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Chapter 4- In The Stars

"Iris, what are you doing?" Helen demands, hands on her perfectly curved hips.

"I'm looking for a book," I say. I'm going to be nice to her. I'm so tired of fighting with Jake, so tired of letting a walking pin-up come between us.

"Oh," she says, voice softening. She walks over to the shelf squeezed by the bedside and under the window to lean down next to me. "For school?"

"Yeah."

"What are you looking for?"

"Bullfinch's Mythology."

The book is huge, but most of his are. If he likes an author he likes all their work. There's compilations of Dickens, Austen, Homer, Whitman, Plath/Sexton, and (of course) Shakespeare.

"Here it is," she says, pulling out the tome and handing it to me.

"Thanks," I say, making my way to the door, but she stops me, tugging me back with her shoulder and says, "Please ask before you go into our room."

I stare at her, feeling like she's issuing a challenge. I've lived here longer than she has; I have every right to go into my brother's room.

"All right," I agree as pleasantly as I can manage, "as long as you don't come into mine without asking as well."

"No," she disagrees, shaking her had, glossy, inky hair flying, "you don't get to make that choice. I'm the adult, you're the child."

This is intolerable.

"You're TWO YEARS older than me!"

She freezes, her hand slipping from my shoulder, limp and fast as quicksand.

"I…how-"

"You were jailbait before your birthday a month ago. You're BARELY an adult, so don't talk to me like that unless you can show me a license that says you're old enough to drink."

With that I leave, slam my door, lock it, and start working furiously on a project that's due in eight hours.

***

People really shouldn't procrastinate. It's bad for the body. But I kept finding other things to do. Studying for my lit test, Trig homework(I know, I surprised myself), window-shopping, matching peoples' coffee orders to their personalities, talking seamlessly with Ava as the hours darkened.
I come to class looking remarkably unattractive. I overslept, having no time to fix a) the dark circles under my eyes, b) my chapped lips, or c) my mussed "sex hair(so I might've secretly stolen one of Ava's magazines, but hey, she told me to).

It's a few minutes before the bell rings, but Pace is already there. He looks so assured I'd come bearing the project that I almost want to chuck my presentation-filled USB drive out the window.

I restrain myself, though, and instead sit by him.

"You look like shit," he says.

"You look bright and cheery. You must've had a terribly late rehearsal, you poor thing!"

"Oh, I had a late night all right. But it wasn't because of rehearsal, if you know what I mean."

I could make a face and tell him to spare me the details, but this is presumably the last day I have to deal with him, so I may as well have a little fun(Wait…did I just think "have a little fun"? Either too much Cosmo or too much caffeine or too little sleep).

"But you're so thin!" I exclaim with wide eyes.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asks, the space between his eyebrows scrunching. He is thin, actually. His elbows are pointy, and it looks as if he could wrap his thumb and forefinger over his wrist.

"It just must be terribly limiting, that's all. I mean, unless your girlfriend is Mary-Kate Olsen or Keira Knightly, she would never be able to be on top. She would crush you."

I push the note cards at him, too afraid to look at his expression. "Read those off for the presentation," I mumble.

With my downcast eyes I spot some peppermint chap-stick sticking out of his jean pocket. I reach over, take it out, and smooth it over my lips.

"Thanks for offering, I needed that," I squeak, scurrying to my front seat. God, what is wrong with me? It's like I'm drunk…except that I'm not.

***

This has actually been going really well. Pace has enough charm to smooth his way through the slides like he actually helped making them. No one's interested but the teacher, but that's typical. During every presentation, give or take half the class is texting under their desks.
"When Orion was banished for trying to steal the princess, Merope, Diana, goddess of the hunt, took him under her wing. Diana was actually about to marry him, but legend goes Apollo was jealous of this. One day when Orion was wading far out in the ocean, Apollo taunted Diana that she could not hit the black thing on the sea. Diana, never one to refuse a challenge, shot at him with her arrow. When the waves washed up his body and she realized what he had done, stricken with grief, she placed his body in the stars."

"And that," Pace finishes, "is the end of our presentation."

The class dully claps, but apparently Ms. Herbert isn't finished yet, so she clears her throat and says, "That was fascinating, but I have a quick question. Can you give me an example of how these myths relate to the world today?"

This wasn't in the prompt. Why does she have to be so INTERESTED?

"Um…well, Diana protected and loved Orion, even though he was mortal, which sort of fits with our culture's ideal of monogamous, loyal love that endures, where one sacrifices something for the other," I offer. This was always my favorite story. It reminds me of the James Dean quote: "Better to burn out than fade away." What better way to burn then exist in the stars?

"But," Pace puts in, "the hate-love relationship between Apollo and Diana was far more interesting. It was based on passion, egging each other on, not mere compatibility. That's what happens less often in real life and more often in movies, so people should grasp it when they can, which is sort of the message of all those movies."

