2.29. Lovefool

Life is boring in Aurora Skies. The people are boring and the businesses are boring and even the rain is boring. It never sticks around long enough to be enjoyed—any precipitation on the arctic island soon turns to snow.

In pursuit of at least some excitement, the teens have decided to indulge in makeovers. Or, as Raven announces it to Bjorn, “maaaaaakeovers,” with a trill on the first syllable. The inside of the salon is as trendy as Aurora Skies can manage: painstakingly refurbished wooden floors, boldly colored walls, racks of vintage clothing, disinterested employees, and a soundtrack of acoustic guitar.

 A whine cuts through the music. “I don’t know why I need to cut my hair,” Bjorn complains. “That isn’t supposed to be part of this deal.”

“Well, for one, you’ve had that hair your entire life. It’s time for change,” Raven says. “And for two, it looks bad. You look bad. I’ve been too nice to say it but, jeez, you just look unwashed and smelly.”

“I disagree. I think it looks fun,” he huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face.

“Doesn’t matter what you think. You asked me for my opinion on what girls like, and I’m telling you that this is definitively not what they like,” she waves a finger up and down, judgement plain on her face. “Now, do you want my help or not?”

“Fine. Just don’t pick something too,” Bjorn struggles to locate a word, “different, okay?”

“Well then. I’m thinking shorter, obviously, but with some length on the top. Not too much, mind you, or you’ll look like a fascist. And as for your clothes—“

“You’re changing my clothes, too?”

“Something clean cut and simple, I think. Not so baggy. You inherited your mom’s ass, so why hide it?”

Bjorn frowns. “Please don’t talk about my mom that way. You know what, don’t talk about me that way.”


Raven shrugs. “It could be worse. You could’ve inherited her boobs. Now, let’s get to work.”

A mere twenty minutes later, Bjorn is a new man. Raven opts for a swept back hairstyle with a few highlights for dramatic effect. She dresses him as best she could with the salon’s limited wardrobe: a beige cardigan with a dark top and perfectly faded and worn jeans. None of that bothers Bjorn; in fact, while he’d never admit it, he kind of likes his hair this way. But there is one accessory that annoys him.

“I look like Grandpa,” he readjusts the glasses on his face. “Besides, I don’t even need these. They’re pointless.”

“So? It’s softboy meets normcore. It suits you.”

Bjorn clears his throat. “You don’t think I could go for something more masculine, do you?”

“You don’t need to go for masculine,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re perfect the wimpy way you are. This ensemble highlights that. Now shove off. I’m due for a trim.” Raven steps up onto the platform in front of the stylist’s mirror. She twists the end of her braid in her hand, searching for split ends.

Bjorn searches for something to say, some cutting yet playful retort. But his moment passes him, and he’s left gape-mouthed and empty-minded. Defeated, he turns on his heel.

And he immediately bumps into Melinda Vinter, upperclassman and longtime crush. His eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes.

“Hey, Bjorn,” she smiles. “New haircut?”

“You—know who I am?”

“Of course I know you,” Melinda scrunches her nose. “We go to the same school. There are only, like, two dozen other students.”

Bjorn blinks.

“Um, anyway, your hair looks nice. It’s a good change.”

He closes his eyes and inhales. “Thanks. You look great, too. But you always look great. I mean, you looked great before.”

Melinda ignores his compliment. “I’m glad I ran into you—“

“You are?” His voice cracks.

“Sure. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about art class, actually.”

Raven glances over her shoulder at her adopted brother and his newfound companion. Her heart flutters. She ignores it—that obnoxious fluttering—like she always does when this happens. Instead, she focuses on the rhythmic snip of the scissors as the stylist trims her hair.

But Melinda’s chattering proves too distracting. Her voice, surprisingly deep and mature for a teen girl’s, chips away at Raven’s manufactured focus. She finds herself listening in. Bjorn has picked up the beat of the conversation, though his responses are over-eager. Melinda throws out bait—“I’m just, like, really struggling on this project. Between this and track and my AP classes, I feel like I’m drowning.”

And Bjorn readily bites. “It’s totally understandable. It’s a hard medium to work with. I can show you some techniques, if you’d like.”

By the time Raven’s haircut is finished, Bjorn has agreed to help Melinda finish an extra-credit portrait for their art class. The workload they agree upon doesn’t sound equitable to Raven, but what does she know?

