by Mj Fields
Instead of letting it flow like I want, I think WWMD, What Would Mom Do.
She’d kill her with kindness or use her intelligence.
I don’t feel like being kind.
I glance at my phone. “You have two minutes left.”
Her composure waivers, and she points at Aaron. “Then give me what he used of mine.”
I take the opportunity to push the folder she left minutes ago toward her. “I’ll let you decide if you’d like to request a different tutor, or want me to tell them I don’t feel like we’re a good fit.”
“What?” she snaps. And no, she’s not regained composure, but she’s back to being nasty.
“I said ”
Her scream cuts me off. “I know what you said!”
“Then why’d you ask, Sylvie?” Aaron leans back slightly, more relaxed, the still to her storm, linking his hands behind his neck.
“Piss off,” she snaps at him, then whips her head back to look at me. “You’ll lose your scholarship.”
As she snatches the folder, I inform her, “Not that it matters at all, but I don’t have one to lose.”
She looks at Aaron. “I call bullshit.” She leans in and sniffs me, actually sniffs me. “Smell it, too.”
“You’re such a bitch,” he yawns like she’s boring him.
“You helped make me this way,” she snaps.
Fighting the urge to sniff myself, I watch her walk away and yes, I hear the music… again, this time louder.
When the door slams, although I still feeling slightly humiliated, I’m a bit giddy.
When I feel fingers pushing my hair away from my face, I look up quickly into amused crystal blue smiling eyes.
“Why you hiding under there, little badass?”
I sit back slowly as I ask, “Under where?”
To that he laughs, and it only takes a second for me to realize why.
Underwear.
That night, I felt what I imagined it would be like when I drank my first alcoholic beverage, buzzed.
Lying in my bed, red leather journal open as I wrote a list much like Autumn’s.
Someone who tells me I’m pretty.
Fancy face was pretty close. I smile at the thought of the first ever compliment received from a boy.
Someone who pushes me out of my comfort zone.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Someone who's smart and takes the time to learn.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Someone who will stick up for me when someone is belittling me.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Someone who walks me to my mom’s office building because he likes talking to me about Shakespeare.
Like Aaron Esposito did after tutoring.
Someone with a good heart and great hair.
Like Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
Aaron Esposito.
For the next three days, I feel that same buzz, that high every time I see him during and after school. Is this what a crush feels like?
If so, I like it.
I like it a lot.
I like it just as much, possibly a little more than I liked when Stella approached me at lunch that first day.
I like having friends. I like tutoring. I like that Aaron comes into the student center when I’m finishing with Ella’s session and waits. I like that he took Sylvia’s spot and kept his too, saying it was harder than he thought. I liked that he actually seemed interested in Macbeth, and that he walked me to de la Porte after tutoring. I liked that even though he didn’t sit with me at lunch, whenever I looked up in his direction, he was looking at me too.
Life is good, so good.
Until it isn’t.
Friday, while waiting for Stella next to my locker, I checked my Instagram account, I had real likes on my first post in a year, from people other than my mother, Autumn, Dad, and dirty little Johnny.
I was tagged in a post so I clicked to check it out. 789 hearts in less than ten minutes and over 500 comments, all I see are laughing face emojis and everything that once was a buzz… blurs.
Looking at my feet, I walked as quickly as I could to the nearest exit. When the student safety officer tried to stop me, I continue on.
I have never been more thankful for being swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of the city streets than I am at this very moment.
Everyone is too busy trying to get to work that they don’t notice the tears falling down my face.
There for all the world to see was a transformation Tuesday picture, of me… before my teeth were fixed, before the braces were off, and before my final surgery.
I weave my way in and out of people, dodging vendors setting up their street carts, and playing leapfrog with taxis and town cars while crossing avenues and streets. At 5th Avenue, I’m almost running when a motorcycle is forced to skid to a stop and almost lands on its side. I give the driver an apologetic look. The driver tips their helmeted head, but doesn't curse at me like the others do.
I make it to the front of de la Porte where I see Autumn walking toward me.
“Natasha?” She hurries toward me. “Oh no, no, no, no, no, don’t you cry.”
She drops the two cups of Starbucks out of her hands, and wraps her arms around me.
“Sweetheart, what happened? Are you okay? Is Angela okay?” Unable to answer her because I’m drowning in my own tears, she continues. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Who posts a transformation Tuesday picture on a fucking Friday?” It’s Stella’s voice. Then her arms wrap around me from behind, hugging me. “A cuntstipated bitch, that’s who.”
“Wait, what?” Autumn asks her.
“Cuntstipated. Have you ever been constipated, lady?”
“Lala, easy.” I hear a soft male voice and feel a hand petting my hair.
Aaron Esposito.
I wanna die.
Christ in heaven, take me away.
“Cuntstipated, is when you are emotionally and spiritually void. Full of piss, vinegar, and pure evil. That cunt has to look in the mirror every day. And you know she does it several times too. Clear cuntst–”
“Lala–” Aaron interrupts her again.
“Oh, stick it up your ass, AE, IO, You caused this. Just like you caused our perfect little circle to fall apart after Queen Cunt came back to school with her newly acquired fat sacks where her barely b’s used to lay. You were mesmerized by those saline bags.”
