A Constellation of Roses

by Miranda Asebedo

  “Ew!” Jack says, wrinkling his nose. “What happened to your arm?”

  “Hush!” Mrs. Yang says, holding a tray with a small pot of steaming jasmine tea for the elderly couple who always comes on Wednesdays. She has stopped to check on Wendy’s book report and is witness to my embarrassment. “Trix’s scars are her own. She doesn’t have to tell you anything.”

  I pull my sleeve back down, my cheeks burning. I don’t want the scars to be my own. I wish they were someone else’s. I wish my arm was as smooth and perfect as Wendy’s, who elbows Jack before smiling at me sympathetically and sliding her pink eraser across the table to me like she did with the ice-cream-shaped pencil sharpener on the first night I met her.

  The scars faded a little, but they never went away.

  I breathe deeply of the ginger again at the top of the stairs. I can hear the McCabe women talking and plates and glasses clinking as someone sets the table. I pull myself up and turn around, going back down the hall to the attic entry. I close the door to the steps once I’m inside the stairwell, blocking out the smell of ginger. I climb the stairs, my footsteps heavy and slow. I make a nest out of the pillows and quilts and wait for sleep to take me back to the Jasmine Dragon and the Good Year.

  I wake. When I check the time, I see that it’s almost midnight. The room is stifling, small. Every muscle in my body is tensed, screaming run, run, run. Away from the fading smells of ginger, of the Good Year, of these women I stole from, even as they welcomed me with open arms. I don’t belong here. I roll off the bed, crouch down on my hands and knees next to the banana crate. I pull it forward and the wads of stolen money and Mia’s ring spill out. I grab the ring, because it’s the one thing I have to return before I run away again. I open the door to the downstairs carefully, not surprised when I hear the door bump against a dish on the floor. It’s pie.

  I reach down and pick up the small plate. I take a sniff. Lemon. Never-Lonely Lemon. I wonder if it was Ember or Mia who left it there. I take the pie downstairs to the kitchen. Auntie is sleeping on the couch while the television drones on.

  I should drop Mia’s ring on the dining room table and leave.

  Instead, I go out the front door, sit down on the front steps with my pie. I take a bite, letting the tang of the lemon burst on my taste buds, almost as bright and beautiful as the stars. The wind rustles the leaves of the roses. Their scent is sweet and heady, something altogether different from the spicy, bright ginger I smelled earlier. The McCabes and the Yangs. Who knew I would be thinking of them both out here in the middle of nowhere. Two families, one cobbled together and one the perfect unit that was once everything I ever wanted.

  I eat the pie, trying to find all the constellations I can recognize. The Big Dipper. The Little Dipper. Orion. Ursa Major. I know there are more, but I don’t know all their names, or where they might be. I guess there’s probably a book about them in the library, or maybe something I could look up online.

  When I get to the flaky, golden crust of the pie that’s dented in little half-moons in the shape of Mia’s thumb, it reminds me of the pleats in Mrs. Yang’s dumplings. I feel something within myself shifting, like a dulling of all the sharp things inside me.

  “Mrrooowww,” Bacon croons behind me, sliding up against my arms, which are propped up on the step behind me.

  “Go away, cat,” I tell him.

  Bacon doesn’t listen, twining around my limbs with his fat tail, flicking it in my face when I don’t reach down to pet him. “You’re not a Persian, you know,” I tell him, rubbing my nose to get the cat hair out. “That’s what I wished for.” Bacon yowls again, nudging me with his head. I stroke him along his back, and he purrs, the sound like an engine running.

  I go back inside, carrying the pie plate with me. I leave it in the sink, then open the fridge to see what they made. It still smells faintly of ginger in here, but the aromas of baked goods are slowly taking back over. I find a plate on the middle shelf that’s covered in plastic wrap, what Mia must have saved for me. It’s some kind of chicken with broccoli in a brown sauce dumped over a pile of white rice.

  I rummage around until I find the silverware drawer, and on the inside edge of the drawer are a few sets of mismatched chopsticks. I take out two of them and sit down at the work table where Mia rolls out her dough, remembering the booth where Wendy, Jack, and I used to sit and do our homework. I eat the cold food.

