Dragon Slayers

by Kristin D. Van Risseghem

  After Manny pays for our half of the bill, we walk back over to the pinball side. It’s even busier than before, but we manage to play a couple of games.

  We have to leave now if we’re to make the movie. Plus, I like seeing the commercials and advertisement for upcoming movies. And with Manny’s love for them, I’m sure he does, too.

  Manny buys our tickets and a small tub of popcorn. Then we take the escalator up to the second floor to find our seats.

  Noelle tugs Sax to the back row, but Manny and I opt to sit in a row farther up and toward the middle. We sit in the dim theatre with the only light coming from the screen.

  Placing the popcorn on my lap, we hold hands during the show. Two hours later, after laughing and crying, we exit.

  Noelle’s mouth no longer has lipstick on it. Most of it seems to be on Sax’s face and neck. Manny and I glance at each other, but don’t say anything. To each their own.

  By the time we are back to the dorms, it’s close to midnight. Noelle and Sax head to Sax’s room.

  “Are you up for a nightcap?” Manny asks.

  The only place open is the Lounge.

  “Sure, why not?” I’m thumping with excitement over tonight’s events. I had a great time hanging out with friends, having dinner, and catching a flick. It’s what teens do with their boyfriends. And I know that I’m in love with Manny. What’s not to love about him? He’s considerate of my feelings, a bit traditional in dating, but that’s not a bad thing at all.

  At least for one night, I can act normal and not think what we really are.

  Dragon slayers.

  On Saturday morning, I rise from a knock on the door. I’m feeling okay, but every once in a while, if I move wrong, my ribs ache. As the day goes on, I hope that the pain is gone for good. A girl can dream.

  The banging sounds again, and when I’m finally able to open the door, Noelle stands there, smiling. A large backpack is over her shoulder.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” She pushes past me and plops her bag down on the end of my bed. “Did I wake you?” She doesn’t seem one bit sorry, and in fact, I think she knows she did. “The day is young, and since you’ve been pretty slow these past days, I thought it best if we started getting ready early for the party tonight.”

  I glance at the time: nine in the morning. I think I’ll need a nap by the afternoon.

  She’s dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. Her short blond hair is damp. Rummaging in a side pocket of her bag, she pulls out some nail polish bottles. “I brought all the ones I have since I don’t know what you’re going to wear.”

  I’m not one to do my own manicures or pedicures. Sure, I’ve seen it done, but I’ve never done it before. I have Rahul for that. My face must look skeptical.

  “You’ve never done this, have you?” Noelle inspects one of the bottles.

  “My mom and I would go every third Saturday to her beauty salon and get mani-pedis done.” I sit on the bed and grab a bottle of polish, rolling it in my hand.

  I loved all the times we spent with each other. Right around my birthday, holidays, and vacations, Mom would treat us for a full day at the spa. Not only were our fingers and toes pretty, but I’d get an oil treatment for my locks, a facial, and sometimes a massage. Now when I think about those things, it makes me sad. I haven’t seen my folks since Christmas since they’re busy with Council meetings, traveling and Dad running his business. Sure we live in the same city, but with my school, training and missions, it just never worked out.

  “If that’s what you want to do, we have plenty of time,” Noelle says.

  “No, this could be fun, too. You’ll have to help me, though, because I’m sure I’ll mess it up.”

  “I’ve gotcha.” Noelle stands and opens the door to the double closet. “You’re lucky that your room is bigger than most.”

  It dawns on me I’ve never been to her room. I assume that she shares with a roommate in the same amount of space that I have. She’d never be alone, though. Sometimes I’m fortunate that my folks have money and could buy me a single suite. But that also means that I don’t have a roommate to share things with. Being an only child, I didn’t have to share a room, toys, or my parents’ attention. School would have given me that chance to experience that.

  “What are you looking for?” I ask.

  “Something that you’re going to look so hot in.” Her hands peruse the hangers, sifting through them one at a time. “Maybe this.” She lifts out a black tank top that’s adorned with black sequence and flares at the bottom. “Could pair it with skinny jeans and heels.” Looking at my feet, she tilts her head. “Can you wear them in your condition?”

