Chapter Text
Jeannemary was going to have a good summer.
There were just two weeks left in the school year, and ever since she and Isaac had been placed in this foster home back in February, they hadn’t missed a single day of school. Or a track practice (Jeanne’s). Or astronomy club (Isaac’s). Ms Nav - “Just call me Gideon” - had opened her door at 10 pm on Valentine’s Day to both teens with three garbage bags full of stuff and their passive-aggressive social worker bundling them through the door.
They had looked at each other, all three of them. Then Gideon had launched into a top-speed monologue as she reached around behind the couch and pulled out two brand new black-and-neon-yellow duffle bags full of toiletries - including deodorant! Toothpaste! Shampoo AND conditioner! Not to mention pajamas, a fuzzy blanket each, a notebook and pen (with a card inside, handwritten, mentioning that Gideon would never ask to read anything Jeanne & Isaac wrote in the notebooks, and that everything was theirs to keep). There had been a quick moment of awkwardness when Jeanne had looked at the Herbal Essences brand shampoo and realized that it absolutely would destroy both her carefully-done braids and Isaac’s Afro, but Gideon clocked it.
“And I was thinking we’d run to the Rite Aid real quick for ice cream. And better shampoo,” she had added, absentmindedly touching the grown-out shaved side of her own hair that gave way to a wildly curly Mohawk. “What flavor do you like? For both.”
Jeanne immediately liked Gideon. Gideon let her splurge on lemon AND raspberry sorbet and bought the larger size of shampoo and conditioner. Gideon apologized for making them share a bedroom, but Jeanne reassured her that they preferred it that way. Gideon suggested movie night and didn’t balk when Jeanne cautiously suggested a PG-13 movie. (Their last foster mother had a strict G-rated-only rule.) Which Jeanne should have honestly anticipated, as Gideon’s major living room decoration was a big-ass lesbian flag.
Isaac had smoothed the covers on their matching plaid comforters and fluffed up the pillows.
“What do you think?” Jeanne kept her voice low.
“This could be good,” Isaac said carefully. “This is already better than the last one.”
Jeanne pulled the comforter up to her chin. It smelled like clean cotton and laundry detergent. The new pajamas were a little big on her, but they were comfortable.
“Night Isaac,” she said, as they always did.
“Night Jeanne.” His voice drifted back.
Jeanne and Isaac were going to make the best of this. Definitely.
They had started at their new school the next day, the third this year. Jeanne had been held back, but it was okay, it was the price she’d paid to stay in the same school as Isaac. Besides, they had both missed so many days because the bus didn’t come to the farmhouse, their last placement, and the woman who fostered them wouldn’t drive them consistently. It wasn’t so bad to do freshman year twice. (Nobody at the new school had to know).
She tried out for the track team and made junior varsity even though it was late in the school year. Isaac joined the astronomy club. They had physical science and algebra together, 4th and 9th periods, and lunch, of course. They had always gotten free lunches at school, and this school wasn’t any different. (It was pizza day).
Isaac dipped his pizza in ranch dressing, which Jeanne thought was gross, and told him so. “Pizza in ranch is a crime,” she said. “Eat it naked like God intended.”
“Meet me in the parking lot about it.” Isaac looked around to make sure none of the teachers heard his affectionate “Bitch.” under his breath.
“Everyone knows garlic sauce is the superior condiment for pizza,” Jeanne said, mouth full of glistening pepperoni and stringy, greasy cheese.
Isaac made a face, but started shoveling down the limp pale green bagged salad mix. Lunch was only thirty minutes, and they’d wasted ten standing in line impatiently. Jeanne punctured the lid of her applesauce with a mechanical pencil in two places and then drained the four-ounce container.
“You’ve got English next, right?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. “I’ve got PE.”
Isaac glanced at the schedule in the front of the new three-ring binder Gideon had bought him. He had his school subjects all organized into it, color-coded by tab. “Yeah,” he said. “And then Latin.”
Jeanne scoffed supportively. “Nerd.” But she was always the one holding his flashcards for verb conjugation late into the night at every school.
“Whatever,” Isaac said, shoulder-checking her. “Can I have your crusts?”
“Gross, but they’re free real estate,” she said, shoving her styrofoam tray towards him.
Isaac dunked the crusts in the ranch and wolfed them down before the seventh-period bell rang. Jeanne grabbed her books from the seat beside them. “See you in algebra,” she called behind her, half-jogging to the gym so she could nab one of the stalls to change into her uniform.
Gideon had insisted on buying them new school wardrobes. Jeanne wasn’t sure where she got the money - the state paid jack shit for fosters, Jeanne had been constantly reminded, and she still was foggy on what exactly Gideon did for work that allowed her to be available for after-school pickup and on weekends. Something on the computer? Maybe emails? Maybe partially supplemented with some sort of freelance? At this point, Jeanne was too scared to ask.
