Ernest smiled widely. “Okay.”
June smiled back. She couldn’t help it.
“Ever had takeout?”
“No,” he said, blinking. “Is it any good?”
Clearly, June had a new goal for the next three days: completely ruining the Foundation diet for him. Forever.
“Brace yourself, partner of mine. I’m going to change your life, one delivery box at a time. I hope you brought your appetite with you, Champ.” Glancing at his wrinkled, sodden cardigan and slacks, she added, “And a change of clothes.”
“One out of two’s not bad, right?” Ernest said, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous little laugh.
Maybe it would be a better night than she’d anticipated, June thought, and handed him the stack of delivery menus.
°
There was a rectangular white box waiting in Zip’s room after she showered off from her evening run. The card on the front said that it was for her. She picked it up, shaking it, and heard tissue paper swish and crinkle inside.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Zip opened up the box. Gold fabric and tiny, sparkling seed beads peeked out between the folds of tissue paper.
It was a dress. A dress so beautiful, Zip was afraid to touch it. It was too rich-looking, too expensive, for her to get her grubby fingers all over. The darts of light coming off the metallic fabric were dizzying. She loved the dress and was terrified of it all at once. She wanted it to be hers, but it didn’t feel like it should belong to her.
It wasn’t that she disliked being a girl. Zip liked feminine things. It just didn’t come naturally to her. While other girls were fey-like luminous in delicate things, Zip felt about as ridiculous as a bulldog in a tutu. She wanted to feel pretty once in a while, but pretty things were intimidating.
When she looked at girls like June and Cindy, she wondered how they did it. They smelled good and their lips were never chapped and their lashes were always sooty and thick. She could never figure if she wanted to look like that, or if she wanted to look at other girls who looked like that. The only thing that she knew for sure was that she wanted the cool slither of those fabrics over her skin.
Zip held the dress against her front, smoothing it down with one hand. It was a short dress, the hem brushing mid-thigh. Instead of being cinched in at the waist, it hung loose and straight, like something a flapper might wear. She could run in it if she needed to. Professor bint Balqis must have had that very thing in mind, because there was a pair of shorts folded up underneath the dress. They were white and edged in lace, but the material was as stretchy as her usual running shorts.
The dress seemed wearable, but she had to make sure of it. Pulling it on over her head, she shivered reflexively at the feel of the fabric. She couldn’t see much of her reflection in the small, square mirror over the sink, unfortunately. Zip arched up on her tiptoes in an effort to see more of the dress. She nearly overbalanced when the door opened without any warning.
The look on Cindy’s face was better than any mirror could have been. Her eyes were startled at first, startled, but they warmed as she smiled. It was like she hadn’t recognized her for a second, but in a good way.
“Oh, wow,” Cindy said, dropping her backpack on her bed. She plopped down, cross-legged, and continued to stare at her. “You going to a Christmas party or something?”
Zip’s toes curled against the carpet. “Yeah, Mal invited me to go to the Bash in New York.”
“As his date?”
Zip had been afraid of that. There might’ve been a time when she would’ve taken it as a convenient excuse, something to ward off any questions about crushes, but she didn’t want to be that way anymore. After a few dinners with the Galán-Grant family, she’d decided that if someone asked her, she’d tell them the truth.
“Oh— oh, no. No. Just as his Beta. Mal’s not my type. Or I’m not his, I mean.”
It wasn’t a date, because she didn’t like Mal. She should have liked him— maybe would have, too, if she liked boys. But she didn’t. She never had. For as long as she could remember, the speedster butterflies in her stomach only stirred when she thought about softer, smaller hands touching her. That didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon, so she’d promised herself that she would stop being so afraid.
But that wasn’t easy.
“Good,” Cindy said, very firmly. “I was gonna say, you could do a lot better than that assclown. No offense.”
In the name of teamwork and solidarity, Zip chose to keep her mouth shut rather than agree. She wasn’t sure what the definition of an assclown was, but it felt like it fit Bad Day Mal.
“Hey, Cin’? Could you do me a really-really-really big favor?”
