The Brightest Star in a Constellati... - Chapter 56: Chapter 56

☆ Evan ☆
I shift on my feet as I watch the cars glide past the hotel windows.
My phone buzzes with a text from Elaine, telling me she's arriving in an hour. I unlock it, scrolling through the rest of my notifications. Between a reminder to finish my social studies project, and messages from the AC group chat, there's a new post from Peter's blog.
Facts I Learned at Midnight #2203:
Ephemera are items (typically written or printed for a specific occasion) that are only meant to have short-term usefulness. Collectable ephemera include ticket stubs, postcards, and posters for events. (The origin of this word comes from the Greek ephemeros, which means lasting only one day.)
At the front desk sits Dr. Delacroix. She's working Peter's usual shift over the weekend since his assessment is tomorrow. It's somewhere two hours away, since Northwood's clinic doesn't have anyone qualified. He wants me to drive him, so I've been looking at the directions.
I've also been doing my own research. Admittedly, I've been trying to figure out how long it will take, what exactly it consists of, and what I'm supposed to do to support him.
I get a few articles deep into an explanation on sensory overload, (and I make a mental note to bring my headphones and sunglasses, since according to the Internet, that helps) when I sigh and turn to Dr. Delacroix.
"Are you sure I can't help?" I ask, which is what I've been doing all day long.
And like every other time before it, Dr. Delacroix checks the computer screen, looks at me, and says, "You don't need to help."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm a guest. I'm only staying until June. I'm not a burden. The usual stuff. But I've got an hour to kill, and I want to carry some towels or something. Please?" I plaster on my best smile, wondering if she remembers when I showed up at the front door. It makes my stomach churn to think about it.
Dr. Delacroix mutters something in French under her breath and motions for me to return to the seating area. "You already have a job. Last week, you came back to the hotel later than I did. There is no debt you need to pay back for being idle."
"Fine," I reply, heading outside. The sun peeks out from beneath a chalk blue sky. I shoot Peter a message, asking him what he's doing.
It takes about two minutes before the screen illuminates, and a smile appears on my face.
Pierre:
Nothing, why?
Evan:
Figured :)
I'm all ready to drive you tomorrow. Elaine is almost here, but we'll be back later
Do you want to come? She wants to go shopping.
Pierre:
Shopping for what?
Evan:
I'll give you one guess. It starts with 'P' and ends with 'rom.'
You should come. It could be fun or complete torture. I haven't decided yet.
The three dots bubble onto my screen and disappear, only to show up again. I groan inwardly. Jesus, he probably thinks I'm asking him to come to prom with me. What kind of person would do that through a text message? With my other hand, I fish the hourglass from my pocket, rolling it between my fingers. I have less than a hundred days left. Forty-eight, to be precise.
Pierre:
Already? When did that happen? I'm pretty sure it was October just yesterday.
Evan:
As if!
How are you doing with those scholarship applications?
Pierre:
I already applied for a few. But it would be much easier if someone could come over and press 'send' for me. Just saying.
Evan:
Very subtle. See you in five ;)
I stick my phone into my pocket, along with the hourglass. As Peter remarks when I reach his doorstep, I take far less than five minutes to get there.
☆ ☽ ☆
Elaine hugs me tightly, and I let her stay there for as long as she needs. Behind her, Randall's car lingers.
I haven't spoken to him since I got my new phone, although I sent him my number. He stretches as he climbs out of the driver's seat, smiling a little. When Elaine isn't watching, he slips a folded envelope into my hands.
"That's for you. I should have given it to you a long time ago, but... other interferences got in the way," Randall says.
"Thank you." My voice is hoarse, as if it has become a separate entity. "You don't have—"
He interrupts, "Don't mention it."
I stick the envelope into my pocket and head to Europa's passenger seat. Peter is waiting with the music at a low volume, and his eyes soften when I meet his gaze.
Elaine shimmies into the middle of the back seat. "You're coming with us?" she asks him.
"Evan needed a driver," Peter says.
We coast through the streets to the mall. Elaine hooks her arm underneath mine and drags me along, passing the stores in a blur. I have to jog to keep up with her.
"Come on! It's been forever since I've had a soft pretzel. I've been waiting all week to have one."
My neck cranes behind me to make sure Peter is still following. A sparse crowd gathers in the stores and ebbs around us. Mostly teenagers my age, and sometimes younger. A few families chain-linked and walking in unison.
"We'd better get on that," I say as we approach the counter.
I order one for myself as well as for Elaine. She watches the workers prepare the order with wide eyes and practically reaches over the counter to accept it. "Thank you!"
The salty scent of the pretzel attaches itself to the air. Butter seeps through the paper it's held in as I find my way to the seating area.
My eyes scan across the groups of people. Peter lowers himself next to me.
I tear off a piece of the food. "Do you want some?"
"Sure." He leans forward and takes it. "What are you looking at?"
A woman is standing in front of Atmosphere, rifling through her purse. Her blonde highlights are not too different from Carolyn's hair. The napkin crumples beneath my grip.
