Going Geek (26 page)

My response is immediate.

A second passes and then,

I laugh out loud.

The next morning Declan looks sleepy and cute in sweats, a flannel over a T-shirt, and a gray knit cap. We go into the court farthest down the hall and don't turn on the lights. The glow from the hallway illuminates the room just enough. We spread our jackets out and sit on the floor, facing each other.

“You had a very big day yesterday,” he says.

I nod. “A lot of things clicked into place. My speech ended up being so much more personal than what I had planned, and it sort of broke some things open.”

“Like what?”

I fill him in on my revelations about what it is that I think I'm going to take with me when I leave Winthrop. About how moving to Abbot gave me something I wouldn't have even known was here for the taking and how close I came to missing out on that. “It scares me to think that I might have graduated and left, still in my oblivious little bubble.”

“But you know what they say: ignorance is bliss. You would've been okay.”

“I wouldn't have met you.”

“True. And that most definitely would not have been okay.” He smiles, and I trace his jaw with the back of my hand.

“I know we're not done talking, but all I can think about right now is kissing.”

Declan grabs my hand and holds it. “Talk fast.”

I smile. “So the Leo thing. He said he was wrong about me not being the same person, and it all sounded so sincere and perfect. Exactly what I've thought I wanted him to say since we broke up.” Declan's body tenses. I squeeze his hand. “I didn't know how to get closure with him, but when it finally happened, it was almost automatic, like a switch flipped in my brain and I could see everything clearly.”

He nods, and I can tell he's not jealous or threatened.

“But what I want to say most of all is, thank you. For showing me both by example and by being such a good friend that making even a pretty big mistake doesn't mean you're a total screw-up. A lot of people in my life would've had me believe that about myself, but getting to know you and my dorm mates changed all that.”

“You're welcome,” Declan murmurs. “But you did this all on your own.”

I lean in to kiss him, finally done talking, but he stops me. “You were right about taking your time,” Declan says. “Waiting for you was totally worth it.”

“Sorry about the bike,” I murmur, looking at his lips.

Declan leans his head back so he can see me. “What?”

“The stupid toy I gave you. I don't know why I thought that was a good idea.”

He brushes my hair off my cheek. “It wasn't stupid. It gave me encouragement, like maybe you wanted to know me better.”

“I guess it took my brain a second to catch up with my actions, but I'm glad you understood what was going on.”

And then finally we're kissing again, and unbelievably, it's even better than last night. He might have been fine with waiting, but I'm making up for lost time.

N
othing brings me back down to earth like a college counseling meeting, so of course that's the first thing on my schedule for Monday morning. The essay I sent Ms. Randall yesterday was not the one she's expecting. Can't wait to hear what she has to say about that.

But when I walk into her office, the usual feeling of terror is absent. Maybe it's because I'm so spent from the weekend that I don't have the bandwidth to be worried about anything else.

“This is not the topic we've been working on,” Ms. Randall says before I even sit down.

“I know. I decided to focus on other strengths I believe I have. While I've learned a lot about the film business and developed certain skills while interning for my mom, I do think I have other interests that I'd like to explore.”

“So I read. Your essay focuses on what you believe is your knack for publicity and events promotion?” She waits for an explanation.

I nod. That's what I wrote; no sense in being bashful about it now.

“That is not something that's considered a typical area of excellence for Winthrop students.” Ms. Randall sips her coffee and waits. But for once she doesn't look angry or frustrated.

“I agree with you. But that doesn't mean there's no value in it in the real world.” Her thoughtful look is veering more toward skeptical. “Ms. Randall. You told me I had to dig deeper. And so I thought long and hard about what it is that I enjoy, about what might come easier to me than it does to others. It's true, as you pointed out, that the clubs and events I helped popularize didn't depend on my talents or abilities. But getting people there to experience them did. And so not only did I discover that there's even more talent at this school than I ever knew, but I feel that we achieved something huge in bringing together students from all different cliques. It was actually very cool and restored my faith in Winthrop.”

