Facebook Jeanie

by Addison Westlake

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks!” Clara called over her shoulder, bright and cheerful, wondering if she was leaving a trail of water behind her. Tracks, at least, on the path.

  “Are you OK?” Jessica asked, taking a nibble of the cookie. She had a big smile on her face. Apparently the scene had been funny enough to draw even Jessica out of her shell.

  “Oh, yeah, totally.” Clara pressed a shaking hand to her hair, patting it back needlessly into her ponytail.

  “He sure took care of your burn.” Jessica started giggling and Clara couldn’t help but join her.

  “See you tonight!” Alek called out.

  “See you tonight!” Clara still didn’t risk turning around, she just joined arms with Jessica as they laughed all the way back to the car.

  CHAPTER 12

  OTHER THINGS I’D RATHER BE DOING

  Heels clattering down the long, cold hallway of the science center, this time Clara felt overdressed. She was glad she’d grabbed a jacket at the last minute. Gold lamé? I mean, really. What did she think she was on Dancing with the Stars? All she needed was a feather boa and some body glitter and she’d be good to go.

  And what was it with Clara in college, always late? Yes, she could hear Jeanie’s voice. Stick to the itinerary. Which explicitly stated: 3:45-5:15, Sig Ep Pig Roast. 6:15pm, meet Alek in the lab. For their 6pm tutoring session. Last time around she’d been so caught up in the fantastical, magical glory of her own beauty that devoting an hour to getting dressed hadn’t been a problem. She probably could have spent the entire night happily back in her dorm room trying on clothes and glamming it up in front of the full-length mirror.

  This time, though, she felt bad making Alek wait. He didn’t have to be meeting with her on a Saturday night. He must have friends, probably even a girlfriend. Clara frowned at the thought. She’d likely have the soft hair and lips of a princess with the brain of a Marie Curie. Together they’d make beautiful babies and end world hunger.

  She didn’t remember a wife in that alumni magazine article, did she? Clara brightened at the thought, then shook her head in disgust at herself. A) She needed to focus: Brad-ward ho! B) She hadn’t actually taken the time to read the full article because she’d been too busy hyperventilating over her affair. Not that anyone who had seen her at the time would have known she was upset since she’d had the unflappably placid exterior of a devoted Botox client. And C) What kind of a lousy person was she, anyway, hoping Alek never found everlasting happiness in the arms of his true love? Certainly he was a hard-working, smart, handsome young lad and she should simply want the best for him. Or not care at all, really, because, A) She needed to focus on BRAD.

  She currently had two realities facing her, one fat and lonely on a couch, the second plastic and empty in a McMansion. Neither appealed. She needed to get her head in the game, power through this meeting, then get on with the business of changing her life.

  With two hands, she opened up the door to the lab room. Alek sat at the desk, his fist in his thick, black hair as he bent over his ever-present textbook, almost a parody of a textbook, really, given its gigantor size.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry I’m late.” And this time she meant it more.

  He looked up, gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, marked his place and closed his book.

  Wait, that was different. Clara tried to remember what had happened last time. Hadn’t he had more of a reaction to her? When she’d walked through the door, hadn’t he, she couldn’t quite remember, but he’d seemed more… affected.

  Looking down, she realized. This time she wore a coat. Because looking like you just walked out of the final scene from Grease had its time and place and it wasn’t walking across campus by yourself, nor was it completing your final astronomy lab in the science center.

  But maybe… with a mischievous gleam in her eye, Clara had to know. As Alek gathered together some papers, she quietly slipped off her jacket.

  “Final lab,” he said, turning back as he walked toward the computer station. Then he stopped and did a classic double-take. There it came, that sharp exhale and the cough she now remembered from last time, plus the swig from the water bottle. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “All dressed up,” he observed. The wry tone of his voice reminded her—he might find her attractive, but he also found her dumb.

  “I did have to change.” She recalled the scene from the park. “I had a small stain on my clothes.”

