“So enough about me,” continued Ms. Rose. “Now I want all of you to think about yourselves, which shouldn’t be too difficult, right?” With that we all chuckled. Yes, yes, teens are all complete self-absorbed narcissists.
“Now that you understand what defines me, think about what defines you. What drives you? What inspires you? What makes you unique? You’ll need to answer these questions in the form of a four-page essay. Your first draft is due three weeks. You can find a detailed description of the assignment and a rubric online.”
The bell rang and everyone began checking their phones and packing their bags. “I know what defines you,” said Mitch Becker to Tristan, throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper at him. “Dumb jock.”
Tristan turned around in his chair, throwing out his fist and hitting Mitch in the shoulder. “That’s better than incel loser.”
Mitch rose from his chair and shoved Tristan from behind. “I’m not an incel, you asshole.”
“That’s enough, boys,” shot Ms. Rose. “There will be none of that behavior in my classroom.” They both muttered an apology and walked out of the room, continuing their scuffle in the hallway. I looked over at Paige, who was completely unfazed, and once again looking at Peeps photos. I took a deep breath. Here goes, I thought. I’m jumping into the deep end. “So, Paige,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “How was your summer?”
“It was good,” she said, sparing me the details, which I figured were reserved for friends. “How was yours?” she asked without looking up from her phone.
“It was fine. But actually, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.”
“Yes, Matt and I broke up, so he’s single now. Fair game.”
“That’s good to know, I guess, but that isn’t exactly what I wanted to ask.”
Paige rose from her chair, slinging her Burberry backpack over her shoulder. “I have to get to my next period.”
“I can walk there with you. I’ll make it super-fast.” I stood up too quickly, tripping as I fumbled for my bag and clumsily throwing it onto my back.
“So, this request isn’t really for me. It’s for my friend, Maya. You know her, right?”
Paige nodded. I followed her out of Ms. Rose’s classroom and down the hallway to the right, the opposite direction from where my next class was. “So, the thing is, she overheard you talking about a party that you’re having this weekend, and she really wants to go. She thinks the guy she likes will be there.”
“Who?”
“Uh. . .,” I thought for a moment, knowing full well that Maya had been crushing on a sophomore named Nick Gentile. “Tristan, actually.”
“Tristan’s a dog,” said Paige. “Tell her not to waste any time on him.”
“Well, I’ve tried, but you know how us teen girls are with our crushes. Anyway, about the party, I know we’re not exactly in the same circle of friends, and you wouldn’t normally invite us, but I have a proposition for you.”
Paige stopped outside the doorway of her next period. “What is it?” She tilted her head a little, putting her hand on her hip.
“Parties can get out of control, right, and messy. Spilled beer. Vomit. Trash left all over the house.”
Paige shrugged. “Yeah, I guess that could be an issue.”
“I’ll clean it all up afterwards, for free. All I want is an invitation, for me and Maya.”
Paige paused for a few seconds, leaving me in utter suspense, then she smiled a little, the way an adult might smile at a little kid that they find cute but also somewhat annoying. “I guess cleaning is your specialty. So yeah, you guys can come, if you get rid of all the evidence.”
“Deal,” I said, sticking out my hand. She gave me a half-hearted shake. “I’ll give you the instructions tomorrow,” she said before turning to go into her class. I gave her a wave then quickly turned the other way to get to my German class before the next bell rang. In a way, it felt like an out of body experience, talking to Paige, finding a way to get myself invited to her party. Did I really just do that? Adrenaline overtook my body as I went from a fast-paced walk to a light jog. I knew I had only been given access to East Point Prep’s elite on the condition that I clean up after them, but I pushed that thought aside and tried to let the joy of a successful mission linger. Next mission: go to Paige’s party and talk to Matt Holmes.
I got to my German classroom and found a seat right in the middle just as the bell rang. The teacher, Mrs. Spencer, handed out our textbooks and told us to recite the list of vocabulary words on page ten. I quickly noticed Matt sitting at a desk in the front, left corner of the room. I felt my stomach flutter. In just a few days I would have my chance to catch his eye, maybe make some conversation and put myself on his list.
I imagined a few possible scenarios. I could tell him a joke in German, which seemed clever and fun, considering we were in the same German class. But then I thought that might be too corny or desperate. In addition to being the cleaning girl, I’d become the awkward German girl. Then I thought I could initiate a conversation under the guise of wanting to put in a good word for a friend with a crush on him (Maya), but I couldn’t keep throwing her under the bus, and there was a chance the plan could backfire and he would actually end up falling for her over me. Stop overthinking, I told myself as the class turned the page in the German textbook. Just be yourself. You’ll find something to say.
“Guten Morgan ,” I recited with the class. “Mahlzeit. Guten Abend. Gute Nacht.”
