by Donna Cooner
“Wow,” I say. “You’re committed.”
Ryan smiles. “Very.” He hands me the instruction booklet that comes with the drone. “You’re in charge of navigation. We’re on page three.”
I flip pages quickly until I see the words Operating Method. “Push the left button to make it go up,” I tell him.
“I already got that one,” he says, pushing the button on the remote. The drone smoothly lifts off and hovers above us, Barbie and Elmo almost bumping their heads on the ceiling.
“It’s working.” Ryan holds out his phone for me to see the view from the drone. The whole store is visible from up there.
“That’s pretty cool,” I admit.
We glance up at the drone. Barbie slides off to one side and Ryan yells up at her, “Hold on!”
“Okay. Okay.” I read faster. “Push up and down on the right button to make it go forward and …”
“Whoa!” Ryan yells. The drone zips off over the top of the assembled new bicycles and disappears toward the paint department. Ryan and I instantly lean over his phone screen to see a perfect overhead view of the linens department. With his free hand, Ryan pushes a button on the remote and the drone stops, hovering above an aisle of rugs and pillows.
Suddenly, from across the store, we hear Elmo say, “That tickles.” The toy’s maniacal laughter echoes across Women’s Clothing.
I burst out laughing, holding my stomach and leaning forward. Through the giggles I finally manage to say, “You’re going the wrong direction.” I point toward the opposite corner of the store. “The gerbils are that way.”
* * *
When the drone, the shoeless Barbie, a slightly battered Elmo, and the bungee cord are finally put back on their respective shelves, Ryan and I head outside into the night. I lock the doors to the store with Ryan waiting silently beside me. We walk toward the only two cars left in the parking lot.
“That was the first time I’ve seen you laugh all day,” Ryan says.
“Sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” Understatement. But for those few minutes watching Barbie and Elmo race around the Kmart sky, I didn’t have a care in the world.
“No need to apologize,” Ryan says. “Want to talk about it over some pizza?”
“Sure,” I say, a little shocked at the invitation. “I guess so.”
“Think the boyfriend will mind?” Ryan asks.
I’m surprised he knows about Luke. “Nah. Luke’s not like that.”
He steps off the curb and I follow. “How long have you guys been together?”
“Since the fall,” I say.
“Long time,” he says, and I nod. Suddenly, Luke feels very far away. Even though we hung out at lunch earlier today, I haven’t confided in him about the screenshot yet. And I’m not sure I’m going to.
“He is going to study abroad next year in France. For this culinary exchange program.” It feels strange talking to another guy about Luke.
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah,” I say unenthusiastically. The word hangs there in the silence between us.
Then a voice comes out of nowhere. “You two are a little late locking up.”
I jump. Harmony is standing beside my car in the dark.
It feels like my heart is going to leap out of my rib cage. “Oh man, Harmony. You freaking scared me to death,” I say when I can actually speak again.
“What’s up?” Harmony asks.
Awkward silence.
“We were going to get some pizza in Old Town,” Ryan finally says.
Another awkward silence, longer this time.
“Want to come with us?” I ask. It’s just a courtesy. I don’t really expect her to say yes.
Harmony answers immediately. “Sure. I’ll ride with you.”
I mentally kick myself for being so polite, but there’s not much else I can do. I unlock the passenger door and she gets in, slamming the door behind her. When I look at Ryan, he just shrugs.
“I’ll follow you,” he says.
I slide into the driver’s side, start the car, and pull out of the space. Harmony is quiet in the seat beside me until we reach the edge of the parking lot.
“What’s up with the Goth look?” She nods toward my hands on the steering wheel. Figures she would be the only person to comment.
Harmony is not going to intimidate me. Especially when she’s in my car.
“According to Vogue, black is the color of elegance and sophistication,” I tell her. “This color screams class.”
I keep my left hand on the steering wheel and hold out my right hand, black nails proudly displayed in front of her face. Fluttering my fingers, I add, “I thought you’d surely know that.”
Harmony’s mouth falls open, then she bursts out laughing. “You got me good with that one.” She holds up both her hands, fingers spread wide. I can see by the light from the streetlamps that her nails are black.
Harmony laughed out loud? I let myself crack a grin as I make a left turn to join the traffic on College Avenue. In my rearview mirror, I see Ryan’s Jeep behind us.
After a couple of blocks, we stop at a red light. The silence is heavy and I can’t think of anything to say, so finally I ask, “Is Harmony your real name?”
“Yeah.” I can feel the scowl from the seat next to me. “Everybody asks me that.”
“Sorry,” I say, because it seems like I should.
The light turns green. I push down on the gas and she surprises me by continuing.
“My mom used to sing backup in a band,” Harmony says. “She moved around a lot. I was born somewhere between a gig at a steakhouse in Tupelo, Mississippi, and a county fair in Shreveport, Louisiana.”
“And your dad?” I ask.
“He played the guitar in the band. I think he still lives somewhere in Mississippi.”
“My dad lives in Texas now,” I say. So Harmony and I have absent dads in common. Who knew? The tiny glimmer of a connection keeps me talking, trying to make another one. “My name comes from an island in Scotland. It’s where my grandmother lived when she was a little girl.”
