by M A Gelsey
“Sure,” said Javi’s mother, hiding her grimace well as she stood up to find her phone. Javi’s grandmother was the only one who ever called her Josefina; everybody else just called her Jo. That almost-grimace made Javi feel a surge of affection for his mother. She was always the one to reassure him not to take his grandmother’s words to heart, that she was old and dogmatic and old-fashioned, and they had to tolerate her eccentricities because before too long she’d be dead.
Before Javi’s mother had time to even dial, his father walked through the front door with a large bouquet of white roses clutched in his hand.
“Sorry,” he said, before Javi’s grandmother could do more than open her mouth indignantly. “Traffic was terrible.”
Sensing that he’d be able to sneak off, Javi stood up and walked quietly towards the door that led to a short hallway beyond which lay the stairs to his bedroom.
“Everything good, son?” his father asked as Javi passed him.
“Yep,” Javi said. “Herman and Fred will come to the vineyard next weekend they said.”
“Great!” said Javi’s father, overly enthusiastic to cover the awkwardness of the situation. Javi’s mother and grandmother gathered up their purses and went to stand next to his father.
With a glance at the impatience on Javi’s grandmother’s face, Javi’s father said, “We’ll be back soon,” shooting an apologetic look across the living room to where Javi stood alone.
“No problem,” he said. Before anyone had a chance to say anything else to him, Javi turned and trudged down the hallway and up the stairs, closing the door to his bedroom. He lay across his bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the front door gently close, to the sounds of his parents and grandmother getting into his mother’s SUV and driving away. Javi told himself he didn’t want to go to the grave anyway. He had never been invited, and he was glad of it. He had no wish to see his own name on a tombstone. Happy fucking birthday to me, he thought bitterly.
6: EDGAR PRIME
“Make sure to read the rest of Herodotus, we’ll be having a discussion on his account of the Battle of Thermopylae next class,” Professor Van Willigan reminded them loudly over the sounds of laptops closing and bags zipping. “And don’t think you’ll be able to get away with just watching the movie 300. I’ll know if you do.” He gave them a faux-stern look and a few people chuckled.
“Edgar Prime,” said a voice behind him. Edgar Prime turned in his seat to face Celeste Huxley, a pretty girl with very short hair, caramel skin and piercing blue eyes. A glance at her notebook revealed that as usual she had spent most of the lecture doodling complex equations instead of taking notes. She was a junior physics major, only taking World History to fulfill her core curriculum requirements, and she made no secret of her distain for the subject.
“Yes, you can borrow my notes,” Edgar Prime said, before she had a chance to ask.
Celeste grinned. “Knew I could count on you. Got any plans tonight?”
“Not really,” Edgar Prime said, surprised. He and Celeste had thus far only spoken in the few minutes before and after class, and usually it was only about their assignments.
“Good. I’m having some people over, and you should come,” Celeste declared.
“Okay,” Edgar Prime said with a surge of joy as they both stood to leave. He had mostly kept to himself since starting college, but spending every night in the library did get tedious after awhile.
“I’ll text you the address,” Celeste said.
“Okay,” Edgar Prime said again. What an interesting conversationalist you are, his subconscious sneered at him. He ignored it. “Should I bring anything?”
“Only your glorious smile and winning personality,” Celeste quipped, and when he glanced sideways at her she laughed. Her laugh was contagious, and Edgar Prime joined in even though he knew she was teasing him.
Edgar Prime almost said “okay” again but managed to stop himself.
“D’you go out much?” Celeste asked as they exited the building and crossed the quad. The sun was low in the sky and there was a chill wind that made Edgar Prime wish he’d thought to wear a hat.
“Some,” Edgar Prime lied.
Celeste grinned at that, and he knew she must see right through him. “Well, good. This won’t be a party party, just a few friends hanging out. I normally wouldn’t invite freshmen to these things, but I’m making an exception for you.”
