by Jessica Park
Celeste sighed, clearly exasperated at Julie’s stupidity. “Not Flat Finn. Finn. Go find him on Facebook. You are on Facebook, aren’t you? Matty and Finn are, and Matty lets me sneak on with him so I can see Finn’s page. Shhhh,” she said, holding a finger to her lips. “Mom and Dad would not approve whatsoever. They hate any sort of social networking site and consider it indicative of lower intelligence.”
“I suppose he’s on Twitter, too?”
“Absolutely not. Are you?”
Julie shook her head. “I have a strong aversion to Twitter, and yet there is a social obligation that forces me to pop in and spy on celebrities now and then. I don’t get Twitter. It’s impossible to follow conversation threads, and it’s too easy to spend hours and hours clicking on random names, and the next thing you know, you’ve become infatuated with Tweet photos from the Kardashians.”
Celeste stared at her. “So are you or are you not on Facebook?”
Man, this kid was a piece of work. “Yup, I am on Facebook. And if you don’t tell your parents that, then I won’t tell them about you and Matthew. And I would be honored to be Finn’s friend.” Julie logged into the site. “Finneas or Finn?” she asked Celeste.
“Always Finn. He hates Finneas. But he made his account under Finn Is God.”
Julie laughed. “Why did he do that?”
“Because he has no interest in having undesirables from high school finding him. He gets to hide out a little more this way. Be selective. That’s important to him. Being selective with your friends.”
Julie tapped the keyboard, found the real Finn, and sent a friend request. With only thirty-two friends compared to Julie’s four-hundred-and-something, he was indeed selective. She saw Matthew’s name on Finn’s friend list and added him, too. Julie’s philosophy was that you could never have too many friends. Virtual ones, at least. She had a few real ones she could do without.
“Update your status! Update your status!” Celeste demanded. “Something funny.”
Julie thought for a moment. “How’s this?”
Julie Seagle Never moon a werewolf.
Celeste leaned her head against Julie’s shoulder. ”I like it. It’s practical and witty. Flat Finn likes it, too. Do one for him.”
This was new. Julie had never had to come up with a status update directed to someone’s flat brother.
Julie Seagle is unable to find any financially Finnish finches for Flat Finn, but will finagle finger-painting fingerling finery as a final finale. She finks.
“You have made substantial use of alliteration.” Celeste started at the computer screen. “Flat Finn is finking about it,” she said, glaring at Julie. “I, however, am not fond of this update.”
Julie typed again.
Julie Seagle You can never be too rich or too Finn.
Celeste patted Julie’s arm. “Better.”
**********
Julie cracked the ice cube tray and dropped a few cubes into her water glass. “You want some?”
Matt nodded. “Thanks.”
“Is Celeste asleep?” Julie took a glass from the cupboard.
“Out cold.”
“Are you actually packing yourself a lunch for tomorrow?” She eyed the healthy selection of carrot sticks, grapes, whole grain crackers, and a yogurt drink that Matt was putting into a lunch bag.
“I’m not actually packing myself a lunch for tomorrow. It’s for Celeste. That damn private school she’s at makes the kids take a break and nourish themselves before the teachers continue indoctrinating them with foolish lessons about Predynastic Egypt and curtal sonnets.” Matt picked up a wedge of cheese and began cutting uniform slices.
“What the hell is a curtal sonnet?” Julie lifted herself up so that she was sitting on the counter and stole a piece of cheese. “It makes me think of curds and whey.”
“It was invented by this guy, Hopkins, and the curtal sonnet has exactly three-quarters of the structure of a Petrarchan sonnet shrunk proportionally. Interestingly enough, he has an equation for it, and some argue that a true interest in sonnets stems from their relationship to math. If the Petrarchan sonnet is described as eight plus six equals fourteen, then the curtal sonnet would be twelve over two plus nine over two…” Matt put the knife down. “Julie?”
