The Fragile Ordinary
I nodded. And since when did you start coming here?
As if he’d heard my unspoken thought he said, “A friend recommended this place. I usually do my marking at school but I fancied a change of scenery. Do you perform?” He gestured to the stage.
I shook my head.
“Do you have material you could perform?”
My heart rate increased at the inquisition. I knew Mr. Stone didn’t mean it as an inquisition, but the intrusion upon a part of my life I kept private unsettled me. “Maybe.”
He gave me a knowing nod. “You should think about performing. Your poetry assignments are stellar. You’re talented. You intend to go to university, yes?”
I nodded again.
“Well, universities look at your outside interests and passions. Lots of kids have good grades. You’ll need something that stands out. Performing here regularly would be a start.” He smiled at me again, clearly waiting for a response.
I didn’t know how to respond. My palms were sweating and I was feeling cornered. Thankfully, someone else stepped onstage and Mr. Stone leaned over to whisper, “I’ll leave you to it. But think about it, Comet.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stone,” I whispered.
But inside I was yelling at my favorite teacher for pointing out something I’d been doing my best to ignore. That my excellent grades weren’t a guarantee of admission into the University of Virginia, and that a university such as it was would be looking for students who stood out among the crowd. Mr. Stone was right. Being a part of Pan, gathering the courage to tread the stage here, was just an example of what it would take to make it into UVA and flourish there if I got in.
I couldn’t just sit passively by in the audience.
Yet I wanted to.
For the first time, I couldn’t just enjoy myself at Pan. Instead I imagined myself finally being brave enough to get up there and perform. Of being brave enough to remove the anonymity from my blog and use it as part of my application process for university.
Yet, I didn’t make a move to do anything. I was stuck. Courage wasn’t something you found at the bottom of a hot chocolate or in a few words of encouragement from your favorite teacher. Courage was clearly something I needed to find, but how was I supposed to when there was a big part of me that didn’t mind the fact I hadn’t discovered it?
Going to UVA was the biggest goal I had in my life. If I wanted it that badly...surely something would have to give?
THE FRAGILE ORDINARYSAMANTHA YOUNG
6
Shakespeare said it best,
To thine own self be true.
To his wisdom, I attest,
So I’ll be me, you be you.
—CC
How the hell did I end up here?
I had asked myself that question maybe thirty times from the moment we’d arrived at Jordan Hall’s friend’s party. The party was in a flat less than a minute from my house and from what I could tell was rented out by four students. The flat’s windows looked out over the sea and from the noise blaring from the speakers in the sitting room I was surprised it hadn’t been shut down by the neighbors downstairs yet. Everyone here was college age or older, and I felt like a kid as I stood in the corner of the room, nursing a can of soda.
I wasn’t oblivious to the looks being thrown my way, and it was making me nervous.
It was a rare occasion when I was uncertain of my wardrobe choices, but tonight I was. I stood out from this art crowd, who all wore a surprising amount of black for supposedly creative people. Tonight, I was wearing above-the-knee-length bright yellow socks, an oversize blue tartan shirt dress with a large slouchy black belt around my hips, a black boyfriend cardigan with a brooch shaped like a yellow teacup pinned to it and a pair of patent blue-and-white striped Irregular Choice ankle boots. They had an oversize blue bow on the side, but what made them really different, was the fact that the heel wasn’t conventional—it was a mini-sculpture of Alice from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland.
My parents might not pay me a lot of attention but they gave me a generous monthly allowance and, while I did save some of it every month, I spent a lot of it on books and clothes. Nearly every pair of shoes I owned were Irregular Choice. I could probably open my own shop with how many pairs I had in my closet.
Vicki, who had disappeared with Jordan almost the moment we’d arrived, suddenly reappeared. She strode over to me, grinning happily. I gave her a fond smile even though I secretly blamed her for putting me in the position I was in. Loving people was complicated, right? “You look happy.”
She nodded. “Jordan is so cool...and—” she stepped into me, her back to the room, and gave me this look I didn’t understand “—his friends are fascinated by you.”
I blushed. “They think I’m a weirdo, right?”
