by Compai
The snow fell from the black night sky, drifting like ash, blanketing the landscape in eerie quiet. Miss Paletsky blinked as the slushy granules stung her eyes. Icy gusts of wind penetrated her thin wool coat and gnawed her bones like a dog, bored and deadly. She was on her back, looking up, and gripping a cold metal rail; her fingers stuck like tongues. Where was she?
As if to answer, the hard plank under her spine began to gently vibrate, and the iron rail to hum. In the faraway distance, there was a long and ghostly wail. A train, she realized, and then the whole world began to quake. Planks clattered like broken rattles. The iron rail screamed. Miss Paletsky struggled to move, but she couldn’t budge.
With horror, Miss Paletsky saw the train burst through the gray wall of drifting snow and come barreling toward her, blinding her with its light. Black clouds churned from its tall black smokestack.
The conductor angled his face out of the window.
Ch’elp! Miss Paletsky attempted to scream, but only produced the tiniest of squeaks, like a mouse flung by its tail through an open kitchen window. The conductor’s thick ham hock of an arm waved wildly through the smoke. He sees me! Miss Paletsky realized, praying for a squeal of brakes, the telltale shudder of iron and steel. She focused on the gesticulating arm until, with dizzying clarity, a certain physical detail jumped out at her, obliterating all comfort.
She recognized that yellow armpit stain….
“Life is not Cinderella!” he cried as the train screamed in panic, rumbling closer and closer. Yuri! Miss Paletsky realized, a hot tear sliding from her eye.
Her life was officially kaput.
But then, just as she’d made her peace with fate, a dark, cloaked figure swooped toward her and snatched her high into the air. She landed with a thud, all the breath leaving her body, and then, in the same moment she thought that she was dead, discovered herself thrown across a horse’s back. With a quavering sigh, she surrendered to the roiling, muscular surface, breathing deep the earthy smell of animal sweat. The thundering sound of hooves met her ears like a lullaby.
Still, was she was safe? After all, she was not alone. A mysterious man sat mere inches away, his strong, straight torso like a pillar. The back of his head offered her little clue: was he friend or foe? Savior or jailor? Here she was, tossed across his horse like so much cargo; had her situation gotten worse?
Just then, a snowflake grazed her cheek, but instead of a feathery chill, it transferred actual warmth into her flesh. Timidly, she lifted her head, looking around. They were in a beautiful orchard. The snowflake wasn’t a snowflake after all, but a cherry blossom. They were everywhere, drifting from branches, pirouetting in the sun, and thickly carpeting the ground.
It was spring.
Miss Paletsky relaxed, and her heart slowed to match the horse’s easy, peaceful pace. She glanced again at the man and trusted him, allowing herself to admire his perfect posture, his tall fur hat, his polished black boots. Then, her curiosity got the better of her. Harnessing her every ounce of courage, she tapped the mysterious horseman’s broad and powerful shoulder.
He began to turn around—
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…
She gasped awake and sprang up from her green velvet office couch, tumbling her collection of tiny decorative pillows to the floor. “One moment!” she replied, suppressing her panic.
How long had they been knocking?
What time was it?
Had school started already?
Miss Paletsky gathered her shabby possessions, rushed to her desk, and squished her thin blanket and lumpy pillow into the drawer she’d used to store that day’s change of clothes: teal stirrup leggings, white crocheted cardigan, and a camisole in pink zebra print. Chert poberi! She didn’t want to open the door wearing the same navy sweater and beige skort she’d worn the day before. Did she have time to change?
Tap tap tap! Tap tap tap!
With a small grunt of exertion, she threw on a lime green blazer, and pulled her hair back into a fresh crushed velvet scrunchie. She reached for a half-empty travel-size can of Suave hair spray, twisted the cap off with a quiet pop, and sprayed a foggy cloud in the vague vicinity of her crunchy chestnut hair and, unthinkingly, her armpits. She took a deep breath and scurried to the door. And then, as she wrenched it open, hair spray stung her nostrils. She inhaled sharply.
And sneezed like a greedy truffle-seeking pig.
“Bless you.”
