I wasn’t sure whether I recognized the name.
“As a little kid, Émile was chubby and awkward,” she said. “He was a target for bullies, until Cézanne befriended him.” Aidan stopped and breathed. “Cézanne protected Émile. By way of thanks, the young writer brought the young artist a basketful of apples. Red tops and yellow bottoms.” She stood, walked over to the other chair, and picked up the apricot I’d left for her. “I guess in our case, the roles are reversed. You defend me, and you bring me snacks.” She tossed the apricot in the air and caught it. “Have you heard any stories about me? Have you asked anyone?”
I lied and said I hadn’t.
“The first thing I wanted to know about you was why you came to Bellingham,” she said. “Almost everyone comes here with a story. Mine always seems to change. Kriffo and Race tell people I’m a slut. Styuvie’s convinced that I’m a homicidal maniac. Once, I was peeing in a bathroom stall, when I heard Brizzey tell another girl that I’d given myself an abortion. In their minds, I’ve broken every taboo.” She turned and faced me. “I wish you knew me before I came here.” Aidan laughed. “I was fearless.” She turned her back to me and looked out the window.
She rolled the apricot over her mouth. Bruising the fruit and attempting to bite into the skin with just the softness of her lips.
“Who hurt you?” I asked.
“Sweet Boy.” Aidan offered the words to me. “That’s what I’ll call you from now on. If someone reads my journal and asks, ‘Who’s Sweet Boy?’ you can tell them.”
“Seabird,” I said. “That first day I saw you out on the breakwater, I thought you were a cormorant.”
“Mr. Guy’s right.” Aidan looked down. “You need a haircut.”
She stood at the window and finished the apricot. A small fruit, but Aidan took her time. I wanted to know what the apricot juice tasted like in her mouth. I liked wanting to know this. When she finished, she placed the pitted heart of the fruit on the windowsill. I pushed back on the piano bench and walked over to her. From the window, we could see the waterfront. The harbor decorated with sloops. Close to shore, the sailing team practiced maneuvers with Coach Tripp riding at a distance in a launch. The sun would set shortly, and I knew that the sea breeze would die down as the evening air cooled. I moved in close to Aidan, keeping a hand’s distance between our bodies. My chin parallel to her cheek.
“I’m going to summon a storm for you,” I said.
Aidan spoke in a feathery voice. “Will the ocean rise?”
“We’ll play in the rain together.” I brushed my neck against her hair.
My chest steadied itself against her back. For a moment, I felt that Aidan might lean in for support. Instead she turned and faced me. I’d thought of her with unblinking eyes, moving always, across the pages of opened books with rapid precision, but as she stood in front of me, her eyes looked slow and watery. I capsized into them. The sides of our noses touched. Her body stayed tense and rigid. I caressed her, searching for a response, rolling my tongue lightly, but deeper inside. She answered with her teeth. Kissing me with their sharpness. Scratching them along my lips. Defending herself with small bites. Our mouths together felt decidedly wrong. Hers, rough and agitated. Mine, lost but hopeful. The word “mistake” surged up along my spine, snapping my head back, swiftly, and away from her.
Aidan didn’t move. I half expected her to flee from the room. She creased her forehead. My lungs filled with shallow breath. Anxious for air, as though I had just been submerged for several minutes under frozen water. Aidan moved her eyes over my face, across my chest, and then away from me. I looked down at the discarded apricot pit.
“Your teeth,” I said. “They’re sharp.”
Aidan placed a hand over her mouth, horrified. I started to apologize but she pushed past me. I heard her kneeling on the floor, collecting books and dropping pens into her leather satchel. I wanted the texture of that worn leather to be the smoothness shared between us. Aidan stood in the middle of the room. I held my back to her and listened as she closed the piano cover over the keys and left.