She doesn’t want to interrupt, but the conversation continues well after she’s finished with the stylist. She stands awkwardly nearby, close enough to hear but far enough to signal her desire to leave.

Bjorn does well, until he doesn’t. The conversation grinds to a halt when, sensing his sister’s agitation, he attempts a flirty goodbye. One misjudged thrown kiss, and Melinda shrinks back.

“You know, I think I can finish the painting on my own,” she says. “Thanks anyway.”

“But—I—but,” Bjorn stutters.

“He means to say he’s sorry. And kind of an idiot,” Raven steps in and holds out her hand. “Hi. I’m Raven.”

“And you know Bjorn because…?”

“Brother. Adopted. Which helps account for the shocking disparity in both appearance and intelligence.”

Melinda smiles. “Melinda Vinter. Nice to meet you, Raven.”

***

The following day, the teens visit the gym. It’s a bright day, unseasonably warm for the fall. It’s a trick, Raven thinks. Only a few more days of joy before winter arrives.

She has formal sim fu lessons every Saturday and Wednesday, but Raven likes to visit the gym daily. Bjorn has taken to tagging along and interrupting her workout with complaints and questions about the equipment.

But today, Raven’s curiosity takes the lead. “How do you know Melinda?” She cracks her knuckles and takes an opening punch at the punching bag.

“Art class,” Bjorn examines the weight bench before sitting down.

“Do you hang out outside of class or anything?” She jabs again. The bag swings back and forth.

Bjorn arches an eyebrow. “No.” He lays back on the exercise bench.

“You don’t know her very well then?”

“Nope,” he grunts.

Raven hums, and feigns fascination with the punching bag. Her strikes are weak, though, and her mind occupied.

“Hey,” Bjorn sits up and gestures to the clock. “What time is the twin’s birthday party?”

Raven glances at the clock. “Shit,” she hisses.

Even though the gym is literally next door to the Bee-Trémaux home, there’s no way they’ll make it back in time.

But no one minds their absence. Lark has witnessed more than enough birthdays, and it feels as if attendance should be voluntary at this point. Of course, she’s more than excited to celebrate her youngest daughters’ birthday. But she only has—one moment—she only has eight more of these celebrations before all her kids are out of the house.

Flora goes first. She grows up freckled, cross-eyed, and overjoyed.

Lark takes a moment before Fauna ages up to appreciate that she’s officially done with bottles and diapers.

The ginger grows up with only slightly more grace than her sister.

***

Tragedy follows close on the heels of celebration. A day after the twins’ birthday, Lark receives a phone call from her mother.

Her father, Quentin Parker, has died. Peacefully, in his sleep, but still gone forever and without a goodbye.

Lark is the first of her siblings to arrive at her mother’s house. She finds her mother in the hallway, wearily staring at the front door.


“Mom?” Lark rushes to her mother, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“They just took him,” Luna says. “They’ll let me know when the body’s ready.”

The words are matter of fact, and they punch Lark in the gut. “You can’t stay here.”

Luna shakes her head. “They have this phone number. They’ll call me here.”

“I’ll set the landline to forward to my cellphone,” Lark says.

“I said no,” Luna snaps. “Maker, you always had a hard time following directions, didn’t you?”

Lark recoils, and her eyes water. “Mom,” she pleads, “please come home with me. Or if you want, I can take you to Lydia’s. She said she has a guest room you could stay in.”

“I want to stay here,” Luna sobs.
 
Lark rubs her mother’s shoulders. “Then we’ll stay here.”

Lark pulls Luna in for a hug. As she embraces her mother, her eyes fall on the pictures lining the wall. Smiling faces peer back from every single one, young Lunas and Quentins beaming out at the world.

It comes as no surprise when Luna passes away that night. She spent decades beside Quentin, and apparently couldn’t bear to be apart from him for more than a day. With Lydia occupied by her city representative campaign, and Luke burdened with an increase in burglary cases, Lark is charged with the funerals. The ground is already frozen, so she decides on cremation. When spring comes, she’ll mix the ashes and sprinkle them over the largest of the island’s three waterfalls. Until then, their urns sit on the dining room sidebar, casting a chill over the Bee household.

The weather follows in suit: winter descends with vigor, and deep snow soon throws the island into chaos. School is cancelled for days at a time, making Raven stir crazy. Outside, the snow has piled so high it’s impossible to open the front door without ushering in a pile of slush.

