Ariel

I love you. I imagine saying that to her, in front of her, softly, looking at the way her hair floats onto her face, so gracefully. I imagine her looking at me. I imagine the fear mingled with quiet passion in my voice. Then I imagine her hands touch my chin and bring our head so close I can feel her breath on mine. I don’t want it to be me because then I would feel too much like I was forcing her. I imagine her kissing me, softly, wonderfully. I imagine all the emotions of the moment. I imagine her lips on mine and our closed eyes and her lovely aura.
And I feel so damn guilty imagining this. As if it’s all wrong – she doesn’t love me that way and she never will, and I don’t know what to do about it. But then a part of me deep down inside wishes she would love me that way, someday. A part of me wishes she already does.
But I am here, and she is there.

I’m funked out. That brings me to where I am right now, lying here at this crap party in the bathroom, looking at my velvety suede shoes.
I’m all alone. That’s the first thing I don’t like. It seems no one even likes me here. I dress up all fine and pretty just to impress people. I’m trying to change my wardrobe. I try to act suave and friendly at the same time. I talk a lot. I’m not as shy as I could be.
But still no one likes me.
Or maybe they do, but they sure haven’t shown much of that yet.

The door slams open. I’m startled. I thought I’d locked it. Perhaps the lock doesn’t work. A drunk girl staggers in, vomits all over and inside the toilet, making me jump away in disgust, fear and alarm; and then, after a moment, she looks at me and says, “Oooh, sorry, didn’t know you were in here.”
But I’m already gone. I’m running down the varying hallways of the Palace, and then I’m out and the night time air breathes a cool scent down on my face. My hair flutters in the slight breeze. Somewhere the sounds of the night arouse me. The music from the party becomes distant. I look at my immaculate self and my cheeto-stained hands. I brush cheeto dust off, and sigh.
I run towards Fontana. The boarding school. Suddenly memories start to swirl in my mind. The sea breeze combined with a faraway scent of longing and mysticism and the lost landscape make my head feel like a maze full of complicated thoughts, thoughts I don’t want to think about.

“.... Miranda was a hippie, a queen among gypsies... she encountered a lot of opposition in setting up a school, but eventually she managed to. Fontana grew from a small gypsy school to an immense, highly idolized and revered palace, otherwise known as a boarding school. The reason for its reverence was probably that it was free and offered the best quality education and equipment. Combating nasty stories about Miranda getting the money illegally, it was found that Miranda Stellar was the heiress of the wondrous and unimaginably immense Caventri fortune. To this day the school thrives on the fortune, able to accommodate the students in the best of affluence and up-to-date technological and scientific advancements. Miranda is the happy principal. Of the school and the fortune, she says, ‘What was I going to do with the money anyway? This way so many people benefit from it.’” – The New York Times, 07/09/04

I’m not really Ariel Skywalker. I mean, sure, it says that on my birth certificate. And most people know me as Ariel.... in the real world. But in cyberspace, I’ve taken on an entirely different character. I’m Valley. X, if you want a last name. And I feel as if I’m much more of Valley, rather than Ariel. I’m published under the name of Valley. Valley’s become not just my pseudonym or a safety precaution – it’s swallowed me whole. She’s a different person in some ways.
While Ariel likes to write primarily, Valley likes to surf the internet and update Desdemona, the magazine she’s trying to make (well, she doesn’t like it – she has to. She gets frustrated trying. She likes it too, though.) Valley joins all sorts of websites and gets her work publishes and has her own website. Valley’s really the one who chats, only sometimes revealing Ariel when she’s talking to her closest friends.
Ariel seems to have morphed into Valley.

Fontana looms ahead of me. Behind me is the Palace, as everyone calls it. Or, in other words, the Scheffer Mansion. I don’t know how I got convinced to go to Renee Scheffer’s party. I don’t know why Renee has attached onto me. Even she – she doesn’t know me. She’s mean to people, and she’s a snob. I don’t know why she seems to like me. She seems to want to make me part of the Valentines, her own little clique. The clique that is so-called popular.
But I don’t want to be Renee’s friend, necessarily. I want to find someone who will know me.... who can read my soul.
Now that I think about it, I don’t think any of the teachers at Fontana would be happy to know about Renee’s party. The school isn’t very strict, and that’s probably why parties like this happen.

Everyone’s back in India. My mother, father, Nayaa, my other friends..... all the people I’m attached to. But I moved here. I wanted to. So why do I feel so lost and alone?
I was terrified at first, you know. Terrified and pleased. It was like: my parents were so nervous. Sending me off on that plane, I felt a sense of foreboding. Did I really want independence?
They gave me my own mobile phone. They called me 7000 times in the beginning. Now we use email, though.
At first we came here before and oversaw the place. Then a month later, I left.
And my objective was probably to start a new life. But I’m too tied to my old life to do that. I miss things.

When I race through the swivelling doors, nobody tries to stop me and question me. There’s nobody around. Security is somewhere else. The hallways are empty. Everything looks so mechanical and modern. It frightens me, as if technology is taking over everything. As if everyone’s a zombie here. But then I reach my suite. The 303 gleams bright silver on the polished mahogany door. It seems unreal. I push the door open. Miles of posh Persian carpet. I collapse against the door, clutching my knees to myself. I slowly take off my heels. I don’t know how I could run in them. Was I so desperate?
I close my eyes and relive.

Amir is tracing my name on my stomach. My shirt is pushed up and I’m sprawled out with my legs up and crossed on the bed. He’s beside me. I feel contented. My stomach is flat; my boyfriend is beside me; he loves me; I love him. I’m relaxed, which is so hard for me. I’m alone at home. Ma and Bapu won’t be back for some time. I’m so glad they trusted me enough to leave me here with Amir.
I love the way he looks. His dark hair falls into his eyes, which have a sense of grey in them, adding mystery. He’s immensely good looking, but he also looks intriguing. As if there’s something beyond the obvious. I roll over on my stomach and kiss him. His lips feel so good on mine. We don’t have to say anything. Everything’s about feel in this moment, and sense.

