In the Age of Love and Chocolate b-3

by Gabrielle Zevin

  “They keep pressuring me to sabotage you, but I won’t. I did it once, but you probably know that.”

  I nodded.

  “Since then, I’ve done everything in my power to keep the heat off you. Me and Mouse both. And I’ll keep on this way until I’m dead or someone else becomes the head of this Family. Also, I wanted to say that I’m proud of you, kid. I’m sorry I was slow to see the light. I hope this won’t sound presumptuous but maybe you learned a little from me about how to run a club. You and your friends used to spend so much time in my speakeasy.”

  “Maybe so,” I said. I clasped my hands and set them on the table. “What do you need from me?”

  “Nothing, Anya. I only wanted you to know what was happening and that you didn’t have anything more to fear from me.”

  He stood, and then he kissed me on both sides of my face. “You done good, kid.”

  V

  I PREVENT HISTORY FROM REPEATING; EXPERIMENT WITH OLDER FORMS OF TECHNOLOGY

  IT IS A TRUTH universally acknowledged that when something goes well in one part of your life, something else will just as certainly fall apart.

  I was in a meeting with Lucy and Theo when my cell phone whistled. I hadn’t had one for very long—you weren’t allowed to have one until you turned eighteen—and I was always forgetting to turn the ringer off. I glanced at the caller identification: HT School. For a moment, I wondered what I had done wrong. I turned to the group. “Apologies. This is so rude, but my sister’s school is calling.”

  I walked over to the window to take the call. “We need you to come get Natty. She’s being suspended,” Mr. Rose, the secretary from Holy Trinity, said.

  I excused myself, dashed out to the street, and then took a cab down to Holy Trinity. As I walked the familiar path to Headmaster’s office, I paused in the doorway of the lobby to consider my sister. Natty was still wearing her fencing whites, though a single drop of blood on her sleeve spoiled their pristine look. She was not sitting in a particularly ladylike position either. Her legs were spread aggressively and wide, as if to create a boundary between her and everyone else. She was hunched over—that chip on her shoulder was palpable and probably weighed her down. A scratch was slashed jauntily across her cheek. Her eyes were proud and murderous. I think you can guess who she reminded me of.

  Another girl was exiting the office with a red nose and dried blood around her nostrils. Her mother had her arm around her shoulders.

  “Your sister is an animal,” the mother said to me.

  I didn’t know what had happened, but I wasn’t about to let that woman insult Natty. “That’s not called for,” I said. “It looks like they both got hurt.”

  “Everyone knows what type of people you come from,” the mother said.

  She was leaving. I should have let her leave, but at the last minute I called out, “Oh yeah, what type of people?”

  “Scum,” she said.

  I began to ball my hand into a fist, and then I reminded myself I was a prominent business owner and an adult and above such violent shenanigans. I let my fist unfurl. While I was busy taking the high road, Natty charged at the woman. I was barely able to hold Natty back.

  “Just go,” I said to the woman. “Go.”

  “Before you even say anything,” Natty said, “that girl came at me first.”

  “What happened?”

  “So I’m in Mr. Beery’s class, and we’re studying Prohibition.”

  God, I could already see where this was going.

  “And then he says, ‘The best criminals are the ones that decide to use the law to their advantage. Take Natty’s sister…’ And then I’m screaming in Mr. Beery’s face about how you’re the opposite of a criminal. And he sends me to Headmaster’s office.”

  Why hadn’t the school fired this man? “Natty,” I said, “you can’t fight with everyone who decides to call me a name.”

  She rolled her dark green eyes at me. “I know, Anya.”

  “I don’t understand. How did the other girl get involved?”

  “I have lunch after Beery, and then Beginners’ Fencing. And all through Fencing, the girl is making cracks about how I’m too much of a baby to control myself and how Pierce must like babies. She’s his ex, so she has it in for me. And then we’re sparring with each other, and she keeps talking crap, and I pull her mask off and punch her in the face. And she pulls mine off, and that’s how I got scratched.”

  The secretary poked his head out of his office. “Balanchines. Headmaster will see you now.”

