Foolish Hearts

by Emma Mills

  “It was final sale.”

  “I couldn’t … I mean, maybe you’ll change your mind—”

  “I will literally throw it away, Claudia.”

  I take the purse.

  “Okay. Geez. Thanks.” I look at it. It is definitely a hundred times nicer than my current purse. “Thank you.”

  She just grunts and heads off down the hall.

  I Google the bag that evening. It is indeed on final sale. It also retailed at $498.

  I pick it up off my desk, carefully, like it’s live ammo. I have never owned any one thing this expensive.

  I’m still holding the bag when my mom comes in. It’s now in my lap, and I’m petting it absently, like a small dog. Like it’s a sentient being.

  “Where did that come from?” Mom asks.

  “A girl from school. She didn’t want it anymore.”

  “It still has tags.”

  “It was final sale.”

  Mom narrows her eyes. “Are you in a Bling Ring?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Like on TV. When the kids break into celebs’ houses, steal people’s Rolexes and whatnot.”

  “I’m not in a Bling Ring,” I say.

  The corners of her lips twitch. “Good. Though I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “I mean, you could’ve stolen me a Rolex.” And then, “Make sure you do something nice for the friend with the purse,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads out.

  twenty-three

  I don’t know if watching the TION documentary counts as doing something nice for Iris, but I watch it regardless.

  Normally I would invite Zoe over for this kind of thing, but I think about what she said when I mentioned Iris liking them—She’s obviously trying to fill some void in her life with manufactured pop music. I’m not trying to fill any kind of void. But … I can’t help it. I like TION. I like their music. It’s upbeat and happy, and even when it’s not—even when it’s some kind of cheesy ballad—it works, somehow. There’s an earnestness to it and also some kind of element of … fantasy, I guess. They’re creating a world where you dance all night long and party till dawn and drive with the windows down and kiss in the rain, and maybe it’s not realistic, but it’s appealing. Maybe it’s a little like the photo-booth picture from Gideon’s birthday party—a snapshot of a different life. Some kind of idealized version of how things could be.

  Zoe got into Battle Quest because of me, and I got into Drunk Residential because of her, and we’ve gone back and forth so many times over the years, trading interests and introducing each other to new stuff. But this is one thing that I don’t think she’ll understand.

  This is one thing, ironically, that I can talk to Iris about.

  It’s remarkable—Iris could go on for hours about TION. If I just barely bring them up in conversation, she’ll show me videos of old interviews, behind-the-scenes posts, screenshots of the boys’ tweets from days or months or years ago. She has an almost alarming knowledge of what any one of the TION boys are doing at any given moment—it’s easier, I guess, because they’re touring right now, but she knows that Kenji and Lucas are in Los Angeles while the other boys are staying in Sacramento before the show there. She follows an array of TION update accounts, all the while disparaging update accounts, which shouldn’t be trusted, but still monitored nonetheless.

  “I’m going to start an update account for myself,” I say at school on Wednesday. Brit lit has been canceled so we have a free period.

  “No one would follow it,” Iris says, not looking up from her homework.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just being honest.”

  It’s quiet for a bit as we both work.

  “So … I watched the TION movie the other day,” I say eventually, eager to shift to something that’s not calculus homework.

  Iris looks up with a frown. “You should’ve told me.”

  “Why?”

  “We could’ve watched it together.”

  “I … figured you’d seen it.”

  “Of course I’ve seen it. I love it. I would live in that movie if I could.” A pause. “It’s just … fun sharing fandom stuff with other people.”

  I nod. And suddenly I recall a conversation at Amber’s Pink Party—Ainsley and Madison discussing a band that had just appeared on a late-night show. Kenji looked damn good, Madison had said, but Ainsley had disagreed. What was that jacket? He looked like a disco ball.

  “I think Ainsley and Madison like TION, too.”

  Iris makes a face. “Ainsley says she only likes Will You Stay tour Kenji. It’s insulting.”