I’m crying. Useless trains of lost antiquity.
I look around. It takes a moment to register. The lounge is like some vintage yet completely new and posh place, something you’d see in Elle or Vogue or someplace like that. Big embroidered silk covered sofas and footstools and a huge screen TV and huge heavy satin curtains with sashes. Purple and mauve scheme. Glass bookshelves.
I get up and go to my room, slowly, holding my heels. I feel like a child lost in a jungle but she’s not afraid: she’s just curious. Only I’m not really curious.
My room seems oddly comforting. It’s posh too, of course, but it’s also camouflaged. The graffiti wallpaper makes it seem realer. The posters of Nelly Furtado, Avril Lavigne, Evanescence; my collages, calendars, paintings and photographs; my lovely laptop on the desk with the speaker system and printer/scanner/copier. My bulletin board with all my friends’ pictures on it and my noting calendar and assignments and whatever. The foot shaped rug with nail polish. My collection of shoes looming out from under the window-seat in the transparent cabinets. The macramé holders with my hair accessory pots held in them. The dressing table all cluttered with my stuff. The wardrobe door opened and my robe dropping a little on the floor. The Indian pillow cases on the cushions all over the window seat. The bead curtain in the doorway.
It’s all me. And that comforts me.

Right now I don’t feel like doing anything. I’m at a loss. Library books lie on the bed headstand. The whole desk is messy. I have loads of work to do on the computer. People to chat with. Internet searching to do. But I don’t care. I decided I wouldn’t let the internet take over my life.... but probably it would, anyway. I really can’t survive well without the internet, which is..... bad.
I go into the adjoining bathroom. I and Satine share it. Satine is one of my suite compadres. Her room is next to mine, so that’s why we share the same bathroom.
I’ve only been here two weeks, I think, as I wash my hands and scrutinise my face in the mirror. My hair is slightly messy. I decide I’m too tired to brush it.

Soon I am in bed, in my soft-soft furry socks, my Valentine pyjamas and Missy Elliott T-shirt. I don’t even like Missy Elliott much, but the T-shirt is comfy and loose, so it’s good to wear to bed.
But I’m not doing anything. Well, I’m slowly sipping a glass of hot apple cider. But that’s it. I’m thinking about everything – past and present and future, and it’s all confused.
Then I start thinking about Satine.
I can’t get used to her. This is all surreal, but she’s the most surreal part.
Where to begin? Satine is The Satine LaMarr.... no, wait. She’s a famous pop singer. She belongs to Paraphernalia, the coolest group you’ll ever encounter. I love their songs. I have all their songs, and I used to be a Paraphernalia fanatic... I still am. Except that right now one of the singers is living with me.
That’s what is surreal. How could I ever actually be living with a popstar? It seems so weird, and so... amazing. I freaked out when I first found out, but even now it’s hard to be normal around Satine. I idolised her..... but in reality she’s like you and me. I mean, I knew it’s like that. I knew she wasn’t some supernatural being. But it was hard to picture before this. Now, seeing her in her bra and pyjamas, seeing her hair all messy instead of that glossy perfection on TV, seeing the real her, talking to her.... it makes it so much more different. It’s too different.
Satine is beautiful, though – with or without a makeover. On TV her hair and eyes changed colours like clothes. One day she would have blonde straight long hair and bangs and blue eyes, the next black curly hair and brown eyes. Nobody really knew what Satine LaMarr looked like.... or what her confidante and compadre, Farah Moristesi, looked like. But.... Farah died. Five months ago. A lunatic killed her.
But I don’t know how to identify. I was shocked like all their fans were. But I would never really know how close Farah and Satine had been. I couldn’t picture Satine’s grief. I couldn’t share it. I tried to identify. But it seemed impossible.... and that made me sad.... for Satine.
I know what the real Satine looks like. She has pale, pale skin; no blemishes, spots or freckles; red, red lips, even without lipstick; long black hair; and dark sea green eyes that have an aura of mystery about them. She’s slender and tall, like me, and she only wears black clothes now.

I suddenly get up. I go into the lounge. The evening twilight has disappeared and has been replaced by pitch darkness. There is no moon tonight. Nobody’s home yet, even though it’s midnight. Not even Serena. I think of where she might be. Could she be on a date with some mystery man at a posh restaurant? Writing on the peak of the highest hill in the dim light of her laptop?
Serena is the teacher who stays with us. All together, we are: me, Satine, Serena, Kabir, Val and Clem.
Serena is new at Fontana, like me. She’s not very old either: only twenty two. She just finished college and is teaching creative writing at the school for an experimenting year or two. Maybe more. She doesn’t know.
I think we are probably The Beautiful People. I’m not being vain, but everyone in our suite is surrealistically beautiful. Even I have artistic contours, and I don’t really look like a real person. I look more like a touched up photograph. I wonder if it is a coincidence that all the beautiful people were put together.
Serena is more beautiful in a simplistic way, though, with her black curly hair and chocolate skin. She doesn’t exactly look exotic. Satine’s the one who looks exotic.
Kabir is the mysteriously beautiful one. He has black hair, but it has this hint of indigo in it. Not because it’s dyed, though. He has clear-cut lips and an extremely artistic profile. Actually, he’s immensely handsome. He usually wears T-shirts with cryptic and interesting messages and dark coloured pants. He always wears a chain around his neck with a small box-shaped locket. I wonder what is inside it. But I haven’t asked. I’m not the sort of person who asks. And Kabir is inspirational, but he also inspires awe and..... nervousness. He’s too perfect-looking..... he’s nineteen, he acts mature and he’s beautiful..... that makes for one seductive person.
Valentine and Clementine (Val and Clem) are stepbrother and stepsister, but they are in love with each other. It doesn’t matter since their parents got married only last year, and.... well.... they’re not related at all.... themselves. Clem is the fiery-beautiful one. Her hair is red and wavy, and she’s got the most charismatic emerald eyes.
Val is just the opposite. He’s beautiful like the water. He has normal brown hair and eyes, but somehow they’re not at all normal. They have a soothing and yet dangerous characteristic. That’s the way the water is.... it seems so peaceful. And yet it raises tsunamis, floods and destruction. Not that Val is destructive. It’s just that he isn’t all only laidback and good......

The door slams. I turn.
“Ariel!” Satine exclaims. “I didn’t know you were here.” She switches on the light. My eyes blink. She blinks too. She takes in my appearance; I take in hers. She’s dressed in a baggy sweater, a miniskirt, nylons and high-tops. She looks morose – but then that’s Satine. She always looks morose.... I guess I understand why.
“Gosh, it’s late.” Her eyes have switched to the clock; perhaps to avert my penetrating gaze.
“Where were you?” I ask, naturally. But her brows furrow, as if she’s about to say, “What’s it your business of?”
But she doesn’t say that. Instead she says, “I.... went down to the sea.”
“I was just about to go to sleep,” I say, for lack of anything else.
“Hmm... yeah. I might, too.” She says. “Is anyone else here?”
Her eyes look for an escape route.
“Why are you so afraid?” I’m surprised at the words that came out of my mouth. I close my mouth abruptly, turn and go into my room, sinking down against the door. Why do I always act so weird – why do I always say what’s on my mind?

