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The four of them grew up together in the same neighbourhood, Camille and Emmeline (sisters) and Cordelia and Giselle (sisters) each separated by a year and a half. Of course Camille and Cordelia, in the same year, became the best of friends and their older sisters did too.
As a result of this relationship square, even corners that do not have a direct connection get along well. Take Camille and Giselle—they aren’t especially close, but sure if they run into each other they’ll say hi and hang out for a bit. They see each other when it’s all four of them.
Camille catches herself watching Giselle sometimes, chest tinged with some wistful feeling she knows not to speak aloud.
-
Giselle cuts her hair the first year she’s off at university, sometime before she’s home for spring reading week. It goes from her waist, the length it’s been at since Camille can remember, to an inch above her shoulders.
Camille notices and can’t keep noticing the whole time she’s over at Cordelia’s. Cordelia’s telling a story and Camille is absolutely not listening, she nods but her eyes follow the swishing motion of that orange hair. She toys with different possibilities for why Giselle cut it.
Cordelia comments with a snort that Giselle’s copying some k-drama MC.
Camille thinks it looks nice.
-
Giselle is really good at braiding hair.
Camille finds this out one day when Giselle reaches out to run her fingers through a piece of Camille’s hair and comments, your hair is so so soft, you take such good care of it, and impulsively Camille had asked, do you want to braid my hair?
Did you know that Giselle laughs like a twinkling star?
Camille shuffles to sit next to Giselle, and lets Giselle trail her fingers, long and elegant, from her scalp to her neck to the bottom strands. Simultaneously they are heavy and light. Shivers go down Camille’s spine.
It is an eternity that Giselle spends doing her hair. Even without any sensation in the follicles themselves, when Giselle twists a piece of hair or slips a finger on skin, a bolt of feeling races through Camille.
She leans into the touch of Giselle’s hands, doesn’t realize she’s doing it until Giselle teases her for falling asleep on her and nudges her back forward.
The braids come out lovely, two delicate little things that are so very Gisele.
For the rest of the day Camille feels fingertips ghosting over her head.
—
For Halloween this year Cordelia and Camille were doing matching Usami-Bot-chan cosplay, only realizing too late neither of them knew how to draw the sharp eyeliner for Camille’s Bot-chan. Cordelia had cheerfully volunteered her older sister, with a promise that she had steady hands and could be trusted not to poke out Camille’s eyes.
Giselle tells her to hold still and close her eyes and she’ll tell her when she’s going to put the eyeliner on, okay.
Camille presses against the tiles of the bathroom wall and tries her best not to tense her face. A brush of air and a warm hand set on her cheek and she can tell Giselle is breathing a few inches away.
Now Giselle holds an eyeliner brush in one hand and Camille’s head in the other and Camille holds herself up and Giselle is right there, applying quick strokes on her skin.
The eyeliner turns out good, Camille touches a finger to it and is gently surprised when it doesn’t smudge. She thanks Giselle profusely.
—
The first two awake on a school trip in early sécondaire, they go out at dawn to explore the beach near the marsh that is the site of this year’s overnight trip.
Somebody has left an umbrella set up, Camille slips off her sandals and walks over through the sand. Giselle makes the long way around the wood planks.
They sit there together, peacefully watching the sun come up.
The sky is clear this morning, and not too long later it becomes painfully bright to look at. Camille turns her gaze down, to the cool sand threaded between her toes. In a burst of mischievous energy she starts scooping up sand and burying Giselle’s feet.
The older girl only sighs indulgently, letting Camille pile the sand up to her ankles before she says they should both get back before everyone else is awake.
Reluctantly, Camille gets up off the beach.
Camille imagines another life, in a sunset dream, still on that bright shore.
—
In university, Giselle and Camille share a hotel room on a trip to a provincial completion they are the only two to advance onto.
They make the booking themselves — Camille feels so adult — after spending a half hour deciding between the Mariott and the Hilton and trying to work out why the room with one queen bed costs the same as two queen beds. No extra fees, no catch, really??