  He brought his palm to his forehead in the universal sign of trying to erase a particularly painful memory. Stifling a groan, he sat down at the computer.

  “It’s OK.” She sat next to him, grinning, unable to contain her amusement. “It was really kind-of an amazing scene. You were trying to rescue me—”

  “OK,” he exhaled, tapping some papers against the desk. “Let’s not re-live.”

  “No.” She brought her hand to his arm. “I’m not making fun of you.”

  He turned to her. “I took off your top in broad daylight in the middle of a park.”

  “You didn’t stop there. How about the pitcher of water?” When she burst out laughing, even Alek gave a weak smile.

  “I am so sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head.

  “No, it was, you know…” She lamely struggled to cast a positive spin on it all. “You were being heroic!”

  “Yeah.” Sarcasm dripped heavy from the boughs of his tree.

  “Dashing!”

  He paused, giving her that crooked grin of his. “I do have a way with the ladies.”

  Clara laughed again, suddenly flushed. She glanced down and thought, ‘Yes you do, Aleksander Novak.’ Saying it out loud wouldn’t make sense at this juncture, wouldn’t do at all. So, instead, she remained quiet, took out her teeny black clutch purse and began unfolding the intricate origami of her astronomy lab packet. She didn’t meet his eye to share another laugh, though now she found it pretty silly as well, the triumph of fashion over the basic need to write legibly on paper.

  She heard the faint strains of Radiohead and felt a sudden urge to ask him what kind of music he liked? Was he a huge, die-hard Radiohead fan or did it just happen to be the CD he grabbed? What did he listen to when he was hanging out? Up late at night?

  But, no, she didn’t say any of that because this time she remembered that College Clara hadn’t heard Radiohead yet, not until that San Francisco roommate. Plus, eyes on the prize. She was back for Brad. She took a peek at the clock on the computer. Forty minutes and Operation Bay Area would launch. She needed to focus.

  Waiting for her to smooth out her folded lab packet, Alek gave a big stretch as if waking up from a nap, his long arms reaching far overhead. His shirt pulled up, offering the slightest glimpse of skin right above the waist of his jeans.

  “How far did you get?” Alek asked.

  “Hmm?” Clara pinked right up.

  “On the lab.” Alek gestured to the empty packet with the expression of the sorely tried and mostly tolerant.

  “Right!” Clara looked at the paper in front of her, its virgin pages free from marks by either pen or pencil.

  “You haven’t started.” With stoicism, he began opening up a computer program. While he talked about spectral data and light years, she couldn’t help notice that along with looking undeniably tall, dark and handsome, he looked tired. He had a smudge of shadow under his eyes and dark stubble along his jaw. While it all worked together to achieve the look of a sexy, tortured Parisian artist, she instinctively knew that with Alek it wasn’t artfully crafted. It meant he was working too hard and not taking good care of himself. He needed someone to make him take a break and eat a hearty bowl of soup. He looked rumpled, his hair and his shirt, which she had to admit once again she really liked. Solid, warm flannel, the kind that would keep you warm all winter. The kind you’d borrow from your boyfriend and not give back.

  She could picture the two of them in a rustic cabin. He’d be making a fire while she wore his flannel sh
irt and fixed them flapjacks. Note to self: learn how to fix flapjacks, assuming they’re somehow different than pancakes, which she already knew how to make.

  “…the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram?” Alek asked.

  “Yes!” Clara exclaimed, nodding. Again with the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram. And thank goodness for it, good old Hertzsprung and don’t forget Russell, snapping her out of her daydream. “Why don’t you show me?” At least this time Clara knew enough to direct her attention to the computer screen instead of searching for some diagram in her purse.

  Alek walked her through the specifics of calculating orbital velocities and spectral characteristics. Clara pulled out her lip gloss from her clutch purse and re-applied. You never could be too vigilant with proper lip care.

  “You with me, Barbie?” Alek watched her snap the pink strawberry-flavored tube of gloss back into her sleek black clutch.

