I looked over toward our booth and saw our waiter setting our pizza on the table. “But I am sure that our pizza is ready and I’m ready to devour it.”
When we got home from Tony’s I went to my room and took out my planner to get started on my homework for the night. For German I had to write a paragraph about my family, in German, using a list of requisite vocab words. Dare I include the tale of scandal and paternal estrangement? It certainly would make for an entertaining read for my teacher, but I decided against it. I kept it simple, describing my mom and grandparents and some of our family get-togethers. Ich bin ein Einzelkind.
I put my paragraph away in my Deutsche folder and looked back at my planner. For chemistry, I had to read Chapter Five of the textbook and answer the questions at the end. I also had a sheet of exercises to complete for pre-calculus. I knew it was going to be a late night.
I started flipping through my planner, looking ahead, mentally preparing for the forthcoming academic hurdles (but really just putting-off the present responsibilities). I had tests in history and chemistry coming up the following week, and tests in German and pre-calculus the week after. And, of course, there was the assignment for Ms. Rose that I had been simultaneously obsessing over and avoiding. The first draft was due the following week. Was there anything new to add to the list of what defined me? Sympathetic friend to popular girl, Paige Evans? Illegitimate daughter of married man with children? I could certainly write an essay on either topic, but it probably wouldn’t be what Ms. Rose had in mind.
I shut my planner and tossed it aside, then tackled my chemistry homework. I knew that before it was collected, our teacher, Mr. Frazen, would randomly call on us for the answers, so I had to put some effort into it or risk public humiliation. I explained the difference between ionic and covalent bonds, defined the law of conservation of mass, and balanced five chemical equations, a tedious but straightforward task. I decided to take a break before moving on the pre-calc, so I took out my phone and went to Peeps, an activity that had become almost automatic when I wasn’t otherwise occupied.
Maya, who I was still connected with in the digital world, had posted what seemed like the hundredth selfie of her and Matt. Apparently, they had gotten sundaes from Goodman’s, the local ice cream establishment, and were sitting outside with their mouths wide open. The caption: I scream! The corniness of it was enough to give me second-hand embarrassment, but perhaps I would have found it more amusing if I hadn’t still been hurt and, of course, jealous. It should have been me eating sundaes and taking selfies with Matt. Or should it have been? I had to admit, as angry as it might have made me, the two of them did look happy together, in Peeps for all the pre-planned photo ops, but also in real life. After a moment of deliberating over whether or not to leave a comment, I decided against it and kept scrolling.
Next was a selfie of Paige and Tom with a sappy proclamation of love. I miss you sooo much! Can’t wait to see you next weekend! It appeared that the photo was taken during Tom’s previous visit, and that Paige was attempting to remind him of their relationship. Was she feeling insecure about it? He had left a reply on the photo, saying he missed her too, so it appeared that all was well with them.
Thankfully the next item wasn’t a showcase of romantic affection, but a link to an article about a European teen who was organizing a huge protest against government inaction regarding climate change. I clicked on the link and read about the plan for teens around the globe to skip school and march in the streets one day per week and until leaders addressed their concerns and created impactful policy to combat environmental problems. The image provided in the article showed a solemn girl with a braid. She appeared small, almost frail, yet here she was inspiring a massive social and political movement, preparing to meet with some of the most powerful people in the world to discuss what was possibly the most pressing matter our entire civilization would face. Here was a girl who wasn’t just an influencer, but who was actually influential, perhaps in a way that would still be remembered twenty, fifty or even one hundred years from now.
I wondered what it would be like to be her, to have the courage and the brains to organize activists around the globe, to know that I was a force for change, making history. I closed my Peeps app and chucked my phone to the other end of the bed. The reality was that I was too bogged down by the mundane responsibilities of everyday life to become an environmental activist, and even if I weren’t, I probably wasn’t ready to venture out into the cruel, harsh world like she had done. Between the evident mockery from internet trolls and the scorn from billionaires and law-makers, she must have has skin coated in Kevlar to carry on with such a plan. And even if I just wanted to participate in the marches? I’d have to miss one day of school every week, which would certainly mean losing my scholarship and getting kicked out of East Point Prep. My life would be over, and then even if the school strike worked it wouldn’t matter because I wouldn’t be able to go to college and wouldn’t have a future anyway.
Maybe it was time to accept the reality of who I was and take everyone’s advice. I picked up my laptop from my nightstand and opened up a new document. In the center of the page I typed out my title, My Cleaning Scholarship. I contemplated a few opening sentences, but just couldn’t get excited enough to make it past that point. After a few tries I pressed down on the backspace button, deleting everything on the screen. Once again, I was left with a blank page.
Chapter 8
The next week of school was busy, with tests and big assignments and the usual cleaning. I tried to stay focused on my classes and put blinders on when I walked the hallways, not seeing Maya and Matt holding hands, not seeing Tristan flirt with almost every girl in the junior and even senior class other than me. I even tried to avoid Paige when we weren’t in class together, not because I was angry with her or had any hard feelings, but because I was beginning to realize that what I really needed was some time to myself, to figure out who I was and what I wanted to achieve with the rest of my time at East Point Prep.
