Flat-Out Celeste (10 page)

“I didn’t exactly—“

“Good night!”

She took a thirty minute shower and shampooed her hair repeatedly, which did not seem to do much to remove the dye and then wrapped it in a towel as she stood on the floor of the shower. She reached for her oversized robe and tried to relax into the familiar comfort of the thick terrycloth. The day had officially been washed away, and she could move on. Except that when she got back to her room, she heard the sound of a text coming through.

Justin:
Friday night? You, me, and Mr. “I Wear Two Watches” Fritz? Appetizers? Anywhere you want!

Celeste pulled the robe tighter around her and threw the phone into her pocket. She flinched when the sound of two more texts came through the fabric.

Justin:
Oh, it’s Justin, by the way. You might not have my number in your phone yet.

Justin:
I could pick you up. 7 pm?

This was not part of the plan. Perhaps it had been an unrealistic expectation that she could vanquish him and pretend he didn’t exist. She had to admit that there was a part of her that felt uncharacteristically comfortable corresponding with him. Communicating in person, however, was an entirely different story. Justin didn’t really know anything about her, and the way that she had presented herself tonight in that getup certainly hadn’t given an accurate picture of who she really was. If she were, for some reason, to agree to meet with this Mr. Fritz, she would strongly prefer that it happen in a more formal environment.

Her phone went crazy.

Justin:
I know where you live.

Justin:
Wait, I didn’t mean that in a creepy way…

Justin:
Hello? Oh gawd… Did I freak you out?

Justin:
I just meant that I would know where to pick you up. And it’s not like I’d show up in a van with the windows all blacked out. That’d be super creepy.

Justin:
I drive a Prius.

Justin:
Nobody gets abducted in a Prius, right?

Celeste laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. Then she sighed. She would have to reply.

Celeste:
I am not sure that is a good idea.

Celeste:
This meeting with Mr. Fritz, that is. Clearly abduction would not be a good idea.

He wrote back immediately.

Justin:
But you’ll think about it?

Celeste squirmed.

Celeste:
I will think about it.

That should put him off for now. He would forget about her by then anyway. That’s what she wanted. Or what she
should
want. It had taken years to perfect her tunnel vision; she saw her parents, Matt, and Julie clearly, while everyone else in the world took on a hazy blur.

Justin should be a blur.

PUSH

JUSTIN DIDN’T FORGET about her. Celeste woke to a text from him.

Justin:
Happy Thanksgiving, Miss Celeste! This is my best effort at a coffee turkey.

She shook her head. Justin had attached another chocolate sauce drawing in the froth of his coffee. His was an utterly wild personality, she decided. She thought about what to write for a moment, since she absolutely had to reply. If one is sent a holiday greeting, one must reciprocate.

Celeste:
Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Justin. I believe your turkey has a degenerative disease. He does not look well. Where are his feathers?

Justin:
Of course
he doesn’t look well. He knows death is imminent, but not from a degenerative disease… He saw me sharpening my axe.

Celeste:
Did he drop all of his feathers due to fear?

Justin:
I pre-pluck. Also, he is not as ugly as depicted here. My drawing skills may be limited. (Don’t tell my architecture professors!)

What was she doing? Celeste had made the decision to distance herself from him and end their exchanges. She had to stop this nonsense. So she blocked him out of her thoughts and went about her holiday.

Frankly, Thanksgiving at the Watkins house often seemed freakishly more like Groundhog Day, in that they ate the same meal every year, played the same game of Scrabble (literally every year Matt managed to get a triple-word score with W-O-L-V-E-R-I-N-E which they all let him play, although technically it probably wasn’t allowed), and then they all crashed early after overeating. It was a nice enough day, just not particularly exciting.

By Friday morning, Celeste’s hair had paled to an unattractive, muted pink. She stared in the mirror. “I have been deceived. Viciously deceived. The stylist lied to me about the ease with which one could remove neon red dye from one’s hair, and I do not recall a conversation about various pink stages.” She stomped her foot in frustration and squeezed her eyes shut. “I would like to return to my normal state, please!” she shouted. “I have learned a valuable lesson about going to extreme measures in searching for a new identity, and I have given up on that quest. There is no need for discoloration at this time.” She opened her eyes and frowned. Evidently screaming and begging were not going to fix this. Eleven shampoos in two days. She would just keep at it and hope for the best by the time school rolled around on Monday. And maybe by then she would be able to break this habit of talking to her reflection. There: two goals for the long weekend.

She heard a text alert. Her heart flew to her throat. Celeste peeked at her phone.

Justin:
I’m picking you up tonight. You can’t say no! I have to suffer through a group event this afternoon, and I know you won’t go to that, so you would give me something to look forward to if you went shrimping with me later!

This was, without question, the first time someone had indicated that being with Celeste would be a
reward
rather than some sort of irritation. She didn’t understand why he would want this. Justin was the one with all of the entertaining qualities, not her. Replying to this text felt impossible.

Justin:
Please?

Celeste:
I have pink hair. If it were a wall paint color, it would be called “Faded Bubblegum” and no one would select it for decor.

Justin:
I loved faded bubblegum. It’s a rare and valued shade. Maybe I’ll dye mine to match.

Justin:
We don’t have to meet with Mr. Fritz. Is that better?

Justin:
And I’ll take you for Camptown shrimp. NOW YOU CAN’T SAY NO EVEN IF YOU WANTED TO! #savejustin #shrimpforever

Celeste laughed. She had never seen any value in hashtags, but maybe that could change. Justin was going to rather extreme measures to entice her to attend Barton. And it did sound as though he would like a respite from his school liaison duties.

Celeste:
You have convinced me. I accept. Thank you for the invitation.

Justin:
Yippeeeeeeee! I’ll tell Mr. Fritz that I need to duck out early from this horrible event. You’ve saved me!

