// simplified //
For hours, I sat virtually motionless in front of the red tarlatan dress made for me via magic. Each thread seemed to contain a memory: this one when I met Eika, this one an argument between Jack and Kit. This thread played the scene of splashing water on the Prince's face. This one, Sirene. A smile tugged at my mouth.
After my conversation with Michelle three days previous, I had traded my time spent sleeping with thinking. And I continued to lie to myself. But things did improve some: I stopped skipping meals; I didn't work out until I collapsed; I spent a healthier amount of time awake.
However, some things remained at a standstill: I shut myself away in my room, and the number of get-togethers with my friends dwindled.
They had busied themselves with preparing for college. Donovan had taken extra shifts to make some more money. Evette trained harder, since she had to leave early for athlete orientation. And Mari, ever the social butterfly, devoted the remaining weeks of summer to her vast circle of friends.
Sighing, I fell spread-eagle on the ground. The ballet dress burned red with each blink, its image imprinted on my eyelids. The red morphed into yellow, to marigold, to butterscotch gold. Green leaves turned the expanse of color into pools of filtered light. Soon, Eternity stared back at me.
I groaned, sitting up. Whenever I allowed my mind to wander, it flitted to Eternity: the scents, the sights, the sounds, the citizens.
It had been almost two weeks since I'd taken Guide's bus from Eternity to Portland. With every passing day, it became a little easier to convince myself that the entire experience had been some elaborate dream sequence.
Serla's passionately red outfit and the black rose in my desk drawer were my only comforts that it wasn't the product of an overactive imagination. Sometimes, at 3:00 a.m., I would run my fingers along the souvenirs, pinching myself in painful assurance that I wasn't asleep.
During the day, I'd glance out the window or wander the streets, waiting for the sky to gray and burst with a deluge of rain. But it was August and eighty degrees.
Dance helped. Knowing Michelle knew at least the partial story lifted a weight from my shoulders. But she was right: the passion had left my limbs. My movements were flat, mechanic. I tried to turn my sadness and frustration into yearning reaches and mournful pirouettes. But the intention sputtered and died in my throat.
Michelle lingered but never outright approached me again. She said I should figure things out on my own, in my own time.
And time was running out.
There were seventeen days left until I had to leave for Puget Sound. Mom wouldn't let me forget all that was involved in agreeing to attend an out-of-state college: the planning, the packing, the utter uprooting of life as we knew it.
Mom hovered. She would follow me to my room after lunch to ask if I'd made any lists, gotten any emails, thought at all about how to pack.
It was a constant reminder that college was not my dream, my goal. And with each mention of the future, I felt my patience thin. I didn't want this future, the one that my parents had shoved on me. The one my mother now reminded me of with fervor.
The day my patience snapped, I cursed the lack of rain. I stomped outside, hat on my head, the brim low over my eyes. I pushed my fists as deep into my pockets as they would go. I scowled constantly.
As I wandered, surrounded by art and nature, I thought to my final year of high school. Everyone had asked what my future plans were, what I wanted to study in college.
A year ago, I craved the stage. I wanted to perform, sweaty beneath the stage lights, makeup and ensemble transforming everything into a fairy tale. I longed for the blisters and ice baths and overextended joints. I was addicted to headaches and foot pain.
A year later, as that future leered nearby, what did I want? What would make me happiest? I wanted the fire back. I wanted the music to capture me, to direct me like a puppet. I wanted to feel the dance again. To express sadness and desire and elation with the position of my fingertips and tiptoe balance.
There was one truth I allowed myself: I knew exactly how to get the fire back. I knew where I had to go, with whom I had to be. The truth was uncomfortable and guilt soured my stomach. I had found the music somewhere other than home.
I hated it. I hated the memory of his hands, of his tickling breath, of his depthless eyes. I hated the familiarity of the trail of jewels on his cheek, on his neck. I hated that, if I saw someone with their hands clasped behind their back, I would hold my breath and stare. I despised the disappointment that followed.
Everything I knew was here. I knew these sights: the sky, the rolling grasses, the cluttered trees. I knew these smells: the melding of industry and nature, oil and hyacinth. I knew these sounds: busking and traffic and the beeping of crosswalks. It was comfortable.
And yet, I pretended the sky was silver and gold, that it smelled like mud and cotton candy. And the crunch of car tires faded into the gentle whispering of a breeze.
