Dramatically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  My eyes shot open and I scrunched my nose in disgust. “Thanks. I’d blocked that part out.”

  Kris was trying to feign a disgusted look, but he couldn’t completely make his grin go away. “I wish I could.”

  “You know how we did the walking tour? I remember being in Independence Hall and realizing that I was actually standing right where our country was born, and it was a real place that had been filled with real people. It was such an amazing feeling. I’ve been to Athens when we visited my grandparents and watched the sun set from the Temple of Poseidon and we went along with mom to Koobi Fora when she took some of her students there on a research trip and I touched stone tools from two million years ago, but US history will always be my first love because of that moment.”

  We started walking again and I tilted my head up at the sky and the red moon filling it. “I obviously wouldn’t want to live in it because they didn’t have women’s rights or civil rights and there was the whole rampant cholera and scarlet fever thing. And I wore stays enough last summer that I’m totally not interested in wearing corsets every day, because that’s just plain body torture.”

  “You’re not making a good case for the past, you know,” he said, with a small laugh, close enough that his arm shook against mine, but I didn’t mind.

  “I know. But even with that, it’s all just so interesting to me. Not the wars, but the stuff they never really bother to take the time to teach us, like the everyday details of how regular people lived.” I looked over at him. “Mom always says that if you want to really learn about a culture, don’t look at how the big people in charge lived. The real story is in the food the regular people ate, the traditions they followed, and how their lives were lived in their huts or tents or cottages. A lot of superstitions or religious laws came from things they did to keep safe or healthy.” I stopped myself, realizing I’d gone into lecture mode, which was something that usually only Alec, Phoebe, and sometimes Grace could get out of me. I squirmed inside at the realization, and pulled my attention back to the field, hoping the re-enactor would come back out—she’d probably been my history overload trigger, anyway.

  “I guess I never thought of it that way.” His eyes met mine again, and I could read a little surprise in them, as well as something else I couldn’t really see in the dim light. “How come you never get this deep in school?”

  “Like I said, we all have our roles. Everyone expects me to be this happy, flirty person, not someone who spouts off history factoids all the time,” I said before I could stop myself, realizing how true it actually was—even my best friends didn’t always see more than Em Katsaros, flirt extraordinaire—then quickly purged the sullen tone from my voice. “Besides,” I added, literally trying to shrug it off, “I’m positive you don’t care about revolutionary contributions of colonial women with spinning wheels or what it’s like to touch a letter from two hundred years ago.”

  “I can tell how much this means to you. I—” He started to say something else, but then New York came over and ran her hand down his arm to grab his hand and tug him towards her.

  “Kris, come with me to the waterwheel building.” She used a giggly tone that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, like a cat rubbed the wrong way.

  He gently untangled himself from her clutches, smiling tightly. “Sure, I’ll be there in a minute. I’m just finishing up talking with Em, okay?”

  New York looked from him to me and back to him again, totally oblivious to the uncomfortable vibes coming off Kris in waves. “Sure, see you soon.”

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Kris let out a breath and said, in a low whisper, “Okay, that was awkward.”

  I snorted, looking at him out of the corner of my eye and trying my hardest not to grin. “You know, if you stopped flirting with every single girl to get what you wanted, maybe stuff like this wouldn’t happen.”

  “I do not do that.”

  I reached out to lightly touch his arm and moved in front of him so I could look soulfully into his eyes. Ignoring the jolt that ran through me as his eyes widened in surprise, I pulled up my best Kris impression and said, “Oh, New York girl, please tell me more about your overpriced purebred puppy when you get back. Oh, while you’re up, anyway, can you ask the servers to bring me an extra roll? Thanks.”

  He broke our gaze by stepping back and looking at New York’s retreating form. “You’re taking my words completely out of context. She asked the whole table if they wanted anything. And her name’s Marina.”

  I made a “whatever” gesture with my hand. There were over a hundred people in the competition and I was lucky if I could remember a quarter of their names. “And the other girl who made you squirm earlier today?” I took a deep breath and straightened back my shoulders before morphing back into Kris, overconfident smile and all. “Wow, One of those Rectangular States I Can’t Keep Straight, that dress looks really nice on you.” I imitated slicking my hair back and artfully left my hand at the back of my head, pretending to scratch it. “Hey, I totally forgot my packet and have no idea what’s next on the schedule. Can I borrow yours for a sec?”

  He snorted at my imitation. “You borrow my schedule all the time. Half the time, you don’t even bother to ask.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t flirt to get it. And since you wanted to know why this stuff keeps happening to you, well, there’s your answer.”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t do that.”

  I mimicked his tone again, but nodded, instead. “You really do.”

  “By the way, her name is Amber, from South Dakota. And we really need to work on US geography for you.”

  “If they just redrew the map to make some of those states look remotely unique, maybe. Until then, chances are I won’t be able to ever tell Colorado from Utah,” I said, dropping my Kris imitation and becoming myself again.

  “Colorado and Utah look very different on a map.”

