Author's note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! May you all have a more prosperous, more fulfilling, happier life with the new hope the New Year brings. Sorry for the delay. Thank heavens for holiday vacations; although I caught a bit of a cold which has got me staying home a bit more than I would like (considering I have a hundred dozen Christmas presents I still haven't purchased), but gladly I haven't got assigned anything to do for my sister's engagement party, I have had a bit of time to write. Meanwhile, Seth has been taking good care of me, and once we're over the holiday hoopla, I should be able to get fully back on track. In the meantime, here's the long overdue chapter; I started it right after I posted the last one, and only months later I have been able to finish it in, like, two sittings. Absurd, but true. Please don't kill me.
It's 5:14 p.m. as I pick up the writing, I only got up from my cozy bed just about three hours ago, which is quite early for me considering it was hell driving around looking for an open restaurant at eight in the morning and getting home around eleven, especially if you've been sleep-deprived and not allowed to drink if you're the designated driver (and currently taking a few meds, but not the kind that would get you a traffic ticket), and I have a splitting headache and an aching back from having fallen asleep on my boyfriend's couch for two hours in a really bad position. But after a cold shower and a nice meal of leftovers from last night's party (it's funny how they taste so much better the next day), I'm up and at 'em again.
Okay, not completely true. I would very much like to put a bullet through my head to see if that would make it stop throbbing. Ah, but let's be more positive. It's a new year, and in one more hour I will be able to take another dose of acetaminophen for it. And Seth will hopefully come by later (if he hasn't slipped into a coma in his flat), and we can fall asleep watching some crummy reruns of crummy TV shows (and maybe we'll both go into a coma together and make it through the after party I-wanna-die feeling once and for all). So much for heading into the new year with the right foot. In fact, my silver pumps nearly made me lose my right foot.
Chapter soundtrack: "Neon" by John Mayer, "We used to be friends" by The Dandy Warhols, "Do you want to" by Franz Ferdinand, "God gave me everything I want" by Mick Jagger and Lenny Kravitz, "Starting today" by Natalie Imbruglia, "God-shaped hole" by Plumb, "Autumn's monologue" by From Autumn To Ashes.
"Destiny is a name often given in retrospect to choices that have dramatic consequences." –J.K. Rowling.
The Beginning of the End
-by UltraViolet41 a.k.a La Gioconda
Chapter Seventeen – A notebook full of stories
"It's official. A date has been set for my life to be over."
Joan looked up from her unintelligible social studies notes to find Erika standing right in front of her looking distressed, throwing her bag onto the floor. It was rather odd to see such a drama queen display coming from a grungy girl wearing a T-shirt that read "You're no safer in first class" with a diagram of airplane emergency exits.
"Care to elaborate?" Caro asked tentatively. She, Joan, Jordan, Adam and Luke were sitting on the front steps of the school building, eyeing their Aussie friend warily, considering Erika looked like she was about to explode. Her nostrils were flaring as her breathing seemed to quicken.
"May 27. The wedding is going to be on May 27. My dad and Psycho Sam are causing the biggest fiasco in history, and ruining my life in the process, with a pretentiously lavish ceremony during the beautiful spring!" she said, her voice getting louder and high-pitched. "And not only that, but they're going on their honeymoon for about three weeks, which means they don't even plan to be here from my graduation!" She looked expectantly at her friends who were all just staring back at her, and she threw her hands up in the air. "What do I do!"
The others couldn't do anything but stare at each other, not really knowing what to say. Erika bowed her shoulders in defeat.
"It's pointless, isn't it? So I should just sit and wait for my death sentence?" Erika sat down between Jordan and Joan and leaned her head on her fist. "Deep down, I guess I just didn't think it would actually happen. My dad has gotten so many girlfriends in such a short time, and here I was thinking Sam would be just another one to come and go."
"Aw, honey," Jordan said sympathetically, rubbing her friend's shoulder comfortingly.
"I just… I'm not going to give up Troy. But I don't know how we would be able to work things out if it's all going to get as weird as this. It's just not fair. I met him before they met each other. They actually met because of us. We shouldn't be in this position. How can they expect things to be fine? Oh, and she actually wants me to be a bridesmaid!" She sighed. "Life's a real bitch. This is the sort of thing that only happens to me."
They all fell silent. Erika rubbed her forehead with a painful look in her eyes, obviously very upset about the whole dilemma. Joan hadn't really thought that Erika's displeasure with her father's relationship was something beyond daughter jealousy, because she kept forgetting that Troy was Sam's son. It was obvious now how Erika loved Troy, and vice versa. Joan could hardly imagine dealing with such a twisted situation. She really felt sorry for Erika all of a sudden.
Grace approached the group, unaware of the general mood. She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder.
"Hey, Canavaggio. Your boyfriend's coming around like a hot air balloon," she said. Puzzled, they all looked past her, and watched as Remy walked nearer. His short dreads were gone, and now he sported an afro. Joan couldn't help but think he looked hot. She had thought he was good-looking when she first met him, but this was a very nice look for him. He reminded her slightly of one of the hot guys from CSI, which she watched occasionally to gawk at the hot forensics guys.
"And when I say that, I mean it in every sense there is; it's big and round, it catches your eye, and it's full of hot air," Grace said, sitting behind Joan. It was a funny metaphor, and the others laughed; Jordan didn't find it as funny, though. She frowned as Remy walked smoothly over to them, turning a few female heads on the way. A couple of girls coming down the steps eyed him with interest, whispered to each other and giggled. He pretended not to notice.
"Nice hair, mate," Erika said once he reached the gang.
"Is this part of your Halloween costume? Are you going to be Lenny Kravitz?" Caro asked, getting a deadly glare from Remy. "Because I think you should. He's hot," she added hurriedly.
"Jordan…" Remy drawled, as if pleading Jordan to shut her cousin up. Jordan just smiled, though.
"I think you would make a good Lenny Kravitz," she said. "Remy Kravitz." She and Caro burst out laughing.
Remy grinned cockily. "I know I would, of course. But that's not the costume I have planned."
"That's very modest of you," Adam said amusedly.
"His head has gotten bigger, along with his ego," Grace added. Remy did the "talk to the hand" gesture.
The bell rang, and they went inside to head to their respective classrooms. It seemed to Joan that Jordan was hanging from Remy's arm more than she usually did, visibly wary of the looks he was receiving from most girls they passed in the hallways. She had to contain her laughter at the expression on Jordan's face; it would appear as if she was ready to pounce on anyone that would dare to even wave hi to him. Meanwhile, Erika was quiet and gloomy, obviously still concerned about her own issue.
"What are we doing for Halloween, anyway?" Luke asked, changing the subject.
"I heard Rachel Whitaker's holding a costume party. On Saturday, though, because Halloween's not until Monday, and her parents wouldn't allow a party on a school night," Caro said. "From what I've been told, she gives good parties."
Joan, Luke, Grace and Adam sighed, and the others looked questioning. "What? She… doesn't?" asked Caro.
"We wouldn't know; we never go," Luke said.