I stalked home, nostrils flared and eyes glistening. In my room, I hurled my hat at the wall. I sank to the floor, salt water dripping off my nose.
However, the thing I hated most of all was myself. I hated myself for thinking this way, for never being satisfied. I hated the truth. Because I knew what I wanted — but I didn't deserve it.
.
Mom handed me the salad tongs without a single word. She barely made eye contact. She probably thought I'd break if she breathed wrong.
My eyes were puffy, my nose a Rudolf-wannabe. The glossy tint to my gaze and my gaunt expression gave the impression of illness and exhaustion.
Mom asked, "How was your day?"
Annalyse peered at me, and when I made no move to speak, she said, "It was good. I'm probably going to be really sore tomorrow though. I went up another five pounds in my weight training."
The sound of forks scraping plates filled the ensuing silence.
"I — I heard the ballet studio's going to host a party this weekend for all the kids heading off to college. It sounds fun. What do you think? Are you gonna go, Bell?" Mom set her fork down, an expectant look on her face.
And that was when it snapped. My patience split in two, a broken violin string.
"Belline," I growled through clenched teeth. I slammed my fork down. "My name . . . is Belline." I cast Mom a glare.
Her eyes widened as the room went very still. She regained her motherly authority, folding her hands in front of her. "Honey, I don't understand what's gotten into you. Ever since you came back from camp, you've complained about your nickname. The one we've always used." She arched a brow in challenge.
I took it.
"Because it's my name. Why bother naming me Belline if you're never going to call me that?"
I didn't realize I had been yelling until the deafening silence afterward made my ears ring.
Mom's lips pressed together tight enough to become a white line. "Don't raise your voice at me, young lady. I know you're going through something right now, but this is ridiculous. Getting so worked up over something like this. Just look at your sister. Her full name is Annalyse, but we call her Anna. We always have. There's nothing wrong with having nicknames, or even preferring them." She sent me a long look before she picked up her fork again.
I muttered, "It's my name."
"Belline Clarissa Paris, that is enough."
"See?" I flung my arms in the air. "How hard was that, huh? To use my full name?"
"To your room. Now."
"With. Pleasure." I tossed my fork, causing some of my salad to spill onto the table. I pushed away from the table with enough force to make everyone's drinks slosh. I marched upstairs.
Arguing with Mom certainly wasn't anything new. I had been sent to my room far more times than I cared to admit. But now that the pulsing anger had cooled in my veins, I had to agree: getting so upset over a nickname was ridiculous.
In some strange way, my full name felt like a link to Eternity, the last comfort I had. In Eternity, everyone had used my full name, preferred it. Despite my insistence that they call me "Bell," they continued to use "Belline." And I had gotten used to it. I wanted to hear it again.
In Eternity, my name felt sacred. In Eternity, my name sounded like poetry.
A quiet knock came at my door. I called, "Who is it?"
"Me. Annalyse."
"Come in." I sat up, legs crisscross. Hands fidgeting in my lap, I shot her a small smile.
She returned it as she closed the door behind her. She situated herself beside me, our knees touching. Her eyes fixed on the floor as she asked, "Is everything okay?"
"What do you think?"
"Yeah." She let a leg hang over the edge of the bed, swinging it. "You haven't been yourself since coming back from camp. I wanted to ask you about it a while ago, but it didn't seem like the right time. Now isn't the right time either. But I don't think there ever will be a good time.
"So. What's going on?"
After divulging half-truths to Michelle, half-truths that led to uncomfortable full ones, I let myself do the same thing again. I explained the injuries, the sight-seeing, the campers that had left early, and the other camp counselors that I had unexpectedly come to love.
When I stumbled onto the subject of Prince Rune, the words died in my throat. I coughed to clear it, to buy more time. But no words could describe him.
Annalyse studied me, her baby blues dancing. A smirk touched her mouth. "Did you meet someone at camp, Belline?" The eyebrow quirk confirmed the implication.
"Ugh." I fell back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. "It's complicated."
"Is it." She lay on her side, elbow propping her head up. "Let's see if we can simplify it. Tell me about 'im."
"He's — he's—"
She blinked expectantly at me.
"Tragic." I smiled in spite of myself. "He's tragic. He's sad poetry and last dances and forgotten dreams."