Satine
I keep staring after Ariel. I’m not really aware of the imaginary part of my mind, the part that’s wandering around. I feel Farah come up behind me. She slips her arms around my waist. I close my eyes. Then I open them again. My heart is beating fast. She feels my heart and says, “Why are you so afraidh?” She kisses my neck and then we’re kissing, and it’s oh-so-amorously wonderful. Then I blink. And suddenly Farah’s not there anymore. Instead tears are running down my face. But I’m still in a position as if I’m kissing her. I shake myself and flop down on the sofa, and cuddle up. In my head the music video we were shooting comes up.
“I don’t wanna be the soul who calls you home
I don’t wanna be someone you never knew
I don’t wanna be the cliché, the old faux pas
I don’t wanna be the simple old your aura
I wanna be you, I wanna be me, I wanna be we –“ And then Farah collapses. I keep reliving that moment. Over and over again. Again and again she collapses. In that split second when the music had grown so loud there was a loud noise – something like GANNNNNNNHHHHGGGG.....
And when I rushed over to her she was in a pool of blood, and she was dead.

“What’s the matter?! Satine, what’s the matter?” Ariel’s shaking me frantically. I suddenly realise I’m screaming. I abruptly stop. I didn’t realise that actually happened. I thought it was another mind process. This makes me afraid. I’m staring at her wide-eyed, breathing harshly. Her grip on my arms is tight.
She gradually relaxes. She steps away. She gets the phone and starts dialling. I want to stop her, but at the same time I don’t want her to stop me. Eventually a strangled cry escapes me. But she’s already talking. Something. Intangible. I. Don’t. Care. What. It. Is.
I feel like I’m drunk. I’m lying on the sofa and my shoes are still on. My fists are clenched tightly. I slowly unclench them. A huge comforting silence falls over me.
I’m not really aware of what happens after this. I keep hearing people talk, but I’m in another world.
“What happened, Ariel?” Kabir asks tensely. Serena is kneeling over me, peering at me. She seems blurry. I close my eyes. It feels better that way.
“I don’t know. She suddenly started screaming. When I came here she was still screaming, and s-she suddenly stopped. She – she seemed hysterical.” Ariel’s voice sounds scared, shrill, vulnerable.
“I think she should be taken to the hospital wing. She seems to be in a queer state. Were any of you with her before this happened?”
Clem’s voice sounds, small and weak. “I saw her head down to the beach before I went to the party.”
“I didn’t see her since lunch,” Val says. He sounds afraid too, and the fear has made his voice seem gruff.
“I just saw her when she came in. She seemed alright. But then –“ Ariel sounds worried. “I – I – I don’t know, it just came out –“
“What did you say?” Serena asks sharply.
“I – I asked her why she was so afraid.” Ariel’s voice was small and cowered. “I – I mean, I didn’t mean to. I quickly walked away – because it seemed so impromptu, so – surreal.”
“That’s alright, Ariel.” Serena says, kindly.
“I’ll take her to the hospital wing,” Kabir offers. He slips his arms under me and lifts me up.

And the next thing it’s morning, and the sunlight is hurting my poor eyes. They seem bleary. They hurt. They feel worn out. I close them again, but the sunlight is orange in my head. It is cutting. Finally I open my eyes again, but I can hardly see because the sunlight comes directly into my eyes. I sit up. It seems like an endless chore to pull the blinds down, but I do it. I don’t know why I feel so tired. The shade is welcoming.
I look ahead of me. Farah is sitting there on the bed, playing absently with a lock of her blonde curls. “Hey, good morning, sleepyhead,” She says.
I smile at her. “Good morning.”
“Hey, come on, we gotta finish the shoot.” She says. “Benny and Rachel have been waiting for ages.”
“Really? I thought we finished it yesterday....” My head feels woozier.
Farah looks at me strangely. “What do you mean? You were the one who decided to call it a night right in the middle of the third verse.”
“Oh, right.” I say. It takes an effort to move my knees. Just as I start to get out of bed, someone asks, “Who are you talking to, Satine?”
This startles the hell out of me. I blink, and Farah is not there. I feel scared. My breathing and heart rate increase. I can’t rationalise this. “Where is she?” I demand, shakily. “Where did you put her?”
“I can’t ‘put’ a person anywhere, Satine.” Caren walks over to me and sits down on my bed, taking my hand, patting it. She crosses one elegant nylon-covered leg over the other, smoothing out her creaseless silk skirt. She looks so immaculate. She reminds me of our silky-sweet manager, except that Caren, unlike Dora, is nice. Caren understands. Caren has penetrating eyes, not cold, hard ones.
“You don’t like the sun coming in, do you?” She asks, lightly, glancing at the blinds.
“It was coming in my eyes.” I say. Then I break down. “Oh. Caren. I didn’t have another episode, did I?”
I collapse against my pillows. I try not to think about the dreams I had all night long. They were all full of Farah. It all seemed so real, and that’s what hurts the most. Reality proving to be an illusion.
Caren looks at me. There is no pity, remorse or sadness in her eyes. Just an odd sort of contemplation. She brushes her red hair out of her eyes and then looks back at me.
“You did,” She finally says. “But, Satine, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, or that you’re..... not trying. You are. I know you are.”
“I’m not trying,” I say, looking at the blinds over the windows. “I’m not trying, Caren. Why should I try? Did I do something wrong? Did I ask for myself to be torn apart in a million pieces?”
Caren shakes her head simply. “You didn’t. But now that this is here, don’t you want to deal with it?”
“Deal with Farah dying? Deal with my schizophrenic mind?” I shake my head. “I never even knew I had schizophrenia before. Why do you all have to come and diagnose me. Until you diagnosed me and put me on all these useless pills –“ I wave my hands about. “I was fine until then. But Farah died. And you’re trying to just mess me up even more.”
“I’m trying to help you,” Caren says. “But for that you have to want to help yourself.”
I stare at her. She stares back. Then she says, softly, “I know this is not easy for you. But I also know you don’t want to give up. No matter what you say or do, I can see the resistance fighting in you. You want to live your life the way you want, and you don’t want this to control it. You want to move on. But it’s hard. I know it’s hard. I can see what you’re feeling. But you’ve got to try.”
I shake my head and look at my hands. The nurse enters and tells me I can go if I want to now. I get out of bed and walk past Caren. But at the doorway I stop. I look back at her. Our eyes make a connection. Then I run.......