Vicki laughed. “No. The opposite. They don’t realize you’re shy. They just think you’re mysterious and unusual—but in a good way. These are art students, Comet. They like different.” She gestured to my clothes. “A few of the guys have asked who you are.”
This time I blushed for a whole other reason. “Funny. Steph bolted from me as soon as we got here.” She didn’t have to tell me she was embarrassed by how I was dressed.
“Steph wouldn’t know individuality if it bit her on the backside.” Vicki threaded her arm through mine. “These aren’t high school students, Com. They appreciate someone that knows who they are and isn’t afraid of it. Talk to one of them.”
The thought of talking to one of these strangers made me want to run in the opposite direction. What if I said something stupid? Or couldn’t speak at all and just stood there gaping at them like a guppy? I suddenly found myself irrationally angry with Vicki for trying to push me. It may have been residual irritation from Mr. Stone’s surprise appearance at Pan this week and his unwanted but sensible words of advice. He hadn’t meant to be pushy and neither had Vicki, but I felt pushed all the same.
“Jordan’s friend Ethan told us he thinks you’re gorgeous.” She subtly nodded her head to the opposite side of the living room. “He’s the one in the black Biffy Clyro shirt, standing near the television with the redhead.”
My gaze flew in that direction, curious despite myself about a guy who would call me gorgeous. No one, as far as I was aware, beyond Vicki, had called me gorgeous before. To my surprise the guy in the Biffy Clyro shirt was cute. Really cute. In that disheveled “lead singer of a rock band” kind of way.
Our eyes met and he smiled at me.
Stunned, I looked back at Vicki and she laughed. “Told you.”
I wanted to run. Run right out of the party, down the beach and lock myself inside my empty house. I didn’t know how to speak to boys my age; how the hell was I supposed to speak to an older, more experienced boy? And I didn’t want to speak to him. I didn’t know him. He was just a random at a party, and speaking to him meant a racing heart, sweaty palms and most assuredly boring him until I was mortified by his discomfort.
I wanted to kill my friend.
“He’s coming over. See you later.” And just like that Vicki was gone.
Yes.
Definitely going to kill her.
“Hi, how’s it goin’?”
My gaze flew to the guy who was now standing in front of me. Ethan, wasn’t it?
Our eyes were on level with one another, and I realized Ethan was the same height as me. He had a rangy, sinewy physique, however, that gave the illusion of greater height. The dimple that popped in his cheek with his lopsided grin was all kinds of charming.
He brushed his dark hair off his forehead. “I’m Ethan.”
“Comet,” I said quietly. And I’d like to leave now.
“That is such a cool name.” Ethan grinned harder. “Really suits you.”
It really didn’t. “Thanks.”
We stared at each other and I blushed. Again.
Ethan’s eyes brightened. “So...you go to Blair Lochrie with Vicki?”
I nodded. Words! My head was filled with bloody words, and yet I was taking so long to come up with ones that sounded okay that the silence just stretched between us.
A gaping, yawning chasm of silence.
Mortified, I looked anywhere but at the boy in front of me.
“So, uh, is that a cartoon character on your shoe?”
Stunned he was still standing there, I shrugged. “Kind of. It’s Alice from Alice in Wonderland. She’s really a book character more than a cartoon, because Lewis Carroll published the novel in 1865 and the Disney version came out eighty-six years later, although technically my heels are the Disney version of her...” Shut up! Someone shut me up!
To my wary surprise, Ethan nodded like I’d said the most fascinating thing ever. “Cool.”
Sensing it was my turn to ask a question I blurted out, “Are you an art student?”
He shoved his hair out of his face again, and I had to curb the urge to advise him he should just cut it if it was annoying him. “Aye. Photography. But I’m more focused on my band, right now. We’re called Lonely Boy, inspired by the song from the Black Keys. We’re kind of The Black Keys meets the Arctic Monkeys meets Babyshambles. Our musical aesthetic is alternative punk-dance-rock wrapped up in a social conscience. We’ve been playing a lot of gigs in...”
As it turned out, there were some boys you didn’t have to say anything to. You just had to pretend to be interested in what they were saying.