“How do you propose to use this skill?” She's not shutting me down, and I'm grateful for that minuscule break.

“I'm not sure. Aren't there colleges where I can prepare for a career in publicity or marketing? Maybe I'm not cut out for liberal arts. Maybe my college experience needs to be more grounded in practicalities.”

Ms. Randall does something I haven't seen her do in any of our previous meetings. She sits back in her chair and stares at the ceiling, lost in thought. A good five minutes pass. “It's very late in the game to have such a huge shift in direction.”

“I know,” I say.

“Not many students apply to undergraduate business programs from Winthrop,” she says. “Let's schedule a meeting for one week from today and agree that we'll each have a list of six colleges.”

I'm shocked. She's not telling me that I'm delusional or useless or wasting space or that she can't help me. “I'll be ready,” I promise.

“We'll both need to research, and you'll have to spend most of winter break filing applications. We'll need to keep in touch,” she says. I can't believe she's willing to talk to me while she's supposed to be on vacation. Maybe she supports me more than I thought.

“And before I forget, your SAT scores were respectable. I'm pleased that you took my advice and prepared for the test.” She looks mystified, like she thinks she might be the victim of a prank.

“Next year, if you have any students who are financially incapable of paying for a private tutor or prep course, Raksmey Tan in Abbot House is a fantastic tutor and has exceptionally reasonable rates.” Raksmey's too good to keep a secret.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Ms. Randall says. “Thank you for the tip. I have to say, I always suspected that you had more layers. I'm impressed that you met the challenges of this year so beautifully.”

This is going too well. I better get out before she has a chance to reconsider.

“And, Ms. Hoffman. Your word for next time?” And here it comes, the last-minute whammy.
“Strive.”

It doesn't escape my notice that it's the first time I haven't felt offended by her word choice.

My phone pings just as I'm about to get up. I sneak a glance at the screen while it's still in my bag. It's a text from Marshall:
Congratulations.

Ms. Randall greets my grin with a questioning look. “Also, I'm the new president of the Social Calendar,” I say.

Late in the afternoon I lie on my bed, talking to Jordana, filling her in on recent developments.

“I can't believe Whitney. She's gone off the deep end,” Jordana says.

“I know. It still makes me sad.” Anger usually prevails when I think about Whit, but every now and then the loss of her friendship hits me.

“Maybe she'll snap out of it before the end of the year.”

“I seriously doubt it. I think I have to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised if anything like that happens.”

“You didn't think Leo would ever come around,” Jordana points out.

“And I really never thought I'd be the one to decide against getting back together,” I say.

“Declan sounds perfectly dreamy, so it's not that shocking,” she says. “There must be an overabundance of dreamy guys in boarding school, which is totally unfair.”

“I know. College is going to be a major letdown after this place.”

“Well, the good news for me is that things can only get better. So what are you thinking? Any West Coast schools?”

“Bigger schools with active campus-events centers that have business majors. Some schools even have busy performing-arts centers and get major bands and stand-up comics to perform. All of it's run and promoted by students. It's so weird that I'm not applying to a single liberal arts program. It's unheard-of out of this school.”

“Well, at least you'll be able to find a job,” she says.

“Do you think any of our list will overlap? How many colleges did you end up with?”

“Fifteen. My parents are even telling me to add more. I don't think my college counselor has any idea what he's doing. He's just encouraging me to throw stuff at the wall and hoping that something sticks.”

I laugh at that image and feel another twinge of appreciation for Ms. Randall. “I hope we at least get to be closer together,” I say.

The Calendar's Executive Committee sits around one big table. Everyone looks around, uncertain, as if they've landed on the moon. Guthrie, who was the first to arrive, gives me a supportive wink. The vote took most of the weekend, with 90 percent of the student body weighing in on who they wanted to be president and vice president of the Calendar for the rest of the year.

