by Eric Smith
RE: Alternatives to the Raptor Trust in Fairmount
Posted by Toothless
AUGUST 14th, 2017 | 7:09PM
LOL, that peacock story. Thanks Jill. This really helps out a lot.
RE: Alternatives to the Raptor Trust in Fairmount
Posted by A Dash of Paprika
AUGUST 14th, 2017 | 8:09PM
What did you do to that poor bird, Toothy?
RE: Alternatives to the Raptor Trust in Fairmount
Posted by Toothless
AUGUST 14th, 2017 | 7:02PM
Har har. Nothing. I’m trying to save him.
RE: Alternatives to the Raptor Trust in Fairmount
Posted by A Dash of Paprika
AUGUST 14th, 2017 | 7:09PM
Since when did you grow a heart?
RE: Alternatives to the Raptor Trust in Fairmount
Posted by WithouttheY
AUGUST 14th, 2017 | 7:15PM
Come on Paprika, chill.
ECO-ACTIVISTS MESSAGE BOARD: PERSONAL MESSAGES [USER: WITHOUTTHEY]
FROM
SUBJECT
DATE
TOOTHLESS
Thanks
You know, for all that.
8/14
WITHOUTTHEY
RE: Thanks
*shrugs* not a big deal. We all get carried away sometimes.
8/14
VI
“Wait, so nothing? Nothing at all?” Sarika asked as she poked at the chicken nuggets on her lunch tray, scowling.
“Not yet,” Leila said, shrugging and taking a bite out of a nugget. “Try one, they aren’t terrible.”
“I don’t trust meat that isn’t shaped like actual meat,” Sarika said, grabbing a french fry off her plate and dipping it in ketchup. “It isn’t natural.”
“You’re serious?” Leila asked. “You just dipped a rectangle made of potato starch into a puddle of paste that contains some tomato, but mostly tons of artificial chemicals. Let’s not talk about natural vs. unnatural here. This isn’t hair.”
“Yeah, but french fries are fucking delicious,” Sarika said, eating the whole fry in a single bite. “They are excellent ketchup delivery systems. Right?” Leila gave her a look, and Sarika grabbed the ketchup packet and looked at the back, her expression immediately souring. “Oh. Well, whatever. I’m a hypocrite, lock me up. Anyway, I still can’t believe the two of you haven’t talked since that first meeting. That tension in that room was thick.”
“You think so?” Leila asked, even though she knew. She could tell that Shawn was into her, the way he stared at her from across the room and the awkward way he said goodbye at the end of the meeting, complete with way-too-long see you laters and an extended handshake that implied maybe a hug could have happened.
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Sarika said, swirling another fry around. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move or something. Trying to be all mysterious or hard to get or something.”
“Well, he’s going to be waiting a long-ass time,” Leila raised one eyebrow, “what with that whole mess involving that friend of yours.”
“Ha ha,” Sarika said, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t hold that against him. I’ve been dealing with Jessica and her clique for a while now, and I’ve never even seen him around. Not at after-school events, or picking her up. Nothing. I think they were secret or something.” She shrugged.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had some bullies picking on you.” Leila shook her head.
“You can’t protect everyone,” Sarika said, reaching across the table and giving Leila’s hand a squeeze. “I didn’t need saving.”
“Okay, okay,” Leila said before grabbing another nugget.
“You should at least come on the field trip,” Sarika continued, burying another french fry in ketchup, the lightly burnt potato slice coming up entirely red. “I mean, if anything, that’ll be a good opportunity for you two to talk, maybe sneak off into the woods.”
“Field trip?” Leila asked, ignoring her suggestion. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”
“Wow, you really were out of it.” Sarika laughed. “He handed out those slips?” Leila shrugged and Sarika abandoned her fries to dig through her backpack.
“Behold, the permission slip,” Sarika said, pulling a piece of paper out of her backpack and waving it about triumphantly. “Fairmount Park field trip.” Leila plucked the piece of paper out of Sarika’s hands and read it, trying not to frown.
