Anticipation sang between Freya and Dan the whole way home. Jennette and Tate were in the back seat. Tate fired off questions about Riley Halstead, and Jennette fielded them diplomatically, trying to hint it wasn’t happening. Tate was oblivious. They all shook their heads after they dropped him off.
How could he not know?
Dan dropped Jennette off next, and she smiled at them as she waved good night. At last, it was just Freya and Dan, and her heart was a two-step of elation-into-apprehension. Freya was glad it was a long way home.
“I like her,” Freya said as they backed out of Jennette’s driveway.
“Yeah, she’s like, really genuine. Do you think there’s any hope with Rad?”
“Not really,” Freya admitted, shaking her head. “Who knows, though. Maybe she can break through his shell while he’s hurt. That was the most emotional I’ve ever seen him.”
Dan hesitated a moment before replying.
“I’m sorry he’s hurt, but I think it’s gross he hit Jane. Really fucked up.” There was something raw in his voice. “Not that he deserved to get beaten or anything, I just don’t like it.”
Freya nodded, about to say something in agreement, but then she stopped herself. She didn’t agree at all. She was about to go along with Dan’s opinion just because she liked him. It would be so easy to just go with the flow.
She saw herself drifting down that path, becoming one of those complaisant girls whose identity was subsumed by the person they dated. Was that what she was really like? Freya probed at the feeling, trying to tell if this was a bruise at her edge or rot at her core.
That isn’t me.
“I’m not sad he did it,” Freya said and, as she spoke, she felt certainty hardening in her mind. She wasn’t some groupie.
“You think it’s okay he hit a girl?” Dan said, his eyebrows slanted in confusion.
“No. I don’t think it was right, but I’m glad he did it. Jane tried to hurt me as bad as she could in front of everyone. I was in a hole. I couldn’t fight back. And she knew. She just kept jabbing at me, it was vile. I would rather get punched, at least that’s honest.”
Dan nodded. She could tell he didn’t know what to say.
“We used to be friends. Jane didn’t use to be that way. She really changed,” Freya said, the words bitter in her mouth.
“I didn’t really think of it like that,” Dan said, still uneasy. “It just feels wrong to me. I would never do that.”
“Well, it’s not like it’s some big, huge dude beating up on a girl half his size either. Radomir is tiny. I’m sure Jane outweighs him.”
There was silence between Dan and Freya. The engine rose as the car climbed the hill to Freya’s house, and the heater sighed dry air.
Freya wondered if she should have said anything. What did it matter what she thought? For all her grandstanding, she’d been letting Dr. Garbuglio and some rock from outer space tell her how to feel for weeks. Without the Starball, she wouldn’t even be here. She would have vanished into the hole at the top of her dreams, and her body would be washed up on the riverbank.
“Sorry,” Dan said as they pulled into her driveway. “I didn’t mean to get so heavy. I wasn’t there, I don’t know why I’m being so judgmental.”
“I get where you’re coming from, I just—” Freya stopped short as Dan hit the brakes. As his headlights swept over her house, the shadows were all wrong, there were lines that didn’t belong. It took a second to realize they were letters. Black lines of spray paint dripped all over the white doors of the garage.
“What the fuck?” Dan breathed.
The lights were on in the living room, and there was another car parked in the driveway, a midnight blue X3. All Freya’s hopes for tonight died. Lassa was home.
Covering the left door of the garage was a giant, poorly executed skull. On the right door, in letters five feet high, the graffiti read:
S N I T C H !
Freya wanted to ask Dan to turn around and drive her far away from here. The front door swung open. Lassa stood wreathed in light. In her left hand was Randall’s gun.
“Oh, shit,” Dan said quietly, and he took his hands off the wheel and held up his palms.
“Lassa! It’s me!” Freya shouted, but the windows muffled the sound. Freya turned on the console light and waved her hand frantically. Lassa squinted into the night, then waved back with her empty hand. The gun stayed pointed at the ground as Lassa approached the car. Dan rolled down the window delicately.
“Oh, hi, Freya. Who’s this?” Lassa asked, far too calm with the pistol in her hand. Her hair was wet, and there was the smell of soap carried into the car on a gust of wind. She’d just gotten out of the shower.
