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kdinthecity · 7 years

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Confessions of a Teenage Sugar Queen: In Other News

This is for @zutaraweek Day Five: Modern Times

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Zuko and I fall into a comfortable pattern of casual conversation in the car, a productive partnership at work, and the occasional night “out” at Mushi’s. He puts on an unconvincing act like his uncle annoys him, but I can tell they are close. Whatever Zuko doesn’t say out loud, I can easily read on his face. Details behind those expressions are lacking, of course.

Certain topics are off limits—like what happened with his father or that night in Iroh’s apartment. I let down my guard in sharing about my mom, but I’m putting it back up until it’s clear what direction we’re headed with all this. It's easy to talk to Zuko, but trusting him is a different matter entirely.

The first warning comes from Yue. She reassigns Hahn to the education position, and I assume it's because she is tired of his constant flirting. But then she starts spending more time in her office, making hushed phone calls behind closed doors. I imagine some intriguing behind-the-scenes action—like they’ve discovered the elusive tiger-seal (a creature from my stories) and finally receive the national attention they deserve for their hard work.

I often use fiction to escape my reality. Why do I feel this sudden urge to write?

I panic when Yue calls me into her office. She’s caught me daydreaming again. Or she’s seen me staring at Zuko’s ass. She’ll reprimand me for being so distracted all the time and probably reassign me, too. I prepare a report about some unusual findings Zuko and I discovered in one of the plankton samples as proof we work well together. I’m ready with my notes and everything.

“Katara, how are things going with Zuko?” she asks.

“F-f-fine, I guess. Er—great.” I didn’t expect that question, exactly.

She eyes the papers in my hands, the ones I'm flipping through nervously. “You… guess?“

“We’re good partners.” Ugh, I hate that I’m blushing right now. “In the lab, I mean. We get a lot done.”

Yue nods slowly in the way that grownups usually do when they have something they don’t want to say. “That’s good. So… you don’t feel… threatened… in any way?”

Blindsided again. What the hell does she mean by that?

I try to pick up my jaw and answer quickly. I don’t want my silence to raise any suspicions. “Threatened by Zuko? No, not at all.”

“Have you received threats from anyone else?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”

“I don’t mean to scare you, Katara, but some threats have been made around here recently. If you ever feel unsafe or uncomfortable, will you please let me know as soon as possible?”

“Of course.”

“And… be careful. Zuko’s situation is… complicated.”

When I piece this conversation together with what I overheard between Zuko and Yue that one day, my best guess is that Mr. Kasai gives a lot of money to the Marine Center. And when things don’t go his way, he may use his power to pressure them. If Zuko’s face is any indicator, then I have no doubt his father would make threats… and follow through with them.

But what does this have to do with me?

My second clue arrives through a series of messages from Azula. She says I should stop seeing her brother, that their father disapproves, that if Zuko stays with me, then he will pay…

First of all, we are not together!

Wait. Am I the reason he…

I was with him that night.

Oh shit.

I have to know for sure.

Except Zuko is acting… weird. He’s more relaxed and happier than I’ve ever seen him. There may even be a hint at a sense of humor trying to break through his surly outer shell. Iroh has noticed the change, too, and calls it a “metamorphosis.” Zuko says he resents being compared to a butterfly and tells his uncle to “bug off.”

Did I say sense of humor? More like lame attempts at making jokes.

I laugh anyway. He lights up when I do. Like a... firefly?

Damn, he’s gorgeous.

There is no way in hell I’m bringing up that stuff about his father now.

Iroh invites Gran Gran and me to a July Fourth barbecue on the beach. Normally Dad and Sokka would come home for the holiday, but those storms swept northward and disrupted their travel plans. As consolation, I’ve been promised a HUGE party to celebrate my 16th birthday in August. To be honest, I’d be OK with a small family gathering. And Zuko. Maybe Mushi, too.

Speaking of, that man loves parties.

While Ozai practically owns half of the bayside resort property on Ember Island, his brother opted for a vacation home and a strip of private beach along the Pacific coast instead. This area is much better for surfing, but no one brought any gear today. Gran Gran enjoys chatting with Iroh’s friends, Jeong Jeong, Bumi, and Piandao. There are a few people I recognize from the restaurant—an employee or two, and a repeat customer I often see there. A young girl, maybe four or five years old, flits about the adults vying for attention. Coincidentally, she's wearing a pair of costume butterfly wings.