"Why not?" Remy asked.
"Because she doesn't invite sub-defectives," Joan replied.
"Oh, I see," Caro said. "Am I a sub-defective? I'm not familiar with the cliques around here just yet."
Joan seriously doubted Caro, Jordan or Remy would fall into the sub-defectives category; she really didn't know how to classify them, really. Joan didn't mind being a sub-defective. She had made peace with that, and now she was okay with not being one of the bunch. It just sucked sometimes to be an outcast. It was not really that she cared about the party; Rachel Whitaker was one of the snobbiest girls at school, who just hung out with her snobbiest friends and threw the snobbiest parties. Even when they had been invited to a few, they always felt out of place. Joan, for her own part, didn't usually enjoy partying with the people from school all that much. Kids would just get drunk and do the same stupid antics they do all the time at school and other public places. The difference was that, instead of detention, they would pass out eventually and wake up with the biggest hangover.
Also, last time Joan had been to a party, Judith had nearly died. Since then, it scared her to see kids her age drinking themselves half to death. And she had vowed to never do that herself ever again.
Joan paid very little attention in AP Chem, trying to study her notes for her and Hans's talk for social studies. It would be kind of awkward to have to talk about their subject in class, considering what she knew now about Rosalind. But Hans had brought her some good news on Sunday, while they were finishing up their project, that Rosalind had quit her job at the café, talked to her parents, and would begin to attend a support program at a clinic for treating eating disorders. Joan had to smile to herself. Getting completely embarrassed had at least paid off after all; she got to help someone.
Joan tried to block out Lischak's blah-blah and read over her notes. But she couldn't focus very well on that either. Not with Adam sitting next to her, watching her. She smiled and pretended to read. She had been unable to see him on Sunday, even if they did get to speak on the phone (lengthily), and she had been so nervous about seeing him again that Monday that she had taken an extra half hour that morning to get ready, much to the annoyance of everyone in her house who had to endure her desperately running and yelling around looking for a decent outfit.. "How is it possible that you have a closet full of nothing to wear?" her father had exclaimed in exasperation, but at least he was back to his good humor with Joan. After she had told her parents that she and Adam were back together, they both seemed so happy for her that Joan was almost sure they had finally forgotten all about her punishment; which was more than could be said for Luke.
In any case, Joan would probably have a hard time concentrating for the rest of the day. She wanted to be with Adam, and she couldn't wait for recess to spend some time with him. They hadn't actually been alone together since Saturday, and it felt like long enough already. In fact, after all those months of expectation, Joan felt it was long overdue.
The next couple of periods were boring. The social studies presentation went better than she expected, though Hans had trouble keeping on track as he spoke, because he kept stealing glances at Rosalind, who looked like she was about to burst into tears even though she was smiling, and so was he. Joan just wanted to get it over with so she could go see Adam as soon as the bell rang.
At recess, Joan walked down the hallway to get out of the building, hoping to be with Adam alone for a little while. As she hurriedly climbed the stairs, she bumped into a guy. They stumbled and regained balance, then turned toward each other.
"Sorry," Joan muttered briefly. But she paused and stared. The guy looking back at her was very cute; he was tall, with inky black hair and a pair of stunningly deep green eyes. He wore jeans, a dark green polo shirt, which brought out the color of his eyes even more, and an open black parka. Her breath caught in her throat; for some reason, she felt like she had seen him before. "S-sorry," she stammered again, taking a step backward and almost tripping.
He just looked at her, as if scrutinizing her, and she just stood there, as if hypnotized, waiting, hoping, for him to say something.
"Hello, Joan Girardi," he spoke suddenly in a deep but soft voice, and the corners of his lips curved into a smile.
If it had really been someone else, Joan's heart would've skipped a beat at the sight of a smile like that. But at the sound of her name, she just puffed in annoyance. She hated it when God would make Himself look so appealing.
"Ugh, I really don't like it when you sneak up on me like that. And do you ever plan on giving me a freaking, well-deserved break? I've been through enough stuff this whole week, and I'm seriously, and I mean seriously, not in the mood for dealing with you right now, so please leave me alone," she announced in one hurried breath. She would've turned around and continued on her way, had it not been for the strangest thing she had seen so far: God giving her a stupefied, offended look.
"I'm sorry; I didn't know we had even met each other. I was hoping for a better first impression, but if you're going to be so inhospitable, then I guess I'll just be on my way," He said in equal annoyance. Joan frowned in confusion. That didn't sound like God at all. She stared in shock as He spun on His heel and started walking away again.
"Wait. What?" she blurted. The guy turned back to look at her.
"There's obviously something bothering you. I think I'll just wait until you're in a better mood, and maybe then we can be properly introduced."
Joan's mind went completely blank. Something very strange was going on. It all fell into place, however, when another guy appeared behind the first one. This one she definitively knew already, a little too well perhaps; the black hair, the brown eyes, and the brown coat. Cute Boy God waved at her, and she was at a loss for words. A couple of previous occasions, God had manifested Himself to Joan in more than one shape at the same time; clearly this wasn't one of those occasions. The guy in the black parka continued to stare at her.
"Don't let her get to you, she's just had a long week," God said to the stranger, and Joan watched the brief interaction in awe.
"Well, that would explain it," the guy said. God grinned and waved at Joan again, then walked away. Joan stared after Him before turning back to the stranger.
"Um, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I guess I must have confused you with someone else," she lied, feeling like a real fool. The boy raised an eyebrow.
"How is that even possible?"
"You look like someone I know," she lied again.
"Well, you shouldn't go around yelling at people until you're sure you're talking to the right person."
"I'll keep that in mind. Sorry for yelling at you," Joan apologized again. "Wait, I wasn't yelling."
The boy gave a chuckle. "You still nearly bit my head off."
"Okay, that is true. I'm sorry again."
"Apology accepted."
They just stood there for a moment, awkwardly, looking at each other. And it was making her blush slightly.
"How do you even know my name? And who are you?" she managed to ask.
He pulled a picture out of his jacket pocket. It looked like a printout of a digital photograph; it showed the whole gang. It had been taken at the Foo Fighters concert, right before they entered the arena. Joan, given the circumstances at the moment, did not look very happy. "Giordana Canavaggio," the guy pointed at Jordan in the middle of the group photo. "You know her, right?"
Joan started nodding. It was all getting clear. "You're Dante, aren't you?"
Dante Venútolo grinned. "The one and only," he said, stuffing the picture back in his jacket.
"So we finally get to meet the famous Dante," Joan said with a smile.
"I'm famous?" he asked in mock amusement, before smiling again.
"Jordan talks about you all the time."
"Aw, that's nice of her," he said with a grin. "She talks about you all the time too. She told me you were her sort of guide at the beginning of term."
Joan had been trying to recall how she had found his face familiar. "I remember now. I saw you once in a picture she's got hanging in her room."
"One of my pictures, ey?" Dante said proudly. Joan nodded. "That's a private collection. It was a gift."
"It's really nice."
"Thanks."
Once again, they were just staring at each other silently, and Joan felt the color rising to her face again as he continued to smile.
