Sway

by M. F. Lorson

  The table for Cassius Society was unattended which Rachel and I took as the perfect opportunity to throw my name on the list without having to have a super inauthentic conversation about why I wanted to join. I didn’t know Lydia too well, but she seemed like the type to ask too many questions, especially of someone like me who had until this point hardly said hello to her, let alone shown interest in her club. I quickly scribbled my name and email address on the paper and scooped up a handout. Not quick enough, however, because no sooner was I turning to go than a familiar shadow cast over my shoulder.

  “Cassius Society?” My breath caught in my throat. I had been worried about the wrong inquisition. The only thing worse than an inauthentic convo with Lydia was having that same conversation with Christopher.

  “I figured I’d try something new this winter,” I said, trying not to sound scared of my own voice.

  “Pretty big leap out of your comfort zone,” said Christopher, eyeing the handouts on the table in front of us. It was of course, but the whole point of joining the club was to show Christopher I’m not some scared bunny who needs Rachel as a den mother. So instead of being real, I lied, lied, lied.

  “Not really. I’ve always been interested, just never had the time before. Debate Club looked better on my college apps,” I said. I did not look him in the eye as I let those two white lies float between us.

  “You were on the debate team?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in disbelief.

  “Yep, I wasn’t exactly the team go-to, but I participated,” I said with a wink I hoped seemed confident. It was only a little fib. I did technically join the team. I just never actually participated in a debate. Instead, I wrote arguments for Rachel, who was an absolute rockstar at it. I couldn’t tell if Christopher was impressed or just surprised when he nodded his head in response. Then his face split into that award-winning smile I missed so much. I smiled back at him, thinking, like me, he must be remembering a summer full of those smiles just hovering in the past. Our plan is already working, I thought. And then I heard her voice.

  “Chris, you made it!” cried Lydia from behind me. That smile was a Lydia smile, not an Anne smile. I should have guessed. Awkwardly, I stepped aside, feeling like a stranger in the grocery store parking lot who thought you were waving at them and waved back only to discover you were waving at the person behind them and not them, of course. Anxious to get miles away from this interaction, I grabbed a gaping Rachel by the elbow and spun around to go.

  “Anne?” called Lydia, stopping me in my tracks. “Are you really signing up?” I took a deep breath and turned back to the table. Now was a good time for all that confidence Rachel kept telling me was useful.

  “Of course,” I answered, a fake smile plastered to my face. “Looking forward to it.”

  Lydia furrowed her brow. “You do know what this club is about, don’t you?”

  I felt my face turning red and not just because I was mildly embarrassed. “Yeah, Lydia. I’ve been here three years; it would be hard to miss.”

  “It’s just...”

  “It’s just what?” I asked, knowing I was irrationally defensive but unable to scale back all the same.

  “Nothing,” said Lydia, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, holding my chin as high as possible despite an overwhelming desire to tuck tail and run. A girl with a bar through her septum popped up behind Lydia to consult the list.

  “Five newbies!” she cried, clasping her hands together with glee. I was grateful for her arrival because it sliced the tension in half by momentarily distracting Lydia.

  “Make that six,” said Ashley, stepping up to sign her name below mine. Relief washed over me. If I were going to do this, at least I wouldn’t have to do it alone.

  “Seven,” said Christopher, with just a touch of hesitation in his voice. He’s not the only one hesitating. I’m not so sure that time with Christopher and Lydia together was going to help my case. What if it was completely and utterly obvious that girls like Lydia and I had nothing in common? As if sensing my inner turmoil, Ashley weaved her arm through the crook of my elbow.

  “Come on then, show me all the other cool clubs that are sure to get me into college.” I let her steer me away, even though I was supposed to be the one giving her the tour. Trying not to be too obvious, I snuck a peek back at Christopher and Lydia over my shoulder. Lydia was talking animatedly, her hands moving as quickly as her mouth. He seemed happy though, which felt like a dagger to my already wounded heart.

  “I don’t like all of that,” said Ashley, jerking her head back toward the two of them. “The last thing I need is for Christopher to hook up with someone who has the inside track on how to get into trouble fast.”

  I didn’t like the idea of Christopher hooking up, period. Sure, I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to have to fight for him, but I was under the impression that fight was going to be me versus him. Not me versus him and Lydia.

  “I don’t think Lydia will be a problem,” I said, as confidently as possible under the circumstances. “When it comes to getting into trouble anyway. The hooking up, your guess is better than mine on that one.”

  Ashley’s shoulders slumped, “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m going to have to toughen up at some point. I can’t go around pouting every time he talks to another girl.”

  “Agreed,” said Ashley. “But really? You’re not worried this whole Cassius Society thing is gonna get Chris into trouble?”

  I laughed. “Lydia talks a big game, but she’s harmless. The most we are gonna do in this club is boycott Chick-fil-A.”

  Ashley sighed, “Oh, Chick-fil-A. I get why people are upset. The message behind the boycott is good but...”

  “But?”

  “So is the sandwich,” said Ashley.

