by Jessica Park
Celeste looked into the room. Every person whom she had tutored through college applications was here. Jennifer held a cake, and a stack of pizza boxes sat on Mr. Gil’s desk. She inched forward and looked at the cake. Blue lettering spelled out Thank you! Confused, she looked at Dallas. “I do not understand.”
Leighann stepped out from behind her. “We’ve been waiting until we all heard, but it’s official. All of us got into college.”
“Even me!” Zeke piped up. “And into Kenyon at that.”
Celeste gasped. “That was your top choice!”
“I know, right? Top choice and a reach.” He threw his arms around her. “And financial aid. You made that happen.”
“What?”
“My application was really strong. They complimented me on my essay. The one you made me redo forty-seven times. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Then she was getting hugs and handshakes and listening to college acceptance stories from everyone there. It was overwhelming.
“Speech!” Mr. Gil broke through the crowd. “Speech, Miss Watkins!”
Soda was poured into red cups, and Celeste did what she could to gather her thoughts. Someone handed her a drink and the room grew silent. She looked to Mr. Gil. He smiled kindly and gave her a supportive nod.
Celeste touched a hand to her heart, trying to compose herself.
“I… I do not know what to say…” She cleared her throat. “This is an honor. I am so very happy for all of you. Tremendously proud. All I did was to help you channel skills that you already had within you.” She paused, suddenly quite emotional. “I do believe that you did the same for me. Thank you for giving me that chance.” It was all that she could bring herself to say. It hit her that all of these new friends, her new level of social comfort, was going to come to an abrupt end upon graduation, less than four months away. She turned to Dallas, who knew—as a friend does—to rescue her.
Dallas raised her cup high. “To Celeste.”
“To Celeste!” the room cheered.
When pizza had been eaten, more thanks offered, and the celebration had started to wind down, Celeste found herself alone with Dallas and Mr. Gil, a few chair-desks pushed together. Her philosophy teacher nibbled on crust. “So, Dallas, where are you going to end up?”
“Yes, where will you study next year? I did not get to hear during the earlier chaos,” Celeste said.
Dallas tried to suppress a smile, but gave up and flashed a full-on beam. “USC. Film school.”
“Oh, Dallas, you did it.” Celeste practically jumped out of her seat. “I am unequivocally thrilled for you. I do think that you will take Los Angeles by the proverbial storm.”
Dallas blushed. “I’m really happy. Really. And you helped me pull together exactly what I needed for the application. I can’t believe it. What about you? Have you decided?”
She fidgeted with a napkin. “I am unsure which to accept.”
Mr. Gil reached for another slice. “Where have you gotten in?”
“Harvard, Wesleyan, Yale, Columbia, Princeton. Um… I can’t recall where else at the moment.”
“Don’t be modest. You got in everywhere you applied, right?” Dallas raised her eyebrows. “Right? C’mon, brag a little.”
The napkin was now shredded. “I did.” She forced a happy tone in her voice. “I don’t know how to pick. This is a hard choice.”
“You’ll figure it out. All good options,” Dallas said.
“Did any California schools make it onto your list?” Mr. Gil asked way too casually.
“What? Cambridge’s own Harvard isn’t good enough for her?” Dallas said, laughing.
He waved his hand. “No, no, it’s not that. I was just curious.”
“I am not one for flying,” Celeste confessed. She did not want him to think her ungrateful, as she knew he was the one who had spoken to Barton about her. “But I appreciate the interest that I’ve had from west coast schools.”
“Ah, well, not wanting to fly could be a problem. In any case, I’m very happy for you both, and I’ll miss you next year.” He stood. “I’m going to get a head start on grading some essays, but the room is yours as long as you like it. And these are for you.” He slapped two small papers onto the desk. “A couple of passes to keep you free for another period. Benefits of being my favorite students. It’s a half day today anyhow. Enjoy it.”
“Yes!” Dallas clapped her hands in the air. “Best. Day. Ever.”