"God he sounds romantic," she deadpanned, casting me a lopsided grin.
"I dunno. When we first met, I despised him. He was aloof and strange, and I thought he was cruel. But—" I played with the hem of my shirt — "I realized he was just lonely. A victim of circumstance. And — something happened, I guess."
"Which was?"
I whispered, "Tingles."
Her brows furrowed. "Tingles?"
I nodded once. "I got tingles with him, Annalyse. You know how in movies and in those books, they talk about their toes curling and the fireworks going off in their chests? That's what happened." I rubbed my face. "And it's stupid. I mean, why him? He's not that cute. He's got serious baggage. I mean, I used to dislike him."
Annalyse snorted, and then it erupted into a full-bellied laugh. She rolled on my bed, holding her stomach. When the uncontrollable laughter stabilized, she said, "Oh my god, Belline, you're the biggest idiot I know!"
Frowning, I bolted upright and glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She sat up. "'It's complicated,'" she impersonated, making me sound nasally, "'why him?' God, what am I gonna do with you?"
I crossed my arms.
With a smile, she settled her hands on my shoulders. "Belline, there's nothing complicated about this."
I opened my mouth to tell her otherwise: he lived on another planet, beyond the Milky way; he was the heir to a despairing kingdom; I didn't deserve to have my wishes granted, after all the selfish decisions I'd made. Why would he want to be with someone who abandoned him because they couldn't handle their homesickness? But I snapped my mouth shut.
"You're making this way more complicated than it really is. You think you have to continue not liking him because you disliked him in the past. You think you can't like him because you shouldn't. 'He's not that cute. He's got baggage.' Babe, people change. Perceptions change. Feelings change. I can name at least ten people you couldn't stand but now really like."
"But—"
She shook her head, smiling. "If you describe him as sad poetry and lost dances and whatever else you said, I'd say you're pretty whipped for the guy."
Our eyes locked, and her expression dared me to retaliate, to protest. But I just sighed and glanced at my hands.
He was so much more than tragedy and last dances and forgotten dreams. He was a secret hero, helping us through the trials, saving a silly polaroid I'd stuck in my wallet. He was a romantic, bringing me to the most sacred spot in Eternity, sharing its beauty with me, an outsider. He fought for the throne in his own way. Yes, he stayed out of loneliness, but he was also devoted to the people of his home. He had a kindness that seeped from the stoicism etched into the mask he wore out of past pain.
"Maybe . . . maybe my feelings aren't the complicated part. But he lives — out of town. If I wanted to be with him, I'd — I'd have to leave." I looked at my beautiful baby sister with wide, misty eyes.
Annalyse pulled me into a hug, like she was the older sister. "Well, the thing is, the day will come when you leave anyway. Whether it's away for college or to accept a job with the New York City Ballet or to be with some dude you met at summer camp."
"I'll be leaving you behind though."
"It's about time we got out of each other's shadows." She nudged me with her shoulder.
My voice dropped to a whisper. "I'll be leaving everything behind."
"Listen. The future is scary. The unknown is terrifying. But I speak for everyone when I say I'd rather you be elsewhere and happy than stuck here and miserable. Don't stay here because you think you have to. You've always been meant for so much more than what this small Portland suburb can give. And, honestly, I'd ship you off to Mars without a second thought if it made you happy."
Tears escaped from the corners of my eyes. I hugged her again. "You're the best sister ever."
"I know."
I wiped my face. "Is it really okay to do this?"
She smiled. "I will personally see to it that you get kicked out of this house."
We laughed, leaned against each other. I said, "Okay. I'll do it. But here comes the truly terrifying part: telling Mom and Dad college isn't in the cards."
"Godspeed, friend."
We laughed again. When the silence settled, Annalyse asked carefully, "Hey, Belline? Are you in love with this guy?"
My face warmed, and I ran my fingers through my hair. "I think, in time, I will be."
Annalyse squealed and tackled me. When she looked at me again, her brows furrowed. "I'll get to meet this kid, right?"
"Absolutely."
As she opened the door to leave, I said, "Hey, you've been calling me Belline."
She shot me a small smile. "Of course. It's what you prefer."
Alone in my room, the tears cascaded freely. No matter where I went in life, I would miss my little sister like crazy.