  The scene with Headmaster was one I’d starred in many times before. Natty was suspended for a week. If her grades hadn’t been so stellar, her punishment probably would have been worse.

  I dropped Natty off at home. “I have to go back to work. We’ll talk about this later. I don’t want you to go anywhere. Understood?”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m on your side, Natty, and more than that, I can relate. Remember the first day of my junior year?”

  “You dumped an entire tray of lasagna over Gable Arsley’s head.” She laughed a little. “He deserved it, too.”

  “He did, but I still shouldn’t have done it. I should have gone to him or his parents or Nana or Mr. Kipling with my grievance. Please, Natty, look at me. Nothing in my life or anyone else’s has ever been improved by violence or fighting.”

  “I need a speech from you right now like I need a hole in my head.” Natty sighed. “Why are we like this? Why are we so out of control?”

  “Because terrible things happened to us when we were young. But it gets easier, Natty, I swear to God. And it will get even easier for you because you’re so much smarter than me. Not to mention, your hair is naturally straight.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Do you have any idea how much work it is to get my hair straight? I’m in a constant battle with frizz. It’s a wonder I haven’t murdered someone.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

  “I’m tired, Annie. I think I’m going to take a nap, if that’s okay.” I didn’t feel superconfident that my talk had done much for her, but I figured I could improve on it later.

  * * *

  When I got home that night (or I should say morning—it was nearly three a.m.), Natty wasn’t there. She had left a message on my slate, which she knew I never brought with me anymore: Out with Pierce. It was way past city curfew, and she had explicitly ignored my instructions.

  I paced around the foyer and tried to decide what to do. As a minor, Natty didn’t have a cell phone, and if I called the police, she’d be in trouble with the law. I looked around her room for Pierce’s number. I found a pack of condoms in her nightstand—was my baby sister having sex with this boy? On some level, I didn’t even want to know. And then I did finally locate Pierce’s phone number in her desk drawer.

  He answered sleepily. “Pierce.”

  “Hello, Pierce. Is my sister with you?”

  “Yeah, she’s here. I’m handing her the phone right now.”

  “What?” Natty said.

  “Are you kidding me? Where are you? Do you have any idea what time it is?” I wasn’t even trying not to yell.

  “Relax, Anya. I’m with Pierce—”

  “Obviously.”

  “I fell asleep here. It isn’t a big deal. Nothing happened. I’ll be home in the morning.”

  “Are you kidding me? You are fourteen years old! You can’t up and spend the night at your boyfriend’s house.”

  She hung up on me. I walked into the living room and threw my phone at the couch, not realizing that someone was lying on it.

  “Ow!” Theo yelled. “What is wrong with you?”

  “None of your business.” I didn’t want to go into it with him. “When are you getting a place of your own?”

  “When my mean boss gives me some time off,” Theo said.

  “Why are you even here? No date tonight?” Theo was popular in New Yo
rk, to say the least. I didn’t know how he found the time, but he was with a different girl every night.

  “No, tonight I get beauty sleep.” Theo handed me my phone.

  “Lucky you.”

  In my bedroom, I didn’t even try to sleep. I stared at the ceiling, hoping the cracks in the plaster might offer some insight regarding what I should do. I thought of myself, lying in this same bed at age sixteen, the year everything had begun to go so horribly wrong. What would sixteen-year-old Anya have wanted someone to do for her?

  I waited until five a.m. to call Mr. Kipling. “I need to find a new school for Natty. Something strict, but with good academics. Something far away from here.”

  Mr. Kipling was quick. Several hours later, he reported that he had found a convent school in Boston that was willing to take her in the middle of the semester.

  “Are you sure about this, Anya?” Mr. Kipling asked. “It’s a big decision, and you don’t want to be hasty.”

  * * *

  I went into Natty’s bedroom and packed a suitcase. I was closing the suitcase when she came through the door. She looked from me to the packed suitcase. “What’s this?”

  “Look,” I said, “we both know that I’m not being a good guardian to you right now. I’m too busy with the club to watch you—”

  “I don’t need to be watched!”