"But Orion was actually honest about wanting to marry her. Apollo just played little head-games."

"Yeah, but he played head-games because he CARED."

"That doesn't make it right."

"Sure it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it d-"

"All right! Next presentation," Herbert calls out, clapping.

***

"So what, are you not talking to me now?" I ask my brother, who's driving me on his way to work. He looks like the quintessential journalist: thermos of coffee, messenger bag filled with pen. too bad we live in American Dream White Fence town, with only a few choice minor criminals. I hate to admit it, but the only thing that keeps Ashland alive is the toursits.

"No," he says curtly.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes."

I hate Jake when he's mad. He just goes silent, moves around you, and looks through you to the point of causing identity crisis. My parents would just yell and then start focusing on the next thing, like I was little more than a blip on the radar. Somehow it didn't make as much of an impact on me.

"May I ask why?"

"Helen said you told her some pretty unkind things."

"Yeah, well, that goes both ways."

He shakes hid head, lips a white line. I find it funny that he handles the traffic so calmly, changing lanes seamlessly, but can't seem to handle me.

"Have a good day," he offers. For some reason he always says that, even though I've never reported one. The line between hopefulness and naivitee is a thin one. I think he's crossed it.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me? " I ask, hopeful myself, but for a different reason. I printed the slides of the presentation out and put them on the fridge. Jake's always had a soft spot for the Greek myths. He says I have "Paris lips".

"What? Sorry, didn't catch that."

"It was nothing. Bye."

***

No one's in the bathroom at the McDonald's across from school. I examine myself in the mirror, trying to see what changed to make my own brother look at me like he doesn't know me anymore.

A few years ago I didn't wear eyeliner. I guess it makes me look hard, but…I like it. I feel untouchable, like it's a shield for my eyes. My hair is dyed. Flowers have been drawn on my arm by Ava with a pen that hasn't come off for three days.

I think I know what it is: none of these changes have anything to do with him. None of them had his permission.

***
"Natalie!" I wave at her emphatically and come over to her locker. "Hey, I was wondering what the homework for Social Studies was."

"Hmmm?" she asks, not bothering to turn around.

"Hellooo? It's Iris?"

"Why is the pothead talking to you?" asks Adam, the boyfriend she's cried over many times at our various parties, asks, wrapping his hands around her waist.

"No idea."

Wow. I didn't know out-of-school friends were THIS exclusive.

"Thanks. I'm glad you don't think don't think he's cheating on you anymore!" I childishly exclaim, raising my voice just enough so that the 200s lockers can hear.

Natalie murders me with her eyes over Adam's shoulder, a stare that lets me know she's not coming to any more sleepovers. I don't really care if she thinks I betrayed her trust or whatever, because she betrayed mine first. I don't really care at all at this point.

***

"1.50," the girl at the student store says cheerfully. Their cappucinos taste like Nestle on crack with barely any foam, but I'm so desparate for caffeine right now I don't care.

I cradle the coffee in my hands once I've paid- it's warm and inviting and overly sweet-

"Oops!" Natalie squeaks, putting a hand over her mouth. All of the sweetness overflows onto my jeans and shoes. I only got one sip.

***

When your day sucks, your locker refuses to open to. Honestly, it's like a scientific law or something. Most likely your brain short-circuits from the abuse you have to endure, especially when it's only 9 o'clock and not over yet. It refuses to tell you how many times you have to turn each number. Or maybe subconsciously, you just don't want to remember, because another minute at the locker is another minute you're not in class, having to deal with Pace.

"Need some help?" Pace conveniently asks.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Tell me your locker number. I'm good with locks."

"No. And I'll make sure to put an iron gate over my back door now. Thanks for the comfort."

I fall backwards, crashing into him, because I'm not actually expecting my fifth try to work and I pulled really hard, but of course this is the opportunity I've been waiting for. No, the opportunity my locker's been waiting for. I have no idea why I thought that.

"You can let go of me now," I tell him.

"No, this is just awkward enough that I think I'm going to savor it for a while."

I push on his arms and snap, "You know, today has not been a good day so far, and I am really not in the mood for you. So please just LET GO."

"You know, I was actually coming to your locker to be nice, but if you're going to be like this I won't bother." He carries me to my locker, grabs my astronomy textbook, and continues to carry me down the stairs till he drops me at the thershold of the door to room A221.

"Where was the niceness in any of this? I think I missed it."

'I just wanted to say…thank you."

"What?"

"I mean, you didn't have-"

"Yeah I did.'

"No, you didn't. And you did a great job, and I'm…grateful. That's all."

"You're welcome."

His kindness makes a lump grow in my throat. In a world of false friends and family, it's nice to know people still have the ability to give a simple thank you. He opens the door for me chivalrously, and I feel my day get a whole lot better.