“Cool.”
I glance sideways at her, then back at the road. The drive up College Avenue means the scenery morphs from strip malls and chain restaurants into century-old brick buildings and million-dollar condos.
I sneak a peek at Harmony again. She’s drawn back into herself and she’s looking at me like I might have some dread disease. Now we’re back on familiar ground.
“Yeah,” I say. “The Isle of Skye. I’m going to go there one day.”
“I’m going to go to Denver one day,” Harmony says.
I laugh because I think she’s kidding, but when I glance back at her face I’m not sure.
In her dimly lit room, Asha sits on the edge of her bed, tying up the laces of her running shoes. For a moment, she thinks about climbing under her navy duvet and taking a nap before dinner. The covers are warm enough to tempt her out of her usual evening run, but she knows it isn’t an option. She reaches for the phone and pulls up her running app. Yesterday she averaged ten minutes a mile. That isn’t good enough.
No more avoiding the inevitable. She needs to get moving. Marcus Lopez is supposed to come by later and help her study for her math final exam. Maybe she should feel guilty for giving him hope she will go out with him if she aces the test. But he also said he was bringing Thai takeout, which will be yummy. And this way she can avoid having dinner with her parents in the main house.
Asha grabs her earbuds and heads for the door. Yesterday, she officially ended things with Nate via text. So who knows? If tonight goes well, maybe she’ll let Marcus take her to a movie or something this weekend. At least he’s smart enough to keep up with her.
She puts in her earbuds and turns her phone to her favorite running playlist. She slips out the door into the cold of the spring twilight. There is no wind, but her breath makes steamy clouds in the stillness.
Before she starts her route, Asha takes her phon
e out and looks into the camera, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. She has her mother’s eyes. Everyone says so. It used to make her feel proud, but now she doesn’t know how to feel about inheriting her mother’s traits.
Still, she takes a selfie and posts it. #IAmAshaMirza running.
At first, she jogs slowly, warming up. Her muscles respond and she runs faster, pushing her body harder. But no matter how fast her legs move, her brain moves even faster—jumping from one topic to another until it finally settles on Skye. It is a relief to think about something other than her mother. Even if it only lasts for the next mile or so.
Skye is upset about that stupid video. She never hides things well from Asha, but honestly that girl is too full of herself sometimes. Something needs to knock her off that pedestal.
Asha turns the corner onto the bike path on Lindenmeier Road, blood pumping through her veins. She decides to post some pictures on ChitChat of just her and Emma together, when she gets back from her run. She knows Skye will see them.
Obviously. That’s the point.
Whenever Skye gets angry or doesn’t want to do something, Asha just chooses Emma over her. That is the beauty of having two best friends. You can always play one off the other. And Asha knows Skye so well. She knows what will push her buttons.
Asha keeps running. Thoughts buzz around behind her eyes. Her body moves automatically, smoothly. Her brain, not so much.
Why is she even so annoyed at Skye lately? Asha wonders if it’s because she wants Skye to pick up on what’s wrong. She seems to have no clue.
It’s like Asha isn’t even important anymore. Like she is disappearing.
Asha adjusts her earbuds and turns up the music so loud that, for the rest of her run, she can’t think of anything at all.
Later, she walks into the main house, sweaty and winded, to grab some Vitaminwater from her parents’ fridge. On her phone, she tracks her route on the running app and uploads her time. Two minutes faster than yesterday.
Her breathing steadies and she swipes through her phone, selecting a cute pic of her and Emma from Halloween. She posts the picture to ChitChat, captioning it #BFF and #memories.
She opens the fridge door to take out some Vitaminwater, then freezes.
Her mother’s car keys lie beside the milk carton inside the fridge.
Asha steps back and closes the fridge door. She leans against the kitchen counter and puts her head in her hands.
#IAmAshaMirza crying.
The Old Town part of Fort Collins supposedly inspired Disneyland’s Main Street. I’ve never been to Disneyland, but that makes sense to me; all the quaint brick storefronts and colorful awnings seem Disney-esque. In the summertime, the square is filled with bands playing on the stage and children dancing in the fountains. In the winter, the Downtown Business Association sponsors the millions of tiny white lights decorating every branch in every tree to create a magical wonderland. It’s spring, but the lights are still up.
In the seat beside me, Harmony is silent, arms crossed over her chest. I check the rearview mirror and see that Ryan is still behind us, which is comforting somehow.
I slow down and change lanes to avoid the clip-clop of a horse-drawn carriage full of hot-chocolate-drinking tourists. The evening crowd makes an empty parking space hard to find, so when Harmony points one out, I pull in quickly.
We get out of the car and wait on the sidewalk for Ryan, buttoning up our coats and slipping on mittens just in case he has to circle a few times for another open spot. But clearly he has the same parking karma as we do and joins us in only a few minutes.
The small pizza shop is jammed with college students watching an out of town football game on multiple television screens. The place is full of empty beer glasses and congratulatory yells and high fives, so I figure the local team must be winning.