"Ah," Peter says and pauses. "You're still looking."
I nod weakly. Elaine paces around me, charged with energy, finishing her pretzel. She ushers me to my feet and ducks into the nearest clothing store.
She flits about, holding out shirts and coats for me to try. Peter carries them for me as we make our way through the selection.
"What colour do you want?" Elaine calls from across the display table. She holds out a powder blue jacket and places it on top of the pile with a nod. "Black is so typical. Do you really want that?"
"Yeah... I don't think I need to stand out."
Tossing another black jacket at me with a roll of her eyes, she says, "It's a small graduating class. You're going to stand out no matter what you do."
Peter nudges me with the clothes hangers. "She has a point."
"I'm always right," Elaine replies without missing a beat. To me, she says, "And you're going to leave, so who cares? Wear whatever you want."
I finish eating and toss the wad of paper into a trash can a few feet away. Elaine and Peter watch in rapt silence and (for my benefit, at least) they don't make fun of me when it misses and I have to pick it up.
"Okay," I say as I return to the store. "Let's try those jackets on."
I find a fitting room, cycling through the options. I have black dress pants from work, so I just need to convince Elaine that it's the best option.
Cracking open the door, I poke my head out. Elaine leans against the three-sided mirror, scuttling away to let me look.
From every direction, I'm staring at myself. None of the directions make it seem any more like me. "Jesus, I look like a vampire."
"You think?" Peter says from behind me.
Elaine giggles and motions for me to get back into the fitting room. "If you didn't say it, I was going to. Try on the blue!"
I open my mouth to protest, but she moves faster to shut the door. Giving in, I put on the light blue jacket. It hugs my shoulders and comes down past my waist in a slight v-shape. The silver buttons glint in the orange light.
"Ready," I grumble, exiting the fitting room.
Elaine gasps as I step out. "What did I tell you? That's the one!"
I catch Peter's smile in the mirror. He nods in agreement. "It suits you."
"Is that a pun?" Elaine glances back at him, stifling a snort. She spins me halfway around in front of the mirror so fast that I have to gain my bearings. "Nice. Now we need to find something that matches."
And she sets a course to locate a pair of pants in the same shade and a white undershirt. It takes another few stores before she finds it—and the hour is gone before I can take notice of it leaving me behind.
☆ ☽ ☆
When we arrive back at the hotel, I stick my suit on the door hangar. Elaine and Randall have a room on the second floor, but she comes to mine anyway, hangs off the bedside, with her head against the carpet. She's sipping orange juice through a straw, peering at me as she tries to stay balanced upside down.
"What are you doing?" I set my phone aside and ask.
"Drinking juice," she says, matter-of-factly. Placing the juice box on the floor, she kicks her legs over her head and somersaults backward into a sitting position. "Apparently, I can drink like this in any position. Neat, right?"
I smile. Elaine lays with her elbows against the carpet, facing the growing mountain of my laundry stacked onto a chair. "What's that shirt?" She points to the amusement park shirt, which sticks out from under a hoodie and a pair of jeans. "Where did you get that?"
"That's... that's Peter's shirt. I borrowed it," I say, shrugging.
"Oh." She pauses. "I didn't know. He's pretty cool."
"Yeah, he is."
She takes a sip of juice and flattens the box until it's empty. "Are you, like... going to prom with him?"
I slide off the bedside. Elaine joins me as we head downstairs to meet Randall at the restaurant for dinner. Once I'm in the safety of the elevator, I say, "I haven't asked him to come with me yet."
"What?" Elaine narrows her eyes at me. "You're so dumb."
"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me."
The door slides open, and I head to the restaurant. By now, I know where I'm going; I've been to Lotus frequently while I've stayed here, if only to give myself something to do. A server leads us to a booth in the corner, where Randall is perusing the menu options.
He sets it down next to his mug of coffee as Elaine settles into the space next to me. "Did you have a good time?"
"Can we stay for longer?" Elaine pleads, turning her wide eyes in his direction. "Staying in a hotel is fun."
I stifle my urge to point that it gets boring after a while. In front of me, I catch Randall's eyebrows furrow. He says, "Have you spoken to your mother?"
"She came to yell at me when I was at work. After that, not really. I don't want her to contact me anymore."
"She's still the same way she's always been," Randall replies, stirring a ramekin of milk into his drink. "Not much has changed, there. I told her that I have your number, in case she ever needs it. But I think she has too much pride to use it."
There's a pause. Elaine traces her fingernail against the edge of her menu.
Sensing the unease, Randall says, "Anyway, enough about that. What else have you been doing?"
"Not much." I shrug, like it doesn't really matter.
The server comes to the table to take our orders. Once he's gone, Elaine places her elbows against the table and tells me, "I'm taking piano lessons, now. I've been practicing with Tyler. The band is getting pretty good."
I nod weakly as she forges on, telling me what she's been doing at school. She's smiling, kicking me underneath the table when she reaches the most interesting part of her stories.
I smile back. This is all I have left, I tell myself. This must be what ephemera feels like.