by Maaja Wentz
Tonya frowned. “I hate clubs.”
“How long have we known each other?”
“A month?”
“In that time, have I ever steered you wrong?”
“No . . .” How could she explain to cool, artistic Priya that Digital Ninjas sounded uber geeky? She sighed. Geeky but fun. Maybe it was time to stop thinking about what other people thought of her and do what she liked.
“C’mon. You two will be perfect for each other.”
EMPANADAS
Roberto Alvarez sat in the Hub Pub, hands wrapped around a glass of Canadian draft, bummed at the prospect of falling leaves and too many science labs. Back home October meant spring, and the coming prospect of long summer afternoons on Lima’s beaches. Loon Lake was wet, windy, and already colder than midwinter back home. He missed watching hang gliders catching thermals off the cliffs in Miraflores. He missed daily blue skies and driving past surfers along the beach-hugging Costa Verde highway. He missed dancing with girls who knew how to salsa. Most of all he missed Barranco bars like Ayahuasca which, unlike this moose’s armpit, had atmosphere and fresh tropical cocktails. He hadn’t found a Pisco Sour since he’d left Peru, let alone his favorite mixed drink, Maracuya (passion fruit). Plus, the Canadians kept carding him everywhere he went. The drinking age was nineteen here, and he knew he looked older. It was starting to feel like harassment.
A dark-haired couple came in, the guy, unusually tall. People’s heads turned, and the hubbub dipped. Who were they? Back home Roberto belonged among the well-connected, the private-schooled, the kids whose families ran things. In this shabby little Canadian town, a couple who turned heads was the closest thing to his people. He waved at a waitress, intending to buy them a round but, of course, she ignored him. Everything was self-serve here. Leaving his beer at the booth to save his seat, he pressed his way through the crowd. Up ahead, the chalkboard behind the bar advertised “Cuba Libres.” Well “Viva la revolucion!” He smiled to himself. At last, something worth drinking in this place. He swam against the tide of students until he washed up beside the intriguing couple at the bar.
“I’m Roberto.” He smiled at the girl. “I’m new.” Usually, this was all it took. Canadian girls loved his accent. Jocks gravitated toward a fellow athlete.
“I’m Shin.” The guy waved, Canadian style, rather than shaking hands. “This is Marta.”
The girl stared. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet, but you two seem cool. Can I buy you a round?”
“Are you some kind of diving groupie?” Marta asked.
“I surf.” Roberto wasn’t sure what she meant by “groupie.”
Marta crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Have you ever been to Lima?”
She shook her head, setting dark, shiny hair in motion. She was beautiful. Perfect skin, naturally ruddy lips . . . too bad she was frowning.
She looked him up and down like he was a beggar. “So nice to meet you but we’re heading up to the dining room.” She towed Shin away through the liquid crowd. Neither spared him a backward glance.
Feeling lonelier, and stupid as well, Roberto cast off against the current. Back at the booth, his lonely glass had been cleared away and four lumberjacks had taken his place. Tossed on this sea of blondes and pale, northern faces, the crashing waves of English chatter were starting to wear on his ears. Time to go back to his dorm and Skype his friends in Lima, that is, the ones who weren’t already out partying on a Thursday night.
It wasn’t fair. When Madre heard rumors that an obscure Canadian city exuded a powerful magical aura, Roberto’s wishes stopped counting. She had to discover why there was so much power in Loon Lake, and how much she could get for the family.
There was no intel available overseas, so his parents registered him for university and told Roberto to integrate with the locals. His goal was to secretly locate the source of magical energy.
“Make us proud,” said Papí. “Take some of that power for yourself.”
“You’ll triumph like a Conquistador in El Dorado,” said Madre.
“Or suffer like a convict in Australia!” He tried to object, but they refused to listen. Madre would do anything to gather more power and Papí, well, he always agreed with “the Flower of his Soul.” Roberto suspected he was scared of her.
Roberto found an empty stool at a tiny table and ordered a draft. At least Canadian beer was good.
