Judge by the Cover_High School, Drama & Deadly Vices

by Melissa Abigail

  The bus stopped at Rosedale and East Point Ave., and a teenager got on. Her silky, gingery hair with a subtle glint of gold was pulled into a high ponytail. Ryu jostled forward in his seat and watched as the girl flashed a day pass. She turned, and he felt his body calm.

  It wasn’t her, after all.

  Now that Ryu saw the girl, in full view—dressed not in their uniform but casual clothes—he realised she wasn’t even what they’d be called back in Japan, “hafu." An easy mistake to make. Haruna Mitsukai was a girl who really didn’t look too Japanese, save for her slight frame, her heart-shaped face and a certain something about her. But Haruna’s light hair was like this girl, same colour, always in a ponytail, and Haruna’s wide, double-lidded eyes were green. Or blue. Ryu could never quite tell which it was. Her eyes always seemed to change colour.

  “24 Park Lane.”

  Ryu turned to his right, offering a weary glance at the back door as the bus came to a lurching stop. The familiar “ding” sounded and a greying man pressed against the door to exit. A bevy of people came in through the front. The robotic tone of the automated bus announcer came again: “Next Stop, 48 Park Lane.”

  Public transit was the pits.

  Ryu skipped through his playlist. Next song, Everyday Struggle. He glimpsed again at the back of Ponytail-Girl’s head, watching the sway of her hair as she stood, struggling to maintain balance, her grip fixed on a yellow pole as the bus became more and more packed.

  How could Ryu possibly take that girl for Haruna? No way would she be caught on one of these nasty buses.

  Like most others at Shady Glenn Academy, those of privilege, she lived in the surrounding neighbourhood it was named after. Like any other elite, gated community, Shady Glenn Estates had large houses on vast lots with grand driveways room enough for two or more high-end cars. They had well-tailored gardens and manicured lawns. They also had sidewalks that were clean and unsullied, their use seeming to be reserved for walking prized purebred dogs or children who drove their own motorized miniature cars. Those who didn’t walk to the Academy, those beyond the gated community, drove or were chauffeured. As expected.

  Ryu didn’t have such luxuries. Not that it bothered him much. He knew what wealth looked like, even if he'd never been to Shady Glenn Estates. As far as he was concerned, those people with their ivory-white smiles and cookie-cutter notions of existence were fake. They didn’t know how hard life could really be or how easily it could be snuffed out.

  Ryu was reminded of Seth.

  How could anyone find Gabrielle and girls of her kind, like Haruna, attractive? Though they all irritated him, Haruna was the worst. If all the world really was a stage, as Shakespeare said, then she was an actress worthy of a Tony award, a girl whose popularity was based on nothing more than boot-licking and pretence. Ryu seldom found girls attractive, but to him Haruna was the ugliest. Gabrielle came in at a close second.

  Who was Ryu to tell Seth he was chasing calamity and that no girl was worth the trouble? This was Seth Jordan. The boy couldn’t be persuaded. Maybe it was the one trait they both had most in common, pure stubbornness.

  Seth was Ryu’s closest friend at the Academy, the only one who even knew what Ryu’s Friday evening looked like. The other guys—Tim Simms, Jackson Noh, Kevin Tsang and Cody Yow—were just more actors. Seth was real, but his weakness was like everyone else’s. He would never understand Ryu’s life, no matter how he tried. One day in Ryu's world, and he’d crumble under the gravity.

  “Red Creek Road and Main Street.”

  Ryu looked out the window, its outside streaked with a week’s worth of dust and grime. The sky had turned navy-blue. It must have been nearly six o'clock. He yawned as the bus twisted along the familiar block, known for its broken and grubby sidewalks and its weatherworn, graffiti scratched buildings. The bus drove onwards, jerking and rocking, crossing one or two of the road’s many potholes. It passed the usual storefronts, dingy, deserted and barred with grills. Those metal bars kept valuables in, and the valueless out—the kind of people who frequented the area late at night, the dishevelled, downtrodden locals with yellowed teeth and dead eyes. This strip was at the heart of East Campbelton, and ground zero for tomorrow night’s ventures. Just farther on, just twelve minutes later, the scene would change again.