* * *
After an hour of listening to Ethan, lead singer of Lonely Boy, wax poetical about his life in the band, I excused myself to use the bathroom. I had a headache and needed the reprieve. On my way out, Steph cornered me.
“What does biomorphic mean?” Her pupils were large, her skin was flushed, and she was swaying a little.
“How much have you had to drink?” I nodded to her beer.
“Just a few.” She waved me off. “Comet, hurry, what does it mean?”
“Biomorphic? Why?”
She stamped her foot like a petulant child. “Because the cute art guy I’m talking to keeps calling his work biomorphic, and I’m just smiling at him like an idiot because I don’t know what it means.”
I took her beer. “You’ve had enough. And it means taking living things, like plants, the human body, and making abstract images from them.”
“You are so smart!” She kissed my cheek and hurried toward the kitchen at the end of the hallway, not even aware I’d taken her beer. I ducked back into the bathroom and poured the rest of the bottle down the sink.
Yes, I was that girl at the party.
Buzzkill girl.
This time when I stepped out of the bathroom I was stopped by Ethan.
He grinned and touched my arm. “There you are. I thought someone else stole you away.”
My cheeks grew hot again as I shook my head.
And then he was kissing me!
My first kiss, and it just happened!
No warning. Nothing!
And it was awful.
It was like he was trying to eat my mouth and wriggle his tongue in it at the same time!
Thankfully it didn’t last long, and he pulled back to smirk at me. “Let me get you a beer. Don’t go anywhere.”
The skin above my top lip and below my bottom was wet with his saliva.
Get the hell out of here, Comet! And I listened to myself. Without thinking of Vicki or Steph, I hurried past the bodies in the crowded hallway and darted outside. Running down the steps, I didn’t even care if my Alice heels broke from my manic escape. I just wanted out. I threw open the main door to the building, and it banged against the wall. Loudly.
“Whoa!”
I skidded to a stop at the shout, noting to my horror the crowd of kids standing near our local pub, the Espy. Embarrassment flooded me when I realized it wasn’t just anybody standing there. It was Stevie and his gang of miscreants.
And Tobias King.
Tobias had his arm around a girl I didn’t recognize, a beer bottle dangling from his hand. He stared at me, frowning.
“Ye awright, Comet?” Stevie called. Alana Miller, a scary, would probably take my head off if I looked at her the wrong way, girl in the year below me had her arms around his waist.
I managed a nod at Stevie and then threw a reluctant glance at Tobias, who had dropped his arm from the unknown girl and was staring at me intently. Flushing harder, I turned from them and started to walk down the esplanade.
“What the fuck is she wearing?” I heard a girl cackle, and there was more laughter.
I hunched into myself and picked up speed.
That speed turned to full-out running once I knew I was out of sight, and I didn’t stop until I was at my front door. It was only once I was inside my bedroom that I managed to relax somewhat.
And then I slumped onto my bed and fought the urge to cry as I wiped at my mouth and shuddered.
That was kissing? That horrible, wet, slug-like act was kissing?
Every time I got to a scene in the book where the hero and heroine finally kissed, it made me flush hot in a good way, and my chest filled with this delight, this giddiness that was hard to describe.
I had yet to read a book where the heroine got her face munched on!
“Ugh.” I shuddered again.
Of course my first kiss would suck. Literally. I don’t know why I ever expected anything else. And this was exactly the reason I should have stayed home tonight—so my illusions wouldn’t be shattered by a presumptuous nineteen-year-old boy who had not received permission to put his mouth anywhere near mine!
I yanked off my clothes, only slowing to take care with my expensive boots. Just as I was slipping into my pajamas, my phone made a little jingle of a noise, alerting me to a text.
Vicki : WRU@
I sighed and quickly replied. I went home. Tired. I’ll put a key under the mat for you. xx.
Two seconds later it pinged: RUOK xx.
Yeah xx
Although I didn’t like the idea of putting the key under the mat, there was really no other way for my friends to get in the house other than for me to stay awake all night. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to sleep so I could forget the fact that my mouth had just been attacked.
