by Claire Kann
“What do you mean he hides?”
“I mean exactly what I said. He only lets you see what he wants you to. Whatever you think you know about him is guaranteed to be a minimum of eighty percent wrong.”
“I’m strangely intrigued.”
Winston had already logged on. When we joined, the smile that he used only for me faded with the quickness.
“I didn’t agree to this.” He spoke directly to me.
“Winston, this is Dallas. Dallas, this is my brother.”
Dallas gave a little wave. “Hey.”
“No.” Even though he swore it never happened, Winston slipped up and fell into jealousy every now and again.
“It’s fine. What are we watching?” I asked Winston.
“Lord of the Rings.”
“I’m not sitting through a six-hour movie.”
“It’s three movies. We can just watch the first one.”
“Elves, though.”
“And hobbits.”
“I have a strong dislike for this one,” I said to loop Dallas in. “I read an essay that said orcs were supposed to represent Black people. Ruined the whole thing for me.”
“Yeah.” Dallas grimaced. “That’s what people say.”
“You don’t think so?” Winston challenged.
“Fantasy is my favorite genre. I’m used to side-eyeing a lot as a defense mechanism. Otherwise, I feel like I’d never read or watch anything. I see it, I get mad, and if it’s not too egregious, I keep it moving.”
“Egregious. Wow.”
“Do you like books, too, or just movies?” Dallas asked Winston.
“Mostly movies.”
I pressed play. Through the opening credits about the history of the world and a ring, I watched Winston reluctantly continue the conversation he pretended he didn’t want to have with Dallas.
“I do wish there were more Black people in mainstream fantasy. There’s some, and it’s good when it’s by us, but there should be more. And they can’t be stereotypes or the only one to ever exist in the whole universe.”
“Definitely.”
A maniacal smile appeared on my face. Not that either of them saw it. Everything was going way smoother than I’d planned.
“I’m so tired of Black people being slaves there, too,” Dallas continued. “That’s hard to read, you know? Obvious reasoning aside, it’s impossible to disconnect and just enjoy the story after that because I start thinking, what if the writer is secretly racist and I’m supporting them without knowing it? It just sits there in the back of my mind the entire time.”
“Yeah. Exactly,” Winston agreed.
“And would it kill writers to include literally anyone else? Jesus. I will never understand that one. America is huge, but only white and maybe Black people get to exist in our media? It’s fantasy! They can literally do whatever they want. But no.”
“He can stay.” Winston looked at me. Not a thinly disguised insult or mocking smile in sight.
That had to be a record. One conversation and Dallas had earned a spot in Winston’s peripheral vision. For scale, that’s where Sam and Kara lived, too.
“I figured you’d like him.”
I winked at Dallas. His resulting confused-happy face made me laugh.
All the lights cut off in the diner.
I jumped up, panicked, and sat in the booth on my knees. Ow—my thigh muscles pulled taut enough to hurt and the tabletop cut into my side, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. Darkness covered the parking lot, too.
“The power went out. Shit.” Besides the moon, the stars, and my laptop, the only other light came from Dallas’s phone. He’d turned on his flashlight. “Oh, smart. Good thinking.”
“Are you okay?” Winston asked at the same time Dallas asked, “What do you do when this happens?”
I answered Dallas. “Nothing. It’s never happened before.” I left the booth, almost running for the front door. The ring of keys clinked against one another as I inserted the right one with shaking hands.
“Do you need help?” Dallas stood next to the booth, phone aimed in my direction. The light cast an eerie glow on his face—he looked like he’d walked straight out of the scene where the storyteller in the friend group sets the stage and atmosphere in a dark room.
Meanwhile, my breathing sounded like I’d just run away from a serial killer who was hiding in the dark, trying to be quiet when I saw their feet walking toward me. I would never make fun of those scenes again. “I’m not allowed to close early, that’s one of Granny’s rules. Goldeen’s never closes early.”
