I leave class planning our first assignment – a character study on one of the Dashwoods - and lost in the early 19th century. I yearn for the quiet simplicity of the stories.
“Hey, you dropped this.”
I turn towards the voice. The guy holding my book, which I must have dropped while daydreaming of parties and piano fortes, reaches out to hand it me. His arm is circled by black lines, tattoos snaking under his sleeve. I take the book and look up, meeting his eyes.
“Thanks.”
“Are you reading this?” he asks. Dark hair nearly covers his eyes, which are swirls of indigo, subtle seas of suspicion, broken with a tempest of playfulness.
“Well, technically. I mean, I’ve already read it several times, but yes, we are reading it for class.”
“I personally always liked Marianne,” he says.
“You’ve read it?”
“Is that surprising?”
“No, but slightly cliché. Is this the scene where we discover we knew each other as infants, too?” I ask.
He laughs. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just a pretty common book.”
“Valid point. So why Marianne? Isn’t she a little too… reckless?”
“Not at all. She’s far more intriguing, don’t you think? She knows what she wants, even when it’s wrong for her. I bet Marianne would be a lot of fun.”
I don’t know why it feels like a challenge suddenly, but I tuck my book tighter into my bag and take a step back. “Her fun, as you call it,” I argue, “almost ruins her. It’s selfish and immature to think about nothing but one’s own passions.”
“I see. So I suppose I should call you Elinor, then?”
“You don’t need to call me anything. Thanks for picking up my book.”
“I’m Jack,” he says. “Sorry if I upset you. I was just trying to help.” The light in his blue eyes flashes out quickly, leaving a hollow darkness in its place. The sticky heat of a stubborn summer is drained from the world in the empty chill that enters his expression. I didn’t intend to be mean. He was only making conversation.
“No, I mean, I’m sorry. You’re right. Marianne’s okay.”
I watch him pause. I want to say something, to apologize for some reason, to try to shake the sudden guilt at the way he’s staring at me. His look went from curiosity to anger and then to something else. I understand now what they mean about seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes. He’s reflecting everything I fear about myself in this look – and I hate it.
He takes out a pack of cigarettes and places one between his lips. “All right. See you around, Elinor.”
“Wait,” I plead, but he’s gone.
“Awesome. You are already pissing people off,” I mutter to myself.
I head to dinner, where I load my plate with pasta, focusing on food instead of feeling like I said something stupid. I’m sure he doesn’t care anyway; it was just a dumb conversation.
Kristen is sitting with Lyle and Don and some of the girls I recognize from our floor. The condom hoarder is there, too. I wish I knew how people could walk into the unknown and just start new without caring. They’re already acting like they’ve known each other for ages and I can’t even remember anyone else’s name. I promise myself I’ll try harder. This is not supposed to be hard. I look around the cafeteria and everyone’s talking and eating and settled. Classes just started but I’m the only person who seems out of place.
“Lily, what are you doing tonight?” Lyle asks. “Do you want to go to a party?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really a party kind of person,” I say.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Kristen says. “It’s just a group of us and some guys from the other wing. Nothing crazy.”
“I have a lot of homework already. Maybe this weekend?”
“Sure. If you change your mind, we’re just down the hall,” Lyle says. “410. Come on by. I’m sure we’ll be up late, so even if you want to pop in after you finish your homework. It isn’t going to get wild or anything. We’ll probably just play Xbox.”
“You really know how to woo girls, don’t you?” Kristen teases.
“You’re coming, aren’t you?”
She blushes and looks away. It’s amazing. It’s so normal, so natural. How do people connect that quickly without trying?
“What’s your major?” Don asks me, taking my attention away from Lyle and Kristen.
“English.” I wait for the comments and questions. Oh, so you want to be a teacher? What good is English? Really – you must like reading, then? My mother’s voice won’t get out of my mind. I’ve been through the conversations for almost two years now; there is nothing worthwhile about living in make-believe. However, when I finally got on campus for orientation and was asked to officially declare a major, her voice screaming about practicality didn’t stop me from writing the word on the paper. And once it was written, it had to be true.
“Oh my God, I know,” one of the girls says. “I already have two papers due and two books to read. What’s that about? I thought English was supposed to be easy.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. I like reading. I just figure I’ll try to get the work done before doing anything else, though.”
Everyone starts talking at once about their classes, which professors are insane, how much work they do or don’t have, where there might be parties this weekend, and it’s noisy and chaotic. I finish my pasta and no one notices when I gather my stuff and head out. The sun has already set and the walk back to my dorm is quiet.
I’m supposed to call Derek when I get in, and I wish I knew what to say. I want to tell him that today was great, that I’m already loving college, that I have the same confidence everyone around me seems to have. Again, I wonder if I should’ve gone to the same school as him, but we had countless conversations about what was best for my future. I know it’s true, that I’ll be better off here, but I feel like I’m just waiting to screw up. It’s hard to think about the future when you can’t get over the past.
4.