“Sorry, I think I fell asleep for a minute.” Julie yawned and patted her cheeks. “Kidding! I’m kidding! The unification of math and poetry is jaw-droppingly interesting. But you lost me at equation.”
Matt smirked. “Well, it is interesting because lots of poems have mathematical imagery or structure. Concrete triangular poems and syllabic verse, for example. Did you know that we subconsciously track the sound properties in poetry?”
“No, you subconsciously track sound properties and then wreck perfectly nice poetry by breaking it down into mathematical elements. Some of us just enjoy plain old poetry.”
Matt zipped up Celeste’s lunch bag and moved to stand in front of Julie. “I enjoy it, too. Just in a different way than you do. I can’t help it. I’m a nerd.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I suspect that on some level, you respond to the mathematical components in writing.”
“And I suspect that you’re wrong.” Julie hopped down from the counter and pointed to the lunch bag. “So will Flat Finn be needing a lunch, too?”
“Nope. He has a large breakfast. A stack of pancakes, an egg white omelet with green peppers and Swiss, and a fruit smoothie. That usually tides him over until dinner.”
Julie crossed her arms. “I’m serious. Flat Finn can’t possibly go to school with her, right?”
“He already went to Brandeis so, no, he doesn’t need to repeat seventh grade. Although they did make him take a bunch of tests in order to qualify out. He barely passed the oral exams, though, because the instructors found him withholding and tight-lipped. It’s a terribly biased system, but at least he passed and won’t have to suffer through the school’s annual reenactment of the first Thanksgiving. He has a pilgrim phobia.”
“Funny. Really, what’s the deal with Flat Finn?”
“After an unfortunate incident involving Wile E. Coyote and an anvil, Three Dimensional Finn had to change his name.”
Julie laughed. “Matt, come on! I assume this has something to do with her brother being away?”
Matt groaned. “Something like that.” He moved to the fridge, tucked the lunch bag on a shelf, and rearranged the leftover cartons.
“And nobody has suggested that she lose the accessory? I mean, she’s kind of old for this sort of thing, don’t you think? Not that I can think of a good age for it.”
He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I just follow orders and nod and smile.”
“Well, when is the real Finn coming back? That would take care of this, right? Does she take Flat Finn out of the house? What do her friends think when she shows up at soccer practice and asks if Flat Finn can play fullback?”
“No idea when Finn is coming home. He’s off on his adventures, being cool and carefree,” he said brusquely and shut the fridge. “And unless she’s at school, Celeste takes Flat Finn everywhere. But she doesn’t… She doesn’t go out much. Restaurants aren’t really an option, hence the regular takeout. She doesn’t play soccer, and she doesn’t have friends. Anything else, or are you done making fun of her?”
“Hey,” Julie softened her tone. “I am not making fun of her. I like her. Flat Finn, too. And did you say hence?”
“Yes, I said hence.” Matt busied himself cleaning off the kitchen counters. “I think it’s making a comeback.”
“But I don’t get why Celeste—”
“Leave it alone,” Matt said sharply. “I’m not saying anything else about it, OK? And please don’t bring this up with my parents.”
Julie froze. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t pry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Matt said apologetically. “Forget it. Listen, I have to take Celeste to school tomorro
w morning, but after that I could help you find an apartment. I called a friend of mine who knows a realtor that I got in touch with, and he’s got some places for you to see. I assumed you wouldn’t mind a little help.”
“Really? That’s awesome. Thank you so much.” She wasn’t about to refuse any apartment leads. “You’re not busy tomorrow?”
“I’ve got time. This realtor said we could meet him at ten, and we’ll go from there. Sound OK?”
“Very OK.”
Chapter 5
Julie pursed her lips together. She didn’t like this realtor. How could his pants be falling off when he had such a substantial belly willing to hold them up? But the real reason she didn’t care for this jerk was because he’d just brought them to yet another dumpy, probably-condemned apartment.