I hear a laugh and look up at Autumn. She immediately starts wiping away my tears. “Friends of yours?”
I don’t answer because I’m not sure about anything anymore.
“Stella and–”
Thankfully, Aaron cuts Autumn off by introducing himself, because she was about to say his name, which would make him aware I talk about him, at which point I would probably jump into oncoming traffic.
When she shakes his hand, Stella turns me toward her and hugs me.
Over her shoulder is the rest of them, Tyler, Jenny, Jamal, and Elijah.
I close my eyes so they don’t see the daggers I want to shoot at them for being here. At this moment, I realize the truth is friends are liabilities. I don’t even want them to know me anymore.
When they all hug me, I realize I was wrong, I did want them here; I just hadn’t ever wanted them to know the ugly truth about my past.
Today would change everything.
I knew it would.
In the elevator, I push myself as far back in the corner as I can, and I wish they hadn’t followed, I wished Autumn hadn’t invited them in, and I wish they weren’t so damn excited about being here at the fashion fortress of New York City, de la Porte.
Riding the elevator, I pray my father doesn’t get on, and then I pray that it plummets to the basement and ends my miserable existence, but everyone else survives. When the last person gets off on Dad’s floor, I try to push myself back into the wall when I see
him walking toward the open elevator door.
Autumn quickly hits the close door button and I see her flip him off as he hurries toward it.
Great, just great. I think he saw me.
When the elevator door stops on the executive floor, we’re the only ones left in the elevator and I hear Stella whisper, “Wow.”
Autumn drops her bag on the reception desk and then takes mine.
I hear heels clicking down the hall and Mom speaks before I see her, “I hope you have coffee.”
“I have better.” Autumn winks at me.
When Mom sees me, her eyes show me an all too familiar picture, in them, her heart is breaking.
I give her a look, hoping she doesn’t overdo the hugs, and she looks around the now full room at friends of mine she has never met.
Autumn quells the silence, “Natasha brought some friends to meet you.”
They brought themselves.
After a moment, Mom visibly composes herself. “Okay then, how about you order some coffee and pastries and we all head into the conference room?”
“I think they should go back to school,” I suggest.
“I think hells no.” Stella takes my hand. “We’re here for you.”
I give my mom a pleading look and watch as she tries to figure out how to make it all better for me, like she always does.
When she smiles at Stella and motions toward the conference room, all hope of that happening is lost.
Chapter Six
Natasha
Sitting in one of the spinny chairs, with my feet on it and head buried, imagining… no, wishing it would swallow me up, I listen to Stella tell mom about the IG incident and my mom, who should have been a lawyer, cross-examines her every statement.
“How do you know this Sylvia runs the Socialite212 account?”
Peeking through the dark strands of my hair curtaining my face, I see Aaron answer for Stella. “It’s been confirmed, ma’am.”
“By whom?” Mom asks.
“By him,” Stella interjects. “He ban-” She pauses. “Dates her.”
“Almost two years ago, Lala,” he sighs.
“Who’s Lala?” Mom asks.
“Sorry, ma’am, Stella,” Aaron clarifies.
“He,” Stella tosses a thumb at Aaron, “Shouldn’t be calling me that.”
“Why does he?” Jenny, who rarely speaks to anyone except Jamal, asks.
“We’ve known each other since childhood,” Aaron answers and looks at Elijah. “He couldn’t say her name, so he called her Lala.”
I peek at Elijah and he narrows his eyes at Aaron.
“How?” Jenny asks.
“The three of us went to the same daycare center. Lala’s mom was one of the child care teachers, then she started one from her apartment.”
“Why are we just hearing about it?” Tyler asks, annoyed.
“Some things don’t need to be discussed,” Elijah says with much more authority in his tone than I’m used to.
Aaron answers anyway. “5 World Trade Center, Manhattan.”
I think about it for a moment, we were all two years old.
“I’m sorry,” Mom whispers.
“Don’t be, we all lived, all survived. We were the miracles amongst the terror,” Stella tells her. “All of us got out, all our parents lived.”
“Thanks to Ginny.” Aaron winks at Stella and she scowls at him, which seems to amuse Aaron.
Mom smiles softly. “Thank God.”
After she’s learned everything about this morning, Autumn returns with the coffee and pastries.
When the conference phone lights up and Mom looks at it, she closes her eyes and scratches behind her ear. She’s thinking.
“Do you want me to grab it?” Autumn motions to the door.
She shakes her head no and looks at us. “Just… try to be quiet for a few minutes, please.”
By the time she ends the sentence, her eyes fall on Stella and Aaron chuckles.
When Jean-Paul de la Porte appears on the screen, Stella gasps a whispered, “Oh. My. God.”
I right myself and sit up straighter.
There’s something about being in his presence that makes you want to be at your best.
As I blot my face, hoping no tear stains remain, I feel a hand tap my knee. Aaron hands me a tissue under the table. “Eyes, Fancy Fa.” He doesn’t finish the word face.
Kill. Me. Now.
