“Edgy,” Andy replied, taking a long hit on the joint.
“Speaking of edgy, Andy, what do you think of Eliza? My roommate?” Jan asked. Jan hadn’t wanted to gossip about Eliza, but was talking to a friend about your roommate gossip? Or was it natural, like complaining about the weather?
“Ballsy. That chick is so ballsy. You know we’re in class together? The Dialectics of Images?”
“She told me,” Jan said.
Andy nodded, holding her breath, and then exhaling a long steady stream of smoke. “There’s this unbelievably beautiful dude in the class. An upperclassman, maybe a junior. Eliza and I are the only freshmen. Eliza flirts so much with this guy. He had this whole theory about why people buy stainless steel refrigerators based on this one ad from the Times. He went on about beauty and machinery and capitalism. It was pretty genius, how the guy put it. I thought the stainless steel just made everything like a mirror.
“Anyway, Eliza went right up to the guy after class, pointed at him, and said “I think you are fucking brilliant, Mr. Stainless.” He was completely dumbfounded. I think she’d have a chance with him, too, but he has a girlfriend. I’ve seen him hugging this redhead with really long dreads on the quad.”
Jan sighed. She was sure that Eliza thought she was boring, conventional. Adam, she was sure, would judge her for smoking, and Andy for getting her high. Her mother would think she looked chubbier already, and Dad would be worried her classes weren’t challenging enough. What would her sisters think? Melanie and Erika always thought she was the perfect sister, she knew that. But that wasn’t the real her either. People were supposed to “find themselves” at college, but was this how they did it? By questioning everything they thought they were?
4
The Perilous Thongs were Melanie and Jess’s favorite band, even though most of their songs were about college life and contained obscure references to eighties music, two things neither of them knew much about. Still, the PTs were hugely popular due to their peppy pseudo-reggae sound. Their best song by far was “Some Kinda Feeling,” which was the song the band derived its name from. “You know it’s some kinda feelin’, when you’re wearin’ your perilous thong!” Who didn’t like that line? All the kids at Rose Dyer were into the PTs, but Melanie and Jess were the truly lucky ones. Jess’s dad Rick had a client he trained who was the band’s attorney. Jess was famed at RD for having two complete sets of gay parents—a mom who was a yoga teacher, and another mom who was a banker, and then a dad who was a lawyer, and Rick, who was a personal trainer. No one was supposed to know who Jess’s biological parents actually were, but Jess had a pert little nose just like Rick, and strawberry-blond hair like Sara, the yoga teacher.
Rick had scored front-row tickets and backstage passes for Jess and Melanie for the PT’s show at the Bang Bang Room. Melanie was so pumped up for the show, it didn’t even matter that they had to go with a grown-up—and even so, Rick scarcely mattered.
Rick’s truly adult status was questioned even by Melanie’s mom, but Rick finally won her over when the two of them ran into each other at back-to-school night. “Julia,” Rick had said, “do you realize who the Perilous Thongs are? They’re the Who, they’re the Clash, they’re the Police—I mean, this is absolutely epic for the kids, you’ve got to let me take them—I’ll literally put a leash on them!” Julia had wrinkled her nose up at that, and said, “Um, Rick, no leash, okay?” And that was how the thing was settled. That was how Melanie and Jess ended up sitting next to Rick at the Bang Bang Room in the front row, practically looking up the vaguely aristocratic, curved nostrils of the PTs’ lead singer, Peter Todd. No one knew if that was the guy’s actual name, but it went with his whole retro-preppy style.
The crowd was hopping and all three of them had been stoked since the first song. What Rick didn’t know was that Jess had a flask of vodka stashed in the inside pocket of her leather jacket, and that she’d spiked her and Melanie’s lemonades at home, and she’d just poured a shot in each of the girls’ Sprites. Melanie was having trouble choking the drink down, since Jess poured so much vodka in it. Melanie had, on several occasions, sipped more wine than her mother might have noticed at family events. When her grandfather was around it was easy, since he always offered it to her. Her mom’s dad seemed to enjoy family parties, and never minded when everyone pushed the limit. This was different, though; this was vodka, and Melanie wasn’t sure Jess knew what she was doing. At least with wine, you could tell how much you’d had to drink. When your friend just kept dropping some clear, deadly liquid into your Sprite, who knew?
