fact, that she copied off me. ‘I didn’t copy, I’ve just been getting help after school,’” she mimicked in a high, girlish pitch, batting her eyelashes. “Gotten help, my ass – given favours is more like it,” she editorialised in her normal, if agitated, voice as she warmed to her subject.
“But, anyway, Mr. Duffy was all, ‘I’m going to have to call your parents, young lady.’ So, of course, I’m like, ‘Well, you have fun with that, and give them my love since they haven’t spoken to me in four months.’ Then he was like, ‘Oh, I don’t believe you, that’s ridiculous, why wouldn’t your parents talk to you?’ So, by now I’m pissed to all hell. So I stand up,” she continued, clearly irate as she demonstrated, “And say, ‘Because, Mr. Duffy, I am a lesbian! Which is why, I’m afraid, I won’t be able to participate in the extracurricular activities that are obviously required to get a decent grade in this class!”
Rita gasped, having been listening attentively from across the table.
“You said that?!? What’s he say?”
“He didn’t have time to say anything, I walked out and went to the office. So, for leaving class, I have 40 extra problems to do before I leave for work,” she admitted, sticking her tongue out.
“Which is why,” Zahira summed up, walking over and sprawling in the chair next to Chloe’s, “high school sucks.” Chloe turned her head slowly, glaring at the obvious statement.
“Thank you,” she replied tersely, then turned her attention to her excessive amount of homework.
3
After a few minutes of silence, Zahira grew bored and wandered back to her side of the house to watch television, and Rita rose to take the empty bags to the recycling bin on the back porch. She pushed open the cheap aluminium door, letting it slam closed behind her, and suddenly found herself lying on the deck, staring up at the sky.
“Hello, Romaine,” she said conversationally, greeting the brightly-dressed Hispanic girl lying on top of her.
“You aren’t Chloe,” Romaine grumbled, disentangling her arms from Rita’s neck and sitting up on top of her thighs. Rita propped her hands behind her, propelling herself to a sitting position.
“And you aren’t a cat. Will you get off me?” she asked, giving the woman a gentle push. As usual, Romaine ignored the request and continued to chatter happily.
“I just talked to the theatre director, and the West Side Story auditions next week are going to be open to freshmen!” she bubbled, a piece of her dark, curly hair falling from its messy bun and into her face as she gestured. Rita tilted her head to the side, confused.
“Why were you at school? Registration is tomorrow, right?” she asked, having resigned herself to her fate as a piece of furniture.
“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure everything was where I thought it was. I didn’t want to get lost,” Romaine admitted. She had graduated from the school Chloe was currently attending the previous year, and had spent the better part of the summer in anticipation of the classes required for her musical theatre major. She had even gone so far as to install a barre on a bare wall of the kitchen, which Zahira enjoyed trying to use as a balance beam. Thus far, seventy-five percent of their matching dishes had found themselves in the “glass” bins at the local recycling centre. Rita nodded.
“Good idea, although I’m sure I won’t be far off if you need something, and you’ll have anatomy with Zahira,” she reminded with an ever-so-slightly pompous snort, equally frustrated and amused by the well-off girl’s lack of study skills. Romaine laughed.
“Oh, I’d forgotten that…isn’t that the super huge class, with that one guy with the lisp?” Rita nodded. The professor – Dr. McGinney – was supposedly a brilliant scientist, but dressed and spoke in such a manner that left one thinking his success was not entirely independent of lots and lots of hallucinogens. At that moment, Romaine seemed to remember why she was on top of Rita in the first place and craned her neck to look around the area.
“Where’s Chloe – she’s working today, right? Shouldn’t she be leaving right about now?”
“She probably called in on the way home – she has extra homework…”
But before Rita had gotten through her sentence, Romaine had left her lap as quickly as she’d landed on it, only the slamming aluminium door a testament to the fact that she had been there at all before rushing off to see what was wrong. Rita stayed on the deck for a moment, listening for the overreaction she knew would shortly come.
“THAT BASTARD!!! I swear, I’m going to grind his bones to make my bread and feed it to that whore!” Rita rolled her eyes as the angry words echoed in the empty air behind the house, then stood and placed the bags in the recycling bin, being careful to shut the lid tightly. She stepped on it in order to climb onto the wide porch railing, her back against the cool brick as she waited for the aggravated rumblings to die away inside. Romaine was known for being highly excitable and over-dramatic, and Rita wasn’t sure that she had the patience to deal with it that day. Although she was only a sophomore, she was the oldest by well over a year, and it was at moments like these that she felt that difference the most. She’d had one of the latest birthdays in her class to begin with, and then she’d had to work a year between high school and college, so she was nearly twenty-one in a house full of teenagers. She sighed, attempting to force her mind to move along – it really couldn’t be helped, and she was content with the arrangement most of the time.
“What’s wrong?” Rita started, grabbing the rail beneath her to keep herself from falling over. She smiled down at Mark, who was standing below her and frowning up through the dark hair covering his right eye, and shook her head.
“Nothing. What are you here for? I thought it was spaghetti night.”
“It is. Michael can’t find a strainer. Do you all have one?” Rita grimaced.
“Romaine just got home, discovered some teacher was being rude to Chloe, and-“ she made a noise and gesture signifying an explosion.
“I think there’s one under the sink, but you’re going to have to get it yourself.” Mark nodded, understanding, and took his usual long, casual strides to the stairs, which he ascended quickly. Rita noticed that Mark had changed pants since he left, and her smile briefly grew more genuine. Mark touched Rita’s cheek lightly, pausing next to her on his way to the door.
“We could get her drunk. Maybe she’d just curl up and go to sleep,” he suggested, both teasing and offering sympathy as the left corner of his mouth turned up into a charming smile. Mark was younger than Rita by exactly seventeen days, but his social connections and impeccable fake ID had gotten him a job bartending at bar near the campus called The Red.
“I think I’ll pass. She gets into enough trouble on her own,” Rita murmured, then snorted, shaking her head.
“Besides, she’d probably just be even louder and more excitable than usual,” she predicted glumly. Mark chuckled quietly, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and walked into the kitchen.
4
Romaine’s tirade had obviously been short-lived, as the kitchen was quiet save for the clicking of calculator keys and the sound of a pen on paper. Romaine sat in the chair next to Chloe, her right leg curled beneath her and her left bent atop the chair in order to give her arm somewhere to rest. She silently watched Chloe work, rubbing her back. She glanced up as Mark walked in.
“Mark!” she exclaimed excitedly, her face breaking into a huge grin. She held her arms out, and Mark stepped into the hug, bending over to return it and kiss the top of her head.
“Hi, honey!” he greeted her enthusiastically as he reached around behind her and snatched Chloe’s ever-present hat off. Today it was a black beret-type hat, designed to match her pants and the black accents in her shirt. She tried to snatch it back, but he sat it upon his own head as his other hand reached over Romaine and affectionately tousled her hair.
“Mark!” she exclaimed, groaning, although she wore a wide smile. She carefully marked her page, then turned in her chair to watch him dig beneath the sink.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, resting her chin on the back of the chair. Mark emerged from beneath the sink, a yellow strainer clutched triumphantly in his hand.
“Its spaghetti night,” he informed her, taking the hat off and placing it crookedly back atop her head.
“You aren’t staying?” Romaine asked, disappointed, as Chloe adjusted her hat. Mark shook his head, smiling apologetically.
“You’ll have to meet Michael and try his spaghetti sometime – nothing is worth missing spaghetti night,” he laughed, turning to walk out the door. He paused, as if remembering something, then turned back around, although he didn’t move towards them again.
“Your dad was in the bar the other night, Chloe,” he remarked. Chloe raised an eyebrow, instantly on guard.
“Yeah, okay…” she prompted.
“He was talking about his daughter, and I asked him what he’d say to you if he could get ahold of you now,” he said slowly.
“That I still owe him $50?” Chloe asked, the line of her mouth defiant. Mark looked at her for a second, then shook his head.
“He said that he loves you,” he shared quietly, then turned and left, strainer in hand. As the door slammed, he glanced at Rita apologetically.
“I’d give it another minute or two,” he said, knowing his statement would have caused some sort of reaction.
“Want spaghetti?” he offered. Rita laughed quietly, shaking her head.
“I’m alright. You go enjoy your evening.” Mark grinned, saluting her with the strainer.
“Will do. ‘Night.” And with that, he descended the stairs and jogged off into the night.
5
Inside, Chloe was staring at the door, her mouth slightly agape. After a moment of silence, Romaine wrapped her arms around her.
“The nerve of him! You don’t-“
“Don’t,” Chloe cut her off quietly, standing and shaking her head.
“I need to get ready for work,” she murmured quickly, her face deliberately expressionless as she swept out of the room. Romaine stood to follow, then sank back to her seat – she knew Chloe well enough to see that she needed a few seconds to collect her thoughts.
“I can’t believe him,” she murmured to herself, then turned around as she heard the door shut, waiting for Rita to ask for an explanation. But Rita simply smiled innocently at her and crossed to the counter.
“Here’s your bag,” she offered, gesturing, then turning to leave the kitchen. She stopped at her door, staring backwards for a moment – she did wonder what had happened…but, no. She shook her head silently, then continued, calling out,
“I’ll see you at registration tomorrow.”
Romaine nodded silently, then pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, lost in her own thoughts. Mark had dealt a low blow – Chloe’s dad was a drunk, had been since she could remember. He had been drunk the night Chloe came out to her family…Romaine remembered the months of urging, holding a reassuring hand to Chloe’s back as she’s laid bare her soul. Her father exploded, screaming and cursing, throwing a lamp inches from Romaine’s head. The next morning he’d given Chloe an ultimatum – Romaine, or them. When she returned home from school, all the locks had been changed, and they’d had to break a window to get back in and retrieve Chloe’s stuff, sitting outside for hours and waiting for her dad to pass out before they dared to enter. He had never, ever shown anything resembling love – and Mark knew that. She would have to talk to him tomorrow, see what he was playing at.
Her reverie was interrupted by a pensive Chloe, dressed for work. She worked at a health food store, and looked the part of the organic hippie in her skirt and peasant top, her curly hair dried relatively straight and hanging at the sides of her petite face, a brown scarf replacing the beret. Her face was the only sign that she’d been upset; the expression upon it was controlled, but it had the slightly pale, shiny appearance of flesh that had recently been doused with salt and fresh water, in turn. Her smile still shook slightly as she raised her hand in a farewell gesture, then adjusted her messenger bag on her shoulder.
“Love you,” she murmured, both their customary parting and an offering of peace for her earlier brush-off.
“You, too,” Romaine returned warmly, rising.
“Have fun selling your Elephant Poo fertiliser and glorified weeds,” she teased, touching Chloe’s shoulder affectionately.
“You know it,” Chloe chuckled quietly, then descended the steps and pulled her bike from beneath the deck. With a wave, she was on it and away.
Romaine glanced around the kitchen, listening for any nearby stirrings in the apartment beyond, then slipped out the back door. She sat on the porch railing, then braced herself against the trunk of the tree at the corner and stood. With one last look around, she clambered into the tree’s branches, climbing up several feet until she sat on a relatively horizontal limb near a birdhouse. She reached into the wooden figure, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. Being a non-smoker was a prerequisite for getting the house, but what people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. She sighed, resting in the tree until the sun dipped below the horizon and it was very nearly too dark to make it down safely.
6
The next morning, Rita awoke to the tunes of the local rap station. It was a guilty pleasure, but the blaring noise did do a good job of waking her up – and that was what counted. She’d given up the habit of slapping the snooze button years ago, needing every moment of the day for work or study, and ignored the chill of the early morning air as she immediately rolled out of bed. She turned the volume on her clock radio down, but indulged for a few moments longer as she made the bed and tidied the room, then grabbed a manila envelope from the nightstand and sank onto the bed, dumping out the contents. She’d looked through the papers many, many times over the summer – they were informational sheets discussing the graduation requirements for her legal administration major, synopses and requirement lists for classes, reviews of the different professors, and schedules – and knew the courses she needed by heart. Still, reading the texts once more was like a security blanket, and she felt her usual start-of-term jitters calm as she copied the course information into a pocket-sized notebook tucked into her purse. Having finished that, she grabbed her clothes and headed for the small bathroom.
