CHAPTER ONE

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december 17, 1970

     THESE BOOTS ARE MADE for walking, Esther thinks, not for standing around in half a foot of snow. Suede and snow do not mix, and if she'd known that she would have to wait outside for the end-of-semester assembly to finish, she would have waited in her car. The first cardinal rule of suede is not to wear it in rain or snow, at least not for an extended period of time. She hadn't thought she'd be in the snow for longer than a minute. But here she is, ten minutes into her wait, and her shoes are totally damaged beyond repair.

     Her brown corduroy pants are clinging to her skin from the damp air, now, too. Every time she reaches down to unstick the fabric from the back of one of her thighs, the other leg reattaches itself, forcing her to repeat the same task over and over again.

     She's this close to leaning back and bashing her skull against the building's brick exterior when the organ inside strikes up the tune to Joy to the World and excited chatter spills out from the crack under the door. The doors open moments later and hordes of teenage boys stream through into the cold, damp outside. A few gawk at the rare sight of a girl their age on campus, but most are too busy booking it to the parking lots.

     "Esther!" a voice behind her barks.

     She can't help rolling her eyes, but she fixes her face before she turns to greet her stepfather. "Hardin," she responds, fighting a smug little smile at the disapproval on her stepfather's face. He's always hated Esther's insistence on using his first name, but he's not her dad and saying stepfather is way too many syllables.

     There is no hug to be shared between these Franken-family members. The headmaster of Barton Academy extends a hand for a respectable handshake, and Esther only takes it because people have started looking. Hardin Woodrup has also noticed this, as he turns to a gaggle of teachers to his side and, upon releasing Esther's hand, gestures at her. "This is my stepdaughter — Esther," he tells the group. They all nod and smile and exchange polite greetings, and Esther reciprocates because she doesn't have anything against these people.

     Only Woodrup. Fuck Woodrup.

     "Okay. You'll be here with Mister Hunham, you will listen to him, you will do as you're told. Understand?"

     Esther has to fight not to roll her eyes in his face — she'll do that on her own time. "No, I suddenly lost the ability to speak English. Mōichido nihongo de itte moraemasu ka?"

     Woodrup's blank stare is enough satisfaction for her. Not only had he made absolutely no effort to learn Japanese — even though he'd been dating a woman with a Japanese daughter for three whole years before he'd decided to propose — he'd outright banned the language in the house. A year into having a Japanese stepdaughter and still, all he can say is konnichiwa ( and he won't even say that ). He can argue that it's because Esther only moved in full-time a month before the wedding, but Esther knows it's just a lot of laziness and a hint of racism on his part. And maybe misplaced jealousy over not having met his wife before she had a kid with another man.

     He turns away from her and begins to bid the leaving students a Merry Christmas, so Esther steps back to lean against the bricks again. She crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing her biceps in an attempt to generate warmth. Her colour-blocked turtleneck isn't doing enough to keep her warm anymore.

     She watches the students move about in front of her. Most leave, some loiter, one walks back into the hall — led by a woman in a grey skirt suit. He looks at her as he passes. She looks back, raises her brows as if to say what are you looking at? He looks away after that.

     A few minutes later, after Esther's fingers have turned a sort of painful shade of red, a middle-aged man with a lazy eye sticks his head out of the hall. He finds her easily, given that she's still right by the door and also the only Asian-American woman in the entire vicinity. He beckons her inside, looking just about as pleased as Esther feels about the situation. Maybe he was forced into this too. Wouldn't that be funny?

     Silently, he takes her into a small, warm common room with a yellow L-shaped couch and a ping-pong table and gestures for her to take a seat. There are already four boys seated — two about her age, both blond, and two significantly younger, probably thirteen-ish. They all turn to look at the fresh meat coming through the door, and each of them freezes upon seeing a girl. Confused, no doubt. One of the older boys lets his eyes linger just a little too long. Esther scowls at him and he averts his gaze.

     She takes a spot next to one of the younger boys. At least he won't try to put a hand on her thigh.

