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Heather was her friend, of course, but there was something about her that pissed Esther off. Maybe it was because Heather was, in many ways, Esther's opposite, with her no-nonsense attitude, her book smarts and good grades, her put-together appearance. Even the way she spoke was annoying, which is why Esther tended to zone out and listen just to the sound of her voice when Heather was speaking.
When she took notes, Heather would play with her ponytail with her free hand. It gave Esther a view of the back of her neck. Baby hairs at the base of her head turned into body hair that trailed down her spine and disappeared down the back of her shirt. There were hairs that swirled across her shoulders, and down her arms and legs in patterns Esther liked to follow with her eyes. She wanted to yank one of them.
“Ow! What are you doing?” Heather would say.
“I need it for black magic purposes,” Esther would reply, even though she wouldn’t actually pull one out.
“Awfully small. Wouldn’t one from my head work better?” Heather would ask.
“It works best if it hurts,” Esther would say. She would be making this all up as she went along. She didn’t need the hair and it didn’t need to hurt; she just wanted to annoy Heather. She didn’t know where they were having this conversation, either, or what they were doing. In her head, they were just hanging out in a field with dandelions.
Esther took notes, too, even if they were rarely related to whatever her teachers were talking about. Right now, she just had “cloud formations:” written at the top of the page, at least as far as notes on the lesson were concerned. Under it, she wrote, “flowers, vanilla, coconut?” which were guesses as to the notes of the perfume or shampoo or whatever it was Heather liked to wear. It made her stomach turn.
That night was the first time Esther would sleep over at Heather’s house. She had her weekend bag stuffed in her locker so she could go straight there after school. Heather took the school bus, so Esther had to get a pass saying she could ride with her.
On the walkway leading up to the door of Heather’s house was a colorful geometric pattern. It was mostly made up of squares with little flowers at the corners.
“Whoa. What is this drawing?” Esther asked.
“It’s called a kolam. It’s a decoration for the entryway that’s supposed to bring prosperity and keep away evil spirits.” Heather tilted her head thoughtfully. “So your demon friend probably wouldn’t be able to get into my house?”
“I think he usually just likes looking in people’s windows,” Esther replied. She hovered one foot over the walkway.
“You can step on it,” Heather said. “Traditionally, it’s made with rice powder, but we usually just use sidewalk chalk. So it gets replaced every couple of days instead of every day.”
The two spent most of the afternoon exploring the woods in Heather’s neighborhood, with Esther occasionally foraging and explaining what she meant to use the items for. Heather could identify many plants by sight, and seemed to like mosses and lichens.
At dinner, Esther put effort into not coming across as off-putting, something she normally didn’t trouble herself with. As far as Heather’s parents knew, their daughter was a nice, responsible girl who didn’t befriend witches who fraternized with ghosts and monsters. Esther was fine with keeping it that way.
Esther liked snooping in people’s bathrooms. One could learn a lot that way. On the toilet tank was a dish of pretty little seashell-shaped soaps, the same kind her grandmother had that Esther wasn’t allowed to touch. Under the sink were standard items: extra toilet paper, boxes of pads, unopened bottles of shampoo and conditioner, fancy soap, and a hair dryer with one of those spiky cone attachment thingies.
There were many bottles of different hair care products around the sink and in the shower, some of which probably belonged to Heather’s sister. Shampoo and conditioner, along with hair masks, hair gel, creams, oils, serums… Esther never put more thought into what she put in her hair than whether the cheapest shampoo and conditioner had a scent she liked.
In the cabinet behind the mirror, there were unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, and floss. Psh. Heather probably did actually floss every night. Razors, lotion, first aid stuff, and bottles of prescription medication.
Take one-half tablet by mouth daily for anxiety, read the instructions on one bottle. Esther saw Heather's name on the label and quickly glanced away before shutting the cabinet.
Esther popped open the cap of the shampoo she guessed was Heather’s and gave it a sniff. It had no discernible smell; she looked at the bottle and saw it was unscented.
“Boo,” Esther muttered. The horrible, pleasant fragrance that hung around Heather had to be something else, then.
“What are you smelling my shampoo for, weirdo?” The Heather in her mind asked.