"I— I thought you were in South America," she said.
"Actually I just come from Greenland. I'm taking a well-deserved break. You know, relaxation, unwinding, and reminiscing with the good ol' friends."
"Well, in that case, I guess I should take you to your good ol' friends so you can start reminiscing. They're probably outside," she offered, jabbing her thumb in the direction she had been originally heading. Dante nodded and followed her up the steps. They walked silently toward the entrance, and Dante opened the door for her chivalrously. Joan had to smile, her cheeks flushing very slightly. She felt stupid and giddy. Why was this guy making her feel like this?
"Hey, everyone. Look who I found roaming the hallways for a familiar face," she said as soon as she and Dante reached the big old tree in the middle of the school grounds, where the whole group was gathered. At the sight of the newcomer, Jordan let out a shriek and leapt to her feet in an instant.
"DANTE!"
She leapt into Dante's arms and they hugged tightly for the longest time. All of a sudden, they both started babbling to each other non-stop in Italian, and only Caro showed obvious signs of understanding what was being said. When they stopped for air, Caro leapt at him too. She was almost as tall as him.
"Hey, Jay. Nice to see you again. Wicked hair, mate," Dante said as he and Remy shook hands.
"Grazie," Remy said proudly. "That's basically all I know how to say in Italian. Four years of knowing the lot already and they don't have the decency to teach me anything else," he told the others.
"Dante, these are our friends, the one's I've told you about. This is Grace, and Adam, and that's Friedman, and Glynnis, and Erika and Troy, and Joan's brother, Luke," Jordan went as she pointed at each person huddled under the shadow of the tree, and they waved at Dante. "And you already know Joan."
"We've met," Dante said with another roguish smile directed at Joan. She just pursed her lips, still slightly red-faced, and just sat down along with the rest, glad that everyone had turned their attention to the newcomer and started asking questions.
Dante briefly told them about the grim weather at Greenland and the nice hot weather down in some parts of South America, surfing in Chile and a bit of climbing the Andes. Jordan invited them all to her house to hang out after school, especially so she could catch up with Dante, and so he could get acquitted to the gang.
"No one will notice you, Dante. You don't exactly look out of place, you know. So you could maybe sneak into Calculus with us and tell me some more about what you've been up to," Jordan was saying. "I bet it has to be much more interesting that equations. I'd like for you to tell me all about what you've been doing all this time. I bet you have a lot of stories," Jordan said.
"A notebook full of stories, in fact, Gioconda. I've been keeping a journal," Dante replied. "I figured, all these places I have visited, all the things I've done and seen, it might be interesting for someone else to read. So I thought I'd keep a record of everything, and maybe I could publish something in the future."
"That sounds awesome," Erika said.
"Meanwhile, Dante, darling, I must say you have picked a most fortuitous moment to grace us with thy presence," Caro said. "I don't know how long you're planning to stay, I don't even care if you already have plans for your stay in Arcadia. But you simply must do something fun with us for Halloween. We were just talking about that, in fact. We have a bunch of costumes we can use, for those who don't have one available. We just don't know what we'll be doing for Halloween yet! But whatever we do, I'm sure we can drag you along, whether you like it or not."
"Well, to answer your questions, although you already stated you don't care, I have no established plans. I'm just here to see you guys and hang out with you. I don't know how long I will be staying, either. But yeah, Halloween sounds good to me," Dante answered, trying to contain his laughter.
"It better," Caro responded.
"Well, according to this flyer, which is all over the school, Rachel Whitaker is holding her annual costume party, after all, on Saturday, and a few of us have already agreed to go. Now all we have to do is convince the rest."
"I'm game if you are," Erika said to Troy.
"I just need a decent costume," Troy replied.
"I already have mine," Friedman said.
"Me too," Glynnis chirped excitedly.
"I'm sure we can whip something together for the rest," Jordan said.
"Is costume necessary?" Luke asked.
"Yes, it is. It's a costume party, silly," Caro grinned and messed up Luke's hair. "Personally, I think Duckie here should ask dear Grace to go as Pretty in Pink, and they would be a perfect match, wouldn't they?"
"Careful, Caro. You're stepping on dangerous grounds," Remy retorted, noting the glare Grace was giving the spiky-haired blonde.
"Indeed, a minefield," Caro teased, still grinning.
"Good. Well, now the only ones left to convince are Adam and Joan," Remy said.
"I'll go if Jane goes," Adam said seriously.
"We know that already, Adam. Only if his precious Jane goes, so… are you up for it, fair Lady Jane?" Caro continued, now looking at Joan expectantly. Joan remained quiet. She wasn't much of a party person, and the idea of dressing up to attend a pretentious bash thrown by one of the most snobbish girls at school was not exactly her cup of tea. She looked at Adam, who just shrugged.
"I really have a whole bunch of costumes to choose from," Jordan offered. "You could be cute or sexy."
"Or just plain scary, if that's your thing," Caro added.
"Uh…" she mumbled, noting that everyone was now looking at her, waiting. "Are we even invited?"
"Who cares about that? We could just crash if it were to come to that. We're skilled at that," Caro said.
"Yeah, and a high school Halloween party has got to be much easier than those crazy frat parties we used to go to," Remy pointed out.
"All seniors are invited, Joan, so there would be no need for crashing," Jordan explained. "Well, except for Luke, Friedman and Glynnis, I guess."
"And Dante and Troy," Caro added.
"I'm sure we can work something out for them," Remy countered. "Although I must say we might be a little rusty after all this time."
"Yeah, we've been awfully well-behaved the last couple of years, haven't we?" Caro agreed. "But we can whip back into full gear in no time, don't you kids worry," she said, rubbing her hands together in her evil manner. Dante and Jordan actually looked at each other in concern.
"As you can see, Dante and I have always been the moral center of our group," Jordan said. Joan had to shake her head in amusement.
"What do you say, Joan? Will you come to the party?" Dante asked. Joan had to swallow hard. She was afraid she would blush furiously all over again if he kept looking at her. She stole a glance at Adam and cleared her throat.
"Well, I guess I would. But I'm checking with my parents first. I really don't want to make things worse between us," she finally responded. Even if the party was on the weekend, she thought asking her parents' permission was the sensible thing to do, considering how much trouble she had gotten herself into lately. Knowing this, the others didn't say anything about it but started talking about the party and the costumes. Joan caught Dante giving her a fleeting glance before joining the chit chat. She didn't know why, but something about him really unsettled her. Not in a bad way, though. But she felt uneasy, as if he could see right through her. And she had only known him for ten minutes! She couldn't help it, but she felt naked around him.
As the bell rang for them to go back to class, Dante and Troy followed the rest into the school building. Adam took Joan's hand as they walked back into the school and headed for their respective lockers. As Joan was spinning her combination, a familiar guy appeared next to her. She was half-startled, having expected it to be Adam.
"Oh, hey, I knew I wouldn't get rid of you long enough. What do you want this time?" she muttered moodily.
"Why are you so irritable?" Cute Boy God asked.
