Flat-Out Celeste

by Jessica Park

  “So there. You have proved the point. If you and Julie were not able to rise above simple challenges such as location, I decidedly cannot rise above what is clearly a more catastrophic set of problems.”

  “Location is not simple. And what about you is catastro—“

  “Wait! California!” She stopped short and jerked Matt back.

  “Huh?”

  Celeste scanned the street. “I just remembered something.”

  And there, across the street from them, was Border Cafe. It was already five-thirty, past the start time of the Barton event. Not that she would have gone inside anyway. Church Street was bustling tonight as people headed for their favorite restaurants and bars, and a line was forming outside The Brattle Theatre. She moved her head to see past pedestrians. A young man in a bright blue hooded sweatshirt and black down vest stood out front, holding open the door for diners who were entering and exiting, and he did so with such style that Celeste couldn’t help but be intrigued. Each time he reached for the door handle, he simultaneously performed a dramatic bow, complete with a sweeping hand gesture, followed by a quick, full-body spin. The patrons were eating it up.

  “It has a slightly tacky sign, does it not?” she murmured.

  “What has a what?” Matt asked.

  “That restaurant. I have never noticed it. I was invited to something there tonight, but I politely declined.”

  “You’ve lived here your entire life and never noticed Border Cafe? I’ve failed you as a brother, clearly. You want to grab dinner? I feel a craving for a margarita or nine.”

  “What? Now? No. No, certainly not.” But she could not take her eyes off the boy who stood out front. He bounced on his toes a few times and then hopped in the air and landed by the door just in time to let out more customers, who he then saluted very properly and marched alongside with high knee-lifts as he escorted them to the next block. The three girls giggled in response to his antics as the boy dashed back to his post.

  “Hello?” Matt waved his hands in front of her face. “Celeste? What are we doing? If we’re not going in, then let’s go. It’s getting cold.”

  “Sure. Okay…” But she watched the boy. “Let’s cross here.” She dragged Matt across the street, causing a taxi to brake hard.

  “No, that’s fine. I don’t mind if that taxi hits us. Really. Hospitals are fun on Saturday nights,” Matt grumbled. “No one’s ever there.”

  “They are indeed fun,” she replied, only half paying attention.

  As they slowly walked toward the restaurant, she made eye contact with the boy in the hoodie. He paused for a moment—just a moment—and tilted his head to side. She took in the way his soft brown hair did a sort of whooshing-off-his-face thing that she quite liked. As if on cue, he ran a hand haphazardly through it and started to smile at her, looking a bit hopeful. Hopeful as to what, Celeste did not know. Most likely that his boyish good looks would charm her and that he’d bring in more customers. He had short sideburns. Wide eyes of the lightest blue. And smooth pale skin that was flushed from the chill. There was energy and freedom and kindness about him. Celeste had to admit that if the Barton event weren’t going on right now, she could be persuaded.

  “Come on!” Matt yanked at her arm. “You can’t just stop walking in the middle of an intersection.”

  She realized that they had crossed one street, rounded by the restaurant and were now stagnant in the crosswalk of Palmer Street, her eyes still glued to the boy. “Yes, this is unsafe. We should move.” Matt tugged at her arm. “Yes, okay.” Her voice was barely audible.

  Then, in what Celeste found to be the smoothest of movements, the boy dropped to one knee, swept his arm across his body and gestured to the front door. She blushed and shook her head slightly. She turned her back to him and finished crossing the street.

  But when safely on the corner across from the restaurant, Celeste dropped her arm from Matt’s and looked back. She swept one foot behind her and lowered herself evenly in a perfect curtsy. It was not a voluntary move, but more as though her body had been invaded by someone with flirting skills.

  She bounced up and rushed ahead of Matt, her palm pressed to her forehead in horror. “Damn it, Matthew!”

  “Oh my God, what is going on? Did you just curtsy at someone?” Matt tried to turn his head to see behind them, but she put her hand flat on the side of his face and pushed him away.