     The middle-aged man — Mr Hunham, Esther presumes — takes his place in front of the five. "I suspect that like me, this is not how you wanted to spend your holidays. But, such are the vicissitudes of life. And as Barton men," he falters, glancing at Esther, "and women, we learn to confront our challenges with heads held high and with a spirit of courage and good fellowship. Uh, in strict accordance with the dictates of the manual, of course."

     Movement in the corner of Esther's eye draws her head to the door she'd just come through. Another boy — tall, lanky, and brunet lingers there. He's the one she'd seen going back inside just earlier. He doesn't look at her. He doesn't look at much of anyone, really, keeping his eyes only on Hunham.

     "Mister Tully, are you joining us as well?" Hunham asks. He looks to be fighting a smile. "What happened to Saint Kitts?"

     The boy doesn't look like he could be any angrier if he tried. Esther feels quite the same way. "Something came up," he murmurs. He walks further into the room and unceremoniously drops his suitcase to the floor, choosing to lean against the ping-pong table rather than join the rest of the group on the sofa.

     Hunham clears his throat. "So, for the next two weeks, we will be following a standard school schedule," he says.

     One of the blond boys — the one who hadn't let his eyes linger on Esther's body — raises his hand. "Sir? Uh, sir, we're on vacation," he protests.

     He's promptly ignored by the teacher, who continues talking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Which means we will be taking our meals together, and you will observe regular hours of study."

     This time, Esther raises a hand and she doesn't wait to be acknowledged. "Sir, I don't even attend this school, so, surely I'm not included in this, right?"

     Hunham stares blankly at her, or over her shoulder, she can't tell which eye is the accurate one. Probably the one looking her in the face — that'd make more sense. "Miss Woodrup, as long as you are staying on this campus, you will be included in whatever these young men are."

     The energy in the room shifts as each of the boys realise, one by one, who Esther is and why she's here. "Miss Yasui," Esther grumbles. She'd made a point of not taking her stepfather's name and she will not have that point ignored by some man she doesn't even know.

     "Study? Are you kidding me?"

     Hunham directs his glare at the blond boy who had oggled Esther upon her entrance. "The Peloponnesian War awaits, Mister Kountze. You and Mister Tully. The rest of you can get a jump on the next semester, and Miss Yasui, I'm sure I can find you a topic for your study. It'll pay off. You'll see."

     Esther doesn't bother arguing, too busy accepting the small victory of Hunham using her correct name.

     "We're already holding over and now we're being punished for it?" Tully mutters, looking out the window instead of at any of them.

     "You will be afforded limited windows for recreation and supervised physical activity," Hunham continues.

     "The gym's not even open yet," Tully argues.

     "Yeah, they only lacquered half the floor," the blond that Esther hasn't caught the name of continues.

     Esther raises her hand again. "Is that lake outside safe for ice skating?" she asks, ignoring the looks each of the boys throws at her. She's gotta train if she wants to make it to the Winter Olympics before she's twenty.

     "I believe so, yes. But to be safe, you are not to go on it without supervision," Hunham responds, seemingly unfazed at the question. Woodrup must have mentioned that she skated. "As for the rest of you, the fresh air will do you good."

     Tully grumbles. "It's, like, fifteen degrees outside."

     "And the Romans bathed naked in the freezing Tiber," responds Hunham. Esther holds back a chuckle at that. She skates in the freezing cold wearing tights and a little dress. The same weather while wearing a bunch of warm coats is nothing in comparison. "Adversity builds character, Mister Tully. Uh, speaking of which, the school will be cutting heat to dormitories and faculty housing, so we'll all be bunking in the infirmary." Before any of the teenagers have a chance to complain, Hunham makes a grand gesture toward Esther. "Now, make your introductions to Miss Yasui and we'll be on our way."

Hunham slaps his thighs as he goes to leave, disappearing through the doors before any of the teenagers decide to make a move. Nobody introduces themselves to anybody and before anyone attempts to break the silence, Esther stands and heads for the door as well.

"Where are you going?" Tully asks. There's an element of a sneer to his voice that almost makes Esther feel like his snark could rival her own.