All of the other kids were running through the field, chocolate smeared onto their clothes, desperate for more eggs. Jon was fighting with a boy from the next town over, but I couldn’t hear what they were arguing about. It was probably candy anyway. No one seemed to notice or care. I thought about joining the rest of the kids, but my dress was pure white and the black patent leather Mary Janes had just been polished.
“You should go join them,” my dad encouraged. “I hear the golden egg this year is extra special.”
For nine years, my parents had brought Jon and me to the church Easter egg hunt in town. It was one of my earliest memories, even though I only remembered the last few. Jon, at eleven, cared less about the eggs than he did about the competition. I liked the eggs; I had spent the last week helping my mom color and design them for the hunt. For each egg you turned in, you were given a piece of chocolate, but it was only the golden egg that mattered.
“I’ll get dirty,” I told him.
“That’s okay. Live a little.” He laughed and I might have listened. I might have gone on and crawled through the grass, but my mom appeared before I could move.
“Lily, your bow is coming loose,” she snapped, pulling me by the ponytail backwards on the picnic bench. “How do you manage to cause such a mess all the time?”
“You should let her participate,” my dad said to my mom.
“I did. She helped me make the eggs.”
“You know what I mean.”
My mother finished straightening and tightening my bow and turned me to face her. “Is that what you want? Do you want to run around in the dirt like an animal?” I shook my head. She looked at my father. “You shouldn’t encourage her.”
“Jon’s out there thinking he’s in the Old West, ready to have a high noon showdown over a Snickers, but poor Lily-” he started.
“I don’t want to play, Dad. It’s okay. My dress is too pretty. We still have to go out for dinner,” I remin
ded him. I knew my mom would be devastated if I ruined my outfit before dinner.
“It’s not like it’s mud wrestling,” he mumbled, but he stopped pushing.
Kayla, one of the girls from my reading class, was wearing a pretty dark blue dress and skipping past the tree by the church buildings. Her dress was still clean, because it could hide any dirt or grass stains. I wished I’d worn something darker.
She leaned down and dug in the grass for a minute, before lifting the golden egg. “I got it!” she yelled and everyone stopped. Everyone except Jon and the other boy, because they were still rolling around in the grass. “I win! I win!”
Mrs. Hallomeyer, the CCD teacher, brought Kayla and the golden egg over towards the benches, where the adults – and I – were sitting. The rest of the kids followed, each disappointed about not winning, although the supply of conciliatory candy seemed to appease most of them. Eventually, even Jon and his foe joined us all while Mrs. Hallomeyer talked about Jesus and gratitude and something that was somehow connected to the egg. The whole time, I just stared at Kayla. She gripped the egg close to her and grinned at me. I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking it, too.
Only a week earlier, our reading teacher, Miss Stephens, had announced the winner of the book contest. Each of us had been asked to read and write reports on as many books as we could during the previous quarter. For each book we finished, we received a star on a chart. It had been me and Kayla down to the end, but I beat her by two books. When Miss Stephens had announced it, Kayla started to cry and said I was a cheater and a liar and that I’d never read those books. She said I only cared about winning and that I read easy books. She said a lot of things, but Miss Stephens knew they were lies. Unfortunately, most of my classmates didn’t care, because Kayla had a pool and she brought cookies every Friday because her mom didn’t work and everyone else started calling me a liar, too.
I really wished I had gotten my dress dirty and beaten her to that stupid egg.
5.
“That’s good, right?” Derek asks. He’s been talking about rugby, which is apparently his new hobby. It’s been a day and a half and he’s on the rugby team, while I still don’t know where the health center is.
“It is. I mean, yeah, of course it is.”
“What’s wrong? You sound… different.”
I shake my head, sighing. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. I don’t know.” I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Kristen talked me into putting up glow-in-the-dark stars since I didn’t even bring a poster. My side is basically a wall, except for the few photos I have of Derek and me. All my other photos are framed or pressed in albums in my parents’ living room.
“Well, it’s not nothing. Talk to me, sweetie.”
“It’s just… I mean, how do you…” I pause, reaching for the words. “You just always seem to know what to do. What to say. Who to talk to. You’ve only been back at school for a day, but you have a whole team. The people I sat with at dinner didn’t even notice when I left.”
“I’ve had a whole year, Lily, remember?”
“I know, but it’s not like it was ever hard for you,” I argue.
“What do you mean?”
“You had friends in high school,” I say.
“So did you.”
I want to tell him. I want to explain everything, but even after a year, there’s still so much ground to cover between us. While he was playing sports and making friends and dating half the girls in our high school, I was planning a canned food drive and taking five AP classes. He didn’t even really notice me at all, although he says he did, until last year when we started dating. And by then, he was already at school and he didn’t see what it was like every day.
“I guess. I should just be social. I’m sorry. I told you it was stupid.”
“It’s fine. Go to a party or something. Join a club,” he suggests.
“Maybe. I was invited to a party tonight, but I have to write an essay.”
Derek sighs. “Don’t do this, Lily. Don’t be that girl.”
“Be what girl?”
“Never mind. Just lighten up, okay? It’s okay to have fun sometimes.”
