I would love that—the opportunity to enjoy another meal with Daisy. To observe the dainty way she’d patted the corners of her mouth when she ate. To watch the way she threw her head back when she thought something was particularly funny. To fight the grin she pulled from me whenever I said something she thought was suspect and she cocked her head and stared at me like I was a lunatic.
Having stripped the bed and changed into clean boxers, I flopped back on the bed, mildly frustrated.
I mulled over my fantasy in my head, turning it around to see if I could find a way to make it happen. But I couldn’t see my way to a right path; I couldn’t see a right way to Daisy.
I closed my eyes, suddenly very frustrated and a tad angry. Those emotions were easier to deal with than the alternative: sadness. Because what I wanted—to be able to ask a girl I liked on a date—should’ve been a simple thing.
I heard a familiar soft voice in my head say, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just date whoever we wanted without a care?” Elodie’s words chastened me.
Elodie.
The words of my childhood friend were too poignant to ignore. Elodie wasn’t free to date the person of her choosing, at least not publicly. Instead, bad luck and bad people had forced her into deceiving our closest friends by denying who Elodie truly was. Elodie had been through enough at the hands of inconsiderate people who claimed to love her and want what was best for her. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—allow myself to be another person that let her down.
I knew how the charade we kept up wore on her. I’d been privy to some of the battles she fought, both mentally and the fights she had with Gracie. Behind her good looks and popularity she struggled mightily, and I’d promised I’d help to lessen those burdens. I didn’t get to abdicate my promise to a friend just because I'd met a wonderful girl.
The sadness I’d tried to keep at bay swamped me. I should have been able to ask Daisy on a date. And I absolutely would’ve.
If I didn’t have so many financial constraints.
So many emotional ones.
And just like that, the truth of my situation calcified, hard and unbreakable.
I felt a sharp stab of pain in my side.
It didn’t matter what I wanted.
It never had.
It hadn’t mattered that I’d wanted to stay with my parents—they’d sent me away. It hadn’t mattered when I gotten straight A’s year after year—May and Marcus had never even acknowledged my grades.
That’s not precisely true.
They had acknowledged them, but only to shame Julian.
“If Trevor—Trevor—” the implication behind my name being obvious, “can get straight A’s then why did you get a B? Get out of my sight. Both of you disgust me. You for failing, and you for showing off.” And just like that, we’d both be dismissed.
I could never win. If I got straight As, I was a show-off. If I got a B, they were wasting their money on an education that I obviously wasn’t equipped to handle.
And the way May had treated Elodie? I felt queasy just thinking of all the things she’d said to her over the years about how she was defective—how she’d implied she was disgusting.
I could never win. Not then, and not now.
Daisy—sweet, beautiful, perfect Daisy—wasn’t for me. Even if I were unyoked from all my burdens, I knew she’d never be mine. I never got what I wanted. And if I didn’t push her from my mind and concentrate on starting and finishing the school year strong so I’d have my choice of jobs or grad schools come spring, then I never would.
Chapter Six
Daisy
On Monday morning I rose early and headed to the Registrar’s Office, Operation Deliver Daisy in full effect. I’d workshopped the name a lot in my head and had decided this one was most worthy.
I arrived just as it opened, and to my surprise, there was already a crowd of twenty or more students assembled.
Thankfully, I didn’t see anyone I recognized.
A lady stood at the door and handed each student a slip of paper with a number on it as we crossed the threshold. We filtered silently into the room and slouched in chairs or sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. By some miraculous unspoken agreement, it seemed we’d all agreed it was too early for speech unless it was absolutely necessary, so aside from the typing at the front and the dull hum of a machine in the distance, the room was graced with library-level quiet.
Despite the sleepy calmness of the room, I felt anything but. My leg bounced nervously, and I bit my nails in rapid succession as I waited for my turn. A row of teller-style windows lined the front of the room and the whole area had a sort of chemical smell that I couldn’t quite place.
I was particularly afraid of running into the Bessie lady who’d helped me check in. Spotting her would mean I’d have to abort the whole mission. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever work up the nerve to try again.
Be cool, Daisy. Be cool. It’s no big deal. It’s only one letter.
I wished . . . I wished James and Odie were with me. If James were here and she knew—really knew—what was going on, she’d tell me to be fearless, wouldn’t she?
And Odie would be understanding and encouraging the way Odie was.
I wondered if they’d wonder where I was this morning when they eventually stopped past my room to retrieve me for breakfast.
Yet another lie you’re going to have to tell. If this was a spy movie, Daisy the Deceiver would be your code name. No, Daisy, your code name wouldn’t have your real name in it. Unless Daisy the Deceiver is so deceptive that she factors people’s inherent disbelief into the equation!
I fought the urge to slap my forehead and told my internal monologue to downshift from hyperdrive and shut up.
I heard a lady say, “Twenty-four.” I rose and headed to her teller station, finally placing the weird smell and the mechanical noise as I approached. Xerox machines, about fifteen of them, were going full speed, spitting out reams and reams of paper.