  “My feet were never broken, Noelle. They were one of the few bones that weren’t hurt.”

  She turns back to the closet and tosses a few more tops at me. “Are you still mad at Bronx?”

  “No, not really. He came to see me yesterday. I think Staten told him to. But Staten is still on my shit list. It took him and Manny to tell Bronx that he had to apologize to me. Bronx thought I’d turn it around. By the time I blew the power off, it was too late to do anything. I guess it’s good that I can heal myself, and it’s faster if I draw from other magic users, like Staten.”

  “So you and he must be doing okay then. I don’t see sour grapes on your face when you talk about him.”

  “I guess we are.” I shrug. What can I say? After that second private lesson, an unspoken truce between us developed. He’s still as royal jerk and I’ll be the pain in his ass. “Find anything else, or should we go to my house and look there?”

  “This isn’t all of your clothes?” She sweeps her arms wide.

  “No. I have tons more. Remember, I’m an only child with rich parents. You can borrow something if you want.” I bite my lip. Maybe sharing clothes is too personal, or friends don’t do that sort of thing. “Some of my shirts will be too long for you, but you could wear them as a dress?”

  “Really? Okay, thanks! Maybe we should go to your house anyway, just so I can see what a swanky lady calls home these days.”

  “How about we take anything you find here with us, so you can decide once we get to my house.”

  “I know you just woke up, but I didn’t eat breakfast. Do you want to grab something here before we leave?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll shower at the house. If Chef is still around, he can whip us up something.”

  “As in your personal chef?” I nod. “What are we waiting for?” She tugs my hand while I grab my purse from the desk.

  The drive to my home on the Upper East Side doesn’t take too long. It’s rare for a student to have a vehicle in New York and even more rare to have one at the Academy. We cruise along south on the real Amsterdam and then onto West 86th Street, we cross though Central Park and up Madison. Finally taking a left onto East 80th Street, I spot the underground parking garage on Fifth Avenue next to the Guggenheim Museum.

  We are on the top floor of a forty-story high rise. I flash my parking pass to the attendant, and the security gate lifts. Once I find my space number, I turn the ignition key off.

  “Um, wow,” Noelle says. “Look at all these vehicles. I bet just one of those,” she points to a red sports car, “costs what my parents bought our house for.”

  I wave her forward. I know she’s not trying to make me feel bad about it, but it still makes me a bit sad. What she said was true. I try not to dwell on it too much. Leading her to the stairway and into the private elevator, I press the number forty. The ride is short since this is the only floor it stops on.

  When the door opens, white marble flooring, grey walls, and recessed ceilings greets us. I place my purse and keys on the little table next to the elevators. It’s where everyone puts their items, so we know where they are.

  I lead Noelle past the dining room that holds twenty people, one of the living rooms (this one has a baby grand piano), and a study that overlooks Central Park with its breathtaking views through the floor to ceiling windows. S
he lingers a tad before jogging to catch up with me.

  “Hi, Chef Irving,” I say, entering the kitchen.

  The short, stocky man turns from the sink.

  “Why, Miss Bryer, what a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you were coming today.” He gives me a bear hug. “Did I miss the message?”

  “No, this is an impromptu visit. This is my friend, Noelle. She’s from the Academy, too.”

  Chef Irving extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same.”

  “Your parents are at a Council meeting, otherwise I’m sure they’d be here to welcome you home. Are you hungry, girls?”

  Bummer. I should’ve texted my parents to let them know I was stopping over. It would’ve been since to see them again, if only for a short time. “If it’s not too much trouble,” I say and sit on a barstool.

  “You know it’s not.” Chef Irving opens the commercial refrigerator and removes eggs, bacon, and strawberries. “Let me whip up something.” Turning the stove on, he takes a pan from the pot rack hanging from the ceiling. Cracking two eggs at a time, he beats the eggs and tosses the mix into the hot pan. He knows how I love my eggs, scrambled fluffy with butter and sour cream. “What are you ladies up to today?”