Celeste:
Shall I meet you at Border Cafe then for celebratory shrimp?

Justin:
Absolutely not!

Celeste felt her stomach drop. She had again misunderstood a communication with someone.

Justin:
You’re the one saving me, and I’m not letting my woman of salvation travel around the dangerous streets unaccompanied. #chivalryaintdeadbaby #sendhelp #sendshrimp #hashtagsgoneinsane #hashtagsdonotbelonginatext #whatever I’ll pick you up at 7, okay?

Celeste:
If you like. Thank you for the ride. That is very considerate of you.

Justin:
You betcha. Catch you later?

Celeste:
Yes.

Justin:
#idontactuallylikehashtagsijustcantstop

Justin:
Okay, see you tonight. Really going this time.

Justin:
Signing off.

Justin:
I’m sure your hair looks awesome. Don’t worry.

Justin:
I understand, though. My aunt worries all the time that someone might see a gray hair if she hasn’t had time to get it colored, and then the world would implode. Or explode. One of those. Whichever is more dramatic.

So… she would meet with Justin for one last Barton discussion over the now–infamous Camptown shrimp.

At six forty-five that night, Celeste sat poised formally on the piano bench in the music room, just off of the front hall. It was the first time she was wearing her snow-white pea coat. As much as she loved it, there had never been an occasion to wear such a stylish coat, but there seemed no reason not to go out in it tonight. She pulled on her matching white gloves and hat, both with fake-fur borders. After the disastrous first meeting with this college representative, Celeste was determined to make a more studious, appropriate impression. It was her hope that the white ensemble would eradicate any memories of her in that ridiculous audition outfit. Although she wouldn’t attend Barton College, it remained important to her that she come across as pulled together. Muted pink hair and all.

From her seat, she could keep an eye out for Justin through the large window, and she could also hide from her parents, both of whom seemed omnipresent this evening. Celeste did not desire to be hovered over in any manner, and both Erin and Roger had been suffocating her for the past few hours.

“Still not here yet?” her father asked as he came into the room.

“It is not yet seven,” Celeste said with exasperation. “He was not here at six twenty, and he was not here at six thirty-four, as neither of those times were the agreed-upon time. Stop asking.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just checking.” He stepped fully into the room and moved to sit next to her on the bench. “Scoot over, kiddo.”

She obliged and made space for her father in front of the piano.

“You haven’t played in a while, have you?” he asked as he hit a few keys.

“I have not.”

“Play a little something now? I miss the sound of your music.” Roger leafed through assorted sheets of music. “You used to love playing.”

“I do not love it anymore.”

Erin’s voice rang from the hall. “Is he here? I thought I heard a car?”

Roger jumped from his spot and peered through the blinds. “What kind of car does he drive? Why isn’t our porch light on? Quick, Erin, turn it on!”

Celeste slammed her hands down on the piano keys, punctuating each of her words. “That. Is. Enough,” she said sternly. “It is unclear to me why a college admissions liaison warrants such hysteria, but I shall wait peacefully for my ride.” She glared at her parents. “Please?”

Erin squinted. “Hair’s still pink, huh? That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“My hair color is of no consequence when it comes to collegiate admittance,” Celeste stated. “I shall wait outside.”

“I don’t think Justin is taking you out for collegiate—” Roger started.

“Good night!” Erin cut him off, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him from the room. “Have fun!”

“But then we can’t see when… Oh, fine… Have fun!” he called when he was out of sight.

It was Celeste’s understanding that girls of her age were to be filled with the utmost annoyance and disdain for their parents. Her parents’ behavior tonight was indeed making her understand why. Their frenetic energy was not helpful right now because—as much as she was not overtly making a big deal out of this situation—she felt very uncomfortable and edgy. She was not in the habit of dining out socially, especially on a busy Friday night, and certainly not with someone her own age. And especially not with a boy.

Well, it didn’t matter that he was male, she reasoned. College liaisons might as well be genderless. Although Justin probably wouldn’t appreciate that thought. He likely worked at achieving his mesmerizing masculine look, what with the fashionably swept hair, appealing physique, shirts that gripped his biceps quite wonderfully without being too tight or showy, but just naturally draped in such a way that…. Celeste shook her head and ordered herself to knock it off. The hair dye must have seeped into her brain and was causing neurons to misfire or something.

Headlights pulled up to the house, and Celeste flew out the front door before her parents could swoop in again. This was essentially a business dinner, she reminded herself., and she would treat it as such.

Justin was out of the car and standing by the passenger door when she reached the end of the walkway.

“Look at you, blondie.” Justin opened the door, but kept his eyes on her. “It’s hardly pink at all. I didn’t know you were blonde. I thought maybe a brunette. Dark brown. Like, a chestnut color. But now that I see the blond, I can’t imagine anything else. Okay, maybe the bright red, which was cool, too.” Without warning, Justin stepped in and put his arms around her in a quick hug.

Celeste did not know what to do. His arms were over hers, pinning them against her body, so she couldn’t exactly hug him back. Not that she would. They did not have a hugging relationship. Maybe Barton College was an exceptionally touchy-feely, new-age school where students and staff all hugged each other constantly. There had been nothing about this in the brochures.

“You are kind, but my hair is very much in the pink family. still.”

“I don’t care. It looks good.” He moved back and rested his hand on the top of the car window. “Ready to eat? I’m starved. The recruiting event tonight turned out to be filled with alumni, and they had it at some stuffy lounge that looked like an eccentric billionaire’s study. The appetizers looked about as appetizing as—Oh, see what I did there? Anyway, the point is that the food was boring and I haven’t eaten—Sorry, I’m rambling.” Justin stopped himself and took a long, slow breath. “Hi. How are you?”