Talking to my mom the week before had helped. I had needed to vent before I could move on and stop dwelling on all that had happened at the party and in the days afterwards. “I totally understand why you’re mad at Maya,” she’d said one evening over dinner, “but are you sure you don’t want to reach out to her? She was your best friend for two years.”
“I’m not talking to her again unless she apologizes first. And even then, it’s questionable.”
“Maybe she wants to apologize, but she’s just too scared to face you.”
“Well then maybe she should grow a pair and deal with the consequences of her actions.” I said, my cheeks burning up like hot coals.
“Well, I’ve never heard you use that expression before,” said my mom with a chuckle.
“Yeah, I know it’s sexist.”
“I guess you’re still pretty angry, but I think that over time your hard feelings might diminish. And maybe you’re right. Maybe Maya does need to grow a pair. Or rather, maybe she needs to muster up the courage to come talk to you. Until then, all you can do is just keep being you, and try to keep your heart and mind open.”
And so that’s what I did, or at least what I wanted to do.
It was one day that same week that my cleaning duties put me in the West Wing, where the junior lockers and most of my classrooms are. I swept and mopped the hallways, and began emptying the trash bins and sweeping the floors in the classrooms, one by one. When I walked into Ms. Rose’s classroom, I saw her sitting at her desk, in the midst of grading a large stack of papers.
“Hi, Darcy,” she said, looking up from the page in front of her. She was donned in all black that day; a cowl neck sweater, a pleated skirt, tights and ankle boots, all the exact same shade.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were still working. I can come back later.”
“Don’t be sorry. Do you still have a lot to do?”
“Just a few more classrooms to check.”
“Thanks,” I said, setting down the garbage bag that I’d been holding. “I liked the story a lot.” I remembered that Ms. Rose had said not to use a lot or lots. “I mean, I thoroughly enjoyed it.”
Ms. Rose laughed. “A lot’s ok in conversation,” she said. “Some of the time. Would you like to sit for a minute? Take a little break?”
“Sure.” I took a seat in the desk directly across from hers, scooting it a little closer. I immediately felt warm and cozy, despite the general discomfort of the hard seat.
“So how is your junior year going so far?” Ms. Rose, hands in her lap, appeared genuinely interested in what I was going to say.
“It’s ok. My classes are fine. Yours is my favorite right now.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” she said, perking up in her seat.
“It’s just. . .” I stopped mid-sentence, unsure if I should tell Ms. Rose about my cluelessness regarding my own identity. “I’m having trouble with the essay about what defines me.”
“Which part are you having trouble with? You know, it’s only the first draft that’s due this week anyway. I’ll give you plenty of feedback so you can revise it.”
“Well, that’s the thing. I haven’t exactly started writing it yet. The problem is, I don’t know what to write about.”
“Hmmm, that is a problem,” said Ms. Rose, tapping her desk with her pen. “Why don’t we start brainstorming? What kinds of things are you interested in? What do you like to do when you aren’t busy with school?”
“There are lots of things I’m interested in,” I caught myself using lots. “I mean there are several things I’m interested, specifically environmental and social issues, but between cleaning and homework, I haven’t been able to make the time to pursue activities in those areas.”
Ms. Rose pursed her lips thoughtfully, nodding her head. “Yes, I can see how that would be a challenge. Your situation is a little different from that of most students here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“If you don’t mind me prodding, could you tell me a little bit about your home life?”
“Oh, it’s good.” I said, making sure to squash any concerns for my well-being. “I live with my mom, in a house, in Norwood. She’s an ER nurse, so she’s busy with her job, but she’s really great. She wanted to make sure I got the best education, so she arranged the scholarship for me, and now, here I am.”
Ms. Rose smiled. “And I bet she’s really proud of you for working so hard here.”
“She is.” Suddenly I was fighting back tears. “She tells me that pretty often.”
“I bet it’s hard, being the only one at the school who stays after to clean, though.”
I nodded. “Sometimes it is. I guess I just wish I could go to the club meetings, or volunteer somewhere, be more involved in the community somehow. Everyone keeps telling me that I should write about my cleaning scholarship, but that isn’t what I want to define me.”
Ms. Rose opened her desk drawer and pulled out a brochure. “You know Darcy, I have a few teacher friends around the area. One of them teaches at a public elementary school in the city. It’s not the roughest one, but still, it’s a Cincinnati public school. Anyway, a few years ago he started an urban gardening program there. The kids who participate in it learn about sustainability, healthy-eating, and they get access to fresh fruits and vegetables that they otherwise might not have. Do you like kids?”
“I think. I mean, I haven’t spent much time around them, but sure, I guess so.”
“Great, because he could use another high school volunteer to assist the kids. It might be the perfect opportunity for you. You’d be helping kids in an urban area, and you’d be growing and harvesting organic produce. It checks the boxes for both environmental and social causes, right?”