Edgar Prime longed to ask her why, but didn’t want to seem pathetic. They reached a fork in the road where they’d be going opposite directions; Edgar Prime to his dorm, Celeste to her apartment.
“I’ll email you today’s notes when I get home,” he said.
“Thanks again, Edgar Prime. You’re the best.” Celeste hugged him and set off down her path, leaving him to continue on his way while trying to suppress a huge grin. Finally, things were looking up.
7: ANNABEL
That evening, Annabel barely ate any of her dinner, despite the fact that it was comprised of all her favorite foods: roast chicken with lemon and garlic, braised kale and tahini mashed sweet potatoes. Every time she looked across the table at Rex’s painfully reverent expression her stomach twisted into knots. Ms. Durant had prepared Annabel for what would be expected of her as a wife, and the thought of it made her nauseated.
After Mrs. Lennox cleared away the last of the dessert plates, Rex suggested they sit together by the fireplace before turning in for the night. Annabel settled herself on the sofa as far away from Rex as she could manage without seeming rude. After a few minutes of awkward conversation, he stood up to stoke the fire. When he returned to the couch, he sat right beside her, close enough that their legs were touching. Annabel crossed one leg over the other to minimize the contact, but she could not escape the press of his hip against hers.
He stretched an arm around the back of the sofa, and let it come to rest around Annabel’s shoulder. She almost flinched but managed to stop herself. In order to keep her hands from trembling, she grasped them tightly together in her lap.
“Do I make you nervous?” Rex asked in a quiet voice.
Annabel shook her head but did not meet his eyes.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Taking a deep breath first, Annabel looked. The expression on his face was kind but imploring.
“I want you to feel comfortable around me, Annabel,” said Rex. “I know this is strange right now — it’s strange for me too. But in time, you’ll realize that we belong together. That’s why I didn’t want to meet you before now — I wanted only to see you as the woman I love, not as a child. It would have been unseemly had I made contact sooner.”
She nodded because she knew he wanted her agreement. Ms. Durant had already explained this to her. Annabel swallowed, her throat dry.
“I understand,” she lied, barely above a whisper.
“Good,” he said. Rex looked satisfied with this answer. His hand gripped her shoulder slightly, in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring manner, and she noticed something new in his eyes — a hunger.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said. His voice had dropped to a low purr, and he stroked his fingers down her arm gently.
Annabel swallowed again, thinking of what Ms. Durant told her about the less fortunate clones, the ones who were flawed and sent to the black market to be sold to the highest bidder. Was she not safe and healthy? Was she not well-fed and sheltered? What more could she ask for, really? What more did she even deserve? The man who sat before her with desire written all over his face had paid for her very existence, and everything else she’d ever enjoyed in her life. For this perhaps, she owed him a debt. She ought to at least pretend she shared his fantasy of marital bliss.
She forced a smile. “All right,” she said. Beaming, he stood up and offered her his hand. It was soft and warm, but his palm was slick with sweat.
8: JAVI
Once his parents returned from the graveyard, they had dinner with his grandmother. Miracu
lously, they seemed to have finally found a way to subdue her usual muttering and suspicion because she was far more docile than usual — even polite at times. Still, Javi was relieved when it was over.
Just after 9pm he said goodnight to his parents, and waited in his room for an hour until he saw their light go out. Then he climbed out his window onto the thick branch of a large oak tree in the yard, and shimmied down its trunk. He walked to the corner where Fred was waiting in his car, Herman in the back seat.
“What took you so long?” Fred asked once Javi had gotten into the passenger seat.
Javi shrugged. “Had to wait for them to fall asleep, didn’t I?”
“Check it out,” Herman said, and Javi turned to see Herman pulling a flask out of his pocket.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” said Javi laughing. “Where the fuck did you get a flask?”
“It’s my dad’s,” Herman said proudly. “He won’t notice I took it — I hope.”
“What’s in it?” Fred asked.