Raven is reminded of a book she had read years earlier. She had finished it on a single summer day, eagerly reading from her perch on the living room loveseat. The book was a sensationalized retelling of the experiences of one of Simnation’s woman pilgrims. Semi-autobiographical, the story followed a young family as they crossed the mainland of Simnation in their covered wagon. A wicked blizzard struck during their first year in nascent Appaloosa Plains, threatening their shanty home and their limited reserves. One of their fellow villagers had ventured out into the blizzard at one point, possibly in search of help and food. They didn’t discover his body until spring.

Raven shivers and tries to return her thoughts to her homework. Despite the fact it’s a snow day, she still has homework, helpfully delivered via the school’s online course system.

She isn’t alone as she works. Nearby, Dominic and Lark giggle and chatter. Just a few months earlier, Dominic processed his father’s death with heavy drinking and ill-fated tabletop role-playing. Lark seems to be processing it with excessive flirtation.

A particularly energetic kiss draws complaints from their adopted daughter. “You guys are disgusting,” Raven moans. “And I’m never going to finish my algebra if you keep it up.”

“There are plenty of other rooms in the house,” Lark giggles.

“Dad,” Raven cries. “Tell her to stop!”

“You heard your mother,” he smirks.

Raven glowers and shuts her notebook. “Fine. But when I flunk out of school, remember this moment."

The younger children find the snow day more enjoyable. Fenrir—delighted that he finally has playmates—entices the twins into playing a video game with him.

“Unfair,” Flora pouts as Fenrir’s avatar laps her in the game.

“Yeah, you’re way too good at this,” Fauna adds. “It’s no fun.”

“Keep playing,” Fenrir smiles, “you’ll get better.” He punctuates his encouragement by running Flora’s car off the track.

The brunette glowers, then throws the controller at him.

Fauna, sensing her opportunity, claims the lead. As her siblings fight, she wins.

Meanwhile, Bjorn settles on a more relaxing snow day—just a boy and his oil paints.

A screech emanates from downstairs, high-pitched and no doubt Fenrir’s. A wail follows. Bjorn closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and dips his brush into the palette.

 

He has a portrait to finish.

***

When all else fails, Raven runs. It’s the only thing that can calm her down, an opioid to her constant but muted anxiety. But with every pounding step against the treadmill, her heart wrenches. She can’t abjure her. Every moment is haunted by thoughts of Melinda.

Melinda, hand in hand with Bjorn. Melinda, her lips brushing against his. Melinda, giving herself up. Why—of all things, people, and ideas—has she focused on Melinda?

She steps off the treadmill. She needs a shower.

It doesn’t help. Raven paces her room, phone in hand. They’ve been texting for a few days. Just friendly jokes and gossip and memes. So there’s little precedent for what comes next.

Raven dials her number. Melinda picks up after two rings. “Hello?” Her voice is suspicious. Why wouldn’t it be—after all, who calls anymore?

“Hey.”

“Raven,” she can hear the smile.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect you to call.”

“Not much else to do. Snow day’s pretty boring, isn’t it?” Raven manages a nonchalant tone.

“You’re bored?” Melinda’s voice crackles. The connection is barely holding up.

“Little bit.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Raven pauses. “Wanna come over?”

“Is Bjorn going to be there?”

“Unfortunately. But we can hang out in my room.”

“Well. I’ll be there soon.” Melinda hangs up before Raven can respond.

Raven tosses the phone onto her bed. Hands on her face, she breathes in deeply. Nothing’s gonna happen, she thinks to herself. Why would it?

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. Raven is rooted in spot, though. Despite that, Melinda is ushered in and directed upstairs. A knock heralds her arrival.

“Come in."

The door creaks open. It reveals Melinda’s smiling face. “Hi. Can I come in?”

Raven nods.

“Your mom’s nice. Cute, too.”

“She’s not my mom,” Raven says crossly.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Melinda changes the subject. “I was going stir crazy. I mean, the snow is barely, like, what? A foot deep? Two, tops? Hardly seems worth shutting down the island.”

Initially, Raven can only manage a single syllable. “Yeah,” she grapples for a second and third: “sure does.”

“So. What’d you have in mind?” Melinda speaks quickly.

