by Eliza Park
I smirked, excited for a class for the first time since freshman year.
Bohanan’s red beard spread in a smile, “I’m just kidding.”
I tried to keep myself from scoffing, but the release of tension in the room was obvious.
Bohanan droned on about idioms and turns of phrases for a while, trying to place where we as a class were in the yearlong syllabus. Cherise scribbled furiously in her notebook, her handwriting a loopy, girly script. I turned out. I’d had the privilege of being pounded with private language tutoring since infancy, and there wasn’t much more I could learn about a language I was fluent in, even if it was technically dead.
I turned my mind back to Celeste, wondering how she was fairing sitting next to that pile of urban trash.
You’re overreacting, Mav, I could hear her saying, he doesn’t even know I exist.
I replayed the scene from earlier in my head. Celeste and Ramirez walking together down the hallway to her classroom. Celeste wearing that stupidly shy expression on her face. Ramirez catching the deadly, dagger laced glare I shot at him from a few classrooms down.
I couldn’t very well go up and deck him for no reason, not when I had the opportunity to graduate early.
Fuck.
Another thing to consider. What was Celeste going to do without me that last semester? I contemplated stretching out my coursework, but it was already mostly extracurriculars, and my counselor was beyond apprehensive about me returning next year.
I’m not ready for college, I’d told her, I’d just really like to have a senior year.
Secretly, I was cursing myself, my parents, and every academic adviser who’d insisted I test out of as many classes as possible. The counselor had given me that poor little rich boy smile I knew too well, and caved, writing out a very thin load of courses for my last two semesters.
Elliott fucking Ramirez.
I know he’d seen me glare at him. He’d seen it, he got the message, and he ignored it. Or maybe he didn’t understand. He had no idea what he was dealing with, even if he did just want to be her friend. He’d probably heard that her dad was absolutely futbol obsessed and had recently purchased a major league soccer team, or that he’d been a heavy FIFA sponsor for 15 years. There was zero doubt in my mind that Ramirez was going to try to fuck the girl to get to her dad, not realizing Jack Hanson could give two shits about who his daughter was dating.
I leaned forward in my chair and tried to casually run a hand through my hair, release the tension in my fingers without thumping them against the table and annoying my classmate even further. If the lines between her eyebrows were any indication, she needed the extra focus. I still had a lot of coursework this semester, and my entire summer would be spent interning with my father at his law firm in New York. Plus, I was treasurer on the student council, and a delegate for our model U.N. We even had a trip coming up in Spring to China. Celeste wasn't supposed to be more of an issue this year. It’s why I’d asked her to be my girlfriend over New Years. It was much easier to act how I felt instead of pretending to be interested in other girls. And I figured I could keep her out of trouble as well. Fewer dorm parties, restricted access to drugs and alcohol. She couldn’t live the way she was living with her psychiatric instability and survive college. If she was even considering attending a university.
The bell rang then, signaling the end of Fourth Year Latin. I stood almost angrily, my chair shoving into the table behind me, and was nearly walking out the door to intercept Celeste when the new Professor addressed me, “Excuse me, Mr…. Lockwood?”
I turned slowly, trying to hide my annoyance.
“Would you mind staying back for just a moment?”
I glanced behind me at the open door, the rest of the classroom already littering the hallway. I had about thirty seconds before I missed my opportunity.
“With all due respect, Professor, can it wait?” My mom always taught me to be polite to people in positions of authority. It was the people on my own level I could treat like shit.
Bohanan smiled, standing next to his mahogany desk, “I just wanted to ask if you were okay, you looked pretty pissed the whole class.”
Shit.
I rubbed a hand over my face, “I apologize, sir I—.”
“I know this whole class is extra for you, but I would appreciate if you’d at least pay attention for my sake. Even just for the facade.” He gave me a broad smile.