  “This is your fault! Why did you refer to me as Victorian? Look what I have done! How atrocious and… and… absurd!” She stormed ahead. “You should consider yourself fortunate that I am still willing to give you a ride.”

  “Will we be making the journey by horse and carriage or—”

  “That is not amusing to me!”

  Still, despite the moronic curtsy, Celeste felt a certain level of cheer at having seen the boy in the blue hoodie and black vest. The boy with the whooshy hair and cool sideburns.

  The boy who got down on one knee for her, if only for a moment.

  THE SNOWY OWL

  Dear Celeste-

  So sorry we didn’t see you on Saturday! The Camptown shrimp were good, but it was missing something. I’m pretty sure it was Barton’s most sought-after student. The lead recruiter for our school, Peter Fritz, spent the entire night adjusting his tie and scanning the room for you, even though nobody knows what you look like! Anyway, I’m back at school now, but I’ll be part of some more events over Thanksgiving weekend and then winter break. The east coast is a hot spot for applicants, possibly because during the winter months we wave around giant pictures of sunny San Diego and throw sand and seashells. Of course, there was once an unfortunate incident with a seashell and someone’s head and a possible laceration… Look, I don’t have good aim, what can I say?

  The school is sending out actual official emails and postcards for these events, so you won’t have to rely on me for information via six hundred separate emails! You’ll miss them, I bet, right? Yeah, I know, I know…

  Really, Barton is such a great school, and we would love to tell you more about it. I’m sure you’re getting pursued by all the big names. I get that. But I can’t say enough about the professors here, not to mention that the students are some of the greatest people I’ve ever met. To be honest, I didn’t have that phenomenal of a time in high school, so maybe I notice this more than others would, but campus culture is part of the whole college experience. Very strong academics lured me in, but it’s the people who keep me here.

  -Justin

  Celeste slumped deeper into the armchair and squirmed, using her feet to pull the ottoman closer. This cushiony chair was one of her favorite spots. Nestled into a funny nook below one of the windows in her room, she often sat here, as she did now, with a knitted blanket around her shoulders while she worked. In warmer months, she would lift open the window and allow spring and summer air to flow in. She loved the smells during those times, when plants and flowers came to life again. In the evenings, the jasmine released its scent and flooded her room, and Celeste would close her eyes and inhale, drifting away in thought.

  She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. It was interesting that Justin commented on his high school experience. She fidgeted for a moment and then typed.

  Justin-

  I, too, am sorry that I was not able to attend the Barton “meet-up” and that I missed the now infamous Camptown shrimp. Please extend my apologies to Mr. Fritz, as well. I do hope the event was successful.

  Yes, high school can be a challenging and cumbersome balancing act for many teens, what with all the social and academic pressures weighing down like multiple copies of Dickens novels stacked atop one’s head. Even at private schools like mine, students can demonstrate remarkable levels of callousness and heartlessness.

  While I must acknowledge being highly flattered by Barton’s eagerness to meet me in person, I also must be fair in conveying that I have set my sights on, as you correctly guessed, Ivy League institutions. Barton does sound like a lo
vely school, though. I am curious; how does Barton know about me?

  Best wishes,

  Celeste

  This business of emailing back and forth with Justin felt markedly out of character, yet it also felt distinctly good. And there was, she knew, safety in these exchanges because she would never meet him or have to manage in-person communication. It was as though he did not actually exist in the real world, but rather retained a small and imaginary place in an alternate universe. She liked having him there.