It was still a little like a dream, that Gideon asked them what they wanted for dinner and checked in about their homework, let them pick movies, listened for thirty full minutes while Isaac explained syzygy and why it was an important concept for astronomers, and trusted Jeanne to use her home gym. Jeanne half-expected to be woken up one morning by the social worker’s call that they had thirty minutes to pack for their next placement. It hadn’t come yet, and so crossing her fingers, she allowed herself to push the thought away and change for gym.
Today it was sunny mid-May, and after track Jeanne sprawled out on the sunny porch of the right side of the duplex with the brand-new notebook and mechanical pencil. She was sketching absentmindedly, not really paying attention to the curve of the drawn woman’s cheek and the curl of her hair across her shoulder. Gideon’s violets, planted in the border in front of the porch, moved in the gentle breeze.
A black Honda Civic pulled up and parallel parked flawlessly on the street in front of the left side. Jeanne’s eyes flicked up and she noted it, filed it away in her brain, and carefully watched without directly looking at the driver. A slight woman, no taller than Jeanne herself, Asian, dressed in black business casual clothing pulled a slick black backpack from the front seat and struggled a moment with her keys before locking the car.
Jeanne felt the woman’s eyes on her, and then on her notebook. Instinctively, she pulled it towards her.
“Shoulder muscles connect here,” the woman touched the paper near the drawing’s clavicle, “and here. Not over here,” she gestured towards its bicep.
Jeanne was too stunned to say anything.
“The curl pattern you drew here is very precise.” The woman’s fingers on the drawing’s hair. Before Jeanne could stammer out a “thank you,” she had turned and unlocked the door to her half of the duplex and slipped inside.
After she fixed the sketch’s shoulder, Jeanne let the notebook fall limply against her lower thighs. Mostly, she thought about the mysterious new neighbor who knew about shoulder muscles and curl patterns. She got up, stretching a little, and headed inside.
Isaac’s homework was spread out over Gideon’s big dining room table. Latin, a translation. There was ‘80s music playing from the kitchen, where Jeanne could smell something rich and flavorful cooking.
She walked straight into the kitchen and began running the water for dishes.
“You don’t have to get those,” Gideon said. “I was totally planning on doing it while this baked.” She gestured at a potato-and-eggplant moussaka half-assembled on the countertop.
“It’s fine,” Jeanne said quickly. Better she did it than stand idly. “Hey, do you know your neighbor at all?”
Jeanne could have sworn she saw Gideon’s hands still for a moment.
“Yeah, I know her,” Gideon said. “Harrowhark Nonagesimus. She’s rented the other side for a couple years. Keeps to herself.”
“I saw her getting home today. She gave me a drawing tip,” Jeanne continued.
“She give you any trouble?”
“No, nothing like that,” Jeanne said quickly. “She was really nice.”
“Good,” Gideon said, layering potato, eggplant, tomato sauce, and cashew cream. “Let me know if she does.”
“I will,” Jeanne said obediently. “Hey, after dinner, can you show me how to do a pull-up? Coach said we should be doing strength and resistance training.”
Gideon’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely yeah,” she said. “They’re super fun. I can spot you.”
Jeanne asked a few follow-up questions about pull-ups and strength training, soaking in every bit of advice Gideon had to offer. In the back of her mind, she replayed the image of Harrowhark Nonagesimus regarding her with dark black almond-shaped eyes and touching the lines of her drawing.
Dinner was fantastic, and Isaac immediately launched into a monologue about Halley’s Comet, and how the next time they saw it, he and Jeanne would be like fifty years old, and how it totally only came once every seventy-five years. A few times, Jeanne gently tried to redirect the conversation - she was terrified that they would be too much, and Gideon would change her mind and send them back - but their foster mom was leaned forwards shoveling moussaka into her mouth with her elbows on the table, fully engaged in dinner and astronomy.
Jeanne was quietly grateful for every mouthful of home-cooked food and every uninterrupted moment in the bathroom. Plus all the little nice things that Gideon did for them. Emotionally, she was like a starving girl set before a feast, unable to eat, still looking for permission.
School let out. Jeanne and Isaac’s credits had barely transferred when they were suddenly rising sophomores, and by some small miracle they had both avoided any type of summer school. (Partially because, if Gideon knew, she did not mention that they had missed several weeks’ worth of school at their last foster home. But she did make sure that Jeanne and Isaac both got their homework done.) Jeanne luxuriated in early-morning runs, sometimes accompanied by Gideon, who regularly jogged despite professing her deep-seated distaste for running. It was only overcome by her even deeper-seated refusal to have “chicken legs”.