Melissa Moon’s impossibly gorgeous father, i.e., the last person in the world she wanted to bless her in her horrifically disheveled state, beamed down at her. Due to a morning hip-hop Vinyasa class and general Seedy Moonness, the music mogul exuded strength, compassion, and serenity. In his presence, Miss Paletsky felt like something planted next to a major four-lane highway, one of those sad, old bushes choked by toilet paper and tinsel.
“Good morning, Lena,” he intoned, his voice as rich and buttery as a meat-filled piroshki on Sunday morning. “How are you?”
Miss Paletsky had not seen him since the tragic Pink Party, and, well—wow. For somebody who’d lost his fiancée just days before, he looked pretty put together. Unlike me, she scolded herself, who looks like case of baskets, Seedy was perfectly contained by his plush gray cashmere tracksuit and crisp white wife beater. A collection of gold necklaces and flashy medallions glittered on his broad chest.
But nothing compared to the brightness of his smile.
“I am so ch’appy to see you, Mr. Moon!” Miss Paletsky exclaimed, discreetly shelving her hair spray behind a book. “I… I ch’ave to say I am so sorry about what ch’appened with me and Yuri at your party. I wanted to call you, but—”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Seedy assured her, waving aside her embarrassment. “If anything, I should thank you. I mean… your music was the only thing about that party that wasn’t toe-up. And you and Yuri didn’t ruin my party. Me and Vee ruined my party.”
Miss Paletsky nodded, fighting a lump in her throat. It was difficult to hear them paired off that way, even in past tense. “You and Yuri.” “Me and Vee.” The former mortified her beyond measure (what did he think of her? Associated with a man like that?), and the latter shattered her heart.
“That guy seemed pretty crazy, though,” Seedy observed, interpreting her cowed silence as fear. “Has he been leaving you alone?”
“Dah, yes,” Miss Paletsky replied, waving off his concern. “I am perfectly safe.” Why was he here? she wondered. Perhaps he wanted her to pay for the damage Yuri caused? She could never afford it, even if, putting sentiment aside, she forced herself to sell the contents of the Pink Party gift bag on Amazon. She liked the pink iPod nano, of course, which came loaded with songs by a Fergie. She liked the Fergie.
But most of all she liked that he (indirectly, yes, but still!) had given these things to her.
“So, Lena, I know you’re real busy with school and all, but I have a business proposition for you,” Seedy began. Miss Paletsky was confused, so she smiled dumbly, revealing her overlapping eyetooth.
“How would you feel about teaching Melissa to play the piano? Ever since you came over and played for us, the girl will not stop begging me for lessons, so I thought, hey! Who better to teach her the ropes than the woman who inspired her, right?” His perfect teeth were white as snow.
“Melissa?” Miss Paletsky asked. “She is interested in classical music?”
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” Seedy chuckled. “I barely believed it myself! But what can I say, Lena? You’ve converted us.”
“Thank you,” Miss Paletsky replied, once she remembered how to speak. God, it was hot in here. Must be the blazer….
“So, there’s only one catch,” Seedy began, preparing to floss his acting chops. (He hadn’t used them since he was impaled on a meat hook in the straight-to-DVD film Soju Slayer back in 2004, but he knew he still had it.) “I really want to get Melissa a teacher who can live on the premises. The paparazzi been swarming my crib ever s
ince Vee and I broke up, so the fewer people I’ve got coming in and out, the easier my life becomes.”
“Ah, yes, I understand,” lied Miss Paletsky.
“So I was thinking,” Seedy continued, contorting his face into an overwrought “thinking” expression, “that Melissa’s piano teacher could live in our second guesthouse. That you could live in our second guesthouse. You know… if it wasn’t too inconvenient.”
“This is a very appealing proposition, Mr. Moon.”
“Seedy,” he corrected.
“Seedy”—she blushed—“and I would love to help nurture Melissa’s newfound affection for classical music. However, I cannot. You see, in two months my work visa, she expires, and I return to Russia.”
“Well, can’t you teach Melissa until then?”
Miss Paletsky scratched her shellacked head in contemplation. But, no! What was she thinking? She could not move into the Moon home!
“I don’t think Melissa should have a teacher who will abandon her so soon,” explained Miss Paletsky.
“Well, then,” Seedy shrugged, preparing to bluff, “looks like she won’t have a teacher at all.”
