- Haiza -
We're called first for costumes, which seems innocent enough in itself, but it's actually a targeted attack meant to destabilize my entire universe by Satan himself, Mr. A.
By which I mean, Leandro is wearing purple.
And it's not just that he's wearing purple. It kind of is. In no particular order, however, here are my other grievances: He smells really good, he's wearing that cute little bandana thing his sister got him, he's wearing period-appropriate purple velvet, and Mr. A gave me no warning for that.
Not even a ten minute break between 'We're doing costumes today!' and 'You're about to see your beautiful best friend dressed in Elizabethan finery and you're not going to be able to handle it!'
As it stands, I gape, feel faint, probably blush, and finally say, "Well, you look... fine in that."
"Fine!" Lee yelps, then swoons, clutching his lacy chest. "Cesario, you wound me, sirrah."
"He's done changing!" I shout and Mr. A comes bounding in.
He claps his hands when he sees Lee. The purple velvet takes the form of a heavy shirt, ending around his thighs and giving him long, drapey sleeves that he's already enjoying swinging around way too much. The tunic is embroidered with gold thread that forms long lines down to his belt, and whoever Mr. A consulted for the costumes apparently supplied Lee with a gaudy silver rose pendant.
"Incredible!" Mr. A exclaims, then sweeps into a goofy bow. "Duke."
Lee accepts it with a gracious nod. "Ahem, indeed."
"How's the fit? Loose, tight?" The teacher starts a wide loop around him, inspecting the costume.
"Fits really good, actually." He twirls. "I can waltz in this fine. C'mere, Haze."
"I think I need to do mine next," I manage.
"Ess-em-ache, Haze, smh-my-head," he announces.
Mr. A blinks at this, then backs up to the door to the auditorium. "Great. Well. I'll leave you to it."
I give him a tiny wave as he shuts the door behind him, leaving Lee and me alone again. We're sitting in one of the rooms attached to the wings of the stage. Someone tacked up a cheesy cardboard star on one of the dressing room doors. It's wilting a little, but still going strong after presumably years.
"Your turn," Lee trills, already starting to strip.
I think I move faster than I have in years to get into that dressing room and away from the soon-to-be-wearing-fewer-clothes-Lee.
The dressing room's a little more spacious than I expected; I figured it'd be a glorified mall changing room, but there's a bench, hangers, and a little vanity taking up one wall. Make-up, I realize. Huh. Well, I hope Mr. A isn't expecting anything from me on that front.
Up on those hangers is my costume. Costumes, I should say.
I tentatively remove the raggedy looking… frock, would be the word I'd use. This must be post-shipwreck. I slip it over my 'base' costume—black pants and undershirt—and find it settles lightly. Hope the stage is warm or I'll freeze in this. Then again, if it's only for one scene...
"Let's see it!" Lee's muffled exclamation instructs me.
"It looks fine," I tell him through the door, already peeling it off. Next is the Cesario costume. The 'raggedy frock' was a mixture of brown and faded purple fabric. Cesario's costume is a powder blue vest and billowy white undershirt.
The undershirt is loose and comfy, and I grudgingly admit that the temptation to swing my arms around and let the fabric float after them is pretty hard to resist. Then I button up the vest, tuck my hijab into place, and step out of the room.
"What do you think?"
Lee's down to his track pants and black undershirt as well, and as he turns I do a valiant job of not ogling his shoulders, focusing all my attention on straightening out the vest.
He smiles when he sees me, though it's not his usual golden-retriever-beam. Just a little smile that presses more at one edge of his mouth than the other. Then he laughs and says, "Cesario! Sirrah, it's you."
He is enjoying 'sirrah' way too much, I decide. "Duke Orsino? Why are you in your skivvies?"
Lee gasps, looking down at himself like he can't believe he's undressed. Then he gives me a coy smile and leans on the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I thought I'd make myself comfortable while I waited for you."
