Hilarina at the Ogre's Side

Chapter one

The Whale

“I love your necklace, Annette.”

It was the tone Hilary reacted to. Varda only pitched her voice up like that when she wanted something.

His mother smiled. “I thought pearls were old-lady jewelry.”

It was another evening with his girlfriend. It seemed like she was at his place all the time, though it was only once a week. Mostly, it was himself he hated during these dinners. It was worse to be that version of Hilary at home.

“Not at all!” Varda cooed. “They’ve come back into style, though I don’t know why they ever went out of fashion. You’re both luminescent.”

Hilary had to suppress a snort. Varda was putting in genuine effort. Luminescent, indeed.

Annette wasn’t immune to the flattery. Her hand went to the necklace. “They were my grandmother’s. She wore them every Saturday. That was when she and my grandfather had their dates.”

“How romantic!” Varda set her chin in her palm. She’d probably have liked to blush, but she couldn’t do that on command. “They must have been crazy about each other.”

Hilary and his father traded looks across the table.

Dangerous. If either of them laughed, they’d both be in the doghouse.

But the truth was, his grandparents had been horrible to each other.

Gramps had been manipulative, Grandma had been a drunk, and the weekly dates had been more a testament to old habit and the mutual love of ballet than any true connection.

The pair had been dance partners, and Hilary was sure that had been part of why his own mother had never dated her dance partners.

When she married, it had been to an electrician—the furthest thing from a dancer she could find.

In any case, Annette still wore the pearls, and never went a day without them.

Hilary’s father muttered it under his breath. “They were crazy, alright.”

The man might have gotten away with it had his wife’s ears been less sharp. “Albert.” When she said a name like that, so even and calm, you knew you were in trouble.

Albert tried not to wince. “Yes, darling?”

“Come and help me with dessert.”

Varda waited until both parents were in the kitchen before revealing the scheme. “Those pearls would be perfect for the dance.”

It was almost a relief to hear such a superficial reason. The once-a-week dinners were already more serious than he wanted of their relationship.

“Why do you need pearls for the dance?”

“Don’t be slow. I mean for my costume.”

“Monsters wear pearls?”

“They are if they’re a mermaid vampire—obviously.”

The theme for the dance was Monster Mix, and everyone was supposed to be some kind of monster hybrid. “Are mermaids monsters?” Hilary asked.

“They drown sailors, don’t they?” Varda was growing annoyed. She didn’t like being questioned. “Can I borrow them or not?”

“Not.” But Hilary smiled, trying to make it friendly. “It’s legit one of the few things she has from Grandma. I wouldn’t ask if I were you.”

But Varda did ask, making the request when she was supposed to be putting her shoes on. As expected, Annette tensed up a little, her hand going up to the necklace as if to protect it. But then she said, “Just for one night?” And Varda barely concealed her triumph.

“Just one. But if it’s too much…”

Annette fingered the pearls. “You’ll be careful with it, right?”

Varda set a hand over her heart. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

If Varda had ever guarded anything with her life, Hilary didn’t know it, but he said nothing until they were out in the car together. “I thought we agreed not to ask.”

Cold air was coming through the open window thanks to Varda always lighting up just as soon as they were down the road. Neither set of parents knew she smoked, which seemed impossible given what a chimney she was.

She ashed the cigarette out the open window. “You agreed I wouldn’t ask.”

Hilary let it go. The question wasn’t really why they fought so much, but what Varda was doing with him in the first place.

Not only didn’t she like him, she seemed to actively dislike him.

Which was ideal, really, since he disliked her as well, and having it be mutual meant he didn’t need to feel guilty about it.

But that only deepened the mystery. He’d thought about asking, but wasn’t ready for her to shoot the question back at him.

“Do you have your costume ready?” she asked as he walked her to her door.

“I don’t not have my costume ready.”

Hilary knew that was a problem. With the dance just a few days away, he really needed to get his act together.

He had vague notions of a costume idea, but whenever he thought of the dance, a kind of nauseous anxiety would press down on him, so he’d been avoiding it as much as he could.

Before she could erupt, he added quickly, “I’ll finish it by Saturday. I promise.”

Varda looked at him for a long moment. “I told you the dance was important to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Hilary’s hands were growing wet with the dance talk. She sighed. “Give me a kiss, then.”

It was the only time he ever kissed her.

Here, at the door of her house. She probably enjoyed it about as much as he did—which was to say, not at all, but she was insistent on it.

And he didn’t mind, really. The kisses never lasted long.

Closed mouth, not much more than a peck.

Sometimes she threw her arms around him to show off false enthusiasm, but this time she kept her hands by her sides.

“You’re picking me up tomorrow,” she called after him as he headed back to the car. “Don’t be late.”

Come Saturday, Varda needed to pick up the custom headpiece she’d ordered, as well as the corset. Hilary hadn’t realized vampire mermaids wore corsets, but she only rolled her eyes when he said so. “Are you going to be an ass the whole time?” she asked.

He’d only been planning to be an ass part of the time, probably. He didn’t enjoy being her chauffeur. “No.”

The headpiece was much more elaborate than Hilary thought it would be, encrusted with pearls and glass and something that looked like sea foam but obviously wasn’t. He couldn’t imagine how much it might have cost. The nausea was coming back.

“We’ll stop at the studio,” she said once it was safely in the car. “I want to see how it looks with the necklace.”