  Celeste-

  One of your teachers… I can’t remember his name… something fishy sounding… I mean, not that he’s a fishy-sounding person in terms of his behavior or character, but his actual name has something to do with fish. Do you know a Mr. Bass? Or Mr. Filet? No, that can’t be right. Anyway, this teacher of yours went to Barton and must think you’d be a good match. But in any case, he talked to the dean about you, so we’ve been told to woo you. (BTW, our dean’s name is, I swear on my life, Mr. Dean! So he’s Dean Dean!) But I gather my wooing is not working all that well… Let’s see… You’d love the west coast. Do you like farm-to-table restaurants? San Diego has a lot of those. I like this place called Blue Ribbon Rustic Kitchen in Hillcrest. They make a burrata that will BOWL. YOU. OVER. And we have deep blue harbors where you can go and watch boats or take a cheesy tourist boat ride (but it’s fun to do once). Symphony, opera, theaters? No? How about sandcastle lessons? Seriously, I’m not making that up. Look it up on Yelp. I’m not very good with sandcastles because the patience required to position EVERY SINGLE STUPID GRAIN OF SAND is a bit much for me. Oh, so also, there’s Point Loma, Sunset Cliffs National Park, anything in La Jolla… Speaking of La Jolla, there’s the Salk Institute. You know, if you’re into genetics, or microbiology, or diseases, or plants. Or the genetic microbiology of plant diseases. I’m pretty sure they do everything there. I think you can take a tour of the architecture, although I suppose that’s not exciting unless you’re one for architecture, as I am. Barton, by the way, has a fabulous architecture program. That’s what I’m majoring in, in case I haven’t mentioned that. Do you know what you want to major in? I could get you some more information on whatever programs you like.

  I’m home in three weeks. Mr. Fritz would be on cloud nine if you agreed to come to the next event. It’s Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving. Of course, I don’t have the date in front of me, as might not surprise you by now. You’ll like him. He drinks Bloody Marys with extra olives and wears a watch on each wrist. (No, I don’t know why, and I’m scared to ask; but it’s nevertheless super intriguing and funny.)

  -Justin

  Celeste-

  I have to apologize for saying “on cloud nine.” That was a cliché and I hate clichés. There’s no excuse. Ugh. Make no bones about it, you can rake me over the coals for that and tell me that the Barton ship has sailed, so I should go jump in a lake.

  -Justin

  The giggle that burst from her lips surprised her. And, even more, the rush of happiness when another email immediately popped up in her inbox.

  Celeste-

  Okay, one more thing. I have to show this to somebody, and my roommate’s out. I just made myself a cup of coffee, and I have this mini milk-frother thing that, well, froths milk obviously, so I put that on top of the coffee and then I drizzle chocolate syrup over it. I make one in the morning and then one usually late at night if I’m studying. Okay, but so I just made this one and I stirred it up a little with these wooden sticks I have (they’re not really sticks as in branches, but just super skinny, possibly anorexic, popsicle sticks that are sold as stirrers), and so the chocolate smeared, and look! Do you see what I see? I just drizzled away randomly. Swear. I didn’t try to make this happen.

  Also, another out-of-nowhere question: Do you like sushi? San Diego has excellent sushi. I’m sure Boston does, too, but California sushi is so much better. (I may lose my Massachusetts residency for saying that. Don’t tell anyone. Go, Red Sox!)

  -Justin

  She felt quite sure that the last thing this boy needed was caffeine, but below Justin’s email, he’d attached a photo; an overhead view of his coffee creation.

  Celeste smiled. There was, undeniably, a chocolate owl looking back at her. She opened the photo and enlarged it. A snowy owl, she decided. It was really quite the creation, accident or not. Out of curiosity, she rotated the picture once by ninety degrees.

  Justin-

  There is much to address here, so I will use a numbered list in order not to miss any points.

  1. I very much like the coffee owl. I believe there are baristi who specialize in intentionally creating extraordinary designs in the foam of cappuccinos and such, and you have managed to do so without even trying. I think that is rather fantastic. You may find it interesting to learn that if you turn the owl on its side, your frothy image is no longer an owl, but becomes what I imagine Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream to look like. But I feel convinced that this owl’s name is Clive. It suits him, do you not agree?

  2. Food. You have a strong interest in culinary explorations, I gather. I, too, enjoy the gastronomical world. My mother attempts a wide array of dishes, some with greater flavor success than others. I do not eat out often and have never tried sushi. I do hope that my mother does not attempt to serve sushi at home. I have visions of food poisoning passing before my eyes. As for farm-to-table restaurants, they sound lovely. My father grows tomatoes in the summer, but I have doubts that serving those in a salad constitutes true farm-to-table eating?

