Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(31)
Without hearing Reshma’s side, the Wells were certain that their daughter was the instigator in this scenario. (They were correct, of course. But their lack of faith hurt Reshma’s feelings!) That day, they sent their troublemaking kid back home.
Which is where she was now—curled up in her massive bed. Her room was so good: twinkly lights, a 1950s record player, a heart-shaped red guitar (she didn’t play). On the far wall hung a poster of a toothless, six-year-old Reshma posing with Robert Pattinson on a red carpet. During a goth phase in 2021, she’d burned out his eyes with cigarette butts. Sometimes, she wished she could stay in this room forever. Whenever she left, trouble found her.
And when she was in trouble? That was the only time her parents noticed her. She wondered why they adopted her, anyway. Her mom had been forty-five, her dad fifty-five. They were too old to decide to be parents! Deep down, Reshma suspected they were following the “white celebs adopting kids of color” model that was so trendy at the time. Maybe their careers were fading and they needed a publicity boost. Whatever it was, by the time she’d aged out of being the little brown cutie-pie they could flaunt on red carpets, they got bored.
Relatable. Nothing held Reshma’s attention for long, either.
When I get what I want I never want it again. That old Courtney Love lyric described her perfectly. It was from a song Eva played all the time, “Violet.” She had such eclectic music taste. Audre was lucky. Her mom was strict, but she was a normal person. Reshma wouldn’t have minded if her parents were a bit overprotective at times, like Eva was. At least she’d know they gave a shit. They never knew where she was, and they didn’t care.
Ugh, she was so jet-lagged. Too wired to sleep, she padded over to the mirror in her lace bralette and men’s pajama pants. She examined the dark circles under her huge, expressive eyes and decided they looked badass. Quickly, she blew out the Boy Smells Woodphoria candle simmering on her vintage vanity and rubbed on a matte red lipstick. Time to go. She was taking herself on a picnic in Prospect Park.
Reshma headed up Third Street with a picnic basket, a bottle of Malbec from her parents’ wine cellar, and her comfort book, A Thing of Beauty. It was a biography about the heroin-addicted ’70s supermodel and proud lesbian Gia. (Years ago, she’d watched the Angelina Jolie–starring biopic on a burner phone at sleepaway camp and fell in love.) Gia was tough. Naughty. She wore wrecked eyeliner. Relatable!
Also relatable? Gia’s desperation for love and attention, which no amount of glamour could satisfy.
Lost in thought, Reshma walked deep into the park, past the swan pond. If she met her at a party forty years ago, would she have caught Gia’s eye? Saved her from drugs? No, she’d probably just accidentally set Gia’s hair on fire with a lighter (which is what Reshma did to her last girlfriend, a far less famous model). No doubt, they would’ve been too similar to date. They’d eclipse each other, like the sun and the moon, a force too bright for human eyes to take in. At least, not without those eclipse glasses you buy off Amazon.
Reshma was so lost in her fantasy that she barely heard the squawking behind her. She kept walking, her AirPods playing old Summer Walker. And then, she felt an energy shift. She froze and whipped her head around. A huge swan was a few feet behind her. It looked mad.
With a shriek, she spun around and bolted. The swan ran after her, squawking and flapping its wings. Clutching the picnic basket to her chest, she ran and ran until she tripped and fell, like some pathetic Last Girl in a bad thriller. Just then, someone leapt over her and ran toward the swan.
“Darlene! Darlene, what are you doing? You calm down right now, young lady.”
Darlene the Swan let out one more squawk, but this one sounded far less aggressive. Frozen on the ground, Reshma opened her eyes and saw a girl bend down and hug the swan around the neck. She whispered something close to her head (did birds have ears?!) and then pointed back at the pond. Darlene rubbed her beak against the girl’s cheek and then waddled off, leaving a trail of ivory feathers behind her.
The girl was wearing a green vest that read PROSPECT PARKS & REC. She was so earthy-baddie cute, Reshma was thunderstruck. Micro-locs tumbling to her shoulders, a few decorated with gold cuffs. Radiant complexion the color of Reshma’s favorite flower, the toffee rose. Freckles across her nose. And, oh, a blinding smile with an adorable gap between her two front teeth.
“I’m Clio,” she said, stretching out her hand to Reshma. She grabbed it and stood up.
“Reshma,” she mouthed, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat. “I’m Reshma. Are you a Disney princess?”
Clio let out a twinkly giggle. “No, I’m a Prospect Park Alliance teen volunteer. I know all the swans. Darlene’s a fighter. You must’ve walked near one of her babies. She’s so aggressive, the city tried to put her down, but that won’t happen on my watch.” Her voice was silky and soothing, like ASMR. It didn’t match what she was saying, which was that Reshma was almost slain by America’s Most-Wanted Swan.
“You just saved my life,” said Reshma. She felt curiously weightless. Floaty. No one had ever saved her before. She felt like the protagonist of a cheesy old rom-com. She wanted to fall again so Clio could catch her. “You said you’re a teen volunteer?”
“I am!” Clio smiled at her brightly. “Are you interested in volunteering?”
“No, no, I just… how old are you, exactly?”