Smack into Kabir.
He catches me and holds my hands, saying, “Hey! Where are you going?”
I’m startled. I blink. “Oh.” I say. I swallow. I detach myself from him and look up at him. “I was just going to – the suite.”
“How are you?” He asks intently. It doesn’t seem to fit, but I know why he’s asking.
“I’m fine,” I say, just like anyone would.
I expect him to go on and on and ask about what happened. Instead he says, “Okay. See you later.”


Kabir

I look after Satine until I’m sure she enters the suite. Then I slowly walk down the stairs, and, of course, I meet Isobel. Our eyes meet, then we quickly look away. My heart fills with longing.
“Isobel,” I say, but she keeps walking. “Isobel, please.” I hurry after her. I catch her hands, pleading. She looks at me, and I can see that she is about to cry. “What?” She finally asks. “Why are you coming after me now? We avoided each other before – why can’t we do that anymore?”
“Because that’s not a solution.” I say, aghast.
“Nothing’s a solution when your so-called lover breaks your heart, Kabir.” She wrenches her hands out of my grasp and hurries upstairs. Then she turns around and yells down at me, “An don’t bother looking for me, because I’m never, ever coming back to a lousy scoundrel like you! And I’m moving! Get that! You won’t ever be able to find me! I thought you loved me, but I guess I never knew right!”
I’m stunned.
I stare after her, and I see so many things at once. I see Isobel and me when we were fourteen and first met, sitting by the lakeside, dangling our feet in the water, laughing. I see myself kiss her, first hesitantly. I see us running and fooling around together. I see us dancing on prom night.
And then I see Isobel as she is now, running away from me. All my last chances gone. And I turn around and cry.

I never knew a break up could be this hard.
And all because I love someone else too. Is that so wrong?

I try to find her when she leaves, but she’s already gone. I try to email her old address, but the address doesn’t even exist anymore. I don’t know how she managed to delete it. Every one of my messages is returned to me with a failure message. I do several hopeless internet searches, but nothing turns up. I look up phone books. I try to look for a psychologist named Laura in San Diego, but that doesn’t work either. I call up her friends. I try so many things....
Days go by. Weeks go by. But gradually I resign myself to the fact that she’s gone, and I can’t make her come back. She doesn’t want me back in her life. But – but I loved her. We were together for so many years.
But this is it. This is the end.
So then with a vengeance I begin to study really hard. Somehow I feel that studying excessively will get me into Harvard, help me to relieve my sadness, and help me shut away my confusion.
When the letter from Harvard comes I’m afraid. When it says I’ve been accepted, I’m not jubilant. Suddenly I’m even more afraid. Now I’m really going away. My dream’s come true. My so-called dream.

Sometime in July I’m in my room, tearing down all my posters. I hate them now. They remind me of teenage years. I’m still nineteen, so technically I’m still a teenager, but I don’t feel like one anymore. The room is bare and the violet blue paint seems to restore a sense of calm to the room. I look around. Everywhere it’s so neat. None of the messiness which used to be characteristic of me.
Even the torn down posters are neatly stacked in a pile somewhere. I couldn’t rip them up like I meant to.
I look at my laptop. Something about some recent court case is blinking on the screen. I shut my eyes, but the searing white of the computer screen continues behind my eyes.
I love her. Isn’t that enough?

I think of Satine. She’s really messed up. Apparently she’s schizophrenic and also, with Farah’s death..... I don’t know how I knew she was schizophrenic. Maybe because my best friend, Kyle, was schizophrenic, before he killed himself. That was a long time ago. But I know how to recognise the signs.
I think of Kyle with regret. I wish I’d been able to help him more. It occurs that I’m probably the only peer who actually knows how to deal with schizophrenia to some extent. It occurs to me that I should probably help Satine. But I don’t know how. It’s like she and I are in two entirely different universes, and it’s hard for us to relate. We don’t talk much. She’s depressed and upset and messed up. So am I. She’s worse off than me, I know, yet sometimes I’m jealous of her. I’m jealous of the way she’s a famous popstar and the way she can be whoever she wants, and the media will still be crazy about her. I used to have a crush on her when the whole Paraphernalia craze began. Then I grew out of it, but I still sometimes think of her as someone I’d like to know better.
But now that I’m going away, I don’t think I’ll ever get to know her better.
I always liked Paraphernalia a lot. Somehow Farah and Satine were the kind of singers I appreciated. They didn’t conform to stereotypes, and they weren’t Republicans or ‘it’ girls.

I go into the lounge, wondering whether anyone else is about. I usually don’t even notice when people are about, because I’m usually out or holed up in my room.
Clementine is lying on the sofa seductively. She is wearing a dark red silk skirt with ruffles that plays about her long slender legs, showing more than it should. She is reading a book. Bel Canto, by Ann Patchett. Her hair is sprawled out under her head, long trains of red curls. I keep thinking her parents should have named her Charisma. But maybe that would be too definitive.
She senses that someone is around, I suppose, because she lays the book aside. But she doesn’t sit up. She trails one arm down the sofa, and for a moment both of us admire the way the sunlight caresses her slender arm.
“What have you been doing?” She asks, naturally. Her eyes bore into mine until I’m afraid they’re reading my soul. She captures me so much.
“Oh.” I shake my head momentarily. The sunlight illuminates the pile of law books by the couch where I’ve been studying when I want to take a break from my lousy old room.
“Nothing much,” I say, looking at her. “Studying.”
“You were never a study nut,” Clem says, drawing out the words study nut. She studies me for a moment, then raises one neatly plucked eyebrow.
“I know,” I sigh. “But maybe now I am.”
Before she can say anymore, I stride past the lounge and outside.

Clementine

I get up after Kabir closes the door behind him. I smile. It’s funny how people get irked so easily. All you have to do is try to tell them the truth about themselves, and they don’t like it. But I’m not trying to get any confessions out of Kabir. I know more than he knows I know about him.
Spies do their jobs, you know. They aren’t slackers.

I walk into my room and turn on my computer. For a moment I stare at the computer screen, then I open Word. I hesitate for a moment, then I burrow in the shoebox underneath my bed for the piece of paper I’m looking for. There it is.
I type something up hastily. Then I walk into Kabir’s room. I open the heaviest book, on the top of the ever-lengthy pile, and I leave the paper sticking out of it.