On that note I flossed and brushed my teeth. Thoroughly. And then I rinsed it multiple times with mouthwash. Staring into the mirror, I got a flashback of the feeling of Ethan’s kiss and shuddered again. “Ugh!” I made a face at myself.
Tomorrow I was going to do a reread of my favorite romance just to get this awful real-life imagery out of my head.
* * *
I awoke with a start, my heart in my throat, the blood whooshing in my ears.
“It’s just me, babe,” Vicki’s voice whispered in the dark, but it sounded thick and cracked.
“Vicki?”
Down the hall I heard water running from a tap while Vicki’s silhouette solidified out of shadow as my eyes adjusted to the dark.
She pushed the covers back and climbed into the bed. The denim of her jeans rubbed against the light fabric of my pajama bottoms, the floral perfume she wore mixed with the scent of beer enveloped me, and the soft, tight curls of her hair tickled my chin as she wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her face to my collarbone.
I felt her body shake.
I felt something wet drip onto my skin.
Sleep deserted me at the realization that my best friend, who rarely cried, was sobbing quietly against me.
Concern kicked my heart into speed and something ugly twisted in my gut as I closed my arms around her and held her tight. “Vicki?” I was afraid. Afraid to ask what happened, all manner of dark suspicions lurking in my mind.
She held on tighter but didn’t say anything, didn’t relieve me of my fears.
The flush of the toilet brought my thoughts back to Steph as I heard the bathroom door open and her stumbling steps down the hall. My bedroom door swung open and shut, and Steph’s dark figure rounded the bed and got in at the other side of me.
Not even a minute later her drunken snores filled the room.
“Vicki...what happened?” I dared to ask.
I wasn’t sure she’d answer.
But then...
“Jordan,” she whispered tearfully. “He wanted to have sex. I said I didn’t want to, and then he said I was too young for him and...he went off with some girl from his class.”
Dipshit.
Arsehole.
Wanker!
I tightened my grip on my friend. “I’m sorry he did that.”
She cried a little harder, and I tried to soothe and hush her. After a while I felt her body relax. I was sad for her. I hated that a boy had treated her so poorly when he was lucky Vicki Brown had even noticed he existed.
Yet, there was a part of me that wasn’t surprised.
In fact, it just drove home to me why my book boyfriends were a million times better than the real thing. Tonight I’d gone to a party for someone else because I’d made a promise to try harder. However, years ago I’d made a promise to myself, and that promise was painted above my headboard.
To thine own self be true.
Be true to yourself.
Standing in the corner of a party, talking to a boy who bored me and pretending that he didn’t, allowing him close enough to violate my lips... I hadn’t wanted to do any of those things. I hadn’t wanted to go to the party in the first place! And look where it got me.
Worst night in a long time.
From now on, I did what I wanted to do.
I would remain true to myself.
Stay at home reading a lot of books and writing my poetry.
Even if everyone, including my best friends, thought it made me the biggest antisocial weirdo in Porty.
THE FRAGILE ORDINARYSAMANTHA YOUNG
7
They all want to solve you and your mystery,
But I don’t.
They want to unravel your secrets, your history,
But I won’t.
I keep lying to myself, safe from your jagged edge,
All the while my curiosity tries to lure me off the ledge.
—CC
September first was the day I decided to push the boundaries of the school uniform. Our dress code was pretty strict but over the last few weeks I’d gotten away with adding cute, kitschy brooches and pins to the lapels of my blazer. So a week ago I’d asked Vicki if she had time to make me a few pairs of knee-high socks. In black. With gold stripes. They matched the uniform! They just jazzed it up a bit. Vicki whipped them up in a week and today was the first day I was wearing them.
I thought they looked cute, but I had to admit I was a little afraid of a teacher pulling me up for them.
Being worried about wearing outlandish knee socks was the least of my concerns. But I didn’t know that when I walked into the school building that day.
I didn’t know that until English class.
After a few weeks we’d made fast progress with Hamlet. We were on Act Two Scene Two, and Penny Shaw in the year above me was reading the part of the First Player when I became aware of someone hissing something at someone behind me.
The hissing grew more frantic, followed by the sound of stuff thumping to the floor.