Esther turns back around. "Getting my shit from my car," she replies. "Can't move in if I don't have my stuff, can I?" She spins on her heel and sets off for the exit, hugging her body to conserve warmth as she steps out into the frigid air. Luckily, she didn't park too far from the doors, picking a spot off the road instead of in the parking lot, so she makes it there quickly.

Her first order of business is to find and put on her winter coat — a decently expensive navy blue one with a fur-lined hood ( faux, of course. she's not a monster ). With the added layer of warmth, she goes for her bags in the back. She has two — so she slings one into an open hand and the other onto the ground so she can close the trunk before picking it up.

Chattering voices echo through the open space, and Esther looks over just in time to watch the five boys shambling toward her, bags in hand. She sighs, a burst of fog leaving her lips, and leans against the back of her white car.

"Whoa, nice ride!" the blond boy exclaims as he gets closer. He charges forward, trying to get a look at the vehicle from every angle possible.

Esther smiles and pats her car fondly. "Yeah, she's my baby."

In a rare display of kindness, Woodrup and Esther's mother had bought her her own car for her sixteenth birthday — a lightly used 1967 Pontiac Catalina in the shade Cameo Ivory. Esther never considered herself much of a car girl, but ever since receiving this gift, she'd made extra sure to take excellent care of it.

"Convertible?"

"You know it."

"Nice!"

The rest of the boys catch up, though Esther only notices because Tully has clearly decided that now is the perfect time to start his grumbling. "This is the most bullshit ever," he complains. "If we have to stay, why'd we have to draw Walleye?"

Esther blinks. "Wall eye?" she asks.

Tully blinks back at her. "Yeah, 'cause his eye faces the wall."

"Oh, that's messed up."

The blond reappears from behind Esther's car. "You know he used to be a student, right?" he asks the other boys.

Tully rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's why he knows how to inflict maximum pain on us, the sadistic fuck," he mutters.

"At least we didn't draw Decker," Kountze adds. "He'd be perving all over us."

Esther screws up her face in disgust — it's either a shitty rumour to spread about someone or he's a shitty person to employ at a school. The two younger teenagers pass by Esther's car on their way to the infirmary building when Tully holds up a hand. "Hey, guys, hold up for a second."

Tully and Kountze both drop their bags beside the car. "Oh, yeah, let's all hang out at my car, I'm fine with this," Esther deadpans, throwing her hands up in exasperation. None of the boys seem to have heard her.

Tully pulls out a few cigarettes and a lighter and reaches over to tap Esther's arm. "Want one?"

"Well, it's only fair," Esther replies, sticking her hand out. Tully drops one of the cigarettes into her open palm and she puts it between her lips, leaning forward expectantly. Tully furrows his brows at her. "Well, a lady doesn't light her own cigarette," she says.

Stifling a small chuckle, Tully reaches out and flicks the lighter, setting the end of the cigarette alight for her. Esther takes a hit and breathes the dark grey smoke out like she's done it a million times before — because she has.

"Give me that," Kountze says, reaching out to snatch the lighter from Tully's hand. He goes to light the blunt he's got stuck in his mouth but stops when Tully starts complaining again.

"Don't smoke that out here. I don't want to get busted by Walleye."

Kountze scoffs. "Don't be such a pussy," he says, reaching up to light the blunt anyway.

"I'm not a pussy," Tully argues. "I just don't want to end up at Fork Union, paying for your mistake."

Ignoring him once again, Kountze takes a hit from his blunt and turns his attention away from Tully. "Teddy Kountze," he says, finally formally introducing himself to Esther and the other blond.

"Jason Smith," the other blond responds.

Kountze hums. "Yeah, I know who you are. Want to hit this?" Jason hesitates for all of a second, shrugging his bag further onto his shoulder, before cracking. Kountze passes the blunt to him and falls silent as he takes a drag. "You got a great arm, man," he says after Jason's had a chance to exhale.

Jason shrugs. "Yeah, well, it's just football."