When I first met Val he was really out of it. He smoked, he drank, he did drugs, he dressed up like a Goth and he cut. I remember how I met him, too.
Really, if you look at it objectively, I was just another seemingly naive teenager taking the city bus home because I’d missed the school bus, and then getting off at the wrong stop, all the way up on South East Boulevard. My house was miles away, right on the other side of Spokane. It was shitty. I really was in the final stages of despair, thinking I would have to walk all the way back home and considering I’d just moved here and I didn’t know my way around, that could take forever.
So at that point, looking around and wondering where the hell I was, suddenly all that toughness, all that spy technique, all the kung fu champion stuff, it was all gone. I felt lost. It was the shittiest feeling in the world. Worse than when my soulmate and so-called boyfriend, Jack, broke up with me. Worse than when my dad left.
I thought about calling my mom. I did call her, but her cell was turned off. I tried five times, leaning against a streetlight, the sun blaring right in my face. Then I remembered she was with her stupid new boyfriend, Norman. I guess she was too mean to think I might need to call her. I cursed.
I started walking down the street, figuring I would end up downtown and then I could take the bus back up to my place. Because I sure as hell didn’t know how to get from South East Boulevard to 21st Avenue. I was cursing the bus driver, who’d told me the bus went to 21st Avenue. I was really on a roll with cursing her, so angry that I walked right into someone. And not just someone, either. Some lame old druggie dressed up in black and with one huge, long, scary scar up one of his arms.
“Hey, watch where you’re going.”
At that point I was so mad I just blurted out, “You watch where you’re going. I bet you’re just stoned anyway, haven’t got any idea where you’re going, have you?”
The way I was glaring at him like a hissing cat must have startled him, because he smiled. “I’m sorry,” He said. “Well, I’m not stoned, but you’re right, I don’t know where I’m going.”
“Figures,” I said, and started walking on.
“Hey, what were you cussing so much for, anyway? Didn’t think you were that kinda girl.”
I wheeled around. “Oh yeah? What kind of girl did you think I was then?” I stepped up close to him, daring him to contradict me.
He smiled a little, and that angered me even more. “Don’t underestimate me,” I said, in a dangerously low voice.
“I wouldn’t,” He promised. “Where are you going anyway?”
“None of your business, is it?” I had calmed down enough to speak calmly.
“But if you’re lost, I could help you.”
This made me mad all over again. “I’m never lost.” I looked into his eyes, and I could see he was surprised by my passion. “Get that, buddy?”
“Okay,” He said. “But it’s not wrong to get lost. Everyone gets lost sometimes. Like me, I’m pretty lost in my mind. That’s what everyone says, anyway.” He laughed bitterly. “Druggie Goth, they call me, and it doesn’t matter what else I might be.”
“Do you expect people to be slathering all over themselves getting to be your friends if you are a Goth and druggie?” I asked, exasperated.
“No,” He said. “But maybe there are some other things about me too. Like, as you just said, I shouldn’t assume you’re some nice girl just because you don’t dress up all punk or Goth and you don’t have piercings or tattoos, and you don’t...... look tough.”
I was silent. “Are you finished,” I finally asked, “or do you want me to be your shrink here?”
He laughed. I was surprised someone as depressing looking as him even knew how to laugh. And it wasn’t a mean laugh, either. I began to relax a little. He didn’t seem like someone who would try to forcibly grab me and rape me. Not that he would be able to if he tried, but still.
“Where do you live?” He asked.
“And why should I tell you that?” I countered.
“So I can help you get home.”
“I can do that on my own, thanks.” I said rudely, and began walking again. But he caught up with me.
“If you’re thinking of going downtown and then catching the bus up to 21st, that’ll take ages,” He said. I whirled around to face him, livid.
“You scumbag,” I accused him, “How do you know where I live?”
He rolled his eyes. “You think the whole street didn’t hear? Girl, you’re a piece of work.”
“Stop telling me what I am and what I’m not. You don’t like it when people do that to you, right? Well, you’re just a damn hypocrite.”
He smiled. “You’re right. But I can help you get home. It isn’t really safe for a young girl like yourself to be walking alone around town, and I do know a shorter way to get to 21st.”
“You complete creep,” I yelled. “You don’t even know how old I am.”
“You don’t look older than thirteen.” He said.
I was silent, because I wasn’t even thirteen yet. I know you’re surprised, because I was acting so much older. But the truth was, Mum would flip out when she found out I had missed the bus and hadn’t called her right away. She would flip out even more when she found out I had wandered around town alone – or, worse – in the company of an idiot like this guy. And I was mature and all, and I knew how to fight, but I was also scared..... and a kid, underneath all that.
“Maybe, and maybe not. How old are you, anyway?” I countered.
“Fifteen,” He said.
“Anyway,” I said, “It’s sexist, the way you said it’s not safe for a young girl to be walking around alone.”
“True,” He agreed. “But society is sexist. Look,” He seemed a little tired now. “I really can help you get home. I mean, you don’t have much of an option otherwise, do you? Walking all alone for longer isn’t so good, is it?”
“And how do I know you’re even gonna lead me the right way?” I asked, glaring at him.
“Maybe you’ll have to trust me.” He said. His face was expressionless.
“I sure as hell don’t trust you,” I said, “but ok, I guess I’ll come with you.”
We walked down suburban alleyways, which seemed to stretch on forever.
“Where do you live anyway?” I asked. “In some bad neighbourhood?”
He looked at me sideways. “You’re prejudiced, aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m just stating a fact.” I said, but I could feel my ears turning hot. “People like yourself generally come from bad neighbourhoods.”
“Or from troubled lives.” He said. I stopped and looked at him. We looked at each other for a moment, then we walked on.
“Well, lots of people have troubled lives, and not everyone’s like you.” I said.
“You don’t even really know what I am, do you? Jesus, you don’t even know my name!”
“I can see you’re a druggie and a cutter....” I trailed off, looking at the scar, which he quickly pulled his sleeve over. “and a drunk, judging from the way you look. Your eyes are red. You look out of it. You’re a Goth, obviously, and you..... you might be a punk too. But yes, I don’t know your name.”
“Call me Val,” He said. “You’re right. I suppose I am many of those things. But I’m also other things, Clementine.”
I gasped. “How did you know that was my name?”
He smiled sideways at me. “I have my ways.” He said.
“Like what?” I started to feel scared. Then, triumphantly, “You don’t know anything about me, Valentine O’Hara.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I see we’re colleagues.”
You see, finding out stuff about other people is a piece of pie. Val had his full name tattooed up one of his arms, and I could see the dark lettering under his transparent shirt. But I had no idea how he knew my name.
“Alright, Clem.” He said. “You do like to be called Clem, right? I know you because you’re my father’s girlfriend’s daughter. Alright?”
I stared at him in disbelief. “No fucking way!” I yelled. “You are not Norman’s son.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I am.”
“Norman’s too much of a nice guy to have a son like you.” I said.
“I didn’t live with my dad until three months ago, Clem.”
I stared at him. Then I said, “But.... you wouldn’t have known what I looked like.”
“Really?” Val smiled. “Maybe I would have. Maybe you were Jack Halley’s girlfriend until a month ago. The one he picked up every day from the junior high school. Maybe he and I are friends. Maybe he showed me your picture.”
I was mad. “Jack would never be friends with you.” I said.
“Why not?” Val asked. “Because I’m the complete opposite of Jack – is that what you think?”
“Yes... you are. I mean, he wouldn’t even be in your classes. You’re total dropout material.” I said scathingly.
“Actually,” Val sighed. “I’m in world history and English honours.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “No freaking way.”
“Yes,” He said. “Honestly, Clem. I’m trying, alright? I’m not really all that you think I am. Okay, so I was really a delinquent until I came here. But I’m trying to change now. I’m not really so much on drugs anymore. I’m trying to quit smoking. I’m working on things.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stared straight ahead.
“This your street?” He asked. I looked around. I could see my house at the other end, vaguely.
“Yes, it is.” I felt abashed. “Um, thanks.”
“I’ll walk you to your house.”
“So you can barge in on me some other day? No thanks.” He was not to be trusted.
“No, come on, Clem.” He said. “Anyway, I’m invited tomorrow, remember? For dinner? I’ll know where you live then, anyway.”
I remembered that Mum had invited Norman and his son to visit us the next day. I sighed. When we reached my house, he smiled at me and said, “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye,” I said, looking down. Then I quickly went up the steps.