But the more I thought about it, the more pathetic my excitement seemed, and the more the butterflies in my stomach flitted away, leaving a knot in their place. Chances were, even if I went to the party, Matt would be in conversation with other people the entire time, and who was I to just insert myself? At best I’d be met with uncomfortable stares, and at worst mockery and ridicule. I thought back to the assignment from Ms. Rose. What defines you? What makes you unique? Unfortunately, what made me unique was also what made my chances of developing romance with the most attractive guy in the junior class, or any other guy for that matter, so slim.
“Mein Name ist Johanna.”
It was hopeless.
“Wie heißen Sie?”
No. I told myself. It isn’t hopeless. You’re going to the party and you’re talking to Matt Holmes.
Chapter 3
I found Maya at her locker after school ended for the day. “We’re going to Paige’s party this weekend,” I said to her quietly.
“What!” she snapped, turning around to face me. “What do you mean? Don’t we have to be invited?”
“We are invited! Paige is in my lit class. We talked after class and she invited us both.”
I thought about explaining my arrangement to Maya, but decided against it. First of all, I didn’t want her to feel guilty or like she had some duty to help me with the clean-up, and secondly, I kind of wanted her, and everyone, to just see me as a normal and cool person who got invited to parties for being liked, not for being on the sanitation crew.
“I can’t believe it!” explained Maya. “I mean, of course you’re an awesome person and why shouldn’t Paige talk to you and invite us to her party? It’s just…”
“I know,” I said, saving her. “I know what you mean. We’re not in her clique. But maybe this year will be different. Maybe this year, instead of the wall going up, the walls are coming down.”
Maya and I laughed, and I hugged her goodbye before going to the office to get my cleaning assignment.
“How was your first day, Sweetheart?” said Mrs. Hammerman, handing over the list of items to be cleaned that day. I always looked forward to my brief encounters with Mrs. Hammerman. For two decades she had worked as the school secretary, and for two years she had always greeted me with warmth and kindness, like a grandmother welcoming a grandchild with a plate of fresh-baked cookies, only instead of cookies it was a clipboard and pen (although she did periodically have home-baked cookies to share).
“It was, well. .
. crucial,” I said, scanning my clipboard. “From here, things could either go extremely well or horribly wrong.”
Mrs. Hammerman chuckled. “Well at least it wasn’t boring. You’ll have to keep me updated.”
I lingered for a moment, hoping to tap into the grandmotherly wisdom of Mrs. Hammerman. “This might seem like an unusual question, but if you had to define me, how would you?”
“You must have Ms. Rose for English, then?”
“You know about the assignment?”
“The American Lit English teachers have been giving out that assignment, or some variation of it, for years. It’s designed to help you with writing your college admission essays.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling out-of-the-loop. “So, what do you think I should write about? All I do is go to school and clean.”
Mrs. Hammerman put down the stack of papers she had been flipping through and looked at me. “That might be true, but all that cleaning you do, that’s what allows you to go to the best high school in Cincinnati. Most of these other kids don’t appreciate this opportunity, because everything they have is just given to them. But you, Darcy, you work hard for it. That gives you more character, in my opinion, and shows your determination and work ethic.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling warm and fuzzy. “But really my mom’s the determined one. She pulled all the stings to get me here. I’m just going along with her plan.”
“As good as it is to credit your mother, just remember, you’re the one taking the classes here, and you’re the one staying after every day to clean.” She smiled and picked up a little bowl filled with chocolate candies wrapped in various colors of tin foil. I took a pink one.
“Thanks, Mrs. Hammerman. That was helpful.” I left the office and headed down the hall toward the janitor’s closet. The gray and white marble flooring sparkled before me. It wouldn’t need polishing for at least a few more days. As I reached the closet, I heard footsteps coming down main staircase. I looked over to see Paige, Audrey and their friend Ava making their way toward the front exit. I held up my hand and waved sheepishly. Paige looked in my direction briefly but didn’t wave back. As the trio left, I heard the unmistakable sound of teen girl snickering. Are they laughing at me? I wondered, and Did Paige ignore me, or maybe just not see me?
It was difficult to know for sure; a statement that applied to almost every pressing matter before me. Would Paige ever see me as an equal, as someone worthy of acknowledging without expecting some favor in return? Would I ever have a chance with Matt Holmes, or have a boyfriend at all? Would I ever be known as anything other than the cleaning girl to anyone at East Point Prep aside from Maya? I imagined myself shaking up a magic eight ball, the one I’d had in elementary school. Don’t count on it, it would probably say.
I opened the closet, took out the mop and bucket, a rag and a spray bottle and headed toward the East Wing. As I walked, I kept my head low, avoiding eye contact as I passed by the herds of students heading out of school for the day, like a fish moving upstream. At least it was mostly freshman in the East Wing, none of which knew me by name or likely paid much attention to what I was doing as they shuffled by, looking either dazed or completely stressed after completing their first day of high school. Which of you will rule? I wondered, as I subtly scanned their facial expressions and body language. Which of you will be Paige and Matt? Which of you will be me? But of course, with me being the only one at East Point on my particular scholarship, not even the least popular of the freshman could relate to the stigma of being the school cleaner.
