Authors: Ruth Houston
Now it was the weekend and today was a special day again – it was Eva's 16th birthday. I had spent all of yesterday (Saturday) at her house, and had left at around 11 this morning to go home. Glancing at the clock on my bedside stand, it looked like it was about 2:30 in the afternoon now – and we were on the phone again.
"Abercrombie smells like money," Eva repeated her earlier thought. "It does, seriously."
Her cousin who lived in Chicago had sent her a gift from Abercrombie and Fitch this year. I had watched Eva open it, along with the blank, uncomprehending expression that had crossed her face as she stared at the tiny spaghetti-strap-lace-trimmed-top. Unfortunately, her cousin had not seen Eva in a couple of years and had underestimated Eva's height and ability to grow an inch every time I'm not looking (which is completely unfair, let me tell you; I am vertically challenged enough as it is to be compared to her). Fortunately, there was a gift receipt.
"Well, of course," I said dismissively to her statement. "A & F is expensive, of course it smells like money."
"No," said Eva, "It really smells like money. The clothes do. At first I thought it was just the cologne from their store, you know, I think they spray it over everything, but then I took another whiff and it turns out that their clothes smell like money. Or maybe the cologne smells like money. One of those."
"Why were you sniffing it in the first place?" I asked incredulously, my eyebrows lifting up of their own accord.
"I didn't even have to put my face that close to smell it; it was pretty strong. I'm bored. Why'd you have to leave so early?" she complained.
I sighed. "My mom wanted me home for lunch, for some reason or another. I think it's 'cause she made those turkey sandwiches again." I wrinkled my nose. "They aren't
that
great. Okay, so maybe the meat is from Draeger's, which is more '
gourmet
' than Safeway, but really, I don't taste a difference."
"Will you come with me to exchange it?" Eva asked, plowing onwards. She was still on about that Abercrombie top. "I don't want to go alone."
"Well, I guess I'll go with you. Cuz I know if I were you, I'd be begging me to go with too."
"Thanks," Eva said. "Oh yeah. Did I ever thank you for coming over that day with Zack?"
Zack. The first thought that popped into my head when she said his name was of that moment on his bed, after he had nearly tickled me to death…
I closed my eyes and sighed. Eva would want to know, but the kiss was too private, too perfect, too wonderful, too pure and chaste to be shared. Just thinking about it made me tingle all over, and unconsciously I brought my hand up to my lips. The lips that Zack had touched with his own… I hadn't missed the way he had been trembling afterwards, and it kept bringing an uncontrollable, wide smile to my face.
"Winter? You still there? ...Winter?
WINTER
. Talk to me. You better not have hung up on me; I will kill you with the machete that I hide under my bed. WINTER BRUIN, YOU SAY SOMETHING THIS INSTANT!"
Oops.
"Uh…" was my highly intelligent response. "Sorry. Here. I mean, I'm here. Present."
Eva sighed. "What happened?"
"Sorry, zoned out for a second there. Oh. And you're welcome. Anytime."
"Thanks again anyway," Eva said. "It was really great of you guys. By the way, Tristan's in love."
I choked. She had said it as if she was merely announcing the weather. Coughing, I managed to get out, "Eva, you have
got
to stop springing that kind of stuff on me. It's really not very kind of you."
"Winter, you have got to get rid of that habit of choking every time I tell you something," Eva chided. "It's too melodramatic. And it's not very charming."
"Tristan's…
in love
?" I said, disregarding her comment. I had lived with her long enough to know that
those
kinds of Eva-comments were simple musings that did not necessitate a reply.
"Yup," Eva said happily. "You can expect a wedding invite the summer after he finishes college."
"In love with
who
?" I said.
"Oh, gee… I'm not sure."
I snorted.
"That's not very attractive either, Winter."
"You don't know who he's in love with, but you know he's completely whipped over some girl," I said dryly. "Try to give me a name, Ev. Please. Humor me."
"I really don't know who it is, I'm not kidding," my best friend replied. "But I can tell he's totally fallen. I think she works at Payne's too. Because every time he gets back from work he has this strange, happy expression on his face."
I snickered. "Strange
and
happy?"
"Yeah," Eva said. "Come by any time. You'll see."
So I did.
And, lo and behold, Eva was right.
As always. She only has a 4.33 grade point average. Quite impressive, I know.
But, the point is, she was
right
. Tristan was in love.
Zack
Ever since that day I had done a Chopin marathon, I'd been playing the piano more and more – almost every day now. My mother and Victoria looked on with quiet, hidden smiles, while my father grumbled under his breath. I found that he did that a lot and I resolved I would never do it again in the future lest I turn into a cold-hearted, rich bastard like him.
So that was why that weekend after Thanksgiving Victoria found me in the foyer on Sunday afternoon, perfecting and nit-picking through the first of Liszt's very complicated Grand Concert Etudes,
Waldesrauschen
, which translated into
Forest Murmurs
in English. I was being picky today and wanted to fix all my faulty passages through the difficult piece. Secretly I wanted to play it for Winter because I knew she'd love the poetic title and beautiful melody, but I also knew in my heart of hearts that I'd never muster up the courage to. Not live, anyway. Perhaps I'd make a recording of it for her for Christmas.
Anyway, Victoria interrupted my slow run through of the seventh page, which was unquestionably the hardest section, saying, "Zack, your father would like to see you in his study."
I halted halfway between an A and G sharp octave, then continued, saying distractedly, "Can't it wait? I'm kind of in the middle of something."
