The Year Shakespeare Ruined My Life

by Dani Jansen

  I felt my stomach clench. So that’s why the class laughed. How did I miss that? I rested my head in my hands. “I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe the class didn’t laugh more!”

  Ms. Merriam chuckled. “I don’t know that everyone caught the mistake. The words sound pretty similar. And to be fair, it is an interesting interpretation.”

  At least one of us found this funny. I was trying to remember exactly who had laughed at my blunder. Had Ben caught it? I couldn’t handle it if Ben knew I’d confused a penis with a literary device. “Oh god.”

  Ms. Merriam tilted her head and gave me an understanding smile. “It’s really not that bad, Alison. But it did make me wonder if you’re stretching yourself a little thin.”

  “Things are busy with the play right now. I know that’s not an excuse, and I shouldn’t let an extracurricular get in the way of my studies—and I won’t! Today was just a fluke. I’ll be back on track next class.” I spoke fast, trying to fix my mistake with words.

  Ms. Merriam looked at me without speaking. After a moment, I had to break eye contact because I was afraid her compassion would break me. “Alison, it’s okay to mess up. I just wanted to check in with you, not to scold you for a small mistake.” She paused. She looked like she was considering what to say next. I braced myself. “I think sometimes you may be too tough on yourself. Nobody expects you to be perfect.”

  I wanted to tell her that I expected myself to be perfect, that valedictorians are perfect, or as close to perfect as a person can get. I wanted to tell her that I had made too many mistakes lately and that most of them weren’t small at all. I thought about Becca and had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying. Instead of saying any of the things that were true, I said, “I know. Thanks, Ms. Merriam. I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Ms. Merriam sat back, still looking at me. “Okay.” Another pause. “Just know that I’m here if you need to talk.”

  “Thanks again.” I stood up, pulling my bag by its straps. It felt too heavy for me, but I knew I had to carry it anyway. “I better get going.”

  I left the room at a brisk walk. By the time I’d reached the end of the hall, I was trotting. I had a plan. At least, I had the outline of a plan. The core concept was rudimentary and childish, but it was all I had.

  I swung open the scarred metal doors to the parking lot and stood there, scanning the cars until I spotted the familiar, aged, blue Honda. Taking long strides to the car, I kept from running by reminding myself that many of the people in this parking lot were still learning to drive. And that the rest of them might have a reason, at the end of a long day, to want to run over a teenager.

  I was in luck. Harvey was empty. I patted him affectionately and scooched myself up onto his hood. The metal was uncomfortably warm after a full day in the sun, but I didn’t budge. I noticed Becca’s curly hair as she came out of the double doors. She walked toward Harvey, head bent over the phone in her hand. If we were on speaking terms, I would have warned her not to walk and text in a school parking lot. But we weren’t. And I needed another minute to steel myself.

  I knew the moment she saw me. Her pace slowed, and she tucked her phone into her back pocket. As she drew closer, I debated whether I should be the first one to say something or not. When Becca was eye level with me and only about three feet from the car, I opened my mouth to speak, but Becca walked right past me. I didn’t turn but heard her unlock the driver’s-side door. I heard some squeaking as she opened it and sat down, then I felt and heard the door slam shut. I chanced a glance over my shoulder. Becca was glowering through the windshield.

  “Becca, we need to talk,” I started. But my voice was drowned out by the combination of Harvey’s old motor turning over and a Coldplay song blasting on the stereo.

  Becca glared at me some more. I held her gaze, hoping she’d see my resolve and my apology.

  She revved the engine. It was a warning.

  I looked forward, but I didn’t move.

  Becca revved the engine again.

  I scrabbled at the hood with my fingers, but there was nothing to hold on to.

  I heard the engine shift into drive and closed my eyes. The car gently edged forward, and my stomach turned. I was unmoored.

  Harvey eased into a turn, and I slid a little along his hood. I tensed my legs, trying desperately to find purchase.

  The car stopped, and I heard a window creak open. I looked back. Becca stuck her head out of the driver’s window and said to me, “Get off Harvey. Now.”