A pair of arms slips around my waist and someone is kissing my neck. I turn around, getting up, smiling at Val. I had known Val for three years now, and in those three years a lot had changed. I and his friends had helped him become a better person. He wasn’t a Goth anymore, and he didn’t smoke, do drugs, cut or smoke. He could get depressed sometimes, but doesn’t everyone? And also..... and this was the important part..... we loved each other.
Our parents had gotten married, and when we were living together, at first it was hard for Mum and Norman to see us getting together, because they were scared of what could happen and so on, but I suppose it became alright eventually, since they’d let us come to Fontana together when Val decided to come here for college last year and I decided I wanted to go too.
I snuggle up close to Val, kissing him. The only thing about Val that I was still nervous about was how passionate, how reckless, even, he could be at times. He liked speed. I don’t mean the drug. He liked the notion of speed. And some of all those things still was in him, that sense of having lost his childhood too young, and not having been able to have a good life until he was fifteen. His mom was an alcoholic and so he never had a good life until finally Norman managed to get his mom to let Val stay with his dad. That chase was going on forever, and it caused a lot of problems from which Val was still hurting.
So sometimes I wondered how far I’d really go with Val, and how much I could really trust him. It had been three years, but I still didn’t know the complete Val.
“You’re nervous,” He murmurs, as he pulls me back on my bed.
“Maybe I am,” I say. I get up. “I’m not ready for this.”
“Jesus, Clem.” Val mutters, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not asking for sex, you know. You’re not ready for anything. It’s like you’ll hardly go farther than kissing. You’re afraid of me.”
“No, I’m not.” I say. “It’s just that – I’m just – I’m only sixteen.”
He sits up. “Only sixteen?” He raises an eyebrow. “Jesus. I could understand if you were talking about sex. But it’s not even that. You’ll hardly let me touch you at all.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want you to.” I say. “Do you have a problem with that?”
I walk out. I hear him moan and say, “Come on. Clem! I’m sorry, alright?”

I walk out of the suite and I keep going until I am on the cliffs. There I stare out at the waves, and down the dizzying height at the sharp rocks below. Typical place for a suicide, I think, then I scold myself for thinking that. I am so morbid.
I climb down till I am on the beach. My heels don’t suit the sand. Or maybe the sand doesn’t suit my heels. Whatever. I am still tense from Val. He always makes me feel so tense. It was like I wanted him so desperately, and yet my whole body and mind were so afraid of what could, what would, what should happen. I was so afraid of having my heart stolen.
I had always been the kind of girl who people admired. Nobody could really make me feel dejected. From my first boyfriend, Jack, to Val, all of them respected me because I was no slut. With people I inspired a sense of awe. This doesn’t mean I was a bully, it was just that people couldn’t get me down the way other teens would be cast down.
But now I was scared of dejection. I was afraid of love.
Val and I hadn’t really gotten past kissing. He’d wanted to, but I was always not letting him. Sometimes I felt so intense about Val I wanted to make love to him, but that didn’t make it easier. At those times I was afraid of myself, too.
And maybe the fact that I was in love with another man also made me afraid of what would, what could happen.
I was afraid of love.

Val and I were okay, but I could tell we needed to talk, desperately. But I avoided the topic. July passed, and the August heat seemed too intense. I spent most of the day at the beach, but it became so crowded I instead holed myself up in my room, like Kabir did. Kabir and I needed to talk too, about the paper, about Isobel, but I wasn’t sure when we would get to talk. It was funny how we were avoiding a topic for more than a month.
But then, when we really did talk about it, it seemed alright and natural, and I didn’t think of the long time in between.
It was just another day at the beach, but this time it was overcast so not many people were out. I was spread out on the sand, watching cloud patterns in the sky. The sun was setting.

