More Than One Way to Be a Girl

by Dyan Sheldon

  Dillon already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted from the movie. He was going to do behind-the-scenes interviews and record as much of the planning process as someone who didn’t live with the bride’s family could. “At least I’ll be able to film the fights between her and my brother.” (I swear his smile could bring about nuclear disarmament!) From the house to the church to the reception and beyond, Dillon and his camera would capture every second.

  “It’s not just about the bride and groom,” said Dillon. “The guests are important characters, too. What they say. What they think. What they get up to.” He winked (possibly at me – at the very least, close to me).

  I smiled back. Conspiratorially. But enthusiasm for his idea wasn’t what you’d call universal. Looks were exchanged. Brows furrowed. A couple of people suggested that everybody does wedding videos nowadays.

  “No way is it going to be your normal wedding video,” said Dillon. “The potential for high drama is enormous. I want the tantrums and the fights. I want everything from her father bossing everyone around to the last guest passing out in his dessert. But what I’d really love is a shot of when her old man gets the bill. This guy’s a real case study. Mega rich and mega greedy. He’ll drop three hundred dollars on a shirt and then go into meltdown if someone short-changes him a nickel. If I could get him throwing a fit like that, it would make for awesome social commentary. It could be a YouTube sensation.”

  Tobias shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I mean, everybody’s family is pretty dysfunctional. You’d need something really out there. You know, if somebody got shot. Or if it turned out the bride and groom are related. Or if one of them rode off into the sunset with some dude on a Harley. Then maybe you’d have some awesome social commentary.”

  “Or if Mars attacked the reception,” said Miles. “That’d make it spectacularly vivid.”

  Tobias ignored him. “Otherwise, all you do have is another wedding video. Bride. Groom. Rice. Boring speeches.”

  Everybody else at the table nodded. Just another wedding video.

  Dillon was used to looking down at the page he was on and seeing Tobias right beside him. You could tell he was disappointed.

  I couldn’t bear that. So even though I’m less confrontational than washing instructions, I had to disagree with Tobias about it being ho-hum (even if I was disagreeing with Dillon’s best bud). “I think you’re all wrong.” I said I thought it was a really terrific idea. And I didn’t see why they thought it would be just the same old same old. No two mascaras are exactly the same, so it was pretty obvious that no two wedding videos are, either. “Yeah, sure, it’d be absolutely awesome if the bride’s father does have a meltdown while the camera’s going and maybe punches the groom. Something really memorable and dramatic like that.” I looked right at Dillon. “But even without that, I bet you could get enough interesting stuff to make a significant statement about modern life.”

  “Maybe if the bride’s old man declares his undying loathing for his new son-in-law,” argued Tobias. “But not if all that happens is that one of the bridesmaids gets drunk and throws up on the table.”

  “Oh, come on…” It’s important to smile when you’re disagreeing with someone, so they know you’re not mad. “It’s the editing that’s really important.” The footage you shoot is the material, but the editing gives it shape and form. “We all know that a documentary isn’t the true story of what happened. It’s just one version of the true story of what happened.” Didn’t I say I pay a lot of attention in Media? “So no matter what happens, or doesn’t happen, it could still be funny and revealing. A real picture of the insanity of modern life.” And sometimes I pay attention to Loretta, too! “Maybe I haven’t been to a trillion weddings myself, but, let’s face it, something interesting always happens. A wedding’s like a microcosm of human behaviour. It’s all there – the people, the emotions, the craziness – it’s like a living allegory.”

  There were some murmurs of agreement when I was done. And I could tell Dillon was impressed because he’d never looked at me that way before. You know, like we were the only people in the room who spoke the same language.

  “That’s true,” said Dillon. He was nodding away and looking thoughtful (a very good look for him). “That’s totally what it is. It has everything. It’s a living allegory.”