“Whiskey,” Herman said. “I think.” He unscrewed it carefully as Fred made a left turn, then took a small sip. He coughed and grimaced, almost spitting it out but just managing to swallow. “Definitely whiskey,” he croaked as Javi and Fred laughed again.
Herman passed the flask up to Javi who took a longer swig but still couldn’t manage to swallow without a shudder. Fred abstained; he was always strict with himself about drinking and driving.
“D’you think Stella will be there tonight?” Herman asked hopefully. He took another swig from the flask, and managed it slightly better this time.
“Doesn’t matter, does it?” Javi said. “If she is, she’ll be with her boyfriend anyway. Why don’t you go for Phoebe Mead instead? She’s cute enough. And I bet she’d blow you if you ask her to prom.”
“Ugh!” Herman cried in mock-disgust while Fred hooted with laughter. “Phoebe fucking Mead? If you think Phoebe Mead is so cute you can take her to prom. Enjoy getting the clap though. I heard she got that shit off Zane Goldbrook last year.”
“I’d rather get the clap than graduate a virgin,” Javi snapped. “Besides, you can get rid of it with antibiotics. Any idiot knows that.”
“You sure know a lot about it,” Herman said with a smirk. “Something you’re not telling us, Javi?”
“Fuck you,” Javi said, laughing. They arrived at their destination and Fred parked on the street.
“I’d rather fuck Stella Castell,” retorted Herman.
“You’re a lost cause,” Fred said as he pulled a paper bag with a bottle of tequila out of the trunk and locked the car. The house loomed large before them and they could hear loud music emanating from the windows along with the clatter of voices punctuated by occasional joyous shouts and laughter.
When they reached the front door Fred had to hammer on it with his fist in order to be heard over the music. A wiry brunette girl answered and her face split into a grin when she saw Fred. She pulled him into a drink-fueled, overly-enthusiastic hug, and jumped up and down giggling when he showed her the tequila.
“Come in!” she shouted after releasing a stunned-looking Fred. The three of them crossed the threshold and she shut the door behind them.
“I’m Violet!” the brunette girl yelled over the music as she led them through the foyer.
“This is Javi and Herman,” said Fred loudly. They passed through the living room where fifty people were drinking from red solo cups, dancing, and laughing. Violet led them further down the hallway and behind her back Herman raised his eyebrows and winked at Fred who shoved him and looked down, awkward. Javi thought Violet was pretty although not particularly his type. He suppressed a grin as she grabbed Fred’s arm and led him to the kitchen where the booze was. Perhaps one of them would be getting lucky after all . . .
Fifteen minutes later Javi and Herman drifted back into the packed living room armed with screwdriver-filled solo cups (Violet had insisted on mixing everyone’s drinks and from the taste of it they were at least 90% vodka). They left the kitchen when Violet had given them a pointed look after handing them their drinks that plainly said she wanted to be alone with Fred.
“How did Fred manage to score with Violet Fisher anyway?” Herman wondered aloud.
“Dunno, they’ve got class together I guess,” Javi said.
“I’ve got class with her too,” Herman muttered, but Javi wasn’t paying much attention anymore. His eyes were on Phoebe Mead across the room, and he wondered whether it’d be worth a try to see if she’d live up to her ‘serial blower’ reputation. She was flirting with Kato Barre, but Javi knew she was wasting her time. No guy in his right mind would go for Phoebe when he already had Stella Castell.
He was just wondering where Stella was — if Kato was here she was sure to be too — when someone bumped into him from behind causing him to spill his screwdriver all over a couple he didn’t know who were making out on the couch in front of him.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed as the drenched and furious couple sprang up from the couch and added their voices to the ruckus. Javi whirled around to give the person responsible for the mess a piece of his mind, but his angry accusation died in his throat as he saw Stella Castell standing there looking more beautiful than ever as she repeated apology after mortified apology to him and the couple. Most of the rest of the room was focused on the scene now, laughing and stage-whispering.