  Chapter Nine

  It had been a little over a week since I first saw Christopher on campus. I no longer had heart palpitations every time I smelled his cologne. I didn’t cower in my room between classes or smuggle food back from the dining hall to eat alone. I’d even been showering regularly (much to Ashley’s delight). Still, I felt off. How long did it take, I wondered. To feel normal around someone who used to make you feel extraordinary?

  Maybe I would find out at lunch. Today’s lunch was the first official meeting of the Cassius Society. Ashley and I ignored the blatant snickering from Rachel’s table as we slowly trudged across the dining hall to attend the meeting. We set our plates down and scoped out the club members. Even in uniforms, these kids managed to look dark and imposing beside their peers. There were eight members of the Cassius Society, and aside from Christopher, Ashley and me, they all seemed to own stock in black eyeliner.

  Lydia sat at the helm of the table. Her coal-black braids extended down to just a few inches above her waist. She looked like Wednesday Addams if Wednesday Addams was a little hot. I sincerely hoped personality was all Christopher was looking for when it came to girls who weren’t afraid to stand out because I was not turning my long brown hair any of the bizarre shades that surrounded our lunch table. And I certainly wasn’t going all black like Lydia. I was way too pale for that, and not in a cool, goth way. Without being too obvious, I made a mental inventory of the eclectic hairstyles before me: purple, fuschia, green, and something I’d seen online described as “mermaid.” The boys weren’t much better. My self-control was working overtime not making a smart alec remark to Christopher about his style looking a little on the safe side.

  Lydia kept smiling at Christopher, her deep red lipstick drawing attention to her heart-shaped mouth. I was glad he and I shared the same side of the table. Otherwise, I wasn’t so sure I could stop myself from trying to gauge his response when I was supposed to be contributing to group discussion.

  “Attention!” called out the girl with the septum piercing. I had seen her around campus, a
nd it was clear that if Lydia was the queen of the Cassius Society, then Septum Girl was her handmaiden.

  “This year, we need to focus. We can’t just let every unjust thing that happens on campus become our mission.” I couldn’t help but nod in agreement.

  Last year the Cassius Society was a running joke for everyone on campus that wasn’t a participant. They were passionate, but they had no direction. There was legitimately a mid-lunch protest over the fact that the air conditioner for the science wing was being repaired before the unit in the performing arts building. I mean, the arts are important and all, but the work was scheduled to be completed within a month of each other. It hardly necessitated a picket line!

  The list maker in me wanted to suggest three firm goals with strategies for achievement printed neatly below, preferably with some Julius Caesar related clip-art for bullet points. Inspired by Henrietta, (who could have predicted Septum Girl would have such an old-fashioned name) the rest of the table chirped in with ideas.

  Most of the ideas were just complaints, personal vendettas, and thinly veiled reasons to get back at faculty for issuing poor grades. But, some of them were valid. Lydia, for example, noted that the girls lacrosse team had approximately 65 percent of the funding the boys’ team received. That was pretty egregious if you ask me. Shelfbrooke certainly took in enough alumni dollars to equally fund girls and boys sports.

  After a solid five minutes of rolling complaints, Ashley jabbed me in the ribs.

  “If you want Christopher to believe you’re here because you want to be, then you need to show him you have an opinion. Say something!” she whispered. I knew she was right. What I didn’t know was what to say! Since I didn’t have a complaint about anything at Shelfbrooke, I decided to contribute the only way I knew how.

  “I think we need to pause. These are all good ideas, but Henrietta was right; we need a firm direction,” I felt silly saying we, seeing as how I had been a member of the Cassius Society all of about five seconds, but I didn’t want to sound non committal. “I’d like to propose that we choose three specific goals for the remainder of the year and then come up with two to three strategies for meeting each goal. Then we can have a measurable outcome.”

  Lydia’s eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. “That sounds...great?” she looked to her side to make sure her right-hand gal was in agreement.

  Henrietta smiled warmly at me. “Totally.”

  And just like that the rest of the dominoes fell. The whole table was buzzing again, each member wanting their idea to be an official goal. Knowing that Lydia and Henrietta had my back, I felt confident enough to speak again.

  “How about we all go home and think about the three goals that matter most to us? Then we can bring them to the next meeting and take a vote.”

  Unlike my first statement, this one did not go over so well.

  “Do we really need that much organization?” asked an underclassman working extra hard to avoid looking at me while he shot down my idea. “Last year, we were able to roll on an idea ASAP.”

  “A week feels like a long time to brainstorm,” agreed the girl next to him.

  Lydia took a long swig of her reusable water bottle, pausing to think before offering a response. She knew how much power she had over the group. If she ixnayed the idea, it wouldn’t happen. But if she gave it her blessing…

  “I think,” said Lydia, and the table leaned in to listen to her. “I think that last year we didn’t accomplish much. Maybe with a little more planning, this can be different.” The whole table globbed on to her statement as if the entire thing were her idea in the first place. I didn’t mind too much. I was only trying to earn brownie points with one person, and he had been staring at his phone most of the meeting.