“Why are you walking in on me in the bathroom, weirdo?” Esther retorted. The imaginary Heather dodged the question.
“Do you need that for black magic, too?”
“I wanna know what rich people shampoo smells like,” she said. “It smells like chemicals.”
After several minutes (or maybe just one that was extra-long), Esther managed to figure out how to turn on the shower. The razor on the wall probably belonged to her sister or her mom or something. She hoped Heather didn't start using one, which was a weird thought to have.
“Were you looking through our stuff?” Heather asked when Esther re-entered her room.
“No.”
“Liar. Anyway, it's fine. I always look around in cabinets and drawers when I visit the Undervale.”
“Sometimes I find mysterious artifacts that way. Other times, I find dead things,” Esther said.
They settled down for the night by watching horror movies on the living room floor and drawing in each other’s sketchbooks.
“I've lived in upstate New York my whole life, but I've never been to Niagara Falls,” Heather said at a scene that took place there.
“Really? I've been so many times, they don't even impress me anymore. I’m from Buffalo,” Esther said. “On both sides, it’s casinos as far as the eye can see.”
“You’ve been to the Canadian side?”
“Yeah. I’ve got family in Ontario. I tell people they live in Toronto, but they don’t really. They live in freaking Hamilton.”
Heather pulled out her ponytail and swept her hair over her shoulders a few times with her hands. She glanced over at Esther, whose breath hitched. She cleared her throat to cover it. So maybe Heather was, objectively, really pretty, especially with her hair down. So what?
“Can I, uh, b-brush your hair?” Esther asked, disgusted with the words coming out of her mouth. Brushing hair interested her about as much as talking about boys, or watching paint dry.
Heather blinked.
“Sure,” she said, and got up to grab a brush from her bedroom.
Esther took the brush and a fistfull of Heather’s thick, coarse hair. She started with the ends and worked her way up, the way her mom did when she was a kid. Mom did her best to make it painless, but Esther screamed and cried at the mere sight of the brush for years. Not that Heather needed to know that.
Heather’s hair did not have many tangles, and soon Esther found herself simply brushing for the sake of it. She did not like it; it was just that the motion–running her fingers over sections of hair, followed by the brush–was hypnotic. The two were silent for several minutes.
“You have nice hair. It’s, um. It looks pretty down,” Esther said.
“Thank you,” Heather replied, fidgeting.
Esther broke up Heather’s hair into segments and started to braid. Most of the time, she braided grasses or string for witchcraft purposes. Sometimes a lock of her own hair.
“Oh, if you're going to braid it, I have something I need to do first,” Heather said and got up.
“Huh? Okay,” Esther said, and stayed put while Heather went into the bathroom and combed some kind of oil through her hair. She returned, and Esther resumed braiding her hair.
“Uh. How’s that?” Esther asked as she tied it off.
“Good. Thanks,” she said. Heather turned to face Esther with a smile. She smiled back and looked away, tucking her choppy hair behind her ears.
Heather pinned up the braid and covered it with a silk bonnet.
“Oh, I forgot,” Heather muttered to herself and got up. She returned with a tub of lotion, which she scooped out and rubbed on her arms, focused in particular on her elbows.
“That’s what that is!” Esther exclaimed.
“That’s what what is?” Heather said, pausing.
“Your lotion! I can always smell it, but I’ve never been able to figure out what it is,” she said.
“It’s shea butter with, like, vanilla and violets, I think,” Heather inspected the tub’s label. “Do you want to try some?”
“Um, sure.” Esther reached out to take it, but rather than hand over the tub, Heather took her hand and dabbed a little on Esther’s knuckles, which were pretty chapped. She delicately held Esther’s fingers in one hand as she rubbed the lotion in with the other.
“Do you not trust me to only take a little, or something?” Esther asked internally.
“It’s expensive,” the Heather in her mind replied.
Her heart pounded, and she gripped her pajama pants with her free hand furiously. But she had to contend that getting mad about it was maybe a bit of an overreaction.
Esther sniffed her hand while Heather finished putting lotion on her legs. Soon, they were tucked into piles of blankets and pillows on the living room floor.
Heather turned to face her. Her eyes and mouth were glowing green. Just as Esther was about to point it out, Heather spoke.