Jess was actually beginning to look a little strange, a little pale, and a little green. At first Melanie thought it was just the lighting. It was near the end of the show, and the crowd was on its feet, moving as one, but Jess kept banging into Melanie, and it didn’t seem like it was on purpose, more like she was losing her balance. Finally, during the encore, when the PTs were really ripping into a new, very catchy song, Jess sank down into her seat and put her head between her knees. Then, right there in the front row, she puked out a whole mess of yellowish liquid. Melanie even thought she saw Peter Todd’s eyes widen as he let out one of his trademark yelps, but then she figured he was probably blinded by the lights.
Melanie felt pretty sober after Jess lost it; once Rick was in on what was going on, she snapped to. As they maneuvered through the crowd, with Jess bouncing between them, Rick gave her the third degree. “Where the heck did you two get the liquor?” He seemed more curious than angry. Melanie shrugged.
“That was Jess’s department. I was supposed to get us a joint, but I failed,” Melanie confessed. Why not? Rick wouldn’t care.
“Did you now? Was that due to a lack of knowledge, or will?” Rick asked.
“Both. I thought Gerald was getting it from this guy kids buy from at McDonald’s, but then he lamed out. And I didn’t want to go and get some on the street—who knows what those guys are selling?”
“Right, better safe than sorry. Everyone knows you’ve got to buy your pot at Mickey D’s.” Rick was getting pretty worked up now, shaking his head and talking in a snotty, sarcastic way. Rick gestured toward Jess’s wobbly head. “Now, look at me,” Rick said as he tried to hail a cab. “It appears to all the world like I got my own daughter totally wasted in public—maybe you guys should have thought of that, huh? The predicament your plans put me in—after all I did for you getting tickets, and backstage passes you couldn’t even use?”
Rick seemed particularly annoyed about the passes going to waste, and Melanie wanted to say something that would make him feel better, but nothing came immediately to mind. “Sorry, Rick,” she finally said, sounding like a little kid. “Next time, we’ll be more careful.”
Rick looked at her and shook his head. “That’s not exactly the answer I was looking for, sweetheart. You’re supposed to say there won’t be a next time.”
“Yeah, but would you even believe that if I said it?” Rick didn’t seem like the kind of dad who would want to hear the usual bullshit lines. Melanie wasn’t even sure if her own father would want her to swear to never drink or smoke.
“No, I guess not, but you guys are really still little kids, Mel. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, okay?”
Rick was one of the only grown-ups outside her own family who ever called her Mel, and it always struck her as odd, as if there were something he knew about her—some secret. Anyway, for all he was telling her not to be in a hurry to do grown-up stuff, he was there in the cab talking to her as if she weren’t a fifteen-year-old full of booze. Shouldn’t he be furious, dropping her off at her house and telling her mother what happened? No, he seemed to be taking the cool-Rick approach to the whole ordeal. They were headed back to Jess’s apartment, to get Jess tucked in.
Once Jess was safe in bed, after puking one more time, this time at least in the toilet, Rick made Melanie a bowl of bowtie pasta with butter and cheese. He hadn’t wanted her to go to bed with just liquor in her gut. Melanie felt like a
little kid, sitting on a stool in Jess’s kitchen, eating kid food. Jess’s other dad was working late even though it was a Saturday night—he had a big deal going on, so it was just herself and Rick. Finally, after finishing her pasta, Melanie asked Rick what he was going to say to Julia.
“I am going to tell your very respectable mother that you hold your booze way better than my kid.”
“Really?” Melanie was disappointed—she thought maybe Rick would let the whole thing blow over.
“Yep. Look, kid, she has a right to know. If Jess got wasted at your place, your mom would tell us, no doubt.” Rick suddenly looked older, standing in his kitchen, eating pasta out of the bowl with his fingers. He was buff and good-looking in that gay-guy way, but he was pretty old, just the same. His freckles had a faded look to them, as did his still-thick brown hair. Melanie wondered what it was that made people seem to fade that way. Were their skin cells actually wearing out, or was it something more mysterious, some life force that dimmed in them?
