Flat-Out Celeste Read online

  Copyright © Jessica Park

  ISBN-13: 978-1499646702

  ISBN-10: 1499646704

  This publication may only be reproduced with the prior permission in writing of the publishers.

  Cover Design by Damonza

  Interior Design by Benjamin Carrancho

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic , mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and accidental.

  For Andrew, of course. Every day—without fail—I am staggered by our friendship and by you. Thank you for being my clarity.

  WHAT WAS BEST

  “AND SO IN short, that is what is meant by reductio ad absurdum.” Celeste beamed at the class and closed her laptop. This past month had been worth it. And the joy of finally releasing her pent-up energy and excitement over this philosophy presentation had paid off. It had gone flawlessly. ”So the next time that you find yourself in a situation in which you must prove that something is true by showing it to be false, you’ll be sensationally equipped.”

  It really had been quite the fantastic and thorough presentation, although her classmates’ blank expressions did not appear to reflect it. A boy in a blue skull cap looked as though a medically induced coma might cause more of a reaction, and the girl with the possibly illegal-length mini-skirt was shooting a death stare in her direction. Celeste looked to her teacher, Mr. Gil, to see if his response was different. He appeared stunned. Something was wrong. Something had happened. What, however, she didn’t know. She shut her eyes for a moment and ran over the past forty-five minutes. Had she forgotten something? It didn’t matter what they thought, though.

  Mr. Gil pursed his lips and appeared to be holding back a smile as he left his seat near the window. She didn’t see anything the least bit amusing about the situation. In fact, her spirits were plummeting dramatically. “That was… quite… It was quite brilliant. Are we sure you’re a senior in high school and not already defending a dissertation?” He winked just as the bell sounded loudly, and Celeste could breathe again.

  Students brushed past her, one bumping her laptop and another not-so-accidentally stepping on her foot. Celeste looked straight forward and let their faces fly past her in a haze. It would not be good to focus now. She could see the eye rolls, and even under the clamor of the bell, she could hear the mumblings.

  What a nut bag. Who understood anything she said?

  I have, like, never been so bored in my entire life.

  I don’t care how totally hot she is; that was not normal.

  Freak. Loser. Weirdo.

  She clutched her laptop into her body until the room emptied.

  “Celeste?”

  The bell had stopped, and now a new noise took over in her head, reminiscent of wind or static.

  “Celeste? Are you all right?”

  “Oh? Me? Yes, of course. I’m quite all right.” She turned and smiled at Mr. Gil. She liked him. He was a kind man and always spoke in a gentle voice. He also smelled chronically of wet leaves, but she could forgive that because he should not be faulted for an unfortunate cologne choice.

  “Are you sure? Your report was very detailed. I would imagine it might have been exhausting to present. You packed a lot of information in. As always, I’m impressed, and I admire how hard you clearly worked on it.”

  “I enjoy research. It is energizing and inspiring,” she said. Smiling hurt her cheeks, but she did it anyway.

  “You sure you’re okay? I’m sorry if the class didn’t respond with as much interest as you hoped. Some of the material may have been a bit beyond them.”

  “I had expected the turnip metaphor to go over better, but it seems not everyone appreciates a clever philosophically grounded root vegetable reference.” Celeste stepped to her desk and put her computer and folder into her red messenger bag.

  “I thought it was spot on and very clever indeed.” He paused. “Just because this is an excellent private school and the student body is largely bright and thoughtful doesn’t mean that they are capable of what you just did. Or that they can understand it. It’s okay, you know? You’re in a league well above that of your peers; you must know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I am not ashamed,” she said too quickly. “Sorry. It is just that I do quite enjoy higher-level thinking. I had hoped to properly convey my enthusiasm for this subject to you, and I have done that.”

  “You did well. I’d like to write you a reference for college. I imagine that you’re applying to all of the Ivy Leagues?”

  “Yes, thank you. A reference would be most welcome.”

  “It’s only October, I know, but I thought you might be going for early decision at some. Are you applying anywhere outside of the Ivies? I have ideas for alternatives, if you’re interested.”

  “Alternatives? Why would I need alternatives?” Celeste lifted her bag over her shoulder and took a step forward. The room began to spin slightly, and she stopped, dropping her gaze down. “I apologize. It seems that I am a bit overtaken by the rush of adrenaline after my philosophy oration.”

  Mr. Gil frowned. “Would you like some water?”

  “I have a free period now. I shall get some and regroup.” Her bag weighed heavily on her shoulder, and she momentarily feared it might just bore her through the floor and into geological oblivion.

  “Well, anyway, congratulations on a job well done. You should be proud.” Mr. Gil buttoned his shawl cardigan and popped a piece of gum into his mouth before taking a seat behind his wooden desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo.”

  Celeste lifted her head and took a deep breath. The door to the hall felt unnecessarily heavy, and she sighed as she shuffled from the classroom. Usually the dark wood floors and brass fixtures of the school’s architecture were comforting, but the sound in her head had not quieted. What was that sound?