In the harbor, I searched for Swedish boats. Half-ton cruisers that would keep a sailor, alone at sea, comforted by their sturdy construction. Weight and heaviness promising security. I’d never thought of sailing on open waters without a crew. Cal and I had planned to see the world together. I’d touched Cal on impulse, just as I’d done to Aidan. Cursing them both like characters in a German fairy tale. Pricking fingers on silver needles. The first time I kissed him, we were standing in front of a mirror in the entryway of my apartment. It was fall break of our junior year. Cal was leaving the next day for Anguilla. I was staying behind to have my wisdom teeth removed. The two of us were just talking and joking when Cal told me that he wished I could come with him, and instead of agreeing, I leaned in and kissed him. A solid kiss on the mouth. As we broke away, we both caught ourselves in the reflection. Two tall boys. Two red mouths. I could feel the strength of his body vibrating against me, and I knew that with one swift wrestling move, he could pin me to the floor and hurt me for what I’d done. He didn’t. To be with someone who is stronger than you. To have him relinquish his strength.
Without looking down, I picked up the apricot pit and placed it in my mouth, holding it under my tongue. The outside felt hard and scabrous. I ran the pointed tip along the bottom of my gums, until a shallow pocket of blood formed. I took the wooden shell between my teeth, splintering the edges and releasing an added bitterness. Holding the mixture loose in my mouth and rolling it over my tongue and palate like a rock polisher rinsing pebbles. As I swallowed the blood and saliva, bits of broken seed scratched down my throat. The heart of the fruit bulged from my cheek, reminding me of Kriffo’s chewing tobacco. Unable to spit or throw the seed out a window. Unable to reject the sharpness of Aidan’s kiss, I took the seed from my mouth and placed it in my breast pocket.
Every weeknight, after dinner, we had two hours of study and then a free hour before curfew. During that time, couples convened in the firstfloor parlor of Astor, flopped on couches, bounced on chairs, sprawled across itchy wool rugs, then got down to the business of making out. Table lamps were turned off, but the two main chandeliers ran on a timer and wouldn’t go black until quarter of eleven. That gave fifteen minutes for the real nasty stuff. Sucking off. Humping. Tazewell called this ritual “milk and cookies.” The dining hall staff actually set out vanilla wafers and glass pitchers of chocolate milk. According to Brizzey, who’d previously invited me to snack with her, the whole thing had been Tinks’s idea. Once girls were admitted, she’d determined that there’d be less temptation to sneak off campus or into each other’s rooms if there were a time scheduled for intimate exchanges. “They don’t mind us screwing around,” Brizzey claimed. “They just don’t want us doing it in our own beds.” The faculty took turns monitoring the make-out sessions, usually departing moments before the great blackout occurred, then returning at eleven o’clock to detangle bodies and send boys home.
My plan was to sneak up to Aidan’s room while the lights on the first floor of Astor were out. The main staircase ran right off the parlor and up to the third floor. I’d seen Ms. Alvarez, the Astor dorm parent, in Whitehall hanging out with Coach Tripp, so I knew I’d have time to sprint up the stairs, find Aidan’s room, and apologize. I didn’t want Aidan going to sleep still mad at me. There was also the possibility that I wanted to try kissing her again.
I timed my parlor entrance with the setting chandeliers. For a moment, I stood and watched puffy male lips smack little girl faces. Arms and legs like a muscle of boa constrictors twisting and tightening around an opossum. A haze of sweat and steam hung over the air. I can’t say that there was sex in that room. Sex to me meant privacy, not a thrashing scrum of bodies fighting it out in the dark. But I liked this public display. The liberty one had to roll and writhe. To make strange liquid sounds with spit and tongues. Unashamed, unabashed. I admired the athleticism. Kriffo sat in an upholstered armchai
r with a miniature girl on his lap. He ran a hand along a white flash of her thigh. I saw his fingers disappear under the shade of her skirt. With my own dirty mind, I conjured up a department store Santa. Being naughty or nice. I grabbed a pocketful of cookies prior to mounting the stairs.