She arched an eyebrow at her. “Possibly.”
“Well, it’s— it’s not that big of a favor, I guess, but I— I don’t know how to makeup. I mean, I don’t know how to make myself up with makeup, and I figure that I should probably wear makeup to this Bash thing, ‘cause-it’s-a-big-deal-and-all-and— ”
“Oh. You want me to show you how to put on makeup?”
Zip nodded furiously. Her face felt likely to catch fire, freckles and all. She hoped it wasn’t too obvious.
“Sure,” Cindy said, getting up and retrieving the padded zip-up bag where she kept her makeup stuff. “It’ll be my good deed of the day. Sit down and get comfortable.”
It was strange, looking back at the difference a year could make. When Zip had met Cindy, she’d been bony-thin, unkempt, and mad as hell at everything and everyone. Now, she seemed...well, she seemed happy, and that made Zip happy, too. When she watched Cindy get up in the morning and put on her makeup, she felt like she’d done a good thing. One big step wasn’t much for someone with her foot speed, but she’d learned to appreciate watching someone else make that triumphant forward movement. Cindy’s makeup ritual and her mental wellbeing went hand in hand in Zip’s head, since it didn’t happen when she was feeling bad.
So it might not have been a big deal to Cindy, but it meant a lot to her that she was willing to share that with her. Zip sat desperately still, holding her fidgets in as Cindy sponged some pasty flesh-colored junk on her face.
“What’s this?”
“Foundation,” Cindy said, sort of distractedly.
“Huh.” She said, inspecting the tube. It squished. Makeup was weird.
“You look at makeup like it’s artifacts from an alien culture. What the hell, Zip. You’re from South Dakota, not Mars.”
She gave a tiny, controlled shrug. She didn’t want to chance messing things up.
“I’m not so great at bein’ girly.”
“Which is why I’m taking pity on you in the first place,” Cindy said, nodding.
“You’re the best roommate.”
Zip beamed at her. Cindy smirked back.
“That’s what I like to hear. Anyway. This stuff covers up your freckles,” she said, carefully dabbing along Zip’s cheekbone. Her fingertips were very soft. “It’s kind of sad.”
She would have been honestly surprised if Cindy didn’t hear her heart thundering away in her chest.
“Why’s that sad?”
“The freckles are just...you. What’s a cheetah without her spots?”
“Yeah, um, I, um— ” Zip tripped over pieces of words, her mouth motoring on while her brain clicked blanks. “They’re on me. So I’m, um. Attached. To them.”
“One sec,” Cindy said, pulling out a packet of lemon-scented moist towelettes. “You don’t need this.”
“But isn’t it the foundation for the other makeups?” Zip asked worriedly.
“Makeups. What am I going to do with you?” Cindy sighed, shaking her head. “You have a nice complexion, so foundation isn’t essential. Let’s start over from the top.”
Cindy took a round compact and a brush out of her bag.
“This is blush. We’re going to give you a little bit and call it a day. I’ve decided that the minimalist approach is going to be the best
for you. “
“Blush,” Zip repeated, looking at the peachy cake of powder. “Uh-huh.”
Cindy loaded the bristles with powder, then brushed rosy circles over her cheekbones. It tickled.
“Next up: mascara,” she said, exchanging the blush for a cylindrical tube with a twist-off cap. “Now, I know for a fact that this is going to be the hardest thing ever for you, but I need you to sit still and try not to blink while I’m putting this on you. Just look at me and don’t move. I seriously do not want to take you to Nurse Bliss tonight because you super-speedily impaled your eye on a mascara wand, got it?”
For once, she didn’t need to move. The urge was quiet and calm. She wasn’t sure how long it took Cindy to put the mascara on her, and she didn’t care. She got to look at her, really look, and not feel guilty about staring.
“Success,” Cindy announced, taking a step back. “And you still have both eyes.”
“See? I’m not a hundred percent hopeless.” Zip’s lashes felt heavy, like she’d cried and hadn’t gotten a chance to wash her face. She managed to resist the urge to rub them.