I liked this guy, despite what he may have cost me this morning. “Of course. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
A light knock sounded on the door behind us, and I half turned, then spun when Celeste stood there, fist in the air. I was momentarily blindsided by her appearance, and I stared at her like a deer about to get smashed to bits by an oncoming truck.
Fuck me, she was pretty.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Professor,” she said in that lilting voice, “Mav, I have your notebook.” Her gaze was weirdly hazy, and I could hear the dreamlike cadence of her voice. I’d seen her take a couple of pills from her medicine cabinet this morning, but it didn’t look like the right amount and every time I tried to interfere, set a schedule, buy her one of those pill boxes with the days on it, she got all weird and defensive and stormed away. It was only worth the effort of a fight when she was truly lucid.
I whirled back to the professor, moving to make another apology and detangle myself from the room so I could be with Celeste. His face was ghostly white, paler than I’d ever seen another human face. He stared at Celeste with his mouth open. “Uh, Professor Bohanan, I promise I’ll pay more attention on Thursday, was there anything else?”
Bohanan shook his head and blinked, looking down at his desk and back up at Celeste with a queer expression, “I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve seen a ghost.”
Celeste appeared confused, looking at me helplessly.
“Right, well if that’s all…” I backed away a few steps, spinning and taking the notebook from Celeste’s outstretched arm as I led her away from the weirdness of the Professor’s reaction. I didn’t bother giving Ramirez a second look as we turned into the hallway.
“That was strange, do you know that guy?” Ramirez asked her.
I glowered at him. Of course she didn’t fucking know that guy.
She shook her head, an extra level of pale in her cheeks. “I don’t think so. He looks almost familiar but I’m—I’m not sure why.”
“He looks familiar?” I asked incredulously, pushing the subject. Just another Celeste mystery to uncover. “Familiar how? This is his first semester here.”
Her green eyes were blank and hazy.
Fuck.
“Celeste,” I said quietly, trying not to sound like I was scolding her. “Did you—?”
She waved me off, “I’m fine, maybe I only think I know him because he thinks he knows me.” Her gaze was vacant when she asked, tone monotonous. Then she smiled an empty smile and walked away from both of us. “I have a class to get to, bye everyone.”
Ramirez stood from me at a distance, and when I reluctantly turned my attention to him, he gave me an easy chuckle, shoving his hands into the pockets of his too-short slacks. He had an inch or so of height on me, but if we were to ever go toe to toe, I knew I could beat his skinny ass to next Sunday. I didn’t doubt he could outrun me, cardio wasn’t my specialty, but where I lacked in mileage I made up for in muscle. Ramirez was a fucking string bean of a person. “I know you. Maverick, right? Boy genius?”
He said the last part sarcastically and I grimaced at the term boy. “What do you want with her?” I asked, attempting to control the anger in my voice. I wasn’t about to fuck around and become friends with this joker.
Ramirez looked surprised by my question and shrugged, “She’s hot. I like her.”
I held back a laugh. You don’t even know her.
“And I’m pretty sure she likes me,” he continued. “Can you imagine. A girl like Celeste with a guy like me.” He shook his head, a hint of something
in his voice I couldn’t decipher.
“I can honestly say, Ramirez, that I have not and will never try to imagine it in the future,” I growled. “Listen,” I said, stepping closer, “Celeste has some fucking issues beyond you, beyond me, beyond this fucking place. You can’t just fuck with her because she’s hot.”
“Yeah, I heard the rumors, Maverick,” He said, his stance turning defensive, “She seems pretty normal to me.”
I scoffed. “You have no fucking idea, Ramirez.” My voice was getting lower, and this tall motherfucker was making me feel small.
He tilted his head to the side, looking down at me, “I know you think she’s your girlfriend or some shit, but she won’t admit to it,” he saw the hard look on my face and went on, “Yeah, I’ve seen you two together and I wasn’t going to fuck with it. But according to her, you’re just good friends.” He stepped closer, and my eyes were level with his chin. “So, I’m gonna go ahead and fuck with her, and not just because she’s hot, but because she deserves better than an asshole like you.”