I didn’t knock. I heard muffled crying and entered, bracing myself. Aidan wasn’t crying and she wasn’t alone. She sat on her bed wear
ing only an oversized T-shirt. She clutched her arms around another
girl. Both of them turned to me, surprised and jolted. Here was Diana, bleary-eyed and dressed in silk pajamas.
“What are you doing here?” Diana asked.
This was a good question. I pointed to Aidan.
“No.” Aidan stood, pulling her T-shirt down over pale legs. “Him?” Di squinted. She blew her nose with a balled-up tissue,
then rose and whispered something to her friend.
I’d stumbled onto a secret. Aidan touched Di’s cheek, held her
hand, and nodded. Words were exchanged in low, cooing voices. And
me, I merely stood there, waiting. I didn’t understand any of it. Diana’s face was red. Not blotchy or swollen but warm and sad.
She looked so old to me then, the way a tired mother must look to her
child. I watched her peck kisses over Aidan’s eyes. On her way out, Di
said good night to me. Aidan sat on the middle of her bed with her
legs folded. She glared at me.
“I thought you’d be alone,” I said.
“What difference does it make?” Aidan spoke in a controlled voice.
“You don’t belong in my room.” She sounded like Mr. Guy did when
humiliating Race.
“I wanted to apologize for being a jerk earlier.”
“I’d rather not talk about that.” Aidan reached back for a pillow
and held it in her lap.
“We don’t have to.” I took a few steps toward her bed. “I’m sorry.” I shuffled my feet and looked for a place to sit. There was one
straight-backed chair, but the seat was covered with books. The only
other place was beside Aidan on her bed. The more I hesitated, the
smaller her bed seemed. Alice in Wonderland small, and I felt every
inch of my six-foot frame.
“I was surprised,” I said, “to find someone here with you. I’d rather
you existed only when I was around.” I made a decision and sat at the
foot of her bed.
“We used to be roommates,” Aidan said quietly. “Sometimes she
likes to talk.”
“She confesses her secrets?” I asked.
“I’m a good listener.”
“Sounds pretty one-sided.” I relaxed and moved farther back onto
the bed.
“What about our friendship?” Aidan tossed me a pillow. “I listen to
you talk about Cal. How beautiful he was.”
“That ‘beautiful’ comment,” I said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I folded the pillow, placed it behind my neck, and propped my back
against the wall.
I closed my eyes and let a few moments pass by.
“Jason,” Aidan said, “you’re drifting.”
“I should probably go.” I stood up and shook out my legs. “If you’re caught leaving my room, I’ll be in trouble. It’s the one
thing they still punish us for.”
“Are you offering me sanctuary?”
Aidan glided from her bed and turned off the lights.
“I’ll leave early.” I took off my jacket and tie and stepped out of my
shoes. I began to unbuckle my belt but decided to keep on the rest of
my clothes.
Aidan raised the sheets and slid over against the wall. There was
room for me in her bed, but I picked up the extra pillow and stretched
out onto the wood floor.
“Are you comfortable?” she asked.
“My punishment for this afternoon.” I used my jacket as a blanket. Aidan whispered, “You surprise me, Jason.”
“Just trying to distinguish myself.”
“Jason,” she said softly, “I’m sorry my teeth are sharp.” I didn’t want to hear this. Unlike Aidan, I wasn’t a good listener. “I think I’m going to fall asleep,” I said.
I rolled over onto my side and studied the dance shoes on the wall.
Black-and-white patent leather. Imagining Fred Astaire in top hat
and tails. Spinning and tapping a straight black cane. Smiling with a
face full of sharp teeth and charm. My dreams turned to home movies.
Scratchy film of Aidan balanced on Fred Astaire’s shoes. Fox-trotting
on his feet. I slept.
Aidan woke me during the night. She sat up in bed, beating the air
with her arms. Kicking the sheets and pillows aside. I went to her.
Wrapping myself around her chest and bringing her back down to the
mattress, whispering quiet into her ear. We slept in that tight hold.
Aidan always hid her body in loose and unflattering clothes. I was
surprised to feel the thin arches of her ribcage and the slender curve of
her waist. I didn’t run my hands over her body. Instead, I held her close.