Even Celeste, who was not one to be in favor of skipping classes, felt that she would not mind missing a class today. Just for once.
“You girls have fun. And congratulations to both of you.” Mr. Gil grabbed yet another slice of pizza and made his way out.
Dallas leaned in. “Okay, now that the teacher is gone, tell me what’s up with you and Justin?”
“Our relationship is…” Celeste didn’t know how to explain how perfect it felt without sounding trite. How she missed him every second of the day, but how they stayed in touch so much that she felt as if he were here. She sighed, more dreamily than she would have liked. “He’s just stupendous. He is not only a suitable first boyfriend, but a rather ideal one at that. Our phone conversations are quite wonderful, his emails detailed and engaging, and every morning he sends me a coffee picture.”
“He sends you a picture of his coffee?”
“Yes, it’s charming. See he takes a photograph of… Well, never mind. The point is that I am in the throes of my first romance, and I’m deliriously happy.”
“So what are you going to do? There’s that flying issue you have, which I really think you need to get over. And next year? I mean, you’re not going to school out there, are you? Not like you didn’t get into enough good schools on this coast, .”
“Yeah.”
“And you sound so happy about it.” Dallas glared at her. “What is your problem?”
Celeste got up and paced the floor. “Oh, I don’t know, Dallas. This entire college process has not been what I expected.”
“How so?”
“Despite having worked my entire life to be in this position, I am unsatisfied. Unenthused. Academics are all that I have ever had. But I am just now stepping into new waters and exploring other sides of myself.”
“You can’t do that in college?”
“I can. It just seems a monstrous task to manage the level of work and stress associated with an Ivy League school with other parts of life that I already find so intimidating.”
Dallas thought for a moment. “Are you freaked out about you and Justin?”
“I am unclear on what you are asking.”
“I mean, you’re going to be out here somewhere, and he’s still going to be in San Diego.”
“Yes?”
“That’s going to become a problem, don’t you think? You can’t manage to sustain a relationship like that, can you? It’s not like you two were a solid couple for a long time, and then he left. Then you’d have a better base. But even then…”
Celeste finished the sentence. “Even then it would be near impossible at our ages.”
“Kind of.”
“What about you and Zeke? You two will be separated. That is unfair.” Celeste was getting riled up now. “Having just found each other, your relationship will be ripped apart at the seams come September. That is tragic, is it not? What are we to do? The heartache of the high school senior must be like none other.” She flopped back into her chair and chugged down some soda. “Of course, even my brother and his long-term girlfriend, Julie, who had, as you called it, a solid base, could not survive great physical distance.”
“You’re right. We are in big trouble here.” Dallas dropped her head onto the desk, smushing her cheek and almost making Celeste laugh despite herself. “You could apply to Stanford late. I bet they’d take you. That’s not far from San Diego, and you’d be near me. Oh wait, but the plane thing. Damn it. So I guess Barton is out, too.”
“Dallas, that is outrageous.
One does not make crucial, life-impacting choices, such as which college to attend, based on a boy. One chooses an educational institution after careful consideration of what the school offers one intellectually and academically. End of story.”
“There’s more to college than just classwork, you know.”
“I know that. That’s the part that I’m not good at!” she said with near panic.
“Easy girl, easy.” Dallas half smiled. “You’re doing just fine.”
Celeste sighed. “Thanks. And sorry. I am a bit emotional.”
The girls indulged in their crankiness over what they saw as the impending demise of their relationships, both emitting the occasional whimper of dramatic misery. Celeste drummed her fingers on the table over and over until Dallas finally slapped her hand over them.
Celeste didn’t like this. All of her recent happiness was going to come undone.
“Dallas?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Do you happen to have a fake ID?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I do not mean to stereotype. That was terrifically unfair of me. But if I were to go by cultural stereotypes, you would strike me as the sort who might, just perhaps, have a form of false identification for the occasional—but I’m sure responsible—purchase of alcohol.”