Ramirez walked around me, his whole body raging with anger. I stood there, fuming, my head brimming with violent acts of destruction, when Professor Bohanan’s voice came from behind me. “So, girl trouble?” He was leaning against the framework of his door a few feet back, round glasses framing his rectangular head. He smiled at me, a for a very short moment.
“Yeah, you could say that.” I grumbled. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if the new guy would answer the question I wanted to ask. “So, Professor, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but who exactly does Celeste remind you of?”
He shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest, “Celeste is her name? Very French. What’s her last name?”
“Uh, Hanson.”
Bohanan’s lips closed together tightly, and he straightened, his look turning suddenly menacing. “As in Hanson Financial?”
“The one and only,” I joked, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. “Do you know Mr. Hanson, sir?”
Bohanan shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest, “No, I’ve never had the pleasure. Tell me, does he ever attend Parent Week?”
I stifled a laugh, “No, sir, he’s a busy guy if you can guess.”
“And her mother?”
I gripped my book a little tighter in my hand. His voice had quickly become full of malice towards this family, and I wondered how much I should be sharing. “No, she’s also pretty busy.” I shrugged then, trying to lighten the mood, manipulate the situation back into my favor, “My parents usually do all of the attending for both of us and report back. We grew up together so it’s easier that way I think.” I was hoping the admission would open a door of trust between us. I knew the bell would ring soon, but he hadn’t answered my question, so I went with a different route, trying not to sound suspicious, “Do you know Carole Hanson, sir?”
Bohanan relaxed a little then, “No, I don’t. The girl reminds me of someone I knew long ago. It hardly matters now. Have a good day, Lockwood. Good luck with the girl troubles.” He dismissed me, walking back into his classroom.
The bell rang, signaling my tardiness for yet another course due to teenage infatuation. I didn’t bother hurrying, knowing the difference between two minutes and five minutes was hardly relevant to most of these teachers when you were late. I needed time to think, and my next course was the final step in my mathematics journey until University, so I also needed to focus during the lecture.
So, Celeste reminded the new professor of someone he knew long ago. He could be lying about knowing Carole, although Celeste and her mom had absolutely nothing physically in common aside from thinness and the hyper blonde hair. Or he could be lying about knowing Jack Hanson, and was one of his many, many enemies. But what would a fucking academy professor have against the Hanson family? Hanson was far too intelligent to stick his hand in any illegal activity, although I didn’t doubt some of what he did was a little shady, especially when it came to paying taxes.
I was going down a rabbit hole that wouldn’t matter in a few days anyway when Ramirez convinced Celeste to break up with me. The thought was sobering, and as I entered through the door to my next course with an uncontrollable scowl, I let go of the whole fucked up spider web of Celeste’s life, and tried to focus on my studies
Chapter 5
Celeste
I drifted through the rest of my day in a somewhat normal haze of confusion, replaying the morning’s events in a weird colorless motion picture show. I hadn’t caught a glimpse of the professor until Mav had turned, and my insides had gone cold. His face, the color of his hair, the shape of his eyes and mouth. Thinking about those features made my body hurt in a way I couldn’t describe. Something about his eyes in particular. Kind eyes, with laugh lines. Green eyes. Green, green eyes. And red hair.
I started to get a headache midway through my French class, and instead of toughing it out for the rest of the day, I went straight from the class to my dorm room, barely making it through the door and to the bed before collapsing on the rumpled sheets.
They will rest from their labor, for their deeds shall follow them.
And then I slept.
I dreamed I was standing on a river made of solid ice. It was so cold, and everything was white. I could see my boots, but my feet were still cold. They were so cold, like I’d forgotten to put on socks. I was wearing one blue mitten and when I held it up, snow swirled around it, sticking to the crocheted fabric, and melting into my fingertips. I was so cold. I turned all around in a circle, but when I moved my boots cracked the ice. Someone whispered in my ear to stay still but I kept spinning and spinning and spinning.