"No."
Victoria's sharp tone made me stop.
"I think it's important," she continued on hurriedly. For once her face was completely serious and grave and void of her normal pleasant smile. "You'd do well to go."
I frowned and got up from my bench, and said, "Okay."
Moments later I found myself knocking on the door of my father's private study, then pushing it open when he called from inside, "Come in."
I entered carefully.
"Zackary," he nodded. "Please, have a seat." He indicated toward the leather chair in front of his desk and I sat down suspiciously.
"You wanted to see me?" I prompted. This had better be fast.
"Yes," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his Giorgio Armani business shirt and sitting back in his own chair. He rested his elbows on the arms of it and laced his fingers together, looking at me over the top of his reading glasses. "I did. It's concerning the matter of where you shall finish high school."
I looked at him blankly, not comprehending. "I'm finishing school at Branner High," I said slowly.
He nodded, taking off his glasses and saying, "The thing is, I don't think you will be."
I gripped the arm of my chair suddenly, a twisting feeling entering my stomach. "What do you mean?" I asked cautiously. Somehow, I had an idea just where this was going. And I didn't like it.
"What I mean is," he said, polishing his already clean lenses with a cloth, "Your mother and I are staying until the end of your fall semester. At the end of this semester, you will be coming back to Italy with us. We've enrolled you in an American boarding school there. It's quite good – top notch, really." He looked at me expectantly, awaiting my reaction.
I knew it. My hunch was correct. "I'm not going," I stated flatly. There was no way in hell I was going to just pick everything up and leave for some dumb, prestigious private school. In Italy, no less.
No way in hell
.
"You will," my father replied. "We've paid your tuition and everything. You
will
come back with us so I can keep an eye on you. Quite frankly, you mother and I have let you live by yourself for far too long."
I scoffed. "I'm not living alone. I've got Victoria. And what makes you think I'm just going to pick up and leave? I'm
not
going with you. I've never even been to Italy, for Christ's sake."
"Do-not-use-such-language-with-me-young-man," my father said in one stern breath, eyes glittering dangerously.
"Why?" I asked rudely.
"Why shouldn't you use such language with me?" he replied, looking outraged.
"No," I said, rolling my eyes a little. "Why do I have to go with you?"
"We've been over this," he said through clenched teeth. "We've let you be for far too long. It's time you lived nearer to us. You can't spend the rest of your life living alone in a huge mansion with a middle-aged widow to housekeep for you. No, Zackary, it's time you started to think about your future."
I shook my head slowly, disbelieving. I had pretty much only heard one thing he just said: "
Now
you want me to live nearer to you? After all these years,
now
? I'm perfectly fine here in Branner, so thanks but no thanks."
"You are not," my father stated coolly.
"Yes, I am," I contradicted him angrily. "I'm getting an education, I've got friends, and a great girlfriend –"
" – who is absolute trash; why are you dating her has completely escaped me."
"
Don't talk about Winter like that!
" I roared, jumping up to my feet. "Don't you
dare
talk about her like that! You don't even know her!" I was livid. He could diss me all he wanted, but no way was I going to let him bad-mouth Winter, girlfriend or not.
My father sneered unpleasantly. "
Winter
," he said her name mockingly, like she was dirt, and I could feel a hot flush of rage burning in my neck, "is another factor that's helped along my decision. You're not to see her anymore."
"Don't you dare bring her into this," I spat out fiercely. "This isn't about her and you know it. I'm not going to submit to some petty request of yours."
"Do not tell me what I do and do not know!" he shouted. "You've become an insolent, disgraceful son and you aren't doing well at Branner High.
Don't interrupt me young man
, I've obtained your records from the school office. A 3.28 and a handful of detentions are hardly enough to get you into college." He sat back, a satisfied smirk painted all over his face. I wondered how I was related to this evil, evil man.
I paled, and narrowed my eyes. "That's what you think." In all honesty I did not know the first thing that had to do with college – as far as I was concerned, college was miles and miles away from me right now.
He ignored me, as always. "You are coming to Italy with us at the end of your fall semester," he stated again, coolly. "Sit down."
I glared at him in response. "All right," I said, sitting down, "Suppose I go with you back to Italy –
which I am not going to do, by the way
– just suppose. How long would I have to stay?"
"At least until the end of high school. Then you can come back to the States for college."
"I'm not going," I said tonelessly. "There is no way you can make me, and there is not a snowman's chance in freaking hell I'm leaving California." Until the end of high school? I scoffed. Think again, father dearest.
"You will be coming with us to Italy," my father said quietly, coldly. "It's not open for negotiation or bargaining. This discussion is over." He dismissed me with a wave of his hand and turned to his computer.
I stalked out of the room and back to the foyer. No more Liszt now. I wrenched my fat book of Beethoven Sonatas off the shelf and prepared myself for some heavy, angry music.
I almost laughed at the absurdity of what he was suggesting. How was he going to make me leave?
The answer was simple: he wasn't.
There was absolutely no way I was leaving the United States for some pathetic, pretentious American boarding school in Italy, just when life had begun to improve a little here. No fucking way.
xxxxx
My fingers were still sore on Monday afternoon when Eva and I ran into each other in the Sciences corridor.
"…Eva?" I said blankly, staring at her.
She started. "Zack," she acknowledged me, her face flushing a bit. "What are you doing here?" It was awkward for about a second, but the oddness of the situation left as we made small talk.