  “Why?”

  “If you only like one version of your favorite, then they’re not your favorite,” she says primly, and I can’t really argue with that.

  * * *

  I go to the auditorium to give a few costume pieces to Tara during rehearsal the next day, and to my surprise, Mr. Palmer spots me and gestures me over.

  He’s onstage, going through a couple of fixes with the couples for their big scene, but he leaves them with a “take five” and leads me off to the side.

  “You’re Claudia, yes?” he says.

  “That’s me.”

  “You’ve been doing a little coaching, from what I’ve heard. A little text work, as we say.”

  I blink. Am I going to get in trouble? For like … horning in on directorial territory?

  “Not on purpose, I just … you know, a couple people asked me about stuff—”

  “No, I think it’s fantastic,” Mr. Palmer says. “I love the initiative. And I would absolutely love it if you have some time to maybe do a little bit of one-on-one coaching with, uh, with our lovely Helena.” He gestures to where Lena is standing, chatting with the guy playing Demetrius.

  Lena, who I had an awkward confrontation with in the kitchen of her own house at the last cast get-together. Lena, who pretended not to know who I am, because I am so far beneath her notice.

  “I think she would really benefit from some … close reading of the text,” Mr. Palmer continues.

  What can I say, really? No thanks, I’d rather do literally anything else. I guess it’s for the good of the production, at least.

  “Um … sure. Okay.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have a chat with her after rehearsal today. Thank you, Claudia! This’ll be a big help.”

  * * *

  “Hopefully you can work miracles, because from what I’ve heard, she’s been a total disaster,” Del says when I mention my new assignment from Mr. Palmer. She’s working on Mustardseed’s bodice, and Gideon and Noah are keeping her company, though they should both be off rehearsing their monologues.

  “It hasn’t been that bad,” Gideon says.

  Del snorts. “I heard she can’t remember her lines, so she keeps paraphrasing and making shit up.”

  “To be fair, she does have a lot of lines.”

  Noah makes a face. “She’s been lobbying to make the l in ‘Helena’ capital in the program so it’s HeLena, because it would be ‘so funny, like do you get it? Do you get why it’s funny?’” His Lena impression is startlingly true to life.

  “I mean, I guess it’s accurate,” Del says. “A mashup of her name and where she’s from. Lena plus hell.”

  I let out a choked burst of laughter before I can stop myself.

  Gideon grins but still manages to look disapproving. “She’s trying really hard, I think.”

  “You know, her dad donated money for the production,” Del says.

  “Why, Delilah,” Noah says, fake scandalized, “are you implying that’s why she got the part?”

  “It’s not not why she got the part, that’s all I’m saying,” Del replies with a knowing look.

  * * *

  I have my first meeting with Lena after school the next day.

  She doesn’t acknowledge anything that happened at her party. She just smiles pleasantly at me whe
n I walk up to her in the hall of the arts building and starts chatting about rehearsals as we get situated in the same small classroom where I saw Paige and Gideon run their first scene.

  We start going through lines, beginning with her first scene, where Helena runs into Lysander and Hermia as they’re making plans to run away and get married.

  I read her first cue: “Godspeed, fair Helena! Whither away?”

  “Call you me ‘fair’?” she says in sort of a broad, generally enthusiastic tone. “That ‘fair’ again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair!”

  We get through Helena’s first big speech and then stop to discuss. How it’s not like Helena is just having a nice chat with Hermia—she’s upset because the guy she’s into likes Hermia instead. “She wants to know what Hermia’s doing to get Demetrius to like her,” I explain.

  Lena rolls her eyes. “I mean, I get it, sort of. I guess I just don’t really relate to her at all. She’s throwing herself at this guy who’s not into her in the slightest. It’s pathetic.” She examines her nails. “She should get with Theseus, at least he’s a duke.”

  “Theseus is engaged to Hippolyta.”