Description
Chapter 4- In The Stars

"Iris, what are you doing?" Helen demands, hands on her perfectly curved hips.

"I'm looking for a book," I say. I'm going to be nice to her. I'm so tired of fighting with Jake, so tired of letting a walking pin-up come between us.

"Oh," she says, voice softening. She walks over to the shelf squeezed by the bedside and under the window to lean down next to me. "For school?"

"Yeah."

"What are you looking for?"

"Bullfinch's Mythology."

The book is huge, but most of his are. If he likes an author he likes all their work. There's compilations of Dickens, Austen, Homer, Whitman, Plath/Sexton, and (of course) Shakespeare.

"Here it is," she says, pulling out the tome and handing it to me.

"Thanks," I say, making my way to the door, but she stops me, tugging me back with her shoulder and says, "Please ask before you go into our room."

I stare at her, feeling like she's issuing a challenge. I've lived here longer than she has; I have every right to go into my brother's room.

"All right," I agree as pleasantly as I can manage, "as long as you don't come into mine without asking as well."

"No," she disagrees, shaking her had, glossy, inky hair flying, "you don't get to make that choice. I'm the adult, you're the child."

This is intolerable.

"You're TWO YEARS older than me!"

She freezes, her hand slipping from my shoulder, limp and fast as quicksand.

"I…how-"

"You were jailbait before your birthday a month ago. You're BARELY an adult, so don't talk to me like that unless you can show me a license that says you're old enough to drink."

With that I leave, slam my door, lock it, and start working furiously on a project that's due in eight hours.

***

People really shouldn't procrastinate. It's bad for the body. But I kept finding other things to do. Studying for my lit test, Trig homework(I know, I surprised myself), window-shopping, matching peoples' coffee orders to their personalities, talking seamlessly with Ava as the hours darkened.
I come to class looking remarkably unattractive. I overslept, having no time to fix a) the dark circles under my eyes, b) my chapped lips, or c) my mussed "sex hair(so I might've secretly stolen one of Ava's magazines, but hey, she told me to).

It's a few minutes before the bell rings, but Pace is already there. He looks so assured I'd come bearing the project that I almost want to chuck my presentation-filled USB drive out the window.

I restrain myself, though, and instead sit by him.

"You look like shit," he says.

"You look bright and cheery. You must've had a terribly late rehearsal, you poor thing!"

"Oh, I had a late night all right. But it wasn't because of rehearsal, if you know what I mean."

I could make a face and tell him to spare me the details, but this is presumably the last day I have to deal with him, so I may as well have a little fun(Wait…did I just think "have a little fun"? Either too much Cosmo or too much caffeine or too little sleep).

"But you're so thin!" I exclaim with wide eyes.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asks, the space between his eyebrows scrunching. He is thin, actually. His elbows are pointy, and it looks as if he could wrap his thumb and forefinger over his wrist.

"It just must be terribly limiting, that's all. I mean, unless your girlfriend is Mary-Kate Olsen or Keira Knightly, she would never be able to be on top. She would crush you."

I push the note cards at him, too afraid to look at his expression. "Read those off for the presentation," I mumble.

With my downcast eyes I spot some peppermint chap-stick sticking out of his jean pocket. I reach over, take it out, and smooth it over my lips.

"Thanks for offering, I needed that," I squeak, scurrying to my front seat. God, what is wrong with me? It's like I'm drunk…except that I'm not.

***

This has actually been going really well. Pace has enough charm to smooth his way through the slides like he actually helped making them. No one's interested but the teacher, but that's typical. During every presentation, give or take half the class is texting under their desks.
"When Orion was banished for trying to steal the princess, Merope, Diana, goddess of the hunt, took him under her wing. Diana was actually about to marry him, but legend goes Apollo was jealous of this. One day when Orion was wading far out in the ocean, Apollo taunted Diana that she could not hit the black thing on the sea. Diana, never one to refuse a challenge, shot at him with her arrow. When the waves washed up his body and she realized what he had done, stricken with grief, she placed his body in the stars."

"And that," Pace finishes, "is the end of our presentation."

The class dully claps, but apparently Ms. Herbert isn't finished yet, so she clears her throat and says, "That was fascinating, but I have a quick question. Can you give me an example of how these myths relate to the world today?"

This wasn't in the prompt. Why does she have to be so INTERESTED?

"Um…well, Diana protected and loved Orion, even though he was mortal, which sort of fits with our culture's ideal of monogamous, loyal love that endures, where one sacrifices something for the other," I offer. This was always my favorite story. It reminds me of the James Dean quote: "Better to burn out than fade away." What better way to burn then exist in the stars?

"But," Pace puts in, "the hate-love relationship between Apollo and Diana was far more interesting. It was based on passion, egging each other on, not mere compatibility. That's what happens less often in real life and more often in movies, so people should grasp it when they can, which is sort of the message of all those movies."