  Ryu rubbed his eyes. When he removed his hand, coming into view was the secluded property surrounded by ancient pine and maple trees, secured by gunmetal-grey fencing. On the lot was the large residence, legendary, despite being rendered in generic tones of pewter and beige. This was home.

  “893 Wood Valley Crescent.”

  Breathing out, Ryu lifted his arm to pull the string. The bus crawled to a stop and he got to his feet, hands dug into the hoodie’s front pouch, fingers brushing against the brown paper bag.

  Another day. Another hustle.

  With heavy strides, Ryu ploughed through the exit doors and faced the dark.

  When the world knows beauty as beauty, ugliness arises. When it knows good as good, evil arises.

  – tao-te ching, 2

  CHAPTER two

  angels & inner demons

  A single voice poured out, melodic with every chord and progressing verse. With every note and hum of the choir, the serenade of a grand piano led them on. The room was filled with music, beautiful and haunting. A single girl, the soloist, stood in the centre of the group, her lips pulled into an eager smile as she arrived at the long-awaited chorus.

  “Fall on your knees. Oh, hear the Angels'—”

  “NO!”

  The girl stopped and like a balloon deflated, everything came to a sudden halt, including the piano. The fifteen other children in the choir all stood around confused. Frustration may have entered their thoughts as well, but none risked showing it in their faces as Sister Anne marched towards them. Her large, round eyes, flanked by several folds of wrinkles, passed over them all before settling most accusingly on the girl whose solo she had cut short.

  “Your pitch is off,” Sister Anne declared tersely. The girl lowered her head as Sister Anne shifted her focus to the others. “And the rest of you. Where is the feeling? The passion? This is the night Christ was born. These are not merely words on a page. You have to make the audience feel the spirit of Christ.”

  She groaned with frustration and rubbed at her forehead which had become blotchy and pink; a line of perspiration glistened under the brim of her black veil.

  “Dear me! One of the greatest hymns and you’re not doing it justice, now are you?”

  By this point, all sixteen of the children were glimpsing at their feet, into their hymn books, their fingers… anywhere but at the old nun, whose words never failed to be harsh. But this was her way. And none knew this better than—

  “Haruna, dear!”

  Haruna jumped in her seat. She assembled a polite smile, then swivelled to face her.

  “Er, yes, Sister Anne?”

  The woman gazed back, disappointment clear in her expression, fists planted at the sides of wide hips.

  “You’ve been just slightly out of time. Goodness, are you even playing the right chords, dear?”

  Haruna gave a weak nod. “I’m sorry, Sister Anne. I thought I was in the C chord—”

  “The chorus, dear—I’m talking about the chorus.” Sister Anne heaved another sigh. She directed her eyes to the ceiling as though begging the Almighty Himself for assistance or perhaps, Haruna thought darkly, desiring Him to smite them all. The woman shook her head and then stalked off to the side.

  “We’re starting over from the top. Haruna, dear, start again. Dun-a-na-dun-na-na-dun-a-na-dun-na-na—go on.”

  Haruna scowled down at the grand piano. She found her positioning, her fingers set stiff against its keys. She began the melody. Once Sister Anne gave the signal, the choir started to hum. Haruna shut her eyes, visualizing the notes.

  There was only a short list of things Haruna hated more than playing the piano, t
hough the violin and clarinet were not ideal pastimes either. She wasn’t completely awful with instruments. And she did like music. But it just didn’t come naturally. It felt like such a burden, a chore. The thought of having to replay the same song for what must have been the seventh time that evening made Haruna want to scream.

  It didn’t help that Sister Anne was the most abrasive sort of strict. Haruna was favoured in the parish, earning her golden reputation as an altar server, then attending weekly Bible study sessions to, alas, becoming a mentor for Holy Eternal Sacrifice Youth Group and Choir. She was admired, even by Sister Anne. Though Haruna never quite escaped Anne’s wrath of criticism, she often softened the blows with terms of endearment: “Dear."

  Haruna had found that the best way to please Sister Anne was by doing the same thing she did to please her grandmother. By “accepting” that Sister Anne was always right.