“Hey.” I was surprised to hear him speak. The beach seemed so silent. I hadn’t even heard him come down.
“Hi,” I say, as Kabir slips down beside me. For a moment we stare in synchronisation at the waves. Then he says, “What was that paper about, Clem?”
He’s so close I can feel his breath on my ear. I don’t look at him. “How did you know it was from me?”
“Because you’re the only one who would be able to find out.”
This is true. But I am surprised. I look at him. “How do you know?”
He sighs, and I see the weariness in his eyes. “I just know, Clem.”
I don’t press him for more. Instead I take his hand.
“I don’t know how you found out about her,” I can feel the emotion in his voice. “But I’m really grateful.”
“Don’t email her right now, Kabir.” I said. “Don’t try – not yet.”
“Why?” He looks at me.
“Because you broke up, and I know it’s hard, but she needs time to think about things.”
“But – I don’t understand why you gave me that information. Do you want me to get back together with her?”
“Yes.” It’s the hardest thing for me to say. “You broke up because of me, Kabir.”
“Of course not.” Kabir says. “It was just that Isobel thinks very differently.”
“I know,” I say, seriously. I lie down next to him. “But maybe we have to forget each other.”
We’re looking at each other and the passion in our voices and eyes is too strong to forget.
“I don’t want to forget you, Clem.” He says.
“And I don’t want to forget you.” I say.
Another long silence. Then Kabir asks, “Does Val know about us?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell him, ever.”
I don’t want to talk about it, so I say, “How soon do you think you can finish up with college?”
“Well,” Kabir says, hesitating. “I should have told you before, but I’ve been accepted to Harvard.”
I sit up. “Really?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but I’m shocked. I’m stunned. I’m about to jump off that cliff.
“That’s great,” I say, but my voice sounds abnormal. “Um, when are you leaving?”
“Clem,” Kabir pulls me down beside him. “I know this is really hard for you, but I’m leaving...... tomorrow.”
“What?!” I scream. “Kabir Renoir, you got accepted into Harvard and are leaving tomorrow, and you didn’t tell me until now?! What the hell were you thinking of!”
“Clem, please calm down.” Kabir says. My world was spinning. I needed Kabir like I needed the sky, the air, the beach... I wasn’t sure, but I thought I needed him more than Val. And that prospect scared me, but the prospect of losing him so entirely scared me so much I couldn’t envision it.
“Clementine,” Kabir says...
I soften. I love it when someone called me Clementine. Everyone just assumed I liked Clem better, and I didn’t contradict them, but I loved the name Clementine.
“I love you,” Kabir says. He sat up and looked intensely into my eyes. We both stood up, slowly. “It was hard for me to do this. I’m going to complete my college course there, and I was hoping to go on to doing a higher degree, but – with Isobel pregnant and everything.....” He trailed off.
“Oh, Kabir.” I can’t register this. “When are you leaving – what time, I mean?”
“At seven in the morning.” He sighs. “I – I should have told you, Clem, I’m sorry.”
I just look at him. I can’t help it – I start to cry. We hold each other for what seems like forever. Then we go back to the suite. I look around his room. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed that he’d been packing. I mean, so I’d hardly been in here at all, but still.
When Kabir and I are inside, I close the door. My heart starts to pound hard. I swallow nervously. Kabir turns around and looks at me. He sees me leaning against the door, and he knows what’s up. “Oh, Clem.” He comes towards me. He takes my hands and looks into my eyes. “It’s alright. Really, it’s alright.”
But it’s not alright at all. I need him so desperately. I love him.
“I want...” I take a deep breath. I’m shaking, and crying. “I want you.... Kabir, if I can’t have you forever at least I want you now.”
“Clem,” He hugs me. “You don’t have to be like this,” He murmurs into my neck. “We don’t have to prove our love. I’ll love you forever, that’s enough. Just because I’m leaving it doesn’t mean that I’ll never see you again, or I’ll forget you, or I’ll stop loving you.”
But I’m too far gone to care anymore. I run my hands down his chest, kissing him, each time more and more passionately. When Kabir starts to pull away, I kiss him more, and murmur, “Please make love to me.”
“Clem.” He holds me apart, surprised. “You’re – you’re too young for this.” He sighs and lets go of me. “Oh, man.” He runs a hand across his forehead. “I can’t do this.”
“I’m not too young,” I say, suddenly betrayed. “I love you. Does it matter how old I am?”
“Yes,” Kabir says, looking earnestly at me. “Yes, it does. You – you’re only sixteen.”
“But you want to, don’t you?” I ask, coming closer. “And I want to. And who cares if I’m only sixteen. I’m not going to be able to see you again for a very long time.”
“We don’t have to prove our love, Clem.” He says, quietly. “Sex doesn’t prove anything.”
“I don’t care,” I say, and suddenly I’m reckless. I feel like Val. I’m on a high. “It’s okay, it’s just once. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
“No. No, Clem, don’t – don’t do this.” Kabir says. He opens the door, and I stare at him. Then I walk out.
I want him. I run a shower for myself, and my tears mix with the water until it seems I’m bathing in some saline solution. I stay in the shower so long it seems it’s become my new abode. When I come out I’m startled to see that it’s been three whole hours. It’s now one in the morning. I’ve dried my hair and I’m in my best negligee. I feel awake and fresh.
I slip into Kabir’s room, and close the door behind me. Kabir is not asleep. His bedside light is on and he’s reading. When he sees me he puts his book aside. I can’t tell what he’s feeling.
He has showered too, like every night, and is in his pyjamas, but apart from that I can’t tell anything different about him. I wonder if he wants to make love to me too, but is just afraid to.
“Clementine,” He says, and a smile is playing around his mouth. I walk over and crawl over to where he is. I kiss him long and deep, and he kisses me back. We kiss for a long time, and then he slips my negligee down and caresses me. We caress each other, memorising everything about each other. It’s wonderful.

In the morning I wake up, naked, in Kabir’s bed, but I’m alone. For a moment I breathe in the scent of roses. I’m confused. I look around. A huge vase of roses is lying on the bedside table, and an envelope beside it. I look at the envelope. Then the reality comes to me. For one thing, I can’t believe Serena didn’t check to make sure I was in my room. But I’m so glad she didn’t, because last night was unearthly and so wonderful.
But it’s already nine. I’ve missed him. I sit up, aghast. I can’t believe I missed him.

I open the letter.
My wonderful Clementine,
Last night was spectacular....... but it was wrong, too. You are too young. And I realised we didn’t use any protection – too late. Now it’s too late, I mean. But it’s all my fault and it was incredibly stupid of me. Since you are were a virgin, and I am not HIV positive or anything (tests etc), we don’t need to worry about that, but I am worried otherwise. You will tell me if anything goes wrong, won’t you? I’m worried, but I’m sure (I hope) everything will be ok. It was all a mistake. This is never going to work. You’re too young, and so am I, and everything was just – a faux pas. I don’t mean to hurt you, but this would never work out. You know that, don’t you? Please don’t get me wrong. I love you, I truly do, that is why I am telling you this. You were right – we have to forget about each other.
But I’ll never really forget you, I promise. I know I can’t. I will love you forever, Clementine.
Love Kabir
I close the letter. Tears are running down my face. I am alone in bed, and I’m so cold. I cuddle up inside, breathing in whatever scent of Kabir remains. I didn’t even get to see him before he went. I know he thought it would be too hard, but I wanted so badly for us to work out, somehow. Even though Val – oh, Val.
Even though I love Val too. I think.