“You know we can basically walk to Fairmount Park whenever we want, right?” Leila asked, handing the slip back to Sarika. “It’s like, right there. You can probably see it right outside the windows here in the cafeteria.”
“But on this trip, you’ll get to see so much more,” a voice chimed from behind Leila. She turned around to spot Shawn smiling his lopsided smile, his long hair dancing over his eyes as he gazed intently at Leila. She felt herself going flush and turned back to Sarika, who was grinning.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, a bagged lunch in his hands.
“Yeah, no sure, go ahead,” Leila muttered as he settled down next to her.
“Sarika, right?” he asked, pointing at Sarika with a snap and a click sound from inside his cheek. Sarika frowned and Leila flashed her a quick please-be-nice look. Sarika’s expression immediately softened, though her smile looked forced.
“Yes!” Sarika exclaimed. “Nice to see you again.”
“You too,” Shawn said, nodding. He turned to Leila. “So the field trip. Like I said at the meeting, we’re not, um, as funded as we were before for . . . personal reasons.” Shawn stumbled over his words, looking progressively more awkward as he tried not to mention Jessica. “We’re going to do a little community service as part of their summer clean-up day, cleaning the grounds around the Shofuso house. We’ll even get to work with the koi pond. And then tea and a Japanese lunch in the house.
“Manual labor, Shawn?” Sarika snarked, gobbling another fry. “Really?”
“Hey, I’m trying here,” Shawn said, stealing a fry off her plate with a defiant smile before turning back to Leila. “Have you ever been there? How long have you even been in Philadelphia?” He put his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands, smiling, his eyes piercing into her. Again, Leila felt flustered at all the attention.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve lived in the city a while, in . . . a few places. Can we”—Leila glanced at Sarika, who exchanged a knowing look with her—“maybe talk about something else? What’s the deal with that house?”
“Oh, Shofuso is a Japanese teahouse in the middle of the park,” Shawn said, his eyes alight. “They have all these beautiful plants, a nice-sized koi pond. Oh, it’s just gorgeous. And we get to help keep it that way. Bit of community service in lieu of, well,” he glanced at Sarika and shrugged. “I don’t know. Other trips we might have taken if we had the funds. Maybe the aquarium over in Camden or something like that.”
“Cool, that’s still really, you know, cool. And neat. Neat and cool.” Leila looked over at Sarika, who looked as though she might burst from the laughter she was holding back.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to finish your lunch.” Shawn looked at the trays and stood up, grabbing his brown bag from off the table. “School isn’t so great with the vegan options, so I’ve got my own here. Gonna bike over to the park and then head home. Leila, you ride, right? I thought I saw you the other day.”
“Oh!” Leila exclaimed. “Yeah! Almost every day.”
“You know they close the roads around Kelly Drive on Sundays, up around Fairmount Park and the river,” he said, smiling again.
Leila felt her heart quicken. “If you’re free, maybe we could go on a ride? Grab something to eat? It’s really lovely.”
Leila looked over at Sarika, who nodded her head yes just barely, and turned back to Shawn.
“Sure, I’d love that,” she said, grinning.
“It’s a date then,” he said with a wink. He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, making that click sound with his cheek. “I’ll text you later, I’ve got your contact info thanks to the club signup sheet. Catch the two of you later.”
Leila watched him as he walked away and out of the cafeteria and the large doors swung closed behind him. She turned back to Sarika, who was now glaring.
“What?” Leila asked.
“Nothing, nothing.” Sarika shrugged. “He’s totally hot. But, I dunno, something is off about him. And that finger snap and clicking noise?”
“I know, I know,” Leila said, shaking her head. “But maybe—”
“Don’t you say it,” Sarika said.
“I can—”
“Don’t!”
“Fix him.”
Sarika leapt to her feet, and then feigned flipping the lunch table over.