  “There’s a party tonight at the school, so I thought I’d wear something nice to it for a change,” I say.

  “We were rummaging through Brooklyn’s closets earlier, and she said that she has fancier clothes here.” Noelle shrugs as her eyes wander the kitchen.

  The large room is outfitted with black, stainless commercial sized appliances. In fact, there are two sets of fridges and stoves. He really loves to cook for an army. What isn’t an appliance is white. White marble countertops, tile, and walls. Nothing is left out or unattended. Chef Irving is a bit OCD, if you ask me.

  The smell of bacon drifts throughout the kitchen. Chef slices the fat strawberries’ tops off. Selecting two white plates and placemats from the cupboards, he scoops some eggs onto the dish and hands us each one. Letting the bacon char a bit more, giving us utensils and a napkin. I spoon some berries and make room on my plate for the bacon. I can’t let my foods touch. Maybe I’m OCD, too.

  Chef forks the bacon and slides them onto a platter and presents us with the rest of breakfast. “What would you care to drink?”

  “Pineapple orange juice if you’ve got it,” I say.

  “You know we do. It’s how your mom takes her mimosas.” He winks.

  “I’ll have the same,” Noelle says. “Juice, I mean, not a mimosa.”

  He nods. Once the tall glasses are set in front of us, he leaves the kitchen.

  “He’s nice.” Noelle thumbs back to Chef.

  “Yeah, he is. Chef has been with our family since before I was born.”

  After we eat, I do take Noelle on a tour. We stop at the library, media room, and the workout room. Then we make our way to the bedrooms. My wing is to the right of the kitchen, whereas my parents’ suite is on the left. They planned on having more children, but sadly that never came to fruition, so there are two guest rooms instead.

  We walk into my room, which consists of sea foam green walls, a white sleigh bed and dresser, and my black and white landscape pictures. The green comforter is wrinkle free and lies perfectly on the bed. Matching curtains hang from the floor to ceiling windows. My view from the room is spectacular. It’s the same view as the living room. A small balcony door is closed, so I unhinge it and let the morning breeze float in.

  Noelle’s mouth hangs open as she takes in her surroundings. She hasn’t said too much since we arrived. I think all of this is overwhelming for her. I step to another closed door and open it, then switch the light on. It’s the walk-in-closet. It has a small couch in the center of the room and a freestanding mirror. Custom built-ins surround the walls, displaying shirts, pants, dresses, and shoes.

  I wring my hands. “What do you think?” I sit on the edge of the couch.

  “Wow!” Her head spins around. “This is all yours?” I nod. “Your room is as big as mine and my brothers combined. Geez, this place is ginormous. Have you ever gotten lost?” She giggles and runs her hands across the dress section of the closet. “I mean, man, this is super cool. It reminds me of the scene in Two Weeks Notice, the one where the main guy is standing in his closet trying to pick out a tie, and Sandra Bullock is in that pink bridesmaid gown.” She lifts a random pair of shoes off the rack and looks at the bottoms. “Shit on a stick, girl. I bet you haven’t worn half of this stuff in here.”

  “Probably not. Some of this in here, I don’t recognize. My mom loves to shop for me.”

  “Hot diggaty-dog, can you adopt me? Please?” She bats her eyes. “Okay, well, let’s get started and see what you have to work with here.”

  I crank the speakers to blast fun dancing music. Standing in front of the shirt/top section of the wardrobe, she flings out various items. Pants and jeans are next, then skirts and dresses. Noelle motions for me to stand in front of the mirror as she places outfits against me, discarding some into a pile, while the keepers she stacks on the couch. It’s fun just hanging out and being silly girls. Is this what I missed out on?

  I’m not sure how long we decide on clothes, but at some point, Chef Irving drops off brownies and water for us.

  Once we’ve narrowed it down to a few select outfits, Noelle strips and tries hers on. “What? It’s just you and me in here. And everything you have under there, I’ve got the same thing. If I wanted to stare at your flat boobs, I’d check out my bigger ones.” She grins.