“Well, this is obviously the apartment I was meant to have. No wonder the one in Jamaica Plain didn’t work out. It was a sign from God that I needed to find this gem. The cockroaches are a nice bonus. I’ve always wanted to live with animals. And I can make extra money working as a hooker. Those girls outside looked really friendly, and I’m sure they’d take me under their wing and teach me the tricks of the trade. Pardon the pun.”
Matt stepped soundly on a particularly beefy cockroach. “Odds are, their pimp would be highly interested in obtaining the services of a nice Midwestern girl. Boston men are forever complaining about the same old, same old with East Coast prostitutes.”
The realtor growled and tugged on his sagging pants. “Look, you two, this is the eighth goddamn place I’ve showed you. This is what you get in your price range, missy. Take it or leave it.”
“She’ll need to see another goddamn place, then, because the roaches have unionized and put a stop to further negotiations regarding new tenants. Also, I think I smell a dead body.”
The realtor threw his hands up in Julie’s direction. “Sweetheart, with what you’re willing to pay, you’d be better off squeezing in with five roommates in a one-bedroom. And I don’t have those kinds of listings. Check Craigslist.”
Julie squinted her eyes. “Sweetheart will not be using Craigslist. Sweetheart will not be living here. Sweetheart will likely collapse in despair and move back to Ohio, where she will wait tables at Dirk’s Drink Dive and give up on her dream of attending at least one college class before the turn of the century.”
She briefly considered the option of calling her father to bail her out of this hell. That was if she could even reach him. Forget it. Way too embarrassing. She was paying for college with money from her mother and student loans, and she could surely figure out this situation without humiliating herself in front of her father. She wiped her forehead. God, it was stuffy and rank in here, and she could feel the sweat practically streaming down her back. Who knew Boston was so humid? Well, Bostonians probably.
Julie knew that she had better get out of this building before she further insulted this jackass. She’d already been rude enough, but she couldn’t be held responsible for what came out of her mouth right now. Poor Matt had trekked around various Boston neighborhoods with her to look at one uninhabitable place after another. After four hours of searching, she was no closer to finding a place to live than she was when they’d started. And now here she was mouthing off and acting like a total lunatic.
She took a deep breath. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to,” she started slowly, hoping that by speaking positively a brilliant idea would come to her and let her complete the sentence. “I am going to consider the many simple solutions to my housing crisis and deduce what the best strategy will be.” She paused. “And I choose to wander around and… and look for fliers from people seeking roommates. Yes. That is the plan.”
Matt looked doubtful. “If that’s what you want, sure. Let’s go back into Harvard Square. It’s probably your best bet. And less corpse-y.”
“Corpse-y? Really? Is that an MIT word?”
“You bet. Let’s get out of here.”
Julie followed Matt out of the apartment and walked silently next to him for ten minutes, as he led them to the nearest T stop. “Where are we again? I’m totally confused.”
“Just outside Davis Square. It’s mostly a nice area, but like anyplace, it has its not-so-good parts.”
“I appreciate your help. I really do. This is all my fault, and you shouldn’t have to give up your day to visit every hellhole in a ten-mile radius.” Julie was exhausted and dejected. She was beginning to realize that with the amount of money she had for monthly rent, finding reasonable accommodations was going to be next to impossible.
Matt held the door to the T station open for her. Julie thought that it seemed awfully crowded for a weekday afternoon, and the top landing by the stairs was mobbed with people talking on cell phones, bumping into her, and blocking her view. The heat from the swarm of commuters added to her increasing exhaustion and discomfort. She stepped up closer to Matt so she wouldn’t lose him and followed him onto the staircase. Or what she thought was the staircase.
And then her heart started to pound. “Wait, no! No! No escalators. Matt, I don’t do escalators.” Julie tried to step off, but she was too late, now feeling as though she were plunging straight down, unsecured and helpless. She glanced at the bottom of the landing, aware of the hideously steep incline and the slow pace of the escalator. Dizzy and overwhelmingly anxious, Julie could see shapes begin to blur and felt her knees tremble as the vertigo took over.