My face buried in her hair. Just enough room for the two of us. I left early in the morning, before Aidan had a chance to rise. She
slept with her lips pouted and her mouth opened slightly. I put on my
jacket, touching the breast pocket to feel the dried apricot seed, then
made my escape through the window.
I jetted down the metal stairs, dismounted, and crossed through a
small parking lot on my way to Whitehall.
“Late night?”
Turning to my left, I saw Plague. Sitting on the hood of a blue Chevy
Malibu, a triangular sign advertising Lighthouse Pizza crowning its
roof. He bit into a chocolate doughnut, chasing it down with a swig
from a bottle of cola.
“Jump-start your morning,” I said.
“You giving it to one of those muffs?” Plague asked.
I pointed to a white bag perched beside him on the car. He stared at
me, then offered me the bag. I took a powdered doughnut. “Thanks.”
“You have a lady up there?”
“Not really.”
“They act all uptight, but I bet they put out just the same.” Plague
stuck his finger in his mouth and ran it down along his gums, licking
and uncaulking the chocolate cake.
“No comment,” I said.
“Like you’d tell me, anyway.”
“Does it bother you”—I chewed—“the way you’re treated?” “How do you mean?” he asked.
“The name-calling, the put-downs.”
“It takes a whole lot more to get to me.” He jumped down from the
hood of his car.
“I guess it would.”
“You and your friends,” Plague said, “are a joke. Like right now. I
could turn you all in. Have the lot of you thrown the hell out.” I brushed powder off my fingertips and spoke calmly. “You think
they’d believe you? Over me?”
“I have no reason to lie.”
“What’s your real name?” I asked.
He seemed taken aback. “What do you mean?’
“Your real name can’t be Plague,” I said.
He frowned, as if needing a minute or two to remember. “Leonardo. Leo for short.” He pulled out a gold chain with a medallion. “You
know. Like the lion.”
I looked at the golden animal’s head and smiled. “That’s a good
name for you.”
“My girlfriend,” he said. “She gave me the necklace.”
Without any prompting, he took out his
wallet and showed me a
picture of himself seated on a picnic bench with a small dark-haired
girl on his lap.
“That’s Cheryl.” Plague stared at the photo. I felt as though I was
intruding on an intimate moment.
“Time to go to work.” He picked up the white bag and rolled down
the top.
“A bit early for pizzas,” I said.
“No, that’s my other job. Now it’s time to make pancakes for you
fools.”
“Don’t spit in the batter.”
“That would be the least of it.” Plague walked away with his shoulders hunched, swinging the satchel of doughnuts.
“Leo,” I called out. “We’re cool. Right?”
He looked back at me and saluted.
That afternoon, I ran into Aidan outside Mr. Guy’s classroom. “Good,” she said. “I found you.” She grabbed my hand and hauled her
leather bag over her shoulder. “Come with me.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the Salon.”
We raced through the Barracuda’s Fishbowl together and Aidan
pulled me into the girls’ bathroom. She locked the door. The room was
small with only a sink, a mirror, and a toilet. She removed a towel from
her leather bag and wrapped it around my neck.
“What’s going on?” The towel was thick and white and felt good
against my skin.
“I want to see what you look like beneath this mane.” Aidan turned
on both faucets, running her fingers through the stream and adjusting
the hot and cold taps. She opened a bottle of shampoo and placed it on the
sink. “Lean forward,” she said.
I bent over at the waist and stuck my head down into the basin of the sink. Aidan circled her fingers along my neck, drowning the warm and cold water into my hair. She rubbed shampoo between her palms, lathering a pink peppermint lotion. My scalp tingled like Christmas candy on a cold tongue. It felt good to be touched, and I wanted her to work the massage from the crown of my skull toward my neck and my shoulders, then downward, the route of my spine. As the water licked my ears and dripped down my cheeks, I thought again about kissing her. Aidan turned the water off and pressed the towel plush
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