I survey the perfect waves and lament not having a surfboard.

“You just want an excuse to get me in a wet suit,” Zuko says.

“Was that… another joke?”

“You know me, Katara. I don’t joke.”

His face is passive, but golden eyes flash with bridled laughter. There is only one thing I can do to unleash it.

Tickle him.

“Nephew, why don’t you show Katara the tide pools?”

At first I think Iroh makes the suggestion because he disapproves of our touchy-feely ticklefest which involves tackling each other and rolling around in the sand. But after the short hike to the tide pools, I wonder if he was actually encouraging us. We are now enclosed in a small private cove.

Zuko laughs. “Uncle knows that low tide was hours ago.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you can’t really see anything right now. If he intended for me to show you the marine life and all, then…”

We both know it was a setup, but I’m the first to make a move. I lace my fingers with his and wait to release the breath I’m holding. He does that shuddery sigh thing, like he’s relieved. And then he squeezes my hand.

“Could you tell me about it at least?” I lean into his shoulder and decide to breathe again.

“Uhh—“ He swallows. “Organisms that survive here must be able to withstand harsh conditions. The environment is constantly changing with the tides, but a unique biodiverse ecosystem has adapted to thrive.”

He gets a poke in the ribs for that. “Thank you, Wikipedia.”

He grabs my other hand to ward off the attack—or maybe to pull me closer. “I had the education position at the Marine Center, remember?”

I’m facing him now, and a heat rises between us. I’m feeling bold enough to close the gap and trap it. I’m already enslaved by the intensity of his gaze.

“Yes sir, Professor Kasai.”

He freezes.

He only steps a few feet away, but he’s as distant as the offshore waves. He’s watching them, too, but without really seeing them. There is something with him and the water—while I feel connected to it, he’s haunted by it.

“My mom loved the ocean,” he says suddenly.

The space he left behind is now cold—empty. It takes me a while to recover, to respond. “That’s something we have in common."

At this, Zuko smiles. “She would like you.”

Some warmth returns, but I'm still uncertain. “Oh. I meant… my mom loved the ocean, too.”

“Ocean secret, vast and blue

Ebbs and flows, beneath the moon,

Rise and fall, crashing blue spirit

Whispers on waves, can you hear it?”

“That’s… beautiful,” I say.

“She wrote poetry… about a lot of things, but her favorite was the sea.”

My heart is racing again, but for a different reason this time. “That’s something else we have in common.”

“What’s that?”

“My mom was a writer, too. She was an investigative reporter for The Modern Times. She wrote mostly stuff about the environment, so our work at the Marine Center reminds me a lot of her.”

“That’s so cool, Katara. She would be very proud of you.”

“She got her first big break on the oil spill in Alaska. That was before she met Dad. She dug so deep into the corporate scandal that even years later, they had to move because of safety. Of course, that didn't keep her from doing the same thing here."

"What happened to her?"

"We don't really know. She was on assignment in Death Valley. Her editor suspected foul play... but there was never any proof."

Zuko goes pale. Paler than pale. Paler than I thought possible. "D-d-death Valley?"

If Zuko’s ghosts are whispers in the waves, then mine are mirages in the desert. "Yeah. I know. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

"It's getting late. We should start heading back."

It's not late, but I've obviously said too much… again. I never talk about this with anyone, and I promised myself I wouldn’t be so vulnerable with Zuko. But he’d opened up about his mom... a little. Maybe something bad happened to her, too.

Zuko avoids me for the rest of the day. He uses the excuse that he needs to help his uncle with the food... and then the cleaning… and setting up for fireworks...

At dusk, they disappear. I watch Gran Gran play a complicated board game called Pai Sho with Piandao. When we settle on the beach for the show, Iroh’s youngest visitor unexpectedly plops down in my lap. I catch a whiff of something familiar, something comforting...

Moon peaches.

"Hi, I'm Kiyi," she announces, leaning against my chest and looking up at me with curious golden eyes.