“Just so you know,” she said, “Your mouth and eyes are glowing. They look green.”
“So do yours,” Esther said.
“Um… Do you know why?”
“No.”
They never quite identified what caused the green glow, despite searching high and low for potential sources. They considered preternatural causes, such as a light source, but there was nothing that could be casting it. They considered supernatural causes, such as a ghost, but none were revealed when Esther attempted a spell. Eventually, they fell asleep, and when they woke, the glow was gone.
Mom picked her up the next morning after breakfast.
“See you Monday,” Heather said. Esther pulled her into a hug.
“Yeah. See you,” she said. She waved out the window of the car, and Heather waved back.
Back at the Undervale, mom disappeared into the laundry room, and Esther ran into Ben in the parlor after dumping her stuff in her room. She opened up her sketchbook to the pages Heather had drawn on and smiled.
“You seem happy,” he said, setting aside the book he was reading.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason,” Ben said. There was something funny in his tone of voice. Esther turned to look at him; he had a sly, cat-like smile on his face.
“What are you implying?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Who, me? I’m not implying anything,” he said.
“Do not lie to me, Ben. I can turn you into a stink bug and you know it!” Esther got up and stood in his face.
“It really is nothing. I just think it’s cute my little sister has someone she like-likes,” Ben said. His face was smug and she needed to tear it off.
“No I DOOOOOOOON'T!” Esther exclaimed with a little more force than she meant to use.
“You totally do! Your face is so red!” Ben laughed and slapped his knees.
“Red with disgust at the idea I would like-like anyone, let alone Heather, of all people!” Esther said.
“I mean, you said it, not me,” Ben said. Esther’s mind stopped working for a moment as she realized he had not, in fact, mentioned Heather at all.
“Shut up shut up shut up! And you're wrong!” Esther stamped her feet.
“By the way, Esther,” Ben said, suddenly serious. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I just want to emphasize that I'm not making fun of you for homophobic reasons, okay? I love you for who you are. Uh, y'know. Mostly.”
“Cool, thanks,” she said through gritted teeth.
“It's just my solemn duty as older brother to do this to you.” Ben took a deep breath and hollered (with some difficulty, as Esther tackled him): “Hey, everyone! Esther's got a crush!”
A bevy of ghosts stuck their heads through walls, floors, and ceilings to chorus, “Oooooooooh!”
“Ben, I'm gonna kill you,” Esther said, clutching his hair in her first. “You are so. Dead.”
“We live in a hotel where everyone who dies comes back as a ghost,” Ben said, grabbing her wrists. “You can't get rid of me that easily!”
“I’ll destroy you! I’ll destroy your soul!” The two grappled with one another.
“This puts me in a difficult spot,” Abbadon said, having appeared from nowhere, as he was wont to do.
“Abbadon, help me!” Esther yelled.
“No, help me!” Ben replied. “We’re making fun of Esther for having a crush!”
“You’re dating a ghost!” She shoved into Ben, forcing him back onto the floor.
“I like Esther’s suggestion of destroying Ben’s soul… But I also like the misery Ben’s teasing brings you,” he said. Abbadon tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“Aw, c’mon!” Esther exclaimed. Ben gained the upper-hand momentarily before Esther had his arms above his head and put a foot to his chest.
Abbadon pointed his finger at Esther and said, smiling, “Ha-ha.”
“Abbadon, you traitor! Now I have to kill you, too.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Kids!” Mom barked as she came charging over. “No roughhousing!”
Ben and Esther scrambled apart and stood.
“Sorry, mom,” Ben said.
“I don’t need you breaking any of this old furniture that is impossible to replace or bashing a hole in the wall. If you’re going to fight, can you keep it verbal, please?”
Esther and Ben grumbled their agreement, but Abbadon piped up, “No promises.”
“What were you fighting about? Let’s talk it out,” she said, sounding exhausted.
“Ah, I was getting on Esther’s case about her grades. I mighta gone too far with it. I’m sorry, Esther,” Ben said.
“I’m sorry for attacking you,” Esther said, with a look that added, “You are spared. For now.”
“I was just observing,” Abbadon said.