“My mom is pretty stressed right now, with my dad gone and all.” Melanie pouted. She knew she was playing the fucked-up family card, maybe even exaggerating her own distress, but then again, hadn’t she a right to a misstep or two? Her parents’ marriage had blown up basically right in front of her. Couldn’t everyone cut her a little slack? “Mom might kind of flip out on me. She already thinks I’m the evil one at home, and Erika is like a teen goddess.” Melanie felt a pounding headache coming on, and she wondered why it was people liked to drink so much. It’d been fun for a while at the concert, but she’d felt pretty woozy since getting in the cab. The food helped, but still—her head was heavy and throbbing, like it felt one time when she’d had a bad flu. It made it difficult to think straight, difficult to gauge the effect her words were having on Rick.
“Well, I don’t think you’re evil, Mel. You’re more like strong-willed, like one of those tough broads in an old movie—like Ingrid Bergman in Notorious.”
“You mean that big-nosed actress?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call her that.”
“I saw that movie! She’s a total slut, but then she catches all those Nazis in the end!” Melanie thought for a moment about the comparison to herself. It was neither flattering nor insulting, but it intrigued her that she might fall into a category—a type. She was kind of tough, not one to lose control, like Jess. She supposed she had it in her to be like Ingrid Bergman’s character—someone who could even marry a man she didn’t love, who she hated even, just to spite the guy she did love. But was spite such an admirable trait?
Later, when she was unsuccessfully trying to get to sleep in Jess’s trundle bed, Melanie thought about what Rick said, and she had to admit, he kind of had her right, because Melanie did often feel angry and spiteful. Maybe it was since Dad had gone away, or since Jan went to college, or Erika got so beautiful. She couldn’t really say what motivated her. The truth was, Melanie didn’t really feel sorry for Jess for getting sick. She was pissed that she had to go and ruin what should have been an unbelievable night. Now, when Gerald asked about going backstage and meeting the Thongs, Melanie would have to tell him the dismal truth—things hadn’t gone according to plan. There was no hanging out with the band, no getting close enough to Peter Todd to determine, as she’d often wondered, whether his flashing white teeth were real, or some sort of stagy prosthetics. No, all she got in the end was a lecture from Rick and the stink of Jess’s puke breath keeping her up half the night. She could only hope that the repercussions wouldn’t be too severe. It was fall, after all. There was Halloween coming soon, and then the holidays, and it would suck if her mom was on her case just as the school year got rolling.
5
Adam looked lost standing at the bus stop on the corner of Thayer and Waterman. Jan knew she was late, having pointlessly changed her clothes three times. What she wore was nothing special—jeans, a chunky sweater, and her old tan Sperry’s. She’d decided dressing up for Adam’s visit would seem awkward and that the best approach was to pretend they were still the same low-key couple they’d been when they met each other every morning in the RD cafeteria for tea and bagels. At one point, Adam looked directly at Jan as she hurried breathlessly up the block, but he failed to return her wave. He didn’t seem to recognize her.
Jan slowed to a more casual pace and studied Adam from afar. Five weeks at school hadn’t changed him. Adam was tall and narrow-shouldered without being skinny. He was wearing worn, off-white Converse, jeans, and a button-down shirt with the tails untucked. He had a blue sweatshirt over one shoulder, as the day had become warm for October. Jan felt her heart skip a beat.
Adam finally looked Jan’s way and broke into a wide grin. She had almost reached the bus stop—and he walked the few steps over to her with his long, loping strides, and put his arms around her.
“Holy shit, I almost didn’t recognize you! Your hair!” Adam kissed her on the mouth, and began inspecting her head from every angle. She felt her doubts slip away.
“You like?” Jan tilted her head slightly, in a way she thought made her look especially cute.
“It’s nice, like what’s-her-face, from that movie . . .”
“Rachel Altman?”
“Exactly.”
Jan knew Adam would think she looked like Rachel Altman, and in fairness to him, the comparison was not far off. It was a compliment, but Jan couldn’t help but think it was really about her small eyes. Obviously Rachel Altman’s worst feature as well. The bangs looked good, because without them it always looked like she was squinting.