I get out of bed and put on my negligee. I go back into my room, and close the door. I take a shower. When I come out I walk past Serena’s room, and I notice the bed was untouched. I know she didn’t come home last night, because she never makes her bed this early.
I wonder where she is, but I pass it off.

Two months passed. I didn’t get my period at all. That’s when I really started to panic. I went and bought five pregnancy tests.
Each of them was positive.
I didn’t know who to turn to. Eventually I decided Serena was the best bet.
One night when I was sure everyone else was asleep and wouldn’t eavesdrop or overhear, I slip into Serena’s room. I am too sweaty and nervous and upset to knock.
“What is it, Clem?” Serena must have sensed something was up, because she stands up and draws out a chair for me. I collapse on it. She moves some books away on her bed and sits down, looking anxiously at me.
“Serena....” I know she will get mad. “I’m – I’m ...... pregnant.” I let the word hang in the air.
The word really hangs in the air.
“Oh my god,” Serena puts her hands over her face. “Oh my god.” She drops them, staring at me. “Oh my god.”
“I know you’ll be mad, but.... I didn’t know who to tell.” I don’t feel like tough Clem anymore.
“Oh my god,” She says. “Clem.... honey..... how did this happen?” She’s breathing hoarsely.
I stare at her. Then I realise what she means. “Oh. I – I wasn’t raped or anything.” I quickly say. “Um, please don’t get mad, Serena. I really – I’m really sorry. I – don’t tell anyone, not just yet – Kabir’s the father.” The word father, and Kabir associated with it, sounds so weird. “We – we’ve been in love for over a year. It’s somewhat complicated, but – there it is. We, uh, well, you were out that night, two months ago, and, well – he was leaving, and –”
“Okay,” She says, signalling that I don’t have to get into the details. “I should never have gone out that night.”
“It isn’t your fault.” I say, quickly. “It was – Kabir didn’t really want to, but then – I guess – I mean, we should have known better.” I’m crying now. I’m really panicked.
“I am the one who has to take good care of you, honey.” She says, taking my hands. “Well – I know you are pretty much grown up and everything – God, I – I really don’t know what to do. I never thought this would happen. Have you told him yet?”
“No,” I say, swallowing. “It would destroy his – everything – career, life – oh, Serena.”
“Don’t worry,” She says. Then she seems to realise the futility of saying this. But she continues anyway. “It’s going to be alright. Look. How about you get some sleep, and we’ll talk about this in the morning?”
She just wants to get rid of me. I get up and walk out. But I can’t sleep much the whole night.
I can’t believe I’m carrying a real, living baby in me. It just seems so incredulous. It’s a nightmare and at the same time it’s a strange thing. I can’t believe that I – I – am going to be a mother. A mother. The word frightens me like anything.
I calculate when the baby will be born. At the end of February. Just after my seventeenth birthday.
And what about high school? What about my life? What about – oh no – what about Mum? She’ll kill me. We had so many plans. I had so many plans. I was going to go to acting school. NYU or something. I wanted to go to Hollywood someday. I’d been taking drama classes since I was tiny. I’d even been in some great shows. I really thought I could do it. But now – with a baby?
And I wouldn’t abort the baby, I had considered that. But I didn’t want to. Although I was pro-choice, when it came to my own self, I would never, never do that to my own baby.
I had to tell Val. It was only 6 in the morning but I didn’t care. I had to tell him.
I barged into his room. I was so nervous.
He woke up. “Clem?” He looked at me, puzzled. “What’s the matter?”
“I –“ I began. I needed to be strong. I suddenly felt calmer than I had before.
“Val. Listen. Hear me out before you say anything, okay?” I asked.
“What is it?” He tensed up. “Honey, is everything alright?”
“No,” I said, “no, it’s not alright. Val. Kabir and I – we’ve been in love – we still are in love – for over a year. We’ve been seeing each other.”
He looked aghast. He started to say something, but I continued, “We’ve slept together. Once, if you have to know. But the thing is....... I’m pregnant now. I – thought you would have to know.”
“What the fuck!” He yelled.
“Val.” I said. “Listen to me. I love you.” He was shaking his head, and my eyes were blurring with tears. “I love you, I do. But I love him too. And I’m not going to choose. I don’t know how it’s going to work out. And please don’t get angry.”
“Clem?” Val asked hoarsely. His voice was very loud. I shut the door. “Are you for real?”
I waited.
“You are asking me not to get angry?!” He roared. “Are you out of your freaking mind? My girlfriend comes and tells me she’s pregnant by a guy she’s been seeing on the sly for more than a freaking year, and then she tells me not to get angry!” He started towards me, but I cowered against the doorframe, suddenly afraid. All that martial art mastery draining out of me.
He stopped, ashamed. “I wouldn’t hit you, honey.” He was crying now. “How could you do this to me? Clem. You said you were too young to go all the way, but that was just a fucking lie, wasn’t it? You were just sleeping with him. How could you do this to me.....”
The door opened behind me and Serena came in. “Clem,” She said a little sharply, “Val. Come with me.”
It turned out everyone was in the lounge. Satine, staring at me worriedly. Ariel, looking thoughtful and concerned. Great. Everyone here knew I was pregnant.
Val was in an extreme stage of despair. I wrenched out of Serena’s grasp and hugged him. “Val, don’t. Please don’t.” But I was crying too. He pulled apart, and I sank onto the couch, dropping my head into my hands.
“Clem,” Serena was saying softly. “Come with me.”
I blindly got up, following her down endless staircases, farther and farther away from Val and the suite.
Then I’m in an eerie office, and opposite me Caren Murray, the head psychologist cum psychiatrist at this school, is sitting opposite me. I’m surprised.
“Hello, Clementine.” She says calmly.
I’ve never met her before, but she talks as if we’re very good friends. “Serena – has told me that you are – pregnant. Apparently, the father is Kabir Renoir.”
I stare at her blankly. My face feels horrible. “Yes.” I say. “But that – that was supposed to be confidential.”
“It is confidential.” Caren assures me. “Clementine, we have to assess this situation. And it is imperative that you let Kabir know. You do realise that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, but I’m beyond words. Then I stand up. The office is in clearer focus. “Look. I – I need to talk to him. But he isn’t here right now. Um – I need to go.”
I start for the door, but Caren comes and takes me aside into a very pretty bedroom. “Honey,” she says, “You need to sleep. Would you like me to alert Kabir for you?”
But I don’t register what she is saying. I collapse on the bed and within minutes I’m sound asleep.

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