Somehow, though, the door was already shut and locked tightly. Rita blinked a few times, simply staring at the door, then returned to her room to check the clock. It wasn’t even eight yet – how on earth had Zahira beat her to the bathroom? She didn’t even wake up until ten! It had to be someone else. Chloe, Romaine, even Mark – the Easter Bunny was more probable. She marched to the door and knocked authoritatively.
“Who’s in there?” she whispered.
“ME!” Zahira yelled back from within, causing Rita to wince at the volume.
“Why?” she pressed, exaggerating her whisper to make a point.
“I’m taking a shower!” Zahira exclaimed, heedless as always.
“But – urgh.” Rita gave up, turning away – understanding that girl after showering and being fully awake was difficult enough. Right now, she wasn’t even going to try. Rita grabbed a hooded sweatshirt from her room, pulled it over her modest blue pyjamas, and headed for the kitchen.
A quiet hour later, after cleaning the remains of what appeared to be an attempt at a milkshake gone horribly wrong, making coffee and waffles, eating, and cleaning up her own mess, Rita shuffled back to their side and stopped in amazement, staring at the bathroom door. The sound of running water was only beginning to come to a close behind the door! Rita sighed, fetched her clothes, and sat on the couch positioned with a view of the television and bathroom door.
A half-hour later, the door opened and Rita hastened to it. Zahira emerged, her hair immaculately dried and hanging over the shoulders of an oversized T-shirt.
“You aren’t even dressed?” Rita questioned incredulously. Zahira raised a neatly tweezed brow, looking at her as if she were insane.
“Dressed? I’m going back to bed.” And with that, she wandered into her own room and shut the door. Rita huffed, and headed for what promised to be a frigid shower.
7
Zahira awoke a few hours later to what she assumed was an empty house. She sat up, running her hands through her now citrus-scented hair as she vaguely recalled Rita’s earlier slamming of drawers and mutterings about inconsideration and the value of timeliness. She would have to go register before long – after two or three, all that was left were the lectures renowned for their dullness and the truly random classes. (Which wasn’t always a bad thing, she reminded herself as she stepped onto the purple rug she’d created out of human hair in Economical Culturally Reflective Art 107.)
She grabbed a handful of the expensive off-white comforter and tossed it over the pillows, chucking the various stuffed animals and throw pillows that had accumulated around the room at the chestnut headboard. It wasn’t exactly making the bed, but as Zahira had explained to Rita when she’d been confronted about it the first week of freshman year, there was no point taking time to smooth the sheets and tuck everything in neatly when you’d only be sitting or sleeping in it later on. As if to illustrate this point, she shrugged off the oversized T-shirt she’d slept on and tossed it onto the bed as she walked over to the closet and opened the door, revealing the stuffed racks within. She stared into it blankly for a moment, reaching for her favourite halter-top, then paused with a sigh and stood on tiptoe, redirecting her hand to pull a nondescript hat box from the top shelf. She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror as she went to put the box on her bed, and smiled – she’d treated herself to a new lingerie set two days ago, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the deep red lace contrasted with her skin and hair. After a moment’s thought, she decided she’d get breakfast before getting dressed, and grabbed her hairbrush on the way out of her bedroom.
Her cursory glances out the front window revealed that Rita’s car was gone, as was Chloe’s bike, and the paper had been taken off the porch. Confirming that she was alone, Zahira hummed to herself as she strode into the kitchen, distracted by her reflection in the windows as she opened the freezer door.
“It’s cold!” she exclaimed to herself, pulling out a box of waffles and shutting it quickly.
“Well, yeah, that is the point of a freezer…” a silky voice laughed. Zahira whipped around, slamming the box onto the counter. Mark was sitting in the corner, a chair tipped backwards and his feet crossed on the table, nothing but amusement showing in his easy, open expression.
“You know, we have doors just so people like you can knock on them,” she informed, crossing her arms defiantly, her expression and slight hardness of breathing betraying her surprise.
“Sorry to scare you,” Mark offered, the corners of his contrite mouth twitching, “But I needed to give back the strainer, and I was going to get Rita to help me figure out the whole online banking thing when she got home.”
“I wasn’t scared!” Zahira huffed, turning and bending over to dig for the toaster under the counter, her movements unconsciously flirtatious.
“Uh-huh, sure,” Mark laughed, rising and walking over to the counter, then reaching and pulling the toaster from an upper cabinet. Zahira looked up at him, her brow furrowed.
“How’d you find that?” She demanded. Mark laughed, reaching over and messing up her hair, which earned him another dirty look.
“When are you going to let me cut it?” he asked, leaning against the counter as she plugged in the toaster and popped two waffles in.
“When hell freezes over.”
“Well, with an attitude like that I’d imagine your bedroom is pretty frigid already,” he teased, sticking his tongue out and skittering away from her fist. She huffed, pulling syrup from the refrigerator.
“Michael wouldn’t look half as pretty in this outfit.”
“Yeah, ‘cause he’d have to kill himself for even considering it, and blood does absolutely nothing for lace.”
Zahira opened her mouth to retort when the phone rang. She sighed, lifting the receiver.
“Hello?…Oh, hi, daddy!” (At this point Mark snorted loudly, covering his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing. Zahira cast him a dark look.) “No, I’m alone, why?…No, of course not!…Oh. Um, yeah, no problem! Sure, ten minutes is perfect!” She said cheerfully, casting Mark a panicked glance and gesturing towards the smoking toaster. He rolled his eyes and ejected the browned waffles, munching on one as she finished exchanging pleasantries and hung up.
“Crap!” Zahira exclaimed as she slammed the phone down.
“He wants to do lunch instead. After all, I’m alone and perfectly decent,” she said, her tone sarcastic as she gestured, then pointed at Mark.
“Eat the waffles and clean up!” she ordered as she ran out of the kitchen. Mark shrugged, squirting syrup onto the plate and sitting down. Zahira had a monthly dinner date with her family, and apparently things hadn’t worked out so well this time…
A few minutes later, Zahira appeared, tugging on a flat and cursing. Mark turned, took one look at her, and busted out laughing.
“Gee, not sure which look I prefer…” he teased.
“Shut up,” Zahira glared. She wore flats, chocolate brown slacks, a conservative white sweater, and a pink Headscarf – a traditional Muslim-American woman in every way.
“I can’t believe you can get that thing to stay on properly, oh One-Who-Cannot-Work-A-Toaster.” Zahira lifted her chin.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I wear this every day. I am a proud, religious woman,” she sniffed, wincing as a car honked outside.
“Have fun,” Mark taunted as she left, following her to the front door.
“You as well,” she returned, her voice syrupy sweet as she discreetly flicked him off before slipping into a new-model BMW next to her smiling, unsuspecting father.
Mark smiled, being sure to stay out of sight as the pair pulled away. He and Zahira abused each other, but it was all in good fun; he would never wish her the deep trouble being discovered with a boy, however obvious his orientation, would cause. As soon as the car rounded the corner, Mark walked back to the kitchen, glancing into the opened doors in the hall along the way. One room was messy, but plush – Zahira’s, he assumed. The other contained a simple twin bed, neatly made up with a tan quilt, and a cheap dresser. That room was fairly devoid of knick-knacks, and Mark ran outside and plucked some of the wildflowers growing in the back, placing them on the pillow before resuming his post in the kitchen. He threw away the last blackened half of a waffle, washed the plates, and put the toaster in the cabinet. He took the pad from beside the fish bowl and wrote “Home Of The Toaster” on it in an artistic print, then taped it to the cabinet before sitting down and beginning to doodle, letting his mind wander.
He’d felt bad for his exit last night – although he’d timed it that way on purpose, for maximum impact and minimum Romaine, it didn’t seem right to leave it hanging that way. He’d seen in Chloe’s eyes, for a fraction of a second before turning away, an old hurt and confusion that had lived there since he’d known her…he had hoped his tidings would ease it somewhat, and that was why he’d returned. The Red had been abuzz the night before with students getting in “one last hurrah” before the start of term – they all agreed that this year their evenings would be devoted to studying and sobriety, and although he knew they’d be back on schedule within a month, it had given him an idea. With any luck, Romaine would be chatting and networking at the school until Chloe had gotten home and he’d had the chance to chat with her – besides, he really didn’t have a clue as to how the whole online banking thing worked.
Mark looked down at the paper, finding a familiar design sketched across it – a heart, created by the words “Love Wins” written in various directions and fonts. It was the same tattoo he’d saved up to get on his right forearm, and although most people didn’t know it was there, it was a welcome reminder in the mornings. As he thought silently, the phone rang, breaking his reverie – he had no clue who could be calling, but he automatically crossed to the corded wall phone and answered, his tone polite as he held the notepad before him, ready to take a message.
“Hello?”
“Um…hi,” a pleasant male voice stammered,
“Is…um…is Rita there?”
Mark shook his head, then realised the speaker couldn’t see him.
“No, she’s not available. May I take a message?” He asked automatically. He’d worked as a receptionist at his aunt’s friend’s salon since his sophomore year in high school, and phone habits died hard.
“Oh…I didn’t know that she…um, she gave me her…I’ll just call back later?” the voice stumbled. Mark paused for a moment, wondering if Rita had picked up a special needs kid somewhere along the way, then realised what the boy was assuming.
“Oh, no, honey, we’re not involved or anything – she’s registering for classes.”
The voice on the other end sighed, relieved.
“Oh. Well, she gave me her number when I was working yesterday, and I have the night off, so I was calling to see if she’d like to do something tonight.”
Mark paused, grinning as he realised what had happened.
“Yeah, I’m sure she would. As a matter of fact, why don’t you just stop by this evening? You can just Google the phone number to get the address…”
“Yeah, okay, thanks. So, um, bye.”
“Good day.”
Mark hung up, then sank to the floor next to the phone and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. It would, indeed, be a good day.
8
Chloe rounded the corner slowly, enjoying the ride, her last few minutes of solitude until Monday morning. She loved Romaine dearly, and generally enjoyed the company of the other girls, but on afternoons like this she couldn’t help but miss the privacy and comfort afforded by her old life…not that she’d ever admit it to anyone but herself, she thought quickly as she dismounted and padlocked her bike to the rod iron stair rail. She sighed in relief as she twisted the doorknob of her door – locked. It seemed too good to be true, but it appeared that she would have at least a few moments more to call her own.
She eagerly pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the door, very nearly running in her efforts to get the most from her unexpected luck. She tossed her schoolbag into a corner of the living room, then dashed to the bedroom she and Romaine shared – only here did she pause. It wasn’t a large room, but the space was arranged for comfort and efficiency. The walls were plastered with pictures, notes, and art they’d obtained or created, and every free surface was littered with baskets for various items or knickknacks. It was on one of these trinkets that her gaze fell…a vase, holding the plastic tulip Romaine had brought home a couple of days ago. It was the only real reminder of her family - a few months before she’d left, her mother had decided to put her dad’s many beer bottles to good use, and so they had all decoupaged vases for themselves, and then as Christmas gifts for family and friends. She’d made hers black and a pastel pink, to match her room at home…
As she stood staring, the thoughts and emotions she’d mostly kept at bay since last night came crashing down on her. As soon as she realised what was happening, she wrenched her eyes away from the vase, hunting somewhere safe for them to look – but everything that usually enveloped her in warmth and feelings of comfort were now mocking her, a strong reminder of the love she had lost and the home she would never have again. She found herself beginning to hyperventilate, and she quickly reached between the mattress and box spring to pull out a thin leather book before running from the room. She sprinted through the kitchen, not noticing the figure crouched in the corner in her efforts to get outside.