  “Engaged is not married, that’s what my mom always says.”

  I have to stifle a smile.

  “It is kind of messed up when you think about it,” I say. “Lysander and Demetrius both get put under spells to fall in love with Helena, but Lysander’s gets taken off, and Demetrius’s doesn’t. So maybe that’s actually the only reason he likes her at the end.”

  “She deserves better, that’s all I’m saying,” Lena says, and then picks up her script. “But I guess I’m stuck with her.”

  We go through the rest of the scene, breaking down Helena’s monologue at the end, and while it’s hard to get Lena to sound anything other than generally upbeat, she seems to be making some sense of it at least.

  “Mr. Palmer says we should meet again next week,” Lena says when we’re gathering up our things to go. I think she’s trying to sound casual. “Just to brush up a few more spots. But you’re probably working with other people, too, right?”

  “I…”

  “Because it’s not like I need special help.”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  “To be honest, this is kind of amateur stuff. I just wrapped up a professional acting job, you know.”

  “Really.”

  “It was a commercial for my dad’s company.” She waves a hand. “Not like I’ve never done one before, but it’s been a long time. It was all fine and good when I was younger—like that always helps, you know, plug a cute little kid in there, up the aww factor or whatever—but then when you’re in junior high it’s just not the same, you know? So my dad said I had to wait until I was eighteen till I could do another one, and then I could be proper eye candy.”

  I text Zoe this direct quote that night.

  I’m sorry, I can’t respond, she replies, because my brain has spontaneously combusted.

  Right?

  Gross-out city, Zoe says.

  Wrong on many levels.

  The levels have levels of wrongness.

  twenty-four

  There is an annual fall carnival called Fall Fun Fest—lovingly referred to as Triple F—that is an oddly big deal at Danforth and PLSG. I remember going with my dad when I was a kid, but ironically I haven’t gone to one since I started high school. I had no plans to change that, until Alicia catches up with me on my way to the studio after school on Thursday.

  “So Noah invited me to Triple F,” she says without preamble, “but I kind of said we should make it a group thing. So do you want to come and hang out with Gideon?”

  I blink. “Why don’t you just ask Sudha? Or Madison?”

  “Because I’m asking you.”

  I pause outside the door to the costume shop. I can see Del through the glass, pinning fabric onto a form. “Yeah, I don’t know.…”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  She makes fun sound more like a threat than a promise, but then she tries to dial it back with a smile.

  “Um. Okay. Yeah.”

  “Great. I’ll text you,” she says, already moving away.

  “You don’t have my number.”

  “I’ll get it from Gideon!” she calls, rounding the corner and disappearing.

  * * *

  Iris texts me that night:

  Are you going to Triple F?

  The question of the day, clearly.

  Yeah, I reply. Alicia invited me.

  I pause and think about Iris in the kitchen at Lena’s—Name one person who genuinely, actually, likes you for you. And Iris’s responding silence.

  I type Want to come with us? and hit send before I can second-guess it.

  Not really, Iris replies a second later.

  Then why did you ask me if I was going?

  There is a long pause. The little text bubble appears, and then disappears, and then appears again.

  Fine. I’ll go.

  * * *

  So we go.

  Alicia is standing inside the front gate when we arrive. Her nonuniform outfit looks like she’s ready to be photographed and featured on a fashion blog with some pretentious caption quote like I’m just really inspired by the world around me—people, places, feelings, things. Dress by Alice + Olivia, shoes by Steve Madden.

  Alicia waves when she notices me, but her face does something strange upon seeing Iris.

  “I need to grab some tickets,” she says, and grips my arm. “Come with me, Claudia,” and she pulls me in the direction of the ticket booth.

  “Why the hell would you bring Iris?” she says when we’re in the vicinity of the booth.

  “What do you mean?” I brace myself. If Alicia is going to talk shit about Iris, I’ll have to say something, and it goes against my deep-seated desire to avoid Making a Scene.