  Always.

  “Well, that’s it for tonight,” the nun announced at last. “We’ll continue rehearsals next week. And, Haruna, you ought to focus your practise on Silent Night. I suspect it will be a difficult one for you, dear.”

  Haruna gave a nod, again with the brightest smile she could manage. She got to her feet, pulled on her fall jacket and gave her good-byes to Sister Anne as well as to the children. Then Haruna made her escape. She had wanted nothing more than to hear the words “that’s it." She had had enough.

  Once through the doors, sure enough there was her boyfriend, his head propped against the wall and his mouth open. Smirking, Haruna walked over to him, then slapped his knee.

  “Hey you. Wake up,” she whispered.

  He flinched and his eyes fluttered open.

  “Wha? Oh, you’re finished?” he responded sluggishly, releasing a quick yawn.

  “Yup. And ready to go when you are,” Haruna said, not waiting for him to stand and stretch as she hastened onwards and up the stairs.

  “Wow, that was long, wasn’t it? Hope Sister Anne didn’t give too much trouble,” he joked.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I can’t wait until Agatha comes back."

  Agatha was an elderly woman who usually played the piano for the choir’s recitals, though officially she was the church’s organist. Due to an unfortunate fall and subsequent hip displacement, she had been away for many months. It was nonetheless expected she would return in the coming weeks.

  Mani lifted a brow. “That bad, eh?”

  Bad didn’t even fully define it.

  “I just don’t understand why she’s so harsh on them. They’re just kids! And the Christmas Pageant is still well over a month—no—two months away. They’ll have plenty of time!”

  “Well, you know the Sister’s all about perfecting the small details,” Mani noted.

  “What details? There’s no way to perfect O Holy Night. It’s either you nail it or you don’t.” Haruna stopped as they neared the exit. She spun on her heels to face Mani with a pout. “You’re lucky. I guess Youth Ministers like you get to sleep on the job, huh?”

  Mani grinned, shrugging his shoulders as they arrived at the top of the staircase leading out from the church basement. His hands were buried in the sides of his designer jeans.

  “I’m just here to lift heavy stuff.”

  Haruna turned from him with a snort. “Ugh, you and your jokes.”

  She shuddered, feeling the shock of Mani’s long arms around her, pulling her into a hug. His chest was warm against her back, and the musk of his cologne was hypnotic. All her tension, all her frustrations seemed to melt away. She smiled, placing a hand gently onto his.

  “I’m glad you waited, though,” she murmured. “And for taking me to dinner earlier, thank you. With all the stress I’ve felt lately, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  Mani’s voice was deep, smooth like a bass.

  “The stress is good. Like Baba always says, learning to take it makes it easier for us to dish it.” He added a chuckle, chin braced along the top of her head. “I’m concerned. Seems without me you’d have to keep all these mini-rants to yourself.”

  Haruna broke from his hold and stepped away.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  She glanced slyly at him from the side, watching his eyes like silver coins squint mischievously. He laughed the kind of laugh one would expect from someone of his stature. Bold. Husky. He leaned in to cup her face in his hands, then planted kisses on both her cheeks. Haruna smiled. He always knew just what to do and say.

  “Hey, do you need a ride home?” he asked, now hugging her from the side, a single arm swept over her shoulder and coaxing her in alongside him. He opened the door, leading her outside as they took in the cool night air.

  Haruna blushed, her ear grazing his shoulder as she lifted her head and met his gaze. He smiled back, flaunting the dimples dotting his cheeks. She nodded. Mani was kind to her. It didn’t hurt that he also drove a Mercedes.

  “You two look a little close.”

  That voice. Haruna whipped around to face her, the woman who stared back from a distance, her crystal, almost translucent eyes flitting between them. Her mouth, adorned in its usual hue of pale plum lipstick, was set in a grimace.

  “Hello, Marie—er—Ms. Smith,” Mani greeted, his voice hoarse as though he hadn’t spoken in a while. He coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat.

  “Hello, Mr. Vangelis,” the woman, Ms. Smith, Ms. Marie Smith, responded with a half-smile. She gave a faint nod and then her eyes darted with hawk-like precision back to Haruna.

