“Could I have the tag too?” I ask. She gives me a puzzled look, but the existence, location, and contents of my senior year time capsule are entirely private, thank you very much. I hold out my hand and she gives it to me with a shrug and a smile. “Glad you got your sign from the universe. That dress looks great on you.”
“What?” I ask. She points through the glass door at Brendan, who does a particularly violent head-shake-thing. “Oh, no,” I correct her. “A boy is not my sign.”
“’Cause there’s no such thing as a sign,” she says in a stage whisper that I ignore. She flips the lights off and takes out a key chain. “Wanna hear a Jesus joke?”
“Not really?”
She opens the door for me and we stand on the sidewalk in the late-afternoon light. “So a man is drowning and asks Mr. God to help him,” she says, locking the door with a few clicks. “Shortly after, this boat comes by with a crew offering the man a ride. The man refuses and says that God will save him. Not long after that, the man drowns and goes to heaven. He asks God, ‘Why didn’t you save me?’ God responds, ‘You idiot, I sent you a boat.’” She looks at me expectantly and I laugh. “Just saying,” she says with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
“Okay, thanks, I’ll make sure to tell my dad that one.”
The sun is low in the sky, illuminating Brendan’s silhouette. Izzy puts a felt hat on and waves. “Well, off ya go, Cinderella.”
“Okay, see ya,” I say, looking down and realizing I’m still in my orange running sneakers. Classic. She disappears down the street looking like she has someplace to go. I feel a little jealous for a second. But then I realize that I do too.
21
Days ‘til graduation: Still 2
WE’RE STANDING BEFORE A PALACE FIT FOR SUBURBAN GOLFERS and us, the most recent almost-graduated class of the Gill School. On the clean-cut fake green lawn, a sprawling building with big glass windows is framed by decorative trees. Pink and white lanterns hang from them.
“It’s kind of beautiful,” I say to Brendan, looking up at the main entrance to the country club, where a banner with silver lights spells out GILL SCHOOL PROM.
“It is, isn’t it,” he says, then looks down at our feet. “Cool sneakers.”
“Shut up,” I say, and push him toward the door.
As we walk, I kick up some of the red flower petals covering the stone walkway. Through the big glass windows we can see everyone in their suits and gowns and corsages and boutonnieres, taking pictures, talking loudly. I look at Brendan again, and my face gives way to a smile. “Everyone looks good. This whole place does.”
“Prom Scrooge satisfied?” he asks, admiring one of the lanterns hanging in a nearby tree.
“I’m just saying the decorations are pretty and we all look a lot better in fancy clothes.” We both flash our tickets, and a man in a suit opens the big glass doors for us. “Welcome to Gill School prom,” he says, politely avoiding my X-tits. “Hope you have a great night.”
“Thanks,” Brendan says. I step behind him a bit, suddenly embarrassed to be walking into the huge bright room together. What if people think we’re together together?
Get over yourself, shit huffer.
Inside it smells like so many types of perfume and cologne. The sun is casting golden shadows around the room as if to say, No filter required! We slowly make our way across the blue oriental rug toward various cliques’ group photos.
“There you are!” Abigail calls. She and Hilary ditch the photo they were in to throw themselves at me: Hilary’s hair is freshly dyed, and the cool blue with her dark green dress has this magical mermaid effect.
“You guys look so beautiful,” I say, touching the silk of Hilary’s dress.
Abigail fake-sobs into my neck. “I think I might cry.” Her hair is in a ballet bun on top of her head, and her red dress drapes off her shoulders. “Look at your badass grungy bride dress, Cham. Is that tape over your boobs?”
“Yep.”
“Good for you, darling,” Hilary says, eyeing Marquis behind us, who’s tied a bow tie to his tuba and is currently dancing with it. I wonder how long her British accent has been in effect.
“You look so handsome, Brendan,” Abigail says as she turns to him. Then she elbows me in the side. Not subtly.
“You’re looking handsome too. You all are,” he says, and his eyes linger on mine.
“Can you take a picture of the three of us?” Abigail asks, handing her phone to him.