  “Of course, Vlad.”

  “Just checking.”

  “And that’s Malibu Barbie to you. I am from California, after all.” She teased, batting her eyes and giving him a sparkly smile.

  “Malibu Barbie?”

  “Yeah, you know, she’s like a fun-in-the-sun, super-tan Barbie?”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “You probably didn’t play with Barbies much as a kid.” Clara could still picture the pink and white Barbie Dream House she and her sister had played with for hours on end. Doors came off their hinges, balconies fell plunging Barbie and Ken to the ground. One time the thing had cracked right in two. There was nothing her father and his glue gun couldn’t handle.

  “Not that much,” he agreed with a grin.

  “Plus you grew up in the Czech Republic,” she remembered. “Which must have still been Czechoslovakia when you were a kid. In the 80s, under Communist rule.”

  “How do you know where I grew up?”

  Oops. From the magazine article written about him 10 years in the future. “Um…” She looked away. “You must have mentioned it once.”

  “I did?” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember something that had never happened. “I mentioned where I was from and you listened? And remembered it?”

  His utter incredulity made her want to protest that of course she’d listened, of course she’d remembered. She had great depth and sensitivity, displaying a wisdom and compassion that would even make Mother Theresa jealous. But, see, she’d even screwed up her imagined defense. A good person didn’t want to show up Mother Theresa.

  She needed to heed Jeanie’s warning: stick to the program. He was right, College Clara never would have remembered a detail about her TA. So she launched into a more self-absorbed, era-appropriate, “I don’t know. You’ve got that accent. I just guessed it was something like that. Or Russia, or Egypt.”

  “Egypt?”

  “I don’t know.” She waved her hand. “One of those countries over there.”

  “Yeah, they’re all pretty much the same.”

  She winced under the blow of his sarcasm. She had to agree with him: College Clara kind-of sucked.

  “That was nice of you to give Jessica a cookie this afternoon.” She quickly reached for another subject.

  He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

  “I mean, she has a tough life,” she continued, her words coming out in a rush. “Her dad left when she was little and her mom has trouble keeping a job and she lives in this small trailer with her grandma, her mom, plus two little sisters and a big brother. She’s so quiet I wonder sometimes if anyone ever notices her.”

  “Who is she?” Alek now looked interested.

  “My little sister—you know, like ‘Big Brother, Big Sister?’”

  “Big Brother?”

  “It’s a volunteer group. They pair kids with grown-ups and you spend time together.”

  “Big Brother has a different meaning where I’m from.” He raised an eyebrow and she laughed. “You’re there every Saturday,” he continued. “Same time, same place.”

  “Yup, that’s Jessica. No matter what it’s like outside, she wants to head to that duck pond.”

  “I’ve seen you out there in the snow, sleet.”

  Clara shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I like spending time with her.” It probably seemed strange to him, but she’d always liked spending time with kids. Her favorite job growing up had been camp counselor. How could you even call it work when you got to paint faces and launch water balloon fights and toast marshmallows around a campfire?

  But how did Alek know so much about her Saturdays? “How long have you worked at the snack hut?”

  “Three years.”

  “Three years?” She looked at him in astonishment, but he nodded. “I’ve been going to that park with Jessica for the past two…no, more than that. Since the end of my sophomore year. You’ve been there the whole time?”

  He nodded again and messed with the corner of her lab packet, working a dogear back and forth. She looked at his profile, recalling how quickly and easily she’d spotted him these times she’d been back in college. How had she never noticed him before?

  “You don’t usually come down so far on the path,” he offered, seeming to guess what she was thinking.

  She shook her head, wondering how she’d been so blind. Apparently he’d seen her, though. She gave him a playful smack on his arm. “Why didn’t you ever say hi?”

  “Would it have mattered?” he asked with half a smile.

  “Yeah! I mean…” She looked down at that folded corner on her packet. Would it have? Back in college? Confusion slowed down her response.