"I'm not irritable," Joan countered, but she obviously sounded mildly irritated. "I just wish you would leave me alone long enough for me to have a normal life. I just got back together with my boyfriend. Why can't you give me a breather?" She yanked the metal door open and shoved books into it, then pulled some others out and shoved them into her bag.
"You don't even know why I'm here."
"I have a hunch," Joan replied, shutting her locker closed and starting to walk away. There was a bright orange flyer with big bold black letters taped to the wall, and she stopped to look at it, trying to ignore God reading over her shoulder. It was the announcement of Rachel Whitaker's annual Halloween party, with the time and date and a map to her house. A line of little pumpkin heads bordered the page.
"Hmm… wonder what might have gotten into dear Rachel to invite all the cliques," Joan said mostly to herself, reading the whole flyer.
"It seems only fitting. It's her generation, isn't it? This is your last year together," God noted.
"I guess you're right, and in that case, it's really nice of her," Joan responded thoughtfully. "I just hope it's worth it. I already said I'm going, but I really want to officially make peace with my parents first and ask them for permission."
"Oh, they'll say yes," God assured her. She eyed him suspiciously.
"How do you know?" she asked. God just smiled knowingly, and Joan understood what He meant. It was rather stupid to ask the All-Knowing how He knew something.
"Okay, why are you telling me this?" Joan looked at Him carefully, wondering if she would be able to discern something from His expression. "You want me to go to this party? Why do you want me to go to this party? Is something going to happen? Is there something I need to do? Are you ever going to give me a freaking clue?" she shot question after question, and still His face was plain and virtually unexpressive. Joan sniffed in exasperation.
"What if I told you that you should go to this party, and just have a great time with Adam and your friends?" God began. Joan frowned in confusion.
"It doesn't really make me feel good. That doesn't sound like you at all."
"All I want is for you to have fun in a healthy, wholesome manner, and enjoy your last year with your schoolmates, maybe get to know them a little bit better. It's never too late to make new acquaintances."
"So that's what it's about: getting to know my schoolmates?"
"Yeah, that wouldn't be such a bad idea, would it? Just don't stay later than two," God said, and He slightly emphasized on the last sentence. Joan's expression turned to mild horror. That didn't sound good.
"Why? What happens after two?" she inquired, sounding wary. God shook His head.
"Now there's no need for you to worry about that just yet. Here," He handed her a book, which looked like a small bible; the leather-bound cover read Macbeth in bold golden lettering.
"Shakespeare?"
"You have been paying attention in English class."
"What does Shakespeare have to do with Halloween parties, anyway?"
"Read the book, Joan. It's good reading."
"But all those thee's and thou's…" Joan eyed the book miserably. It looked really long and heavy.
"It's useful. You'll like it. I promise."
Joan was about to say something else when she noticed God had spun on His heel and was walking away.
"What happens after two?" she called after Him, but He didn't turn around. "Is the answer supposed to be in this book?" She decided to shut up, seeing as people were giving her looks. "Perfect," she grumbled to herself, dropping the book in her bag. "Now I'll have to read the whole damn thing to find out. As if I didn't have enough homework already."
"Are you talking to yourself again?"
Joan was only slightly startled when Adam appeared next to her again. She gave a nervous laugh.
"You know me. I'm a bit of a nutcase, everyone knows it, but I'm okay with it," she replied.
Adam stared at her strangely but smiled. "Who was that guy? I'm sure I've seen you talking to him in more than one occasion, but you've never told me who he is."
"Oh, him? I thought I had, actually. His name's… Josh," Joan answered, luckily remembering the moniker she had already designated for Cute Boy God. "He just pops up whenever he wants. He, um, he was just lending me a book."
"Macbeth," Adam read, looking at the heavy book in Joan's arms. "I didn't know you were into Shakespeare."
"Neither did I," Joan said under her breath as she and Adam entered Calculus. They moved to the back of the classroom to sit with their friends. Joan had to sit next to Dante, who smiled at her. Joan responded feebly and promptly opened Macbeth. She might as well try to get a head start on it. Anything to keep her distracted, anyway, from the teacher droning about integrals, or Dante.
"Is something burning?" Grace asked worriedly, sniffing the air.
"Most likely," Jordan replied impassively.
"Zia Estella is going to burn down the kitchen, mate," Caro exclaimed.
Nearly the whole gang was gathered at Jordan's place after school, just as they had agreed. Joan had decided to stop by her own house before heading to her friend's, to talk to her mother and obtain the 'okay' for her to go to this party, before she would allow herself to get all excited and go check out the costumes Jordan and Caro had. Of course, just like God had predicted, Helen said it was okay, as long as Adam brought her home. Still, Joan didn't feel as excited as she had expected; especially not after God's cryptic curfew announcement, and giving her the task to read a very boring, very old book written by the most old-fashioned writer ever, in Joan's opinion; and thinking about the fact that it would take her for-bloody-ever to finish said book when she should probably finish it in time for the party to find out exactly what God was telling her to do, she was obviously less than enthused to say the least. And she wanted to be, of course, considering she was going with Adam, and this would be their first official date after their reconciliation. Was that too much to ask for?
Since she still wouldn't want to find out what could happen if she didn't figure out what her next 'holy' mission was, Joan had dragged the book along with her and was not sitting in Jordan's comfy reading corner by the turret window, to make the most of her time while they waited for the rest of the gang to arrive. She wasn't getting very far, though, because she spent twice as long on each page reading the footnotes, where Shakespeare's strange expressions were explained
"Wouldn't it have been easier to speak more plainly? Whoever would be able to enjoy this, if after every sentence you have to check the footnotes or the freaking dictionary?" Joan was hissing to herself in exasperation, and thankfully no one else heard her. She wasn't in her best mood at the moment, since Adam had just called her and informed he wouldn't go to Jordan's because he had to help his dad with something for a client. On the other hand, if Jordan had a good variety, Joan would get a really nice costume and look really nice for the party and surprise Adam.
"She still hasn't got the hang of the new oven. So until then, she's a real hazard when she bakes," Jordan was explaining as the stench of something being seriously charred got stronger. "Just as long as the smoke detector doesn't go off, then we're okay."
Joan stopped grumbling at her reading long enough to pull the collar of her sweater over her face and hook it over her nose. That smell reminded her distinctly of a mortifying accident that took place a few weeks ago in her own house. Although, in retrospect, that even was much funnier now.
"Well, unless the people who used to live here had a very open concept of what vintage clothing is, I assume we have found the costume trunk in your attic," Remy said between grunts of effort as he and Dante, who didn't look any better, burst through Jordan's door dragging the aforementioned trunk with them.
"Gioconda, what in the Lord's name is inside this thing? Retro bowling balls with matching shoes? Half the set from The Twelfth Night? A body?" Dante said as he was finally able to put the heavy vintage chest down in the middle of the room.
Grace raised an eyebrow and smiled slyly. "A body, Dante?"
Dante shrugged. "Stranger things have been known to happen."
"You've been watching too much Desperate Housewives," Grace replied.
