Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: WE MEET, AGAIN
9/7/11

Callista applied another layer
Of pink, glossy lipstick to her pouted lips.

She gazed at her reflection in the mirror: the poofy red hair, knotted in to a ponytail; the sunburned, freckly face; the small green eyes, glittering like gay little emeralds. Yep: she could be a supermodel. She put down the applicator, and the tube of lipstick. She experimented with facial expressions – a few pouts, smirks, and coy looks. She tilted her head at various angles, testing the light, and the accuracy of her lipwork.

She could hear her mother running around the downstairs, no doubt picking up after Todd and Nadine.

The phone rang; she looked through her window, across to Zane's room, in the house next door. Picking it up, an impatient Zane said, “Jesus Cripes, Callie. Does it really take 20 minutes, and 12 poses to decide about how you're going to break it to old man Morrison that you're not going to read to him anymore?”

“Well, hell,” she said. “I had to look just right; you know, to see Billy, after.”

“Billy-bob-Bananapants. For serious? You're going to go out on a date with Bananapants?” Zane paused. She could pretty much smell the angst, over the phone line. He sniffed – a real manly, full-o-phlegm snort. “Aw, c'mon. Not Bana-naaaaaaaaah-pants. Man. You're ditching Morrison for Bananapants? What's wrong with youuu?”

She flipped the bird at his bedroom window. He put a mock-shocked hand to his lips. “Oh, baby,” he said. “You know just how to drive me WYYYYYYLD, doll...”

“And yet, you're taken. What a shame.” She flipped her hair, and faced the mirror again. All the talking had left a pool of gloss in the pits of her lips. “You're ruining my face. Whaddya want?”

“Well, now...” He chuckled. “I have a whole host of wants; I'll send you a list, sometime.”

“Stop with the playing,” she muttered, fingering glossy goop out of the corners of her lips. “Do you have an actual point to this call, or were you putting in another request to see my lacy undies?”

“I think Janet would object,” he said, sticking his tongue out, unseen.

“Damnit, Janet. Why, she's like a 3rd wheel in this romance, bro.” She looked back at Zane. “Brainy Zane. Are you trying to stall me from going on this date..?” She pranced to the window, mock stripping. “You're just jealous, admit it.”

“Yeah, so, Janet was a second choice. That doesn't mean that you can't show me a little boobage.”

“Are you going to logic it out of me, maybe with a sonnet?”

“How about a limerick? 'There once was a girl named Callista/Once she gets naked, Janet'll be ballist-a.'”

“Okay – you know what – that limerick suuucks.” She flipped him the bird, again. “I'm hanging up.”

“No – hey – wait!!” He slapped a hand on his window, mocking jail scenes. “Aw, c'mon. Come hang out with me, after you see Morrison; you know that that old coot just loves you.”

Hanging her jaw open, she mimed hanging up her phone. “You have 10 seconds, Brainy.”

“Um.. hey...”

“8 seconds --”

“-- Come over here. You know.. seriously.” Zane interrupted.

“Oh, right. What are you going to do? Make me watch Evil Dead, try to make a pass at me when things get quiet at home?”

“You know I never bother with anything any less graceful than a butt-squeeze when you get up for a drink. I'm just not subtle enough to do the 'arm over the shoulders' thing.”

The two stood at their windows, making goofy faces. Callista could hear her mother pounding up the stairs. Probably looking for an excuse to get her off of the phone. Either that, or looking for a way to explain all the love-letters scattered in the upstairs rec-room. “Well. This has been fun, as always. I'm going to Morrison's, then I'm seeing Billy --”

“-- BAR-NAR-NAR-PANTS!! --”

“-- And if you don't like it, come out here and fight for my honor like a good little knight.”

She hung up, and headed for the door. Zane mimed melting to the floor. He slapped a hand at the window again, from the floor. Callista headed out of her room, carrying the phone. She intercepted her mom, mid-hallway. “Here,” she said, thrusting the outdated cordless phone at her mother. “Um.. thanks,” her mother muttered, swiveling around to hit the rec-room.

Callista bounded down the stairs, humming the tune of some half-forgotten 90s tune. She whipped off her coat from the hanger, flicking her keyring in to the side pocket. She whipped her head back, pointing at the door. Stomping dramatically, she made her way to the door like some kind of screwball zombie. “Gnarrrr,” she growled, righting herself, as the door swung open. She stuck her tongue out at Zane's house, knowing full well his window was a side away. Shutting the door, she mosied her way down the street.

Helmut Morrison's house was about a block away; he was the resident veteran of the area. The dude was verging on 87, but he refused to commit himself to an old folks' home. The little booger was half-blind, deaf in one ear, but, to give the guy credit, he could still muscle a fridge around, if he felt like it. Even with his giant horn-rimmed glasses – more like goggles – he couldn't see the extra-big letters in books. That was why Callista's mom had decided to hire her out, every Wednesday, to read to him. He had plenty of books lying around; he subscribed to the NY Times, instead of collecting the local paper. He claimed their news was way more interesting, but, when she read them, they looked about as lame as the Fox News stuff her dad used to like.

As she neared his house – still perfectly maintained – she noted that his flowers were the only ones on the block with plant-tags. Little rock paths divided sections of arrangements. His gate was already open, so, she strolled in, securing the clasp behind her.

She wondered if he'd cry, when he got the news.