“Julie? Julie?” She was aware of Matt’s voice, but it sounded foggy and unnatural. She could make out his green T-shirt as he turned toward her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her in as she started to drop. “I got you,” he said. “I won’t let you fall. Just hold on.” He held her tightly against his chest, and she briefly wondered if he was wearing Axe body spray.
“Boooo,” she murmured.
“What did you say? Are you OK? Just hold on for another minute.”
And then suddenly they were off the horrible escalator, Julie still awkwardly slumped in his arms while people swarmed around them.
“Oh. Sorry.” Alert enough to know that she didn’t want to faint in a T station, she pulled back a bit, trying to steady herself against Matt as she forced her legs to work. He was surprisingly strong for someone who likely spent most of his day hunched over a scientific calculator. Slowly the world came into focus again, and she found herself staring at his shirt that enthusiastically announced, FTW!
For. The. Win, she mouthed and shut her eyes in dismay.
She felt drunk, the way she had after those three shots of putrid peppermint schnapps at the prom. She wasn’t a big drinker (as evidenced that night when she hurled up Chicken Divan in the ladies’ room at the Hotel Carnegie), and she didn’t care for the similar feeling she had now.
She poked her finger into his chest. “Matthew, my friend, you need some new clothes.”
“Thank you.”
She looked up at him dizzily. “Do you have one geeky shirt for every day of the week?”
“More than that. Don’t worry.”
“I am flooded with relief.”
“Are you OK now?”
“Oh.” Julie realized she was still slouched into him. “Yes. I’m… I’m perfectly OK. Brilliant.” She dropped her hands from his chest and took a step back. There. She could see normally, and her knees were no longer comprised solely of gelatin. “Sorry about that. Let’s go get our train.”
Matt looked at her skeptically. “If you’re sure.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. See?” She jumped up and down. “All motor function has been restored. Physiological integrity is intact. I can now continue not finding an apartment.”
“You’re very goofy.”
The underground platform area was cool and helped Julie feel human again. The downside of which was that she could now fully appreciate how embarrassing her near-fainting spell was. She was very good about avoiding situations that brought on an attack, but she hadn’t been able to see that d
amn escalator through all the T riders.
They only had to wait a few minutes before the next train screeched to a piercing halt. She and Matt stepped onto the train and sat down in seats that faced the center of the car. Julie crossed her legs and tried to appear as composed as one could after such an incident.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “So, now you know that I don’t like escalators. Or elevators, I imagine, although I haven’t been on one in years. Maybe I’ve improved. It makes me fall apart. I call it moving height freak-out syndrome.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Matt informed her. “You’re acrophobic, which is one of the space and motion phobias. You have an irrational fear of heights that results in severe discomfort. And you didn’t exactly freak out. You probably experienced dizziness and some panic, right?”
“Thank you for ruining my attempt to bring levity to my traumatic event.” Julie managed not to glower, although it took some effort.
“I’m not ruining your attempt at levity, but you should come up with a name that is factually accurate.” Matt stood up and grabbed a metal bar that ran above his head, swaying with the movement of the train.
“I can come up with whatever the hell name I want to. It’s my syndrome, so I get to name it.”
“Well, it’s not really your syndrome considering that other people—”
“Oh my God!” Julie pleaded. “Can we not argue about what this mortifying thing is called?”
“We’re not arguing. We’re discussing. And you shouldn’t be mortified. It’s really not that uncommon.”
“I don’t care if it’s common or not, I have the right to be mortified if I want to.”
“Of course you have the right. I’m just telling you that if your feeling of mortification is based on the belief that this is an unusual pathology, then statistically speaking, you have no reason to.” He was more animated now than Julie had seen him before, color coming into his cheeks and his murky gray eyes actually shining. “You can take comfort in being part of a community. If you look at the percentage of people with any phobia at all, then you’ve got substantial company.”