I keep up the light tone, even as my heart starts to seize up. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting, Duke."
He does a sort of open-mouthed fish gape for a second and I think I've crossed a line, then he recovers and runs his hand through his hair luxuriously. "Y'see, Cesario, ever since I was a small Dukeling, I've known that I… enjoy both caviar and filet mignon."
"Do they have caviar in Illyria?"
"You are missing the point of my metaphor."
"You guys done in there?" Mr. A calls from out in the auditorium.
Both Leandro and I jump, and I realize my cheeks are burning. After a quick prayer that Lee hasn't noticed, I call back, "Yup!"
"Can I come in?"
"Yup!" Lee echoes, sounding a little strained.
I back up as Mr. A enters, putting a few more barf-coloured floor tiles between me and Leandro like we've been caught doing something we're not supposed to.
"Wow, Haiza! That looks awesome! And how did the rag-dress fit?"
"Yeah, it fit fine," I say, trying not to look at Leandro. I think he's looking at me.
Mr. A nods, his brows furrowing a little like he can sense the tension between us. "Great. Okay, well, put the costumes back on the hangers, and if you have any concerns or questions let Ms. Danedozen know and she'll make adjustments. Thanks, guys. Can you let Ivy, Bruno, and Moiz know they're up next? I want them to keep their costumes on through rehearsal—they've got the fights, so I need to make sure they can move easily in them…"
His rambling trails off and he gives us one last curious look. Then turns and walks out.
"I have a fight too," I remark as the door shuts behind him.
"You call that a fight?" Leandro grins.
The choreography Mr. A gave me and Baru for our 'fight' involves standing on opposite sides of the stage, swinging our swords really hard with our eyes closed, and not moving.
"How dare you!" I'm definitely on a leftover high from the closest I've ever gotten to outright flirting with Lee, because on a whim, I snatch up my waterbottle off the counter and point it at him. "En garde."
His eyes gleam and he grabs his own, a much heftier metal bottle, and adopts an actual fencing stance. Oh yeah, Mr. Sports. Bad thing to forget at a time like this. Still, I toss my head.
"Did they teach you how to fence at Duke school?"
"They taught me a lot of things at Duke school," Lee answers, and it's the cheesiest comeback ever. And I goad him further.
"Like what?"
"How to eat filet mignon."
I start laughing, because the alternative is to consider that in the context of his very subtle bisexuality metaphor, and then I'd start blushing fiercely because as bawdy as Shakespeare is, I am an ingenue at heart.
"That's what I thought," Lee huffs, and sets down his waterbottle primly.
This is alright, I think, maybe just because he's not wearing purple anymore. This is just fine.
- Corinne -
"I'm too ace for this," I announce, snapping my script shut.
"Don't think that'll go over well with Mr. A." Moiz stuffs his own script into his bag, then stands and offers me a hand. We're tucked backstage, watching Heloise and Isadora run around as the rehearsal winds to a close and tech finishes up. Watching my cousin try to keep up with Izzie's long legs is very entertaining between running scenes.
The rehearsals have slowly transitioned from specific scene work to just running as much of the show as we can manage Tuesday, and then finishing it on Thursday and polishing the rough patches. Dress rehearsal's next week, and everything's working, except…
"I just can't get that scene," I groan as we head for the doors. It's become a bit of a routine to hang out with Moiz until he packs Haiza, Baru, and Lee into his Honda and drives off, while I hang back for Penny and Heloise. I wonder if Penny will be hanging around Baru again. I'm glad she's making friends, even if… those are the friends she's making.
Moiz nods, clumping down the stairs as I hop off the stage. "It's weird."
"I'm serious, I might be too ace for this."
He snorts.
"Olivia sees this guy who has previously told her he's not interested, who is now saying he doesn't know who she is, but is also immediately DTF," I recite, ticking each off with a finger and then waving the three in Moiz's face insistently. "Make it make sense."