“Let’s sit in the back,” Harmony says as she leads me and Ryan past the crowded tables and booths to a back corner. Ryan slides into the booth and Harmony immediately sits down next to him, leaving me to sit alone on the other side of the table.
“Where are you from?” the waitress asks Ryan, filling up our glasses with water.
He looks straight ahead. “California.”
She tilts her head but doesn’t ask anything further, leaving us with our menus.
“You know that’s not what she was really asking, right?” I ask, when the waitress is out of earshot.
“Of course I know,” he says.
“So why didn’t you tell her?”
“Do random people ask you where you’re from all the time?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He shrugs and takes a drink of water. “The question gets old.”
I see Harmony giving me a look like I should have known better, and I realize she’s right.
“Sorry,” I tell Ryan, and he waves it off.
“How did the apartment search with your grandmother go yesterday?” I ask him, opening my menu.
“Not great,” Ryan says with a sigh. “The newer places are way too expensive, so now she’s talking about moving back to California to live with one of my aunties or, even worse, back to the Philippines.” He frowns. “That will break my mom’s heart.”
“All places are too expensive,” Harmony chimes in.
“Is your grandmother that unhappy here?” I ask, ignoring Harmony’s random comment. “Maybe she’ll get used to it if she gives it a chance …”
He shakes his head. “You know it’s bad when all she sings are karaoke Elvis songs.”
“Really?” I ask.
He nods but gives a half smile. “It’s her go-to when she’s really down.”
Harmony picks up a menu off the table, then looks at me. “You’re paying, right?”
“Okay,” I say reluctantly, even though I think she’s being completely rude and the bill is going to put a dent in my minimum-wage paycheck.
The waitress returns and asks, “Are we ready to order?”
Harmony immediately pipes up. “I’ll have the extra-large supreme with extra pepperoni.”
“You mean we will, right?” I ask her, exasperated.
Maybe we don’t even like pepperoni. Did you think about that, Harmony?
“Um. Sure,” she says. “We’ll have the extra-large supreme, and add some jalapeños, too.”
Ryan shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”
“Me too,” I admit. My stomach growls.
The waitress takes our drink orders, scribbling on the tiny pad of paper. Then she heads back to the kitchen, dodging the departing college students. The game must be over because the restaurant is emptying out quickly.
Harmony gets up to go to the bathroom and leaves me alone with Ryan. For a minute I feel awkward, hoping he didn’t think this was a date or something. After all, he knows about Luke.
Our waitress brings us our drinks and I sip my Diet Coke while Ryan downs half his Sprite in one long gulp.
“I hope it’s okay I invited Harmony,” I say at last.
“Totally fine with me,” Ryan says. “I think she’s hilarious.”
I almost choke on my soda. Seriously? Are we talking about the same Harmony?
I’m about to ask him for more information when my cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and glance at the screen.
It’s a new ChitChat message.
TELLTALE♥: ARE YOU READY?
Not now. Not here.
I look up and scan the crowded restaurant. There are two sophomores I recognize from school hanging out in front of the televisions and a large family with three kids and a baby in a high chair over by the door.
Who is doing this to me?
My face feels frozen.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks.
“Nothing. Just a text from my mom asking what time I’ll be home.” I glance back down at my phone, trying to make my face neutral. I type back.
ME: JUST STOP THIS.
A new message has come in.
TELLTALE♥: WE’RE JUST GETTING STARTED. NOW, LET’S SEE HOW COMMITTED YOU ARE TO THIS INTERNSHIP.
They know about the interview tomorrow. The thought makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me. Someone is inside my life, watching me.
Then I remember Asha’s post about me and the interview that went out to everyone. How proud she was of me and my accomplishments.
But who would know how much this interview means to me? Who would care?
My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest and go bouncing through the restaurant. Ryan is watching some commercial on TV, distracted, so I write back.
ME: WHO IS THIS?
Of course they don’t answer my question.
But they do respond almost immediately.
TELLTALE♥: DRESS UP FOR YOUR INTERVIEW TOMORROW.
This time there is no hiding the panic when I look back up at Ryan.
Ryan puts his elbows on the table and leans forward, his brown eyes serious.
“Skye. What’s going on? You’re totally freaked out about something. Are you going to talk to me or not?”
I take a deep breath. I do feel like I have to tell someone. And Ryan is right here. Plus, it’s obvious he’s not the one sending me these messages. He hasn’t had his phone out all night. Suddenly, I feel like I can trust him. It’s just a gut feeling, but I go with it.
“Someone has been anonymously texting me and sending me messages on ChitChat,” I blurt. “They took a screenshot of this video my friend Asha posted the other night and it’s …” I pause.
The waitress is back with the pizza. We wait, silently, until she arranges it on a holder in the middle of the table and puts empty plates down.
“Everything look okay?” she asks.
Ryan answers quickly, still staring across the table at me. “Yeah, we’re good.”
When she finally leaves, he asks, “And?”
I continue. “They—whoever they are—sent me this screenshot of me, and told me to paint my nails black or else they’d post the screenshot online.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows. “Is the screenshot that bad?”
I lift one shoulder. “Yes. I mean, kind of,” I say, stumbling over the words. “I was being silly, dressing up in this nightie.”