  She should be happy. Today had mostly gone as she hoped it would; she had given a successful presentation with no response from or interaction with her peers. It’s how she liked things. Not to have an effect on them, not even to be noticed. She could have done without the snide remarks following her oral report, but they were expected and short lived. Yet she was not elated.

  Most students were in class now, and Celeste would use her free period to curl up in the school’s library and read. She didn’t have homework to do, so it might be a good time to reread some Jane Austen. She reached her locker and slowly worked the combination. It wouldn’t open. She tried again. By the third try, she understood that it was hard to see the numbers on the dial because her eyes were watering. Blinking furiously eventually cleared her vision, and she was able to undo the lock. What in the world was wrong with her today?

  As she slipped her bag into the locker, she was jolted by a crash when a girl with long, hot-pink hair slammed into the few lockers next to her.

  “That report totally rocked.” The girl grinned and rested her head against the metal doors.

  Celeste took her in. Yes, this girl was in her philosophy class. Considering her choice of hair color, she was hard to miss, but Celeste hadn’t spoken to her before. Not that Celeste spoke to a lot of people anymore. Her social isolation was a choice that she was comfortable with. This girl was invading her territory, but Celeste would be polite anyway.

  “Your name is Dallas. Is that correct?” Celeste asked. “You often sit near the window and look outside instead of listening to our instructor.”

  The girl laughed. “You’re a straight shooter. Yes, I’m Dallas. But, no, I’m not lost in t
hought. I learn better when I’m not distracted by Mr. Gil’s tragic comb-over.”

  “Oh. I suppose he does have imperfect hair.”

  “And one time during class, a bird flew smack into the window and died on impact. It was completely disgusting, but I keep an eye on the window so that I don’t miss any other suicides.”

  “That is understandable.”

  “So. Your presentation was killer. Loved it.”

  It was hard to tell whether or not Dallas was sincere. It seemed unlikely. So Celeste said nothing.

  Dallas waited the few moments while Celeste fiddled with folders and papers in her locker. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? You look really pissed off at me.”

  “Sorry. No, you have done nothing wrong.” Celeste delicately shut her locker and then looked at Dallas, her outrageous hair somehow clashing in a most pleasing manner with her seventies-inspired brown leather jacket. “I quite like your jacket. You have an impeccable and original fashion sense.”

  “Yeah? Thanks. But look at you. You have blonde ringlets down to the middle of your back that most girls would kill for, and you’re wearing a sick ensemble that makes you look like you stepped out of Vogue.” She waved her hand around Celeste’s top. “What is that? A cashmere hoodie? And riding boots? Hot. Love it.”

  Celeste glanced down at her boots. She and her mother had bought these together just last week, part of a neutral ensemble that she hoped would let her fade into a crowd. They were supposed to bring her luck today.

  “You kinda set the bar high by going first. But that’s how you do it, hot stuff!” Dallas held her hand up above her head, palm out.

  Celeste looked up and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  “Go on. Slap my hand. You earned it.”

  Tentatively, Celeste touched her palm to Dallas’s.

  “Oh, jeez. C’mon. Harder! This is celebration time!”

  Celeste bit her lip, but smacked her hand against the one belonging to her pink-haired classmate.

  “Babe.” A deep voice echoed in the hall.

  Dallas turned and then bounced on her toes. “There you are!”

  An undeniably handsome senior strode their way. Celeste recognized Troy immediately. Tall, certainly what one would call “strapping,” and oozing confidence. Troy was well known on their campus. He slid an arm around Dallas’s waist and pulled her in, kissing her noisily on her cheek.

  “Stop that!” Dallas said, giggling. “Troy, do you know Celeste? Celeste, this is my boyfriend, Troy.”

  Troy stuck out a hand. “Pleasure.”

  Celeste tentatively put her hand in his. His jet black eyeliner matched his hair exactly, and she found it to be a nice contrast with his simple button-down shirt over a navy tee and jeans. “It is very nice to meet you.”

  “Celeste just rocked our socks off in philosophy class. No one is going to want to go next now. I’m sure my talk on Thursday will be a nightmare. She was just great. You should’ve been there, Troy. You would’ve loved it.”

  “Yeah? That’s cool.” He smiled warmly at Celeste.

  “So Celeste, we’re heading off campus to that diner down the street. Want to come?”

  “Do you have special privileges that allow you to go off campus during school hours?”

  Troy laughed. “We don’t.”

  “Scandalous,” Dallas squealed.

  “You have no concerns about being discovered by a school official and penalized with a demerit that can never be removed from your record?”

  “Nope, not a one. The risk makes it all the more thrilling, don’t you think?”

  “Oh… well, certainly. Yes, I can see that.” Celeste nodded vigorously.

  “But that’s what makes it fun. Come with us!” Dallas leaned her body against Troy’s and rested her head on his chest.

  “I do appreciate the invitation, but I was planning to go to the library in order to read some Jane Austen.”

  “I totally love Austen. But,” Dallas started as she groped in her bag, “try this.” She held out a book. “This is romance, too. Just less formal.”