"Are allo people really such a mystery?" Moiz laughs. "She wants to fuck."
I make a pained noise as we leave the auditorium. Sure enough, Penny is still sitting in one of the back rows with Freddy and Baru. "I don't—it just doesn't… work. There's something not clicking."
When we reach the Honda with no appearance by either of Moiz's siblings or Lee, Moiz leans against the hood and I do the same.
"It's like, Olivia's this prim, proper countess. Or Duchess? Noble Lady. And she's rejecting Orsino because she's in mourning for her brother. And then along comes Cesario and suddenly she's doing a one-eighty." I rake my fingers through my hair. I cut it short last week and the trailing hair at the back is still a little uneven. Apparently kitchen scissors are not adequate replacements for professional styling equipment; wikiHow lied to me. "I don't think Olivia's so ruled by her horniness or whatever that grieving her brother suddenly doesn't matter."
"You care about this, huh?" Moiz observes, not unkindly.
I start nervously cracking my knuckles anyway. He thinks I'm a giant nerd, doesn't he? Well, what the hell. Maybe I am a giant nerd. "Yeah. I dunno. I don't like puzzles I can't solve."
Moiz shrugs. "Maybe she wasn't rejecting Orsino because of her brother."
I squint at the outside wall of the school, thinking that over. Then why was she rejecting him? "Wouldn't marrying a duke give her a bunch of benefits though? Even if she didn't like him, didn't people in that era like, hardly see their spouses? I feel like marrying Orsino would've been a net win for Olivia."
"Yeah… but Olivia had a high position in her own household. Moving to somebody else's would've… like, changed her position in the hierarchy."
He sounds like Haiza, I think. After she finished Emma she didn't shut up about how romantic it was of Mr. Knightley to move in with Emma at the end. Maybe Olivia was the same. Holding out on marriage because she wanted to hold onto power. That's a bit ruthless, but I like it. "Still, if she wanted to keep her power, how would marrying Sebastian be any different?"
"As far as she knows, Cesario-slash-Sebastian is just some boy Orsino hired," Moiz points out. "It's safe for her to assume he's not that high ranking."
Something finally falls into place in my head, like a free throw finally hitting the backboard in the right spot.
"Oh! Fuck, I get it," I exclaim, snapping my fingers. "Wait, listen. Olivia wants to hold onto power, and Orsino's badgering her for marriage. So all she needs to do is find a guy to marry who doesn't have some grand estate that she'll be expected to move into, but is high ranking enough not to raise eyebrows. She gets to keep power, gets Orsino off her back, and gets the cute boy to boot."
Moiz eyes me. "I'm not sure either of us are qualified enough in Illyrian nobility rules to be making up conspiracy theories."
"The whole point of a conspiracy theory is that you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I'm right. Olivia just wants to marry this guy and get him moved into her house, and get Orsino to back the fuck off," I declare. "So once Cesario stops protesting—"
"Because she's not talking to Cesario, she's talking to Sebastian, who has no qualms about marrying this beautiful woman he just met," Moiz interjects.
"—she doesn't look the gift horse in the mouth and just marries him on the spot." I settle against the car, satisfied with my explanation.
"But that's just a theory… a Shakespeare theory!" he exclaims.
"Thanks for watching," I finish, and we laugh.
Penny, Baru, Haiza, and Lee appear out of the school doors as I stop laughing and Moiz enters phase two: wheezing like an empty vacuum cleaner.
"Ready to go?" I ask Penny, peeling myself off the side of the car and greeting her as they reach us.
"Yeah." She's actually smiling. I haven't seen that from her in a long time; definitely not since she moved in with me and my moms. She clasps Baru's hand quickly in farewell, and turns back to me.
"Dope. Where's Heloise?"
"The teacher wanted her and the A/V people to stay behind for costumes."
I give Lee a wave as Moiz pulls out of the parking lot, then cock my head and turn back to Penny. "What? What costumes?"
She shrugs. "They're playing the little parts."