“I was watchin’ the children fight, too,” Stabby Paul added from the hallway.
“Okay.” Mom took a deep, soothing breath. “Now hug.”
The siblings hugged awkwardly, but it was enough to satisfy their mom.
The rest of the weekend passed without incident, at least as much as a day could pass without incident at the Undervale. Esther returned to school Monday having more or less forgotten the spat with Ben.
“Hey, Esther,” Heather said from behind as students milled about in the courtyard before the bell rang. Esther turned, and her heart thudded in her chest. Heather wore her hair down with a couple barrettes to keep it out of her face.
“Uh, hey, Heather!” Her knees felt weak for a moment as they started to walk toward first period.
No, no, no, no!
Heather was really pretty. And smart, and funny, and more interesting than Esther had initially given her credit for. She hoped her face wasn’t the color of a boiled lobster as she mulled over the worst part of all: Ben was right!
“Matriarch.”
Katherine glanced down at Abbadon, who tugged at her sleeve as she “worked” the front desk. He looked dully up at her, as he often did.
“What is it, Abbadon?” she asked.
“You should check on Esther,” he said. “She does not want to talk to me. She’s in her room, crying.”
“She is?” Katherine asked. That didn't sound like Esther at all. Either she and Ben had swapped bodies, or something had her really upset.
“Also, she threw a book at me!” Abbadon tugged harder, indignant. “It hit me!”
“I’ll talk to her. Nathan, take over the desk for me!”
“I’m on it!” Nathan called from the kitchen.
From outside Esther’s door, Katherine could hear her crying. It certainly sounded like Esther. She knocked on the door to no answer.
“Esther? Is everything all right?” Katherine stepped in. Esther was curled up in the fetal position on her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest. She was, indeed, crying.
“Go away,” Esther whined. “Don’t look at me!”
“Hey,” Katherine said softly. She sat down on the edge of the bed and gave Esther’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!”
“That’s not true,” Katherine said. She rubbed small circles on her back. “You know you can talk to me about anything.” Esther took a few deep breaths to slow her tears.
“Mom, I–I think I’m gay.”
Katherine had been here before, nearly twenty years earlier. She remembered her brother pacing anxiously around their parents’ kitchen on a visit home from college. He looked as if he was about to cry.
“Kathy, I’m gay.” Nathan wrung his hands. “I wanted to tell you first because I don’t know how well our parents will react.”
Being just sixteen at the time, Katherine hadn’t known what to say, and so told him she didn’t care. It was one of many things she would do differently if she could do it all over again.
“I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.” Katherine had long had a hunch that was the case. There were a few reasons, with only one of them being that she had observed, over the last year or so, as Esther’s friendship with Heather blossomed into a crush. It was sweet. But the tears on her daughter’s face were a stark reminder of how miserable a crush could be. “And there is nothing wrong with that. Don’t let anyone make you feel like there is.”
“Psh,” Esther rolled over to look at her mother. “As if I would let anyone make me feel bad.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Katherine said with a smile. “But how about right now? What is making you feel bad?”
“Um… it might be because…” Esther held her pillow tighter and blushed. “Ugh! I don’t wanna talk about this!” She turned away again.
“How about I wager a guess?” Katherine offered. “Is it that you’re afraid you’ll ruin what you have if… uh, someone finds out you like them?”
“No,” Esther answered, unconvincingly.
“Well, honey, I can’t promise a friendship wouldn’t end over a crush not being returned. It’s happened to me on both sides.” Very comforting, mom, Katherine thought. “I just want you to remember that you’re in a time in your life when everything feels really big. Friends, crushes, relationships: they all come and go, but it’s not the end of the world. Even if it feels that way right now. Okay?” Esther sighed.
“Yeah. I understand, mom. It’s just…” Esther flipped onto her back, unfolding to grasp at her hair. “AUGH, why do I care so much!? Why is this happening to me? I feel like I’m going crazy!”
“That’s how I felt, too. The best thing about puberty is that, eventually, it ends,” Katherine said and stood up. “I’ve gotta get back to work. I love you.” She gave Esther a kiss on the temple, which Esther allowed.
“Love you, too, mom,” Esther said. “And, um. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”