Her stomach dropped out of her.
Nico rubbed his eyes, turning green on her behalf. “Are you sure?”
Anais gently pried the fortune out of Fallon’s hands and read it herself. “It’s true. It really says that. Fallon, have you been holding out on us? Is there a boy you like? Someone from your hometown, maybe?”
It took a few seconds for her throat to work. “No.”
Anais cursed.
Fallon forgot how to breathe. The word “never” scared her. It held the weight of forever.
Her fate was sealed.
Fallon broke away from the machine, ignoring Anais’s and Nico’s shouts as she ran straight into the shop. Despite the warm lighting, the layout of Zita’s shop had the ambiance of a perfume department. Marble counters and shelves displayed booklets on how to kiss and how to plan a perfect date. Bins of innumerable pocketbook charms, potions, and amorous gifts reserved for adults overwhelmed her. The scent of a dozen roses stuffed up her nose and tickled her brain. She imagined holding hands with a boy alongside the canal at midnight. Sharing secrets. Stepping on cobblestones. Exchanging kisses as decadent as truffles. Her heart pounded like a wild thing. She breathed through her mouth and stumbled toward the nearest counter.
“Try not to breathe too deeply,” warned the girl at the counter. “The scent they pump in here takes a long time to get used to. It makes you daydream.”
Before Fallon could speak, someone approached from behind. “Lucie, remember your training. Don’t tell our customers such things.”
Lucie shrunk behind the counter. “Sorry.”
“Why don’t you stock the love-letter stationery.” It wasn’t a question.
After Lucie left her post, Fallon turned around to meet none other than Camille Simmons. She wore a pink-and-white uniform consisting of a tight dress and shiny silver shoes. Her name tag read ASSISTANT MANAGER. If beauty was a reason to like Camille, then Fallon could see why Martin had dated her for so long. Camille’s hair was parted down the middle, long and straight as a pressed sheet. Her caramel skin seemed to glow, and her lips, always painted a shade of dark chocolate, drew admiring glances from boys. And she knew it.
“Can I help you?” Camille said in a bored tone.
“I need something to help with my fortune,” Fallon blurted.
Camille’s lips twitched. “Let’s look you up in the computer first.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Protocol.”
Camille slipped behind the counter and asked for Fallon’s name. She only knew who Camille was because Nico complained about her constantly, calling her his rival for Martin’s affections. After a few moments, Camille paused over the keyboard. “Oh. Our shop can’t sell you anything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your love fortune can’t be tampered with.” She shrugged. “We’re saving you money, you know, by refusing to let you purchase something. Because it won’t change anything.”
Fallon’s legs turned to jelly.
Camille studied Fallon. Then she flashed a sympathetic smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not Zita, but here’s some advice: if you want to be more attractive, there are magazines for that.”
chapter 2
PAMPHLET
Sweet butter waffles did nothing to raise Fallon’s spirits. The doughy waffle got stuck in her throat, making it hard for her to swallow, and she had to stop between bites to wipe at her eyes.
“Maybe…” Anais said softly, biting off a chunk of waffle, “maybe my fortune isn’t that great anyway.”
Nico snorted through his tears. “Don’t be jealous.”
She punched him in the shoulder.
Fallon managed a smile as she watched them. After parting ways, she kept her head down as she walked through the streets, hoping that no one would notice her red cheeks and the damp handkerchief clenched in her fist.
The student housing complex was a welcome sight. The wide, stone building, framed by a low twisting fence, was split into twenty separate apartments for boarding students. Languishing potted plants populated the inner patio, where students could study under the stars. She unlatched the wooden gate and climbed up a small set of stairs to her apartment on the second floor. Wind blew in over the water—the coastline was only a few blocks away—and she could almost see the stretch of blue between the rooftops when she reached the top of the staircase.
“Why does the school year feel over already?” she asked the town.
A door opened on the first floor, revealing the caretaker, Mrs. Smedt, lugging a full trash bag.
Fallon sighed and let herself into her apartment.