I fumbled with my phone, struggling to turn on my flashlight.
Dallas touched my arm—I gasped, a scream lodging in my throat.
“Hey, calm down. Why are you so jumpy? It’s just a power outage.”
Winston and his love of horror movies had thoroughly wrecked any possibility of me having any semblance of emotional stability in scary situations. My brain leaped from Oh, the lights are out, hmm, strange to SOMEONE CUT THE POWER AND THEY’RE GOING TO MURDER ME.
“I’m not. I’m not.” My flashlight clicked on. Just a power outage. Sure. Okay. That’s what the guy usually said before getting stabbed in the throat. “Walk me to the back? I should check all of the doors.”
Confession: I may have been the tiniest bit afraid of total and complete darkness, but hey, wasn’t everyone? An acceptable and primal fear. I knew every inch of Goldeen’s like the back of my hand. In the dark, every inch of it was an enemy capable of concealing anything.
Dallas aimed the light at our path. He stayed with me as we hustled to the side door—already locked—and the back door—locked as well. I exhaled.
“Any other doors?” He held the light so it lit my face without blinding me.
“No, just those three.”
“Winnie. Breathe. It’s okay.”
“I’m just really on edge right now. I’m not made for these kinds of situations—and look, look at my hands. I’m flapping! I’m going to break out in hives.”
“I promise everything is fine. Come here.” Dallas opened his arms and I walked right on in. He rubbed my back while I laid my head on his shoulder, and then I realized we were hugging. We’d held hands a lot before, but this was our first hug. “I’m sorry but this is the most adorable thing ever.”
I whined into his shoulder. Warm and solid, he smelled like laundry detergent, not some super-overpowering cologne. Safe. Familiar. Like everything might be okay.
Did he press his cheek against the side of my forehead? I had less than half a second to wonder before he said, dangerously close to my ear, “Do you think we should do anything else?”
My beating-too-fast heart hit the turbo button. Thank God he couldn’t see my face, because I’m sure I looked like one of those tiny nocturnal mammals with the huge eyes. “Umm.”
“Umm?” He laughed—standing so close to his chest, it felt like quiet, rolling thunder.
I knew you didn’t have to date someone to kiss them. Is that what he meant? Obviously, I was down. Obviously. Yep. And bonus points for him asking first. “Do? Like what?” Lifting my head, I tried to find his eyes in the darkness.
“The windows? You can’t really see out, but maybe we should close the blinds. Also, Winston’s out there.”
OH.
He meant the diner.
Right.
The diner.
Not kissing.
The diner.
Great, now I’d be stuck thinking about kissing him.
He placed his hands on my shoulders and took a step back. “I’ll go close the blinds. You wait here. I’ll call when it’s safe.” Not waiting, he started to walk away.
“No, not okay.” My hand shot out and found his as if it were always meant to. “We stay together. Splitting up means people die in horror movies.” I clutched his bicep with my phone in hand, standing so close to him I probably made his shadow jealous.
The front door looked the same—dark and
terrible. Nothing outside the windows moved.
“Stay behind the counter. I’ll be quick.”
It physically pained me to let him go. Somehow, I survived.
“Where’s my sister?” Winston asked.
“I’m here!” Dallas placed the laptop on the counter. “It’s fine. The power’s out.”
“You all right?”
I watched Dallas move from booth to booth, letting the blinds down and turning them to the closed position. “I think so.”
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
I looked away and at Dallas again.
“Never mind. I’m going. Talk to you later.”
Oops. “I’ll message you.”
Dallas doubled back, stood with me behind the counter again. “Let’s sit here.” He started to kneel.
“Wait.” I walked to the end of the counter to get a few towels stored under it for spills and such. I laid them on the ground to sit on.
“Okay, so I’m not supposed to close early. I have broken a lot of rules this summer, but not that one. We’re not closed. The doors are just locked. If someone comes, they can knock, and I’ll politely explain that the power is out and I can’t serve them.”