With a headpiece like that, no one was even going to notice a necklace, but after his corset comment, he was skating on thin ice, so he said nothing.

“How cute,” Varda said as they passed one of the young dancers in the hall who was in her leotard. Not all the students wore them, but Annette encouraged it. She swore dancers did better when they dressed the part. “What about the tutus?” Varda asked him. “Do they wear those?”

She probably meant the pancake tutu with the wire hoop and stiff tulle that people pictured when they thought tutu.

“They wear costumes sometimes during the performances,” Hilary said. “They might do The Nutcracker for Christmas.”

“Cute,” Varda said again, but she was already craning her head, looking for Annette. What she found instead couldn’t have been more different. “Is that the Whale?”

Hilary didn’t place the name immediately, but when he saw the tall and bulky frame looking even larger beside the tiny dancers in the beginner class, he knew who she meant.

Trenton Wells, another victim of naming.

Wells didn’t even sound all that much like Whale, but the others at school deemed it close enough.

Though why Trenton was the Whale, Hilary wasn’t sure.

The boy was big, yes, but not even the largest in their class.

That distinction went to Freddy “Feet” Martinez, who wore size 17 sneakers.

“What is he doing here?” Varda demanded. “Is he a pedo or something?”

No, he was a dancer. Hilary knew because his mother had mentioned him.

The boy had started around the beginning of the school year.

He was technically a beginner, though with a much better foundation than the others, it seemed.

Annette had been surprised at Trenton’s flexibility.

You didn’t see that in the older beginners, never mind those near adulthood.

She hadn’t mentioned the boy being one of his classmates, though.

“That’s seriously nasty,” Varda said, as if no greater offense had been committed in the history of the town. “Can’t you make him drop out? Those girls can’t be more than ten.”

Hilary just barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “He’s not looking at them.”

“Of course he is. Why else would he be here?”

“To dance?”

Clearly, she thought that was preposterous. “Go and talk to him!”

It was the last thing Hilary wanted to do.

What would he even say? My girlfriend thinks you’re a pedophile and wants you to leave.

Don’t worry, she can’t stand me either. Yeah, right.

He’d never so much as exchanged glances with the guy at school.

Trenton kept to himself. He was almost always reading something, and even came early to do it, always the first and last in the classroom.

The boy was just there, an omnipresent mass, and that was all Hilary knew about him.

Trenton didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even the teachers didn’t call on him, finding him as strange as the students did.

He seemed to do well in all his classes though, despite never paying any attention to the lectures.

“You’re rounding your back,” Hilary said.

So far as greetings went, that was rude, but Trenton didn’t seem to think so. The boy was bending over the leg he had up on the bar, and with the comment he lengthened, tightening his core and pulling his shoulders back the way Annette must have taught him. She was a stickler for form.

Hilary took hold of the boy’s ankle and pulled. “You’re pronating inward, that’s why. Imagine a string pulling through your big toe. Try to keep in alignment.”

“Thanks,” Trenton said, and made the fix.

It seemed Annette was right about the boy. Trenton was better than all the other beginners, and young kids usually had the advantage in flexibility. “You do gymnastics, or something?”

“Martial arts,” Trenton answered.

That would do it. Annette used to share a studio with a Taekwondo instructor. Mercedes had been able to do things with her body he could only dream of. She’d been strong as well.

“You shouldn’t date her,” Trenton said.

Hilary had been turning a little, trying to see from his peripherals whether Varda was still watching. Had there been guilt on his face?

“Why not? She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“She’s popular,” Trenton corrected. “So you think you need her, but you don’t.”

Hilary felt frozen, though inside, his heart rate had ticked up. He knows. Maybe it was crazy to think so. What the hell could the guy know about anything? This was the first time they had spoken.

“It’s not that serious.” Hilary didn’t know why he was answering, or why he was irritated. “What’s wrong with having fun?”

“She’s vicious.”

It was a strange thing to say. Vicious? Varda was an asshole sometimes, and cold, but vicious was going a little far. “And that’s your professional opinion, is it?”

Trenton said nothing. The boy knew being the Whale didn’t exactly put him in a position to be giving social advice about anything.

Hilary turned to go. With any luck, Varda had forgotten the lecture he was meant to be delivering. Annette was busy helping her with the headpiece, and lots of curious little ones were oohing and ahhing over the sight of it. Varda was pretty. Beautiful, even. Hilary hadn’t been lying about that.

“Aspen.” And with that naming, Trenton straightened up, turning to Hilary for the first time. “You should date Aspen.”

The suggestion proved just how out of the loop the boy was. “Doesn’t she like girls?” But that was underselling it. Aspen was a hardcore lesbian. Everyone knew that.

“She likes you too.”

That was even more ludicrous. Hilary had spent about as much time interacting with Aspen as he had with Trenton.

Though of course, that wasn’t why Trenton had said it.

Almost, Hilary was disappointed. He didn’t think he looked like a girl anymore.

Sure, he didn’t grow facial hair and skated the line of pretty more than he did handsome, but he looked male now.

He was almost certain of it. Then again, his name had always invited the comparison. “Fuck off.”

As far as retorts went, that wasn’t clever, but he had no interest in being clever.

Hilary took hold of Varda’s arm and pulled her toward the door. Usually, that would have set off a squawk of protest, but she seemed to have been waiting for it. “So is he going to—”

“Ignore him,” Hilary bit off, more annoyed than he wanted to be. “He’s an asshole.”