Sophomoric

by Rebecca Paine Lucas

  Math was boring—no surprises there. My parents were oddly, and obviously, absorbed in everything my too short, too skinny math dork of a teacher had to say. I mean, come on, the man even wore thick-rimmed glasses. I couldn’t focus on a damn thing he was saying about sines and cosines. Erin and I passed notes the entire period. Fifteen minutes before class ended, I found myself checking the clock compulsively, following the circle the red second hand traced around the pale unsympathetic face.

  I had drama next. More importantly, I had drama next with Dev.

  Erin always had the effect on guys I was interested in. There had been more than one time where some guy I was interested in was more than a little too interested in her. She always looked confused, but I’d learned one simple lesson: distance. Too bad I didn’t have a choice this time.

  Even though I dragged my feet the whole way there, pointing out buildings and ugly statues with the prominently displayed names of donors to my parents and Erin, we made it to theatre at the same time as everyone else. A sigh escaped my lips when I caught sight of Dev, happily talking to a dark-haired woman who could be no one other than his mother. She had his dark eyes, his angular bone structure, his characteristic casual slouch. Of course his mother would be beautiful and sophisticated and cosmopolitan.

  “He’s cute!” And of course Erin would notice him right away.

  “That’s Dev Kennedy. He…” My voice trailed off as he caught my eye from across the room and grinned mischievously. I shook my head at him.

  “Is he…”

  I turned back to Erin. “Yup.” I didn’t look at Dev. I hated seeing the interest on guys’ faces when they noticed Erin, saw she was with me.

  “Nice.” She glanced over my shoulder with a shy smile, throwing Baywatch waves over both of our shoulders. I didn’t turn my head.

  Mom and Dad missed the entire conversation, thank God. Probably talking to each other about the other parents in the room, arguably their favorite pastime. Class started and my attention shifted from Dev and Erin to hopes that I wouldn’t embarrass myself too publicly. The fanatical drama teacher had decided, enthusiastically, that we should show off our newly attained acting prowess to a captive audience.

  Too bad I still didn’t have any.

  My prayers went unanswered and I found myself yet again compulsively checking the clock that sat, hidden, on the wall backstage. Dev was in the other wing, waiting to enter as Harker and either humiliate himself in front of all the parents or make our drama teacher cry. Somehow, though, I had a feeling Dev could yell Harker’s dramatic moment of panic, complete with the cry to “preserve my sanity,” and still raise no questions about his own state of mind or social status. Thankfully, I had one line. From the back of the stage.

  After drama, I didn’t seen Dev again for the rest of the day. My parents remained madly in love with my teachers, hypnotized by the classes and much too interested in everything that came out of my mouth. Alec charmed them when they met in between third and fourth CP. His father looked only faintly like him. His mother was in the car making a business call.

  Erin thought he was hot too.

  It was one of those days where your hands hold a little too hard and your smiles teeter on the knife edge between forced and fake. From her half smiles and the crease between her eyebrows, I could tell that the distance I kept was hurting my mom. I felt bad, I really did. I just didn’t know how to apologize and keep her at arm’s length at the same time. There was so much they didn’t know and so much I didn’t want to tell them.

  They clearly wanted that to change when they offered to take me out to dinner at the one nice restaurant in town. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have an excuse to get out of it, but at least I wasn’t alone. The restaurant was filled with kids from school, some of whom I recognized, some of whom gave themselves away with brand names or accents the locals never had. Some of them had unbuttoned collars and heads tilted back in laughter, talking to siblings or parents and barely touching their food. Most of them kept their mouth full of food and kept looking at the door or the clock. Once people get out, it’s a struggle to remember how they ever lived with their parents in the first place.