  She has a point. I step out of my lounge clothes and try on the jeans and top. I look to see what Noelle has selected as her “it” ensemble. She’s in a light pink polka-dotted skirt and a dark pink tank top. The words “I’ll be Your Dragon, If Can Tame Me” are outlined with rhinestones. I know that’s definitely not my top because of the saying on it.

  Jeans are my go-to, so maybe I should step out of my comfort zone and go in a skirt or dress.

  I hold up the red dress. It’s simple, yet sleek, and not too short or revealing. Pinching the side, I twirl around, picturing myself wearing it.

  “That’s perfect, Brooklyn.” Noelle chooses black kitten-heeled shoes and hands them to me. “I think you should do your nails red, too. You’re going to look so hot. Your boys are going to drool.”

  “I’m not wearing this for them.”

  “Of course you’re not. They don’t want to see you in it; they want to see what’s under it.” She snickers.

  “You’re horrible.”

  “But you love me, and who else tells you the truth?” She’s right. “And now for the under garments. Please tell me that you don’t wear granny panties.”

  “What I have would be all in there.” I point to the built-in dresser. “Underwear in the second and bras in the third.”

  Noelle slaps a palm over her eyes and slowly opens the second draw and peeks in. I don’t even know what’s in there. Being away from my mom for five months, she could do a lot of damage to my wardrobe.

  Fingering a find, she lifts a red, lacy pair of panties out while opening the next drawer. She finds the matching bra and flings them at me.

  “Your mom has excellent taste. You,” she wags her hand, “need to take lessons from her.”

  “I need to take a shower because someone woke me up and didn’t let me have a chance.”

  “I asked you, but you go ahead. I’ll make myself comfy. Maybe I’ll try on a few of your dresses, if you don’t mind.”

  “Knock yourself out.” I head into my bathroom and hurry since I don’t want to keep my guest waiting. It’s nice to use all my own body wash, shampoo, and shower head than the communal ones. In record time, I’m finished. Wrapping my hair in a towel and putting on fresh yoga pants and a T-shirt, I head back to the closet, but Noelle isn’t there. I turn and spot her on the balcony.

  “I could get used to this life,” she says.

  “Yeah, it is easy, but it’s not always
rainbows and unicorns,” I say.

  “I know it wasn’t like that for you.” She heads back into the room. “You ready to get back to York? We can do our nails and makeup there, so it doesn’t get messed up on the drive.”

  We leave my home and drive back to the academy to finish getting ready, but not before Chef Irving made us take turkey and cheese croissant sandwiches with more strawberries.

  So far, today has been a perfect day. I got to hang out with a girlfriend, do what I think they do on party days, primp, giggle and chat about boys. Now I only hope that nothing spoils tonight. Best case, I have a blast at my first high school party. Worst case, everyone is called out on a mission.

  The campus is relatively quiet, even for a Saturday night. Many college students go out to parties or the bars. Few take in shows or go home. Some are on weekend getaways. I used to hole up in the library where the other smarties are. Not that I really considered myself to be one of them. I get good enough grades, not to be valedictorian or anything, but high enough that if I didn’t attend York Academy, I could get into Columbia or NYU.

  But not tonight. Tonight, I’m one of the party-goers. My attempt at coloring my nails goes horribly wrong, and Noelle ends up doing it for me. Then she tells me that I’m incapable of creating anything cool for an up-do with my long hair. She ends up doing a side braid and tucks in the extra, making it imitate a crown.

  As we make our way down to the lower levels of the girls’ dorms, a few people who know Noelle stop and chat with us. They are dressed casually and some in dresses like me. I don’t feel so out of place.

  People will be drinking and relaxed. Having a fun time, they won’t notice me.

  Boroughs, I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.

  I pick at the red nail polish that’s still on my cuticle; then my finger goes to my lips. I hardly ever wear this much make up unless I’m going to a high-class social function or entertainment event. Noelle also insisted that I have grey, smoky eyes. And after the three coats of kohl liner and mascara, my eyes are as dark and mysterious as she says. We found the perfect red lipstick that matches the dress.