“Why is this? I can give you the name of so many teachers. I will find Melissa a—”
“It’s no use, Lena!” Seedy bellowed suddenly, with a quick chop of his bejeweled left hand. (Miss Paletsky couldn’t help but notice the appealing bareness of his ring finger.) “Melissa says she will only take lessons from you. It’s really too bad. I always wanted to have another musician in the family.” He shook his glossy bald head at the apparent injustice. “Guess some things just aren’t meant to be….”
Seedy Moon’s sad face was unbearable. The way his perky posture dissolved into a tragic hunch, the way he cast his kind black eyes down toward the blue classroom carpet. And oh, my goodness! Was he actually pouting? Yes, Seedy Moon’s bottom lip was pressed forward with the exaggerated appearance of a sulking child who has been denied a slice of chocolate babka. It was too much to bear.
“I will do it, Mr. Moon.” Miss Paletsky nodded quietly. “Please do not be so sad anymore. I will do it.”
Seedy’s pronounced pout quickly snapped back into that luminous grin. Phew, thought Miss Paletsky.
She met his shining eyes with her own, only briefly, and then glanced at her desk. Finally, Seedy broke the silence.
“Melissa is going to be so happy,” he said.
The Guy: Evan Beverwil
The Getup: Brown and beige board shorts from ZJ Boarding House, white Stüssy t-shirt, green Havaianas flip-flops, white Turk’s head bracelet
“I can’t do Baja Fresh again, dude,” Joaquin Whitman announced. “Like, can. Not. Do. Baja. Fresh.”
It was lunchtime, and as always, Joaquin and his glassy-eyed comrades were taking longer than anybody else to leave the Showroom, having stopped for an impromptu game of hacky sack outside Joaquin’s purple and yellow VW bus.
Theo launched the green and gold crocheted orb high into the air, and Brendan Hearne caught it on the back of his neck. With a fliplike motion of his tangled blond curls, he shot it back into the air, where it proceeded to hit Evan Beverwil square in the head and plop to the ground.
Evan jumped, surprised, causing Brendan, Joaquin, and Theo to dissolve into peals of laughter. Theo was famous for his deep intense laugh, which sounded like Old Man River guffawing into a megaphone. Joaquin giggled like a girl.
“Dude, you are the most out of it right now,” Brendan told Evan, between cackles.
“Yeah, what’d you do, wake-and-bake before school or something?” Theo inquired.
“No,” began Evan. “Or, uh, yeah.”
That, of course, cracked them up even more.
“You know you’re faded when you’re so faded you don’t remember getting faded,” Brendan sagely announced.
“Speaking of getting faded,” Theo began, pointing at the place on his wrist where someone who cared about time might wear a watch. “Ticktock.”
“Okay, let’s bounce,” Joaquin declared. Theo popped the back door of the VW open and slid across the sky blue torn vinyl seat.
“Your turn to ride shotty,” Brendan told Evan, climbing into the backseat beside Theo.
“Naw, it’s all you,” Evan mumbled. “I’m gonna chill on campus today.”
“Dude, what?” Brendan wrinkled his brow. “You stayed on campus yesterday.”
“Yeah, what, you don’t smoke anymore?” Theo inquired.
“Or what, you don’t eat anymore?” Joaquin pressed.
“Yeah, dude, are you, like, anorexic?” offered Theo.
“Yeah, he’s, like, manorexic,” Joaquin agreed.
Evan pushed some air between his lips, waving them off. “Whatever you say, dudes.”
“Evan, calm down, man, it’s okay,” Theo assured him. “We still love you. Even though you’re manorexic.”
“See you in fifth period, dickheads,” Evan laughed, shaking his head so his sandy golden locks swayed in the noonday sun. Then he made a break for it.
Evan still had five minutes till he was supposed to meet Janie in the projection room, so he dipped into the men’s room to look in the mirror. He liked what he saw. His hair was doing that thing where it sort of crashed into a wave over his left eye and looked all shiny, too. He’d washed it with this stuff he stole out of Charlotte’s bathroom. It came in tiny green bottles, and it smelled really good. Like, too good maybe. Damn, did he smell like a chick? It was the first time Evan had ever used conditioner and it made his mane all—well—glossy, which is what it had said on the bottle. “Glossing conditioner.” Yeah, he’d read the bottle. Even the directions.