  Surrounded by the faint glow of artificial candlelight, overpriced food and the ever-present small town bar with its avid football fans, I picked at my salad awkwardly. Erin dipped fry after fry methodically in her pink mess of ketchup and mayonnaise. She’d given up on touching the awkward silence. There had already been attempts at the typical questions: how are your classes, your friends, any boys? Monosyllables don’t tend to make for good conversation. I had resorted to studying the specials written on the wall over my mother’s head. Teriyaki salmon. Garlic mashed potatoes. Fried green tomatoes. When would they realize I wasn’t going to tell them anything?

  “So Bizza.” My father spoke around a mouthful of steak. Ew. “What are your friends looking at for college?”

  I shrugged. Dev, when asked, told people he wanted to go somewhere with the least-observant bartenders and Cleo said she was going to sell drugs or herself to earn a living. We weren’t quite sure whether she was kidding. Scott had been working his ass off for Northwestern for the last three and a half years (if not his entire life), but had no idea where he would get in. Gotta love the college process.

  “What about you, sweetie?” My mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, wiping invisible traces of salmon off her lips. “Are you looking anywhere?”

  I shrugged again.

  “You know, Cambridge is beautiful this time of year.” She turned to my dad. “You remember the time I met you at Harvard Yard in the fall, with the leaves turning…” And she was on her way to class at the business school and Dad had come up from graduate school at Brown and it was six months from her graduation and life was Ivy League and perfect. She had only repeated the story a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours. Not like there was pressure or anything like that.

  Erin laughed. “It sounds so pretty.”

  “It is. Not as pretty as Bryn Mawr, though.” My mother beamed, reminiscing about the good old days. The only thing more closely knit than the old boys’ club was the old girls’. Never, I repeat, never ask anyone about their women’s college unless you genuinely want to know the full and complete answer and maybe hear an additional lecture in gender studies. They will talk your ear off about the wonders of single sex education.

  Whatever makes you happy, I guess. Unfortunately for Bryn Mawr, I wanted boys

  “We could go up over a long weekend.” The beaming was now directed at me. “That break at the end of October.”

  I put my fork down on the side of my plate, fiddling with the napkin on my lap. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  This was not going to go well. Danger, Mrs. Robinson.

  “Cleo invited me back to her house for Fall Long Weekend with a couple other people.”

  “Sounds fun.” My dad shrugged. “We can do colleges when we go to New York for Christmas.”

  At least it postponed the inevitable: days driving for hours on end through identical scenery, alone with a parent focused on transcripts and test scores and extracurricular activities. Guaranteed, there would be long conversations about my goals and dreams, the pros and cons of practically identical campuses and long-winded speeches about the distinguished alums that had walked the halls of this fine learning institution. Sometimes I wished I could tell the entire college process to screw itself and walk away.

  “Who else is going, Bizza?” Ever the concerned mother, she had her serious face on. The one where her eyebrows are together and there’s that set to her mouth. But really, she’s listening.

  Evasive tactics were definitely a good idea at this point. “Just a couple people.” I fell back on the always infallible shrug. “Not really sure yet.”

  “Are her parents going to be there?”

  Did she have a checklist?

  “Yes.” No. “And her brother’s going to drive us. It’s going to b
e really fun, Mom.”

  “Can I speak to her parents?”

  “They’re in Nantucket right now.” Cleo’s dad was some big shot bonds dealer and her mother wrote bodice rippers and fancied herself an undiscovered talent. Cleo had showed me one example, published by a family friend. Hilarious. In any case, Cleo’s exodus to boarding school gave them the spare time to spend their spare change on things like three-story beach cottages. “But you can call them in like, a week.”

  “Oh.” Needless to say, Nantucket was not exactly my parents’ scene. “Well, when they get back.”

  Shrug again. Sure, whatever.

  “So who else is going?” my dad repeated.

  “Cleo.” Duh. “Probably Nicky and Amie. You guys didn’t meet them. Nicky’s boyfriend Scott.”

  “There are going to be boys there?” My mother looked concerned. Erin looked like she was trying hard not to laugh. She could afford to. Her parents didn’t care what she did or whether she spent long weekends with boys. They at least vaguely resembled the “hip and cool” image that those over fifty affect to the amusement of anyone under thirty.