"He doesn't watch television," Jordan said.
"Yes, I do, when I get the chance. Just not prime time TV," Dante countered.
"Good for you, mate. You don't want to get sucked into pop culture's boob tube turmoil," Remy said. "With the award season approaching, you would never get away."
"And how would you know all of this?" Grace asked skeptically.
"My mom loves the Housewives," Remy responded.
"I found this one wandering outside our house looking like a little kid who has lost his mommy in the supermarket. Please don't tell me he's one of yours," Jordan's moody sister, Giulia, said, stepping into the room looking disgruntled, with Luke in tow looking rather gloomy.
"Unfortunately he is. You can take him back if you want, though, Julie," Caro said.
Giulia cast one last glance at Luke, rolled her eyes, clicked her tongue a couple of times, and swept out, closing the door.
"Luke, when my sister allows herself to be distracted from her self-centered life, and actually brings you upstairs because she's worried that the poor pathetic creature in our garden could do some serious damage to our dear mother's hard-worked flowerbeds and bushes, that is a clear sign you're being extraordinarily weird," Jordan said in what was apparently a concerned tone. "Where've you been, anyway?"
Luke simply went to sit on the bed, either not having heard Jordan's comment on his odd behavior or just pretending to not have heard. "I stopped by my house. I thought if Joan was going to ask for permission to go to the party, then I might as well do that too; considering she's the good one lately, I can't get away with anything just as easily as before," he explained.
"Aw, is widdle Lukey feeling kooky now he's been knocked off his pedestal?" Caro teased in an aggravating childish voice. Luke shot her a look.
"What did she say?" Joan asked, lowering Macbeth to her lap.
"She thought about it for a long time, but she agreed to it in the end, as long as I get back home with you, and in turn, you get back home with Adam."
"Oh, great," Joan said sarcastically. Her little brother was riding back home with her and her boyfriend; talk about inconvenient. She hastily turned back to her book.
"To tell you the truth, I was scared when I saw her thinking it over like that. It's never taken her so long to give me permission. I really screwed up last time, didn't I?"
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," Grace said, quoting 'Gone with the wind' in her own fashion, causing Caro to snort.
"Okay, people. Here be the costumes," Jordan announced in an old-fashioned accent as she popped the top of the trunk open, displaying a mess of fabrics, patterns and colors all bunched up inside the rectangular depths of the wooden box. "It's all up for grabs, so help yourselves."
Luke was the first who ventured into the trunk. He started pulling some of the costumes out, and soon everyone was passing them around, holding them up against their bodies and checking themselves out in the mirror. After a few minutes, Luke spoke up.
"Jordan, these are mostly costumes for girls, you know?" he pointed out matter-of-factly.
"Well, honey, I don't exactly get asked to play male roles very frequently, you know?" Jordan retorted, equally matter-of-factly.
"Except for The Twelfth Night," Caro said.
"That was you," Jordan pointed out.
"Oh, right. Jordan was Viola, and I was Sebastian, because we were the only two people in the drama club who looked the most alike."
"The drama club got lucky; Caro was the only one willing to do it," Remy said. "And plus, with her haircut and her height, she was perfect."
"Everyone was fascinated on how we got the skinniest, lankiest and most gracious blonde boy to play Sebastian, until of course they found out it was actually a girl, and then it made sense," Jordan added.
"Jordan, don't be so mean, you're offending Luke," Grace protested, but she was actually grinning. Luke pouted and went back to the bed and sat down like a scolded child. Dante and Remy smiled and took a seat as well, watching the girls continue to sort through the costumes.
Erika dropped by a few minutes later, owing her lateness to more trouble at home, because Troy had been caught calling a travel agency to make reservations for two to fly back to Australia –obviously for himself and for Erika—, and Psycho Sam had gone into a rant about her only son being ungrateful for everything she had done for him, while Erika's dad badgered both her and Troy for being irresponsible and not nearly mature enough to make this sort of decisions for themselves yet. Needless to say, Erika stormed out and by the time she had arrived at Jordan's house, she was still not in a very good mood, and had to apologize to Mrs. Canavaggio for being rude when the woman greeted her sweetly at the door and unknowingly asked her how she was doing.
"As if she wasn't broken-hearted enough already since she's been burning all the cookies today, and Erika Weston goes and takes a chunk of her head. You're a meanie, Erika. My poor aunt Estella," Caro spoke mournfully, shaking her head in dismay. Erika went red in the face and tried to move away from the subject.
"I feel bad for Troy. I left him all alone to deal with the enraged parents from hell," she mentioned, running a hand through her black hair.
"Well, if he's smart, he'll manage to get away," Remy said, kicking off his trainers and lying on the bed comfortably.
Erika managed to switch to something completely unrelated, and they continued to look at costumes. Jordan's mom came upstairs with a tray laden with white chocolate chip cookies, the one successful batch out of about three scorched in the oven, and Erika started apologizing again and again to her, even though Estella kept saying it was okay.
"I feel like an idiot," Erika said after Mrs. Canavaggio was finally able to leave.
"You are an idiot," Jordan responded, but she really didn't mean it. She chuckled and patted Erika on the head.
"Jordan, you haven't got anything I would be able to wear," Dante said when all the costumes had been laid out and one could clearly see none were meant for a guy.
"Unless you're willing to put on a dress," Grace said.
"I'm glad I already have my costume together," said Remy.
"What are you going to be?" Grace asked.
"Guess," Remy said.
Luke thought for a moment. "Uh… a pirate?"
Remy's face was blank with surprise. "How'd you know?"
"Uh, you told me this morning."
"Oh."
"Gioconda, any ideas, please?" Dante asked, sifting through what was left in the chest.
"Honestly, Dante, why try so hard?" Caro began. "All you have to do is put on a pair of glasses and draw a lightning bolt on your forehead and you're Harry Potter."
Dante sighed. "That hardly works as an offense, dear Carolina, which I do suppose is how you intended it. But I have to say no, merely out of a burning desire to scorn you, because I know how much you love Harry Potter."
Caro put on a horrified face, put the back of her hand to her forehead and threw her head back in a dramatic gesture of chagrin. "Oh, Dante, I'm crushed!"
"Besides, it would probably turn out rather humorous if Harry Potter sounds as if he were reciting the specials of a trattoria," Remy added.
"Mm, hadn't thought of it that way," Dante agreed. Joan looked out of the corner of her eye and laughed to herself, trying to picture Dante as Harry Potter. That would've been so cute… She cleared her throat nervously and continued reading. She wished Adam was there with her.
"Oh, look! My Joan of Arc costume!" Caro exclaimed suddenly. She was just pulling what looked like a suit of armor from the trunk.
"Sheesh, no wonder the darn thing weighted so much. How come you guys kept all this?" Remy asked.
"We were entitled to, for the investment we were committed to for the makings of our own costumes. If you want to be in the play, you've got to pay," Caro explained as she pulled the armored vest over her head; when she stood before the mirror, she really looked the part. It reminded Joan of Mila Jovovich when she appeared in The Messenger, with the blunt-cut blond hair and the stringy frame under that thick suit of metal.