In the background monitoring one of the machines was a lady who looked suspiciously like Ms. Bessie from the side.
I kept my head low and prayed she didn’t turn in my direction.
I willed my heart to slow down as it galloped in my chest, and tried to calm my nerves by focusing on the person at the window. She was young, perhaps a student, and entirely disinterested in waiting on me. She picked at her nails as I stepped close enough to speak quietly. I had no intention of raising my voice above the bare minimum with the Bessie doppelgänger hovering so nearby.
“Name?” she said without looking up.
“Good morning,” I paused biting back the ma’am I’d been programmed to add. This girl wasn’t much older than me, she would definitely have been offended by it. I refocused. “That’s why I’m here,” I said getting right to the point. “My last name is Paxton,” I said with a lot more confidence than I felt. “But somehow it got misspelled on my file. They had it as Payton when I checked in.”
She rolled her eyes and never looked up at me as she shouted behind her, “Carmen, who did the P’s? Was it Sheila?”
A disembodied voice called from somewhere in the back, “I think so.”
“ID?” she said still not looking at me.
“I’m getting migh-tee tired of fixing her mess,” she called back to the voice as she rolled her eyes again. “This is the third student that’s had something wrong with their file.”
Relief swelled in me. This was going to be a piece of cake!
Thank you, God, for no-typing Sheila and her two left hands.
My nerves caused my hands to shake before I was finally able to retrieve the fake ID I’d procured before leaving Green Valley.
I slipped the ID from my purse and finally handed it over to the girl.
All my nervousness was for nothing.
She barely even glanced at the ID, instead she slid me a duplicate form and instructed me to check the box that read Name Correction. Then she motioned for me to stand to
the side while I completed the form.
Inside I was a mess of emotions. Fear because I couldn’t believe I was about to go through with it. Excitement because I couldn’t believe I was about to get away with it. But most of all, I felt free. Free to be just Daisy. I reassured myself that the plan was good. I’d thought about it a lot. A lot.
I wouldn’t leave my last name different forever, I’d have it “corrected” second semester . . . or maybe at the start of following year. I’d pretend I didn’t notice first semester and I’d show them my real ID.
I realized there was a small kink in my plan as I completed the triplicate, there would be a record of this original change. But, given my experience today, I doubted whoever processed the next name change would even check my file and see this paper.
And . . .
Don’t think it, Daisy.
But I couldn’t stop the thought from coming.
If they give you a hard time . . . you can always call your father.
I hated myself for thinking it, but the thought occurred all the same. I recommitted myself to total independence and vowed that I would not, no matter what came, call my father.
When I handed the form back to the girl, she ripped off the top copy, placed it in a wire basket to the left of her elbow. The pink carbon copy, she slid under the window to me as she intoned, “We’ll process this change as soon as possible but in the event that an updated class roster doesn’t get to your professors in time”—she gestured to the Xerox machines—“you can show them your copy and they will manually update your name on the roll.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Twenty-nine!” she replied.
And just like that, Daisy Payton was dead.
And Daisy Paxton had been born.
I was so caught up in my relief at having finished what I believed to be my most daunting task of the day that I didn’t notice James until I almost slammed into her in the hallway just outside the Registrar’s Office.
She spoke in her normal clip, “If you’re on your way to financial aid it’s already too late. It’s a zoo down there!”
“Thanks for the warning. I’m headed out, but did you get you get what you needed?” I asked eager to pivot the conversation.
“No,” James replied glumly. “My financial aid still hasn’t posted.”
She bit her lip and stared past me. “I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t come soon.”
I linked arms with her. “I’m sure it’ll come this week. There are probably just a lot of people who need to have their funds dispersed. Maybe they just haven’t gotten down to the J’s yet.” I tried to strike a cheerful, hopeful tone.
She smiled at me, but it wasn’t her usual James smile and worry for my friend began to creep in.
James and I bumped into Odie in the cafeteria almost as soon as we arrived. She promptly declared with more than a little dismay that she’d “been looking all over for us.”
We downed a quick breakfast and were greeted with a surprise as moved toward the exit to leave. Charlie Love, donned in the beautiful royal blue and gold dining services shirt, was bussing tables and by the look of it, was hating every second.
“Heya Charlie!” James called, because it was clear Charlie hoped that we, or most likely that Odie, hadn’t spotted him clearing the table closest to the door.
Charlie stopped—his back still to us—holding a cup in mid-air for a second before he finally turned. His eyes zeroed in on Odie immediately. I wasn’t even sure if he knew he was doing it. It was honestly kind of sad to watch.
“Hey, uh everybody,” he mumbled and shifted from foot to foot.
Odie didn’t respond, but I saw a small grin slip at his clear discomfort.
Talk about bringing out the worst in a person. Odie was a kitten, but with this boy she was all claws.
“New gig?” I said asking the obvious, taking pity on the boy.
“I—yes. Work study.”
Charlie was still looking at Odie, his mouth was doing this weird thing where it kept forming words but nothing was coming out. He looked to be truly at his wits’ end as he stuttered and stammered silently.
