Inside the Mind of Gideon Rayburn (12 page)

_antifreeze

When Gid enters the cafeteria, Molly and Edie are already sitting. This was not what he wanted. He wanted to give
them the choice to join him. How did they do that so fast? He looks around for another place to sit down, but there
are only about eight other people there, and he only knows two of them: Luke Miles, a linebacker on the football team
who eats five full meals a day. (He once drew a chart on a napkin to show Gid the number of calories he ate per day in order to, as he put it, beefy thumbs pointing at his chest, "keep this machine running.") Sitting maybe twenty yards away is Sergei Rofganif, who, Gid happens to know, eats lunch late because he takes physics at MIT. Not freshman
physics, like, "find out how dense this sphere is," but crazy advanced physics, like, "find out where the universe
ends
—and what comes after it." Sergei Rofganif is transfixed by what appears to be a blank piece of graph paper.
Gid imagines they would not have much to discuss. Luke Miles has consumed two hot dogs and is staring down a third. As maybe off-the-beaten-path as it would be to go sit with Molly and Edie, it's so much less so than his other
options.

It's time for a little positive visualization, a la
Journal of the Zen Hut.
Gideon stands facing the soda machine, closes his eyes, and imagines sleeping with Molly. Interesting that he goes not to the actual sex part but getting up
afterward. When she's asleep
—oh yes, Gid, no doubt your prowess took her unexpectedly by storm—and he puts
his clothes back on and goes to tell Cullen how he has done what he set out to do. He imagines Cullen's filial pride
and Nicholas's initial disappointment in losing, followed by more filial pride.

Good. This tactic works. He puts one foot in front of the other, and then he's there and it's time to start talking.
He thinks about saying "May I sit down?" but changes this at the last minute (smart play, Gid) to "Can I sit here?"

Molly turns around. Smiles. Looks him up and down. "Well, hello," she says, making a show of checking behind
him. She's wearing a plain brown cardigan, a white blouse, jeans, and some kind of fuzzy boots that look like little
animals. "Where are your friends?" she asks. Is that sarcasm? Because her tone made it sound like she was
saying, "Where are your ubiquitous friends?" But her smile really is intense, really...ugh. Warm. Giddoesn't feel that

bad as he sits down. He thinks, She's a person, I'm a person, how bad can this be? She smiles more. He thinks how
Pilar's smile makes him stare. Molly's doesn't make him stare. It just makes him feel like he's not afraid to sit down.
Staring's fun. Not feeling like a stupid jerk isn't bad either.

That's when he notices that Edie is staring at him. Her eyes are really giant. Do small people have giant eyes,
or do they just look giant? How, he wonders, would this fascinating puzzle in special dynamics strike Sergei? Edie is
dwarfed by a rather enormous plate of macaroni and cheese, which she shakes salt over and begins to eat. Gid's
anger flares a little that she doesn't say hi. She should be nicer. Her haughtiness is not in proportion with her
hotness.

Now, this is Gid listening too much to his roommates. I don't like this Gid. I mean, I still like/love him but not at
moments where his insecurity makes him lash out.

Molly is eating salami and American cheese, with mayonnaise and mustard on white. "Incredible," he says. "I
ate the exact same thing for lunch today."

He is immediately overwhelmed by the banality of this observation. But Molly warms to the salami
conversation. "I didn't know, you know? I stood up there for a while," she says. "I was tempted by the macaroni and
cheese, but then I was like, who wants to eat one flavor over and over again? No offense," she adds to Edie.

Edie shrugs.

What does it mean for a girl to eat a salami sandwich with American cheese? Gid wonders. She's drinking
what appears to be a Coke. But maybe it's diet. He imagines this would be an important distinction. He's going to have to consult with Cullen on the food, its hidden message. Is she just saying that she's regular, that she's like a
guy? He says, "I like salami." Again. Cursing himself.

"I get the salami whenever it's available. You're not going to make any 'hide the salami' jokes, are you?" she
asks.