Sarika Paprika
@TheSarikaPaprika
Let’s take a poll. If you date someone, is it possible to “fix” them?
Yes13%
LOL NOPE87%
19,293 Votes – Final Results
8/12/17, 9:47AM
1,283 Retweets 3,031 Likes
Leila @WithouttheY7m
@TheSarikaPaprika this is the subtweet to end all subtweets.
Sarika @TheSarikaPaprika5m
@WithouttheY ¯_(:/)_/¯
VII
Leila awoke with a gasp.
Today was the day.
She darted over to her dresser and dug through to find the perfect outfit for a long bike ride and a picnic—just a simple pair of worn-in jeans (ones she’d worn almost every day last week) and a black t-shirt with a white graffiti heart on it. After a quick shower, she grabbed her phone and darted down the stairs to tune up her bike.
With an audible click, she woke up her phone and went to the messages, where she was surprised to find she had several waiting. They were all from Sarika.
On my way to Adam’s. Can’t do makeovers. Lots of call outs. Don’t be mad.
Don’t get crazy. You’re bike riding, you don’t need the makeup.
You bike ride, you sweat, makeup nightmarishly leaks off your face.
Remember the short story? No makeup.
You’ll die. Don’t die.
Leila laughed and texted Sarika a quick heart and made her way into the kitchen. Jon and Lisabeth were already in there, drinking coffee. Jon had today’s newspaper in his hands, his spectacles on, and appeared as though he was ready to spend his entire day there. Lisabeth was flicking her finger at a tablet, making quick work of whatever was on there, her expression clear. She’d be done soon, there were things to do. People to see. It was a determined expression that Leila frequently saw, the look of someone who always had a goal, who was always chasing something. She loved it.
Leila reached under the kitchen table, hauled her light box up and onto it, and plugged it in. The bright light beamed over her face as she looked away from the soft glow and settled into her chair. She pulled out her phone, flipping through a few news blips and her social media.
“So,” Jon said, and without looking up slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here’s your permission slip that you left on the fridge, signed and good to go. But I can’t imagine why you need one of those. It’s just the park. Have fun today.”
“Jon, it’s Sunday,” Leila said, taking the slip and shoving it in her pocket. She reached out and grabbed some orange juice on the table, and started pouring herself a glass.
Jon flipped his paper over and looked at the front.
“So it is!” he exclaimed, before going back to the stories inside. “Ah, the joys of summers and academia.”
“Yeah, you go on about that,” Lisabeth said, putting her tablet down and swatting at Jon’s newspaper. “Some of us have to go into work and have to keep track of things. Like, you know, days of the week, the household budget, the electric bill.” She kissed Jon on the forehead and made her way towards Leila with an empty mug in her hand. “And where are you off to? Shouldn’t you be sleeping in, reading your message boards? Or are you off to the farmer’s market for some more plants for this one to murder?”
“Hey, I don’t murder them,” Jon said. “They die from neglect.”
“No, I . . .” Leila muttered. “Well, there’s this . . . I’m going on a bike ride with . . .”
Lisabeth put down her mug and turned to Jon.
“My God,” Lisabeth said, grinning from ear to ear.
“No,” Leila said.
“You have—”
“Just stop.”
“A DATE?” Lisabeth exclaimed.
“Shall I fetch my shotgun?” Jon asked, still looking into his paper. “That’s what father-type figures are supposed to do in this situation, yes? I’ve seen movies. I did research.”
“Tell me everything,” Lisabeth said, turning to refill her coffee mug and utterly ignoring Jon. “Do you want any coffee?”
“No, I’m fine,” Leila said, feeling flustered. “And he’s just this boy from school. He runs the environmental activist club I joined with Sarika. And he asked me to go on a bike ride.”
“And? What’s his name? Where’s he from? What grade is he in?”
“God, Liz. He’s actually a teacher. From New Jersey. He’s thirty-seven.”