"Maybe Joan could be Joan of Arc this time. Wouldn't that be fitting?" Jordan said.
"More like Joan of Arcadia. That would be even more fitting," Dante added. "Telling everyone God talks to you and tells you how to save us all from self-destruction."
Joan nearly dropped Macbeth as she turned to give Dante the longest look of wonder, only to find him grinning at her. She had to swallow a lump in her throat, and a feeble laugh was all she could muster to disguise the shiver that suddenly shook her body. It was as if he was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't be sure of what. Did he know? How could he possibly know? His face showed no clear signs of actually trying to convey any hidden meaning. Maybe he was just joking. But even after he and the others started talking about something different, Joan couldn't get rid of the odd feeling that Dante was aware of something, and he was sharing it as a sort of inside joke with her. It wasn't funny at all, though.
Ever since the revelation catastrophe with Adam, in which she couldn't be completely certain if he ever believed a word she said about her year of chatting with God, Joan had been very wary about ever considering letting anyone else now. She didn't even feel like ever mentioning the subject to Adam again. She just wanted to pretend it never happened. And hopefully she was doing a good job. But now this.
"Joan, look. My Lady Macbeth's costume," Jordan said, holding up a beautiful medieval gown of a silky flowing dark blue fabric and lots of brocade. "It should fit you. I thought you might be interested, seeing you're reading the book. Would you like to try it on?"
To distract herself from Dante's strange comment and the effect it had on her, Joan went on to try on several costumes: Lady Macbeth, Juliet Capulet, Portia, Katherine, Viola, Ophelia, a witch, a flamenco dancer, a roman empress, a French maid, and even a black cat. It was sort of fun to try all of these on, but to actually choose was a completely different matter. Joan even tried on the Joan of Arc suit of armor, after much insistence from Caro, but refused to come out of the bathroom to avoid any further comments from Dante. Caro told her she looked beautiful and fierce, just like Joan of Arc was supposed to be.
"Look at you; you're a maiden in shining armor," she had said. Joan just felt very odd and promptly took it off.
None of the outfits she had tried on actually seemed fitting. And she didn't actually feel comfortable at all in any of them. Besides, she wished Adam could've been there to help her pick one, and maybe for him to get something along the same line. She wasn't even sure if she could convince him to wear a costume.
When it was almost time for everyone to go home for dinner, they all had their costumes planned, except for Joan, who was still not paying much attention to anything after she went back to trying to understand Shakespeare's work. Meanwhile, Grace borrowed a fedora hat and a pinstriped coat as part of a gangster costume, which Caro had worn once for a play about Al Capone; Erika got Caro to lend her an exquisite Egyptian queen dress, made for Antony and Cleopatra, and promptly left to find Troy and show it to him. Caro herself settled for a can-can dancer outfit, very Moulin Rouge style. And Jordan chose her old witch costume, deciding on a few additions and adjustments.
"I guess you're going to have to come around some other time this week. Maybe I can dig up something else for you," she said to Joan. Joan merely shrugged and thanked her. Maybe next time Adam could come with her, and he could tell her what suited her best.
Eventually, though, as she eyed how little of Macbeth she had managed to get through so far, she had to remind herself of the task at hand. However, for some reason, in spite of the fact it must be important then for her to read the book, and how much she actually –surprisingly— wanted to know what happens in the end and couldn't wait to find out, she couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that she would get no straight answers at all when she finished the book, and that the book had not nearly enough to do with whatever was going to happen on Saturday night. She knew that, in the end, she would still have to figure everything out on her own, and be really close to failing again.
All she wanted was to enjoy the Halloween party. She and Adam were back together, and this could have been a great opportunity for them to have a good time together. But it wouldn't be like that. Because it was her purpose, her mission, just like Dante had put so briefly and inaccurately, to "save everyone from self-destruction". Totally inaccurate, she thought, considering she had no clue how she could ever pull that off.
"You know what I just realized? Halloween is a distorted celebration," Grace was saying broodingly. She and Joan were sitting in Jordan's study room, where Giulia was, as usual, practicing on the piano, after dinner. "Aside from the fact that it's a totally pagan celebration, we have actually distorted it through time. What used to be most exclusively for kids, with a few random parents playing the part and dressing up on the day to keep the spirit alive, trick-or-treating is no longer the most exploited tradition for that specific date, although costume sales and rentals and candy distribution obviously remain fundamental. But now it's all about what party you'll attend for Halloween. It's been adapted to adults and teenagers so that we can have a chance too of having something out of the ordinary to do during the calendar year. And do you know why that is?"
"Yes, but you'll probably tell me anyway," Joan mumbled, half-listening to Grace as attentively as she would like. Anything to distract her from the exasperating corniness of Shakespeare. Anything. But listening to Grace rant about another stupid social custom was not really something she enjoyed at any time. Unfortunately, Remy, Jordan and Dante were in the kitchen helping Mrs. Canavaggio clean up, and were currently unavailable to change the subject.
Most of the gang had stayed at the Canavaggio residence for dinner with the cordial invitation of the lady of the house, with the exception of Erika, who left to meet with Troy, Luke, who thought it best to lay low for a while and go home early for dinner, and Caro, who was afraid her own mom would soon put her in house arrest for all the time she had spent out already in all the short time they had been living in Arcadia (apparently she hadn't even finished unpacking her things, and the walls of her room were still lined with boxes). As for the rest, they called home and informed where they would be. Mrs. Canavaggio was making vermicelli al pesto, Genovese style, and according to Jordan, it was her mother's specialty, and a gourmet regalement they could not miss. So they stayed, and it was really good; they chatted animatedly, mostly listening to Dante narrating his latest traveling experiences. The evening had gone by in a flash, in Joan's opinion, who wished she wouldn't have to go back to reading her boring book. She was really starting to take a liking to Jordan's mom, even to Giulia, who wasn't all that bad, and especially to Dante, who told fascinating stories.
Joan sighed and closed the book with a loud snap, which made Giulia nearly miss a beat in the piece she was performing. The girl gave her a fleeting glance of contempt before refocusing on the piano, but Joan didn't notice. She had only just spoken with Adam, who had finally been able to get off the work he was doing and promised to swing by as soon as possible so that they could spend some time together before they had to go to their respective houses prior to Joan's school night curfew. She couldn't wait to see him; it amazed her how much she could miss him in only a few hours of being apart. But then again, she needed to see him, because they hadn't really been together much since their reconciliation. And also, Joan couldn't stand thinking about Dante. It was really getting on her nerves. As if she had a crush on him or something.
Which she did not.
She did not.
She did not. She could not.
Could she?
"It's because this inherent need adults and teenagers have for recurring to the ultimate ridiculous social experience to escape the boredom of routine," Grace continued, cutting through Joan's inner musings. "What a better opportunity to do that than Halloween, the one night a year you can dress up as whatever you want, and fulfill your strangest, most outrageous fantasies freely and in public without feeling like complete idiots? Obviously humans resort to this hullabaloo to do things they wouldn't normally do, or can't normally do without being labeled weird or getting arrested. It's the perfect chance for ordinary human being to do some mingling, carousing and rioting, and it's considered normal on that particular night because it's Halloween. It's like you can get away with anything on Halloween. And kids who still go trick-or-treating now will eventually grow up into this new tradition. Do you see what we are teaching these kids? We're raising them to be cultural disturbances."
