Frozen Hearts

Chapter 2

“When I was old enough to.”

Even though I suspected such an answer, my eyes still pop wide. “Shut up.”

In response, he takes a drag ononon his cigarette.

“You’re kidding! You actually waited until twenty-one to try alcohol? That’s crazy. I had my first drink when I was eleven. I got my period,period,period, and it hurt like a f*****g b***h, so I tried my mom’s wine to dull the pain.”

A puff of smoke before he says, “That’s more information than I needed to know, but good for you.”

"What, do"What, do"What, do periods make you uncomfortable?”

“Seeing that I’ve got a sister your age, I would say no, but I’m okay if you think that.”

“You have a sister my age?” I askedaskedasked excitedly. “What’s her name?”

His response is to let out another string of smoke.

“What’s your name?”

No response.

Well, except for more smoking.

And the more he does that, the more he doesn’t answer me, the more I want to know. And I know that I have to be somewhere, but damn it, I’m intrigued now.

I sigh dramatically. “Well, if you don’t tell me, I have no choice but to call you Mr. Adorbs.”

He hums. “That’s a new one.”

“So whydon't youdon't you don't you just share what people call you?”

“Cold,” he replies. “People call me cold.”

“Cold, huh.” Tilting my head to the side,side,side, even though I know there’s no way I’m going to catch even a little bit of what he looks like, I reply, “Then we’re perfect for each other.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I love winter.”

“I’m colder than winter.”

“And because my middle name is Agni.”

“What’s Agni?”

“Fire,” I inform him. “In Sanskrit.”

He releases another puff of smoke,smoke,smoke, as if to emphasize my name. “Fire.”

“Yup. My mom’s from India, born and brought up, and when I was young, they said I was unpredictable. I’d cry one second and laugh the next. I’d throw tantrums in the middle of the laughter. So she named me Agni, unpredictable like the fire. I’m Isadora Agni Holmes,Holmes,Holmes, and even if you’re colder than winter, I can melt you”—I snap my fingers—“just like that.”

“Isadora Agni Holmes,” he repeats,repeats,repeats, as if he wants to get a taste of my name.

Of me.

Or maybe I want him to want that.

Because apart from finding him more and more intriguing as the seconds pass, I realize with a certain level of shock that I want that too. I want to get a taste of him.

And that’s definitely never happened to me before.

Definitely.

Who is this guy?

“That’s me,” I murmur, still taken aback by my realization.

“A mouthful,” he murmurs back.

“So?” I prod. “What’s your name?”

“Nowherenear as muchnear as much near as much of a mouthful as yours.”

I studiedstudiedstudied him then. Or rather,rather,rather, his silhouette.

All shrouded in mystery and intrigue.

“So is that how we’re playing it?” I shift on my feet.

“Games are for children”—he shifts on his feet too,too,too, and I notice him lean against the trunk as if settling himself in for the long haul—“but why not???”

“Okay then.” I nod, accepting the challenge. “We already know you’re not my bodyguard. Which means you must be a guest. And since I just told you my name, you probably also know that this is my party...”

He jerks his chin at me. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

I lift my chin at him in response. "So,"So,"So, how about you tell me your name as a birthday gift?”

“Can’t.”

“But—”

“I already bought you gifts.”

Forgetting my disappointment for a second, I ask excitedly, “Yeah? What’d you bring me?”

I detect a shrug.

“A gift basket from one of those spa places. My sister assures me girls like that.”

I don’t know why, but I find that really adorable.

HeHeHe wentwentwent to his sister to ask about what girls like.

“But now I’m rethinking it,” he finishes.

“What, why?”

“Because from what I hear, girls like tequila and cigarettes these days,” he drawls.

“But then again, you don’t share your cigarettes,cigarettes,cigarettes, and I’m not old enough to drink. So a gift basket works. Thanks.” I chuckle, deciding here and now that,that,that, as soon as I get a chance, I’m going to hunt down his gift first.

“You’re welcome.”

Then it occurredoccurredoccurred to me what he said. “But wait, you said gifts. Giftsss. You brought me more than one? What’s my other gift?”

“KeepKeepKeep your secret.”

“What secret?”

Releasing a puff of smoke, he goes, “That you’re sneaking out of your own party.”

“I’m not?—”

“Because that’s what you’re doing, aren’t you?” HeHeHe cuts me off. “Sneaking out.”

Normally, I’d debate how much to tell him. Because if he’s a guest, then that means he’s a friend of my parents. And who knows how trustworthy he is???

But this is not normal.

What’s happening right now———what I’m feeling right now———is not normal.

“Maybe,” I say.

He straightens up from the tree and nods. “Well then, don’t let me keep you from whatever it is you’re sneaking off to do.”