  I roll Mia’s ring between my fingers, wondering why trying to change is so damn hard.

  This tastes nothing like the food I used to eat at the Jasmine Dragon. But then again, I’m nothing like the girl who used to live there.

  I wish I could be her again, though. Because that girl would stay. She’d go back up to bed, crawl under the covers, and wait for sleep to bring her a new day, fresh with possibilities. Just like the Jasmine Dragon had been once. A new start for her, and for Mom.

  I rinse my plate in the sink.

  I leave Mia’s ring behind the flour jar on the counter, as if she’d casually taken it off to knead dough.

  And then I climb the attic stairs to my very own bedroom to wait for a morning that is fresh with possibilities.

  Twelve

  THE NEXT MORNING, I GET dressed in a hurry and head downstairs, hoping that I’m going to hear Mia announce that she found her ring while she was up baking. I find myself oddly nervous, my normally cool, steady hands warm and damp.

  “We missed you at dinner last night,” Mia says when I enter the kitchen. There’s no edge to her voice. No accusation. Only the tiniest hint of disappointment. I wonder if it’s about the ring, or the dinner.

  “But we won’t miss her tonight,” Auntie says, looking at me but continuing to talk to Mia like I’m not here. “She and Ember have kitchen duty. Trix’s going to start pulling her weight around here. No more hiding up in her room.”

  “I’m not hiding,” I mumble as I grab a sausage-and-cheese scone from one of the trays. Sometimes I just need space. But last night was different. I was going to come downstairs. I was really going to try.

  I don’t know how to explain what the smell of ginger did to me, how it sent me back in time to some other place, some other girl. All I know is that it’s the good memories that cut the deepest, because those are the ones where you remember what you’ve lost.

  “Well, you’re doing a great job at the tea shop,” Mia says, giving me an encouraging smile, and twisting another knot of guilt in my gut. “Customers keep telling me what a great waitress you are. It’s been such a weight off my shoulders to have an extra set of hands around the business.”

  I flick a glance at Ember, sitting at the table in the dining room, who always avoids the customers. She’s pretending she can’t hear us as she peruses her homework with her earbuds in, but I know that she keeps the volume low enough that she can always hear what’s going on in the kitchen. She doesn’t make eye contact with me at all. Today she’s wearing a deep-maroon dress with small blue rosebuds, blue tights, and suede boots. There’s a tiny maroon bow at the end of her crown-braid. She’s got her own sense of style, and I admire that about her. I only feel at ease in the loose, swingy sweaters Ember and Mia selected from Rory’s Treasures. Something about them makes me feel safe like I do in my black hoodie, and I think Ember knew that when she picked them out.

  I take my scone to the dining room table next to Ember, but after I take a bite, I realize I can barely swallow. The scone is good, but my mouth is dry, and I feel almost nauseous with worry over whether or not Mia will find her ring this morning. So I set the pastry down and organize my backpack instead, sure to wedge my sketchbook in with the books I brought home. Looking at the history book, I remember that I didn’t finish my homework, and I grimace a little.

  Mia drops off our lunch boxes on the table, sliding the Star Wars one toward me. I look for any sense of resentment in her body language, but there is none, no extra shove of my lunch box, no angry sniff. She just turns and heads back to the kitchen as she rattles of
f a list of things to do today to Auntie. I wonder if Mia put another pink Post-it note inside my lunch box today.

  “Are you eating lunch with Jasper and Grayson and all them today?” Ember asks. There’s something almost wistful in her voice.

  “I don’t know. Probably.” I suddenly recall the unfortunate incident with Jasper’s backpack and his antidepressants last night. Jasper might not be all that happy to see me at his usual table.

  Ember’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth like she’s thinking about saying something, but Mia interrupts.

  “Look!” Mia calls from the kitchen. “My ring!” She holds it up, a small gold band that glints in the morning light pouring through the kitchen windows.

  Relief floods through me. I thought I was going to have to hide it in a more obvious place.