  “Yeah.” Keeping it short and sweet was the only way to get through this. Saying, for example, that this was not the freaking Middle Ages and I was not in a convent probably would not make my case for me. “I mean, I know Alec has nowhere to go either. His dad’s going on a business trip.”

  “Bizza, I’m not sure if this is a good idea.” Instead of concern, my mother was exuding only condescension. As always, she was trying to protect me like it said to in all the $19.99 parent handbooks that she bought any time I did anything. “You know I trust you. I’m just worried about everyone else. You don’t know what they’re going to be doing, and I don’t want you to be in a situation where you feel pressured into doing something you don’t want to do.”

  God forbid I be pressured into doing something like drink alcohol. We wouldn’t want that.

  “Mom, you know me.” Like hell she did. “I won’t do anything I don’t want to do.” That much was absolutely true. It wasn’t my fault what I wanted to do and what she thought I wanted to do were two very different things.

  “We’ll have to think about it.” She gave my father a Significant Parental Look. It didn’t seem like he noticed; he was busy spreading ketchup on his steak.

  “It sounds like so much fun.” At least I had Erin’s support. “Aunt Carrie, you should totally let her go. I’m so jealous.”

  It was moments like this when I hated that there were times when I hated my cousin.

  My mother sighed and changed the subject. My gaze wandered around the restaurant for the rest of the night, settling on wall corners and school memorabilia posted behind the maître d’s stand, complete with pictures of turning leaves, laughing students and knee-length kilts. Pleading weekend homework, which I think they knew was crap, I convinced my parents that I really needed to be back in my dorm by nine. Campus was quiet; most people were in town or at hotels with their parents and some, like Dev, would spend the night. The few people who were around were walking in clumps with their parents or pairs with a friend, slower and quieter than they ever were on normal weekends. At least Josie was gone. Probably wanted to go be with people who actually liked her and her Jesus music. They probably all had separate changing cubicles too.

  Signing onto instant messenger and checking my email the minute I entered a room was becoming an ingrained habit after only a month at Icarian. I guess there were worse things. Fifteen minutes after my parents dropped me off, I was on my way to Nicky and Amie’s room to watch illegally pirated movies online, complete with Chinese subtitles and horrible quality.

  * * *

  I was half asleep on Cleo’s floor when Dev called at one.

  “Hey babe.” That boy had the best phone voice I have ever heard.

  “Mmm, hey.” My voice on the other hand was thick with sleep and stumbling over every word.

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.” I stretched, trying not to wake Cleo up. “Why are you calling so early?”

  “Bored.”

  Yeah right. “’M, sorry. Anything I can do?”

  “Depends.”

  I hated when he did that, flip it all back on me. Stupid boy could make his own freaking decisions. “On what?”

  “On how tired you are.” I could almost hear him smiling. “Wanna tell me what you’re wearing?” I looked at Cleo, sprawled across her twin bed. It took less than a split second of indecision before curiosity won out and I was on my feet. Thank God Josie was out. Hopefully, I wouldn’t embarrass myself too badly.

  9.

  My parents and Erin didn’t stay much longer. Erin had a volleyball tournament on Sunday and my mom had work. We also didn’t have anything to say to each other. When I closed the door to my parents’ car just after lunch on Saturday, I felt only a little guilt. Mostly, watching the beige four-door drive away just made me feel relieved.

  Freedom, sweet freedom. No parents until Thanksgiving.

  Things fell back into a routine of minimal work, less sleep and more fun than I had had in a long time. Caffeine became my new best friend. The Wednesday we took the PSATs, Josie’s test prep kept me up until two the morning before, and I downed a can of Mountain Dew and a low-carb energy drink before sitting for the test. As if nerves didn’t have me jittery enough. Even with all of that caffeine, I was usually exhausted by the time I got to first period. Fun was not enough to break through the stress imposed by classes and the ubiquitous college drone. Not like I even knew what I thought about it. Every time the word “midterms” was mentioned, everyone in hearing distance convulsed.