Which should we get, Giselle asks, puzzled.
Camille’s eyes dart over to her and back to the computer. She says, I dunno. I don’t mind.
After a moment’s hesitation, Giselle goes, So, the two queens then? Why are they the same price?
Camille laughs nervously and agrees agrees.
On the train ride there they are sat next to each other if not for the aisle in between, and that gap feels huge.
—
Camille is a silver person, early on in finding her fashion she had just dug that aesthetic of cools and shades and stuck to it.
Apparently Giselle is more versatile, or more indecisive. Giselle had stopped by to ask Emmeline her opinion, but she was out, so she’d turned to Camille instead.
She holds up two dainty necklaces, one in gold and one in silver, and says which one do you think would go better with my outfit?, giving a twirl of her long skirt.
Camille tries to compare them but gets distracted by the lines of Giselle’s collarbones. Could you run then again?
Of course, of course. Gold or silver? Silver or gold?
With minimal bias, Camille declares silver, and Giselle says okay good I was leaning towards that. Could you help put it on?
She holds up her hair — a long auburn then — and gives the back of her neck to Camille. So stunned by that offering, it takes Camille a second to jerk herself forward and set up the clasp. After some fiddling Camille secures it, and Giselle brushes her hair back into place.
Giselle looks legitimately a little nervous, a hint of blush on her cheeks, and she says, Do you think she’ll like it?
Camille tells her she’s sure she will.
—
Not all parts of their city are equally safe at night.
There’s a shortcut to their block through a park and a small trail, saves a five minute detour, but there aren’t any streetlights set up there. Municipal budgets… You can’t tell if you’re stepping on a twig or a can, much less see six feet ahead of you. Camille calls it the "Sketchy Path".
Camille’s dangerously close to her curfew tonight so she asks Giselle if they can cut through "Sketchy Path", Giselle raises an eyebrow but agrees.
When they step out of reach of that last lamplight, everything is plunged into black. Camille’s breathing quickens, she navigates only by the sound of rustling clothes — Giselle’s — and the faint grey glint of gravel.
A sound — snapping twig, human voice — from a distance, and her breath hitches.
Something grabs her hand. Warm. She makes out Giselle, holding her hand tight and taking quick firm steps that make Camille hasten to follow.
Giselle grips her hand until they’re on their street.
Home safe. She says, Gosh, that had spooked her a little.
It’s not difficult for Camille to admit her heart is pounding too.
—
It’s been forever since the four of them have gotten together to catch up. Giselle and Emmeline are so busy with midterms in Cégep their own sisters barely see them.
An afternoon filled with board games and sharing stupid memes and watching Emmeline play ranked Chess.com is an afternoon well spent.
Soon enough they’re saying goodbye, Giselle and Emmeline back to their downtown apartment before the buses stop running.
Camille goes in to squeeze Emmeline for a hug and Emmeline sighs and ruffles her hair. I’ll see you soon, she points out.
Beside her, Cordelia is giving Giselle a hug too. Send me more photos, she demands, you never text me. Giselle just laughs.
Then Camille turns to Giselle. She isn’t sure if she should go in for a hug, they stare long enough it’s awkward awkward.
Good luck on midterms, says Camille.
Thanks. Giselle leaves with a smile.
—
In second grade, Camille cannot tie her shoelaces. If she tries, she’s left with an unlaced shoe and frustrated to tears. Her parents help her do them up and down at the start and end of the day.
She’s forced to take them off for some school activity and has no idea how to get them back on, she realizes. Camille holds one lace and tries to will it to knot properly and remember how to place her fingers.
Giselle comes to the rescue. Between periods, she spots Camille in the yard and runs over. Like this, she says soothingly even at all of nine, two bunny ears around the tree and through the hole. Once done, she beams up at Camille and Camille can’t help but admire her.