We make a beeline for one of the large flower arrangements on the other side of the room. It’s a fustercluck of orchids and lilies that we squeeze ourselves in front of. At the last minute I switch places with Hilary so I’m in the middle, and I link my arms in both of theirs. “You guys,” I say, feeling suddenly sentimental, as if it’s years from now and I’m looking at the picture we’re about to take, senior year time capsule resurrected. “Look at us. We look freaking hot and we’re graduating from high school in two days. Aren’t you excited?”
“Um, yes, I’ve been waiting for you to be excited,” Abigail says, insisting we take one picture with our middle fingers up. “I can’t wait until they’re done Breathalyzing us so I can dance ass-up for like six hours.”
“Okay, smile,” Brendan says, taking a step back and nearly landing on the train of Rose’s pink lace gown. “And one not flipping the camera off? There, I think I got it.” He hands the phone to Abigail.
“Okay, now one of you two,” Hilary says, pushing me into Brendan.
I feel my cheeks burn, and then I literally almost say out loud, Get over yourself. I don’t want to be one of those people who’s embarrassed their whole life to like what they like.
“I guess I could be bothered to take one picture,” Brendan says, standing next to me. He puts his arm around my waist, and I feel how warm he is: a 98.6-degree human.
“Smile!”
“Thanks for the ride,” I whisper up at him. “And the moon.”
“No problem,” he says, leaning away once the picture’s been taken. I sort of wish we’d take another.
To our left the front doors open, and there are voices and heels clacking as more people walk in. I turn around to find Danika and Doug, then Gene and Helga. As our eyes latch, the egg of my heart cracks and it makes a rotten breakfast. His head comes up to Helga’s shoulder with her heels on, and he’s matched his orange bow tie with her orange sparkling gown. Suddenly I feel homemade in this dress. And not in a cute Etsy way.
“Hey, Cham, you look great,” Gene says with a We’re such good friends smile.
I smile back, but like are you kidding me? Just because we’re in nice clothes doesn’t mean we have to be nice. As Gene walks away to stand in line to be Breathalyzed, it occurs to me that when we weren’t making out or running, there wasn’t much else between us. I feel sad about it for a second, but maybe all first loves are like that. Maybe you have to love someone on the surface at least once in your life so that when you love someone beyond that, you know the distance you’ve traveled.
“Oh, come on,” Abigail whispers, watching my face. “Nine point eight out of ten high school relationships end. Did you really think yours was the exception?”
I punch her in the arm and burst out laughing. “Wow, you’re kind of a dick, huh?”
“I’m just saying you can move on now,” Abigail says, waving us toward the diminishing line of people waiting to go inside. “Come on, I gotta get to the dance floor.”
She and Hilary go ahead, and Brendan smiles at me. “Well, have fun with your friends!”
“Aren’t you coming?” Abigail asks, turning around. Brendan looks at me.
“He’s coming,” I say, catching my reflection and nodding certainly in the big mirror with the vase of roses in front of it.
Brendan shrugs and turns toward the regal-looking wooden doors. “Looks like I’m coming.”
Our senior prom is in a big, bright room with a polished wooden dance floor that looks out onto the sprawling green golf cou
rse. In the right-hand corner a DJ sets up her table while a catchy, warm-your-ass-up dance tune plays in the background. “Wanna bet who’s gonna be the first to do it on the golf course tonight?” Abigail asks, standing in front of the doors that lead to a romantically lit balcony.
“Mr. Garcia,” Brendan says, and we all laugh.
“You guys,” Abigail says suddenly as we half marvel at the place and half marvel at everyone all dressed up. “I’m literally crying.”
“No, you’re not,” Hilary points out.
“But I could be.” Abigail walks toward the tables in the back of the room, all set for dinner with white tablecloths and floral centerpieces. We follow slowly, taking in the fanciness of everything. It’s a little weird how weird it’s not to hang out with Brendan and Hilary and Abigail. I thought it’d be awkward, but it’s kind of like we’ve been doing this all along. Or maybe the illusion of separate worlds is just that: an illusion.