“And now, the finishing touch,” Cindy said, and brought out the one thing Zip did recognize easily: lipgloss. “Pucker up.”
She did. Cindy smeared the glittery pink stuff over her lips. It tasted like grapefruit, chemical-tart and sticky.
“So,” she said, sitting back. “What have we learned?”
“The black gunk on my eyelashes, the lip stuff on my mouth, and the powder on my cheeks,” Zip said, pointing to each in turn. “Right?”
Her smirk widened.
“Close enough. Check it out, Freckles,” Cindy said, nodding at the mirror.
Her reflection showed her a big-eyed stranger in a dress. Zip pursed her lips, rubbing them together. The gloss made her mouth look soft and slick. It was strange, but not bad.
“Are you sure that I look okay?” She asked, unsure.
“You look pretty. Really pretty.” Cindy said, and it was all Zip could do to keep herself from doing gleeful laps at the compliment. People called her cute often enough, but not pretty. And Cindy, who was really pretty, had said it. “How long are you going to be gone, anyway?”
“The Queen doesn’t like to leave her castle, so Mal said we’ll probably only be gone two or three days,” Zip said, smoothing down her dress. She was grinning like mad, and she didn’t care if it showed. “We’ll be back in time for Christmas, for sure.”
“It’ll be, y’know...kind of quiet here without you,” Cindy said, with a hesitance that was rare for her. “I’ll miss having you around.”
Before her brain could catch up with her feet, Zip turned around and hugged her. Cindy locked up at first, wiry— and for the tiniest, most frantic part of a nanosecond, Zip debated bolting— but then she relaxed. She hugged her back, even.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
°
The three days that Ernest spent in New York were proof that sometimes, doing the things that scared you the most paid off in the long run. They didn’t do much of anything, but he still had a great time. June refused to take him to any of the major city landmarks— tourist traps, according to her— but they’d still gone on excursions.
June made a goal out of introducing him to as many Foundation-banned foods as possible. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find he’d put on weight, even with his increased metabolism. Ernest could say that he now fully understood where June was coming from with her criticism— bad food tasted pretty darn good.
June’s mother, Marcy— whom she called by her first name, which seemed strange to him— took some getting used to, though. June had inherited her creativity, as well as her basic power. She was a poster, too, but just a Delta-level red-band. Marcy could heat up her hands until they were like hot irons. She used her abilities to make sculptures, carving and warping materials without any tool but her glowing fingers.
Marcy’s art had garnered a bit of a following. She made good money, but she was also gone a lot of the time. If Ernest hadn’t decided to fly out, June would have spent her vacation alone. So all in all, he didn’t regret his impulse decision one bit.
But as the hours until the Bash dwindled, his nerves started to pluck at him. He’d seen the dress that June had finished, but he hadn’t seen her in it. Ernest knew that it spelled trouble. Just on the hanger, the red dress had made his palms sweat and his chest feel tight. It was an amazing dress, and she’d look amazing in it, and there was a chance that he was going to make a fool of himself as a result.
And he was absolutely right on all accounts.
“Buttoned Queen Anne neckline, cut-out back— it’s a basic big band revival.” June smoothed down her dress, her palms following the flare of her generous hips down to her thighs, then went back to pinning her curls. “Nothing super fancy, but I think that it’s appropriately classy. When you’ve got girls like mine, you’ve got to be careful with your hemlines. What do you think?”
The red dress hugged curves, and June had plenty of those to spare. She’d turned sixteen the month before, but she looked older than that, he thought. From her pearl earrings on down to her shiny black heels, every inch of her was skyscraper sophistication.
“You’re beautiful,” Ernest said, and he couldn’t help sounding awed.
“Your bias is showing, but I’ll accept it,” June said. Fishing out her lipstick and compact, she touched up her glossy red lips.
Ernest had to glance away whenever she put on lipstick anymore. Without fail, he remembered how surprisingly velvety-smooth her red lips had been when he’d kissed her. He hadn’t expected her mouth to be so soft. It was a distracting sense memory.