When I opened my eyes again everything was dark, and someone was pounding on my door. I rolled off the bed, sweat covering my body, and somehow lugged my body to the door, pulling it open before Mav practically broke it in half.
“What the fuck Celeste!” He nearly shouted, “I almost called the fucking campus police, and not even for the first time this week. Where the fuck have you been?” His hands touched my cheeks and shoulders and I swatted him away like an annoying bug.
“Can we do this another night, Captain Genius? I’m so tired today.” I pushed him away from me without any actual force and swiveled back for the bed, feeling lightheaded. Missing the bed by a solid foot, I fell to the ground and started laughing, unable to control it. I knew I shouldn’t be laughing, but holy crap I was so tired and where did my icy river go?
I was hot. Suddenly I was so hot.
And isn’t this what icy rivers are for? Toasty moments?
Mav’s strong arms were behind me, lifting me from the ground and carrying me to the bed. “You’re going through withdrawal again. Where are your meds?”
I shook my head, “No more, please. No more. Elliott is talking to me and I think he might ask me out. I don’t want it to be real.”
There was silence for a moment, then I heard Mav say in a low voice, “You think you’re hallucinating that Ramirez is talking to you?”
I laughed, “You always just say his last name, why do you do that?” I peered up at him through partially closed eyes. His jaw was set in a hard line and he looked remarkably handsome. But he always looked that way, it was expected of him. “It can’t be real,” I said, watching as my own hand drifted across his cheek.
His icy blue gaze fell to my face and I sighed. There it was. There was my river of ice.
“It is real,” he said, sounding strong and sure, exactly like a river would. “But, so are we.”
I closed my eyes, the canopy of the bed beginning to spin. “Irrelevant.”
And I was asleep again.
Chapter 6
Maverick
I sat at Celeste’s unused mahogany desk, my head held loosely in my hands, gazing tiredly at the blank search bar on my laptop screen. Celeste slept restlessly in the four-poster bed to my right.
I was at a loss. Watching her go from completely fine to off her fucking rock
er in what seemed like just a few short days had me reeling.
She thought she was hallucinating that Ramirez was talking to her.
What. The. Fuck.
I wasn’t even sure where to begin with my search. Prescription drug abuse? Traumatic childhood experiences?
I dragged my hand down my face and hovered my fingers over the keys, thinking on some of the more common psychological terms I was familiar with.
Blurring the line between what is real and what is not real. Paranoid schizophrenia.
Severe high and low moods, changes in sleep, energy, behavior. Bi-polar disorder.
Flashbacks, nightmares, anxiety. Post-traumatic stress disorder.
Somehow she fit all of these diagnoses in different ways, but the last one, post-traumatic stress disorder, made me hesitate. I knew Celeste had gone through some kind of traumatic experience as a kid, but I didn’t know the details. Other than Carole Hanson insisting Celeste needed her meds to keep her stable, the adults in our lives refused to talk about it. But Celeste didn’t need meds, she needed extensive fucking therapy, maybe a lengthy rehabilitation stay. She needed the people in her life to give a shit about what she was going through now as a result of what she went through as a kid, whatever the fuck that was. She needed help. Serious help.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and twirled it around in my hand, debating on texting my dad. I didn’t know if he’d be willing to answer the questions I had, and I wasn’t really sure what those questions were. But he was one of the only adults I knew who cared as much about her as I did, one of the only people I knew who could help. I’d known Celeste before The Incident, but couldn’t remember what she had been like, and I only had a vague memory of the night it happened. Flashing lights, lots of crying and shouting, and so much snow.
I took a deep breath, pulling up a message to my dad.
Me: What happened to C as a kid?
My phone rang a moment later and I glanced at the clock as I answered. It was two or three in the morning on the East Coast, but Abel Lockwood was calling anyway.