(Jeanne could tell that Gideon secretly thought Harrowhark Nonagesimus had chicken legs.)
In the afternoons, around four or five o’clock, Jeanne would draw for at least an hour on the porch in hopes of catching the eye of her foster mom’s neighbor. As a result, her sketches rapidly improved, and she began to focus on technical details more seriously. About once a week, sometimes more often, that black Civic would park and the driver would sweep up the walk and critique whatever Jeanne was working on. No “Hello.” At some point, Harrowhark Nonagesimus had learned her first name, and began to give her pointers.
“Jeannemary, spearmint grows in a shark tooth pattern,” and “Jeannemary, when you draw a woman’s cheek, be mindful of where her cheekbone melds into her teeth on the inside of her mouth.”
“Thanks,” Jeanne said, tapping her pencil. “Where’d you learn all this?”
“I’m a medical illustrator. Study anatomy if you want to draw hands correctly,” she said. Then, hesitating: “And get something other than a mechanical pencil. Actually - wait right there.”
Jeanne wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway.
“Here.” Nonagesimus - Harrowhark? Jeanne wasn’t sure how to think of her or address her - returned with a slim tin case. “Drafting pencils. My old set. I haven’t used them in years. They should be adequate.”
“Thank you,” Jeanne repeated, stunned. She still hadn’t gotten the courage to ask Gideon for art supplies - she was saving her curried favors from exercising together and making jokes that frequently landed to ask about maybe, science camp for Isaac. After all, she was already drawing with mechanical pencils just fine.
“Now you can learn how to properly shade,” Harrowhark said. “Your figure drawing is coming along. Think about the light source in your drawing, where it’s coming from, and make the places it touches brightest, put shadows on the places it doesn’t touch. Be attentive to detail.”
“Holy shit,” Jeanne said. “You’re really smart.”
Two spots of color appeared briefly on Harrowhark’s cheeks. “I have extensive experience.”
“She means that she used to draw way past bedtime under the covers with a flashlight and a mechanical pencil,” Gideon said, coming out of the screen door abruptly.
“Don’t eavesdrop, Griddle. It’s not polite.” Harrowhark said, and Jeanne turned her head so fast that her neck cracked. Griddle?
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Gideon protested. “I came to check on Jeanne. I have a quick question,” she said, addressing the teen, and Jeanne’s heart skipped a beat.
“OK, maybe a stupid, obvious question, but would you be down to go to the planetarium on Friday? They’re doing a thing on the moons of Jupiter, I checked the website, and Isaac really wants to go. If you don’t, it can just be a him and me thing, totally fine.”
“I want to go,” Jeanne said too quickly, and cracked an eager smile. “I’d like it too!”
“Great,” Gideon looked relieved for a second, and something weird flashed across her face when her eyes flicked to Harrowhark. “You want to go?”
“I’m working,” Harrowhark said hurriedly.
“Just thought I’d offer.” It was more acerbic than Jeanne had ever heard Gideon. There had to be a history there. “Anyway, Jeanne, dinner’s in ten. Isaac and I made pizza crust from scratch and it actually slaps.”
Jeanne looked between Gideon & Harrowhark. “Can Harrowhark come?”
Gideon tilted her head and crossed her arms, shifting her weight to a wide-legged stance. “Does Harrowhark want to come?” The question wasn’t addressed to Jeanne.
“I have dinner plans,” Harrowhark said abruptly, and moved her work briefcase further up her shoulder. “Some other time, maybe.”
“Okay.” Gideon shrugged. “Jeanne, can you set the table?” She looked a little lost, a little hurt, stung even, and Jeanne immediately started to consider why. Lost childhood friends? Heist partners gone wrong? Ex-girlfriends?
(Probably ex-girlfriends.)
But why were they sharing a duplex, then? There had to be more to the story. Clearly they were on speaking terms.
A plan began to bud in the back of her brain. She and Isaac had a good thing going with Gideon, maybe. And maybe if Gideon liked them enough, it would be a permanent thing. Not another temporary foster home. Maybe this time it could be for real. If Jeanne could just figure out what was going on with Harrowhark Nonagesimus - maybe they could be a family.
Sure, she was jumping the gun. But she’d lived her whole life on a wing and a prayer. Maybe with a little luck, she could bring Gideon & Harrow back together and get herself and Isaac adopted along the way.
Jeanne nodded. “Yeah, I can set the table. Anything else?”
“Nope.” Gideon popped the p intentionally as Harrowhark disappeared into her half of the house. Jeanne gathered her drawing tools, including the new-to-her pencils tucked safely in their case.
There was definitely a story there, and Jeannemary wanted to make sure that it ended happily.