  Celeste took the book. The black and white cover showcased a semi-naked man’s muscled torso, with barely an inch of skin that was not tattooed, clutching a woman in a clearly intimate embrace. “I see that they are on a motorcycle. I have concerns about where the handlebars might end up.”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing creepy happens with the handlebars.”

  “I am unsure about this selection. I have not read these types of books before.”

  “Try it.”

  “My expectations are not high.”

  “Then the odds of your being disappointed just dropped astronomically.”

  “I will read it with gusto and a positive attitude.” Celeste nodded.

  “Cool beans. Well, we better hurry now. If I’m late for calculus, I’m dead, but I need me a bacon omelet something fierce. I had fun chatting with you, Celeste.” Dallas took Troy’s hand and led him to the exit doors.

  What an entirely unexpected encounter. How disconcerting. And did anyone else in the world say “cool beans” besides Dallas?

  Celeste looked down again at the romance book in her hand. While she didn’t have much interest in reading this book, there was still a pang in her heart because she was unlikely to ever have any sort of romance, either on or off of a motorcycle.

  Celeste took a deep breath. She would give this book a try, however. Maybe she would learn something about the real world from this love story.

  This confusing, overwhelming, daunting world.

  The one that she imagined might one day swallow her whole.

  THE SLAP HEARD ‘ROUND THE WORLD

  CELESTE PACED THE floor of her bedroom. She noticed that she was fidgeting with her hands. She dropped them to her sides and continued pacing. Sounds from the dining room echoed up to the second floor, and she tried to brush aside the guilt she had developed after ignoring the meal that was intended to celebrate her successful philosophy presentation. It had been hard enough to lie to her parents when they’d come home from work (“The class loved every insightful moment! I did not have the time to address all of their comments and questions!”), but regaling them with an overly enthusiastic retelling of her presentation over the course of an entire meal would have been impossible. Feigning exhaustion and a desire to unwind by browsing through college applications bought her an escape to her room.

  Her reflection in the floor-length mirror glared back at her. “Shut up. So what if I am a vile, flagrant liar and unworthy of ever being trusted again?”

  She took a few steps closer. Celeste knew that, according to societal standards at least, she was attractive, but she didn’t quite understand why those standards existed in the first place. Her appearance had nothing to do with the strange creature that she was. While she had inherited her mother’s height, and her legs were long and lean, it seemed to her that her height just made her gangly and more awkward than she already felt. And these more recent curves on her hips and her chest? She was most uncomfortable. Men looked at her. She did her best to wear loose tops, but there was really no hiding her figure. Celeste liked modestly cut earth tones, clothing made from textured fabrics, body-engulfing wraps, and cozy sweaters. Things that flowed. Things that were, ironically enough, romantic in their aesthetic

  She shrieked at the mirror. “Lecherous stares are unwarranted, given my aberrant character.”

  Social and romantic endeavors were not her strong suit. An Ivy League college was in her future, and that was the only area of her life in which she would excel. Celeste knew that there was no boy who would want her once he got past the physical. That was the simple truth.

  It was devastating. And it was devastating that she even cared, because her value system was not one that contemplated a woman’s happiness being dependent on the presence of a fairytale love life.

  She sat down at her desk and took some deep breaths, rearranging the already-organized white stora
ge containers. Her email sounded, and she clicked it open.

  Hi, Celeste!

  My name is Justin Milano, and I’m a sophomore at Barton College in San Diego. While I’ve settled in to the warm weather here nicely, I’m originally from Needham, Massachusetts, so not too far from where you are in Cambridge. After hearing about you, Barton would really love the chance to connect with you. I’m a student liaison for the college. I “woo” applicants and answer any questions they might have. I’m going to be part of a Barton meet-up night for prospective students soon. We hope you can attend! I imagine that you must be busy with lots of college application stuff, but have you checked out the materials that the school sent yet?

  I love it here and couldn’t imagine a better liberal arts education.

  I hope you can attend the meet-up!

  -Thanks, Justin

  Barton College? Celeste didn’t know anything about this Barton College. How did they know about her? And when was this meet-up thing? She usually did not participate in “meet-ups.”

  Her email sounded again.

  Celeste-

  Oh God, sorry. The meet-up is next Saturday afternoon at 5 p.m.

  -Justin

  Before she could even hit the delete button, he wrote again.

  Seriously, I’m really sorry. By “next Saturday” I mean the one after the one this weekend. Next week’s Saturday, not the next Saturday that arrives. Hold on; I’ll check the date.

  Okay, it’s Saturday the 15th.

  -Justin

  Celeste stared at the emails. This Justin was not one for details. At least not condensed details. So where exactly was she to go if she, in fact, did want to attend this “meet-up” for this unheard of college?

  Celeste, I’m really sorry. I tend to just fire off emails and don’t always pay attention. The meet-up is in Harvard Square at Border Cafe. I haven’t been there in ages, but they used to make this awesome Camptown shrimp dish that was amazing? Do you like shrimp? Half the menu is Cajun; the other half Tex-Mex.

  My apologies for all of these emails. And this started off so well!