And Odie?
She just looked . . . bored. She’s wasn’t even looking at him; she was busy waving to Karen Smith who sat five tables over.
“Okay, well I guess we’d better—” I started before I was cut off.
“Boy! It’s your first day and you’re already slacking! Don’t let them pretty faces get you in trouble. I see I’mma have to watch you real close. You ain’t no worker, are you? No. No. No. You ain’t one, but I’mma make you one.” We all turned to see Mr. Jimmy making his way over to Charlie.
I thought poor Charlie couldn’t look any more uncomfortable, but I was wrong. Now, true misery was upon on his face. He wasn’t even looking at Odie anymore. His eyes were fixed on the six-foot, old, bald man lumbering toward him. Charlie looked like he would’ve been completely fine with vanishing through the floor or even dropping dead on the spot if it meant he’d get to avoid being chastised by Mr. Jimmy while we watched.
“I guess we’ll be going now. Have a good shift at work,” I said as I pushed James toward the door. Odie didn’t need any prompting, she moved as soon as we did.
As we crossed the threshold I heard Mr. Jimmy’s voice reverberate behind us, “Listen, son, help me help you! If you can’t handle something as simple as tables, I’m going have to put you on latrine duty.”
I parted from my friends outside of Spence and headed to meet my academic advisor. I arrived at nine a.m. sharp, ready to put the final part of my plan in place.
Before I could knock on the closed office door a clear, a prim voice commanded, “Come in.”
I walked in and she motioned for me to take a seat.
“Daisy Payton, I assume.”
I started to nod, but something about the lady reminded me of Dolly so I decided against shaking my head and answered.
“Yes, ma’am. But actually, it’s Paxton.” I reached into my bag to pull out my correction form.
She saw the pink duplicate copy in my hand and waved it away as she spoke. “I see you’ve already been to the Registrar’s Office to have it fixed. Well done.”
She scribbled a note in my file, and I gulped.
“All right, Ms. Paxton. Let’s get started.”
Her office was neat, medium sized, with an unstained mahogany desk with ornately carved footings. There was a matching bureau to her left and she was seated in a cream-colored tufted and mahogany chair. The contrasts around the room were striking.
Also striking? The woman sitting across from me. Her hair was pulled into a bun high on her head, and bright white diamond earrings shone from her ear.
From her immaculate French-manicured nails to her soft pastel pink suit with pearl buttons to the matching mauve lipstick and ivory peep-toed sling back pumps that peeked from under the desk, everything about her screamed class.
Dolly would’ve loved her outfit. Dolly would’ve worn her outfit, and that really was the highest praise. My sister had the most exquisitely discriminating taste I’d ever seen. As it was, I was feeling a little wardrobe envy myself. One thing my sister and I had in common was that we loved fashion, and dressing to the nines was our signature.
We hadn’t really had a choice; not that we minded. It was expected that we never leave the house unless we were neatly turned out. I smiled a little thinking of my mother whose motto was, “Never face the day without your face on.”
I peered at her desk, noticing a large stack of manila folders bearing student names. There were several other rows of file folders neatly organized behind her. They appeared to be color coded using some obscure system.
“I am your advisor, Dr. Gwinn. Now, first things first. You were late to your meeting with me this morning. Do not repeat that behavior in the future. I do not tolerate tardiness, and neither will your professors.”
I glanced down at my watch, the time read nine prec
isely.
I looked up and she chuckled at my furrowed brow.
She took a deep breath and said, “Oh, Daisy. To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late, and to be late is unacceptable.” She smiled brightly and continued with a dismissive wave. “That is the law around here. Now tell me about your goals for your time here at Fisk.”
I was eager to change the subject, as I’d never liked that old adage anyway.
My father said it all the time, and once Ado went to school he’d squawked it too. I was wise enough now to know that trying to convince its followers that being early was being early, late was late, and on time was, well, on time, was absolutely fruitless.
“My long-term goal is to graduate in four years, summa cum laude, preferably number one in my class.”
She smiled back at me. “Your ambition is admirable. A woman after my own heart. And what of your interpersonal development?”
I sat up a little straighter.
Interpersonal development? Did she mean she wanted me to get in touch with my masculine side or some other such nonsense?
“Ma’am?”
Her smile turned patient. “You—Daisy—how do you want to develop your person while you’re here? Any clubs or service organizations you want to join?”
“I’d like to earn a spot in the Phi Beta Kappa Society.”
“Of course. Anyone with your academic ambitions would, but what of your social ambitions?”
Again, she’d lost me.
“Daisy,” she said with a tsk and a chuckle. “College is not only a time for you to tend to your mind. We are not just growing brains here. We’re growing whole beings that will need to go forth into the world and contribute. You are not here to just take knowledge for yourself and go, you’re here to give of yourself and of your time and of your talents.
“You are here to learn about yourself—and how you fit into the world. And that means interacting with more than just books. It means interacting with people, trying new things, joining clubs. Sometimes it even means quitting them and moving on to things that fit better.”
Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance Page 8