“The car service should be here anytime, so I’m gonna go get dressed, okay?” Ernest said, beating a hasty retreat without waiting for a response. He’d showered and all that earlier, so he only had to get into his suit. Then, he’d be all ready to go.
As ready as he’d ever be, anyway.
His father had dropped Ernest’s suit by on his way into the city for his pre-Bash meetings. His dad had taken it surprisingly well when he’d called to tell him that he’d be staying in New York for a couple of days. According to him, he’d flown further distances for more trivial reasons. He hadn’t stayed long— when Marcy had started pressing for hard answers as to the status of his marital situation, the Commander had suddenly remembered how important his meetings were.
Getting dressed in the bathroom, Ernest put his undershirt on backwards. Twice. Trying to get the latches to match up right was a nightmare all on its own. He managed to get himself put together, and just in time. June knocked on the door, yelling, “You’d better be pretty! The cab’s here!”
When he opened the bathroom door, June looked horrified. He glanced behind him, just to make sure it was aimed at him. Unfortunately, there wasn’t some kind of monster lurking behind him, so he had no idea what was wrong.
“Oh, god,” June said, sounding truly panicked. “Really, Ernest?”
“What? What’s wrong?” Ernest looked down at his uniform, trying to figure out what was so bad. Nothing stuck out. He straightened the collar of his jacket, though he didn’t think it was the culprit.
“You’re wearing that?” She said, pointing to the uniform she’d made him herself. “To the Bash?”
“Most posters that have costumes wear ‘em,” he said, confused. “Dad’ll be in his, so he thought I could show off my new one.”
“You didn’t have to. People are going to be taking pictures. Lots of pictures.”
“But I like it,” Ernest said, feeling defensive and a little puzzled. Wouldn’t she want people to see her designs? They were so good. Even his dad said so, and all of his uniforms were designed by professionals. “I hope they do take pictures. I’m proud of it.”
June huffed, rearranging her artful spill of curls, but she didn’t argue.
“C’mon. We’re keeping the taxi waiting,” she said, linking her arm with his.
/> The ride to Hart Hall was awkwardly quiet. He didn’t understand why she was upset over him wanting to show off how talented she was, but it made him feel bad.
“I...” Ernest cleared his throat, glancing at her sideways. “I wouldn’t have worn this if I’d known you didn’t want me to. I just thought it’d be a waste not to, that’s all.”
“It’s fine. I get it,” June said, looking out the window. “You’re proud of it.”
June must have put on her perfume right before they walked out the door, because the smell of it filled the back of the cab. She reminded him of an autumn field burning that he’d smelled, once. She was the only lady he knew outside of the Queen herself who wore perfume. His auntie’s perfume was flowers and spice, jasmine and cloves and sandalwood, and it made his nose tingle.
June smelled like spice, too, but it was the kinds of spices that Ernest loved the most. He breathed in cinnamon and apples and burning leaves whenever she brushed past him.
Enjoying June’s perfume always made Ernest feel a little guilty, like he was doing something that he shouldn’t. He didn’t have to get very close to smell her, so it wasn’t like he was invading her privacy or anything. He couldn’t help how sharp his nose was.
He’d tried to compliment her on it a couple of times, but he tripped up on his own tongue, without fail. He’d end up saying something dumb, like that she smelled pretty. She’d remind him that it was the perfume she wore every day, laughing, and he’d clam up. The fact that she wore it every day didn’t make it any less pleasant. It didn’t matter that he smelled it daily. He didn’t get tired of it. He liked it— liked her— too much for that.
“I’m proud of you,” Ernest said, and meant it with everything he had in him. The cab pulled up to the entrance of the gleaming hall, then stopped.
She looked at him, finally.
“Yeah?”
“June, I’m proud to call myself your partner. You made this for me, and I love it, and I don’t mind letting folks know it. You’re— you’re just— you’re an amazing partner, and I— I think I might like you more than just as a partner.” Gulping down a breath to quell the nausea wringing his stomach inside out, he folded his hand over hers and added, “I might more than just like you.”
The Posterchildren: Origins Page 36