"Grace, you sound like an old lady," Joan pointed out. "The sort that doesn't buy candy for the kids who dare stop by her creepy dark house to trick-or-treat. You know what kids call that kind of old lady? Witch."
"Oooh, Grace, if I were you I'd pummel her. Too bad your strong, beefy boyfriend isn't here to do it for you," a voice said, and both girls jerked their heads to see Remy coming into the room, followed by Jordan and Dante. They settled around the room and started talking noisily, and Giulia, after making some rasping sound to make known her practice was being disturbed, finally gave up when she saw they were definitively not shutting up, so she got up from the piano and sat on the couch next to her sister. Joan could still not believe how much she and Jordan looked alike. They were like clones.
"Hey, Dante's going to be staying here, in the guest room," Jordan informed Giulia.
"Okay," Giulia muttered.
"Just thought you should know we'll have a male houseguest for a while, so no walking around the house in your underwear while he's here."
"Oh, no, please, don't make changes on your routine because of me," Dante joked, giving the "twins" a chivalrous grin. "Don't mind me. If you want to walk around in your underwear, you do so. I mean, it is your house." The others had to laugh.
"Keep dreaming, you prat," Giulia said with a smirk.
In any case, Joan thought Dante was pretty cool, and it would be nice that he would get to be with his best friend for the time he would be in Arcadia. They went on to discuss what sort of things they would do that weekend, to show Dante around, because he himself wasn't sure how long he would be able to stay this time around, and he wanted to make the best of his time.
From what Joan was able to piece together from his narrations, plus a brief explanation provided by Caro, Dante's father, a free-lance photographer, was paid nicely by a magazine, one could say it was like the Italian version of Time magazine, and he took pictures. He had recently started working for an independent agency as well, to go around the world to take pictures for a travel guide magazine very similar to the popular Lonely Planet guidebooks. Dante's mother had died of cancer when Dante was seven years old, so he often traveled around the world with his father, being home schooled and getting to visit many countries. He and Jordan met when they were eight; sometimes when Mr. Venútolo had a long trip, Dante would stay with the Canavaggios. Jordan's family moved several times over the next few years, after Jordan's dad left, and she was afraid she wouldn't see Dante anymore. But he always visited her, and they wrote to each other when he was away. Dante had taken up photography himself, and he often sent Jordan pictures of the places he had visited (rather like postcards he made himself). Sometimes Dante also traveled alone, so he could also visit Jordan more often and stay longer. And sometimes, in just a few occasions, he convinced her to come with him, and then she would wish she didn't have to go home.
Joan couldn't imagine what it must be like to live like that, living for the moment, seeing and experiencing something new everyday. From her own point of view, it sounded thrilling and fascinating, compared with her life. Even with God popping up every once in a while, which didn't really leave much time for boredom, she knew everyone needed a change of scenery every so often. The only thing she wouldn't change from her usual scenery, however, would be Adam.
That last thought, however, launched a series of other thoughts, which caused her to fall silent while the others continued to chat. She hadn't allowed herself to give much thought to what would happen in a few months, when the gang would graduate. Going to college or working or whatever she would wind up doing sounded great now, but it raised a lot of questions. What or rather who would she have to leave behind? Graduation and starting a new life as an adult was definitively a nice change of scenery, but there was no way to be sure the new scenery would be able to include Adam after all.
Joan grabbed her bag and checked her mobile. Adam had left her a text message, telling her he was on his way. She found Mrs. Canavaggio, Jordan and Giulia talking in the family room, about the arrangements for Dante to stay in the guest room, which had been accommodated in the third level, in the attic, and was a mess at the present time. She thanked her hostesses for their hospitality and for dinner, and Jordan promised to find a costume for her and for Adam, because they were the only ones who still didn't have theirs.
Holding Macbeth under her arm, Joan came outside and found Dante sitting on the porch steps; he had a notebook on his lap and was writing something, stopping every few seconds to look at his surroundings, at the dense garden that closed the perimeter of the house. The sky was slowly turning a shade of lavender, with streaks of orange and pink closer to the horizon, where a few clouds still caught the fading rays of the sun. High overhead, where it was darker, stars were beginning to dot the night.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound natural. "Mind if I sit down?"
Dante lifted his head very slowly, as if he hadn't even heard her at all but rather felt her presence nearby. "Come again?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. You're obviously wrapped up in whatever it is you're doing, and I wouldn't want to disturb your inspiration," she said. Even if he probably couldn't see it due to the lack of lighting, she was blushing furiously.
"No, please, you're not disturbing me at all. I was just jotting down some things before I forget," he said, hastily writing a few more words on the page before closing the notebook and putting it aside. "Please, sit down."
Hesitantly, Joan took a step forward and sat on the same step he was. The nights were turning colder now that they were already halfway through the autumn.
"Is that your journal? What you were writing in?" she asked, wanting to break the ice. He nodded and glanced at the notebook.
"Yes. I'm not much of a writer, especially when I have all these thoughts going through my head and I'm trying to write them down on paper all at once, or when I go into some sort of rant. It's a lot of senseless blabbering mess sometimes. But I figured it was a great way to write my experiences and not leave a single detail behind," he explained, leaning back onto his elbows. "I've read a lot of books and I know for a fact this could really come in handy, because writers often draw off their personal experiences to write something. But it's so difficult."
He fell silent for a moment. Joan toyed with the strap of her bag.
"This in a way is the reason why I like photography so much. One single image can say much more than a thousand words. And one single image can be interpreted thousands of different ways, depending on the observer. And each picture tells a story."
Joan was reminded briefly of a certain vintage-looking brunette God stacking his photography equipment and telling her about the millions of eyes that gave a million different perspectives of a single picture.
"You see what I mean? I want to write, but photography makes saying what you want to say so much easier. I'm not so good with words, really. Jordan is the one who really digs it, and she's really good. If only
"Who knows? Maybe years from now, you will have arranged this senseless blabbering mess and brew a real best-seller," Joan joked, gesturing to the notebook. He chuckled, fingering the notebook, playing with the dog-eared edges.
"Maybe," he muttered. "But who would want to read it?"
"Hey, it's not everyday that a teenager goes around the world ten times and constantly has new things to say about the places he visits. I wish I could do something like that. Heck, I would be happy with at least a trip half around the world," she said sincerely.
"It's not as glamorous as it sounds. Sometimes it can be scary and really tiresome," he said. "I mean, I'm used to it already. But on a day like today, for example, when I decide to cool it for a few days, I really think 'sod it, I want to wake up early and go to school like a normal teen and sleep during class and come home and complain about doing homework, and then do it all over again the next day, and the next, and so on until graduation'."