The seven-hour flight to Toronto had given Roberto time to reflect. It was one year out of his life. Worth the sacrifice, if this place held the kind of power Madre suspected. As the plane touched down in Toronto, he had resolved to make the best of banishment. So, he found a cute blonde to distract him from his loneliness. What else could he do?
Too bad Lynette wasn’t here to keep him company tonight. His stomach growled. Roberto had a sudden craving for empanadas, even though he’d eaten a big dinner at the cafeteria. Chicken and olive empanadas, broken open and spritzed inside with lime juice. Mmm. He closed his eyes and remembered the pastry from his favorite bakery in Miraflores. Peruvian food . . . What he wouldn’t give for a plate of ceviche right now, or potatoes in yellow sauce the way the cook did them. Yeah, Papas a la Huancaína—that was what he craved most of all. Hunger stabbed his stomach. He took a gulp of beer, but it didn’t help.
Could this aching hunger be a curse? His abuela, Madre’s madre, would know, and her sisters, his tías, would know how to counteract it. Without his powerful family, Roberto felt more alone than ever, and hungrier. Homesickness was steering his imagination toward strange conclusions, but the hunger gnawing at his insides felt too intense to be natural. Desperate to eat anything, Roberto exited the bar and inhaled crisp fall air. He had to find a restaurant, a bakery, a street vendor. He was so desperate, right now he’d even settle for crappy North American drive-through.
LYNETTE
The following afternoon, Priya took the elevator down to Tonya’s floor. The wall pulsed with Top 40 beats coming from her friend’s room. Priya knocked, then hammered the door until a salon-fresh blonde opened up.
“I’m here for Tonya.”
“What?”
Priya shouted over some kind of autotuned Michael Jackson clone.
“Tonya!”
“Check the library.”
Tonya’s roommate did not turn the music down. She was too busy staring at Priya’s clothes.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Priya.” She stuck out her hand.
“Lynette.” Blondie defended the entrance like a goalie.
Priya thumbed Tonya a quick text.
“We’re going out tonight. Can I wait here?” Priya moved forward.
Lynette took a step back, allowing her to see the twin chairs and beds on either side of the room.
“Thanks.” Priya breezed in past Lynette. “Tonight, she’s joining the best club on campus. Do you like film?”
“It’s a cheap date.”
“Want to make a movie?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Lynette laughed. “Too bad I’m busy, going out with my boyfriend.”
“Rain check?”
“You’re funny.”
Priya put on a smile. “How lovely to meet Tonya’s friends.”
“What friends?” Lynette shook her head. “She hates music, always wants quiet. It’s like living with a grumpy librarian!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to corrupt her.” Priya checked her phone, again.
Lynette crossed her arms. “So, is she coming or not?”
“She’s not responding.”
“Game over. Thanks for playing.” Lynette hurried Priya to the door. “Better luck next time.” Lynette forced Priya into the hall and slammed the door.
I think this makes us besties. Priya glanced up the hall for witnesses but she was alone.
Her phone pinged. It was Tonya, calling to say she was finished at the library.
“Let’s meet at the pub,” said Priya. “I just met your wonderful roommate
, and while I’d love to stick around and lap up her charm, I wouldn’t want to impose on her generosity.”
DIGITAL NINJAS
Twenty minutes later, Tonya followed Priya into the Hub Pub and immediately down a flight of stairs to the basement.
“I found these guys online before I even came to university,” said Priya. “Zain does this web comic called Monster of the Week.”
She was about to open the door when Tonya stopped her. “I’m happy to keep you company but promise you’ll do the talking?”
“Relax, you’re gonna love Duck.”
Tonya had never seen Priya so animated. “Oh, I get it. You need a wing-girl. I’m only here because you want to date him!”
“Why date? I just wanna hook up with his NEX-VG30H.”
“His what?”
She licked her lips and spoke breathily. “I like to take my SLR lenses and screw them onto his powerful cam.”
Tonya laughed. “You’re nuts.”
“No, just not camera shy. But Drake and me, it’s just a fling.”
“You mean you and him actually . . .”