  I was too nervous to speak, so I just shook my head.

  “Your choice,” Becca said. I gulped.

  Becca picked up speed. A steady speed meant I could maintain my balance on the hood. It felt almost exhilarating. The car wasn’t moving at a speed that could be described as creating a breeze, but I did feel fresh air waft by my face. Becca saw that this tactic wasn’t working and started to swerve in big, terrifying loops. I slid from one end of the hood to the other. I thought I might throw up.

  Becca braked, not as suddenly as she usually did. It was comforting to know that my best friend didn’t actually want to harm me.

  I looked back, and she stuck her head out the window again. “Alison, get the hell off my car!” she yelled.

  “Ladies, is there a problem?” Neither of us had noticed the vice principal approaching. Nervous as I was, I jumped, then tried to cover it up by casually crossing my legs. Yup. I sit on moving cars all the time. Nothing to see here, Mr. Patel.

  Becca turned off the music and answered tersely, “Nope.” I shook my head and smiled.

  “Is that so?” he asked. He swung his heavy key ring around his pointer finger three times, then said, “Might I suggest that you ride inside the car then, Alison?”

  I was thrilled that the vice principal knew my name. I’d never been sent to the office or suspended, so why did he know my name? Maybe because it had come up in conversation with teachers. Maybe as a potential candidate for valedictorian. But then I remembered he was reprimanding me for joyriding on the hood of my friend’s car, and I jumped down. I chuckled, pretending we were all in on a joke, and walked to the passenger’s-side door. I yanked on the handle, but nothing happened. I yanked a second time. It was locked. I chuckled again, but Mr. Patel’s face remained completely impassive. I looked in through the closed window at Becca. She was staring straight forward. I tapped on the window, and when she finally looked at me, I nodded my head in the direction of the vice principal. Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity, and I started to panic that Becca was so mad at me, she’d chance a suspension just to keep me out of her car. Then I heard a click and clambered into Harvey before Becca could change her mind. I was careful to buckle up since Mr. Patel was still staring at us. I gave him a little wave, and off he went.

  I waited until he was in his own car before saying to Becca, “Want me to get out?” My voice was small. I was about to repeat myself when Harvey started forward. I smiled.

  CHAPTER 21

  To say the ride home was awkward would be an understatement. I decided to follow Becca’s lead. She stayed mum, so I did too. She didn’t hum along to the music, so I didn’t either. Halfway home, she still hadn’t said a word, and I felt like all the blood in my body was pooling in my head. I opened and closed my hands, hoping to covertly redistribute some of it. It didn’t seem healthy to have that much blood concentrated in one place, plus I could feel the beginnings of a massive headache building in my temples.

  When we were five minutes from my house, my right leg started to jiggle. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Becca, I—”

  “Not yet, okay?”

  “Okay.” I had to respect what Becca needed, so I let more blood pool in my head, fantasizing about a cold compress when I got home.

  When we got to my house, I slowly opened the passenger door, every creak in the old hinges audible as I waite
d for Becca to say something. I was even more slowly closing the door when she said, “See you tomorrow.”

  “For sure!” I gushed.

  I watched as she answered a text before driving off, wondering if the smile was for me or for whomever had sent the message.

  At supper, Annie was briefly happy to hear that Becca and I were patching things up, but that only lasted until she figured out she’d missed a ride home. She glared at me as she chewed her steak so aggressively and thoroughly that she could have fed it to a baby bird. (Not that baby birds eat steak, but you get my point.) Sisters. They hardly seem worth the bother.

  Although I had an enormous pile of homework that I needed to get started, I went to my room right after supper and lay in the dark, letting the calm and quiet soothe my headache. When my phone buzzed on the bedside table, I was tempted to just ignore it, but the thought that it could be Becca with further communication got me to reach out an arm for it. I opened one eye to read the text. It wasn’t from Becca. It wasn’t from anyone in my contact list. heard u went car surfing!?

  I closed my eyes again. Of course, the rumor mill had started its work already. By tomorrow, everyone would think I’d done somersaults atop a moving car. I decided to ignore the message.