  3. I have not had burrata, but Google tells me that this is a fresh mozzarella ball of sorts, filled with what is essentially mozzarella cream. It sounds rich and heavenly, and I should very much like to try it.

  4. I cannot imagine that the Camptown shrimp dish’s flavor was in any way altered because I was not there; however, I will trust that you felt that something was missing. Perhaps a new chef? A recipe tweak?

  5. I, too, have a distaste for clichés, so that is something that we have in common.

  6. Beverage notes: While I have never had a bloody Mary myself, even virgin style, I hear they are very good, particularly when made with fresh horseradish. Mr. Fritz clearly has a love for the spicy and piquant, does he not?

  7. I am hesitant to firmly RSVP to this next Barton gathering, even though Mr. Fritz will be in attendance, as it is the night before the Thanksgiving holiday. I will see what arrangements can be made.

  Celeste paused in her writing.

  To be direct with you, group social events often do not work out well for me. I find them difficult. In fact, most social events are seemingly impossible for me to navigate in a way that does not alienate others. I hope you understand.

  8. San Diego sounds to be a very appealing city, and a touristy boat ride and sandcastle building are attractive lures.

  9. Architecture must be a challenging and dynamic major. I am undecided what to major in right now, although some specialty in literature holds appeal for me.

  Best wishes,

  Celeste

  Celeste-

  I understand about group events. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’ll make sure that you get an invitation just in case you change your mind. Okay? Maybe we could get together while I’m in town, and then it wouldn’t be a big group situation. Would you like that better?

  I really enjoy emailing with you. Is that weird to say? I hope not.

  -Justin

  Words usually came easily to Celeste, but right now she had none. She sat for a few moments, trying to decide how she felt and how to respond. This was unfamiliar territory for her.

  She walked from her room and to the kitchen. Although she had teased Matt the other day about wanting to take her out for hot chocolate, a cup of rich hot cocoa seemed in order today. Although it hadn’t snowed yet, it was certainly gloomy and cold enough out to set the mood for the upcoming winter. She heated milk on the stove and took sugar and dark unsweetened cocoa from the cabinet. It to
ok a few minutes for the milk to come to a near boil, and as she whisked in the chocolate and sugar, a thought occurred to her. She abandoned the hot pot and scooped spoonfuls of sugar onto the counter until a solid circle of shimmering crystals formed. Then with the back of the spoon, she carefully swooped lines through the sugar.

  Celeste took her cell from her back pocket and snapped a picture, which she then emailed to Justin.

  Justin-

  It’s perhaps rudimentary, but here’s my snowy owl for you.

  -Celeste

  The whoosh of the email echoed in the quiet kitchen, and Celeste noticed—with no small amount of shock—that her message contained two contractions.

  “How odd,” she said to the sugar owl. “How very, very odd.”

  DON’T FLINCH

  CELESTE BELTED OUT the final la la la’s of the song as best she could, trying to keep her voice steady and clear. Auditioning for a band was nerve-wracking enough, so the expressionless stares from the three college boys in front of her were not helping. She replaced the microphone back on the stand and took an awkward bow.

  It was hard, she was learning, to move easily in a skintight catsuit, but she had felt it appropriate to dress the part. Or what she guessed the part would look like. The costume selection from the school’s drama department offered a finite selection from which to choose. She would return it, of course, since Celeste was not a thief, but she did feel slightly guilty about taking it without asking. The flyer that she’d taken from the rocker in Harvard Square didn’t spell out too many details on song or fashion choices, and she didn’t know much about “skate punk” music, so it had been up to her to package herself. The girl at the salon this morning had been all too enthusiastic about coloring Celeste’s hair neon red, and even though she promised that it would wash out soon enough, Celeste was not yet comfortable with the red spiral curls that kept falling into her eyes. Now that the backing track was off, the room was eerily silent.