We all whipped around to look as Tobias King got out of his chair to pick up his books and jotter from the carpet wearing a beleaguered look on his face. I glanced at Heather to find her opting for an angry, smug expression.
“What is going on over there?” Mr. Stone snapped.
Heather and Tobias seemed to cause some kind of kerfuffle in every lesson, so I could understand why Mr. Stone’s patience was growing thin.
“Nothing, Mr. Stone,” Heather answered sweetly.
“Nothing?” Tobias huffed, still standing as he stared down at her incredulously. He turned to Mr. Stone. “You do realize I’m sitting next to someone in need of a mental health professional?”
“GFY, Tobias!” Heather yelled.
“I have a teenage sister, Heather.” Mr. Stone looked so harassed that I felt sorry for him. “I pretty much understand every text abbreviation under the sun. You can wait outside the room until the end of class and stay there until I come see you.”
“But—”
“No buts, Heather. And when you return to my class, Tobias will no longer be sitting next to you. I’m tired of the two of you causing disruptions. Tobias, grab your things and take the seat next to Comet.”
The blood suddenly whooshed in my ears as my heart rate shot up. I stared in horror at Mr. Stone, and he gave me a reassuring look.
How had this happened?
How was it possible that one little sentence had completely ruined my day? No...wait. My entire year in English class.
The seat next to mine made a rough scraping sound against the hardwearing carpet, and I stared determinedly ahead as Tobias King’s large body settled beside me. I could feel the sprawl of him, the warmth, and smell his faint spicy citrus scent.
My cheeks burned and my muscles tensed as I held myself away from him. As good-looking as this boy was, his indifference, his delinquent behavior, had taken a toll on my crush. I’d thrown him over in favor of a fictional immortal boy warrior called Noah.
However, it was hard to remind myself of that when he was so close—so terrifyingly close—that my body hummed with awareness. I couldn’t concentrate on what was being taught. All I could focus on was the shift of his legs under our desk, the way his arm almost brushed mine as he lifted a hand to drag his fingers through his hair and the irritated sigh that escaped him.
I wasn’t the only one who heard that sigh.
“You disagree, Mr. King?” Our teacher stared at him.
Disagree about what? What had I missed?
Dammit!
“I didn’t say anything.”
I almost jumped at hearing Tobias’s voice so close to me. It had a deep, husky quality that I found pleasant despite myself. It was the accent, I tried to reassure myself. It was different, and I liked different, that was all.
Really.
“You didn’t have to say anything. The sigh was enough. If you disagree with Penny’s understanding of the scene, there are politer ways to respond, Mr. King. Why do you disagree?”
What had Penny’s understanding of the scene been? Oh my goodness, I never daydreamed in English! Damn Tobias King.
He answered with bite, “I think it’s pretty clear Hamlet isn’t referring to his mental state as the devil.”
What? I searched the text in front of me and read it, trying to understand.
“Read the passage again, Tobias. And then tell me what you think it means.”
“I don’t want to read it.”
“Do you want to fail?”
Tobias shifted in his seat, and I risked a glance at him. As soon as my gaze landed on his face, he looked at me.
Crap.
I whipped my gaze back to my text, my cheeks furnace-hot with embarrassment. Then, to my surprise—to all our surprise—Tobias began to read.
And read well.
“Play something like the murder of my father
before mine uncle; I’ll observe his looks,
I’ll tent him to the quick; if ’a do blench,
I know my course. The spirit I have seen
May be a devil, and the devil hath power
T’ assume a pleasing shape; yeah, and perhaps,
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds
More relative than this—the play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.”
My breath stuck in my throat as silence reigned over the classroom. It would appear that the magical something Tobias King had—that magnetism—could be used against me.
Because the boy made Shakespeare hot.
It didn’t seem possible that a teenage boy with the wrong accent could make Shakespeare hot.
I gulped.
“Very good, Tobias,” Mr. Stone said, sounding as astonished as I felt. “Now tell me what you think Hamlet is saying.”
“He’s saying that the ghost may be using his grief against him to manipulate him to take action against Claudius. So Hamlet has decided he needs to be sure and wants to use the play to get some kind of proof of his uncle’s betrayal.”