Once in the East Wing, I found an empty room with a long table against the windows that I used to organize my supplies. For the next two-and-a-half hours, I made that section of the school as spotless as I could. I put my ear buds in and started my favorite playlist, which includes a little bit of everything; top-40 hip-hop, some turn-of-the-millennium folk, and even some 90s pop-rock. I wiped down the desks and swept the floors in sixteen classrooms, emptied all the garbage cans, swept and mopped the hallways, and cleaned the windows. I did my best to stay in the zone, avoiding eye contact with the members of the Green Club, meeting in room 216, who awkwardly tried to move their backpacks out of my way as I wiped and swept around them, talking amongst each other as if nothing were interrupting their chit-chat at all.
When I finished, I returned my supplies to the closet, where Angela was retrieving more clean rags. “Welcome back, kid,” she said, holding out her hands. I tossed her the spray bottle and dirty rag and then pushed the mop and bucket toward her. She effortlessly caught it all and put it away for me. “Have a great night.”
“See you tomorrow,” I said.
When I stepped outside, my mom was already waiting for me in the front parking lot. I’m always relieved to see her when she’s able to pick me up, like a little girl eager to see her mother after a long-day of preschool. Only, unlike the little girl version of me, I don’t usually tell my mom very much about what happens at school, despite her best attempts to pry information out of me. The reason? I suppose because I don’t want her to worry about whether or not I’m happy, or whether or not she made the right choice in sending me to East Point Prep on a cleaning scholarship. I don’t want her to know about the snickering and the embarrassment, or even about the party invitation because then she might get her hopes up and think I’m actually making new friends.
“How was your first day?” she asked when I got into the car.
“It was good,” I said with a smile.
“How are your classes? Are they going to be hard?”
“Chemistry might be, but I’m not too worried about it.”
“Me neither,” said my mom. “A smart girl like you should have no problem mastering the periodic table.”
I smiled and nodded, pulling a granola bar out of my backpack.”
“Are you hungry?” asked my mom.
“Starving!”
“Then let’s get pizza.”
“Tony’s!” I yelled.
Tony’s is my favorite arcade slash pizza place in town. For as long as I can remember, my mom had taken me there once a month or so, especially as a pick-me-up after a tough day of school for me or stressful day of work for her. When we got there, we found our usual corner booth and ordered a large sausage and onion, stuffed crust pizza. After placing our order with Rick, the server we often have, we rummaged through our bags for quarters to play skee-ball, the only way to pass the time while waiting for food at Tony’s. As we rolled our balls toward the chutes, I tried to focus on the game and my wrist-flick technique, and to not obsess about the party and whether or not it would go according to plan. But the more I tried to focus on the game, the more the players of East Point Prep dominated my thoughts, which was frustrating because I could almost guarantee they weren’t thinking about me wherever they were at the time. Only after our food came and I sat down with my mom to hear about her day did they finally slip my mind for a while.
When we got home, my mom poured herself a glass of wine and turned on a true crime show. I went to my bedroom to put on my sweatpants in preparation of starting my homework. I looked in the mirror that hung on the back of the door and released my hair from the scrunchie I used almost every day. My brown hair was long and frizzy, a crinkle from the scrunchie going around the back my head. My mom told me all the time how pretty I was, but it was difficult for me to see it as I stared at my reflection, examining the pimples popping up on my jawline. While I didn’t usually wear much makeup, I wondered if I would need to invest in some foundation if the acne didn’t clear up after a few days. I turned away, determined not to get sucked into the habit of self-deprecation, and plopped myself onto the bed. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my phone to see a text from Maya. What are you wearing to the party?
I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. You? I replied. I stood up to look in my closet, suddenly wondering if I should have been more worried about my lack of party-worthy outfits.
Less than a m
inute later she wrote back. “I don’t know either. I HAVE NO CLOTHES. Let’s go to the mall on Saturday before the party!
Ok. You have to give me a ride, tho. Doing homework now. See you tomorrow.
I put my phone down and took my chemistry and German books from my backpack, but wasn’t in the mood to look at either one. Then I pulled out my new notebook with the inspirational quotes on the cover that my mom had bought from the local bookstore for me. My favorite was from George Elliot. It’s never too late to become the person you might have been. I re-read the quote, probably for the ninth or tenth time. Somehow, it made me feel better about my current situation, allowing me to envision brighter years ahead. Maybe high school just wasn’t my time to shine. Maybe my time was still to come, and I’d have a successful career doing something meaningful, and maybe even a husband and a family, and I could look back at my time at East Point Prep and laugh about how much time I spent worrying about social status and completely inconsequential house parties.
I opened the notebook, which was still perfectly clean. At the top of the first page I wrote Things that Define Me. Underneath I made a list.
Determined Student (Thanks, Mrs. H!)
Hard-worker
Loyal Friend
Considerate Daughter
Best Cleaner at East Point Prep (☹)
Tony’s Pizza Lover
Darcy, Defined Page 2