"If I were sitting with the crowd I usually sit with," Gid says, "I would have made a 'hide the salami' joke. But I
didn't really think you were the type of person who would laugh." Molly, almost imperceptibly but without a doubt,
inches a little toward him. Receiving the small compliment, getting the fact that Gideon saw her as slightly outside of things, just as she wanted to see herself. Cullen was right. This made sense. It wasn't that hard at all!

"You're from Buffalo," he proceeds, buoyed with success. "What's it like there?"

Molly looks pleased to have been asked. "I can't describe it. But I can tell you a story."

This is great. She's going to talk. It's going to take up time. He's going to relax a little and think of what to do
next. It would be enough just to pay attention. But of course, as a guy, he has to think about his next move.

Edie sets her fork down and smiles as Molly begins. "A while ago, like maybe twenty years ago, there was a
guy who sold hot dogs in Delaware Park in Buffalo. It's a park that was designed by Frederick Law Olmstead."

Gid has no idea who that is, and his poker face sucks.

Molly frowns. "Frederick Law Olmsted designed Central Park," she says. "Central Park is in New York City."

Edie smiles, presumably enjoying Molly's smugness a degree more than Gid.

"Anyway, he is the only guy licensed to sell hot dogs and stuff at this park. And he's been doing it his whole life.
But one year, there's a new mayor. And this mayor decides he's going to take that license and give it to someone else, you know, probably his cousin, or his sister's stepkid or something. So the guy, he's out of a job. Just like that.
So in the park, there's a pond where kids skate in the winter, and that's how this guy made a lot of his money, selling
hot dogs and hot chocolate to all the kids who skated there, right? So, you know what the guy does? He puts
antifreeze in the lake, and the new guy, well, he goes broke. End of story."

"Oh my God." Gid feels himself forgetting his agenda. That was a really good story. "Like, how much
antifreeze?"

"Who knows?" Molly says. "Who besides a freak from Buffalo knows how much antifreeze it takes to keep a
pond from freezing?"

"I bet he does." Gid points to Sergei, who, as if on cue, is trying to balance a spoon on top of a water glass. To
Gid's absolute delight, Molly laughs. Out loud. Edie laughs, into a napkin, like she's going to get in trouble for it. Gid is
so pleased with himself. He sits back, very satisfied, but then sees that Sergei is no longer playing with his spoon but
looking uncomfortably at the ground.

"Oh no," Molly says.

Gid isn't sure what force takes ahold of him but he walks over to Sergei, who turns to him, his giant eyeglasses
first flashing at the light coming in the window. "Sorry to bother you," he says, "but you know, we're, uh, not laughing
at you. We didn't want you to feel bad." He takes a quick glance behind him. Edie and Molly smile grimly, supporting
him.

"Fuck off," Sergei says quietly.

Gid feels anger surge in him. He almost says, "Hey, I was trying to be nice." But as Sergei rushes to gather his
things, Gid notices the weird patchy hair on his chin and the rough black plastic of his eyeglasses. Gid realizes that
as stupid as he feels, this kid probably feels even stupider. He realizes that if he wants the fact that he apologized to
actually make the kid feel any better, he'll just take the fuck-off and move on. Gid kind of deserves it. And he can
handle it.

"He said, 'fuck off,'" Gid mouths as he nears the table. He sits. They all shake their heads and just sit in the
silence for a few seconds. There's the clang of coffee cups being washed in the kitchen, a whistle sounds sharp and
close over the dull, distant throb of the commuter train. Gid wonders if he might be starting to get why people say
New England is cozy.

"Anyway," Molly shrugs and smiles, "that's what Buffalo is like."

Gid imagines the hot dog guy, in a tiny little ranch house with cars in the yard, sitting at his kitchen table, maybe
repairing old toasters, as he came up with his grand plan. How much he must have savored the feeling of adrenaline in his veins, the excitement in his heart as he ventured out to Milt's Garage and spent the last two hundred dollars he
had on antifreeze. "It's really kind of great," he says. "You have to admire a guy like that."