  Then my phone buzzed again. I propped myself up on my pillows, leaning my head against the headboard as I read the new message. srsly. u didn’t actually car surf in the school parking lot, did u? ;)

  This was weird. I decided I needed to be direct. Who is this? How do you have my number?

  lol. sorry. should have said. its charlotte. got your # from zach. hope thats ok!

  I remembered giving the crew my number in case they needed to get hold of me urgently, but why would Zach give some random girl my contact info? It took me another embarrassing minute of staring at the phone before my brain, burnt out from too much emotional work and still suffering from a headache, figured out that this was THE CHARLOTTE. Charlotte of the bluest eyes and the protruding incisor and the coolest hair. That Charlotte was waiting for me to say something. That’s ok, I texted back. Worst. Banterer. Ever. I hadn’t even bothered to include an emoji.

  Charlotte didn’t respond right away, and I was desperately trying to think of something clever or flirtatious to say when my phone vibrated in my hand: u 2day. I’d received a cheesy gif of a corgi riding a skateboard. It made me laugh, partly because corgis are ridiculous animals that obviously are popular only because they’re the pets of weirdo royals, but also because I was giddy with the pleasure of texting the girl of my dreams. I texted back: Ouch. I can’t believe you’re comparing me to a stumpy dog with oversized ears! I’m insulted. ;)

  I held my breath and clutched my phone in both hands as I waited for her response. I hoped the winky face was enough to convey that I was joking. corgis aren’t stumpy! Uh-oh. I was about to respond with a lame explanation that I was just joking when another text came in. theyre adorable, just like u.

  This was obviously flirtatious. I needed to say something flirty back. Or did I? Hadn’t I promised myself that I wouldn’t get distracted this year, that I would focus on becoming valedictorian? Wasn’t my future more important than a crush? The answer wasn’t as clear as it had been just a week earlier. I mean, how often does your crush hit on you? This very cool girl, who should have been out of my league, seemed to be pursuing me. Wouldn’t I be a fool to pass this up? I was poised to answer when she texted: g2g. ttyl.

  I was a little disappointed, but also a little relieved that I didn’t need to think of something clever to say. I texted back: ttyl. A second later, I added a smiley face.

  CHAPTER 22

  I woke up smiling. Things were looking up for ol’ Alison. I hummed as I brushed my teeth and even let Annie use the toaster before me. I wasn’t usually a morning person, but this day was different. Becca was talking to me again, Charlotte was flirting with me, and I knew the essay I’d written on King Lear was good enough to reassure Ms. Merriam that I was back to my old self. Yes, things were looking up.

  I practically floated through all my Friday classes. I multitasked at lunch, eating my sandwich while I prepped a review sheet for a history test the next week. I’d been sitting alone at lunch since the Fake Date Incident, but today was different. I knew Becca had an appointment with the guidance counselor at lunch to go over some university application stuff. How did I know this? Because she’d texted me to say so. She’d added that she’d give me a drive home after school. Communication had progressed to texts.

  The drive home was mostly silent again, but the music wasn’t quite as aggressively loud today, and after I asked, Becca told me her meeting with the guidance counselor went well. Things weren’t normal, but the silence didn’t feel as oppressive today. When she stopped to drop me off, Becca put Harvey in park instead of just braking long enough for me to get out the door. I took this as a sign and sat still after I unbuckled my seatbelt.

  “Want to come over tomorrow to watch a scary movie?” Becca asked. She was a horror movie aficionado. I wasn’t into scary movies, but I recognized the peace offering for what it was.

  “Sounds great. I’ll bring some kettle corn.” I grinned at Becca, and she gave me a half smile. More progress.

  Walking in the front door, I felt so good, so on top of things that I decided this was the weekend I was going to tackle some of the scholarship essays I’d been putting off. I was like an athlete on a winning streak: There was no stopping me now!