  “You do, Natty. You’re a kid, and I’m worried that if I don’t act now, your whole life is going to be ruined. Look what happened to Scarlet.”

  “Pierce is nothing like Gable Arsley!”

  “I see you making mistakes now that you’re with him. I see you heading down a bad road.” I took a deep breath. “I said before that I didn’t want you to end up like Scarlet, but the person I don’t want you to end up like is”—it was so hard to admit—“me.”

  My sister looked at me with the saddest expression. “Annie! Annie, don’t say that! Look at the club you made.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. I got myself kicked out of school. Maybe it seems like my life is working out right now, but I want you to have more options than I had. I don’t want you to end up working in a nightclub. I don’t want you to have anything to do with chocolate or our rotten Family. I truly believe that you’re destined for better.”

  Natty wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “You’re making me cry.”

  “I’m sorry. This school Mr. Kipling found for you has a great science program, much better than HT’s.” I tried to make my voice upbeat. “And wouldn’t it be great to be somewhere no one knew anything about you? A place where no one had any preconceptions.”

  “Stop trying to sell me, Anya. Maybe you want me out of your hair. Maybe you want me to be someone else’s problem for a while.”

  “That isn’t true! Do you have any idea how horribly lonely I’m going to be without you? You are my sister and there is no one in this whole lousy dystopia I love more than you. But I’m scared, Natty. I’m scared I’m messing everything up. I don’t know the right things to do for you right now. I barely know the right things to do for myself most of the time. I wish Daddy were alive. Or Mom or Nana. Because I’m only eighteen and I have no idea what to say, what you need. What I know is I wish someone had gotten me out of New York City when I was having such a rough time at Holy Trinity. I wish someone had gotten me away from Mr. Beery and people like him, and our relatives, too.”

  * * *

  She fought me on the cab ride to Penn Station and at the ticket counter (to the amusement of a youth athletic team—I saw the bag of balls, but could not identify the sport), and now she was still fighting me in the waiting area under the departures sign. A panhandler nudged my sister and said, “Give her a break.” Her was me, by the way, and even the homeless thought I needed defending from the fourteen-year-old haranguer.

  “I’m not going,” Natty said. “No matter what you say, I’m not getting on that train.” She had her arms crossed and her lower lip jutted out. She looked exactly like what she was—a teenager who hated the world and everyone in it. For my part, I suspected that I looked and sounded like a kid pretending to be an adult for a school play.

  “You’re going,” I said. “You agreed back at the apartment that you would. Why are you changing your mind now?”

  The loudspeaker announced that Natty’s train to Boston was boarding. She was crying and sniffling, so I offered her my handkerchief. She blew her nose and then she stood up straight.

  “How would you make me get on the train?” she asked in a calm voice. “You can’t physically force me. I’m taller than you and I’m probably stronger than you, too.”

  The jig was up. The lion had realized the impotence of the zookeeper. “I can’t, Natty. All I can tell you is I love you, and I think this is for the best.”

  “Well, I think you’re wrong,” she said. We stared at each other. I didn’t blink and neither did she. A second later, she turned on her heel and stalked off toward the stairway that led to the train.

  “Goodbye, Natty!” I called after her. “I love you! Call me if you need anything.”

  She did not reply or even turn her head.

  * * *

  A week later, she called me, sobbing. “Please, Anya. Please let me come home.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t do anything here. There are tons of rules and even more because I’m new. If you let me come home, I’ll be good, I swear. I know I was wrong before. I shouldn’t have stayed out with Pierce. I shouldn’t have been disrespectful to you or Mr. Beery.”

  I steeled myself. “Give it a couple of weeks.”

  “I can’t, Anya! I’ll die. I will seriously die.”

  “Are they doing anything bad to you? Because if they are, you need to tell me what it is.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Is this about Pierce?” I asked. “Do you miss him?”

  “No! That’s … you don’t know everything. You don’t know anything!”

  “Give it until Thanksgiving. You can come home for Thanksgiving and then you’ll see Leo.”