"But Orion was actually honest about wanting to marry her. Apollo just played little head-games."

"Yeah, but he played head-games because he CARED."

"That doesn't make it right."

"Sure it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it d-"

"All right! Next presentation," Herbert calls out, clapping.

***

"So what, are you not talking to me now?" I ask my brother, who's driving me on his way to work. He looks like the quintessential journalist: thermos of coffee, messenger bag filled with pen. too bad we live in American Dream White Fence town, with only a few choice minor criminals. I hate to admit it, but the only thing that keeps Ashland alive is the toursits.

"No," he says curtly.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Yes."

I hate Jake when he's mad. He just goes silent, moves around you, and looks through you to the point of causing identity crisis. My parents would just yell and then start focusing on the next thing, like I was little more than a blip on the radar. Somehow it didn't make as much of an impact on me.

"May I ask why?"

"Helen said you told her some pretty unkind things."

"Yeah, well, that goes both ways."

He shakes hid head, lips a white line. I find it funny that he handles the traffic so calmly, changing lanes seamlessly, but can't seem to handle me.

"Have a good day," he offers. For some reason he always says that, even though I've never reported one. The line between hopefulness and naivitee is a thin one. I think he's crossed it.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me? " I ask, hopeful myself, but for a different reason. I printed the slides of the presentation out and put them on the fridge. Jake's always had a soft spot for the Greek myths. He says I have "Paris lips".

"What? Sorry, didn't catch that."

"It was nothing. Bye."

***

No one's in the bathroom at the McDonald's across from school. I examine myself in the mirror, trying to see what changed to make my own brother look at me like he doesn't know me anymore.

A few years ago I didn't wear eyeliner. I guess it makes me look hard, but…I like it. I feel untouchable, like it's a shield for my eyes. My hair is dyed. Flowers have been drawn on my arm by Ava with a pen that hasn't come off for three days.

I think I know what it is: none of these changes have anything to do with him. None of them had his permission.

***
"Natalie!" I wave at her emphatically and come over to her locker. "Hey, I was wondering what the homework for Social Studies was."

"Hmmm?" she asks, not bothering to turn around.

"Hellooo? It's Iris?"

"Why is the pothead talking to you?" asks Adam, the boyfriend she's cried over many times at our various parties, asks, wrapping his hands around her waist.

"No idea."

Wow. I didn't know out-of-school friends were THIS exclusive.

"Thanks. I'm glad you don't think don't think he's cheating on you anymore!" I childishly exclaim, raising my voice just enough so that the 200s lockers can hear.

Natalie murders me with her eyes over Adam's shoulder, a stare that lets me know she's not coming to any more sleepovers. I don't really care if she thinks I betrayed her trust or whatever, because she betrayed mine first. I don't really care at all at this point.

***

"1.50," the girl at the student store says cheerfully. Their cappucinos taste like Nestle on crack with barely any foam, but I'm so desparate for caffeine right now I don't care.

I cradle the coffee in my hands once I've paid- it's warm and inviting and overly sweet-

"Oops!" Natalie squeaks, putting a hand over her mouth. All of the sweetness overflows onto my jeans and shoes. I only got one sip.

***

When your day sucks, your locker refuses to open to. Honestly, it's like a scientific law or something. Most likely your brain short-circuits from the abuse you have to endure, especially when it's only 9 o'clock and not over yet. It refuses to tell you how many times you have to turn each number. Or maybe subconsciously, you just don't want to remember, because another minute at the locker is another minute you're not in class, having to deal with Pace.

"Need some help?" Pace conveniently asks.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Tell me your locker number. I'm good with locks."

"No. And I'll make sure to put an iron gate over my back door now. Thanks for the comfort."

I fall backwards, crashing into him, because I'm not actually expecting my fifth try to work and I pulled really hard, but of course this is the opportunity I've been waiting for. No, the opportunity my locker's been waiting for. I have no idea why I thought that.

"You can let go of me now," I tell him.

"No, this is just awkward enough that I think I'm going to savor it for a while."

I push on his arms and snap, "You know, today has not been a good day so far, and I am really not in the mood for you. So please just LET GO."

"You know, I was actually coming to your locker to be nice, but if you're going to be like this I won't bother." He carries me to my locker, grabs my astronomy textbook, and continues to carry me down the stairs till he drops me at the thershold of the door to room A221.

"Where was the niceness in any of this? I think I missed it."

'I just wanted to say…thank you."

"What?"

"I mean, you didn't have-"

"Yeah I did.'

"No, you didn't. And you did a great job, and I'm…grateful. That's all."

"You're welcome."

His kindness makes a lump grow in my throat. In a world of false friends and family, it's nice to know people still have the ability to give a simple thank you. He opens the door for me chivalrously, and I feel my day get a whole lot better.