In second year Cégep, there’s a pair of jean overalls that Camille takes every occasion to wear. They look cute, they go with most of her outfits, and they hide paint splatters very nicely.
She bumps into Giselle and the other immediately notices one of the buckles is twisted the wrong way, can she…? Giselle gives it a few spins from the front then frowns when she sees it still hasn’t come undone. Turn around, she asks, and Camille obeys. Her hands make quick work undoing one buckle, swapping the placement and rebuckling it. Camille is all set now, Giselle proclaims.
Some things never change.
—
The blouse Giselle is wearing right now is really really cute.
Camille asks where it’s from, Giselle doesn’t remember, Camille goes behind her to flick out the tag from the back of the shirt.
She stands there holding the tag a moment longer than necessary to read it.
—
Spotting Giselle pulling out her lip balm, Camille suddenly realizes how dry her own lips are.
She swipes out a stick of her own lip balm, as she’s drawing it over her lips their eyes meet. Giselle smirks.
It feels like they’re sharing some great secret.
—
Pretzels are for sharing, there’s a reason they come in large Costco packs.
Cordelia had gotten her hooked on them, she’s making her way through one of the bags right now.
As Giselle enters the classroom to talk to the teacher she perks up at the sight of them. Costco? Knew it. They’re good right?
And Camille agrees and offers her one.
Giselle professes her thanks then snatches it up.
Camille watches her teeth as Giselle bites down on the piece and her tongue as she licks the salt off a finger.
Happy is a good look on Giselle.
—
She doesn’t know why she’s crying. Camille can’t think, her mind is scrambled, only fear and dread and she’s hiding in the girls’ washroom and taking shaky breaths and trying to recollect so other girls don’t look at her odd.
Giselle speedwalks by the entrance of the washroom, Camille spots her in the corner of eye as she walks past and is relieved and wounded all at once.
Then one concerned Giselle enters the washroom, having turned back after seeing Camille.
Camille? Camille, you okay?
She’s so obviously not, she can’t fake a smile in front of Giselle. Dropping to her knees, she buries her face in her hands and she’s drowning. Breathing is a very difficult task. Camille can’t look up.
Two arms wrap around her and her head is carefully propped up over Giselle’s shoulder. The other girl murmurs words of comfort as she hugs her, hugs her, holds her. She can’t make out what Giselle is saying, but it only matters she is here.
Giselle holds her tight, Camille cries harder.
—
When folding lilies, Camille thinks of Giselle.
It was Giselle who had taught her after all, some time in a shared class in late primary. If you fold a paper sheet diagonally, you can make a square, a diamond, a pretty little flower.
Giselle’s slender hands had made quick measures and clean folds, transforming the plain white paper. Camille had followed along the best she could, getting nearly there except for a fold that went the wrong way. On the next time, she’d gotten it right only very crinkly but Giselle had clapped for her. Doing it on her own, she’d messed up the set up and Giselle took one of her hands in her own and walked her back a few steps to fix it.
The whole period they spent making flowers and flowers.
Giselle had had better technique than her, and Camille had lifted one of her lilies to spin it and study the angles. Giselle had offered it to her, Camille had flustered and insisted she trade something of hers for it, she could draw Giselle if that would be fair?
Halfway through the sketch the bell had rung, and the next time they’d seen each other Giselle had forgotten.
For the next few months, when fidgeting in class, Camille would tear out a small piece of paper and quietly fold a flower. She’d challenged herself to make them smaller and smaller and smaller, faster—if you use a triangle pencil instead then the petals behave a little better—, without looking and by feel alone, fitting the custom 'orders’ of curious classmates, until she grew quite a collection and a small reputation for being the paper-flower girl.
Years and years later, Camille’s hands still have the muscle memory to make those origami lilies. She can’t do it if she overthinks it, but when she lets her hands mindlessly play with the paper it’s always a dainty flower she ends up with.
There’s a collection of them taped to popsicle sticks in a pot in her room. Camille refolds them every few weeks after they unravel.