  The meeting wrapped when the bell rang, and I was all too happy to bail on the kids at our table. It’s not like I had anything against them; I just barely knew them. It felt weird choosing to eat with a bunch of strangers when Rachel and the rest of our friends were sitting on the other side of the room.

  Ashley and I both had classes in the science building, so she escorted me out of the dining hall and through the snow-packed paths our groundskeeper spent all winter clearing.

  “Good job back there, by the way,”

  I shrugged. “Thanks. I excel at that sort of thing. Organizing, I mean. The creative junk I am not so great at.”

  Ashley smiled. “At least you know your strengths. I have no idea what ‘goal’ I am going to contribute next week.” That got me thinking. Why would Christopher and Ashley join Cassius Society anyway? They haven’t been at Shelfbrooke long enough to have any real complaints.

  “You still haven’t told me why you joined.”

  “Surveillance,” answered Ashley without hesitation. I knew she was worried about Christopher, but sometimes it seemed a little over the top.

  I pulled the door to the science building open with a hard yank. Shelfbrooke spared no expense when it came to its buildings. When the occasional storm hit, we never had to worry about the doors being sucked open by the wind or slamming shut with a hard breeze. But that also meant opening them sometimes felt like that scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy is trying to pry the cellar open in the middle of a tornado.

  “He’s a big boy, you know,” I said once we were inside and out of the cold.

  Ashley let out a big sigh. “You overestimate his ability to make good decisions. I mean, think about it, how long did you know Christopher before you were taking a forty-five-minute ferry ride with him to an island?”

  I smiled. She had a point. Our summer was impulsive from the first words I heard him speak to the last.

  “Besides,” said Ashley, pausing at the door to her classroom. “Look at it from my perspective. I don’t want to spend my senior year with my super senior brother hanging out just down the hall.”

  “Yikes,” I responded. I wasn’t even sure if Shelfbrooke allowed students to take an extra year. If anyone ever had, it wasn’t during my tenure.

  “Yikes is right. He needs to graduate, and that means not falling down some rabbit hole because he likes a girl he just met.”

  My face fell. So he likes Lydia. I knew that she liked him. That much was clear, and I sort of suspected that winning smile he wore every time they spoke wasn’t platonic, but to hear it from Ashley dug at the wound.

  “Don’t freak out!” said Ashley reading my face. “It’s just a crush.”

  “A crush you’re worried will derail him.”

  “Not if we intervene. I’m still Team Anne,” said Ashley, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.

  Suddenly my picture in his locker for a year seemed far less significant. “Look,” she said, pulling me to the side so other students could enter the classroom. “Christopher does this. He meets a girl and jumps in head first. You know that better than anyone, but most of those girls don’t last. You’re the only one he ever talked about long term. I really think…” Ashley stopped mid-sentence, biting the corner of her lip.

  “You really think what?” I asked, desperate for a kernel of hope in this depressing conversation.

  “I think you could keep him in line. I mean, think about it. If you can give homework to the Cassius Society, you can drag Christopher across that stage at graduation.”

  I wished I could stay and talk to her longer, pepper her with a few more questions about these ‘girls from Christopher’s past,’ but the bell rang, warning me that I only had a few minutes to get from her classroom in the west wing to my own on the other side of the building. I thought about what she said, though. She thought I could keep Christopher in line. I liked that idea. I wanted him to graduate as much as she did, but how was I supposed to marry that with my mission to show him the bold, courageous, version of me? It wasn’t lost on me that to get him to fall in line I first had to convince him that I was the kind of girl who colored outside of them.

  Chapter Ten

  Later that night, I tried to think of three things t
hat mattered to me. The problem was I loved Shelfbrooke. I always had. What did they complain about in sitcoms? I tried to remember. Cafeteria food? Vending machines without healthy options? The only thing that really irked me was curfew. I printed curfew at the top of my mostly blank sheet of paper, along with the note “extend by one hour.” It wasn’t that I thought 9:00 p.m. was a particularly unreasonable hour to require residents return to their rooms, it was just that it seemed silly that seniors, who would be out in the real world within a year, were still required to key into their dorms by a specific time.

  “Real bold,” said Rachel looking over my shoulder. “Nothing says rebel girl like politely asking for a later bedtime.”

  I tapped my pencil on the paper in front of me. “Trust me, I know. I’m drawing a total blank here. What would you protest?”

  “Nothing. This place is golden. My only responsibilities are homework and monitoring your mating activities.”

  “So basically just the homework then.”

  Rachel giggled. “I’m here to help. It’s not my fault if you refuse to take advantage of the practically perfect Austenian style grounds of our dear alma mater. You’re really missing out on all the prime garden kissing.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes. Why do you think Jane Austen put all that grounds walking in her books anyway? It is obviously just an excuse for lovers to bump into each other unattended.”

  “And who have you been bumping into unattended?”

  Rachel smirked. “If I wanted you to know, you would.” My guess was Rachel wasn’t kissing anyone, but I didn’t dare say that. Instead, I scratched out curfew and continued to rack my brain for a good idea.