Dallas sat up. She looked Celeste in the eyes. “I’m shocked and horrified.”
“Oh. I apologize. I’m really terribly sorry to have offended you. Please forgive me. That was very rude.”
Dallas started laughing and cracked her knuckles. “I totally have a fake ID. Whatcha need?”
She shrugged. “This will sound silly, but Justin once mentioned drinking something called an Old Fashioned, and I feel as though sipping a drink might somehow… Oh, this is nutty.”
“I think it’s sort of adorable. You drinking your boyfriend’s favorite drink, thinking about him, letting the warm glow of alcohol make you even more googley–eyed.”
“I don’t know. I miss Justin. And all this talk about college makes me refocus on how difficult I will find the social transition. As you can imagine. I think it is reasonable to want to have my first drink before I am already at a new school, and my parents are away, so it seems an opportune time.”
“Look at you, being all quintessential teenagery and stuff. Well, I’ve got plans with Zeke tonight that don’t involve drinking, so you’re just going to drink alone?”
“It’s just a cocktail. I’ll call my sweet boyfriend and chat with him.” Celeste pulled out her phone and opened a browser. “Do you know anything about muddling bitters?”
HAVE A DRINK ON ME
IT WAS FRIDAY afternoon, and her parents were gone until Wednesday at a conference in Philadelphia. Despite her assurances that she would be fine on her own, Matt insisted on coming over, and he’d be here any minute. The truth was that she liked having him around, and the thought of being alone in that big house for four nights was intimidating. She probably could have asked Dallas to stay over. Girlfriends did things like that, didn’t they? Were they too old for that? Or was that just something fictionalized in the movies? Dallas would certainly laugh and lovingly correct any misperceptions she had, but investigating the validity of sleepovers would have to wait.
Celeste rearranged the glasses and bottles on the kitchen counter for the fifth time. Presentation and mood felt important here if she was going to prevent Matt from completely flipping out. She turned on a country radio station because most country songs were about pining over love or about drinking, and both seemed fitting. She heard the front door rattle and then struck a casual pose by her display.
“Hello, my open-minded, sweet brother. I am most looking forward to our weekend together.” She flashed Matt a smile. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”
Matt tossed his overnight bag on the floor. “I did. Pasta from an Italian place near my apartment.”
“Carbs! Perfect. You may need them.”
“Why would I need—” Matt looked around. “What’s going on? Why do I feel as though I walked into an old fashioned saloon?”
“It’s funny that you should say old fashioned because—”
“What’s up with all the booze?”
Matt looked exhausted, more pale than usual. His dirty blond hair had again grown longer than she knew he liked, and he appeared generally washed out. In need of some sunshine, she thought. And happiness.
“I am eighteen, heading off to college in a matter of months, and I thought it appropriate to try my first drink. It seemed best to do that under brotherly supervision. And there is the added bonus in that it will be a bonding experience. Afternoon-cocktail-hour-in-the-library type situation. Fun, yes?”
“Illegal is more like it,” he scowled. “I think this is a terrible idea. We don’t even have a library in this house. What exactly are you planning on doing with bourbon and gin? I feel sick already.”
“You do not feel sick,” she protested. “You feel festive and ready to partake in relationship building with your sister.” Celeste rounded the kitchen island and tossed one arm around Matt. “Matthew, do not be so uptight.”
“Uptight? I’m uptight?”
Celeste frowned. “Fine. Perhaps we both could use a little loosening up. Let’s have a cocktail together, shall we? I find it rather civilized, the idea of sitting back with a fancy drink on this dark afternoon.”
Matt laughed lightly. “You know what? Sure. Let’s have a drink. One drink, okay? That’s it. One.” He pulled out a barstool and sat down. “What are we having, bar wench?”
“Assuming you do not again refer to me as bar wench, we will be starting with an Old Fashioned.”