“Of course not! I want his cameras, but you,” she jabbed a finger at Tonya’s chest, “are just his type. Plus, tonight I want to convince him to film my installation. Ready?”
She flung open the door.
Tonya followed Priya into a cramped meeting room. It wasn’t hard to figure out who Drake was from Priya’s description. He had short blond hair, intense blue eyes, and wore a black, multi-pocket vest with two cameras hanging down the front. Six people in black shirts and jeans crowded around to speak with him so Tonya caught only snatches of what was said.
“You don’t need film school . . .
“California . . .
“Finance . . .
“A guy I know made a horror film for $6,000.00. Got distribution, sold it on Amazon.”
“Sellout!” Priya called over the chatter.
Drake smiled. “Excuse me.” He escaped the huddle of would-be filmmakers and gave Priya a hug. He unclinched when he caught sight of Tonya.
“I see you’ve brought me the next Emma Stone. Welcome to La La Land.”
“Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot.” Priya smiled fondly at Drake.
“But he’s our idiot,” said a guy in a Jaws t-shirt. He had slightly prominent incisors and his hair was artfully messy on top, like the hunky vampire in a teen flick. Tonya wondered if the look was achieved by product or neglect.
“Meet Tonya,” said Priya.
“Hi, Tonya.” Bedhead guy held his hands up, framing her face in an imaginary viewfinder.
When Drake shook her hand, Tonya couldn’t help noticing his firm grip and muscled arms.
“Call him Duck,” said Zain.
“Why?”
“My name’s Drake.”
“Why not use your real name?” asked Tonya.
“Never. A true name gives supernatural forces the power to summon you and . . .” He looked at Tonya and stopped smiling. “You don’t think that’s funny, do you?”
Tonya shrugged. In Loon Lake people didn’t joke about such things.
“She’s not into horror movies,” said Priya.
“Oh, an artist like you?”
“English and History major.”
His eyes sparkled when he smiled at her. “Welcome to Digital Ninjas. This is my assistant director, and roommate, Zain.”
“Sorry!” said Zain.
Tonya followed Zain and Drake back into the scrum where the Ninjas were hammering out their Indie Filmmaker Manifesto.
“They have a manifesto?” she asked Priya.
“The Ninjas aren’t just a social club. Stick with us and we’ll make things happen.”
“You sound like Lynette.”
Priya made a face.
“I don’t mean you’re obsessed with celebrities and your boyfriend’s abs. She’s in a sorority to meet rich guys and make business connections.”
“Smart girl,” said Priya.
“You think so? I think she’s fake.”
“Jealous?” Priya laughed. “You know, the easiest way to finance an art career is to find a rich patron. Maybe I should join her crowd.”
“Now I know you’re kidding.”
“Partly, but I’d do anything to mount Man vs. Nature properly.” She jerked a thumb at the scrum of Ninjas and their cameras. “These guys are my secret weapon.”
Drake was standing at the front of the room, all eyes on him. “What makes a Ninja so ninja? Is it the black clothing? The special equipment? Is it the catlike way we glide through sets and soundstages?”
“No!” The Ninjas responded.
“Why then?” Tonya asked Priya.
“They’re called Ninjas for silently meeting on location, without permits, to shoot guerrilla footage,” whispered Priya.
Drake continued. “The Ninja style is part art, part sport, and part black belt discipline. What is our war cry?”
“Booms down!” chorused the Ninjas.
“What’s that mean?” Tonya asked Priya.
“When they film a street scene, civilians never notice cameras, but the moment somebody lifts a microphone on a pole, it draws a crowd and spoils the shoot.”
“Smile everybody.” Drake panned his camera across the group. “I want to document this historic moment. First we do Priya’s installation.”
He shot Tonya a smile. “Then we make the best campus horror movie of all time!”
The Ninjas cheered as Priya made her way through the huddle to consult a pretty black girl with a long afro. She stood next to a brown guy in a black t-shirt which listed the top ten rules of indie filmmaking. Every rule contained an F-bomb. On the far side of the room stood three dough-fleshed guys wearing Star Wars t-shirts. They chatted and smiled at Drake, who looked about six feet tall.