“Yeah, it sounds great,” I said, taking the brochure that she held out to me. “But I have to stay after school to clean every day, so I’m not sure how I could do it.”
“Ah, yes.” Ms. Rose folded her hands together and leaned in toward me. “Do you want to know a little secret about me?”
“Sure,” I said, intrigued.
“I’m rich,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“You’re rich?” I repeated.
“Yes, very rich.”
“Ok,” I said, trying to figure out how her financial status pertained to the urban gardening program or my inability to do it.
“Not from teaching, of course. I’m a trust fund baby.” She shrugged, as if the information had little significance.
“Oh, I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“I know,” she said. “Because it was never something I wanted to define me. I like having money, but just having money isn’t enough. I wanted to work. I wanted to teach. I wanted to make an impact.”
“That’s awesome. I wish everyone with a trust fund felt that way.”
“Well, there are some who do, but not enough. And that’s one of the biggest problems with society, right? The people with the most give the least? So I figured, who better to teach the young, spoiled rich kids to have some compassion than someone who can actually relate to them a little bit?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That makes sense, and I’m glad you do it.”
“So,” she said. “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this.”
I nodded.
“I’m going to make you a deal. If you volunteer for the urban gardening program, I’ll pay your tuition for the next month. You can try a new activity, help out some amazing kiddos, and you won’t have to worry about staying after school to clean because your tuition will be covered. How does that sound?”
“That sounds amazing,” I said. If I hadn’t been sitting in a desk, I might have leapt up in joy. “That’s so generous of you. But will Mrs. Masterson allow that? I mean, if I’m here on a cleaning scholarship, she probably expects me to stick to my schedule.”
“I don’t see why it will be a problem, as long as the school has the money. As important as your service is, I’m sure that we can manage without it for a month. The school has plenty of resources.”
I stammered briefly, trying to find the right words to express my gratitude and excitement. “This is so amazing. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. I think it will be a good investment,” she said. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Masterson tomorrow to work it all out. In the meantime, you can email Mr. Brooks and let him know you’d like to participate. His contact info is on the brochure. Tell him you’re in my class. Also, don’t worry about the first draft. You can turn your essay in when the final draft is due next month.”
I stood up from my seat, smiling so big that it actually hurt my cheeks a little. “I can’t wait.” I picked up my garbage bag and moved toward the door. “I should finish my rounds for the day and let you get back to your work. Thanks, again, Ms. Rose. This is just what I need.”
Ms. Rose smiled brightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Darcy.”
I left the room, clutching the urban gardening brochure like a boarding pass for a European getaway. My secretly rich teacher wants to pay my tuition for a month so I can garden and spend time with kids, I kept telling myself. I felt like I’d just won the lottery, or stumbled across a map leading to long-lost treasure. I rushed through the rest of my cleaning and returned the supplies to the closet. I knew my mom was working late that night, which meant I was taking the bus home, but I didn’t mind. Nothing could put a damper on the happiness I was feeling about my new opportunity.
“You done for the day, kid?” asked Angela, who was wheeling a mop and bucket toward the cafeteria.
“Yep,” I said. “And I hope you don’t mind, Angela, but I think I’m going to take a break from cleaning for the next month so I can do some volunteering. Will you be ok without m
e?”
“Sure thing, Darcy. In fact, I could use some extra money right now. Maybe they’ll give me overtime.”
“I hope so.”
“Enjoy yourself, kid. You can tell me all about it when you start up again.”
“Thanks, Angela. I will.” I watched as she pushed the mop and bucket onto the elevator and waved goodbye before running outside toward the bus stop. Finally, the drought was coming to an end.
Chapter 9
Mr. Brooks, whom I emailed immediately after getting home that evening, worked at Taft Elementary school, located in Downtown Cincinnati, which luckily was on the bus route. He replied within a couple of hours, telling me that I was more than welcome to join his program, and that the Junior Gardeners, the kids at his school who participated in the program, met on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Luckily, the elementary school students were dismissed later than those at East Point Prep, so I would have time to get there by the start of their two-hour program each day. I explained my situation with cleaning after school and told him that I would be there the following day, as long as I got the ok from my headmistress.
I told my mom about the deal I’d made with Ms. Rose, since clearly she would notice if my schedule were to change, but left out the part about Ms. Rose paying my tuition for the month. All I said was that she’d convinced Mrs. Masterson to give me a month off from my duties so I could have a chance to help her friend who was in dire need of more volunteers. While I wanted to be honest, I had a feeling that she might not like the idea of someone else paying my tuition, even if just for a few weeks. She’d probably scramble for overtime hours to make the payment herself, but she was already working hard enough, and I didn’t want to burden her with feelings of guilt or inadequacy. Or maybe it was my own inadequacy that I was projecting, but still, I felt it was a detail that I could keep to myself.
Darcy, Defined Page 6