“Sounds good.”
“She can’t get mad at me for this. There’s no way this is my fault.”
When he held one of my hands in both of his, I held my breath. Not sure why. Everything sort of closed up. But not my eyes. Those definitely widened, searching for him again. It wasn’t fair. I needed to see him to read him. I had to be sure I wasn’t jumping the gun again.
“Do you fight with your parents a lot, too?”
“No. Before this summer, I never really fought with Granny either. Something’s just off lately.”
“Tell me about your parents? I can’t believe they never come here.”
“I don’t think my dad would mind visiting, but my mom is a hard no. She absolutely refuses.” I tilted my head back, staring at nothing. “My dad is huge. A giant, burly Black man with a beard. Do you know who Kimbo Slice is? He’s built like him except way bigger and kind of jolly. When he laughs it’s always this deep, rumbly chuckle that makes you laugh just from hearing it. He’s really funny, too. Once during dinner he made Sam pee on herself from laughing too hard.”
“I don’t think she’d want me to know that.”
“Too late. And my mom is an undiscovered supermodel. Seriously. She’s Winston’s height—how I ended up so short, I’ll never know—and the literal definition of svelte. You know how some people are considered conventionally beautiful solely based on the fact they have a quote-unquote ‘perfect’ body even though really they’re like a total Monet? My mom isn’t like that. Her face is out-of-this-world beautiful. But the best part about her? She’s super smart, just brilliant when it comes to academic stuff. People shouldn’t be allowed to be beautiful and smart and talented, because it breaks reality and pisses people off. She’s going for tenure at her university next year and she’s worried she’s not going to get it because of discrimination disguised as a bullshit technicality. If that happens, I will personally set their offices on fire.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. I wish I were exaggerating, but my parents are almost perfect. It’s a lot to live up to sometimes, but I know, I know, that even if I can’t? They’ll love me anyway because that’s just the kind of people they are.”
“That explains a lot.”
It seemed like he had said that to himself, so I didn’t say anything else. We fell into a natural silence, and it didn’t take long before that feeling of wanting began to claw at me again.
“And it’s just you and Winston?”
“And Sam. She’s my cousin but we all live in the same house. Her dad, too.” I leaned to the side, resting my head on his shoulder. “I feel like I ruined their summer. Sam told me that they only come here because I want to be here, and Winston confirmed it. I kind of made it up to her already, but I need to do something extra special for Winston.”
He never asked for much. He liked movies—had subscriptions to all kinds of streaming services thanks to my parents. He wasn’t really into clothes or music. Not a big reader either. What could I—
Oh. My. God.
I knew what to do. The idea struck me like a runaway train. I might die during and probably for sure after, but oh my God.
Winston would love it.
“I’ve been thinking,” Dallas said. “Would you like to re-meet my parents?”
I blinked, attention immediately shifting back to Dallas. I wish he could’ve seen the huge smile on my face. Ever since I’d snuck out of the house with him, I’d had this theory that he collected my smiles and facial expressions. Like his brain took a snapshot and filed it away so he’d always remember me.
“I would love to.”
Thirty-One
My shoulders tensed. I heard my name begin to ripple through the small crowd in Merry’s town hall. I’d walked in alone, filled out my registration forms, was given a number, and then was told where to wait to be called.
No one knew I’d gone there. Not Granny or Kara or Sam or Dallas or Winston.
By the time it was over, everyone would know, because nothing would stop me from getting Winston featured on Sana Starlight’s show.
Granny could lump my silent treatment/punishment for this in with sort of closing early during the blackout. Once the news hit, she’d probably try to find a way to blame me for a blackout caused by a downed power line, too.
Everything would work out. Eventually. She might be mad for longer than average, but we’d get through it. One of my mom’s favorite things to say was, “That’s how love works. Among many other things, it means forgiveness.”
I expected the place to be empty. The taping was coming up soon, so I figured everyone who had wanted to audition, already had. I had a short wait, maybe five minutes, before they called my name.