  “Grandmother…” Haruna's voice was small and frail. She sidestepped away from Mani, leaving a great big distance between them. “Um, I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Yes, well, I supposed since I was passing by I could pick you up. The meeting ended early.”

  After a tense few seconds of the uncomfortable silence that followed, Mani excused himself. “Uh, well I better get going.”

  “Right then. Pleasure seeing you,” Marie said with a wave, her sterling silver and pearl bracelets rattling along her thick wrist.

  “Ah, and you,” said Mani, his mouth a grin.

  Haruna bid farewell to her boyfriend, and the three splintered off into two and one, towards their cars. Their time was cut short, but at least Haruna would be able to see him in a couple days, on Sunday for weekly Mass.

  The few minutes of peace that existed as grandmother and granddaughter entered the car, buckled their seatbelts, and vacated the parking lot ended with a lecture.

  “Now, I know Emmanuel is a good boy, a good Catholic boy from a good home. But remember what I said about boys, Catherine?”

  Haruna gave an obedient nod. “Yes, Grandmother.”

  “I’m sure he treats you well and he’s charming and all, but you know these boys are trouble. And your education comes first. It always comes first.”

  “I understand, Grandmother.”

  “And you know well enough the only reason I’ve allowed you to have a boyfriend at all is because it’s that boy. But even if it’s him, you know I would never tolerate sinning against the Lord.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.”

  “Even your mother didn’t have a boyfriend at your age. I simply forbade it.”

  Haruna lifted her head curiously. She already knew for a fact that her mother, Grace, once attended a boarding school out of town. But Haruna didn’t dare say what she truly wanted to say. That Marie could never know what her daughter did, given that her daughter was never home. And as a matter of fact, neither was Marie.

  “So Dad was Mum’s first boyfriend?” Haruna asked.

  “Yes, well, unfortunately.”

  Haruna lowered her head, a gloomy tug at her insides. She remained silent, pretending not to notice the bitterness in her grandmother’s tone.

  “Anyway, that’s not the point, now is it? I’m perfectly fine with Emmanuel, love—but all that, that kind of public display—at church of all places—i
s quite inappropriate, Catherine.”

  “Right,” Haruna mumbled, resting her cheek in her hand as she leaned her elbow on the base of the car window.

  “And marriage, dear. That’s where…”

  After continuing in this vein for five more minutes, Marie’s grip firm against the steering wheel’s leather hide, she shifted topics. First came the questions about the Youth Group’s choir session. It wasn’t a topic Haruna wanted to revisit, though she supposed it was a welcome departure from another “boyfriend sermon,” or ramblings about “the wayward ways” of today’s youth.

  “It went well,” Haruna lied, adding that the pageant was sure to be a smashing success as it was every year.

  “Good, good,” Marie said proudly. “I’m delighted that they asked you to play for them, too. Your mother was so gifted with the piano. Why, when Gracie played, it was just lovely. I remember it like yesterday…”

  Haruna stared absently through the windshield, gazing at the road ahead. They approached the community gates, the grand placard, “Shady Glenn Estates” carved in elegant letters, mounted at its front. The car pulled to a stop, and Marie reached into one of several compartments for the key card. She lowered the window, swiped the card against the slot, and the gates opened. The car rolled forward, passing through the entrance.

  They were home.

  For the remainder of the evening, Haruna was about the house like a bumblebee, all to the soundtrack of her grandmother listing off her chores and responsibilities.

  "Yes, Grandmother."

  "I will right away, Grandmother."

  Tidying the cabinets and sweeping the floors. Putting away all things left out of place. Finishing that last load of laundry. Returning a call from that one junior student who didn't understand the bit about fractions from his math homework. Getting in a few more minutes of clarinet and violin practise before calling it quits. As Haruna put her instruments away, intent to retreat to her room for the evening, her eyes fell upon Harriet and Alice, her parakeets. She didn't know what it was about them. Their beauty. Their innocence. Sometimes she felt they were less her pets and more her allies in some unspoken struggle. Trapped. Locked inside this cage.