Numerous antiques shop visits had allowed Fallon to decorate her white-walled apartment quickly. Her parents had bought her a complete set of expensive pots and pans, along with glassware and stainless-steel utensils. She’d also bought a tape player that would allow her to listen to the cassette tapes she’d smuggled from home; sometimes the radio wasn’t enough. The vintage restaurant posters she’d hung up reminded her that restaurants existed in time and space that her parents hadn’t investigated.
Fallon had saved room on the corkboard over her desk for Zita’s fortune; it was already crowded with photos of her, Nico, and Anais pulling faces. Her fortune was still in her pocket, curled around the coupon she had been given during her morning walk. The thumbtack shook between her fingers as she pinned the ticker-tape fortune to the board. The coupon, useless now, was thrown in the trash. When her gaze landed on Robbie’s wedding photo in the corner, her breath caught.
Robbie and his wife, Morgane, were so young in the photograph; he barely filled out his tux, and Morgane’s bouquet looked too heavy for her thin wrists to hold. They had married the day after their high school graduation.
Fallon remembered starting middle school at the time, struggling to deal with the age difference between her and her brother. Until the wedding, it was easy to pretend that they weren’t six years apart. He came home from Grimbaud High on vacations and captivated her with stories of living in the student complex and receiving Zita’s love fortunes each year. Nothing had changed, until suddenly he grew a mustache and moved out after getting accepted to a two-year quality-control management program after graduating.
“I knew Morgane was the girl for me, thanks to Zita,” Robbie said at the wedding, evoking a few laughs. “My freshman year, I got a fortune that simply said: Wear red.”
The story always caused a lot of laughter and happy sighs. Eager to fall in love, Robbie followed Zita’s instructions by buying tons of red shirts, inadvertently beginning his discovery of what kinds of clothing pilled or bled or broke too easily. The bright color came in handy one evening when he was studying on the patio. Morgane lost her glasses and was retracing her steps—an impossible feat when she could barely see an inch in front of her nose. She tumbled behind a potted plant, but was able to call Robbie for help because she saw the fuzzy tomato red of his shirt through the leaves.
Fallon dreamed of following in her brother’s footsteps when it came to love—that was one reason why she insisted on attending Grimbaud High. Generations of Duprees had either lived in or boarded at Grimbaud, falling in love during their high school years. Fallon had fully expected to receive Zita’s guidance to lead her to the boy who would make her heart dance.
And it didn’t happen.
“It won’t happen, ever,” Fallon said, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the tears. Her face hurt and her eyes felt sandy. She had planned to call her parents and brother after receiving her fortune, but she didn’t reach for the phone. What could she possibly say?
With some struggle, she pushed the fortune out of her mind. School started on Monday. She dragged out her ironing board to press her school uniform and double-checked that her backpack was fully stocked for the fresh semester.
Her comfortable routine was only vaguely interrupted by the sounds of soda cans fizzing and music drifting out of open windows. The student housing complex w
as alive again. The school year will continue, she thought, running the iron over her blazer. A year full of possibilities and closed doors.
* * *
Fallon blended in with the other Grimbaud High students trekking to campus on Monday morning. Her white blouse and pleated skirt in browns and gold kept her warm, paired with her dark chocolate blazer and matching knee-high socks. Uniforms provided her the perfect mask; no one could tell her that her clothing was boring and expensive. Still, she couldn’t help but take care of her uniform while most students let theirs wrinkle.
A group of boys walking in front of her pushed each other and laughed. The boys’ uniform choices rarely deviated from cream-colored polos, crew-neck sweaters, blazers, and brown pants. Though she noticed some boys wearing their pants either rolled up to the ankle or with hems dragging on the ground. Robbie wouldn’t have appreciated seeing that. Treating well-made clothes terribly was a high crime in his book.
Grimbaud High was a humble stone building that had once been used as a gate marking the western end of town. Since it had become an academic institution, two wings flanked the original gate. The gate created a tunnel that led to the greenbelt that separated Grimbaud from the next town over. Anais waited for Fallon in the tunnel, talking with a tall boy who held her backpack.