What little parts? Like, sea captain? Then I imagine Mel flouncing on in her leather jacket, surrounded by people in doublet and hose. Yeah, okay, I guess they'd need costumes for that. Also, what the hell even is a doublet and hose?
I huff. "Well, let's walk to the bus stop and we'll wait there."
"Why can't you drive like Moiz?" Penny asks as we go.
"I can, we just don't have a convenient second car lying around," I explain, feeling a weird stab of defensiveness. I'm a functional seventeen year old. Shut up. "Why are you hanging around Baru and Fredrik?"
"Freddy?" Her eyebrows rise. "What? We're friends."
"What's it like being friends with them?"
Penny hisses a breath through her teeth and I regret my tone. I sound like a judgy mom. Let her live her life, Cory. "It's great, actually. They're nice guys."
"Hmm." I run my tongue over my teeth and look at her out of the corner of my eye as we round the school and walk down the path to the street. "Sorry. I only really know what… what everyone knows about them."
"That Freddy's crazy and Baru's a douche?"
"Pretty much."
Penny snorts at my frankness, then looks ahead to the bus stop with a half-smile. "Well, I don't mind them."
When we get to the bus stop, I start to shift from foot to foot. To warm myself up, if nothing else; it's December man! Fuckin' cold, and I forgot my tuque! "And uh… how are you settling into the new school, and Toronto and stuff?"
Penny delivers me a scathingly unimpressed look. "Can we wait in silence?"
"Yeah. Yeah, sure." I return to staring at St. Erin's, waiting for any sign of Heloise. Despite Penny's gruffness, I don't really blame her. The whole move was a little impromptu, and I'm sure she has a bunch of friends back in Amsterdam that she's missing. Probably not looking for another big sister. I can't really tell how close she and Heloise are; they seem to get along fine, but Penny spends most of her time on her computer and Heloise spends hers curled up on her bed with her notebook. Maybe some friends that aren't attached to either of us will be good for her.
- Ivette -
Oh, yes. Oh, yes, is all I can think as I size myself up in the dressing room mirror. Oh, yes. If Shego didn't do it, I think my pirate alter-ego will do the trick. I finger the button at my collarbone thoughtfully, then pop it open and think, Oh, yes.
I've been supplied a flowing white undershirt, brown leathery vest, hoop-earring, and long black coat. With the addition of the knee-high black boots I brought from home, this Spirit-Halloween-period-costume-probably-made-for-a-guy pirate outfit is smoking hot, if I do say so myself.
I wish I had one of those stupid triangle hats with a skull and crossbones, but maybe Mr. A thought that would be too on the nose. Still peering at the mirror, I sweep my hair over the earringless shoulder, lamenting the state of my fading dye job and dark roots. Right before opening night, I decide. I'll buzz it down short like Belle's and go bright silver again. I still have some of the Arctic Fox dye. Is gold and silver tacky? Maybe Mr. A'll let me spray paint the earring.
Still, as it stands, I think I've got a pretty good thing going here.
"Chop chop!" Bruno calls through the door.
I take an extra minute to finger-comb my hair. It makes a nice, feathery un-elastic'ed ponytail over my shoulder and across the leather. At least it's still straight. That makes one of us. I sashay out, ignoring Bruno's comment about how long that took, and find Mr. A standing at the edge of the stage. He grins when he sees me.
"What do you think?"
"That looks great, Ivy!" he exclaims, clapping his hands like a little kid. "Is it comfortable?"
"Yeah, really easy to move in." I swish my arms for effect.
"Awesome! Would it bother you to wear it for the rest of the rehearsal just so we can see if it's alright to fight in?" he asks.
"Oh, not a problem at all," I say, containing the smile. "No problem."
Oh, yes, I think again, already trying to brew up an excuse to visit the tech booth. It's gonna have to wait until after rehearsal, though; hopefully Belle will be watching.