Molly smiles. "I agree," she says. "You could make it in Buffalo."

Later, he finds Cullen, and Cullen wants to know what happened. He's been all geared up to give a full report,
but suddenly, he can't remember a thing. He just says it was fun.

it's fiona's party, and you'll come if she wants you to

Gid's fourth Friday at Midvale is one of those fall days with a menacing violet-gray sky. Gid's walking to Spanish with
Liam Wu, enjoying their odd camaraderie and feeling a slow-burning anxiety he attributes to the weather until he
realizes what his real problem is. Yesterday was Danielle's birthday, and he still hasn't called her. "Danielle," he
groans involuntarily, forgetting he's not alone.

"Who is Danielle?" Liam asks.

Gid hesitates. Smart on his part. The Danielle Road can't be a good one to travel with Liam Wu.

"She's...a friend from home. I forgot her birthday."

"Whatever," Liam says, scowling. "My mother doesn't even remember my birthday." Liam's mother, Gideon knows, is a banker in Hong Kong. "I thought she was some chick you wanted to ball. Birthdays, I don't give a fuck.
But balling..." Liam nods. "We can talk ballin' all the livelong day, son."

Gid winces. Not because of Danielle, but because of Molly. That if he does have sex with her, it will be spoken
of as
balling.

"Liam," he ventures, "this is kind of a stupid question..."

"I expect nothing less from you," Liam replies. Unlike Cullen and Nicholas, there's never even the slightest
glimmer of affection in Liam's insults. Maybe when your mom forgets your birthday, you get hard like that.

"What do you think is sexy? I mean, how do you define
sexy?"
He's thinking of Molly and Pilar and his different
feelings about them.

Liam Wu stops short in the middle of the quad. "A chick you want to ball," he says. With an exasperated shake
of the head, he resumes walking.

Liam frustrates Gideon. He's not sure why. I think it might be because he can't decide whether to direct his
hostility at Liam himself or at the system that rewards Liam for being a handsome, mean, intimidating asshole.

And here comes, or rather, waddles, Devon Shine. Gid might be skinny fat, but Devon Shine is fat fat! He
keeps tugging his T-shirt over his stomach. And he's wearing barrettes! "What's up?" Devon says to Gid, not looking
him in the eye.

Gid nods politely, thinking, Why isn't anyone on your case? While he huffs and puffs his way around the track in the morning, Devon sleeps, cozy under layers of blankets and blubber. And he loves himself. And girls like him.
And he wears barrettes, for Christ's sake. It's not fair.

Devon pulls Liam away from Gid, into the middle of the quad, where they begin to whisper and gesture. Gid
waits in the path for a few seconds as a parade of girls walks around Liam, adjusting their book bags on their
shoulders, tucking their hair behind their ears, and casting sidelong glances, hoping to be noticed. Gid has tried to
catch girls giving him sidelong glances but so far, nothing. To maintain his sanity, he has convinced himself he's
never looking at the right time
—not entirely untrue, since I look at him that way all the time.

Suddenly he realizes he's blocking the path. He feels stupid, vestigial, and stands on the grass watching Devon
and Liam. Their conversation shows no signs of ending. He continues along to class, watching his feet, trying to
convince himself that he wasn't just abandoned. He takes some comfort in the Birkenstocks Cullen gave him last
week, along with orders to dispose of his white sneakers. Gid admires the way they look against the cuff of his
khakis. When he first got here, he didn't think there was any way he could achieve the look
—rumpled formality is a good description—but he's got to admit he's kind of nailed it. "Definitely," he whispers, feeling soothed.

"Definitely what?"

It's Molly McGarry, bundled against the cold day in a red hooded coat, her hair smooth and flat against her pink
cheeks.

Molly repeats, "Definitely what?" Her smile is mischievous. She knows he was talking to himself.

Fine, but there's no way he's admitting to it. "Oh, I was just continuing the conversation I was having with Liam,"
he says, pointing at Liam as if to prove it.