  She hung up on me.

  I wished I could see her. I wished the school wasn’t so far away or that I hadn’t been so busy with the club. If only I knew someone in Boston, I thought.

  I did, of course, though I didn’t want to have to talk to him. I didn’t want to have to ask him for anything either.

  In point of fact, I didn’t even have his cell phone number.

  I got my slate from the drawer. Only people in school used slates, but unlike me, Win was still in school. Although we had never slate-messaged much (no one my age did; SM-ing was something your grandparents or even your great-grandparents did), at that moment, the ancient technology appealed to me. It seemed more respectful, and easier than having to actually speak.

  anyaschka66: Are you there? Do you ever use this?

  He did not reply for nearly an hour.

  win-win: Not often. What do you want?

  anyaschka66: Are you at college?

  win-win: Yes.

  anyaschka66: Boston, right? Do you like it?

  win-win: Yes and yes. Actually, I have to get to class soon.

  anyaschka66: You don’t owe me anything, but I need a favor. Natty’s at a new school in Boston, and I wondered if you could go visit her for me. She sounded upset the last time we talked. I know it’s a lot to ask …

  win-win: OK, for Natty,* OK. Where is it?

  anyaschka66: Sacred Heart, on Commonwealth.

  (*“For Natty”—read: not for me.)

  The next day, he messaged me again.

  win-win: Saw N. this afternoon. She’s definitely okay. Likes her classes and the other girls. Maybe she’s a little homesick, but she’ll live. I let her steal my hat.

  anyaschka66: Thank you. Thank you so much.

  win-win: Not a problem. I should go.

  anyaschka66: Maybe if you’re home for Thanksgiving, you could stop by my club. We could catch up. Drinks on me.

  win-win: I’
m not coming home for Thanksgiving. I’m going to visit my girlfriend’s family in Vermont.*

  anyaschka66: Sounds fun. I’ve never been to Vermont. That’s so great. I’m really, really happy to hear that.**

  win-win: Dad says you’re a success. Congrats, Annie. Sounds like you’ve gotten everything you wanted.***

  anyaschka66: Yeah. Well, thanks. Thank you again for going to see Natty. Have a good Thanksgiving if I don’t see you. I guess I probably won’t.

  win-win: Take care.

  (*Vermont? That was fast. Though maybe it wasn’t. It had been about five and a half months since we’d bid adieu. Had I expected him to become a monk?)

  (**Maybe there was a point to this slate-messaging after all. I was glad he couldn’t hear my voice or see my face as I expressed how really, really happy I was for him.)

  (***Suffice it to say, not quite everything.)

  VI

  I DELIVER THE WORLD’S SHORTEST EULOGY; THROW A PARTY; AM KISSED PROPERLY

  TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, I received a phone call from Keisha, Mr. Kipling’s wife. “Anya,” she said tearfully, “Mr. K. is dead.” Mr. Kipling had been fifty-four years old. He’d had a major heart attack my junior year of high school. A little over two years later, a second heart attack had finished him off. Mortality rates in my circle were always high, but that year, they had been particularly so. I’d lost Imogen in January, my cousin Mickey in September, and now, Mr. Kipling. A loss for nearly every season of the year.

  Perhaps this is why I did not cry when Keisha gave me the news. “I’m truly sorry,” I said.

  “I’m calling because I wondered if you might say a few words at his funeral?”

  “It’s not really my strong suit.” I was not comfortable with public displays of emotion.

  “But it would mean so much to him. He was incredibly proud of you and the club. Every single article about you, he saved.”

  I was surprised to hear that. For the last nine months of his life, Mr. Kipling and I had fought, mainly over my decision to open the club that apparently he’d been “incredibly proud of.” (There had been other reasons.) However, from my father’s death in 2075 until I’d become an adult last summer, Mr. Kipling had overseen every financial decision I had made and quite a few of the personal ones. I’m not sure how good his advice was at times, but he had always done his best and had never given up on me even when it seemed that the world was against me. I knew he had loved me. I had loved him, too.