The Sweetest Kind of Fate

by Crystal Cestari

  I have to remedy this, if I even can.

  I walk over to Amani, who already has her arms outstretched for me. In her wise, future-predicting way, she seems to know what I’m thinking and whispers into my frozen hair, “You broke his heart, but you can fix it. You’re a matchmaker; it’s time to make that match.”

  “AM I really doing this?”

  “Yes, you really are.” Amani releases a chunk of my hair from her curling iron, setting it in an unfamiliar, twisted shape. I’ve never seen my hair be anything but stick straight, and now I have a pouf of shellacked curls framing my face. It feels like a helmet, ready to protect me for battle. Only I hope tonight I won’t be a casualty of war.

  I’m going to the winter formal to make a Romantic Grand Gesture in hopes of winning Charlie back, and I’m in such uncharted waters that I’m seconds away from drowning.

  “How is one supposed to move with such crunchy hair?” I ask, touching a freshly sprayed curl before Amani smacks my hand away.

  “Hair does not move during dances. It locks in perfection for a limited time, ensuring picture-perfect memories.”

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m serious. Do you think Cinderella’s hair moved at the ball? No. Those mice locked it down so she could focus on other things.”

  “Apparently not her footwear, though.”

  Amani playfully slaps me again. “You are the worst. You need to get in the right mind-set.”

  “Which is?”

  “Love, dammit. Romance. You can’t go sweep someone off his feet when every word is dripping in sarcasm.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right. Now, be quiet and hold still while I apply your mascara.”

  I do as she says, though it’s hard to stay motionless when your heart is racing and someone is poking your eye with a stick. Watching Iris and Brooke collapse into each other’s arms, I knew I’d messed up. I put my trust in the hypothetical when I should have listened to my gut. I used to pity those people: the ones who’d openly defy my advice, who’d follow their hearts despite explicit consequence. How could they veer left, when I warned them to go right? Did they have any idea what they were doing?

  Maybe not, but they knew something I didn’t: You have to try. You have to fight for what you believe in. Even if it’s hard, even if there are obstacles in your way. They say that all’s fair in love and war, but for that to be true, you need to be part of the crusade.

  “Okay, it’s done!” Kim walks in from the other room, cradling a long black dress. “I gave it a good steam, and now it’s ready to take the dance floor.” True to her word, even considering my horribleness, Kim went out and found me the perfect dress. I don’t know how she did it, or even why; I’ve given her zero reason to be nice to me. But here it is: a simple black sheath, as comfortable as a T-shirt but acceptable for formal occasions. That such a thing exists is pure magic, and that such a person is in my life is a true blessing.

  “Kim, I love it,” I say. “And I don’t use ‘love’ when describing clothes.”

  She blushes, scrunching up her shoulders toward her ears. (Reason number ninety-two on the list of Kim’s positive attributes: doesn’t hold grudges.) I give her a hug, crunchy curls hitting her face, and she hugs me back, like really. A tight embrace, like we’re both squeezing out any lingering weirdness between us, so that moving forward, everything will be fresh.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Anytime.”

  I give her a long, steady look in the eyes, wondering if I’ll see anything beyond static today. It’s still fuzzy, but right before I look away, new scenes start coming into focus. I see Kim, laughing on a beach, fingers tangled with a deeply tanned hand. Two burly arms wrap around her and pick her up, swinging her around a few times before tossing her in the sea. Her match jumps in afterward, and she shares a long kiss with the guy.

  A guy who is her match.

  A guy who is not Charlie.

  “Is everything okay?” Kim asks, probably seeing the explosions in my brain.

  I take a manic breath. “Everything is GREAT!”

  While Amani and Kim go put their dresses on, I grab a final look in the mirror. With my fancy dress and hair, I almost don’t recognize myself; I run my fingers through the sticky spirals, pulling them out to be less perfect. I know Amani likes things proper and pretty, but my life’s a little messier. And that’s okay because I feel a weight has been lifted. It’s been such a burden, carrying all my fears and worries with me constantly; they were dragging down my ability to see. When you’re always wondering “what if,” you can’t see “what is.” And it’s not like I’ll never have doubt in my life again, but right now, I’m taking on the Fates to see how I can bend my destiny. I may completely crash and burn, but at least the mistakes will be mine and not clouded in speculation. I don’t know what will happen tonight. It’s scary and also somehow liberating.

  You’d think a private school would shell out for a fancy venue, but here we are, pretending the gym is a suitable spot for an unforgettable night. An archway of blue, silver, and white balloons beckons, begging me to cross the threshold of a teenage milestone. The winter formal. It’s a setting I never pictured myself in. Yet despite the overuse of glitter and willingly sharing oxygen with my peers, this is where I need to be. I don’t even care if it’s clichéd to chase destiny at the Big School Dance; I may think it’s cheesy, but Charlie won’t. A black-tie event is when the rest of the world finally rises to his level. He was born for crap like this.