"What does one talk to Liam about?" Molly asks, laying a conspiratorial hand on his arm. Gid counts the girls
who have touched his bare skin. Danielle, Pilar, Molly, Svetlana, his next-door neighbor's cousin from Ukraine, whom
he kissed in ninth grade in a garage smelling of cat litter and crowded with cases of diet cola. Five girls in his whole
life. Not counting, like, clerks handing him change.

"Liam seems like a freak to me," Molly continues, glancing quickly over her shoulder. Her touch isn't as crazy making as Pilar's. Pilar, though, seemed so aware of the fact that she was touching Gid, as if her hand on his arm
were a piece of art she was arranging on a wall. Molly's hand is just a hand. Small, with plain nails and a gold ring.
When they walk up the steps into Thayer Hall, she removes her hand and puts it on the black iron railing. But it was
on his arm for a good long time. And once they are past the railing, she reaches out and touches him again, saying

as she does so, "He seems not entirely human."

"Not entirely human like an animal or not entirely human like a space alien?" Gid asks.

Molly presses her lips together and nods. Gideon can tell this is an important distinction for her. He likes it that
she understands him, that what he says means something to her. He hasn't been feeling that much lately.

"Space alien all the way. Sure, he's good-looking." She shrugs. "That's probably a matter of fact, not opinion.
But I don't, like, fantasize about him."

Gid's ears flare up. He looks around nervously to see if anyone heard this, but everyone around them is
moving, rushing, turning off cell phones, and hurriedly reading the last words of their assignments. Is Molly talking
about masturbation? My God. Why would you ever tell anyone anything like that? But maybe it's just an expression.
And she's still touching his hand, he notices.

There's movement on his left. Mija and Madison pass by. They saw Molly touching him. Couldn't they have just
come by a second later? Madison is dressed in prep school couture
—high-heeled boots, a belted sweater she
probably picked up off the floor but cost what Gid's dad makes in a week, and jeans so low that as one of her long
legs swings forward, Gid sees the knot of her hip bone. He notes that actually, Mija's dressed similarly, but that she just looks neat and moderately stylish, and it's the come-on of Madison's long-legged walk that dresses up her look.
Madison and Mija have stopped off to the side and are huddled near the window, ostensibly reapplying lip gloss, but
watching. This pursuit of Molly is more uncomfortably public than he'd like it to be. He tries to imagine how he and
Molly look walking together.

Molly notices the girls. "What's their problem?"

"I don't know if they have a problem," Gideon says. "They're actually pretty nice." He's aware his tone gives
away his pride in knowing these girls, understanding what's behind the expensive sweaters and high heels, but it
doesn't make him feel any less special.

The first thing he notices upon entering the classroom is Ms. San Video's butt. She's wearing leather pants
and writing verbs on the board. The pants are tight, brown, and shiny. He wants to sit down and look at them and talk
to Molly later. So he does.

When Liam comes in and spots Ms. San Video's pants, he shoots Gideon a thumbs-up and says, "Oh, yes, I
definitely
habla espanoll"

Gid smiles and nods, forgetting all about Liam's running off with Devon outside, their excited, exclusive
whispering. Even Mija and Madison's attention takes on a new cast. I'm part of things, Gid thinks. I'm in a groove. I'm happy. No study hall tonight
—the first Friday of every month is a free night, one of those weird little rules designed to
trick you into thinking prep school's really not that bad. Tomorrow's Saturday. Gid has it all planned out, he is going to go to the library, to the basement, where a certain kind of girl who lives in Emerson—the bookish and slightly sexually
interesting because of, and not despite, it—is known to study. He will find Molly, making it look, of course, like an
accident, and he will talk to her. They will talk for hours. And then...

Liam leans over. "Hey. What time are you guys leaving for Fiona Winchester's party?"

"Party?" Gid says, immediately concentrating on his own face, on lifting it, instead of letting it cave with
disappointment.