“I have fun,” I tell him. “I have fun with you.”
“I know, but I’m not going to be there every day. Like I said, this rugby schedule is intense, so I may not even be able to come up as much as I’d hoped. Don’t sit around waiting for me.”
It shouldn’t hurt. I shouldn’t be sad about it, because he’s right. I spent most of high school “sitting around waiting” for Derek, but now, I don’t have a clue how to start living my own life. I miss him, though. I miss something comfortable, something normal. Everyone else seems to slip into newness so easily.
“I won’t. You are coming this weekend, though, right?” I ask.
“I am. Hey, listen, I gotta get going, though, okay? We’re heading to a party. Jon says hi. And seriously, Lily…”
“Yeah?” I prod when he doesn’t continue.
“Just… don’t be weird, okay?”
“I’ll try,” I agree. After he says goodbye, I think about what he said. I’m in my pajama pants and a tank top, but Lyle said they were just having something small and it’s only on the floor. It’s not like I can’t go for an hour or so and still make it back to do my homework. I mean, people balance things all the time.
I decide against going in my pajamas after all, but I do put my work away and get dressed. When I’m presentable, I head out into the hall. You can do this. It’s just a small group. You’re not going to fail out of school if you stay up an hour later, I tell myself. Of course, since I’m yet again not paying attention, I turn the corner by the elevator and walk right into someone.
“Oh, hey. It’s Elinor.”
“Lily. And I’m sorry about earlier.” The momentary emptiness I saw in his eyes is gone now. He looks down, tugging at the hem of his shirt. It’s an old shirt, probably worn too often, and he looks young when he tugs at it. However, when he makes eye contact again, the wildness I sensed before has returned.
“No need. You were right. Marianne is a little flaky. I suppose I just like characters who don’t have everything in place already.” It’s not directed at me, just a casual comment about a fictional character, but it reaches into the marrow of my doubt and gnaws at me.
“There’s nothing wrong with a plan. With order.”
“Okay, Lily. Let’s try this again. I’m Jack… and you’re Lily. You have read Sense and Sensibility several times, you apparently live on this floor, and you’re a freshman. What else is there? Any deep, dark secrets just waiting to come out?” It’s teasing, but I try to shake the question.
“How’d you know I was a freshman?” I ask.
“You look a little afraid someone’s going to realize you’re in the wrong place,” he says.
“Am I?”
“I think that’s your call.”
“I’m going to a party,” I tell him, although he didn’t ask.
“Sounds grand.”
“Do you… do you want to come?” Lyle didn’t say I could bring anyone, but it feels like the polite thing to do.
“I can’t. I’ve got plans, but I’ll see you around, Miss Dashwood.” He gives a half bow and leaves me standing there, confused. Do I really look lost to other people, too?
There are only five people in Lyle’s room – him, Kristen, the condom hoarder whose name is Kendra, Don, and someone I haven’t seen before. He introduces himself as Paul, but he doesn’t seem to be interacting with anyone else.
“Paul’s my roommate,” Lyle says. “We’ve accepted we have nothing in common.” Paul nods in response and goes back to listening to music.
Kristen is sitting between Lyle’s legs and he has his arms wrapped around her. Her blond hair is falling into his cup of soda, but he’s focused far more on flirting with her anyway. I settle next to Kendra. Don leans across her to hand me a cup of root beer.
“My boyfriend’s at
a party tonight,” I tell Kendra.
“That’s good.” I’m not sure what I expected her to say or why she would care. I imagine Derek, thinking of all his stories, remembering the things he and Jon did in high school. It’s a dramatically different world from sitting on someone’s floor in a circle of five people, drinking soda, and awkwardly trying to make conversation.
“Lily, you up for a game?” Don asks. He tosses a controller in my direction. I’m terrible at video games, but Kristen and Lyle are occupied and helping Don take out zombies feels better than getting up and admitting this was a mistake.
6.
Rebecca Ellison was pretty, it was true. However, she was unbelievably dumb. I don’t mean she did poorly in some classes or struggled with a learning disability or that she had book smarts but no common sense or vice versa. She was honestly one of the dumbest people I had ever met. Still, dumb didn’t matter, because she was pretty.
I’d heard it from Abby first. Derek had never been subtle about girls – not since the beginning of the year when he and Jon had started playing soccer and they became popular and I was just the nerdy little sister who still liked playing cards in a tent. Derek didn’t change, though. Not really. Everyone else did and he fit right into their changing. He got his braces off and he played sports and suddenly everyone realized he was cute and there was no way the quiet girl who spent her weekends reading and who knew the fifty states in alphabetical order and who was still afraid of getting her dresses dirty could compete with Rebecca Ellison.
“Derek and Rebecca Ellison are a thing,” Abby told me in history. “I guess they hooked up at Stacey Klein’s party last weekend and it got a little crazy.”
“I’m trying to learn about Ivan the Terrible,” I said. “I don’t care what Derek does.” But we both knew better.
No Such Thing as Perfect Page 2