Chloe sat down hard on the wooden patio, leaning her head against the vertical columns of the railing and clenching one in each fist as she waited for the cool air and lack of memorabilia to slow her breathing and clear her head. When her mind and body had finally settled, she pulled a pen from one of the pockets of her grey hoodie and opened the leather volume in her lap. She had no choice now – the thoughts and emotions had to be dealt with – but they would be dealt with solely on her terms. It had always been her way to get her feelings down on paper, so she could observe them and clinically dispatch those thoughts she didn’t wish to consciously have.
So, she began writing, matter-of-factly recording the events of the past few days, beginning with her conversation with her math teacher. She carefully wrote out every word, every thought that she remembered passing through her head and those that were coming now, ignoring the parts of her that were begging to move on to a less touchy subject. As she wrote, she noticed that she was crying but ignored it, forcing herself to push through the tangent she’d fallen into.
“If I were to be totally honest, I suppose I would have to admit that this isn’t the life I want. Romaine always says that even though things can get hard, all we really need is each other – but that’s not completely true. I need space – when I was younger, almost until the day I left home, I used to say that I wasn’t going to even think about marriage or anything like it until I graduated from college. Now, here I am, in this until-the-end-of-time kind of relationship and not even out of high school…and, I mean, I’m happy about it, I really am, but…I’m too young for this. Everything is so hard. I should be coming home everyday to parents who love and support me, not a few folks as lost and confused as I am. When I come home upset because some teacher’s discriminating against me, or because some kid’s giving me hell and calling me a dyke and all that crap, my dad should be there to comforting me, not echoing the sentiments. All I want is for him to love me – really love me, not just say it one night to some stranger ‘cause it sounds good. I think…if he loved me…then everything else would somehow turn out okay.”
And here, she stopped abruptly, staring in horror at her own emotional handwriting. The pen had been moving almost of its own accord by that point, and had somehow managed to record a belief she hadn’t known she’d held. But…dear God, it was true – somehow, she really thought that. With that realisation, she gave up – this wasn’t going to be solved with a clear head and amateur psychoanalysis. This was beyond her control. Chloe closed the book slowly, the offending words blurring as she sat it aside and let her head drop into her hands. Then, she allowed the sobs she’d been holding back for months to overtake her.
9
Mark had been recovering from his phone call when Chloe ran through. He’d called after her, then rose to follow her, assuming she hadn’t heard him. By the time he’d reached the door, though, she had opened her book and begun writing, and so he stopped with his hand outstretched. He’d messed with her life enough in the past day or so, and it was the least he could do to allow her to finish whatever she was doing before he addressed her. He didn’t think it was homework – although her face was turned away from him, her body appeared to be tense, and her shoulders were slumped at a world-weary angle…but that wasn’t his business, he curtly reminded the nearly overwhelming part of himself that ached to go to her.
He managed to leave her alone, watching silently until her sad shoulders began shaking and her head disappeared from view between them. Then, he made it his business, slipping quietly out the door. He sat behind her, extending his legs on either side and enveloping her shaking body in his arms, forming a cocoon of protection around her. Chloe jerked her head up, unguarded eyes reflecting her feelings of fear an helplessness for an instant before turning hard. Mark had caught it, though which was why he simply held her more tightly when she tried to move away.
“Get off of me, go away,” she demanded, her voice shaky and very nearly inaudible through the tears.
“No,” Mark returned evenly, his green eyes earnest behind his gentle smile. Chloe tried to glare at him, and succeeded for a fraction of a second before another round of tears came; then she gave up, returning her face to her hands and turning her back to him once again. After a moment, Mark rose fluidly, repositioning himself in front of her before she registered his absence. He reacted the way he always had with his sister, although he carefully avoided making those connections as he gently pulled her onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“It’s okay, honey. It’ll be alright,” he murmured soothingly as one hand hugged her close and the other stroked her wavy auburn hair. (She’d changed shampoos, he noticed idly.) Chloe stiffened – she didn’t need comforted, especially not by him, the easiest one to blame for this mess…but he was softer than the deck, and it had been so long since she’d simply been held…her resolve weakened, and she pressed her face against Mark’s shoulder, letting him support her and hoping the tears would stop soon.
Twenty or thirty minutes later, a very blotchy and wet Chloe met Mark’s eyes for the first time since he’d arrived.
“I’m sorry…” she offered quietly, sniffing and wiping the last vestiges of tears from her eyes. Mark smiled, leaning to kiss her head.
“Don’t be,” he said gently, “Do you want to talk about it?” Chloe pushed herself backwards, then folded her legs beneath her so she could face him. She shrugged and shook her head, a gesture indicating that she didn’t want to, but was obligated.
“It’s nothing, really. Just stuff kinda piling up…” she said, her eyes begging him to leave it at that. Mark nodded, but his eyes searched her own, allowing the silence to pose the questions she didn’t wish him to. She made herself look back, although hers was an air of defiance rather than patience. As the moment became uncomfortably long, Mark spoke.
“Is it about your dad, last night?” Chloe bit her bottom lip then, looking at the deck, nodded.
“Well, then, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dropped news like that on you. But…” Mark paused, waiting for her eyes to meet his again, touching her chin to speed up the process, “but I swear, it’s true. He was sober when he came in – I didn’t know who he was – but he was sitting next to Ben, one of my regulars. Ben’s first granddaughter had just lost a tooth, so he was showing me pictures, and your dad remarked that he had a daughter with the same colour hair and pulled out a picture of you, from his wallet. So I turned the conversation in that direction, asking about you, and he said that you’d moved out a few months ago. It was Ben that got us to the part I told you about – he said, ‘I left home when I was about that age, and never got to see my father again. I figured I’d gotten the raw end of the bargain, but after having kids, I know it was his loss.’ Your dad was kinda quiet, just nodded, and so I asked him, ‘Well, sir, what would you say to her if you got in touch with her again, if she called you or something?’ And Chloe, honey, there wasn’t even a second of hesitation – just right off, he said, ‘I’d tell her that I loved her.’”
Chloe listened attentively, soaking up the words, feeding off of them more than even she fully understood. As he finished, she felt tears threaten once more.
“Damn you, Mark,” she murmured thickly, dropping her gaze…then her melancholy face broke into a smile, and she laughed. Mark glanced at her quizzically, eyebrows raised.
“What?” he asked.
“We match. You’re wearing the same pants I am,” she laughed, pointing to the hems of their pants, stitched identically with the company’s trademark yellow thread. Mark blushed, glancing away, his mouth folded into a small smile. It was now Chloe’s turn to raise her eyebrows, her tone ironic.
“What, you didn’t think I knew you wore girl pants?” she asked, smirking. Mark grimaced, then looked up at her shyly.
“You didn’t know I wore yours,” he amended, blinking innocently.
“Uh!” Chloe exclaimed. “I thought I had two pairs of these! You…turd!” she exclaimed, although she wasn’t really angry as she swung at him. Mark laughed, moving away as he grabbed her wrist to protect himself.
“Ow!” Chloe murmured, trying to jerk her arm away. Mark frowned, instantly on guard.
“What is it?” he asked, not letting go. Chloe pulled against him, shaking her head.
“Nothing, you just grabbed my arm hard.” Mark was about to accept this explanation, and was opening his hand when he noticed a couple of small, burgundy stains in the fabric of the hoodie.
“Chloe,” he said quietly, his eyes on her arm, “Roll up your sleeve, please.” Chloe pursed her lips, shaking her head, trying to communicate that this was not the time for the subject.
“No,” he insisted, “I mean it.” Chloe inhaled sharply, staring into his eyes. He did, indeed, mean it. She sighed.
“Fine,” she murmured, and pulled back the sleeve. For as long as anyone had known her, she’d always had the Chinese symbol for peace drawn on her left wrist in permanent marker – she said that it was the tattoo she was getting the day she turned eighteen. The first thing that Mark noticed was that the marker was gone. The second was that the symbol was still there, not in thick black lines, but tiny red ones.
“Oh, Chloe,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.
“Yes,” she said, her voice small, but defiant. Mark looked up questioningly.
“Yes…?”
“That’s the next thing you’re going to say – ‘Did you do this?’ And the answer is ‘yes’. Happy now?” she asked caustically, crossing her arms. Mark frowned.
“No. When did this start?”
“A few weeks after Romaine and I started dating.”
“But…that’s been years, honey,” he commented, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She moved away, to sit against the rail.
“Yes, well…let’s just say that, even if I never do get the tattoo, it’ll be there forever,” she stated, smiling thinly as she shrugged, letting her gaze fall to her worn jeans. Mark looked at her silently for a moment, thinking, then nodded.
“Okay.”
She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, her defensive expression now slightly confused.
“Okay, what?”
“Just ‘okay’. I accept that, I’m not judging you for it,” he explained, his face and body language open. He shifted so he was sitting next to her against the handrail.
“So, why?” he wondered aloud. Chloe looked up at him, staring hard for a moment.
“So you aren’t going to tell Romaine, or give me some speech about how ‘detrimental to my mental and physical health’ it is?” she verified quietly, the sarcasm in her tone waning as she made quotations in the air with her fingers. He shook his head.
“It’s not my place to tell Romaine – she’s your girlfriend, not your mom. And I’m sure you’ve figured out that it’s not a good way of dealing with things. But I also get that it sometimes feels like the only way," he continued, a shadow of some memory passing through his face.
“So, why?” he repeated patiently. Chloe sighed, pursing her lips.
“We’ll discuss it this once, and then never again,” she said slowly, laying her conditions on the table. Mark smiled slightly, shaking his head, not accepting her terms.
“I’ll make you a deal – you answer my question, and I’ll answer yours, whatever it may be.” Chloe rolled her eyes, figuring this was the best offer she’d get.
“Fine,” she huffed, then sat in silence, fingering the frayed sleeve of her hoodie.
“So, why?” he prompted again, rolling his eyes. Chloe let her head fall back onto the railing as she began speaking.
“When Romaine and I started dating, it was really weird, ‘cause I’d always been raised to think that being gay was wrong – like, it was never mentioned, but you just knew it was something you didn’t do, you know what I mean?” she asked, glancing over only long enough to see him nod before continuing her story.
“And, so, when I started liking Romaine, I thought it was just something that would pass, some weird puberty thing, but it didn’t. So we were just really good friends for a long time, until one day she was just like, ‘this is ridiculous, let’s just go for it.’ And, so, we did – and I was really happy for awhile, until I started noticing all the things around me that were saying what I was doing was totally wrong. My parent’s church, my grandparents, television shows – all of a sudden, it seemed like everywhere I turned, someone was telling me that I was some abomination. So, I felt like I was morally in the wrong, but I was really happy with Romaine, and I wasn’t sure how to reconcile that. Does that make any sense at all?” she questioned, frowning.
“Yeah, totally,” he reassured, listening attentively.
“So, one day I was cleaning my room, and a picture I had of Romaine and I fell off the shelf and the glass broke. I went to pick it up, and I just started thinking that it was a sign, you know, that I was in the wrong. Then, suddenly, I had this weird idea, and I took a piece of the glass and cut myself with it, and then I felt okay with what I was doing – it was like atonement. And so, from then on, I would cut after we went out or whatever, and I didn’t feel guilty. That’s where the peace symbol came from – it gave me peace, let me live the way I wanted. I mean, what’s a little pain for all the glory and beauty of love?” she asked rhetorically, smiling slightly, then growing serious again as she continued.
“And then, one night my parents were fighting about something-or-other, and I was like, ‘well, this is probably my fault, and cutting makes me feel better about Romaine, so maybe it will solve this too’. And, sure enough, it did – I mean, it’s not a miracle drug, but it’s something you have control of, you know? You don’t have to go to someone you love and tell them that you thing your relationship is wrong, you don’t have to let people see that you’re upset – you just take it out on yourself, and the adrenaline numbs everything for long enough for you to get your mind in order, to keep up appearances. So, you can go to work and school and come home to…yeah,” she finished, glancing at him questioningly as she shrugged. Mark nodded, reaching over to squeeze her knee reassuringly.