Matt wrinkled his nose. “An Old Fashioned? That’s rather an odd choice. Although perhaps not for you. But maybe you should start with something fruity with parasols and fizz?”
“Absolutely not! How undignified. Although I will confess that while I do not have parasols, I do have mini swords for piercing the orange peel and cherry.”
“Mini swords?”
“I hear they are a fine finishing touch for cocktail presentation. One is simply not going to haphazardly slosh liquor into a cup and chug it.”
“Well, no, we couldn’t have that.”
“Besides, Justin mentioned Old Fashioneds one time, and my curiosity has been piqued. I spent a decent amount of time investigating various methods to mix this drink, though all involve muddling, a term I find undeniably charming. Then we can move on to the classic gin and tonic, always a solid choice from what my research tells me.”
“Nice to hear you’ve been so thorough.” He crossed his arms. “Hey, didn’t I say one drink?”
“Yes, we’ll see. Anyhow, first I am going to douse this sugar cube in bitters and then smash it up in the bottom of the glass until it takes on the look of a syrup.” Celeste narrated as she concocted the first drink, not unaware of the bemused look on Matt’s face. “Because I did not have access to a true muddling device or whatever it is termed, I have opted to use the handle of this oversized wooden spoon. Now I shall squeeze the oils from this slice of orange peel and incorporate that essence into my muddled… my muddled stuff. Ahem. Then, a few ounces of this lovely bourbon, poured slowly and mixed in nicely to dissolve the sugar. Now some ice cubes, another quick splash of bourbon and garnished with another spritz of orange peel that I will then affix to this garish mini sword along with a disgusting maraschino cherry.” Celeste carefully carried the nearly overflowing glass over to Matt and set it down gently onto a coaster. “For the gentleman.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“I have not. Now try it,” she ordered.
Matt lifted the glass to his lips, took a tiny sip, and then winced exaggeratedly. “Oh dear Lord! Horror of horrors.”
Celeste stomped her foot and tried not to giggle. “Matthew, that is not funny. How is it really?”
He took another taste. “Actually, it’s pretty damned good, I must admit.”
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“Fabulous. Now I will make one for myself.”
“For the record, I’m not encouraging you to have a drink, but since I think you’d go ahead and do it anyway, I am here to supervise.”
“Yes. You be the responsible adult, and I shall be the out-of-control teenager who is experimenting with alcohol consumption.”
“Great. Role playing in its most pathological form. Fine.” He swirled the glass, clinking ice cubes before having another longer drink.
Two hours later, when Matt had finished his third Old Fashioned and was halfway through a gin and tonic, he and Celeste found themselves sprawled on the living room floor. Her own gin and tonic was going down rather easily, and the country music was sounding better and better. She rolled over onto her back and reached for the volume on the stereo.
“This is fun, Matty, isn’t it? Cocktail hour is intoxicating.”
“It is.”
“I made a little joke there.”
“It was a riot.” Matt was on his stomach with his chin in his hands. “It is kinda fun. I think I might be a little drunk.”
“Good for you, Matty! If I don’t go to college next year, I could be a bartender, huh?”
“Yeah, totally.”
“I know this country tune,” she said loudly. “This is a very famous song called ‘The Gambler’ by Mr. Kenneth Rogers.”
Matt started laughing uncontrollably. “I think he just goes by Kenny.”
“Whatever. The point is that I know it.” She started singing from her spot on the floor, and much to her surprise, Matt was soon belting out lyrics with her. “I had no idea that you had such a country–boy side to you.”
He paused in his now near-screaming singing. “I do not have a country side to me, but everyone knows this song.” When the song ended, he tapped her shoulder repeatedly. “Celeste.”
“What?”
“I have to know what song you sang for that rock band audition.”
“They were skate punk, not rock,” she corrected him. “That is important.”
“Fine. What song?”
“A very meaningful song by Joan Baez called ‘The Night They—‘“
Matt finished the title with her. “‘Drove Old Dixie Down’!”