Raven gulps.

“Are you okay?” Melinda reaches out and grabs Raven’s hands, intertwining their fingers. “You look pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“Paler,” Melinda laughs. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just,” Raven turns her eyes to the floor.

“Just what?” Melinda’s face grows concerned, and her red and glistening lips downturn.

It happens quickly, but fluidly. Raven lurches forward and presses her lips against Melinda’s. Mere seconds into the passionate yet clumsy kiss, she recoils. But Melinda is unsurprised. So unsurprised, in fact, that she leans into it, pulling Raven back in for more.

Dragonblood incense burns, a vinyl Nancy Sinatra album plays, and the evening passes. Raven feels like she’ll remember this moment forever, every minor detail stretched out ad infinitum; but despite that, it’s over so quickly. The clock sprints forward to 10:00 PM, a mere hour before curfew.

Melinda giggles as she gently pushes Raven away. Her lipstick is smeared and her face is flushed. “This was fun.”

“Yeah,” Raven agrees.

“Just make sure not to tell Bruno,” Melinda winks.

Raven’s heart stops and her smile falters. “Bruno? You mean Bruno Ingberg?”

“Duh, Bruno Ingberg. What other Bruno is there?”

Raven swallows. “Why can’t I tell Bruno?”

“Because he’s my boyfriend,” Raven’s jaw drops, but Melinda continues. “I thought you knew that. We’ve been dating for, like, ever.”

“I-I think I remember that now,” Raven says. “How could I forget that you’re dating him? He’s so--memorable.” Venom seeps into the adjective.

“You didn’t know.”

Raven shakes her head.

Melinda’s face melts from calm to panic. “Please, Raven. You can’t tell him. He’d tell everyone, okay? And my dad would be so pissed. He can’t find out.”

Raven wants to refuse, to scream and shout and hurl the most devastating insults she can imagine. “Coward” and “tease” both come to mind, as do more noxious slurs.  She kowtows instead. “Of course I won’t tell him, Melinda. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. It’s your secret.”

Melinda exhales. “Perfect. No need to ruin a good thing, right? ‘Cause nothing is stopping us from still seeing each other.”

“Yeah. Sure,” she forces a smile.

With a chaste peck on the cheek, Melinda departs.

Raven is left alone with her thoughts. She kicks off her loafers and crawls into bed.

She doesn’t know Bruno very well, though of course she could have said the same about Melinda before tonight. He’s large, with platinum hair and dead eyes, and from the few times she’s heard him talk she would say he verges on dumb. But she shares some interests with him: athletics for one, Melinda for the other. In fact, Bruno and Melinda run in the same circle with the rest of the track team.

Run in the same circle. Funny. Melinda would find that funny, Raven thinks.

But she shouldn’t see Melinda again. She can’t. She knows she’s better than this, better than being reduced to nothing more than a bit of reassurance tucked away in the back of a closet. She stares at her phone, regarding it with a mixture of hesitation and impulse. A few taps, and she could delete all evidence of Melinda from the phone.

Her heart twists. She’s been to many sleepovers where she wished for what had just happened, so many instances when she wished she could just “go for it” like the male lead of every rom-com. She’s had several girl friends for whom she wished she could remove that space and formally declare as just her “girlfriend," girls for whom the compliments were meant to be romantic and not just uplifting. And there should be someone like that, some marriage of Melinda’s coquettish interest and a deeper, more permanent and public connection. There has to be a way to forge that. Near nightly, Raven reflects on the paradox of her sexuality, the question of “if there is gay life on this island, why haven’t I found it?” But she has found it, finally, and its interest is skin deep. A thought niggles at her mind, though—a thought that Melinda may be as lonely and lost as she is.

She reaches for her phone and opens her conversation with Melinda. “I had fun tonight,” she types.

It takes a few minutes for Melinda to reply: “Shh. 🤫”

***

"Lovefool" -- The Cardigans

Author's note: It feels good to play the game again! That's why so much happened in this chapter--I played for hours and hours and took very few screenshots.

I was really sad when Luna and Quentin died. I actually tried to get Lark to witness it so I could get pics/increase the feels. But both times, she was ported out of the house right before the reaper came.

I also had to reset the age settings since I got a new computer between this chapter and the last gameplay one. That seemed to mess up aging a bit--I think everyone got a few more days. So there's that.

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