“Ah, excellent,” Jon said from behind his paper. “Gainfully employed. I approve.”
“Jon, you are not helping,” Lisabeth frowned. “Come on, Leila, humor me.”
“It’s just . . .” Leila closed her eyes, the bright, soft light from her light box lighting up the back of her eyelids. She knew Liz was trying hard, and that her intentions were good. She could feel the anxiety rising up in her, and she wrestled against it.
Don’t push her, don’t push her away.
“Okay, his name is Shawn. I think he lives downtown, in the actual city, down in Queen Village. He said his parents have one of those green-energy, solar-paneled homes. Jon, you’d probably like him.”
Jon shrugged.
“That’s his jealous shrug,” Lisabeth said, grinning.
Jon shrugged again.
“I was thinking that, maybe . . .” Leila looked down at her hands. “Liz, you’re good with, you know, makeup and stuff. Do you think I should—”
“Not a chance,” Lisabeth said, putting down her coffee mug. She looked at Leila with focused, affirming eyes. “I see where you’re going with this, and no. Don’t do it.”
“But what if he doesn’t like all, you know, all this.” Leila pleaded, waving her hand in front of her face. Tears threatened to stream out of her eyes and she shook them back. It was frustrating, wanting to be true to herself and not cover up anything, but still wanting to be liked. And all of the “if he doesn’t like you for who you are” speeches didn’t quite cut it, even if she knew in her heart they were the truth. It didn’t change the way she felt.
“Should I leave? Do you need girl time?” Jon asked, putting down his paper. His tone lacked the usual humor, he was actually acting serious.
“No, it’s fine,” Leila said, suppressing a sniffle.
“Listen. I’m not going to pepper you with clichés,” Lisabeth said, practically reading her mind. “But say you do put on a little concealer on the birthmark. And he likes it like that. And wants you to keep it like that. That’s you. And you can’t cover up a part of who you are forever, particularly for some boy.”
“You never, I don’t know, changed anything for . . .” Leila looke
d over at Jon.
“Alright, that’s my cue,” Jon said. He folded up his paper and tucked it under his arm, his chair squeaking as he got up.
“Jon,” Leila ventured. For a moment, just a moment, the word dad had come dangerously close to slipping out, and her heart quickened.
“You two talk, I’ll finish my paper on the porch.” He smiled and hurried out of the little kitchen. Lisabeth stood up and wrapped an arm around Leila, hugging her from the side. Leila stiffened as though ice had shot through her veins, but she pushed through it, trying to soften herself up, lean into the hug.
“I think everyone changes a little bit when they end up together, you know?” Lisabeth said, giving Leila an extra squeeze before letting her go. She crossed her arms and looked where Jon had walked. “That one. He used to crack his knuckles a lot, channel surf, little things like that which sort of annoyed me. You adjust. You don’t change. There’s a difference.”
Leila grinned, and this struck an odd chord with her, as she’d basically done precisely the opposite her entire life. It was the sort of thing you learned in the group home when prospective parents came by. To act a certain way, talk a certain way, dress a certain way. When they took you home, you changed, behaved more like them. Like their kids. Talked and acted “normal,” whatever that was. It was easy to be herself around Sarika, and for the first time, thanks to their gentle nudging, she’d been mostly herself around Lisabeth and Jon.
Everyone else though . . .
“So, no makeup?” Leila said, looking at Lisabeth.
“No makeup.”
“Then why bother with it at all, ever? Any kind of makeup?” Leila gestured at her face.
“None of that covers up anything, really. The little things.” Lisabeth said. She walked over to the coffee maker and cleared out the grounds, and her thick braids swung around her head every time she moved. Her eyes sparkled with adoration when she looked back at Leila, who blinked and tried to ignore the heavy feeling in her chest as Lisabeth stared at her. Without makeup, and maybe if Liz wore her hair a little differently, well, they looked a lot alike.
