reaction.
“Mary…I….”
“Relax, Love. I’m totally kidding. You think I’d risk any form of plagiarism or rule-breaking?”
I’m relieved to hear her say that. I still don’t know her well enough to get when she’s joking, and the thought of cheating or doing someone’s work for them really makes me queasy. “Speaking of rule-breaking, what’s up with you and your man?”
Mary’s smile fades a little but she tries to cover it up with lots of head tilting back and forth as she says, “Oh, Carlton’s fine. He’s always…fine. We’re — we — we just have a rhythm…”
I raise my eyebrows. “Meaning?”
Mary blows air out her lips and makes the sound of a horse whinnying. “All along, everyone talks about relationships and how great they are. How that’s what you’re supposed to want, and get, and stay in…” she traces the pattern of her coverlet with her finger. “But it’s…it’s like a job, after a while.”
I grimace. “That doesn’t sound fine, Mary…”
She shakes her head. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just all PMSy, which means you will be, too. By mid-year the entire dorm will be on the same schedule. Believe me — it’s not fun.”
I sigh, tired, and smile at her, wondering if she had a bad night with Carlton or if she’s just in a cranky mood. “Well, let me know if I can lift your spirits. I’m gonna jump in the shower now…”
“Avoiding the rush in the morning?”
“That and it’ll relax me before bed. I’m still not used to it here…” I look around the room. Sometimes when I lie in bed, my body feels like it’s pointed the wrong way, or I feel as though I’ve forgotten something — to take my vitamin, or brush my teeth — and then I realize it’s just being in a new place, and how disorienting that is until one day — or night — it just isn’t anymore.
“I’ll be here,” Mary says and chew on her highlighter pen cap. “Me, Propsero, and Miranda.”
Miranda, I think, as I take my small bottle of shampoo and conditioner, my mini soap and extra-large towel. My dad ironed nametags on everything — one of his guilt-ridden efforts, no doubt — and I hold my own name as I walk to the shower. Miranda. Beautiful Miranda who steals the heart of Ferdinand. I wonder what Charlie is doing. If he’s with her. If they’re working side by side in the library, or out for a late burger at Bartley’s. If he’s talked about me.
I hang my towel up on a small metal hook, take off my clothes, and as I lather, rinse, but don’t repeat (takes too much time and it’s just a ploy on the manufacturers part to make you go through product faster and rebuy it), it hits me that maybe Charlie’s thinking about me, too.
Of course, I can’t call him now. No cell phones. Just a pay phone in a room the size of a closet next to the common room. There’s even a phone log so when the dorm phone rings, whoever gets it writes down who called and when and if there’s a specific message. We all get to read about people mom’s calling with news from home, or friends at other prep schools leaving coded messages like “get the cookies — I’ve got the milk”. It’s yet another display of the lack of privacy afforded by the dorms. My plan is to be proactive and make the calls before they come in so as to avoid Lindsay — god forbid — talking to my mother or Sadie — the sister I hardly know — or Charlie.
It doesn’t occur to me before I overhear Ms. Parrish in the shower that perhaps she already has.
I pull my name-tagged towel in with me to dry off. It’s a ritual from home — I always stay in the stall, keeping the steamy air trapped in as much as possible, before I step out. Sealed off by the curtain, it’s actually peaceful in here. And late. I’m working my way from head down to feet, noting how much less water I have dribbling down my back now that my hair’s short, when I hear her voice.
“Anyway, you should’ve seen it — he was so checking
“Mary…I….”
“Relax, Love. I’m totally kidding. You think I’d risk any form of plagiarism or rule-breaking?”
I’m relieved to hear her say that. I still don’t know her well enough to get when she’s joking, and the thought of cheating or doing someone’s work for them really makes me queasy. “Speaking of rule-breaking, what’s up with you and your man?”
Mary’s smile fades a little but she tries to cover it up with lots of head tilting back and forth as she says, “Oh, Carlton’s fine. He’s always…fine. We’re — we — we just have a rhythm…”
I raise my eyebrows. “Meaning?”
Mary blows air out her lips and makes the sound of a horse whinnying. “All along, everyone talks about relationships and how great they are. How that’s what you’re supposed to want, and get, and stay in…” she traces the pattern of her coverlet with her finger. “But it’s…it’s like a job, after a while.”
I grimace. “That doesn’t sound fine, Mary…”
She shakes her head. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just all PMSy, which means you will be, too. By mid-year the entire dorm will be on the same schedule. Believe me — it’s not fun.”
I sigh, tired, and smile at her, wondering if she had a bad night with Carlton or if she’s just in a cranky mood. “Well, let me know if I can lift your spirits. I’m gonna jump in the shower now…”
“Avoiding the rush in the morning?”
“That and it’ll relax me before bed. I’m still not used to it here…” I look around the room. Sometimes when I lie in bed, my body feels like it’s pointed the wrong way, or I feel as though I’ve forgotten something — to take my vitamin, or brush my teeth — and then I realize it’s just being in a new place, and how disorienting that is until one day — or night — it just isn’t anymore.
“I’ll be here,” Mary says and chew on her highlighter pen cap. “Me, Propsero, and Miranda.”
Miranda, I think, as I take my small bottle of shampoo and conditioner, my mini soap and extra-large towel. My dad ironed nametags on everything — one of his guilt-ridden efforts, no doubt — and I hold my own name as I walk to the shower. Miranda. Beautiful Miranda who steals the heart of Ferdinand. I wonder what Charlie is doing. If he’s with her. If they’re working side by side in the library, or out for a late burger at Bartley’s. If he’s talked about me.
I hang my towel up on a small metal hook, take off my clothes, and as I lather, rinse, but don’t repeat (takes too much time and it’s just a ploy on the manufacturers part to make you go through product faster and rebuy it), it hits me that maybe Charlie’s thinking about me, too.
Of course, I can’t call him now. No cell phones. Just a pay phone in a room the size of a closet next to the common room. There’s even a phone log so when the dorm phone rings, whoever gets it writes down who called and when and if there’s a specific message. We all get to read about people mom’s calling with news from home, or friends at other prep schools leaving coded messages like “get the cookies — I’ve got the milk”. It’s yet another display of the lack of privacy afforded by the dorms. My plan is to be proactive and make the calls before they come in so as to avoid Lindsay — god forbid — talking to my mother or Sadie — the sister I hardly know — or Charlie.
It doesn’t occur to me before I overhear Ms. Parrish in the shower that perhaps she already has.
I pull my name-tagged towel in with me to dry off. It’s a ritual from home — I always stay in the stall, keeping the steamy air trapped in as much as possible, before I step out. Sealed off by the curtain, it’s actually peaceful in here. And late. I’m working my way from head down to feet, noting how much less water I have dribbling down my back now that my hair’s short, when I hear her voice.
“Anyway, you should’ve seen it — he was so checking
Similar Books