  Ember, rather than looking relieved or pleased, makes a face like something tastes bad, either her mom being careless with the ring, or the fact that her mom still wears it even though she’s divorced.

  Auntie is less subtle. “Too bad,” she says. “I thought you were finally free of it.” She gives me a pointed look, and I dodge her glance, pretending to still be rearranging things in my backpack. The feeling of relief is like a warm breeze moving through me, thawing out that heavy frost of guilt.

  On the ride to school, no one mentions the ring, or supplies any theories as to how it ended up behind the flour jar.

  But they don’t say they knew I didn’t take it either.

  When we get to school, Ember is still quiet, not that that’s unusual for her. I wish I hadn’t taken the stupid ring. Because as we enter the front door of the high school, I realize that out of all the students who crowd the halls, Ember might be the only person who understands what it’s like to have a gift that makes people distrustful of you. Even if you’re sometimes worthy of that suspicion.

  “Hey,” I say before we part ways in the main hall. I know I might get totally shot down, but I’m going to try anyway. “Would it be weird if we ate lunch together today? In the gym?”

  “What?” she asks, as if I’d said something inappropriate instead of asking her to lunch.

  “Let’s sit with the other juniors. You know, Adalyn and Ramani. Grayson.” I tack that last name on there, remembering how her face lit up when I mentioned him this morning.

  “I don’t eat lunch there,” she says, grabbing her owl necklace. “It makes everyone uncomfortable.”

  “Who cares if other people are uncomfortable?” I ask. “If they don’t like it, they can leave.”

  “Why does it matter to you where I eat lunch?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I thought it would be easier if we didn’t have to act like we’re strangers at school.” I shrug, unable to say, because I’ve been lonely for the last year. And I think Ember’s been lonely most of her life. “We work together. We live together. We’re in the same class . . .” I let my voice drift off because all my reasons sound stupid, even to me.

  “Fine,” Ember says. “I’ll think about it. But if I come, then tonight you help me with dinner and you do your homework downstairs with me. I know you didn’t do any of it. I saw your empty notebook this morning when you were packing your bag. I know the terms of you staying here. You have to graduate, or you could go to jail.”

  “Why do you care?” I ask her, because I’d think me getting sent off to jail would be no skin off her nose.

  “It makes Mama sad when you won’t come down. And she’d be devastated if you got sent away. Every time your social worker calls to check on you, Mama looks like she’s going to jump right out of her skin.”

  I make some sort of half shrug.

  Then she’s quiet for a moment, studying me. “I knew you didn’t take it.”

  I don’t reply. I just feel my heart explode in my chest, her words ringing in my ears.

  “The ring. I knew when Mama said it was missing that she’d misplaced it. I never thought you took it. I know you must have worried that we did.”

  I press my lips together, my eyes feeling a little hot. I wish I was worthy of her trust.

  Ember gives me a small smile as she turns to go to her locker. I see Linc and Ramani and others in a small cluster by mine, but as I approach, they leave, and Jasper is the only one who remains, standing in front of his locker. His backpack sits on the floor by his feet, still looking mostly empty, except probably for the bottle of pills I found in it yesterday.

  Jasper looks up and sees me watching him. His golden eyes are unreadable. Then he turns away from my gaze and slams his locker shut. Shouldering his backpack, he walks away without so much as a wave.

  I can’t say that I blame him.

  I have two classes with Jasper this morning, and in both he manages to avoid me. He’s flanked by Grayson and Linc most of the time. Grayson and Linc both say hi, and Ramani comes to sit next to me in American History, offering to share her notes with me when it’s obvious in our group discussion that I didn’t do the assignment the night before. She’s probably only spending time with me because Adalyn isn’t in this class, but I’m grateful to her anyway. I try to show it by giving Ramani what I’m sure is a rusty smile and flipping the bird to some guy in the back row who keeps asking her for her phone number and ignoring the polite brush-off she gives him.

  And then there’s lunch.

  I get my lunch box out of my locker. I look both ways for Ember, but I don’t see her in the hall. I wonder if she’s going to blow me off. We are not friends, not really.