"So, how'd you get stuck holding over?" Kountze asks.

"I'm supposed to be skiing with my folks up at Haystack," he begins, kissing his teeth, "but my dad put his foot down, said I can't come home unless I cut my hair."

Tully scoffs. "So why don't you just cut your hair?"

After taking another hit, Jason chuckles. "Civil disobedience, man." He passes the blunt back to Kountze.

"Right on," Esther says between drags of her own cigarette.

Jason half-smiles. "Yeah, but, he's cool. It's just a battle of wills. Still, I was kind of hoping he'd cave first because the powder up at Haystack is so sweet right now."

Again, Kountze hums. He turns his attention to Esther. "What about you, Woodrup? Why are you here?"

Esther just barely resists rolling her eyes in his face upon hearing her stepfather's surname. "Yasui," she once again corrects. "My Grandma got sick so she couldn't look after me while my Mom and stepdad went on vacation, so I got stuck here."

Kountze nods. "And, Mister Moto? How about you?" He's directed his question at one of the younger boys — the Asian one, judging by his choice of nickname. Esther does roll her eyes this time. If she's going to have to deal with this boy's unchecked racism for her whole stay, she's going to make damn sure he knows that she won't take it sitting down.

"Uh, no. Uh, my name is Ye-Joon," the boy says. He sounds like he genuinely doesn't understand that Kountze was being offensive on purpose. "Uh, my family is in Korea, and they think it's too far for me to travel alone."

Kountze snickers and leans against the side of Esther's car. "I figured it was because your rickshaw was broken." He looks to each of the older teenagers as he laughs at his own joke.

Neither Jason nor Tully give him anything, but Esther slams her hand down on the back of her car — sorry, Mayfair — and clenches a fist. "Hey, shut the fuck up!" she shouts. All of the boys, including Kountze, jump and seize up.

Then, Kountze snickers again. "Someone's angry," he taunts. "Hey, if you get mad, does your face turn orange? Y'know, because you're y—"

Esther doesn't need to hear the rest of his comment to know what he's about to call her. She drops her cigarette to the snowy ground and all but launches herself at Kountze, just barely avoiding making contact only because Jason swoops in to grab her before she can scratch his face off.

"You're an asshole, Kountze," Tully says. "Your mind's a cesspool and a shallow one at that."

"Who's the asshole, Tully?" Kountze retorts. "You're the one who blew up history."

Jason sighs, releasing Esther only after her limbs go limp. She raises her hands in surrender and steps back to her spot at the back of her car. Jason turns his attention to the younger teenagers. "What's your story, man?" he asks the other boy.

He perks up a little at the acknowledgement. "Alex Ollerman," he introduces himself. "I'm here because my parents are on a mission in Paraguay." After a beat wherein nobody says anything, he tacks on, "We're LDS."

"Mormons, right?" Jason asks.

"Latter-day Saints," Esther clarifies. Jason's brows furrow, so, after looking to Alex for confirmation, she adds, "Yeah, Mormons."

Kountze scrunches up his face. "Don't you guys wear some kind of, like, magic underwear?" he asks.

"That's a common misconception. Actually, it's called a temple garment, and we're only supposed to wear it when we—"

Immediately upon receiving his answer, Kountze turns around to look behind him, fixating on two men in winter gear carrying a pine tree out of a grey brick building. "Hey, what's up with the townies?" he questions.

Everyone else turns to look, tuning out Alex's lesson in Mormonism. "Hey, what are you doing with our Christmas tree?" Tully shouts.

The two men look up at the group. "The school sold it back to us. Scotch pine, still fresh!" the first man calls back.

"Yeah, we're going to put it back on the lot," the second says. "We do it every year."

Tully scowls. "This is the most bullshit ever."

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a/n:
i feel naked not doing author's notes at the end of these but like, i'm pumping all these chapters out at once, i literally have nothing to say.

so uh question time i guess: what's your favourite movie you watched for the first time this year? mine's probably a tie between 'ready or not' or 'the holdovers' (hence the fic)

published: december 25, 2024
word count: 3.2k