"Pirate boyfriend!" Moiz exclaims when he sees me.
I strike a pose. "It's me."
The rehearsal goes remarkably well. The pirate costume must have some kind of effect, because I start to get like… embarrassingly into it. I think I'm a fine actor at the best of times, but something about the light, the sounds, the costume… it's starting to feel like an actual play.
Haiza looks completely caught off-guard as my voice trembles on, "But oh, how vile an idol proves this god!"
Please be watching, please be watching, I silently telegraph to Belle.
"In nature there's no blemish but the mind." Yeah, I'm definitely overdoing it, but I clasp my chest and step back from Haiza like she's stabbed me. "None can be called deformed but the unkind."
Haiza nods, possibly to herself, and finishes the scene with that same wide-eyed look. Once the whole scene wraps up, long after I've exited and punched Moiz for his character not giving me back my money, his sister finds me backstage.
"Good job today, Haiza," I greet her as she wanders over. She has such a weird, squiggly way of walking that I'm never sure if she's walking toward me or just got blown there by the wind.
"That was really cool, Ivette." She offers a shy smile. "That costume's cool too."
"Thanks!"
She nods vaguely and her gaze starts to drift. "Okay. See you later."
I shoot Moiz, sitting with Cory against the back wall of the stage, a look. He spots his sister drifting away again and grins. Now, wait a minute. He's got a silver earring. Maybe I can just steal his, I think as the stud in his ear catches the light of the backstage hallway.
The moment Mr. A's dismissed us, I seek out Heloise and Izzie on the other backstage wing. "What's up with the tech booth? Is Belle there?"
Izzie gives me an unsubtle once-over and squints. "Why?"
"'Cause I was gonna drop in and say hello," I say, returning her unimpressed stare. Izzie's never come out and said it, but I know she thinks Belle and I are a bad idea. Which… I kind of get; cross-friend-group contamination is always a sticky situation. But I'm mature enough that if Belle and I break-up it's not gonna like, cause some giant rift, right? Like it did when… nevermind.
Izzie narrows her eyes further until they're just scrunched up lines of pale lashes and crosses her arms.
"I plead the fifth…?"
She drops her skinny arms to her sides and sighs. "Fine. Yeah. She's still there, but Mr. A wants the whole crew on scene in fifteen minutes for our fittings."
"You guys get costumes too?" I'm already starting to move toward the stairs of the stage, though. Belle located. Begin seduction. "You're the best, Iz."
"Oh, shut up. Go schmooze." Izzie flaps her hands, dismissing me, and I bolt down the stairs and then up, between aisles, toward the tech booth, tossing,
"No one says that anymore!" over my shoulder as I go.
Mel catches me just as I'm laying a hand on the door handle to the tech booth. She cocks a dark brow when she sees my attire, unaffected by my unbuttoned collar. "What's the occasion, Captain Jack?"
"Figured I'd drop in and say hi before you guys get sent off to costume fittings." I pinch a little bit of my hair between my fingers.
She folds her arms. "Workplace harassment, then?"
"I distinctly recall you liking it when I came by after tech to see you," I point out.
Mel grins. I wish I was immune, years later, even though I know it's a bad idea. "True, true. Don't break her heart."
I stick my tongue out at her, because I'm not about to sit down and discuss how much I dislike that little moniker and how it makes me worry I'll never be able to hold a steady relationship and everything I touch turns to dirt, and then yank open the tech booth doors and slip inside.
"Hey, Me—" Belle swivels her chair around to greet me and stops quite suddenly. Then she swings her chair back around. "Ivy. Sup."
"Sup," I repeat, stepping over the coiled wires to stand next to her chair. Probably the only time I'll be taller than her. I lean over her little command panel, pretending to inspect it, and in a move that was completely unplanned and happened entirely by accident, my arm brushes her back. I think I hear her swallow. "I thought we were friends, but I suppose that's all I get. Sup."