“I can’t say I understand, honey, because I haven’t been there. But I’ve known people that have. I’m not going to tell you to stop, because I know it’s not that simple. But there’s really no need to ‘keep up appearances,’ at least not with me,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes, then smiling gently.
“I know I’ve taken liberties with my questioning, so I won’t make you tell me anymore. But I really do wish you’d at least consider calling me or coming over before you resort to cutting yourself – if it doesn’t help, I’ll buy you a bag of glass shards myself,” he joked, his eyes sparkling once again, effortlessly lightening the mood, then frowning as a thought struck.
“You don’t really use glass still, do you? Because that’s incredibly unsanitary.” Chloe laughed, as much out of relief and gratefulness for the change in mood as actual humour, then shook her head.
“No, I don’t, and I always make sure everything’s cleaned properly,” she reassured, then grinned, turning to him as she crossed her legs and folded her hands, her expression mischievous.
“Now, Mark, I believe I get a question…” Mark rolled his eyes, groaning.
“Oh, no…is it too late to void that clause?”
“Yep,” she nodded, laughing.
“Okay. What are-“
“-you all up to?” a new voice asked as Rita walked up the stairs to the porch.
“Somebody purloined the spare key and didn’t put it back,” she explained, glancing pointedly at Mark, who rose to his feet.
“Sorry about that,” he offered, not sounding sorry at all as he opened the door for her, “I was returning the strainer, and I’d hoped you could help me figure out this online banking thing?” he asked, putting his hands together suppliantly and smiling an exaggeratedly large and cheesy smile. Rita stared at him for a moment, then snorted and shook her head.
“Fine,” she consented, sweeping past him and into the house. Before following her in, Mark turned to Chloe and shook his hips and fingers in a victory dance.
“Too late! Too late!” he sang quietly as she rose and walked to the door, pausing in front of him and pointing up at him.
“I’ll get you, mister, just you wait,” she promised, laughing as she stepped into the house. She paused, then turned around and gave him a hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Any time, hon,” he whispered back, giving her hand a squeeze as she headed for the freezer and he wandered into Rita’s living room, waiting for her to get her computer ready.
10
Rita joined him from her bedroom a moment later, a wide smile on her face as she twirled a flower between her fingers.
“Thank you,” she said, sitting a black case on top of the coffee table and unzipping it. The laptop was her pride and joy, a going-away present her family had saved for months to buy.
“Any time,” Mark grinned, falling onto the couch and crossing his legs on top of the coffee table. Rita liked to seem hard and self-sufficient, but he knew she loved getting flowers as much as any other girl, even if they were only from a friend. She shoved his feet off of to table as she sat, having connected the computer to a phone jack.
“What were you and Chloe discussing?” she asked casually as she booted up the machine and began clicking and typing.
“Nothing, really – just life. And the fact that I’m wearing her pants,” Mark added with an impish grin, effectively changing the subject. Rita stopped typing, raising an eyebrow.
“Really?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she looked at the offending garment. Mark laughed, as much at her reaction as the situation, and nodded, shifting to reveal the Chinese symbols doodled on the inner thigh, presumably the product of an especially dull class. Rita chuckled, shaking her head disbelievingly.
“You’re ridiculous. Do you have your account information with you?” she questioned, extending an expectant hand. Mark stood to pull a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, then paused, noticing that she had already pulled up his bank’s home page. He blinked a few times, glancing between the computer screen and Rita.
“Oh, come now, you don’t really think mail is delivered in grocery bags, do you?” she questioned wryly.
“We get all of your bills, I can’t help but notice where they come from,” she explained, then shook her hand impatiently. Mark narrowed his eyes, wagging a finger at her.
“When my seventeen dollars goes missing, it’s all you,” he threatened jokingly before handing her the paper and sitting down. Rita snorted, taking the paper, unfolding it, and sitting it on the table.
The two spent the next while in a companionable silence, broken only by the clicking of computer keys and Mark’s quiet murmur, supplying the information Rita didn’t know.
“Six-nine-six-nine,” he said quietly, filling in the last four digits of his Social Security Number. Rita entered the numbers, then paused. After a few seconds, Mark glanced over to see the corners of her mouth twitching, shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Rita Evangeline Flutey!” he chastised, grinning and giving her a gentle shove.
“I’m ashamed of you! I thought you were more mature than that!”
“Sorry,” she offered, laughing in earnest now, tears of mirth threatening.
“Too…much…academia,” she choked out, making a gesture of helplessness. Mark rolled his eyes, chuckling at her.
“Yes, I’m ridiculous,” he said with good-natured sarcasm, rising and heading for the kitchen. By the time she’d regained control of herself, he had returned with a mug in either hand. Rita took hers as he sat, looked into it, and laughed aloud, punching his arm.
“Hey!” Mark protested, shifting his own mug to keep it from spilling.
“There’s a marshmallow man-part in my cocoa!” she accused. Mark laughed, leaning over to look.
“Well, imagine that,” he said, a bit too innocently to be entirely believable. Rita glared at him.
“I never want to hear you say another word about my level of maturity,” she said warningly, pointing at her hot chocolate.
“Man-parts, Mark, honestly!”
Mark grinned.
“I think the word you’re looking for,” he said, leaning over to whisper in her ear, “is penis.”
“Mark!” Rita exclaimed, eyes wide and surprised. Mark jumped up to avoid her retaliatory hand, then parked himself in her lap.
“Penis, penis, penis!” he sang, conducting with his hands and feet in the air.
“Where?” someone questioned as the front door opened and shut. Rita looked up from her attempts to get Mark off her lap, and Mark arched his back, an upside-down Zahira coming into view, her headscarf in hand as she pulled off her shoes.
“Well, in my pants,” Mark answered with a grin, shifting onto his stomach. Rita sighed.
“Why are you all decked out?” she questioned, giving Mark a solid thump in the back. He grunted, but didn’t move.
“Dad decided that he wanted to do lunch and then I had to go to registration,” she explained, putting her class list into Rita’s outstretched hand as she walked into her bedroom.
“And apparently inviting Muslim women to parties isn’t the thing, so I have no idea what’s going on,” she grumbled, walking back into the room in a miniskirt and bra, two shirts hanging from her hand as she ran a brush thought her hair. Mark rolled onto his back again, his tone bored.
“There’s a thing at Joe Giver’s house tonight, BYOB. Tomorrow, there’s nothing big, and Sunday night Samantha Jiddoms and company are crashing a frat party,” he filled in.
“Basket weaving?” Rita asked incredulously, looking at the list, “I didn’t realise that was even a real – Z!” Rita exclaimed, noticing her friend’s attire.
“Lord, there’s a boy here!”
“It was either that or The History of Screwdrivers – the tool, not the drink,” Zahira said with a shrug, ignoring Rita’s disapproval.
“You are the only one that needed that distinction,” Mark commented dryly.
“Um…okay. Which shirt?” she asked, holding up a black tank top with a rose across the front and a periwinkle shirt made of various silks and mesh, obviously intended to cover only the bare necessities.
“Depends. How much do you want to be raped by a gang of drunken football player?” he questioned, hands on his hips with an expression saying that the choice was obvious.
“Well, I mean, they’re equally risky – a rose is the ultimate symbol of feminine sexuality, so it would almost be asking for it. I mean, really, the periwinkle shirt would be less in-“ Zahira broke off as Mark grabbed her arm, spinning her around and pulling her into her bedroom. Rita laughed, knowing what was coming, and turned back to the computer, filling in account numbers.
11
“Zahira, honey, it’s your issue if you want to be a whore, but you don’t have to dress like one,” Mark said patiently, pushing her towards the bed as he took the shirts and headed for her closer.
“That’s not – you suck!” Zahira huffed, pouting as she crossed her arms as she sat on the bed.
“Not anyone you know,” he said smoothly, digging through the closet, then pulling out a shirt and throwing it at her.
“Put this on,” he ordered. Zahira held up the black tank top, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re giving me this as an alternative to dressing like a whore? It’s skin tight!”
“It’s never stopped you before. Humour me,” he requested, turning to dig through the shoes in her closet floor. Zahira turned her back, tossing her bra onto the floor and slipping into the top. When she turned back around, Mark had a small pile at the end of the bed.
“It’s tight,” she reiterated, gesturing to the shirt. It did, indeed, look as if it had been sprayed on. Mark shook his head.
“No, it’s perfect – wait for it,” he said, turning her back to the mirror and picking up a belt.
12
Shortly thereafter, a triumphant, curling-iron-toting Mark walked back into the living room, Zahira close behind.
“Perfect timing,” Rita commented, than spotted Zahira and clapped. The periwinkle shirt bordered on tactful when put over the tank top, and the periwinkle flower buckle on the belt carried the colour down to the denim skirt. Black hooker heels laced up her thighs, finishing the outfit.
“We call this look Professional Evening,” Mark said with a wink. As expected, Rita caught the joke as it sailed over Zahira’s head, and smiled.
“Okay, I’ve gotten this worked out – you’ll have to go through and change your passwords later, but for now, I’ll just go ahead and explain it,” Rita said, her tone growing businesslike. Mark nodded as he plugged in the curling iron and sat on the couch with Zahira on the floor between his legs. As Rita explained the workings of the computer system, he listened and worked on Zahira’s hair, occasionally asking a question. By the time they were done a half-hour later, Mark had an online banking account, and Zahira had a cute, curly updo that looked as if it had taken about thirty seconds to toss together. She bounced off to do her makeup, and Mark smiled, standing and stretching.
“Thanks, hon – I owe you,” he said, picking up her empty mug along with his own forgotten drink.
“You do,” she agreed, putting her laptop away. “Zahira was cute. A definite lack of whoreishness,” she complemented. Mark laughed.
“Thanks. You should let me do you sometime,” he said, pulling a strand of her plain, brown hair from its sensible bun. Rita tucked it back behind her ear, shaking her head with a slightly self-conscious smile.
“I’m fine with this,” she said, gesturing to her jeans and oversized cream-coloured sweater. Mark grinned, shaking his head.
“Just wait. I’ll getcha,” he promised, walking into the kitchen.
13
He was washing the mugs in the sink hen the aluminium door slammed. Mark winced – he’d lost track of time. His suspicions were confirmed by an angry intake of breath.
“You!” Romaine hissed, dumping her large purse into a chair so she could stand with her hands on her hips, looking slightly beyond furious.
“Why in the hell are you here?” she spat. Mark took a deep breath, rinsing a mug before responding.
“Hello, Romaine. How was registration?” he asked normally, putting the dried mug away and picking up the second.
“No!” she snapped, a small hand smacking the counter.
“No, you are not going to change the subject, just like you are not going to stand here in my kitchen and act like nothing is wrong! How dare you show your face here after what you did!” she shrieked. Mark put the mug away and reluctantly turned to face her, his expression unconcerned as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.
“I wasn’t aware that I’d done anything to you, Romaine,” he stated evenly.
“Bull,” she contradicted angrily, marching up to within a few inches of him.
“You knew that crap with Chloe’s dad would hurt her. And when you mess with her, you mess with me,” she fumed. Mark gently took her upper arms, moving her out of his personal space before re-crossing them.
“No, Romaine, you and Chloe are, in fact, separate people,” he said coolly. Romaine’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“One, don’t touch me, ever. Two, don’t be a smartass – I love Chloe, you hurt Chloe, and I’m going to protect her. I-“
“..am not her mother?” Mark interrupted quietly.
“Wha- oh, hell,” Chloe muttered, entering and abruptly wheeling around to leave.
“No, come here,” Romaine demanded, taking her arm and pulling her over in front of Mark.