  “Rectangles, all of them. Meanwhile, New Jersey is blessed with plenty of curves.” I waved my hand down the side of my body and giggled as I poked him in the arm in reaction to his groan. “C’mon, if you don’t want to be roped into a bad romantic situation in a dark building, we can head over to the barn, instead. New Mexico and New Hampshire seem to be pretty immune to your charms, so you should be safe there.” I poked him again and added, as he rubbed his arm with an indignant expression on his face. “Just watch out for New Hampshire. That state has a few curves of its own.”

  Worry flooded through me as I scrolled through my texts and emails, coming up with nothing. Not one message or favorite from Wil overnight, only a Photogram post of raindrops in a puddle with something that translated as “Autumn storms and Autumn feelings,” making me wonder if he was sad, too. It was hard to figure out some of Wil’s artsier posts sometimes. Or maybe Grace was right and the favorite had been a fluke. I curled my free arm around my waist and squeezed tight. After all the Kris exposure, I really needed a little bit of support from Wil. Not silence. I didn’t like how Kris made me want to rant all the time, or confused me with his all too obvious fake niceness. I needed Wil’s perfect leading man stoic support, the big silent shadow behind me always willing to hold me up.

  It was easy to know how to act around Wil.

  “Em?” Ann poked her head into our bathroom, where I’d gone for privacy, and frowned at my pajamas. “You’re going to be late for breakfast if you don’t start getting ready.”

  The part of me that went back to hitting the refresh button over and over again wanted to tell her to bugger off, but I slowly put down my tablet and rubbed my eyes. “You’re right. I’m just catching up on a few things with Wil.”

  Ann stepped inside, already changed into jeans and a flowy top that looked straight out of The Lord of the Rings, and her braid had sparkly beads twisted into it. I pat down the massive frizz that had been my curls.

  “Maybe he’s too busy to talk?” She asked gently, propping herself up on the counter.

  I
couldn’t help the cold lead feeling that kept growing in the pit of my stomach, but I switched off my tablet and forced as bright a morning smile as I could manage before coffee. “I’ll catch him later.”

  “You’re amazing for handling this time zone thing. I’m still trying to get used to east coast time.” She checked her phone and hopped off the counter. “Speaking of, it’s really getting late. Do you want me to wait while you get ready?” I could tell she was just being her usual, crazily nice self—in the short time I’d known her, I learned Ann hated being late for anything.

  Thank God for years of forced stage smiles. I knew mine looked genuine as I padded out to the room to toss my tablet onto my bed. “No, that’s okay. I’ll catch up with you downstairs. Save me a muffin.”

  “Are you sure?” She already had her folder and keycard in her hands.

  I nodded, heading over to the closet to pull out a pair of jeans and an orange-y red top. Might as well look confident even if I didn’t feel it. “Looking fabulous takes time. I don’t want to disappoint any of the Southern boys, you know.”

  Ann shook her head and laughed, one hand on the door-knob. “Just get down there before the announcements start, okay?” With a wave, she headed into the hallway, leaving me alone in our room.

  Deep breaths. I could worry about Wil later. I needed to be focused—perfect. I had to stop letting Kris throw me off my game and I needed to blow everyone away at the conference, even if it didn’t really count towards our actual judging. I needed to prove to everyone that I belonged there as much as anyone else.

  It was just so hard to control the situation so far from home. It was even harder when every insecurity I’d ever had was trying so hard to spiral out of control.

  From: Em (emkatsaros@dmail.com)

  To: Wilhelm (wmeyer@dmail.de)

  Subject: Boston is SO great

  Hi!

  I don’t know if you tried calling me—I’ve been in Boston and they have us in meetings or sightseeing all the time, so I’m never logged in. Boston is really nice—have you thought about what I emailed the other day? It would be amazing at Christmastime. And you’d love the historical dinner place we went to last night—I can explain the whole history part. The house was from the seventeen-hundreds and they had a working colonial farm on the grounds. I know it’s not as cool as the stuff from the Middle Ages you have around there, but it was like I stepped back in time and it’s so much fun.

  Kris is being his usual Kris self. We’re stuck together all the time and he always picks the opposite side on anything I say, just to argue. He argued against me about volunteering, if you’d believe that. And don’t get me started on NGOs (nongovernmental organizations, in case it’s not the same in German). I wish you were here, instead—it would have been so nice to walk around the farm with you in the moonlight, talking about history. Maybe if you come here, we’ll do a road trip to Massachusetts and you can see what I mean.

  A road trip up here in the winter, with snow everywhere, would be so pretty and romantic and wonderful. We’ll skip the stewed pumpkin, though. It was kind of gross.

  I have my phone on me, so text or email, okay?

  XOXOXOXO

  Em

  * * *

  From: Em (emkatsaros@dmail.com)

  To: Alec (Alec247@dmail.com)

  Subject: Wil

  Hey, have you heard from Wil lately?

  * * *

  From: Alec (Alec247@dmail.com)

  To: Em (emkatsaros@dmail.com)

  Subject: Re: Wil

  Yup. We MMORPG’d yesterday. What’s up? Aren’t you two still fighting?

  The conference room in the inn, which took up the entire first floor of the house on the row, was surprisingly comfortable for a conference room. While the walls were decorated with antiques and the windows still had their window seats and wavy glass, modern tables filled the room, little touch-screens set into the tables showing what was being projected on the screen in front of us. Signs with our state flags hung in front of our seats, so I couldn’t avoid sitting next to Kris.