His enthusiasm was infectious. Tonya wondered what it would be like to go see a movie with him, but caught herself. It was easy for Priya to hang with these guys. She was a sophisticated Torontonian with artistic talent. Drake seemed friendly, but he probably already had a girlfriend.
Drake left the cluster of Ninjas to join Priya and Tonya.
“Man vs. Nature should open on Halloween,” Priya said. “I want to put it in the cemetery.”
Drake’s eyes lit up.
“Perfect for a horror movie!” Zain responded from among the Star Wars shirts.
“Except it’s an art installation,” said Priya.
“Yeah, but a familiar place is a classic scenario,” said Drake. “After your show, when people return to the cemetery, they’ll expect your beasts to leap out at them,”
“Like Stephen King,” said Zain, “but with maple syrup and beavers.”
“People think Canada can’t be scary.” Drake shook his head. “But if Priya’s art can make Loon Lake feel dangerous, that’s scarier than Hollywood.”
If only they knew, thought Tonya.
“We’re going to need lots of money.” Zain stepped up beside Priya. “How else can I pay for assistants to assist my assistants?”
Drake ignored him. “Horror is the perfect expression of Canadian identity. It’s a cabin in the woods versus a wilderness of shapeshifters and angry spirits, spoiling to burst in.”
“Like Margaret Atwood’s Survival!” Priya said.
“Right. So, this installation,” said Drake “What exactly are your artistic needs?”
“If you listen to Duck,” Zain said, “we’ll spend our lives making experimental films and eating Kraft Dinner. My big artistic need is to pay off my student loan.”
“Hey,” said Priya, “I’m not asking for money. There isn’t going to be any money. Can we forget finance and get back to my installation?”
“Sorry.” Zain pouted like a kid who’d dropped his ice cream cone. Tonya almost laughed.
Priya gathered the Ninjas around a table and started brainstorming ways to incorporate cameras and video screens into her piece. The Ninjas came with their own t
ech, but when Drake started tacking a storyboard onto the wall, Tonya was hooked. This guy and his friends were going to turn horror movies into Art, and Priya’s Art into video.
They argued camera angles, lighting, and equipment, until Priya’s stomach growled.
“Excuse me. I’m starved.”
“We’re all hungry,” said Drake. “We’ve been at it for hours.”
Tonya hadn’t felt the time pass but the moment he mentioned it, she was hungry.
“Who wants pizza?” asked Drake.
There were cheers, and the Ninjas waved money in the air as Zain collected funds.
Tonya’s stomach burbled. The thought of pepperoni and melting cheese elicited stabs of hunger, as if she hadn’t eaten all day. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Her legs felt weak. “I have to go,” she told Priya.
“Aren’t you staying for dinner?”
“Sorry.” Priya and the others could never understand her fear of the freshman fifteen. What, for them, would be a few extra pounds, would be doom for Tonya. She had eaten nothing but soup and salad for months in order to approach a healthy weight—for the first time since childhood. She fled upstairs, determined to leave before she lost her resolve.
“Wait!” Priya followed her halfway up the stairs.
“Sorry.” Tonya didn’t dare stop. Pizza was her worst trigger. Her stomach roared like a lion in the cage of her gut. She wanted to pounce on pepperoni.
Tonya emerged into the cold, pepperoni-free air outside the Hub, and not a moment too soon. In the wood fires of her imagination, she could smell caramelizing onions and crispy crust.
Of course, that was only fantasy. Why get excited about pub pizza? It was probably made in a factory, frozen, and then baked until soggy. Not worth the calories.
Before a waft of fresh-baked scent could leak under the door and change her mind, Tonya started jogging home. She had instant soup and granola bars and fruit in her room. That and a takeout salad from the cafeteria would be better than pizza. She just had to concentrate on the moment.
She jogged along the path strewn with wet autumn leaves, trying hard to think of nothing but the wind on her face, and the pounding of her feet. A couple of times she almost wiped out, the leaves were so slippery. Tonya slowed down. She had left Priya and the Digital Ninjas far behind, but her craving was harder to shake.