  “Flying solo?” asks a redheaded ticket taker wearing a tiara. “There’s a big surprise.”

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?” I respond, handing over my ticket.

  “Probably not, but everyone knows the idiot who dumped Charlie Blitzman.” She leans in to me. “I just saw him, and damn, he looks good.”

  I blow past without a response, a smatter of snickers in my wake. I don’t have time for jerks who think they know me. I know me. That’s all that matters.

  Crossing into the gym, I’m overwhelmed by deafening beats immediately pulsing through my brain. When your life’s playlist consists mostly of piped-in pan flute, hip-hop feels like an auditory assault. Not to mention the accompanying scarring visuals, as my classmates gyrate in ways I can’t even picture my body moving. Everyone moves to the rhythm, taking breaks to make out or swish quick sips from concealed flasks, and every inch of me is screaming with discomfort. Several sweaty bodies bump up against me, and I squirm through the horde, effectively grossed out.

  Normally, it’s easy to pick Charlie out of a crowd, since he dresses better than 99 percent of the population, but with all the boys in monkey suits and strobe lights skewering the scene, I can’t find him. He’s here, though; I know he is. If only I could use a spell to lift him above the mindless masses and bring him to me. I’ve done a perimeter check and trudged through the dance floor, but he’s nowhere to be found. For a moment, discouragement rolls in, cursing my foolish optimism. A football player barrels into me, nearly spilling his date’s punch all over my magical dress, but he wobbles away toward the stage, and that’s when I see it: the microphone.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m hiking up my skirt and climbing onstage, blending into the scene like a shadow. As the DJ fades the end of the song, I snake my hand through his setup, switching on the mic before the next anthem sounds. While still cloaked in darkness, I croak out a quiet “Hello?”

  My timid question bounces through the gym, heads craning to spot the source. The DJ almost knocks me off the stage as he spins around, calling out a “Hey!” over his stolen equipment. Somehow, a spotlight gets pointed in my direction, and I squint in piercing light.

  Unable to see anything, I focus on my mission. “Um, I’m looking for Charlie Blitzman.” A female from the audience responds with a “Me too!” causing a ripple of laughter. But I stand my ground. “Charlie, are you here?”

  Mercifully, the spotlight swings away, se
arching the crowd for my lost boy. It circles the gym, and heads sway in tandem, wondering where it will land. Finally, it stops in a back corner, where Charlie stands alone. The light bounces off his plum-velvet blazer, his face illuminated in shock. I can’t tell if he’s happy or mad that I’ve singled him out for the whole school, but he hasn’t run away, so that has to count for something.

  “Charlie,” I continue into the microphone. “Will you dance with me?”

  If he’s feeling the pressure of a whole room of eyes, he doesn’t show it, focusing only on me. I’m about ready to faint off this stage, when he finally nods in consent. He starts making his way through the crowd, spotlight documenting his trail, and I hand back the mic, hopping down to the dance floor. We meet in the middle, haloed by blinding light, but it’s fitting because all I can see is him. His face, his body, his heart: they are all right before me, and even if we only have this moment, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

  If we were a different couple, one beloved by our peers, maybe our reconciliation would be met with cheers and applause, but since everyone hates me and likely has no interest in us making up, we stand in awkward silence. The spotlight grows bored, and the audience turns back to their business. Luckily, the DJ has the good sense to put on a ballad instead of a banger.

  Pianos and violins fill the air, and everyone pairs up, pulling their partners close. A disco ball spreads sparkles around the room, and Charlie’s face dances with light. He put his hands on my hips but keeps an arm’s-length distance. We’re dancing like middle schoolers.

  “Amber, what are you doing here?” he asks.

  I’ve been practicing a speech in my head for hours, but I don’t know if it will come out right. I wish I could blurt it all at once, so he could know exactly how I feel as soon as possible, but I should probably try and converse at a regular, human rate. “I knew you wanted to come to this, and I wanted to see you.”

  He stares off, clenching his jaw tight. He has such a tentative grip on my waist, I can barely feel him. “But why?”

  “Because…I love you.” I hold my breath, hoping someday I can use these words in a less high-pressure situation, and say them out of happiness: not out of anger, not out of sadness, but because I’m so filled with love that I can’t possibly say anything else.

  Charlie’s face continues to tighten. I can’t be sure in the dim light, but I think his eyes are glassy. Fingertips press into me slightly, but we still maintain our two-foot distance, swaying like robots.