  Then I told them how at my cousin’s wedding her ring bearer was her pet wolf and the best man and the groom were both women. It wasn’t really dramatic, maybe, but it was pretty novel. Especially when the wolf decided he liked cake.

  Dillon said, “Really? Are you serious? A wolf?”

  I said yes. I don’t have the imagination to make something like that up. “My family’s a lot more interesting than you’d think from seeing my parents.”

  “That is wild.” Dillon grinned. “A wolf! Did it eat the little bride and groom on top of the cake?” Everybody laughed at that. “I really wish I’d been there.”

  So did I.

  That’s when I got really bold and said that if he wanted I could help him with his movie. “I’m around all Summer,” I said. “I’d love to work on it with you. It’s a lot more interesting than going to the beach.”

  He looked thoughtful again. “You know, you may have something there.” He was kind of looking at me and not looking at me at the same time. “You might understand the bride a lot better than I do. And you have a real female viewpoint, don’t you?”

  I said I absolutely had a real female viewpoint. “I’m all girl!”

  “Yeah, you are.” He nodded. “That could be really important and dimensional.”

  If I was sure I didn’t have any other big plans for the Summer.

  Seriously? Maybe if I’d been booked on a flight to Paris I might have hesitated, but anything else I would’ve cancelled faster than you can kick off a shoe. I mean, let’s be real. If you get to heaven and the angel at the gates invites you in, you don’t say you’ll think about it. I said to count me in.

  Because here’s the thing: even though I knew Dillon liked me okay, and we were friendly and everything, sometimes I kind of had the feeling he didn’t take me totally seriously. Not seriously like he took Tobias or Mr Ethan. I don’t want to sound like Loretta here (I mean, really, God forbid!) but I figured this was my big chance to show Dillon that I wasn’t just a pretty face (even though a pretty face is important). And as for working together, it wouldn’t be just for the Summer, would it? Once we shot everything, there’d be the rushes, the editing and all that other stuff. Plus, there’s this thing called propinquity. It means that people who see each other a lot have a good chance of forming a relationship. I figured that with propinquity on my side, there was no way Dillon and I wouldn’t be dating by the middle of July. And chances were I’d be going to the wedding, too, since he couldn’t possibly film it all by himself. Weddings are known for bringing people together. So if we weren’t already dating before his brother got married, we would definitely be dating afterwards. I saw the future and right at the centre of it was Dillon Blackstock. I was rolling on the River of Love.

  But there was a waterfall I hadn’t counted on.

  Loretta

  My balloon of hope starts to drift away

  I was really enjoying my junior year. I had some great classes and great teachers (especially Ms Wallenstein for History, who was nothing short of empowering and inspirational) and I was doing well in all of them – even for me. I was also getting a lot from my extracurricular activities – the school paper, and the Film and Astronomy Clubs – especially the Astronomy Club. Given all that, I should have been as pleased as a person who just had a planet named after her. I was less pleased than that by a light year or two, and the reason why can be summed up in two words: Gabriel Schwartz.

  Gabriel and I had worked closely all sophomore year on projects and events for the astronomy club. It was Gabriel’s idea that we fulfil our community service requirements by giving talks on the universe to primary schools – which
was both innovative and a remarkable success. It was my idea that we show screenings of the Wonders of the Solar System and Wonders of the Universe series to raise money towards buying the school a serious telescope – which was both innovative and a small triumph. Together, we were planning a club outing in the August between our junior and senior years to view the Perseids – another first. Best of all, Gabriel was elected president of the club for our senior year, and I was vice president. Which for definite was a significant bond.