  “Anyway,” Alek said. The astronomy lab drew both of their gazes, but neither of their attention. “This is your last lab. Then the exam’s next week. Are you ready?”

  “Sure.” She had the ultimate excuse for getting out of it, after all, way better than the dog ate my homework. She’d be back in the future.

  “I’ve got a lot to do.” He sounded exhausted.

  “You’ll ace everything,” she said with confidence. She couldn’t add that she knew he had a brilliant scientific career ahead of him, of course, but she could offer him reassurance.

  “I’d better or I’ll lose my assistantship.”

  “Your what?”

  “My funding.”

  “You’ll be fine. Everything will work out.”

  He shook his head, unconvinced.

  She insisted, “I know it will. You worry too much. You need to relax.”

  Suddenly wry and cool, he replied, “Says the girl who’s never had to worry about anything.”

  “What?” She reeled back almost as if she’d been slapped. Such a harsh dismissal of her as a spoiled brat; had she heard him correctly?

  “It’s easy for you to say ‘everything will work out,’” he said, matter-of-fact.

  Nope, she hadn’t made it up. “What do you mean by that?” Like a match to a flame, she could feel the anger spark in her, rising up quick.

  “You’ve had it easy your whole life.”

  “Are you kidding? I have not!” Her ego fought back in a knee-jerk kick. As if this guy knew her at all! Had she really been fantasizing about making him flapjacks a few minutes ago? She wished she did have a frying pan right now. In cartoons they always made the most satisfying ‘thwack’ when you hit someone with one over the head.

  He looked at her the way one might look at a miniature dog, maybe a tiny, white Maltese dressed up in a sparkly cape. So cute the way they thought they were big and tough. “Are you telling me you’ve struggled a lot in life? Faced a lot of challenges?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Indignation filled her to the brim. Where did he get off? She thought back to her young self, always the straight-A student, always the team captain. How did he think she’d gotten into Cornell in the first place? “I worked my butt off in high school! I placed tenth overall in the NorCal regional cross-country championships! I made honor roll every single semester!”

  His slightly amused expression didn’t
change. He continued surveying her, leaning back in his chair, arms folded across that annoyingly broad chest.

  “What about this?” She gestured down at the lab packet. “This horrible astronomy class. I came to every single help session. You think I don’t know what it means to work hard?” She was breathing fast, her feelings hurt. “Not everyone has to be a psycho workaholic like you! What, do you ever stop working?”

  He pushed his chair away from the desk, then rose. After taking a swig, he stood with his water bottle against his forehead. Without looking at her, he apologized. “I’m sorry. I can tell I hurt your feelings. I’m not trying to pick on you. You’re hard to figure out, Clara. Sometimes it seems like… you might be different. More than—”

  “More than what?” Clara could already feel the insult coming. Propelled up with anger, she stood next to him and figured she might as well beat him to the punch. “More than just a spoiled, plastic, rich bitch?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t contradict her.

  “You are so mean, Alek!”

  “Clara, admit it.” He faced off against her. “You don’t even have to worry about bringing a coat when you go outside. If it’s cold some guy will offer you his.”

  “Now I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ve seen guys give you their jackets.”

  She threw her hands up into the air. What would he accuse her of next, controlling the weather? “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I don’t hate you,” he exhaled, frustrated. “I think you’re pretty and popular and you always have been and you have no perspective.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Her eyes wide, she could feel her hands shaking as she brought them to the back of her head. Who did this guy think he was? In her whole life she didn’t remember anyone ever criticizing her like this.

  He pinned her again with that intense, dark gaze. “I think the worst thing that’s ever happened to you is you got your father’s old car when you turned 16 instead of a brand-new one.”

  She opened her mouth to protest—but had to remember that it was true, that hand-me-down burgundy Honda Accord had felt like a crushing blow to teenage Clara. She’d reluctantly dragged it to college, the albatross around her neck. Her throat felt tight as she looked down at the floor.