“Put the gun away, Lassa!” Freya demanded.
“Settle down, the safety is on. Hi, who are you?” she asked Dan again.
“That’s Dan from Krav Maga. He was giving me a ride home.”
“Hi, Mrs. Jokela,” Dan said. “Don’t shoot, please. My car leaks enough already.”
“Ha! Sorry for the poor welcome, Dan. I didn’t recognize your car. I was afraid you might our very untalented housepainters back for another coat.”
“I’m more of a roller and brush kinda guy,” Dan said, and Lassa snerked. Dan’s wit got quicker as he got more nervous.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Come in. We have a lot to talk about,” Lassa ordered Freya. She left them there and returned to the house.
Freya took a deep breath.
“Wow,” Dan said, a little stunned by the exchange.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s all right, just a little jarring. Are you okay? I can head home if you want.”
Freya had to make a terrible decision. If she let him go home, she would have to go inside and be alone with Lassa. The thought made her feel terribly small. But if she asked Dan to come in, who knew what Lassa would do? What if she freaked out at Dan, and he never spoke to her again? Freya was certain no matter what she chose, everything would come out wrong.
“Please, don’t,” Freya said. “Would you come inside with me? My mom can get kind of extreme sometimes.” More than anything, she didn’t want to face Lassa on her own. Dan nodded slowly. She hoped he understood.
“Sure,” Dan said, and Freya was so relieved she leaned over to kiss him. The softness of his lips sang on hers as she pulled away. She felt a doubling, the echo of his uncertainty beneath her own, the feeling of her own lips upon his. Freya caught Dan’s eyes. They were both searching for something.
Dan reached out and held her hand. Why did Lassa have to be home? All the things she’d wanted for tonight were ruined. Her thoughts were smoldering with memories of the dream that morning. Dan’s eyebrows raised as if he knew what Freya was thinking.
It was suddenly far too hot in the car, and Freya let go abruptly. She catapulted out of the passenger door, welcoming the cold air that washed over her.
Inside the car, Dan placed both hands on the wheel and drew a deep breath. He shifted his jeans as he climbed out of the car, trying to hide his excitement, but she felt everything. It was just like the dream.
She reached into her pocket, and the Starball was there, hot with purpose. The night was new and awkward, and they walked to the door together. Neither of them was certain of what was happening, and neither wanted it to end.
Inside, Lassa prepared hot chocolate, which was serious business in their house. Freya smelled the cardamom pods as Lassa crushed them with the back of her knife. In one saucepan, she heated milk with the green pods, and in a double boiler, she melted bars of Fazer chocolate with unsalted butter. As the chocolate melted and the milk simmered, she broke up a stick of Ceylon cinnamon and ground it finely with a spice grinder. She had the espresso machine heating up to froth the milk.
Dan sat on the couch, seeming a little awestruck at the high ceilings and expensive furniture. All around the house, Freya spotted signs of things Lassa had moved back into place, the dining table chairs lined up just so. The washing machine was running, and Lassa had unpacked everything and put it all away as soon as she’d come home.
Lassa brought two cups of hot chocolate over to Freya and Dan. She returned to the kitchen and washed every pot before she joined them with her own cup. There was a little shortbread cookie on each saucer, and she’d poured the frothed milk so each cup had a little heart in rings of foam. Freya inhaled the scent of cinnamon. The smell of this hot chocolate was deeply bound in her memories. The last time Lassa made chocolate, Randall had been here to drink it with them.
“This is the fanciest hot chocolate I’ve ever had,” Dan said. He seemed hesitant to even drink it, and Freya couldn’t help but grin at him. He was like an alley cat sniffing at a handout. He took a sip, and his eyes lit up. “This is so good! Is there chai in it?”
“That’s the cardamom. The chocolate is Fazerin Sininen, from my hometown of Vantaa. They make an excellent salmiakki also.”
“What’s that?” Dan asked, with a thin mustache of cinnamon-speckled foam on his upper lip.
“Salty licorice,” Freya grimaced. “It’s really gross.”