  “But…why?” he repeats.

  Speech powers, activate. “Because you laugh at my stupid jokes. Because you never ask me to be something I’m not. You’re funny and thoughtful, and I want to kiss you all the time. I think about you when you’re not around, and I love our time together. You are the one person who can make me simultaneously calm and excited, and it’s a weirdo, hybrid feeling I can’t get enough of. You’ve made me see the world in a different light, and I’m forever in your debt.”

  He bows his head, probably overwhelmed by my compliment train. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “But what I meant was, why do you still love me? After what I did?”

  “We both made mistakes in the past. I want to focus on right now. Together.”

  He looks me straight in the eye, and I brace myself for what’s on the other side. Here we go: time to see if a new leading love will emerge for him like it did for Kim. Am I really ready for this?

  I resolve to stay tough as my sight is filled with static once more. Pixelated gray confusion swirls before me, relaying a whole lot of nothing. I wait, as patiently as possible, to see if anything (or really, anyone) will emerge, but the fuzz plays on, finally disappearing without revealing anything new. Like a reflex, I quickly evaluate the possible meanings. Either (a) the Fates, still reeling from having been wrong about pairing Charlie with Kim, have not yet chosen a new match for him and are taking their time to find the right person or (b) maybe, just maybe, I’m falling victim to a magical loophole, unable to cast myself in the role I most want to fill.

  Charlie, surely knowing by now that looking my way is not an innocent act, asks, “What is it? What do you see?”

  I resist the urge to shake his shoulders. I’m not going to play these games with him anymore. “It’s not about what I see; it’s about what I feel.”

  “Oh really?” he asks with a small laugh.

  “Yup,” I confirm, chin held high. “I’m a changed woman. I’ve learned some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Well, first of all, I learned you can turn a witch into an ice cube. Second, mermaids have different-colored tails. And third…I’m learning how to live in the present. My whole life has been defined by endings, but I’ve never understood the journey. When you flash-forward to happily-ever-after, you miss all the milestones on the way. And maybe that’s obvious to the world, but I never thought about it before: what it takes to get to ‘the end.’ Life is kind of messed up, and even though the Fates are pulling some strings, we have control too.” I pause. “I want to have better control over my future because I want you to be there with me.”

  He pulls me a little closer, and I can’t help but admire the view. Charlie, so sweet and kind, with a face that reflects his inner beauty. I love this boy; I do. I don’t ever want to lose this sight again, but it’s not just up to me.

  “I think…we still have some things to figure out,” he says. “You coming here tonight, standing in front of everyone, looking so amazing: it means a lot. Like, I actually can’t believe you did that.”

  I smile and nod. I can’t believe I did either.

  “But it has been a rough couple of weeks, for us both. Before we get swept up in the grandeur of the evening”—he waves to mass hangings of balloons and crepe paper—“let’s take things slow. Like you said, we don’t have to rush to the end. And I’d rather take my time with you.”

  Charlie leans in, but not for a kiss; he gently rests his forehead on mine and finally wraps his arms around me. His touch consumes me, and I close my eyes, letting myself be fully in the moment. In a room full of people, we’re the only two around, and I can’t think of anything more magical.

  Happy endings do not always stem from seamless beginnings. Life is not linear; there’s not one straight path. Mistakes and misfortunes are part of the game; the Fates certainly see to it. Love is a surrender, giving in to the unknown and hoping for the best. But no matter how much we stumble and fall, we eventually find our way.

  I’ve found mine.

  My mom used to always say, “The only thing constant in life is change,” and it would make me crazy. Not because she was wrong (she wasn’t) but because I am not great with change. I’m good at randomly bursting into song or having ice cream at the ready, but change? No. Even happy, positive shifts seem to throw me for a loop, plaguing me with uncertainty and doubt, and it’s usually not until I’ve made it to the other side that I can finally relax and realize that moving in a new direction is not a sign of the apocalypse.

  So I want to thank all the magical unicorns in my life who help me pierce through the clouds and show me silver linings. Thank you to my friends and family who read my lengthy texts, answer my panicked calls, and hear my rambling worries. You are the heroes of my story, offering sage advice and strong guidance every step of the way. Your encouragement and support mean the world to me; I would be lost without you.

  CRYSTAL CESTARI lives just outside Chicago with her daughter. Her hobbies include avoiding broccoli and wandering the aisles at Target. She holds a master’s degree in mass communication, and writes all her stories longhand. She is also the author of the first book in the Windy City Magic series, The Best Kind of Magic. Visit Crystal at www.crystalcestari.com and on Twitter @crystalcestari.

 

 

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