“Tell him tha-“
“No,” Mark interrupted again, “I will not discuss Chloe, or my behaviour towards her, with you, Romaine. My relationship with Chloe is none of your business. And ours is none of hers. So, if you wouldn’t mind…” he said, gesturing for Chloe to leave. He wasn’t being rude, not really – he just knew Chloe didn’t want to be in the middle of this, but wouldn’t ignore Romaine’s wishes and just leave.
“Oh, no you didn’t!” Romaine exclaimed, her expression so distorted that Mark might have found it amusing if not for his concern about getting his eyes clawed out.
“You do not tell her what to do in this house! If she wants to be in here, she’s going to be in here.”
“Fine,” Mark dismissed, turning and leaving through the back door.
“Damn it, Mark!” Romaine yelled, provoked by his apathetic attitude as she followed him out.
“What is your problem?!? It’s not just the thing with her dad, either. You’re always picking at people! You can’t leave anything alone, you’re like a plague! Some things are just meant to be left alone!” she exclaimed, gesturing animatedly in stark contrast to Mark’s stationary stance.
“Is this Chloe’s position, or yours?” Mark questioned finally, his voice dangerously calm.
“Yes. She doesn’t like to be pushed,” Romaine sniffed.
“And neither do I. I understand that you love Chloe, or believe you love her. I respect your relationship, I’m glad you’re happy together. But, believe it or not, Romaine, you aren’t entirely self-sufficient. You aren’t enough for her, you never will be. Love isn’t two halves completing each other, it’s two whole, independent people complementing and enriching each other’s lives. People need to be pushed to grow,” he asserted.
“She doesn’t! She doesn’t need some asshole who claims to know her, claims to be good for her, screwing with her head! We’re fine, we’ve gotten past the stuff with her parents, we’ve made a life-“
“You don’t know anything about life,” Mark interrupted, the faintest hints of agitation infringing on the edge of his speech, “Chloe is seventeen, you’re eighteen. You’re here on a theatre scholarship. Yes, you’re on your own, you have a place – but you don’t realise how much Rita takes care of for you. All of life isn’t putting a check in a fishbowl and having all of your needs met.”
Romaine paused – it was so brief as to be almost undetectable, but she paused before responding with her usual fire.
“Don’t be condescending, and don’t change the subject. This is about Chloe, and the way you act towards her – you’re an ass! How dare you claim to know anything – about my life, about her life, about life at all! You don’t!” she screamed. Obviously, he’d struck a chord.
Chloe sat in the kitchen floor, her thumb travelling across the black marker on the inside of her wrist, a nervous habit. Romaine was loud when she was angry, and fierce – Chloe had never pushed her to this point, but she could imagine her expression. She closed her eyes, telling herself that everything would still work out if Mark told Romaine what they’d discussed. She hoped he wouldn’t, but there was really no way for him to get Romaine to stop berating him otherwise. She held her breath as his voice drifted in, its quiet tones much harder to hear than Romaine’s screaming.
“Darling, I don’t need to justify myself to you. I don’t treat Chloe any differently than anyone else – it’s in my nature to say what needs to be said, regardless of what or to whom.”
“So, you’re going to stomp all over people because you have a big mouth? You’re worthless! For all your talking and intruding, you’ve never done anything for anyone! You’re a selfish bastard!”
Chloe winced, waiting for Mark’s retort and ready to run from the room if necessary. She was surprised, then, when instead of rising to meet Romaine’s shrill tones, his velvety voice grew even softer.
“You may very well be right. But I am a selfish bastard that dearly loves the people who call this building home, so mayhaps you should consider working on your Understanding Friend, my typecast little tragedy. You’ve obviously spent more than enough time on your Frigid Bitch,” he said icily, turning and loping into the kitchen. He reached down to muss Chloe’s hair as he walked past, forcing a half-hearted smile as he mumbled a quick apology to Chloe and disappeared into Rita and Zahira’s abode, catching Zahira’s arm as she passed him.
“Front door, Romaine’s pissed,” he warned, lips pressed into a thin line and hands subtly clenched. Zahira drew back, glancing at him quizzically, then regained her confident expression as she rolled her eyes.
“Screw her,” she dismissed, continuing towards the back door.
14
Chloe smiled as Zahira walked in, looking gorgeous, as always.
“You look adorable!” she complemented, happy for the momentary distraction as she stood. Zahira waved off the complement, her beautifully made up face frowning as she walked up to the girl, leaning in so as not to be overheard.
“What happened with Mark? It’s been forever since I’ve seen him that pissed,” she commented, searching Chloe’s eyes for an explanation. She shrugged.
“I don’t know, he seemed pretty cool when he came through. I mean, he and Romaine had a little tiff – well, he had a little tiff, Romaine was just plain angry – but I mean, he wasn’t yelling or anything,” she shared, remembering how impressed she’d been by how he’d stood up to Romaine’s abuse. Zahira didn’t take this as a good thing, though, and instead simply shook her head.
“He wouldn’t – he doesn’t. Mark’s fine as long as he’s being his loud little self, but it’s time to watch out when he starts getting all spooky and quiet,” she warned. Chloe laughed at the grave message.
“I’m pretty sure Mark’s harmless,” she dismissed, waving a hand in the air as if to push the thought of him being anything else away. “It’s pointless drama, and besides, Mark doesn’t have it in him to hurt anyone. He’s a good guy,” she said with a shrug.
“Exactly!” Zahira pointed out. “He’s a guy, he’s got pride, and he’s got an urge to defend what he considers his!” she explained triumphantly. Chloe rolled her eyes.
“Okay, Psych 101,” she mumbled sarcastically. Zahira simply beamed.
“I didn’t fail that one. But, seriously, Romaine should watch herself, Mark’s a scary little man once you piss him off. I went on a date with Anthony Northin-“
“Wasn’t he, like, the star on the baseball team last year until they found out-“
“Yeah, he was, I’m getting to that. But we were at the Red, on a date, and apparently he slipped something into my drink So, Mark cut me off, and when Tony said something, Mark just got really quiet and made some cryptic comment about people needing to ‘be wary of what they put into their bodies’. Then a couple months later they found steroids in Tony’s system, and he lost his scholarship, his reputation, everything. Apparently, they’d been built up since the start of the season…Tony and I went on our date the night before our first game,” Zahira shared significantly. Chloe’s eyes widened as she understood, remembering the story. Everyone had felt bad for the kid, even though they’d thought he’d done it…
“Damn,” she said quietly. Zahira nodded.
“I know, right? And, I mean, I don’t think Mark would do anything like that to Romaine, but just tell her not to try and push him too hard, you know?” Zahira added flippantly, reaching for the door handle. Chloe nodded.
“Yeah, okay,” she murmured, following Zahira onto the porch and watching as she bounced off into the night.
15
Rita walked out of her bedroom, pyjamas in hand, but stopped short when she noticed Mark huddled against a wall in her living room, head in his hands.
“What’s going on?” she inquired.
“Trying to avoid scalping Romaine,” he said simply, his tone devoid of the humour that would take the bite out of the statement, but also the hatred that would make it a true threat. Rita simply nodded, not pushing the matter – in spite of his chatter, Mark was a relatively private person, and she understood and respected that.
“Well, if you change your mind, be sure to let me watch,” she said lightly, continuing into the bathroom. Mark smiled at the floor, then squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on simply breathing, letting the gentle intake and exhaling of oxygen take over his mind. His anger was quiet, but more intense than most realised, and so it as a formidable thing. His style was more along the lines of quietly plotting to ruin someone’s life forever then blowing up in a single regrettable moment, and it was this frame of mind that he was trying to avoid. His work at avoiding thoughts of Romaine was suddenly made easier as the doorbell rang, a sound seldom heard past the morning hours.
“Can you get that, please?” Rita called, cracking the bathroom door only enough to let the sound carry. Mark responded that he would, and stood, combing his hair with his hand before reaching for the brass knob.
Before him stood a man, close to his own age, looking slightly uncomfortable in jeans and a polo. Blue eyes looked Mark over from a round face, unobscured by the shaggy blonde hair that gave him the appearance of someone that belonged a few states south. Mark instantly recognised him by the skittish look in his eyes…he’d forgotten the phone call until this very minute with all the hysterics, but it was a welcome distraction.
“Um…hi?” the man offered timidly, lifting a wary hand in greeting. Mark smiled, returnign the gesture with a casual wave of his own as he leaned against the door.
“Hi, I’m Mark. I believe we spoke on the phone earlier?” he verified, his easy smile holding back the more mischievous grin that was dying to erupt. The man’s lips turned up in response, and he nodded.
“Yeah, I’m Kai. Is…um, is Rita back yet?” he asked, his weight subtly shifting from one foot to the other. Mark paused for a frction of a second. Did he really want to do this to the kid, and to Rita?
Yes. Yes, he did.
“She is. Rita, are you decent?” he called, leaning his head back so the sound would get to her.
“I mean, she doesn’t have to be,” Kai muttered with a smile. Mark gave him a funny look, and was on the verge of saying something when Rita came out.
“Yeah, more or less, why?” she called.
“You’ve a visitor,” Mark informed her, shutting the door as Kai passed over the threshold, then following him into the living room where Rita was perched on the arm of the couch. She was wearing a pyjama top and her jeans, her hair curly from being kept in a bun all day and her face incredulous.
“You’re joking!” she exclaimed as the boys strode into view. Mark smiled innocently, then glanced over to see Kai’s confused expression.
“Where’s Rita?” the blonde wondered, a hand moving through his mass of hair, which fell immediately back into place. Rita sighed, standing and casting Mark a dark look.
“That would be me.”
“But…uh…” Kai stammered, glancing desperately around the immaculate room in search of the help that wasn’t to be found.
“Um, she gave me her number, and-“
“And my name,” Rita filled in, her expression eloquent. “Her name is Zahira, and she is out, undoubtedly crushing the dreams of scores of other hormone-ridden boys,” she said dryly. “I guarantee you, none of them will be getting her, either.”
“But…the strawberries, and chains, and whipped cream?” he asked weakly. Mark nearly choked on his laughter.
“Damn, you all did have a good list that time,” he chuckled, the sound cut short with a look from Rita.
“Really, Mark. This isn’t funny, it’s irritating,” she admonished before returning her attention to Kai. “The padlock and chains were for our roommates bicycle. The strawberries and whipped cream were for Mr. Bucket-O-Laughs over there, because it was his turn to make dessert,” she continued dryly, “And the condoms were hers. But,” she qualified, spotting his hopeful expression, “only because she likes to throw them at people during lectures,” she finished, satisfied as the lust wilted and was replaced with pink cheeks.
“Oh. Well…um…this is awkward,” Kai muttered finally, his body shifting towards the door. “Well, then, thank you for your time, I guess,” he murmured, heading for the door. Mark slid over a few feet, blocking his path.
“Would you like a drink or something before you go, at least, if you drove all the way from Ridgeton?” he asked, glancing at Rita to make sure it was alright. Kai tilted his head to the side, his own smile becoming slightly more confident.
“How’d you know I came from Ridgeton?” he asked, a bit too innocently. Mark glanced at Rita, but she simply smiled and crossed her arms, being no help at all.
“Yes, Mark, however did you know?” she echoed triumphantly. Mark knew when he was beat, and so simply shrugged, putting his hands in his pocket.
“Well, you see, Rita and Zahira recently came back from a shopping expedition with a story of how Zahira had given some boy the wrong name. Although,” he purred, giving Kai a once-over, “I could never get a straight answer on whether or not he was cute.”
Across the room, Rita made an exasperated noise, drawing their attention and causing Mark to smile sheepishly.
“It should also probably be noted that she didn’t know about any of this,” he amended, gesturing to indicate the present situation.
“Just maybe,” Rita agreed, her voice tinged with bitter sarcasm. “I swear, one day I’m going to cut your hair while you sleep,” she threatened under her breath.