“Oh, right,” Hilary says, glancing down at one of the cards on a place setting near us. “They make you eat dinner with your date.”
Brendan cranes his neck toward the other side of the room. “I think that’s the table for singles. Yep, there’s my name. See you guys soon.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a little tug inside me as he walks away. How soon?
“Here we are, Abigail,” Hilary says, pointing to one of the tables in the middle, with its fake candle all lit up because can we really be trusted not to burn this place down? No, we cannot.
“Okay,” Abigail says, “now we gotta find Cham and switch it with whoever’s next to us.”
I scan the tables carefully. The white tablecloths are pristine, but not for long. “Oh no, guys.” I point to a chair a few tables down.
“Oh, shit,” Abigail says, moving a few wooden-backed chairs aside to get a closer look.
“Of course,” I groan, following her to my seat of doom. “The place settings were assigned a while ago, back when Gene got the tickets.” I look up at the ceiling. “Why do you insist on screwing me like ten times over, Universe?”
“Uh, you talking to yourself, Cham?” Hilary asks, prodding me with a nearby fork.
“No, I’m talking to the universe.” I look at them and my eyes widen. “Wait, could this mean that Gene and I are meant to—”
“No!” they shout. I look behind me. Across the room, Gene and Helga are crossing the dance floor, looking for seats among the dinner tables too. “Well, this is gonna be awkward,” Hilary says.
I smooth my dress and summon the power of my X-tits. “It doesn’t have to be. I think I’ll just trade with Helga because in addition to graduating from high school, I’d like to graduate from giving a fuck.”
“Woo!” Abigail says, pushing the chairs in and turning around. “That’s the Cham I’ve been waiting for.”
I take my name card off the plate and walk steadily toward Gene and Helga. They stop holding hands when they see me, which I guess is considerate, but we’re also kinda past that point. “Hey, Helga,” I say, looking up at her glitter-sprayed hair and really wishing I’d done more than provide a home for baby forest animals in mine. “Do you want to switch dinner seats with me?”
I hold up my card and point past the DJ to where Doug and Danika are already taking the seats next to Gene’s card.
“Thanks,” Helga says, “That’d be great, except I was late buying my ticket, so I don’t know if I have a place card anywhere to switch with you.” She looks over her shoulder, seemingly scanning the place settings to find herself.
“It’s okay, I’ll drag up a seat somewhere.” I hand her my place card, which says CHAMOMILE because we’re mature now. We use full names.
“Thanks, Cham,” Gene says, and I kind of hate how grateful he looks. Like it’s a prom seat, not a kidney. “Maybe catch you on the dance floor.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead on the dance floor,” I say. “Not because of you,” I add quickly, as I register the look on his face. “Just like in general. Okay, toodles.” I turn on the heel of my orange sneakers. Toodles?
By the time I cross the brightly lit room, almost everyone is seated for dinner. Waiters are coming out with baskets of bread and pitchers of Shirley Temples because when Gill School goes out, it goes all out. Crossing the room in my sneakers while everyone else is wearing heels, I feel like I’m going to cry again. Even if I do talk my way into Nicaragua, it’s just postponing the inevitable. As they go off to college and who knows what else, I’m going, where, home?
In the lobby I stop by the table with the fancy cucumber-and-mint water for a drink. Nothing says special occasion like water with leaves in it.
“Happy prom night, Cham,” Evelyn says, coming up behind me as I pour myself a glass. She’s wearing a purple dress with a silver bow tie, and it’s an improvement over the yellow Curious George suit. Still, she’s not exactly the first person I want to see.
“Happy prom night to you too,” I say wearily, lifting the glass to my lips and preparing my palate for some very gourmet water. I have a feeling this is gonna be awkward, since she probably has to fail me and all.
“How’s it going so far?” she asks, plucking a carnation from the vase at the end of the table and sniffing it before putting it back.
“Well, I just gave up my seat to the girl my ex-boyfriend is now attending prom with.”