“It is a strong flavor for strong people,” Lassa replied. She settled onto the chair across from them. Even in the way she moved, Freya saw something was different. The over-wound tension in her steps was gone. The dangerous part of Lassa was dormant, for now.
“Now, who has painted our garage so poorly?”
Freya explained. Lassa asked many questions. She was taking notes and, here and there, she would tap a detail into her phone. Dan seemed a little uneasy with the interrogation at first, but he could not avoid being swept into it.
If Freya couldn’t remember a detail, Lassa would turn her gaze on him. Lassa wanted exact details about everything, the make of Malcolm’s car, the clothes he wore, the time he’d arrived at the party. There was something comforting about how thorough she was, like everything would be set to right if they only told her everything.
Lassa clicked her tongue at the part about Jane confronting Freya in the hall and shook her head. Freya knew exactly what her mother was thinking. She thought Freya should have stood up for herself and been the one to knock Jane down. Lassa wouldn’t bring that up with Dan there. When Freya got to the part about Radomir getting attacked, Lassa set her saucer down and her hands clenched into tight fists.
“Mitä vittua?!” she exclaimed angrily. “Do not translate that,” she shot at Freya when she saw Dan’s look of confusion. “This imbecile slashes your tires, he puts a child in the hospital, and now he has time to spray paint our house? Why have they not arrested him? It’s been nearly an hour since I called. Where are the police?”
“They’re looking for him. He hasn’t come to school since the beating.”
“What about the girl who hit you and threw the rock? Any more trouble?” Lassa asked, and Freya shook her head. She knew Lassa was itching to call Lynn Harris and raise hell.
“This hooligan had better pray the police find him before I do,” Lassa concluded. Freya frowned. She should have known that was why they were getting grilled. It wasn’t an idle threat. Radomir’s father, Dymek, was one of Lassa’s drinking buddies; they watched soccer together.
Freya reached into her pocket for the Starball, wishing she could use it to calm Lassa down, too. It was possible Lassa would track Malcolm down. Freya no idea what would happen next. Would she beat him? Torture him? She might even kill him. There was no way to tell what Lassa would do.
“How was your hike?” Freya asked, trying to get some idea of Lassa’s mental state.
“It was what I needed. I wish I had thought of it months ago. We will talk more about it privately, but I have considered a lot of what you said to me, and I want to apologize for many things.”
Dan looked at the door, and Lassa caught his eyes and shook her head. “We can speak of it later, after I talk with the police. I’m going to sleep for twenty hours.”
“That’s good! I’m sorry for what I said, too. Dr. Garbuglio has been helping me a lot,” Freya said, expecting that was one of the things Lassa had considered. Still, there was a flash of warning in Lassa’s eyes. “Dan…” Freya began, then she turned to Dan for approval.
“I see Dr. Garbuglio, too. He’s helped me a lot,” Dan said, weaving his words around the tension in the air.
“Really? I never would have suspected. Why?” Lassa asked. She thought it was weak to see a psychiatrist. Like everyone ought to just vanish into the wilderness for weeks and fix themselves.
“I lost my twin sister Angie five years ago.” Dan’s voice was neutral, but there were so many layers of hurt braided into it Freya and Lassa couldn’t help but be caught up. His words struck Lassa like a blow. The interrogator’s mask crumpled.
“It’s better now but, for a few years, I was in rough shape,” Dan said.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Lassa’s mouth was a flat line that trembled as she tried to hold everything down.
“It’s okay, thank you,” Dan replied. Silence surrounded them as they all struggled to find words. Lassa was the one who finally spoke.
“I feel like gravity is broken, and nothing holds together the way it ought to,” Lassa said. Freya and Dan lowered their heads. The air was too full of unspoken words.
Freya wished she could reach out to her mother. She knew it was impossible. Lassa’s eyes were distant, and she hugged her knees against her chest, a fortress against any approach. They were only an arm’s length apart, but there were light years yawning between them. Freya pictured the Starball gliding through the void for a hundred million years. She and Lassa were on trajectories that would never intersect.
“I’m gonna show Dan my guitar before he heads home,” Freya said, not asking so Lassa couldn’t say no.
“Have fun,” Lassa said softly. Her eyes were wet as she peered into her empty cup.