  He looked way too good that early in the morning as he walked in, his hair still wet from the shower and wearing a button-down shirt over jeans that would have looked too formal on anyone else but just seemed to work with him. Take the boy out of Lambertfield, take away his hair gel and student council lackeys, and this was apparently what you got.

  Kris took his seat with a nod and a smile and a flush of heat ran through me as I realized I was staring. He’s only being nice to throw you off, I reminded myself. I’d seen that smile in action for seven years, coming out like clockwork in student council election season against his opponents right before moving in for the kill. He handed me a coffee cup from the fancy coffee shop next to the inn, his fingers brushing mine for the barest of seconds. “Coffee? I didn’t see you at breakfast, so I figured you might want something.” I opened the lid and sniffed. Mocha hazelnut, no sugar or cream—exactly what I had ordered when we got back from dinner the night before and all the MidAtlantics snuck over to the shop to get coffee. He really had an insanely good memory. I raised my eyebrows and looked at him over the cup.

  “It’s not poisoned, promise.”

  I took a sip and let the warmth and yumminess flow through me. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to.”

  He held up another cup that let a stream of vanilla-scented steam into the air. “It wasn’t out of my way. I went in for another white hot chocolate. It’s like drinking melted sugar, which is awesome.”

  “Until you crash from the sugar high. Thanks, anyway, for thinking of me.”

  He took a long sip, then said nonchalantly, “I’ll need the sugar. I stayed up late last night watching the movie you suggested.”

  Shock resonated through me and I felt my eyebrows rise. “Really?”

  “Pretty good for something made almost eighty years ago.”

  I pursed my lips. “’Pretty good?’ I think the Academy would disagree with you on that. You’re talking about two cinematic legends.”

  He laughed, a wide, genuine smile stretching across his face. “It’s really easy to get you worked up, isn’t it? I’ll have to try insulting some oldie musical next.”

  “Touch West Side Story and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “Theatre people,” he said, shaking his head.

  Ms. Shawnee walked into the room and we quickly went silent. Today, she was dressed a little more casually—for her— in a blouse and slacks, her hair so perfect it looked like she’d just come from a salon. For someone who worked with people our age, she was pretty formal all the time. “Good morning, representatives.” Our responses spanned the range from extra perky from kiss-ups like Kris to mumbles from the half of the group that probably stayed up all night talking. I just raised my coffee in a semi-salute. At least Ms. Shawnee wasn’t the lame type who’d keep saying “Good morning” until we yelled it back. I liked that about her.

  “Today will be a full conference day. We have some great speakers for you this morning. In the afternoon, we will be pulling you out individually to work on your speeches with mentors. Wednesday and Friday, you’ll meet with them again to put the final shine on your words and presentation, just in time for the competition on Saturday. I promise you’ll walk away from your sessions with even stronger speeches than the ones that won in your states.”

  “I heard they have some radio and TV people and maybe even a presidential speech writer,” the guy from New Mexico, Adrien, whispered to me.

  “So cool.” Forget the speechwriter. I wanted to make contact with someone who had connections in the arts. That would look awesome on my application.

  “If you look at the schedules you were given, you’ll see that today, we’re talking about far-reaching and global impacts of our local actions. Let’s get started.”

  We were supposed to head to the dining room, our rooms, or the common areas of the inn. Anywhere but this conference room. Everyone else had filed out exc
ept for Ms. Shawnee and the inn staff coming through to straighten up the tables.

  And her patient smile was starting to look tight and tense as her eyes went from Kris to me and back. I threw my notebooks into my bag with a little more force than necessary and started towards the door, but didn’t miss a beat in my argument. “What we need to do is figure out how to take our grassroots effort and spread it to the world stage. Not everything has to start big.” She must have thought New Jersey-ans were insane. I definitely wasn’t helping to clear out any “ready for a fight” stereotypes.

  Kris followed, picking up pace until he was right alongside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ms. Shawnee slump to a chair and breathe a sigh of what had to be relief. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you actually believe anyone in war-torn countries has time to think about things like bake sales and book drives when they’re just trying to keep from being blown up or starving to death?” We made it about ten feet outside the room before stopping next to an overfilled curio cabinet.

  I leaned against the wall, propping one foot behind me. These shoes might have made Grace’s cut for fashion, but they weren’t made for standing for more than a few minutes. Or stomping out of conference rooms. “Little things can make a difference. You don’t always need big, showy gestures. And I wasn’t talking about bake sales.” My hand and arm gestures always got bigger the deeper I got into arguments and I mistakenly tagged him on the arm at “wasn’t.”

  Kris caught my hand and held it for a second longer than I expected. He stepped closer, brown eyes meeting mine in a way that I couldn’t look away. “Yes, you were. You just said that about thirty seconds ago.” He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin.

  I found it hard to focus for a second, as if the soap or shampoo he used was making me heady. I exhaled and tried to put as much force as possible into my next words. “It was an example of what we’ve done in the past. Fundraisers, you know?”