Up the walk and through a red door, straight to a small room with cameras and lighting set up. I knew that. I knew they would be there and no, I was not about to throw up. At all. Nope.
What did an embolism feel like? A pain thumped in my chest. It moved from time to time—my chest, my gut, the backs of my eyes—always pulsating and reminding me I was uncomfortably alive with feelings. I would have paid good money to be put into a medically induced coma rather than be interviewed.
Winston.
I had the strength to keep calm and sell our story just like Kara had outlined.
For Winston.
I also knew what the producers and casting assistant saw when I walked in. People’s faces betrayed their initial snap judgments all the time. The lifted eyebrows, gradual widening of their eyes, the dismissive slight eye roll. Some tried to be less rude, clearing their throats before looking away. I could recognize it all with ease.
Pretty or not, I was still Black, fat, and a girl who didn’t have a naturally nice demeanor. Three strikes and I’d lucked into the ultimate social misfortune of scaring people just by existing.
“Please have a seat.” A man in a black snapback pointed to the chair in the middle of the room.
“It’s a fairly simple process,” a different man with a clipboard said. “I ask a question, you answer. If you mess up, take a moment to compose yourself and begin again. It’ll all be edited later. I’ll be using the stock questions we provided at the time of your registration, but I’ll also follow the ebb and flow of the interview. Any questions?” I shook my head and he continued, “Excellent. Please state your name, your town, and which competition you’ll be entering.”
“My name is Winnie Woodson.” They never said I had to look at the camera. If I didn’t have to look at it, I’d be fine. Maybe. I concentrated on staying calm and keeping my voice shaking-free. “I’m from Misty Haven and I’m signing my younger brother, Winston, up for the savory category.”
“You won’t be competing?”
“No. He’s a culinary genius but also fourteen
. I turned eighteen in May.” Genius. Damn, I shouldn’t have said that.
“That’s nice of you. We have a father-daughter team already signed up with the same story,” one said. “She was too young to enter so her dad—passionately—convinced us to give her a chance.”
“Why don’t you tell us a bit about why he wants to enter and why you’ve decided to help him,” the other asked.
Deep breath. Sit up straight. Smize. Adjust your tone. Watch your cadence. Emphasize with your hands. This is for Winston.
“Honestly, it’s absolutely a family affair. My grandmother, Geraldine, owns and runs Goldeen’s Diner in Misty Haven. I’ve spent every summer here since she bought and restored it fifteen years ago. Owning her own restaurant had been her dream since she was my age in the fifties and now it’s my dream, too. Growing up in Goldeen’s had a profound effect on me. I’m all set to attend college in the fall to begin my degree in Hospitality and Business Management. I love the sense of community here, connecting with customers, our staff is like family, coming up with new menu items, and such. My grandmother would have entered but she didn’t think she’d have the time—summer is our busiest season—but my brother wouldn’t stop talking about it, so I decided to help him. Team Win-Win.”
Kara had been right. Both the producer and the casting agent exchanged Looks while I spoke, quickly jotting down notes on their clipboards, tilting them so the other could see. No more jaded, bored expressions. Their eyes sparkled with interest.
“Very good. Tell us a little about your brother. Is he here, too?”
“Unfortunately, no. He’s working his shift at Goldeen’s.” I laughed for effect. Little white lies never hurt anyone. “We’re really dedicated. I mean, he’s fourteen but wakes up every day at nine a.m. for his shift without fail. He prefers the kitchen, where he’s apprenticing under our head cook, Aaron, and learning more about cooking, food handling, safety, and how to craft an irresistible and complementary menu. Other than that, he’s really passionate about film and movies. He has a gift for quoting perfect one-liners exactly at the right moment and makes me watch awful horror movies that give me awful nightmares. But I love him, so I watch them.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “We’re really close. I totally spoil him rotten. Always have, always will.”