"Then you're insane," Joan said with a laugh.
"It's not insane. I'm not insane. It sounds great, it sounds normal. I haven't been normal since the age of six. I wish I could change this lifestyle that I have, but it's too damn difficult. It is. I can't pull it off, because I know how many people would like to be in my place. And I know this is what I do, I can't imagine not doing what I do for the rest of my life. This is who I am, and this is how it's going to be for God knows how long, no matter what I'm sacrificing," Dante said, and he wasn't just being serious. He sounded passionate. Joan couldn't put her finger on it. He just struck her as such a genuine guy. Like Jordan had described him long ago. She and Dante were like the perfect best friends, they balanced each other: he was the soft-spoken, insightful boy, and she was the cheerful, hyperactive girl.
Joan couldn't hide her smile, even though Dante wasn't looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the sky, which was getting darker and darker, and more stars were blinking brightly against the dark backdrop.
"Do all your stories really fit into a single, two-hundred page, college ruled notebook?" she asked, eyeing the notebook with curiosity.
Dante made a noise between a laugh and a cough. "Are you kidding? I have a box full of notebooks. I don't know how I would ever sort through all of them. It's really going to take me a couple of decades to get that best-seller going."
"A box full?" Joan gaped.
"Well, shoe box," he said modestly. Joan smiled again.
"Have you ever showed any of that material to anyone?"
Dante seemed to think for a moment before he answered. "Oh, no, never. I don't think I could ever…" he trailed off and fell silent.
"Really? Not even Jordan?" Joan asked, eyebrows lifted.
"Especially not Jordan," Dante replied.
"Why is that? I thought you were best friends. I thought you could share everything. She obviously shares her writing with you, why wouldn't you do the same with her?"
He thought again for a moment before speaking. "Because the idea of Jordan finding out what I think everyday when I'm away is too frightening," he said somberly.
Joan knew from the tone of his voice, and his fidgeting, that she was digging too deep, and she was making him uncomfortable. But before she could stop herself, she asked again: "Why is that?"
There was another, longer pause when he adjusted his position, and took a breath. "Have you ever had something that you want to say to someone so badly, that you can imagine yourself saying it, over and over again in your head, writing it down, but the thought of actually saying it to that person out loud gives you, as a result, a very broad spectrum of possible scenarios, most of which are really scary?"
Joan was speechless. Well, he couldn't have said it better, she thought, remembering how much and for how long she had itched to tell Adam about her religious encounters. She still did not get the meaning of what Dante was trying to convey. He was obviously beating around the bush.
"Well, I'm hoping I would never have to do that," he said. "Maybe she would realize it on her own, and then I wouldn't have to feel so scared."
She wanted to ask 'realize what?' or 'scared of what, exactly?' but she just remained quiet.
"Maybe she would realize one day that the real reason I don't like to travel as much as I do is not because I hate airports."
Joan was still drawing a blank. She knew he was practically baring her soul to her, and she couldn't see clearly enough.
"Why don't you like to travel then?"
Dante responded with a chuckle. "I thought it was obvious," he muttered. Then he gave a shuddering sigh. "I miss her all the time."
Now Joan finally knew what he was talking about. And yes, she supposed it could be quite scary. This definitively opened up a very broad spectrum of possibilities. For a moment she didn't know what to say, because she wasn't absolutely sure she had understood what he had meant.
"Are… are you in love with… Jordan?"
Dante chuckled again, but there was no mirth in it. "No. Not anymore," he said with a shake of his head. "A few years back, maybe, yes…" He didn't look at Joan, and she could not look away from him. His face grew dark.
"I just hate to admit that I have the prettiest best girlfriend, and she's never even… looked at me that way… not even for a second…"
Joan was silent again. She really didn't know what to say. She thought Dante was very sweet, and she felt bad for him. His best friend was completely oblivious to his secret affection for her. It reminded her of Adam, and how he had a crush on her since the first time they met, and how she sometimes pretended not to know, not wanting to hurt his feelings. But things had evolved with them, and in spite of the highs and lows, she was glad they were still together.
But Jordan and Remy were a great couple, and Dante would obviously never intend to come between them. He would not want to lose their friendship.
"She's my best friend. That's good enough for me now," he said in a very low voice, as if mostly to himself than to Joan.
She smiled. She couldn't believe how open he was being with her, having just met her and all. "Your secret's safe with me," she assured him, but she guessed that was overstated.
"Sometimes I could swear it's possibly not a secret anymore; that it has never been. But I wouldn't really want to know," he muttered, smiling back.
There was a honk, and Joan looked up to see Adam pulling into the curb in his battered red pickup truck. He lowered the window and waved at her. She waved back.
"That's Adam. I've got to go." Joan slung her bag over her shoulder.
"It's been a pleasure talking with you," Dante said, standing up and holding out his hand to help her to her feet. She took it and he pulled her up easily.
"Thanks," she grinned. "I guess I'll see you around."
"See you around, Joan of Arcadia."
She walked down the little path through the garden. Once she reached the little fence door, she looked back. Dante was looking up at the stars again, on his feet, and he lingered only for a moment before climbing the porch steps and going inside the house. Adam got out of the car and hugged her.
"Hey, was that Dante?" he asked.
"Yeah. We were just talking outside while you arrived," Joan said as they rounded the car and he opened the door for her. "He was telling me one of his fascinating stories," she added as she climbed into the passenger seat and Adam closed the door.
"Yeah, he's an interesting guy. Shouldn't be easy for him to ever run out of things to say," he agreed with a laugh. He got into the car and they drove away.
On the way to Joan's, he was telling her about his day, the work he had to do and so on, while Joan listened absentmindedly. What she was really thinking was about Dante's notebooks, intrigued about what they might contain. It was on the back of her mind the whole way, while she was with Adam, and she was still wondering about it later that night, when she put aside the book and went to sleep, thinking about what he had said about Jordan. She wondered if he really didn't feel the same way about her anymore, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He was a great guy, but Joan perceived he was filled with a great melancholy. It couldn't be easy to be away for so long from the one person who makes him feel good. Joan could relate to that.
There you have it, you've finally met Dante. Mike and Jake are happy, I expect. This was long overdue for them, but the expectation is what makes it better, right? Now that you've met him, you will definitively see him very often. Hope you liked him. He turned out to be more like Jake than like Mike. Hope he doesn't get upset.
This is sitting number three, by the way. Definitively took me longer than it should have, considering how much time I've had in my hands lately. NOW I've finally finished the darn thing, and I'm not even entirely happy about how it went. I think it turned out too long, but there's no way to edit it. Especially not this last conversation with Dante.
Don't expect next chapter to come very soon. I've got loads to do. This term is going to be hell, I can tell. And I'm not even working anymore! But it hasn't been a whole two weeks and I've already got massive schoolwork. I'll try to speed things up, but I won't make any promises.
Thanks for reading. Hope the New Year is treating you fine so far. Me, I'm not complaining right now, but I do hope it gets better. In the meantime, we'll just have to do the best we can.
Hugs and kisses.
--Gioconda--