  At supper, Annie talked about an open mic night she was planning to play next Saturday. She was thinking about performing one of her own songs, something she’d never done in public before. Our parents were both appropriately supportive and made a point of taking out their phones and marking the date and time in their calendars. Annie then turned to me. “Are you going to come?” I was surprised Annie wanted us there, but if that’s what she wanted, I was happy to oblige.

  “Count me in!” I said, and Annie rolled her eyes at my enthusiasm, but I could tell she was pleased we were all making a fuss.

  Before bed, I organized myself so I’d be ready to start writing the essays the next morning. I printed out all the instructions and arranged the applications according to due date. Pleased with myself, I was about to head to bed early when a sudden urge stopped me. I sat on the corner of my bed and pulled out my phone. I hadn’t heard anything from Charlotte since last night. Maybe it was my move. Before I could overthink things, I decided to send a pic of a sloth snuggled in a fuzzy blanket and hugging a teddy bear. I followed up with goodnight. Only a few seconds later, she sent me a pic of a corgi sleeping on its back, legs splayed. It was a good day.

  When I woke up the next morning, I could remember snippets of my dreams. They featured Charlotte in her fairy queen costume, though there was much less of it than I recalled from Zach’s sketches. I checked my phone. No more messages from Charlotte. I wasn’t surprised; our texts from the night before had been just to say good night, but it was still a bit of a letdown. I shook the feeling, reminding myself that she had asked for my number. She wasn’t playing hard to get.

  I reached the kitchen in time to ask Dad to double his smoothie recipe. Full glass in hand, I returned to my room and opened my laptop to start my first essay. Question: Give an example of a time you took on a leadership role. Were you successful in the role? If you were, why? If you weren’t, why not?

  This was going to be easy. I started my essay: This year, I volunteered to produce our school play. (No need to tell a scholarship committee that I’d been tricked into “volunteering.”) The role required me to organize a team of weirdos and outcasts. (Too honest. Would have to change that wording later.) I liaised between the play’s director and the production team. (I didn’t have to mention that my liaising was often ineffective, did I?) As to whether I was successful in this role or not, the jury is still out. Our goth scene-painter may be planning to sabotage the whole thing from th
e inside. I still haven’t figured out how to organize ticket sales, and I’m afraid of all the tech work coming up. I do not have a good track record with power tools, as the birds who survived the great birdhouse disaster of Grade 8 can attest to. I mean, the play is still weeks away, so there’s time to get things done. But not that much.

  Maybe this wasn’t the right question to answer first. I could feel my old friend Anxiety setting in. I remembered my good mood from yesterday and rolled my neck a few times. I decided to move on to the next essay. Question: What is your biggest weakness?

  I am a perfectionist. I don’t mean this in the way that most people do, as an attempt to sneak in a strength in the guise of a weakness. My perfectionism has cost me in big ways. I may have the chance to date the girl of my dreams, but I have to ace all my classes and produce the school play and write these ridiculous essays, so I’m probably going to screw things up. What kind of question is this anyway? Why would knowing my greatest weakness help you decide if I’m a good candidate for your scholarship? Don’t you remember what it’s like to be a teenager? Asking us to think of our weaknesses is like asking a cat to lick its butt. We’re going to do it anyway, so why go out of your way to get us to do it?

  This was not good. These essays were not going to win me any scholarships. But more worrying was the feeling that none of this mattered. I didn’t want to write essays, no matter how important they had seemed just a few days ago. I wanted to text Charlotte. I wondered briefly if the Red Binder had any tips about romances between actors and producers. I shook my head. I had to be desperate if I was considering consulting the binder.

  I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I had another flashback to my dreams of the night before. I snapped closed my laptop cover and took out my phone.

  So I was kinda thinking about how useless corgis are. Their legs are so disproportionate. Just think of all the photos on the Internet of corgis falling over. They are an evolutionary aberration. I pressed send, even though I knew I was taking a chance by making fun of corgis. Maybe they were her favorite animals, which is why she kept sending me pictures of them. But Charlotte seemed like a girl with a sense of humor, so I felt the risk was calculated. I waited, even though I knew it was only eleven o’clock on a Saturday and plenty of my peers would still be in bed.