“Hi, I’m Katara,” I answer slowly. “Where is your—“

“I love the fire in the sky!” she squeals as the first bottle rocket takes flight. “Uncle does the best fireworks ever!”

I’m not sure which adult the girl came with since I haven’t been introduced to everyone at the party. I can guess by her looks that she’s related to the Kasai family somehow, but it’s the way she says Uncle that sounds…

Just like Zuko.

Per the norm, the next time I’m in Zuko’s car, we act like nothing ever happened—the almost-kiss, the cold shoulder followed by moments of deep connection complete with a poetry performance.

Nevermind all that. I have more pressing questions. "Who is Kiyi?"

"I don't know. Uncle adopts practically everyone and calls them family. He already thinks of you as his niece.” Zuko immediately turns bright red and coughs. “Kiyi is sweet, but hella stubborn."

Just like Zuko. "Are you sure you're not related?"

"Maybe? Like distant cousins or something?"

"Does Iroh have any kids?"

"His son died in the war."

I apparently have a talent for finding the most sombre subjects. Either that, or there is no end to Zuko's family drama. "Oh. Sorry."

"What's this all about anyway?"

"She told me about the blue spirit."

Aaaaaaaand cue the switch from deep red to paler than pale as the color drains from Zuko’s face. "That's... well, anyone could say that. It wouldn't be the first time something supernatural was attributed to the sea. Take... Poseidon for example."

"Or Tui and La." I wait for the furrowed brow to follow.

And... check. “Who, what now?” he asks.

“Your mom’s poem reminded me of the moon and ocean spirits, Tui and La. It’s a belief my ancestors in Alaska held, a harmonious push-and-pull relationship to keep the world in balance.”

“Sounds like the tides.”

“Exactly.”

Here comes the part where he sighs dramatically, but I have no idea what he'll say next.

“It’s just another way to explain what we don’t understand. What we cannot control.”

Hmm, interesting. “Isn’t that what spirituality does?" I muse aloud. "Help us make peace with those things? Like death, for example.”

I am NOT speaking from experience because if I’m honest with myself, I am far from making peace with my mother’s death. If he has any insight, I'm all ears.

“I… don’t know.”

I don’t know, either, but I wish I did... for the both of us.

I spend another day at the Marine Center in a complete state of distraction. After this, Yue will undoubtedly reassign me to the dreaded job of cleaning up seal shit. She alternates between giving me looks of warning and pity, so I’m still not sure what to make of our conversation or anything else that's transpired since then.

I'm going to ask Zuko about it. Point blank. He'll probably turn a ghastly shade I haven't seen, yet. But it's better than black and blue, if his father really is making threats.

But when we head back to his uncle's restaurant after work, we don't slip into our usual booth near the back. I follow Zuko past the kitchen to the stairs that lead up to Iroh’s apartment. We haven't been here alone together since that night, and all of those sensations return to me as if that moment is suspended in time. I’m looking at the face of someone who’s been beaten, and all I want to do is kiss the pain away. I won’t reopen those wounds—not now, not ever.

Zuko is not one for dwelling in the past, though. He doesn’t skip a beat as he leads me down the hallway, and I think maybe we're going to his room. My brain and pulse race with curiosity—of the possibilities—but he stops short of the doorway and points at something on the wall.

My breath catches. It’s a framed newspaper article from The Modern Times, dated May 2009, the same year my mom died.

The headline reads, "No matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are." I skim down to the byline at the bottom. "Professor Kasai teaches English composition at Atlas University."

Zuko's mom taught at AU? And she wrote for The Modern Times, too?

"When I worked for my dad last summer, I found some of Mom’s files," Zuko explains. "I knew she wrote a few articles, but I didn't know Uncle had this until I started staying here recently.”

"Do you think our moms knew each other? It's a big newspaper, but maybe—"

"Was your mom The Painted Lady?"

I stop breathing altogether. "What?"

He runs a hand through his hair like he does when he's nervous. "Was that her...pen name... or whatever?"

It was a reference to war paint and a tribute to our tribal heritage. "Yes. Why?"

"Then I need to show you something."

#zutara week #zutara week 2017 #zkweek #zkweek2017

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