“Are you sure? You might see a…penis!” he shouted, unconcerned by Kai’s presence as he snuck up behind her and poked her in the sides. Rita shrieked at the tickling, shoving him hard enough to topple him over, and quickly stood to face Kai.
“I’m sorry,” she began sincerely. He shook his head, and gestured that it was okay with a bemused expression on his face. The expression turned to unmistakable laughter as Mark crawled up behind Rita and pulled her legs from under her, tickling her as she fell onto the couch once more.
“Stop it, we have a guest!” she giggled, swatting at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Soda?” he asked Kai, abruptly standing and acting as if nothing had happened. Kai laughed harder, his expression saying he wasn’t sure whether he ought to be laughing or running for his life, and nodded. Rita daintily got to her feet and swept past them into the kitchen, taking up her accustomed role as hostess.
16
Chloe paused outside the house, watching Romaine’s furious profile for a moment as Zahira bounded down the steps. Finally, she walked over, putting her arms around Romaine and kissing the nape of her neck before resting her cheek against it.
“I’m sorry,” Romaine said thickly, her fingers entwining with Chloe’s as she fought tears.
“For what, honey?” Chloe asked gently, standing slightly on tiptoe to watch Romaine’s face over her shoulder. Romaine shook her head.
“I don’t even know. I’m just…sorry. I just…I don’t want him to hurt you,” she mumbled quietly. Chloe fought the urge to purse her lips at the thought of how far from the truth that was, instead simply squeezing Romaine tighter in a reassuring hug.
“He doesn’t, really. Don’t worry about me,” she said soothingly, moving to stand beside her lover, a consoling arm around her waist.
“He’s an ass, regardless,” Romaine huffed with a cross of her arms, her unhappy mood shifting again. “He said I was typecast,” she shared darkly as she sat, her back against the porch railing.
“No!” Chloe gasped, a twinkle in her eyes as she sat in front of Romaine, trying to lift her mood. Romaine understood, and simply stared at her, the aggravation in her dark eyes not quite willing to yield.
“And he called me a frigid bitch!”
“But you’re a cute frigid bitch, and you’re my frigid bitch, so that doesn’t really matter, does it? Unless you have something you need to tell me…” Chloe trailed, teasing, as she leaned forward to give her an Eskimo kiss. Romaine laughed finally, bending her knees so Chloe could sit between them and place her feet on either side of her on the deck, their torsos a few comfortable inches apart. Romaine wrapped her arms around Chloe’s back to provide support, absent-mindedly rubbing as she spoke.
“He said that I wasn’t enough for you, I didn’t know anything about life, blah, blah, blah, I’m just a college student. But, I mean, really – I’m a college student, and he’s a bartender. Who’s better there?!”
“Nobody’s better, just different,” Chloe murmured.
“Well, is that true?” Romaine questioned, seemingly not hearing her as her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, searched Chloe’s. “Am I really not enough for you?”
Chloe smiled, shaking her head.
“Don’t be silly. You’re perfect for me,” Chloe said, wrapping her arms around her neck in a seemingly impulsive hug as she struggled to ignore her earlier words echoing in the back of her mind.
“Promise?” Romaine inquired, smiling now.
“Of course,” Chloe nodded, returning her smile. “Just leave Mark alone.”
“Deal,” Romaine agreed, closing the meagre inches with a kiss.
17
“We have pretty much anything nonalchoholic you could want,” Rita explained, her voice neutral as she walked towards the refrigerator.
“Can I have a smoothie?” Mark asked, pulling out a chair and sitting backwards on it with his typical flourish.
“I haven’t kicked you out yet. Don’t push it,” she threatened wryly, glancing at Kai without meeting his eyes.
“What would you like? I am sorry for your trouble,” she apologised again, her cheeks turning slightly pink in spite of her.
“Don’t be, it’s fine,” Kai dismissed, having recovered from his surprise and now merely curious about the strange people that surrounded him. “Actually, do you all have smoothie mix?”
“That’s disgusting,” Mark denounced cheerfully, making a face.
“We make our own, I can’t deal with powdered drinks,” Rita agreed, laughing lightly. “It’s hard enough buying produce at a grocery store. I’m from a farm, so I’m used to knowing exactly what’s in my food…it’s weird,” she said with a shrug. “Does strawberry banana work for everyone? And you don’t count,” she added quickly, pointing at Mark. Kai chuckled quietly, then nodded.
“If it’s not too much trouble. So, do you all date?” he asked bluntly, trying to figure out the pair before him. Rita and Mark glanced at each other – well, Rita glanced at Mark, he’d already been making faces at her – and burst out laughing.
“No. Oh, Lord, no!” Rita giggled. Mark abruptly stopped laughing, giving her a dirty look as he walked with his chair between his legs to poke her.
“Hey! I am not as bad as all that!” he said sternly.
“Yeah you are,” Rita scoffed, pulling the strawberries out of the fridge. Mark stuck his tongue out at her, then looked at Kai.
“See what I have to put up with? You know, you can sit down if you like,” he offered, indicating the empty chairs. Kai obliged, leaning forward to cross his arms on the table and rest his chin on them.
“So, are you from Ridgeton, or do you just work there?” Mark asked conversationally as Rita washed the strawberries and sliced them into the blender.
“Both, sort of,” Kai said with a shrug. “My grandfather owns the store, so I work there during the summer and live with him, and then he pays for my tuition and a place to stay during term,” he explained.
“So, you go to the University? What year are you?”
“What’s your major?” Mark and Rita spoke at the same time. Rita abruptly returned her attention to the fruit, mumbling an apology. Kai laughed, ticking off the questions on his fingers as he answered them.
“Yes, a junior, and Spanish.”
“Oh, a junior,” Mark whistled. “I do believe that gives you seniority. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one. Do you go to the University as well?”
“I don’t,” Mark responded unashamedly. “I work at the Red, and occasionally my aunt’s salon.”
“Isn’t the Red that little bar everyone hangs out at?” Kai questioned. Mark simply gave him a look.
“You’ve never been?” he questioned incredulously. “Pardon the stereotyping, but you look like you’d be up-to-date on the social scene,” Mark murmured, his tone subtly disapproving, although it was entirely likely that Rita was the only one that picked up on it. Kai shrugged.
“I haven’t been to town since I was legal.”
Mark clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
“Damned sensible University students, refusing to visit my fine establishment until it’s all fancy and legal. You and Rita are the only ones, you know,” he informed the man, never one to miss a jab at his teetotaller friend.
“You go to the University? What year are you, a senior?” Kai asked, glancing over as Rita sliced the bananas. She glanced over her shoulder at him and shook her head.
“A sophomore,” she corrected with a shy smile. “Majoring in legal administration.”
Kai let out a low whistle.
“Nice. So, you’re going to be a lawyer?” he questioned. Rita shrugged, digging for yoghurt in the refrigerator’s drawers.
“Maybe. More than likely I’ll just be some drone, billing endless hours for some gargantuan law firm with bad television commercials,” she commented cynically, shutting the door with her foot and clutching a tub of vanilla yoghurt.
“But you’re not bitter, right?” Kai teased, already getting used to the little house. Rita shot him a look, then seemed to realise that it was her guest she was glaring at and switched to a neutral expression.
“No, I’m not. I don’t have money for a prestigious law firm or anything, and besides, I don’t do confrontations well, so-“
“Ah, she lies!” Mark interjected. “She loves arguing, and she’s good at it. Rita here is the single cause of those lovely plastic recycling bins around campus. No petition, no pamphlets, just a will of steel and dirty pictures of the dean,” he shared proudly. Rita gasped, hitting him in the head with the spoon.
“I did not! Now I have to wash it! Urgh, dirty little urchin,” she huffed, picking up a sponge. “Water is money, remember that, you yucky little boy,” she scolded, wits not entirely in place, mostly due to the company. Kai laughed anyway.
“So you, Rita, Za- that girl, and another person rent the place out?” he asked Mark, heading off another comment. The Rita girl was getting flustered and, funny as it was, he didn’t want her embarrassed at his expense. Mark shook his head.
“I don’t live here, I’m just friends with three of the ladies that do. Hear that? No PMS jokes,” he called to Rita.
“Keep it that way,” she warned, wielding the freshly cleaned spoon, now full of the yoghurt she was dumping into the blender. "Alright, this is going to be loud, so if you have an aversion to noise I’d suggest you step outside,” Rita announced, used to taking precautionary measures against whining.
“I think I can tough it out,” Mark said with a thin smile, not wanting to deal with Romaine again so soon. He’d all but forgotten her in the fun of irritating Rita and meeting someone knew, and he’d rather it stayed that way.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Kai asked. Rita nodded.
“I do. Take it outside, please,” she said pleasantly. Kai nodded, unperturbed, and headed out the back door that she had indicated.
18
Outside, Chloe and Romaine were enjoying the temperate twilight, physically and figuratively wrapped up In each other. Kai paused in mid-stride at the sight of the young women kissing, unsure whether to let himself be turned on or to be embarrassed at interrupting what was obviously supposed to be a private moment. The aluminium door chose that moment to crash shut, and Chloe and Romaine paused.
“Who is it?” Chloe murmured against her girlfriend’s lips, not bothering to untangle herself enough to turn around.
“I don’t know,” Romaine whispered back. “Hello, there. I’m Romaine, and this is Chloe,” she introduced, raising her voice so the stranger could hear her.
“Hello,” Chloe added, twisting just enough to see a cute face, scrunched in mild confusion.
“Who are you?” Romaine asked bluntly when he failed to provide an explanation. The quizzical expression turned sheepish, and he shrugged.
“That’s a rather long story, actually,” he said, scratching his head with a smile. “My name’s Kai. I’m a junior over at the University, Spanish major,” he informed them before anyone could ask. Chloe turned back around to make a regretful face at Romaine before standing and stretching.
“And whose are you?” she asked, reluctantly making conversation.
“What?”
“Whose are you,” she repeated. “Who did you come here with?”
Kai was quiet for a moment, trying to work out the appropriate response to the question. It would be silly to say he didn’t really know, but…
“Well, the Z-girl…and Rita…and the guy, um, Mark,” he filled in. “And Rita is making smoothies,” he added, explaining his presence on the deck. At this, Chloe perked up considerably, noticing the monotonous whirr of the blender for the first time.
“I’m going to ask her to make me one before she gets done,” she decided. “Do you want one, babe?”
“Please,” Romaine requested, smiling as Chloe bounced into the house. The silence was complete for a moment, save for the whisper of Kai rummaging through his pockets.
“Do you have a cigarette?” he finally asked, coming up empty-handed. Romaine nodded.
“Yeah,” she said, rising fluidly and climbing into the tree. “But it’s strictly on the down-low,” she warned, tossing down the pack.
“I understand that. Thank you,” he added, pulling one out and lighting it. “You want one?” he asked, shaking the pack. Romaine paused, thinking for a moment, then nodded.
“Yeah.”
Kai pulled one out for her, then chucked the hard pack back into the tree. Romaine stretched to catch it, her shirt riding up her stomach as she arched her back, then deposited the pack in the birdhouse before climbing down, an adventure that provided Kai with a lovely view of her tight pants. Which, he had to admit, he didn’t mind at all.
“Here,” he said, lighting her cigarette on his own and handing it to her.
“Thanks,” she replied, putting it to her lips.
19
Kai wasn’t the only one with a lovely view. Zahira, waiting for a ride on a street corner across the property that stretched behind the house, saw the encounter in its entirety. She simply shook her head…after all, what’s a smoke between friends?
20
“Smoothies? Without me?!” Chloe cried as she burst smilingly into the house. Rita started, then turned off the blender.
“I can make more, I just figured you and Romaine were off somewhere,” Rita said apologetically.
“Yup, all the way on the back porch,” Chloe teased, then sobered slightly as she saw Mark. “I need to talk to you,” she said quietly. Mark nodded, standing, not at al surprised.
“But will you make more, please?” Chloe asked as she took Mark’s hand, hauling him towards her side of the house.