“Good morning,” Fallon said, giving fair warning as she approached. She didn’t want to interrupt.
Anais grinned. “Look who I ran into. He still hasn’t changed into his uniform, but I assure you, he’s a student here. This is Thom Janssens.”
Fallon introduced herself and shook hands with Thom. Her hand, while not particularly dainty, got swallowed up in his. “Nice to meet you.”
“You can call me Bear,” he said while blushing. “I think everyone will, the longer we’re dating.”
“See? He’s smart too,” Anais said with a laugh.
Bear’s white judo uniform clung tightly to his body, revealing his broad back and muscles bunching under the fabric. He said he had been up since sunrise practicing with his team. His hair was shaved close to his head, accentuating his big ears and the acne scars marring his cheeks. He had a gentle way of looking at Anais, as if he couldn’t believe that she was standing beside him.
“I hope you told your team that we’re dating,” Anais said. She clung to his arm, sighing a little when her fingers found muscle.
Fallon knew that look and tried not to laugh.
Bear stiffened. “Why?”
“So they know who the girl in the back is during competition,” she said. “I’m making a poster that I’m going to wave around. I’ve also got three ideas for a cheer.”
He went pale.
“I’m kidding.” Anais patted his arm with her free hand. “I don’t want you to lose because of me.”
Bear rubbed his head, bemused. “I know. I’m just a little slow.”
“Everyone’s a little slow with Anais,” Fallon added, surprised by his attitude. Did he always put himself down so easily? “You’ll get used to her. She’s actually very sweet.”
He relaxed a little. “She is.”
When the first bell rang, freshmen were directed around the back of campus for orientation. Tables lined the grass. After writing her name on the sign-in sheet, Fallon looked up to find a piece of casserole shoved under her nose.
“Don’t forget your piece,” said the woman manning the table. “Principal Bemelmans’s fennel-and-endive casserole is exquisite.”
“Exquisite” wasn’t the word she would choose. The casserole was undercooked. Fennel leaves floated like tiny longboats in the soupy mess. The cheese on top hadn’t even melted. Fallon refused to take the paper plate from the woman. People started to stare. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t eat that.”
The woman’s skin turned blotchy. “You must try it.”
Fallon dropped the plate on the table, already inching away. She apologized again.
The woman read the sign-in sheet. “A Dupree,” she nearly shouted. “No wonder.”
The back of Fallon’s neck burned with embarrassment as whispers followed her. Upperclassmen leaned out the windows, watching the new students below. Had they heard the woman shout her name? Fallon kept her eyes on the grass. She didn’t want to know.
The owners of charm shops occupied the tables on the left. Grimbaud High didn’t teach charm-making (probably to keep the old campus intact, Fallon thought), but offered coveted apprenticeships instead. The shop owners were ready to conduct interviews on the spot for any freshman already interested. Charm-making wasn’t a career or hobby she wanted to pursue, so she explored the tables on the right, consisting of honors classes and academic clubs.
The office-experience program drew her attention. Mr. Drummond ran the program, a middle-aged man with a curly mustache. “You can trade your study hall for one of these jobs,” he said, handing her a list. “Not much left this year. Upperclassmen get first picks, and answering the front-office phones is as popular as ever.”
Fallon scanned the list. Most of them had already been crossed out, but she found a job as a library assistant toward the bottom.
Mr. Drummond nearly snatched the list from her hands. “Are you sure? You’d be working with the head librarian, Ms. Ward.”
“Is something wrong?”
“She’s a spinster,” he said, lowering his voice.
Fallon’s eyebrows shot up. The way he spoke, spinsterhood sounded like a contagion you could catch through the air. In a town preoccupied with love, the idea of being single was fairly terrifying—especially when Zita confirmed it through the fortunes. Her own fortune slid through her brain and down her throat, demanding tears. Your love will never be requited.