"I say sup to all my closest friends," Belle says, steadily enough, and leans back in her chair. I think I hear an edge of a strain in her voice.
"We're close friends, then?" I ask, turning to lean against the tech desk. Belle's wheeled herself far enough back that I'm no longer draped over her. She looks at me, resting her chin on her hand and leaning against her armrest.
Then very slowly looks me up and down.
Damn. Alright, it's on. I'm just readying to discreetly wipe my hands on my pants and lick my lips when Belle stands. Oh shit. It's on?
"Costume time," she rasps, and turns on her heel, picking her way over the wires with surgical precision.
And then she walks right out the door. A moment later, Mel appears in the doorway and gives me a shrug. I kind of just gape at her, and she leaves too. Okay, what the hell just happened?
I'm left leaning against the tech desk, dressed like a pirate, cheeks probably flaming red, and feeling like something approximating a complete and total dumbass. Well. She's got moves, that's for sure. If I'm worried about immediately getting bored, that shouldn't happen for a couple months, the worst part of myself announces.
I reach up and unclip the gold earring, then sweep my hair back to its natural place. Damn, Belle. Damn.
- Hermelinda -
"I don't know which one of you to feel sorry for," I comment to Belle as we take the stairwell down to the backstage hallways.
She rolls her eyes. "Feel bad for me. No one with a reputation for breaking hearts can have much of a soul, can they?"
"She's a tender bad girl," I tell her, itching to pull out my phone and check notifs. My Soundcloud gets anxious if I don't check on it and reassure it every few minutes.
"Doubt," Belle mutters.
We slip through the deserted hallways—5 pm is always a weird time to be at school—and then I pull open the door to backstage. Mr. A waves us through to the dressing rooms; I've actually never been inside of one. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, I guess.
"Your costumes are in there. Heloise and Isadora can get you guys figured out," he says. "Sorry guys, I know it's late. Mel, you're Valentine. Belle, Curio and Officer Two."
"Mm, the real stars," I murmur to her as we push through the dressing room doors. Heloise and Izzie and sitting cross-legged on a counter in front of a mirror that covers the whole wall. On the end of the room are two doors; one's got a paper star curling at its edges tacked up on it. There's a table to our left overflowing with muted-coloured fabric and outdated clothes, and I already know Belle's salivating at the sight.
Izzie swings her long legs off the counter when she sees us, but Heloise stays tucked up with her knees under her chin, peeping over them at me like an owl. She's wearing long socks again. Is that a Dutch thing?
"Alright, who's first?" I ask, looking away from Heloise. Three, two, one… "Okay, Belle, Izzie, you guys start."
Belle gives me a look out of the corner of her eye and then starts rummaging through the costume pile to find the one with the sticky note 'Curio and Officer One' attached to it. Izzie follows suit, and Heloise seems to retreat further into her skirt and socks on the counter.
Once Belle and Izzie have disappeared into dressing rooms, I lean against the table and fold my arms. Then unfold them. Be approachable.
"Dress next week. How you feeling?"
Heloise's eyes get bigger like I've made a threat toward her family.
"Anxious?"
She's quiet.
I laugh, more to relieve my own tension than anything else. Hopefully Belle and Iz can't hear. "I'm not gonna slap you. Are you okay? Need to go back down to the tunnels and breathe some musty air?"
Then I glance down and notice my jacket's unzipped. Oops, my non-existent cleavage. That explains it. I zip it up and look back at Heloise. She swings her legs off the table and swings them like she's a little kid.
"Is there even a dress code here?" she asks.
I shrug. "Maybe. I've never been called on it. And I'm hardly the worst offender. Did you see Ivy's pirate get-up?"
She colours and shakes her head.
"God, she's pretty." I walk over to the mirror next to Heloise and inspect my pores. I've been trying to get into skincare this year; bought a whole soap and a scrub, the whole nine yards. My chin looks shiny. Is it supposed to be shiny?
"Yeah," Heloise agrees with a little breathy laugh.