“Sure,” Rita agreed, paying no attention to their theatrics. Their problems came and went at breakneck speeds – it was always something, and if it was something that could be solved in quiet conversations instead of full-out nuclear holocaust, all the better, as far as she was concerned.
21
Most people, when getting the vibe that they’re in deep trouble, immediately begin trying to explain whatever they think has landed them there. Mark simply curled up in the overstuffed pink chair that Chloe had indicated and watched her pace, obviously debating what she should say. He noticed that her Cubs hat now accessorised a complimentary T-shirt, and that the marker was back in place.
“Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking?” he suggested mildly, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. Chloe acted like she hadn’t heard him for a moment, then sat down on the love seat a coffee table away.
“I’m worried about Romaine,” she blurted. “Or, more specifically, you and Romaine.”
“How so?” he prompted.
“Well, to be honest…” she said haltingly, fidgeting. “Never mind.”
“No, what?” Mark pushed. Chloe looked up at him apologetically, her eyes asking him not to be angry as she spoke.
“I’m concerned that you’re upset with her. I mean, not just that you’re upset with her, you have a right to be, but I’m concerned with the way you’ll deal with it. I heard from…someone that there was this guy that made you mad, with Zahira, and, well...you kinda really screwed him over,” she explained ineloquently. “I don’t want that to happen to Romaine.”
At that, Mark’s expression, which had been open but concerned up to that point, broke into a relieved smile as he realised what she was talking about.
“Oh, honey, never – he was a potential rapist, Romaine’s just a bitch. There’s a huge difference,” he reassured, leaning to pat Chloe on the knee. She shifted away, so subtly that some might not have been sure it was intentional. Mark, though, recognised the fact that she wasn’t done with her impromptu confrontation.
“What else?” he asked, suppressing a sigh.
“Nothing. Just…well, did you tell Rita, or Zahira, about…well, you know?” she asked, pulling her knees to her chest. Mark’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head.
“I told you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”
“You said you wouldn’t tell Romaine,” she contradicted quietly, fingers picking at a hole in her jeans, more as an excuse not to make eye contact than anything else. Mark moved to sit beside her on the love seat, and covered the hole and her fidgeting fingers with his own larger hand.
“Don’t pick at that, it’ll make the hole ugly. And I’m not going to tell anyone else, either,” he stated matter-of-factly. Chloe glanced up with unguardedly young and vulnerable eyes.
“Promise?” she whispered. Mark stared at her, quiet for a long moment. My, but she was young – it was so easy to forget her age, what with the crowd of adults and her usual behaviour, but it was times like this when he was reminded of how much of a child she still was. He considered, for an instant, saying no – surely, Rita would tell her parents, and they would whisk her away to therapy and the home a girl like herself deserved. But a promise was a promise, and they both knew that, whatever the semantics, he’d be negating everything he told her before if he backed out now. So, with a quiet sigh, he nodded.
“I’ll make you a deal. You promise to come talk to me before you do it, and I’ll promise never to tell anyone without your permission,” he offered. Chloe watched him, her pupils searching his own, and then smiled.
“Alright.”
“Pinkie pwomise?” he asked in a tiny voice, extending the digit. Chloe laughed then, and linked her finger with his.
“Pinkie promise,” she agreed.
“And now,” Mark said, standing and shifting his grip to envelop Chloe’s hand with his own and pull her to her feet, “for smoothies.”
22
“So, you go to the University?” Kai asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
“Yeah,” Romaine confirmed from her spot on the railing. “I’m a freshman, musical theatre major.”
“Oh! Are you auditioning for West Side Story?” Kai questioned excitedly. Romaine smiled, impressed.
“Yeah, I figure I’ve got the ethnic advantage,” she said with a laugh. “How’d you know what play they’re doing?”
“Musical theatre minor,” Kai said with the grin. “And I believe that I, the Spanish major, would have the advantage, seeing as how it’s colour-blind casting,” he corrected with a smirk. Romaine raised an eyebrow, smoke swirling out with her sarcastic response.
“Hey, you think you can beat me out for Maria, go for it,” she taunted.
“Oh-ho!” Kai called. “Do I smell a challenge?”
“Do I smell your breath?” Romaine tossed back.
“Would you like to?” he responded, leaning against the railing next to her, face tilted upward. Romaine made a face, laughing and pushing him away.
“Gross! What’s your problem?!”
“The question is, ‘how do you solve a problem like Maria?’” he returned, all smiles as he leaned against the railing once more. Romaine shook her head.
“That was bad, The Sound of Music’s cheap.”
“Like your mom, right?” he teased, then grunted as her bare foot caught him in the back of the head.
“Watch out, we Puerto Ricans watch out for our familias,” Romaine warned in a perfect Puerto Rican accent.
“Oh, no, I can’t quote my Sound of Music and be proud of my Austrian heritage, you can’t quote your shows, chica tonta,” he scolded with a grin. Romaine tossed her head back and laughed, the sound echoing into the night as she took a puff of her cigarette.
“My, my, an actor with a personality. Which means, you’re gay, or a player,” she summed up.
“That’s not true! Maybe I’m just a nice, normal guy,” Kai protested, only to be met with a smirk.
“There are no nice, normal actors. So, do you like boys, or too many girls?” she pressed. Kai rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
“This is silly. No.”
Romaine ran her toes up his arm.
“Which are you? Coooome on…” she purred, leaning forward. “I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.” Finally, Kai pushed away from the railing with a huff.
“I’m bi,” he admitted with a little shrug. Romaine laughed knowingly.
“And there it is. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she cooed, reaching to pinch his cheek jokingly. She overbalanced, and Kai barely caught her before she could fall onto the deck. He held her for a split second in the awkward position in which he’d caught her, arms around her waist while she hung down.
“I could make a joke about things being hard from where you’re hanging, but I won’t,” he chuckled, moving her so she could get her feet under her once more. She wiped off non-existent dust from her pants, and picked up her cigarette from the deck, putting it back in her mouth and leaning against the railing.
“Are you auditioning?” she asked, returning the conversation to safer ground.
“Probably, yes. Maybe we could prepare together…Tony and Maria, you know. How old are you?” he questioned. Romaine laughed, catching the double meaning.
“Eighteen. And Chloe, my girlfriend, is seventeen,” she said pointedly.
“Oh, so that’s how it is,” he chuckled.
“It is,” she laughed. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t prepare together. Like, prepare together, not prepare together,” she clarified, changing her voice to add the innuendo. “Maybe hook up at the Red, or a coffee shop, or something,” she suggested impulsively, pirouetting across the deck to put her cigarette in an empty Coke can. Kai watched her, a private smile decorating his face, and nodded.
“Fine by me. How’s Wednesday?”
“Smoothies are done!” Mark called through the door, which he held open until the pair came in. He pointedly ignored Romaine, of course, but he didn’t let the door shut in her face, and of that he was proud.
23 The kitchen was alive with a curious buzz of awkwardness and excitement as the five gathered around the table with their smoothies, Romaine and Chloe sharing a chair. Kai watched the pink concoction warily for several seconds, not noticing Rita’s worried expression as he took a small sip. “It’s good, thank you!” he told her enthusiastically, earning a large smile. “Rita makes the best smoothies,” Chloe chirped, prompting Rita to shake her head modestly. “They’d be better if I had fresher strawberries,” she dismissed. “So, do you come from an actual farm? Like, pigs and cows and stuff?” Kai questioned. “No, it’s just produce, although we had a cow for milk and a couple of workhorses. The farm’s about five hours from here, out in the Boondocks in the next state over,” she explained. “Didn’t you have Bacon?” Mark asked. There was a collective rolling of the eyes. “Yes, Mark, breakfast is an important meal for people of all walks of life,” Rita said dryly, hoping he’d leave it at that. Mark scowled at her, but said nothing, as he was concentrating on covering the hole in his straw with a finger and dripping smoothie into his mouth. “That’s disgusting,” Romaine commented disdainfully. “So’s your mom,” Chloe, Mark, and Kai said in unison, then looked at each other and laughed. Romaine rolled her eyes and stood, slamming her untouched drink on the counter by the sink before flouncing through the door to her side of the house. Mark stuck his tongue out after her retreating figure, and returned his attention to Rita. “So, Bacon,” he prompted, ignoring the awkward atmosphere created by Romaine’s exit. Rita stared at the door, then looked at Chloe. “Do you want to get that, or shall I?” she asked tiredly. Chloe bit her lip, obviously torn, then shook her head. “Bacon,” she decided firmly. Kai looked between the three, and after Romaine. “Um, pardon me, but what just happened, and why is it being discussed as an alternative to breakfast food?” he inquired, bewildered. After a short pause, during which neither Chloe nor Mark felt qualified to answer, Rita spoke. “Romaine’s a little bit…excitable. You get used to it,” she explained delicately. “I see,” Kai commented, clearly not seeing at all. “Bacon!” Mark prompted once more. Rita shot him an annoyed look. “The moment’s passed, Mark,” she said through gritted teeth. “Pleeeease?” he begged, lower lip quivering as ready tears sprung to his eyes. “I only want to make up for the stories me Mummy never told me as a boy,” he pouted in an awful Cockney accent. “Is he gay?” Kai whispered to Chloe. She glanced at him, wrinkling her nose and raising an eyebrow. “Ya think?!” she asked sarcastically, then nodded with a small smile. Across the table, Rita sighed. “Fine,” she conceded, rolling her eyes as she turned towards Kai. “I had a potbellied pig named Bacon,” she explained unceremoniously. Mark laughed heartily – the sound came perilously close to being a giggle – and Chloe shook her head, an appreciative smile on her face. “Isn’t that the sickest thing you’ve ever heard?!” Mark gasped, dabbing at tears at the corner of his eyes. Kai smiled awkwardly, nodding, although he was clearly preoccupied. Rita couldn’t help but blush as she sent Kai an apologetic smile. “They can be a bit ridiculous at times, but you’ve still gotta love ‘em,” she summed up. Kai smiled, this time in earnest, and nodded. “I know the feeling.” “Me too,” Chloe sighed, glancing at her door. “Do you want me to go talk to her?” Mark asked quietly after a few awkward seconds had passed. Chloe shook her head. “It wouldn’t help. And we have a new lamp, which I would prefer stayed in one piece.” She looked over at Kai, mistaking his thoughtful expression for judgement, and let out a short, humourless laugh. “Welcome, I guess.” Kai laughed, then glanced over at Mark, his lips set in thought. “What did you all fight about?” he asked cautiously, looking him over. It was difficult to believe that this chipper little man could make anyone that angry, but he must’ve done something. Mark raised his eyebrows, surprised by the man’s perceptiveness, and opened his mouth to politely inform him that it wasn’t his concern when Chloe cut in, uncharacteristically forthcoming. “Me. Mark told me something that Romaine felt was cruel and unnecessary, so she took it upon herself to defend me. You could say, I guess, that he said that sweater did make me look fat,” she hedged, trying to be honest, yet not wanting to spill her life story to a stranger. Kai tilted his head to the side, the blonde mass atop it shifting with the movement. “Was he wrong?” Chloe shook her head, glancing meaningfully at Mark before murmuring, “No.” “Then I’ll go talk to her,” Kai decided, rising as something seemed to fall into place inside his mind. “Do you know her?” Rita questioned. She’d really rather keep this boy around for a while, assuming they hadn’t already scared him away, and she had a feeling his blue eyes wouldn’t be nearly as stunning on the girls’ purple rug. Kai smiled, shaking his head. “Nah, but I know her type. May I?” he asked as he moved to open the swinging door. It was black, with puffy paints in neon colours spelling out “Romaine & Chloe”. Chloe pursed her lips, avoiding her natural inclination to protest that Romaine didn’t have a “type”, and nodded. “And may God have mercy on your soul,” Mark joked in a deep, solemn voice as the door swung shut behind him. Chloe and Rita laughed, and for the moment, the noticeably smaller party was merry once more. 24 Kai walked down the hall, ignoring the closed doors to either side of him, and heard a flurry of muffled activity. He followed the noise into the living room, where he was immediately struck by how obvious it was that the