  “Why would you bring Iris on a double date? Who does that?”

  “This isn’t a double date.”

  “Uh, yeah, it is.”

  “You said it was a group thing! ‘Group thing’ does not mean ‘double date’!”

  “Well, it was implied.”

  “You should have said the words ‘double date’!”

  “You should have warned me before you inflicted Iris on us!”

  “Hey,” I say, but the tone of my voice must be enough, because Alicia grimaces.

  “Sorry. Okay. It’ll be fine. Let’s just—”

  But it’s then that Noah and Gideon stroll through the gates, spot us, and wave. Gideon slow-motion runs toward us, like we’re reuniting in a romantic movie. When he reaches us, he hugs Alicia and then holds his hand up to me for a high five.

  “Are you ready to put the ‘fun’ in Fall Fun Fest?” he says as I slap his palm.

  “I can at least put the ‘trip’ in ‘Triple F.’” A pause. “By being clumsy, I mean. Not by, like, sharing drugs with the group.” Three sets of eyes are on me, and I can’t stop myself from talking. “I don’t have any drugs. In case you were worried. Or, in case you were … expecting me to have drugs.…”

  Gideon grins.

  And then, by mercy, Iris appears at Alicia’s elbow. “How long can it possibly take to get tickets?”

  “Oh, yeah, hey,” Alicia says. I know she’s faking nonchalance, but she’s pretty good at it. “So we just ran into Iris, and she’s going to hang out with us. Because she doesn’t have anyone else to hang out with.”

  Iris’s face darkens.

  “I invited her,” I say.

  Gideon looks from Iris to me to Alicia and back, his expression confused. But it clears quickly, and he claps his hands.

  “I need three funnel cakes like yesterday. Claudia, can I buy you a funnel cake?”

  “That’s okay.”

  “You don’t like funnel cake?”

  “I do, just, you don’t have to buy me one. But we could stand in line together.”

  He smiles. “I’ll take it.”

  twenty-fi
ve

  We get funnel cake. And play those ringtoss games that are clearly rigged, though I manage to win a tiny stuffed dragon—purple with electric yellow trim—that’s kind of hideous. I offer it to Iris, who makes a face, and then to Alicia, who looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “I’ll take it,” Gideon says, and my face must do something odd, because he looks a little embarrassed. “You know, if everyone else is just … willing to orphan it like that.”

  I extend the dragon toward him and he tucks it in the front pocket of his jacket, so its little head is sticking out.

  “His name is Balthazar,” he informs me.

  “Oh really?”

  “He’s small right now but one day he’s going to grow as big as the Chrysler Building.”

  “I don’t think he’ll fit in your pocket in that case.”

  “Hey, I could grow as big as the Chrysler Building, too. My mom says I’m not finished growing.”

  “Yeah, you’re just a few thousand feet off.”

  “There might be, like, a vat of toxic waste I could fall into sometime in the future.”

  I smile as we join the others in line for the Ferris wheel.

  “Nope,” Alicia is saying as we reach them. “Absolutely not.”

  “They’re perfectly safe,” Noah says.

  “Seven people a year die in Ferris-wheel–related accidents.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. I read it online.”

  “I don’t think that’s a real statistic,” I say.

  “Seven people. A year.” Alicia’s tone brooks no argument.

  “They’re so fun though,” Noah says. “You can see everything from up there.”

  “I’m fine down here, thanks.”

  “But—”

  “What if it detaches and rolls away? Have you ever thought about that?”

  “I can honestly say I haven’t,” Gideon murmurs to me, and I grin.

  The line moves forward, the couple ahead of us gets on, and then the next little bench opens up.

  “Come on,” Noah wheedles, holding a hand out to Alicia as he climbs the steps.

  “Absolutely not,” she says.

  “We’re holding up the line,” Iris mutters.

  “Here, get in.” I step forward, urging Noah into the car and sliding in next to him.