Oh, Gid. For five whole minutes life seemed to be coming together. It's all falling apart now, but didn't you enjoy
it?

"Whoa," Liam says. "Well, maybe Nicholas and Cullen didn't tell you about it yet."

Nicholas, maybe. But Cullen. Cullen never shuts up. No. This was withheld. Gid closes his eyes and can't think.

Two minutes before the end of Spanish, Gid mumbles, "
£/
bano"
and hightails it out of there. He jogs over the granite floors and down the tiled steps and, blowing off a little steam, heaves himself against the heavy door to the
outside. It was sunny and clear for about half an hour during class. Then the wind came up again, and now the sky's
rapidly clouding over, all the little patches of blue shrinking to nothing. The leaves fall steadily. He sees a figure in
white coming right toward him. Gid's a little nearsighted, but even before the form takes shape he knows—that
teetering-on-heels walk, that bouncing hair—he is looking at Pilar Benitez-Jones.

Incredible how, as Gid's anticipating total defeat, he's brimming with some kind of stupid happiness. As she
gets closer, he sees she's wearing a belted white coat and light tan suede boots. Sort of slut meets sophisticate
meets slut, one more time, just in case sophisticate forgot her. Pilar's got sort of twitchy hips. As she gains on Gid,
the twitches pick up speed. Just as she's approaching, she puckers up and kisses the air. He stops in his tracks, but
she blows past him. She's carrying a weekend bag. "I'm in a hurry," she says, smiling. "See you around."

Gid breaks into a sprint, determined to make it to his room before anyone can see him crumble in a heap of
mortification and self-loathing.

Not going to the party was one thing. Not going to a party where Pilar would be
—he doesn't know for sure, but
he just knows—that was quite another.

He has the room all to himself. With great effort he removes his shoes and, still fully clothed, eases himself
into his bed. Absolutely every single person on this campus that he wants to impress will be at this party, laughing, drinking, talking about things he'll never understand. Meanwhile, he will be at this dry brown leaf of a place, loitering
outside Molly's dorm.

He pulls the covers over his head as if he could hide from his own shame. Maybe the fact that everyone's
going to this party is good. In fact, maybe they didn't invite him because they knew he needed this weekend for the
Molly project.

That doesn't work. Gid knows that people either want you around or they don't.

Cullen and Nicholas burst in with energy, and Gideon can feel the cold fresh air come in with them. Over his
blazer, Cullen is wearing an orange down jacket patched with duct tape, and Nicholas wears a bright blue scarf.
Their robust perfection is humiliating.

"Dude, what are you doing in bed?" Cullen asks.

Gideon mumbles, feigning sleep.

"We're leaving for Fiona Winchester's party in, like, fifteen minutes."

"Have fun," Gideon says glumly. He rolls over on his stomach and tucks his hands under his shoulders. This
feels nice. Maybe he can stay in this position all weekend.

"Dumbass!" Cullen grabs a handful of Gid's bedding and whips it off him. "Did you think we were going without
you?"

Liam and Devon are waiting for them outside Proctor in the white BMW. Liam's driving. Cullen points to it and
nods meaningfully to Gid. "This is
the
car," he says. "This is the car that's going to be yours."

It's a beautiful car. I can see Gideon becoming more beautiful in it.

A few miles from school, Liam stops for gas. As he steps up to the pump with what is very likely his mother's
credit card, Gid leans out the window and says, "Hey, you better put the high-test in. I hear any engine pings, and I'm
going to be a little upset."

"What the fuck do you care?" Liam snaps, and Gideon is overcome with a happiness unlike any he's ever
experienced when Cullen and Nicholas burst out laughing. Their laughter is mean. There is a secret from which Liam
is excluded! Gideon is usually nicer than this, but at the moment, he likes the fact that Liam's face is growing red.
That he looks wounded and will never admit it. I might be sitting in the middle of the backseat, Gid thinks, but next
year, I'm going to be driving. And Liam can put his feet up on the transmission hump. And like it.