He then whispers, “Fuck her, you’re beautiful, Natasha. So Fuck. Her.”
Is it praise or pacification?
“Makeup makes everyone beautiful,” I reply.
“Not all people. Not even fake tits could make her shine.”
I know he’s talking about Sylvia, who is in fact beautiful, but just on the outside.
And he’s right.
After I wipe away the makeup Aaron pointed out had smeared under my eyes, I look up to find Jean-Paul de la Porte looking at me through the video screen.
Damn it.
Mom’s chipper tone saves the silent scrutiny. “Bonjour, Monsieur de la Porte, we have company today.”
He looks around the room and his eyes fall back on me. “One familiar face. Bonjour Natasha.”
“Bonjour, Monsieur de la Porte.” I force a smile.
He leans in slightly, studying me further. Then quickly looks away.
I look at Aaron, silently asking if I have missed some smudged mascara, and he shakes his head no, then winks.
I feel like I’m sinking in quicksand while eating delicious chocolate.
“Who do we have the pleasure of welcoming to de la Porte New York today, Angela?” Monsieur de la Porte asks, looking at Mom.
“Some of Natasha’s classmates from Manhattan School of Art and Design, Monsieur de la Porte.”
“I see.” His eyes smile and he nods. “Introductions?”
This isn’t good, she doesn’t even know their names.
“Of course,” Mom smiles and looks at Stella, “You first.”
Stella, who is clearly star-struck, stands and curtsies. “Stella McCarty, your highness.” Her hand quickly covers her face and she groans.
I look at Mom who sucks in her lips, yet remains composed.
“I’m so stupid,” Stella grumbles.
“Speak more clearly, Stella McCarty,” Jean instructs.
When her hand leaves her face, she nods. “Please excuse me, but meeting you is like seeing Jesus on the same day you meet the Queen of England,” she growls at herself. “I mean, Queen of France… if there is one, to someone like me. It’s an honor, and a dream to even be in your presence. Even if it’s on a huge screen.” She growls again and sighs, “You know what I mean, right?”
“I do, Stella.” Jean looks up from a file in front of him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“No, it’s not,” she laughs and then covers her face again. “Man, I’m screwing this up.”
“You’ve brightened my day, Stella,” Jean nods and she grins from ear to ear. “Future plans?”
“To color the world and make it bolder.” She grins and waves a hand over her bright yellow, black and white, polka-dotted dress. “So I won’t be competition to de la Porte.”
Jean-Paul chuckles slightly, which is not something I’ve ever experienced. I wonder if he took offense to her possibly alluding to the fact his designs are in blacks, whites, and sometimes grays.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she groans again.
“We all have different styles. I understand.”
“You’re a fashion icon, a total freaking icon.”
Mom forces a laugh to interrupt Stella, which is indeed a blessing… for all involved.
He looks next to Stella, at Elijah.
He stands and says, “Elijah Donahue, sir.”
Jean-Paul looks him over.
Elijah quickly adds, “Yes, my father is Benton Donahue.”
Jean-Paul nods, “We’re all our own people, son.”
“Damn right we are.” Elija
h nods once.
“From what I’ve heard about you, you’re noble beyond years and highly intelligent.”
“I try, sir.”
“Chin up and hold the helm steady.” Jean seems to respect my peer and I realize I have no idea who Elijah, the noble, is.
“Every day.” Elijah shows a bit of emotion, which isn’t like him.
Aaron is next on his feet. “Aaron Esposito, it’s an honor.”
“Aaron Hearst Esposito,” Elijah corrects.
“Ahhh,” Jean-Paul steeples his hands.
“Ahhh,” Aaron shrugs. “I’m not my father.”
“I understand,” Jean-Paul nods. “You trait after your mother.”
“She was beautiful and kind, so I take that as a compliment,” Aaron smiles genuinely.
His mom is dead?
“As it was intended to be,” Jean-Paul says.
Tyler stands. “Tyler Grimaldi, and I’m not too proud to admit I’m a fan. You are fab.”
“Grimaldi?” Jean asks.
“Not the hotel moguls, sir, my family is in construction.” Tyler blushes.
“And you chose fashion.” He rubs his chin.
“I love fashion.”
“I understand completely.” Jean-Paul nods.
“Jenny White.” I look over as she pulls at Jamal’s hand and he stands. “This is Jamal Black.”
Jamal nods at Jean. “We met while applying for scholarships at MSAD. Then we met again at orientation. He’s the true artist.”
“She’s my muse,” he says staring at her. “And an artist who lacks the confidence to her ability.”
“White and Black, huh?” Jean asks while glancing at Stella who scrunches up her face and again Jean-Paul appears briefly amused.
“No family money,” Jenny smiles.
“Then make it together,” Jean says passionately.
“We intend to.” Jamal finally looks at Jean who looks back at him with great interest.
After several moments pass with a deafening silence that only Jean and Jamal seem to be able to hear, Jean clears his throat and looks around the room until he finds Autumn.
“Be a dear and take them to la Placard while Angela and I speak for a few more minutes.”
Autumn beams, “It would be my pleasure, Monsieur de la Porte.”