Marshall was quick to inform us that it wasn't a landslide victory, but we hardly cared. “Congrats, you guys,” he finally said. “Whitney might've actually done you a favor by killing your petition. We got to hear your vision for the first time, and people liked what you had to say.”

Now I keep Marshall's words in mind and take a deep breath. “Hey, everyone. Welcome to Lower Left.” A nervous giggle bubbles up from the group. “We know this is a big change, but our goal is to not make it too disruptive. Most of you attended the forum, but to recap: the main thing is, we want to be open to all ideas and give people time to work out the kinks in their events. That's it. Thanks for not jumping ship,” I add, glancing at Elizabeth, Olivia, and Guthrie.

Surprisingly, only Whitney and Lila opted not to return to the Calendar. After a bit of begging, Raksmey and Yasmin are taking their spots. I told them that we need good juniors to step up and run things next year, pointing out that they're actually very social and that while the events they spearheaded didn't quite get off the ground, they both exhibited natural leadership ability.

The meeting goes smoothly, and I can tell that people want to give us a chance. We just need to get through the rest of this term. Most of the events have already been scheduled; all Opal and I want to do is add one new event each weekend. Then someone brings up the weekly dance.

“Are we going to cut it?” Elizabeth asks. I can hear the tension in her voice.

“I don't know. Is there a way we can keep it but make it more interesting?” I ask.

“Can we make it monthly instead of weekly?” Yasmin asks.

“What about making each one a different theme?” someone offers.

“Or a different DJ for each of the three hours,” another girl chimes in.

With a few more suggestions thrown in, we have an actual collaborative session going. It's so refreshing to hear individual voices instead of just echoes of Whit's.

When the meeting breaks, Elizabeth and Olivia stay behind. “We might be too stuck in our ways to really help you,” Elizabeth says.

I shake my head. “As long as you're willing to be constructive and try, then I know we could use your experience. The Calendar will definitely be better with senior members in place.”

“We'll stick it out for a while at least,” Olivia says.

It's not a total vote of confidence, but I nod anyway. “Thanks for being open-minded.”

“So we heard about your mom's movie,” Elizabeth says.

I wondered how long that would take to get out. I only learned about it earlier in the week, when my mom called. She finally got a script that the studio approved.
Still Over It
is officially green-lit and going into preproduction at last. The entire movie industry is freaking out about it.

“We're completely thrilled,” I say. “I'm really glad my mom never gave up.” It's funny. This news would once have mattered to me in a completely different way. I'm over-the-moon proud about it, but this time I have a little bit of distance.

“And now we get to see what happens!” Olivia squeals. “Do you know anything about casting?”

I shake my head. “Not yet, but a few fan sites are already up and running. I'm sure they'll post the minute anything happens.”

I can tell by their eagerness that they'd love to stay and grill me for more information. But if my old friendships are going to be rekindled—which I'm not ruling out—it's not going to be because of the movie.

Fortunately, Opal waves me over. “I'm going to call that a raging success. You?”

I shrug. “I'll take it. When we get back, it'll feel more like a fresh start anyway.” Winter break is hurtling toward us. We all leave next week.

“You actually pulled this off!”

I laugh. “Are you kidding me? This would never have happened without you. Helping you start the Yoga Connection and seeing how many people were willing to try something new? That was a total game changer.”

“See? All good things come from yoga.” Opal crosses her arms and smiles.

“Maybe you can visit over break,” I say. “We can brainstorm the rest of the year.”

“I'd love to,” Opal and Declan say in unison. He swooped in from nowhere, leaning over my shoulder to kiss me.

“Where'd you come from?” I ask, my hand on his cheek.

“I came to celebrate with you.”

I grin. “Now that my parents don't have to sell their house, we'll actually have room for both of you.”

Declan and Opal bicker about what they want to see and do in LA. It's so sweet and funny that I can't help gazing at them with a big smile on my face.

If someone had told me that this is how my senior year would turn out, I would never have believed it. Obviously, there's no way I'd change a thing.