  My intentions were always good, but thanks to lots of friends with severe senioritis (namely Cleo and Dev), my priority list found itself swiftly rearranged, only to be remembered five minutes before a test. I didn’t really worry whether I’d regret it. I had never had friends like this before. Besides, I’d do fine and I knew it.

  I was practically living in Cleo’s room, in which Amie and Nic were semipermanent fixtures and a definite step up from my actual roommate. At almost every lunch, every dinner, there was someone to talk to over unidentifiable meat and soggy vegetables. Every night, I had people to watch movies with, I always knew the latest gossip and whatever this thing was with Dev, it felt like it had been going on for months plural, rather than singular. The good got better and the bad faded into the periphery, only to appear when Josie had her music turned up and in the midst of math class.

  But even then, two Fridays later, the first thing I saw walking into the dining hall were the uplifted faces of adoring freshman groupies. Dev was surrounded and flirting with all of them. Innocently. In a friendly way. At least that’s what I told myself.

  Pushing down impulses to walk out or drag him out, I made a PB&J instead and sat down with Amie and Scott. They didn’t seem to notice. I pretended not to. He joined us a few minutes later, minus the fans. His arm slung around the back of my chair, his hand resting on my shoulder. Just habit? I wondered sometimes.

  Wondered? Hah. I worried. But he didn’t have to know that either.

  My foot slipped out of my shoe three times between the dining hall and the post office. It had been four days since I had checked my mailbox and Amie had to pick up Netflix from her P.O. box. It then took me three tries to get the combination right. When I finally opened it, I found myself staring into a deluge of brochures printed with identical trees and aged brick buildings. Happy students wearing ugly backpacks smiled at me from their wonderful lives at the many colleges advertising in my mailbox. I realized, sorting through them and tossing them in the trash, that half of them I had never heard of. The other half were supposed to be the be-all, end-all of my high school existence. Harvard. Princeton. Stanford. Yale.

  I tried to find the enthusiasm.

  “Bizza, we can go. I got my movies.”

  Somehow, that sounded more exciting. I shoved the rest of the letters into the trash.r />
  Clichés tell you that trouble comes in threes. They also say the third time’s the charm. Combine the two, and you have serious issues. Under parental pressure and still worried about and angry at Dev and his groupies, I wasn’t exactly looking for new things to worry about. Talk all the crap you want about how smiling makes you less anxious. Conscious flexing of facial muscles doesn’t count. So I didn’t see the third coming until I staggered into Cleo’s room on an early October Thursday, arms loaded with precalculus textbooks and last-minute history facts still bouncing off the inside of my skull.

  “Cleo, I’m dying here…” My voice trailed off as I entered the room. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her floor, her head tilted to one side as she contemplated a plastic bag resting in front of her feet. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what the barely visible contents were.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” I shut the door with a little more force than was probably necessary and dumped the books on the floor. “Anyone could have walked in here.”

  “Relax.” As usual, Cleo dismissed with a shrug the kinds of things that made me break out in a cold sweat. She patted the floor next to her with her free hand. I walked over but didn’t sit down, my gaze fixed on the plastic bag she held so casually. “It’s just Adderall.”

  Just Adderall? That’s like “just one murder” or “we were just talking.” Just?

  “Everyone here does it like it’s their job.” She laughed. “Especially with midterms coming up. I’m just giving this to someone for David.” She looked up at me. “Will you sit already?”

  I sat slowly, trying not to stare at the innocuous-looking pills. They didn’t look threatening, so why did I feel like they might jump up and bite me?

  “Breathe, babe.” She shoved the plastic bag in the drawers under her bed. “See? All better.”

  “Why are you carrying stuff for David?” Her grin said it all. “God, Cleo!” Reaching back on the bed, I found a pillow to throw at her. She caught it, falling back on the rug, hair spilling out around her head in that iconic, ironic halo.