Adam kept his arm around Jan’s shoulders and surveyed the scene. “So, where’s a good place to eat? I’m starving.”
“Didn’t you eat breakfast?” Jan asked, disappointed that Adam’s first thought was about food, and not about being alone with her. She had asked Eliza earlier in the week if she could let her have the room for the weekend. Eliza had laughed about being “sexiled,” but Jan didn’t feel guilty. Eliza often didn’t come back to the room at night.
“Yeah, I had an omelet at the student union, but that was hours ago. Is there any place around here that doesn’t cost ten bucks for a sandwich?” Adam asked.
It was something about Adam that Jan had almost forgotten. Even though Adam’s parents owned a large Upper West Side apartment, he couldn’t bear to spend any money; he got her gifts, but the small things—pizza, lunch, random stuff—he had always complained about buying.
“Well,” Jan replied, “just about everything on the hill is pricey—unless you want D’Angelo’s—which is a grease bomb.”
“Sure,” Adam said, “I’ll take my chances.”
Jan stared at the menu at D’Angelo’s while the thin, blond girl at the counter waited. Jan couldn’t bring herself to get a foot-long sandwich. Her jeans were feeling snug at the waist. “Chicken salad,” Jan said, finally, “blue cheese on the side.” The counter girl looked at Adam, but Adam still stared up at the menu.
“Are you together?” the girl asked.
“Oh, no—I mean, you’ve got cash?” Adam said, glancing at Jan, obviously waiting for Jan to pay for her own order.
“Oh, sure,” Jan said. At home, she and Adam had usually taken turns paying. She felt panicked for a moment. Maybe their relationship status wasn’t what she’d thought? Maybe the electronic breakup was a sign Adam was giving that things weren’t the same—a sign she’d missed?
They took their plastic trays and sat at a table by the window that looked out over Thayer Street. Jan managed to choke down a few bites of watery-looking chicken salad. She was determined not to be upset by what happened at the counter. “Oh, look,” she said suddenly, pointing out the window. “There she is!”
“Who?” asked Adam.
“Eliza! My legendary roommate. You won’t meet her, most likely. I asked if she could stay somewhere else. Obviously,” Jan said, blushing. But Adam ignored her implication.
“Where? I feel cheated not meeting the most radicalized fre
shman at Brown.” Adam leaned around Jan to see where she was pointing.
“Right there across from the Ben and Jerry’s. She’s not the one with dreads.” Jan said.
Adam nodded. He seemed impressed. “Who’s the other one?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s some sophomore, I think. Eliza’s friends with all these sophomores and juniors. You have to hand it to her. She really hit the ground running.” Jan knew she sounded sarcastic, although she really did admire Eliza.
Adam looked thoughtful. “Is that what you want to be?” he asked suddenly.
“What?” asked Jan, defensive.
“Well, with the hair and everything. Are you going hipster now? Trying to look more like her?” he said, gesturing toward the corner where Eliza and her friend stood.
Jan frowned, hurt. “It’s just a haircut,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I do. I’m just asking because it seems like a departure,” Adam insisted.
Jan sighed. “Maybe it is a bit,” she said. “I always wanted to do something like this. But you know how my mom is. She acts like not going to the best stylist in the city is a form of suicide.”
Adam raised his eyebrows. “So you are turning into a little rebel,” he said. “Not that I blame you. Your mom’s kind of a snob. Her and your crazy little sister.” Adam laughed and shook his head. “I always wondered why your mom let your sisters go at it like that. They had some pretty intense brawls.”
The conversation had taken an unfortunate turn. Jan regretted criticizing her mother. What Adam said about Melanie and Erika was true, but Adam was an only child and his parents were both professors. His house was always spookily silent.
“They’re going through a lot with the split and Dad being away,” Jan said. Melanie could be a brat. But what did Adam know about being a fifteen-year-old girl? Or a woman, for that matter? Sure, Mom cared too much about appearances. But how would he have felt if she had said his overweight mother didn’t care enough?
The Word for Yes Page 4