space was shared by two teenage girls; where the home’s other half retained some sense of decorum, food containers and magazines littered the coffee table, and furniture and cushions were various colourful shades. A love seat had a blanket laid over one corner – Winnie the Pooh – and Kai smiled as he noticed the lump beneath it, shaking his head as he guessed at what Romaine had done. He quietly bent to scan the magazines on the coffee table – all in Romaine’s name. His expression was nearly amused as he sat next to the lump and laid a cautious hand on the blanket. A small hand found its way from the fleece, intertwining its fingers with his own for an instant before yanking them back once more. “What are you doing?” Romaine squeaked, scrambling to the corner of the loveseat, clutching the blanket to her chest, bare shoulders rising and falling with her startled breath. “Are you naked?!” Kai questioned incredulously. “No!” Romaine huffed, letting the blanket drop to her lap as she scooped her t-shirt off the floor and pulled it back on over her tube top. “Stop that!” she hissed as Kai took a handful of blanket. She grabbed for it, and squealed as he took her outstretched hand and pulled her onto his lap. “Get off of me! Why are you in here?!” she demanded, fighting him as an arm held her around the waist. “Because. It’s rude to run out when you have a guest,” he informed, pulling the blanket into a pile and poking around in the cushions. “You’re not my guest,” she huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back against him as if he were simply an extension of the couch. “Ah, but I could be,” he teased, playfully kissing her shoulder and flirting in spite of what he’d learned. His hand closed around something shoved in the back of the cushions, and he shook his head as he pulled out a magazine and released Romaine, who fell onto the love seat with a squeak. “Cheap trick,” he admonished, tossing the fashion magazine on her lap, still bent to the page she’d been reading as she waited for someone to come down the hall and investigate the theatrics. Romaine rolled her eyes, tossing it onto the coffee table as she sat up. “Who let you in here? Go away.” “Nope,” Kai said with a grin. “It’s not everyday you get tricked into coming to some nuthouse and see a lovely woman run off in a tizzy over a ‘your mom’ joke,” he commented, teasing as much as fishing for information. Romaine sighed. “It had nothing to do with the joke. Mark is…frustrating,” she said finally. “Sounds like you’re being frustrating. Sure looks that way,” Kai pointed out, crossing his feet on the coffee table. “Little Buddy seems like a decent guy, joking around an whatnot, and then you get all hot and bothered and run off.” Romaine’s eyebrows shot up, her expression incredulous. “You’re joking! Who do you think you are, judging me?!” “An impartial observer,” Kai said with a charming smile, cutting her off and ignoring her displeasure as he picked up a picture of Chloe and Romaine on a beach when they were younger and studied it. Romaine glared at him, then crossed her arms and sat, stonily staring into space. “Oh, you can’t even say it isn’t true,” Kai challenged, noticing her. “Whatever happened, I’m sure he meant well. He doesn’t strike me as the type that’s intentionally an ass.” Romaine turned her head slowly, her eyes piercing him. “He said I was typecast as a bitch,” she said, her fierce expression daring him to contradict the dishonour of the title. “Well, you are. You’re the Angry Teenager, through and through – nobody randomly slams a drink down when they’re angry, you just did it for effect!” he accused. “I did not! I was done!” she protested. “Oh, and so you just happened to finish that particular page of the magazine and decide to curl up into a pathetic, emotion-inducing little ball when you heard footsteps?” “I wasn’t reading that magazine! It just…happened to be there!” “Bull,” he contradicted, grinning. “Admit it, it was all solely for effect,” he challenged, crossing his arms as a smile spread across his face that said he knew he’d won. She knew it, too, and a small, sheepish smile touched her lips as she looked away, then nodded. “Well…maybe a little,” she admitted. “Shut up!” she laughed, shoving him as she looked over to see him shaking with silent, triumphant laughter. “You shouldn’t do that to your friends,” he admonished smilingly, his words sincere, even if they were meant in the friendliest of ways. “It pisses people off and hurts their feelings.” Romaine rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t ‘hurt their feelings’,” she contradicted in a mockingly sweet voice. “They’re used to being around me. I’m not going to change who I am just to make their lives easier – not a one of them would change for me,” she said defensively. Kai raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Seems to me like they’re used to bending over backwards for you, going from what little I saw,” he said quietly. “I don’t know them, or even you, really. But I’m in the theatre, too, and we’ve got to watch ourselves…it’s a lot easier playing a stereotypical, characterised version of yourself – plan your lines for a given situation, define the way you relate to everyone like a cast sheet - than to actually live. And that’s an unfair way to handle things,” he commented, studying his fingernails to minimise his own vulnerability. Romaine was quiet for a moment. Had Kai chanced to look up, he would have seen her weighing his words, an unusually raw and thoughtful expression on her pretty face. Instead, he simply heard a practised exhale and, when he glanced up, saw a closed, bored expression. “Whatever, Kai. It’s a lot easier poking your nose in other peoples’ business than to mind your own, but that’s an unfair way to handle things,” she mocked sharply. Kai pursed his lips, his patience gone, and stood. “Well, then, I’ll get right on that,” he said with a sarcastic smile, turning and walking away. He was almost to the hall when Romaine called out. “Hey, Kai?” “Yeah?” he responded, expecting her to either retaliate or admit he was right, corny love movie-style. “Pull me up,” she commanded, holding out a hand. Kai rolled his eyes as he grabbed it and tugged her easily to her feet. “Thanks,” she said, shooting him a glittering smile that could’ve meant a thousand different things before walking past him and into the kitchen. 25 The smoothies were nearly gone as Chloe, Mark, and Rita chatted gaily. Rita had just finished explaining to Chloe how Kai had come to be in their home with Mark’s frequent and amusing interjections, and Chloe grinned with the gossip-hungry expression unique to teenage girls and housewives. “Do you like him?” she asked, her tone threatening to tease. “I don’t know him. And does it even matter? I mean, he fell for one of Zahira’s games, he could hardly be dateworthy. I firmly require an IQ in the double digits,” she said dryly. “Oh, give the boy some credit, I’m sure our lady of the night was leading him on quite competently,” Mark laughed. “No, I’m fairly sure Zahira’s pretty transparent, unless her tactics have gotten better since she wore that price sticker bikini for the Savings Mart Cure for Cancer car wash…that poor old man,” she tsked. “Is he out of the hospital?” Mark questioned. “He’s been out,” Rita sniffed. “It was a very minor heart attack. Zahira could hardly know they’d fall off when she got wet.” “Which is, of course, the point,” Chloe laughed, as much at Rita’s calm as the story itself. “Mark, outside, please,” Romaine commanded as she strode into view. Mark glanced at the clock on the stove, then shook his head. “No can do. I have to clock in before ten, and I’ve still got to walk home and change first,” he explained, standing. “I’d lost track of the time.” “Are you working at the Red tonight?” Kai asked as he entered. Mark nodded an affirmation, and Kai shrugged. “I’d like to stop in, see who’s in town already. I can give you a ride, if you’d like,” he offered. Mark shook his head. “Thanks anyway, but I have to run by my house first, and it’s in the opposite direction.” “That’s fine,” Kai said easily. “It can’t be that far if it’s within walking distance.” Mark considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Well, thank you, then,” he said before turning to Romaine. “Come on, then,” he sighed, walking to the door and holding it for her before following her into the night. Kai turned to Rita. “Is there always this much drama around here?” “One way or another,” she sighed with a shrug. “They’re teenagers, everything’s bigger than life,” she dismissed, then remembered Chloe. “No, it’s true,” the girl said with a small smile, cutting off the forthcoming apology before falling silent, staring at the back door, a worried expression on her face. “What’s you say to her?” she asked finally, not bothering to look at him. “Nothing, really,” he said with a shrug. “We just talked, but it didn’t do much good. She was just like, ‘whatever’,” he sighed, looking over the girl who sat, hands fidgeting in her lap as her lover and friend said their pieces outside, whatever those may be. “How long have you all been dating?” he asked finally, remembering the picture he’d found in the sitting room, and wanting to distract her. “Hmm…” she murmured, turning towards him as she tried to decide. “Well, on and off since seventh grade, so…about six years? Obviously, it wasn’t as serious when we were younger – you know how relationships are when you’re in your early teens – but, yeah, about six years,” she concluded. “Wow,” Kai managed after a moment, bowled over by the scope of it. He’d imagined that they were just some passing phase from their intense closeness and Chloe’s obvious concern, emotions that one would assume would fade with any length of time. Rita stood, picking up the empty glasses and taking them to the sink to wash, her expression mild as she glimpsed her own reflection in the window. “Everything okay?” Chloe called. Rita shrugged – it was too dark to tell. 26 Mark walked to where Romaine leaned against the railing, her elbows resting comfortably on it as she stared up into the night sky. The symbolism of giving him her back wasn’t lost on either of them – for one reason or another, and without the others’ knowledge, they both understood the less friendly side of society. It was one of the very few things they shared apart from the rest, and one of the few they kept thoroughly hidden from them all. “Yes?” Mark questioned curtly, a hand on his hip. Romaine didn’t respond for a moment, shutting her eyes to inhale the cool night air. “Romaine. Why are we out here?” he pressed, fighting to keep a sharp edge from his voice. “I wanted to talk to you alone,” she said after another extended moment, folding herself onto the deck, absent-mindedly scratching a heart into one of the uprights. “Okay,” Mark said quietly, remaining standing. “Well, start chattering or something,” she finally commanded, waving a hand at him. “I don’t want to talk first.” Mark exhaled, finally sitting down, long legs stretched across the planks. “I have nothing positive to say, and I’m not willing to fight with you anymore,” he said delicately, his voice gentle but honest. Romaine looked at him, saw that he wasn’t trying to hurt her, and nodded. “I know. I hate fighting. Well, that’s not true, but I don’t like life being disrupted by fighting,” she said with a small smile. “It’s not fun,” he agreed. “I’m not going to lie and say I think I was in the wrong, but I’m sorry that I let it get out of hand,” he apologised sincerely. “Me, too,” Romaine said after a moment. “Chloe’s grown up, and…I guess it’s not my business what you tell her, as long as she doesn’t mind,” she said slowly. The concession, for her, was a major one, and Mark gave her an encouraging smile, knowing it. “So we’re in agreement, then,” he said light-heartedly. “You’ll let me live my life, and I’ll be more mindful of what I say. Friends?” he asked, extending a hand as they stood. “Not enemies,” Romaine amended. Mark laughed, shrugging as they shook on it. “Fair enough. Let’s get back inside, then, shall we?” he asked, crossing to the door and holding it open once again. 27 It was a long round of goodbyes as Mark and Kai left, the absence of the tension that had blanketed the evening encouraging the idle chatter there wasn’t really time for. Kai promised to return when he was back in town, and copied his phone number into the little black book they kept handy for the people the house called friends. Kai’s green pickup was silent as the pair drove through the streets, save for Mark’s quiet directions leading them to a small ranch a little further away from campus. “I’d ask you to step in, but my roommate’s father lives with us, and I don’t want to wake him up if he’s managed to fall asleep,” Mark explained with an apologetic smile. Kai nodded. “That’s fine, I’ll be here,” he said, watching the funny little man run into the house, then letting his thoughts drift as his hand tapped the steering wheel to the tune of a song that wasn’t actually playing. It had been a good evening, overall – strange, but good. The little house was somehow refreshing, and the people in it seemed to adore him, so he found himself thinking that he would have to keep his promise to come again as Mark clambered back into the truck. His pants were considerably less form-fitting now, though still clearly women’s khakis, and he wore a neat button-down shirt. “Thanks again,” he murmured before commencing with the giving of directions once more.