The couple both swore at Javi and Stella once more before they made their exit, probably seeking out a bedroom where they could avoid further interruptions. Javi was vaguely aware of Herman standing behind him gaping at Stella, but he only had eyes for her.
“I’m really sorry,” she said again. “I’m such a klutz in these stupid shoes.” She gestured to the stilettos on her feet.
“They look good on you,” Javi said without thinking.
She gave him an odd look. “Right, thanks. Did the drink spill on you also? Can I get you a paper towel or something?”
“No, I’m okay,” Javi said. “Actually I think almost all of it went onto that couple. I don’t know either of them, thank god.”
Stella laughed. Javi thought it was a beautiful sound and marveled that he had been the cause of it.
“It’s Javi, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, secretly ecstatic that she knew his name. “And you’re Stella?” He thought he heard Herman snort at that, but Stella didn’t pay him any attention.
“Yeah,” she said. Javi noticed that her hazel eyes had a greenish tinge in this light. He didn’t know what else to say, so he merely stared. “Come on,” she said finally. “Let’s get you another drink.”
She started back towards the kitchen and Javi followed her, dumbfounded by this turn of events. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Herman give him a thumbs up. Stella’s hips swayed back and forth with each step she took, mesmerizing Javi like a hypnotist’s watch. He trailed in her wake, hardly daring to believe his luck.
9: EDGAR PRIME
He took a sip of beer and tried not to grimace, not wanting to look like a stupid freshman in front of Celeste and her friends.
“Shit beer isn’t it,” said Celeste with a grin. “Come on Edgar Prime, I wanna introduce you to some people.” She hooked her arm through his and steered him through the hordes of people crammed into the tiny apartment.
“This is ‘just a few friends hanging out’?” he said, unable to help himself.
Celeste shrugged. “It got bigger than I originally planned. But hey, just go with it, right?”
Edgar Prime laughed, vaguely in awe but trying not to show it. He took another sip of beer as they walked, careful not to spill it on himself or anyone else.
“That’ll start to taste better when you get to your third or fourth cup,” Celeste informed him cheerfully.
“God, I hope so,” Edgar Prime said, and Celeste burst out laughing.
“There they are!” She said, pointing across the room.
Edgar Prime looked o
ver and nearly dropped his beer. Coming towards them was the most beautiful man Edgar Prime had ever seen: one of the RAs in his building, Hugo Larsson. He was tall with tousled blonde hair, broad shoulders and glasses that covered intensely green eyes. It was all Edgar Prime could do not to panic and hide, although he doubted Hugo would remember who he was. There were two others trailing behind Hugo, but Edgar Prime barely glanced at them.
Celeste hugged each in turn when they finally squeezed their way over, and made introductions: the other two were Blake Nejem, a tall dark-haired girl with the largest breasts Edgar Prime had ever seen and George Lange, a member of the crew team with black hair and (according to Celeste) a notoriously sharp tongue. When it came time for her to introduce Hugo however, he interrupted her.
“I already know Edgar Prime,” Hugo said with an easy smile. He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Technically, I’m not supposed to be drinking with any freshmen. So do me a favor and don’t mention this to the other RAs. Or the other freshmen, actually. We wouldn’t want them to be jealous.”
He winked, and Edgar Prime’s heart beat faster. “I won’t.”
“Do you have a nickname? Edgar Prime is kind of a mouthful,” Hugo asked.
“Dr. Midas just calls me ‘Prime’,” he said reluctantly.
“But you’re not a fan of that one?”
“Not really,” Edgar Prime muttered.
There was a pause while Hugo considered him.
“I’m gonna call you Ed,” he announced. “Unless you hate that even more than ‘Prime’.”
Before Edgar Prime could answer, he was interrupted by a peal of laughter from Celeste. She, Blake, and George were in the midst of a debate about whether or not Blake should sleep with a guy she’d met at a party the night before.