I eye her in the mirror. Her reflection only really shows her honey-blonde ringlets. Honey. Guess that's fitting. The pet names aren't really something I brainstorm, per se. I like to let the moment inspire me. "I think I've been going more femme lately." I don't know if skincare counts as make-up, but it's the closest I've gotten since grade nine.
Heloise nods. "There are so many girls who are more… boyish. We don't have as many in Amsterdam."
Butchless lands? I couldn't survive. Then again, I've also found myself attracted more femme lately. "Well, you're going to be dressing up as a man in a minute, aren't you?"
She pushes herself off the counter and walks over to the costume table. "Well, an old sea captain."
"Ooh, another pirate?" I pretend to examine my nails. I can handle that. Sure. Ivy looked gorgeous, and I'm over her. So it would be awesome to see a girl I'm currently into wearing one of those frilly blouses. You're not some 'gay silence' grade ten, I remind myself. I've been wishing I could go back to grade ten, lately. But we don't have to talk about that.
Belle re-emerges first, managing to have her buzz-cut rumpled by the layers of frilly blue fabric Mr. A has apparently assigned her. It looks like a large tropical gull has swallowed her.
Heloise and I stare.
Belle smooths her peach-fuzz and deadpans, "Didn't know Curio was Liberace, but a'ight."
"We're all gonna look like dumbasses, you'll be in good company. Me next!" I decide, snatching up the frilly pink affair postmarked 'Valentine.' Creative colour choice.
The dressing room's not too cramped—enough room to hang up my jacket and strip off my shirt to replace it with the undershirt provided. It doesn't stink, which is a relief. I examine my appearance in the mirror with just the white shirt; it looks unexpectedly good. The starchy-white contrasts my skin and hair, exaggerating my brows and the contours of my face.
Then I level a stare at the pink thing on the hanger. Alright. Let's make this work.
"You're not supposed to wear it like that," is what Belle says when she sees me. Heloise has been replaced with Izzie, who grins when she sees me and flashes a thumbs-up.
I've bunched the vest around my elbows and forearms like it's an elaborate shawl and swept my hair across my shoulders. Valentine's ready for a night at the theatre. "It looks goofy."
"We're all gonna look like dumbasses, you'll be in good company," Belle mimics.
I huff at her. The dressing room door opens and I spin, adding an extra flick to my chin so my hair flies out over my shoulder, and Heloise freezes in the doorway, staring. She's buttoned up to the chin in denim.
"What do you think?" I tilt my head and give her my most restrained come hither smile.
She sort of burbles for a moment like a toaster dunked in water, then looks down and starts fiddling with her buttons insistently. "Uh. That's. Um. Pink? Wow."
Satisfied, I shrug it up onto my shoulders and pull it properly across my chest. "Alright, this fits. I'm gonna go talk to Mr. A. Peace."
Heloise is still faintly squeaking when I stroll out.
I hit the Summerhill market on the way home to pick up more decaf and a few odd groceries, a homebrewed remix of Ivy Levan hammering away at my eardrums through my headphones. The swchoop of the scoop against the coffee beans is oddly melodic. I could probably make a beat if I messed with the settings enough. I push the scoop through the basin for another minute, then resolve to come back later with a better recorder than my phone.
Tossing my second bag of beans into the cart, I make my way toward the cashier. As the woman in front of me purchases her thirty-seven starfruits—Probably a math teacher—my gaze slides idly over the shelves of candy, vitamins, and sale items.
Made in the Netherlands.
I take one step out of the line and grab the red packet off the shelf, then examine the labelling. Most of it's in a language I can't read.
Netherlands' most popular candy! the little yellow starburst brags. It looks like a bunch of black pellets, but that's a pretty compelling smiling-child-graphic.
3.49. Oh, what the hell.
I toss it in the basket. Christmas present, call it. And if she can't catch that hint, I'll hire a fucking skywriter.