  All of this meant that we saw a lot of each other – in an official sort of way – and would be working together even more closely come September. There was only one thing that could have made me happier, of course, and that was if Gabriel and I saw a lot of each other in an unofficial way. We got on really well – he’s easy-going and smart and funny – and we have a lot more in common than the universe. Neither of us has any trouble giving a talk or speaking up in class, but we’re both socially shy – if not actually completely inept. Yet, though ZiZi was right about my trouble talking to boys, I had no trouble talking to Gabe – and he had no trouble talking to me. The new top I’d worn at the club dinner at the end of our sophomore year hadn’t had the effect I’d wanted – it hadn’t had any effect at all if you want the truth – but all wasn’t lost. Sometimes, after a meeting, he’d give me a ride home; and sometimes we texted or talked on the phone – usually about club business or something like the latest Mars probe. On one memorable afternoon we talked for over an hour, parked outside my house, about the Higgs boson. For the first time, I actually could see myself going on a date … having a boyfriend … being kissed. I used to think that if those things ever happened to me, it wouldn’t be until graduate school – when the popular girls were all taken – but now I wasn’t so certain. Although I didn’t know how much Gabriel liked me or in what way, I knew that he did like me. Realistically, you don’t sit in a car in a snowstorm talking about the Higgs boson with someone you don’t like, do you? I really don’t think so. When I finally got out of the car and went into the house my heart was filled with hope, floating above me like a balloon filled with helium.

  The problem was that, after that memorable afternoon, nothing changed. I can’t flirt, and Gabriel’s about as flirtatious as a monk who’s taken a vow of silence. ZiZi flirts the way most people breathe. She can let a boy know that she’d say yes if he asked her out simply by the way she asks to borrow his pen; and she can tell if he thought she’d say yes simply by the way he offers to loan her a pen. I’ve more than watched her, I’ve studied her, trying to get a handle on how she does it. I’ve decided that it’s a talent that you’re born with, which can’t be learned any more than the ability to add six-digit figures in your head.

  I was about to put hope back in its box for a few years when Gabriel and I had the idea for making a club event out of the summer meteor showers. We were so excited about it that he suggested we make fliers to put around school and the town, inviting anyone who was interested to join us. We worked on the wording together one Friday after school – our heads almost touching as we sat side by side at the computer. He has a state-of-the-art graphics programme on his own laptop and took it home to work on the layout and design. That night he called and invited himself over the next day to get my approval before he printed them out.

  I hung up in a daze. That had to mean something, didn’t it? He invited himself over. It was April, the Perseids were in August. He could have waited until Monday to show me; he could have waited until June.

  Yoga instructors and psychotherapists don’t work regular hours or days, which can be irritating when you’re little and want them to do things with you on the weekend, but which, when you’re older and want the house to yourself on a Saturday so you can be alone with Gabriel Schwartz, is a godsend.

  I was determined to act as if it was a regular Saturday. I didn’t spend hours getting dressed and staring at myself in the mirror. I got up, washed and put on my usual outfit – T-shirt and jeans – but the T-shirt was my Albert Einstein one for good luck. After I fed the cats and had my breakfast, I sat down to do some homework. I have a strong will and forced myself not to look at the time every two minutes, but I could feel it crawling by in a trough of setting cement, weights tied to its ankles.

  Gabe and I had never been completely alone before – not unless you counted the time spent in his car, which I didn’t count because he was usually driving. When we were in his car and he wasn’t driving – like that afternoon in the snow – there were always people around who could see us and we could see them. Especially Mrs Shaunnessey, who is a one-woman neighbourhood watch, looking out of her living-room window as if she’s expecting trouble. It was the idea of being completely alone with him that made it difficult to concentrate on my homework; I couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen later. I’d offer Gabe a snack and something to drink. Because I didn’t know if he’d want something hot or something cold, I’d double-washed two glasses and two mugs. We’d sit in the kitchen discussing his design and checking over the copy again. After we’d exhausted that as a topic of conversation, we’d just be sitting in the kitchen talking – the two of us, all by ourselves with the refrigerator gently humming behind us. Would I get up the courage to ask him out? Would he get up the courage to ask me? I could imagine myself asking him if the moment was right. If we were both laughing at something, or if he smiled at me that way he did the afternoon the club watched the Curiosity rover on NASA TV. I could just about imagine him asking me, clearing his throat the way he does when he’s anxious, saying my name as if it was a question. I was nervous, but in a good way. My hope-filled balloon was bouncing against the ceiling.