“Then maybe I’ll like her,” she said, blinking fiercely as she wrote her name on the list. Before Mr. Drummond realized what she had implied, she turned away from the table.
Orientation finished with a few words from the student-government president, Martin Pauwels. Rejoining Anais and Bear, Fallon waited impatiently to finally see Nico’s crush.
“Grimbaud High welcomes you,” Martin started, his calming voice amplified by a microphone. He had a pale complexion, thick glasses, and floppy black hair. As Martin outlined the student conduct handbook, he spoke tentatively, as if dreading the yawning and daydreaming overtaking the freshmen. “You’ll be going to your first classes in just a few minutes, but let me assure you that the next four years are not all about romance. Consider your dreams. Strive toward them by doing well here. Please accept the school pride T-shirts our staff is handing out.”
Members of student government appeared with shirts slung over their arms. Fallon didn’t see Nico, but ended up with a medium-size shirt.
“Cute, right?” Anais said, admiring the hand-drawn rendering of the crest printed on the shirt.
The fabric didn’t have much give. She held the shirt pinched between her thumbs and index fingers, as if it would squirm. “Some people have reactions to wearing polyester,” she said, louder than she’d intended.
This time she couldn’t miss the stunned looks she got from the other freshmen. Fallon took out her schedule book for something to stare at.
* * *
Because orientation had counted as homeroom for the day, Fallon headed to her first-period class: speech and debate with Mrs. Heymans.
A squat old woman with a fondness for wearing brooches, Mrs. Heymans wrote rules on the whiteboard as Fallon entered. The sharp scent of the marker, mixed with dusty wood, made her feel strangely at home. She hadn’t expected to see any familiar faces in her classes, let alone electives, but there was Nico, already seated and fanning the front of his shirt, which was still damp from working on the canal. His eyes rose to meet hers without a smile. “It was there before I arrived.”
“What was?” Fallon asked.
Then she noticed a pamphlet sitting on top of her desk.
The rest of the room went quiet, as if everyone inhaled at the same time and sucked the room d
ry. Even Mrs. Heymans stopped writing on the board; she left the period off Rule #10: No throwing paper balls. They all watched her.
Fallon sat down in her chair, the cold of the plastic bleeding through her skirt, and stared at the cover. SPINSTER VILLAS: A HOME FOR YOUR HEART was written in bold calligraphy. It depicted a group of pretty women holding hands and laughing together as if they had nothing better to do than revel in their stagnant fates. Identical whitewashed buildings stood behind them. If she squinted, she could see a bee sitting in one of the rosebushes underneath a window.
She opened the pamphlet. Words swam on the paper. Over and over, she saw women of indeterminate ages looking content. These women played croquet in the gardens, formed a knitting circle in front of a cozy fireplace, and posed with cats draped over their shoulders like scarves. The Spinster Villas claimed to offer a happy, comfortable life to those doomed to a life without romantic love. They need not suffer. The world had so much more to offer. Come join them. On the Contact Us page, the list of numbers included Zita’s shop; it was common knowledge that the Spinster Villas, as well as the Bachelor Villas, were owned by Zita. Remembering yesterday’s fortune made her stomach twist. Fallon slowly folded the pamphlet, her face hot.
Mrs. Heymans was the first to speak. “I’m sorry. I left the classroom unlocked this morning.”
Fallon placed her hands on the desk, taking deep breaths. “It’s true. My love fortune turned out this way.”
The class hummed with sympathy. Students got up out of their chairs to rub her back and offer kind words. The attention was overwhelming but expected in a way. Zita’s love fortunes brought people together. High school was no different. Soon enough, students would start sharing their own fortunes, passing them back and forth like found objects lost on a sandy beach. Puzzling over them, trying to help each other, celebrating together. She couldn’t have escaped the first day of school without everyone knowing about her fortune, but it shouldn’t have happened like this.
“Who found out?” said a girl. “It wasn’t any of us.”
Nico slumped in his seat. “I can think of someone.”
Love Fortunes and Other Disasters Page 2