  But when I get to the gym, there she is. Ember, standing near the doorway and bouncing on the balls of her feet, her arms hugged close to her, one hand clutching the handle of her lunch box against her side. Her earbuds are in, and her lips move to some song that only she can hear.

  “There you are,” she gasps out when she sees me, as if she’s been holding her breath. She tugs the earbuds out of her ears.

  “I told you I’d be here,” I say evenly, though I’m surprised as hell that she’s here.

  “I know. It’s just awkward standing here by myself.”

  “Haven’t you lived in Rocksaw forever?” I ask her.

  “Only since the end of sixth grade. Mom and I lived with my dad in Buffalo Hills before that.”

  “That’s still, like, five years. You’re not a new kid anymore.”

  “I know that,” Ember replies, sounding hurt. “But once they found out what I could do, well . . . most people seemed uncomfortable with me.”

  “Again, I give no shits about whether or not other people feel comfortable. They can get over it or get out.”

  I lead the way to the table where I’ve been sitting with Jasper and his crew since I arrived. I guess I want to prove to her that I’m as good a person as she thinks I am.

  “Does that mean you’re not running anymore either?” Ember prompts softly behind me.

  “Yeah, it does,” I say with more conviction than I feel.

  I sit down in my usual spot, and Ember slides in next to me at the very end of the table so that she doesn’t have to be next to anyone else. Ramani and Adalyn approach, their eyes widening when they see Ember.

  “Hi,” Grayson says enthusiastically as he sits down.

  Ember gives him an almost-smile. She begins to unwrap a ham sandwich, her movements graceful and efficient.

  Ramani and Adalyn exchange glances as they sit down across from us.

  “How’s your homecoming prep going?” I ask loudly, knowing that it’s a topic that Adalyn will latch on to immediately.

  Adalyn’s eyes shift from Ember to me. “Oh, um. Good. Thanks for asking. Did you want to help out after school next week? We still need some volunteers to help design the junior float.”

  This has backfired terribly. “Can’t,” I tell her after I swallow a bite of my sandwich. “We have to help at the shop.”

  “Of course,” Ramani interjects, clearly attempting to keep the friendly conversation going. “Maybe there’ll be something else you can do
if you want to be involved.”

  Linc sits down next to Ramani, flashing Ember and me a smile. “More ladies at the table. I love this.”

  “Yeah, as if it’s you they’re coming for,” Ramani teases.

  “What?” Linc asks, splaying a hand across his chest, like he’s been injured. “Are you saying it’s not?”

  Finally, Jasper approaches the table with his lunch tray, but he visibly slows when he sees me sitting here already.

  “Look, statistics don’t lie,” Linc continues. “Two more girls started sitting here in the last week. It’s got to be me. Who else? Ginger over here?”

  Grayson retorts, “Girls like gingers. Way more than overgrown linebackers who write poetry.”

  Ember is blushing furiously now, and I think my prediction about her feelings for Grayson was correct.

  Linc scowls. “I write fan fiction. You happened to see part of it that was written in verse. Get it straight.” He looks over his shoulder at Jasper. “Are you going to sit down, or what?”

  “Yeah,” Jasper says, pasting on that grin that pleases everyone but doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m coming.” He sits down on Linc’s other side, making a big production of opening his carton of milk like it’s the most important thing in the world.

  “So are you going to homecoming?” Adalyn asks Ember, undeterred by Jasper’s arrival.

  Ember shifts under all the sudden attention.

  “Yeah,” I reply, throwing myself under the Adalyn-inquisition bus. “We’re probably going.”

  Adalyn beams at me. “Have you bought a dress yet?”

  Ember surprises me. “I’m making my own,” she offers into the conversation.

  “Really?” Ramani asks. “That is so cool. Do you make a lot of your own dresses? I always wanted to ask you where you get them. I don’t see anything like them in the stores.” She looks admiringly at the dress Ember is wearing now.

  Ember nods. “I like to repurpose vintage stuff. Freshen it up. Give it life again.”