She laughs and I chug the rest of my water, begging the burp in my throat to stay put. We’re silent for a few seconds, but it feels like a few years. I look around at the decorations in the lobby: the bouquets of flowers, the photo booth in the corner with the props. “You know, Cham,” Evelyn says. “I’ve been thinking about your presentation. I admire your honesty.” Admire it enough not to fail me? “I was also thinking that there’s a place to go for people with questions.”
“Lemme guess, Google?”
She laughs. “I’m talking about philosophy.”
I blink at her. “Does it have a physical address I don’t know about?”
She places her cup down on the polished wooden table and sighs. “I’m going to ignore your sass. Look, some people turn to philosophy because they want to, and some people turn to it because they need to. I needed it, and maybe you do too.” I look down at my orange sneakers clashing with the blue oriental rug and fix some of my boob tape. Maybe an X-marks-the-tits-spot is all my boobs have ever needed. “Here,” she says, reaching into her purse and handing me a book. “No one really talks about how scary graduating is. I appreciate your acknowledging that in your presentation yesterday. It takes a lot of courage to admit what you don’t know. It reminded me of something I read in here, and I thought you might want to check this book out.”
“Thanks.” I take it from her and examine its cover. The pretty cursive font fills most of the navy-blue background. “For giving a shit,” I add.
“One more thing before I forget…” She wipes a bit of condensation off the fancy water container. “The whole reason I came over here was to say I enjoyed reading your essay scraps.” What essay—? I start, then shut my fat mouth before I even open it. “For that, combined with your presentation, you’ll be getting a passing grade from me, which means you’re good to go on Senior Volunteer Trip.” She smiles at me and pats me on the back. “I wanted to tell you in person before you get the e-mail from Mr. Garcia.”
“Well, thank you,” I say as my tiny brain tries to process its future. I turn the book over in my hands.
“Just wondering, though: You had so much there. Why didn’t you finish it?”
I help myself to another glass of water, even though it probably doesn’t come as a shock that vegetable water tastes like garden runoff. “Same reason I couldn’t start it for so long, I guess. I’m not ready yet.” I study the painted wall behind Evelyn’s head. There’s something soothing about the repeating pattern of flowers, so pretty and unspecific. I tear my eyes away to look at her, then down at the book, which is the less intimidating of the two. “Finishing the essay means fini
shing high school, preparing to move on to something else, literally applying to the next thing. I don’t know what that is yet, and it feels fake to pretend.”
“Fair enough,” she says, studying me. I imagine I’m quite a sight in the lobby of this country club, with my nesty hair, white dress, and orange sneakers. We’re quiet for a moment, and at first she looks like she’s going to say something, but then she salutes me. “I’m gonna go back inside and make sure no one’s launching spitballs through their soda straws. Or fornicating under the table.”
“Ew,” I laugh. “I’m gonna examine the bathroom wallpaper until dinner is over.”
“Enjoy the night, Cham.”
“Thanks, you too.” As she walks away toward the regal doors that separate us from the dance floor and the dinner tables and the rest of the night, I have a tiny feeling I might miss her. Might.
Safely inside the heavily Febrezed bathroom stall, I gather my dress up, put the toilet seat down, and make myself comfortable. I address the ceiling with the fiercest face my eyebrows can muster.
“Universe, help me. I’m freaking terrified.” I sink into the toilet and wait for lightning to strike. “I have not applied to college. I don’t even know if I can go to college. And now that I can go to Nicaragua, I have to decide about it, which is just like shitfuckgoddamn. Just tell me what to do. Please?” I push the door of the tampon receptacle in and out, making a squeaky, clanking song of impatience. “Universe?” I whisper tentatively. “Don’t be a mega-asshole.”
After a few minutes, I start reading the book Evelyn gave me. Honestly, this guy Rilke is boring as hell, but not as boring as waiting for the universe to get its shit together and grace me with its presence. I turn one of the pages and see that Evelyn’s underlined a whole passage. I read it, and then I read it again.
“Universe, you weird and wonderful thing,” I say once I’ve read it a few times: Live the questions. Like Brendan said in his presentation, it’s as if this old, long-dead dude is talking to me, and as I read, we are becoming friends.
Dear Universe Page 22