He wanted to do this right.
While he was sudsing the fragrant green goop into his ocean-stiff hair, Evan had thought about the thing he was thinking about right now. Which just so happened to be the thing he was thinking about while he attempted to do his Chem homework the night before. And while he skateboarded with Theo after dinner. And, well, every other minute of every day since the Pink Party, and a lot of minutes of a lot of days before the Pink Party too. Her, man. Janie Farrish. He hadn’t liked a girl this much since, well… ever.
Evan smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Aside from the shiny hair part, he looked like he didn’t give a shit, which was exactly how he wanted to look. Just some old green flip-flops, some brown and beige board shorts, and a threadbare white Stüssy shirt. The retro one, with the big sloppy logo. He was ready. Evan exited the bathroom and started for the projection room, unconsciously quickening his flip-flopped step.
“Hi, Evan!” chirped whatsherface and her one friend with the hair as he whizzed by.
“Sup,” he replied, with a quick, upward jerk of his chin. He was on a mission. Nothing would derail him.
Evan got to the projection room before Janie, and saw the pile of Godspell programs they’d totally knocked over during their last brutally hot make-out session all splayed out on the floor. Clearly, nobody had been in there since they had. Which was awesome, like their private little sanctuary remained untainted, like a holy site. That was the bulletin board Evan had pressed her up against, the rickety table where she’d pressed up against him, and the light switch he was going to switch off after Janie Farrish came walking through that projection room door in all her smoking hot Janie Farrish splendor.
Any minute now…
Evan checked his cell. 12:27. He’d asked her to meet him at 12:20. Oh, well. Maybe she was, like, getting ready or something. Evan cupped his hand over his mouth and nose and checked his breath. Sick. He pulled a stick of Big Red out of his backpack and started to chew.
12:28. Evan wasn’t sure where to sit. Should he just be standing there when Janie walked in, or was that sort of weird? Should he sit on the stool? Yeah, he’d sit on the stool. Or did that look even weirder? Like the way they made you pose when you took those dreaded class pictures every year. Like, sort of perched. Yeah, the stool was weird. Evan stood up again. He could be read
ing when Janie came in. That would look casual. But he only had textbooks in his backpack, and if he was standing there perusing a textbook when Janie came in, that would probably be even weirder than if he was perched on the stool. This sucked. He could be texting when Janie came in. That would look cool. Not to mention normal. He whipped out his cell. Again.
12:29??
Evan quickly tired of fake texting and emerged from the dark room on the off chance Janie had thought she was supposed to meet him in the theater itself, and not the projection room. Negative. The theater was empty, save for some wiry dude with a fro, standing on stage performing a monologue to an audience of zero.
12:31.
Maybe their text messages got, like, crossed?
“What are we doing today?” asked Juliet, popping a ranch-flavored Soy Crisp into her Lipglass-slathered kisser. Crumbs of green-flecked seasoned salt stuck to the gloss while she chewed. Then a gentle wind wandered through the breezeway, adding a strand of her hair to the mess.
“We’re going shopping at the Grove,” Carly announced, puncturing her Vita Coco box with a short pink straw, and regarding her friend’s mouth with disgust.
“Oooh, yay!” trilled Juliet. “I heart the Grove! Where are we meeting?”
“Nikki’s house,” answered Carly, folding her black harem pants–clad legs Indian style.
“I can’t today,” replied Nikki, lifting her Red Bull suggestively. “I’m on the clock.”
“What?” demanded Carly.
“Poseur stuff,” clarified Nikki.
“But it’s Fri-day!” whined Juliet. “And you’ve already worked, like, eleventybillion hours this week!”
“Fashion never sleeps, bitches,” shrugged Nikki. “Emergency recon.”
“En ingles?” Carly rejoined.
“Well, I really shouldn’t be getting into this, but Melissa assigned me this top secret research project. I have to find out everything—like, everything—about the designers of this t-shirt brand called Schizo Montana. My job isn’t done till I have their birth certificates. And Melissa does not accept photocopies.”