  When the doorbell rang, my strong will stopped me from running to answer it; my heart began running instead. I was smiling before I reached the door, practising what I’d say, Gabe, hi! Come on in! Gabe, hi! Come on in…

  I opened the door. “Ga—” but it wasn’t Gabriel Schwartz standing on the porch. “Oh. Zi. It’s you.”

  “You don’t have to sound so glad to see me.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you. This guy from astronomy club’s dropping something by.”

  “Oh, right.” She breezed past me. “I just had to get out of the house. I had this massive fight with my mom and I need to vent.”

  I followed her into the kitchen. I wanted to tell her she had to go, but I couldn’t. Massive fights with her mother weren’t as rare as a blue moon, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset. She was practically sending off sparks. ZiZi helped herself to water from the fridge, threw herself into the chair Gabriel was supposed to sit in and launched into what had happened with her mom and how unreasonable Gina was.

  I don’t know why, but I wasn’t ready to tell her about Gabriel yet. With hindsight – which is so much more accurate than foresight – I reckon I probably should have. She’d have understood the situation and would have left us alone or at least gone to my room to wait for him to leave. I should have told her, but I didn’t. This time when the bell rang, ZiZi broke off in the middle of a sentence. “Aren’t you going to get that? It must be your star friend.”

  “Yeah.” I jumped up. “That’ll be him.”

  The other thing I should probably have said was to Gabriel when I answered the door. I should have told him that my friend ZiZi was inside; that she’d dropped by unexpectedly. I didn’t say that either. I said, “Hi. Come on in.” He followed me down the hallway, talking the whole time, but I have no idea about what. All I could think of was ZiZi, sitting at the table with her glass of water, waiting to resume her story.

  Gabriel shut up the second he stepped into the kitchen and saw her.

  I started to say, “You know ZiZi,” but I didn’t get any further than “You”.

  I don’t know if he tripped because he was so surprised to see ZiZi, or if he tripped because it was turning out to be that kind of day, but he did trip – and catapulted past me and into the fridge. The impact of him hitting the refrigera
tor caused the cereal boxes that live there to topple; in trying to avoid the avalanche of cornflakes and muesli, Gabriel landed in Gertie and Alice’s food dishes.

  “That’s quite an entrance,” said ZiZi.

  She was the only one who laughed.

  Gabriel helped me clean up the mess – clearing his throat and apologizing the whole time – and then he said he had to go, he had somewhere to be. He left the flier in its envelope on the table for me to look at later.

  I watched him hurry down the front path as if someone was chasing him, and above him my balloon of hope drifted off into the clouds. Possibly never to be seen again.

  ZiZi

  Loretta could make a pig’s ear out of a silk purse

  Loretta and I were both in Ms Wallenstein’s American History class in our junior year. Most people picked the usual topics for their term paper – the Civil War, Manifest Destiny, the American Revolution, the Colonial Period, the Civil Rights Movement. Stuff like that. Here’s the thing. Ms Wallenstein is a feminist (when we did the Declaration of Independence she made really sure we understood who the Founding Fathers meant by “all men are created equal”). Naturally, Ms Wallenstein loves Loretta. Me not so much. So when Loretta decided to do her paper on women in American society (in Loretta’s case, the radicals, the abolitionists, the suffragettes and the anarchists), I decided to do mine on women too (in my case, pioneers, who, if you ask me, have a much higher profile). I figured I was killing two women’s-righters with one stone. It would win me points with Ms Wallenstein and make Loretta happy (one less thing for her to gripe about).

  It was after Easter when Loretta called one night and asked if I wanted to go into the city with her at the weekend to do some research for our History papers.

  “This weekend?” It was pretty short notice for Ms Plan Every Detail Months in Advance.