“What do you think I’m sneaking off to do?”

He pushes a hand down his pocket and,and,and, with the other,other,other, puts the cigarette back in his mouth. “Meet a boy.”

“A boy?”

In the wake of smoke from his lips, he replies, “And just a little piece of advice: Keep your bra on.”

I smile. “Yeah, why?”

“Because boys can be assholes.”

“And you know that because you’ve got a sister my age?”

“She’s a little older than you,you,you, but yeah.”

Actually, forget being intrigued.

I’m totally and completely obsessed.

“I’m going for an audition,” I tell him truthfully.

That gives him pause. “An audition.”

“Yeah, for a play.” And then,then,then, to test it out, I add, “I’m an actress.”

“An actress,” he murmurs.

“Yes. Or at least Iwant towant to want to be, and if I get the role, I could be.”

“What’s the role?”

And my heart blooms.

There’s no other way to put it.

It blooms that he’s asking me about the play. HeHeHe’s taking an interest.

No one in my life has ever done that before.

Not one person.

Well,except forexcept for except for my biji.

Except forExcept forExcept for my grandmother, they all think it’s a frivolous hobby of a spoiled little rich girl rather than a passionate dream since childhood. A passionate dream I’ve always been persecuted for because it’s not conventional or something my mother—and therefore my father as well—approve of.

It’s not something good girls do.

Good girls go to school, get good grades, and follow all the rules. Good girls wear modest clothes, don’t go toparties, andparties, and parties, and only date boys their parents approve of. Good girls grow up to become high---society wives who don’t make waves, look pretty ininin their husbands’ arms, and don’t generate negative attention from the media.

Good girls aren’t like me.

“It’s, uh, from a book called Lolita,” I tell him, my breaths all fast and hazy. “I’m auditioning for the lead role.”

which I’ve prepared for weeks in secret.

In my defense, I wasn’t going to.

I wasn’t going to disobey my parents. For all my rebellious ways, I don’t enjoy pissing them off. I don’t enjoy being punished,,, grounded,grounded,grounded, or made to feel like an outsider in my own family. I don’t think any kid likes that;;; the very people who’re supposed to love and support you makemakemake you feel like an alien. So I was going to let this role go,go,go, like I’ve let all the others go before.

So far, all I’ve done is perform in front of my bedroom mirror. Or in empty classrooms or auditoriums. I have never, not ever, performed in front of people or taken part in any stage performances. Every time I even broach the subject with my mother, she loses it and grounds me, and my dad lets my mom do whatever she wants and disappears into his study.

But then my biji told me I needed to stop being a chicken and do it. If I want to prove people wrong and show them I’m serious about acting, then I have to take a chance. I have to put myself out there despite the fear andandand allthe obstacles.the obstacles. the obstacles.

So I flirted with one of the men on the casting team,team,team, and they’re letting me audition this late into the night. Because I told him my parents don’t approve. He’s also the one who’s picking me up tonight, a couple of blocks away from my house, and giving me a ride to Bardstown—which is where the play is and not in New York,York,York, where I live with my parents. It’s being put on bythe Bardstownthe Bardstown the Bardstown community center,center,center, and if I get the role, I’m sure he can be my ride to and from Bardstown. And I’m also sure he’ll expect some favors in return, but I know how to both dodge the attention and keep it on me at the same time.

In any case, I’m doing this.

I’m seizing my destiny tonight.

On my eighteenth birthday,birthday,birthday,.

And no one can stop me.

“A teenage girl who ruins an old man’s life and drives him to break all rules of morality,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.

“You’ve read the book?” I ask in excitement.

“I was right,” he declares. “The world needs protection from you rather than the other way around.”

“You—”

"So,"So,"So, if you’re Lolita, what are those for?”

He points toward what he’s talking about,about,about, and suddenly a chilly breeze flits through, making them flutter and graze the backs of my bare thighs and my arms.

My wings.

That I’m wearing.

Along with the white slip dress I have on, I’m also wearing a pair of gossamer wings. Another thing my mother found objectionable,objectionable,objectionable, but I love to pieces.

“They’re my good luck wings,” I reply.

“Good luck,luck,luck, wings.”

“Yeah. They belonged to my biji.” I smile and explain, “My grandmother. She wanted to be an actress too.”

"So,"So,"So, what happened?”

“Life,” I reply. “From what she tells me, Indian society back in the fifties wasn’t very conducive to women working, let alone women working in the film industry. So her dreams never became a reality. She’s the one who gave me the acting bug, much to my parents’ dismay.”

“Is that why you’re sneaking out???” he asks, “because your parents are dismayed?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

My heart blooms harder. “No advice against sneaking out,out,out, then?”