Second Helpings (8 page)

I was nodding more vigorously now.

The admissions people know what theyre doing. If they think youre smart enough to be accepted, then youre smart enough to be there. He paused. From what I know about you, Jessica, you are definitely smart enough to be there.

My head almost came off its neck hinges.

Im heading back to campus. Would you like to come with me? I could show you around before my next class. Maybe introduce you to some people from PACO

He totally misinterpreted the hideous facial contortion that resulted from my stifled happyhappyjoyioyhappyhappyjoyioyhappyhappiness .

Oh, thats right. Youve got the reading at Blood and Ink.

NO! I DONT HAVE TO BE ANYWHERE BUT WITH YOU, PAUL PARLIPIANO, GAY MAN OF MY DREAMS.

No, its not mandatory. So I dont have anywhere else to be, I replied as calmly as possible.

Are you sure?

Ive never been so sure, I said. Can I use your two-way for a second?

I really didnt give a damn about Blood and Ink. I never wanted to read my stuff out loud in front of the Noir Bards anyway, because I am not a writer, no matter what Mac says. So I used Paul Parlipianos pager to tell Mac I wasnt going to make it to Blood and Ink and that Id find my own way back to SPECIAL. The program was almost over anyway. What disciplinary measures could be taken against me?

Then, for the next two hours, Paul Parlipiano and I took the ultimate campus tour. Ultimate. Meaning both best and last.

Ill spare you an encyclopedic cataloging of my sensory experiences. Why? Because it wasnt the sight of PACO members of every conceivable ethnicity debating and B.S.-ing on the steps of Low Library, or the sound of a homeless man singing a medley of New Kids on the Block songs on the corner of 116th and Broadway, or the smell of incense, pot, and taxicab exhaust, or the acidic, stinging taste of the free wine by the carafe that came with our greasy but delicious Malaysian food, or the fuzzy rush I felt thrumming throughout my body just by being in the place where Paul Parlipiano, my crush-to-end-all-crushes, belonged, and being told that I belonged there, too. It wasnt any of these experiences that provided me with the final answer to the Question. It was all of them. And something more.

Okay. Lets just clear the air here. I know how this looks. I know that anyone who has taken Psych 101 would say that Im following in Paul Parlipianos footsteps because Im still in love with him. But really, I am not holding out for a homosexual. Give me more credit than that.

Heres my take on this situation. Maybe my obsession with Paul Parlipiano was orchestrated by whatever higher power in charge of these things, as a way of getting me to Columbia, or rather, New York City. Paul Parlipiano wasnt the end , he was the means to an end. As an agnostic, I dont know who or what or why this force is pulling me toward New York. Frankly, its beyond my comprehension. All I know is that when I set foot on that campus, I was so sure that it was where I was supposed to be. It wasnt a shout that reverberated inside my body until I rocked with shock. No, it was a quiet but confident voice that I wasnt used to hearing, one that assured me that I had just come to the place where I could be part of something great. It was the first time Id ever felt that way in my life.

Actually, there was one other time I felt this way in my life. But it wasnt a place that made me feel at home with myself, it was a person. A person who turned out not to be worth it. But I told myself I wasnt going to write about thatabout Himanymore. So Im not. So there .

the ninth

Whoo-boy ! Was Mac pissed about my Manhattan vanishing act. First thing Monday morning, he took me by the arm and led me out into the hall to chastise me in pseudo privacy. Im sure this was a huge disappointment to the rest of my classmates, who have been looking forward to eyewitnessing an act of violence against me all summer long.

Its a wonder hes not as chrome-domed as my dad, so enthusiastically did my prof pull his hair throughout his lengthy tirade, one that included quotations from Nietzsche, Emerson, and Virginia Woolf in addition to his own well-chosen words, like wasted opportunity.

selfish short-sightedness, and reckless endangerment of a minor.

When he was finally done telling me how irresponsible I was and how lucky I was that he was not going to tell my parents or the program directors about this (which, quite frankly, was more about saving his ownfine!ass than mine), I replied:

Its your fault, you know.

My fault?

Youre the one who told me I needed to bust out of the snow globe.

What?

Youre the one who encouraged me to go out and experience the world. Or was that just a load of crap?

It wasnt crap, Jessica, he replied. You do need to break out of your suburban bubble.

But just not on your watch, right?

He yanked on his hair.

One unsupervised walking tour of the Upper West Side is not what I was talking about. I was talking about

Well, that tour was enough to change my whole life.

He laughed. Your life changed in two hours?

Yes. Ive totally changed my college plans.

A not altogether friendly smile crept across his face. It was more of a mocking smile. A smile that said, Your childish antics amuse me .

Changing your college plans does not mean youve changed your whole life.

Well, for me it does.

Then you were even more sheltered than I thought, he replied. He unsnared his hands from his hair. Let me guess. Columbia.

It was weird to hear someone else say it. It made it true.

Yes.

Tch, he said.

We stood there for a moment because I didnt know what do say, but Mac hadnt made a move that would indicate that the discussion was over.

Do you know what John Steinbeck said about New York/

Uh, no.

He said, New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about itonce you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.

He took a dramatic pause, as he often does after his lengthier quotations.

Well, Jessica Darling, he replied as he opened the classroom door, good for you.

He meant it, too. More than I knew at the time, because the next day Mac handed me a sealed envelope right in front of all the Noir Bards.

What is this? I asked.

Your letter of recommendation, he replied, louder than necessary, so the Grim Reaper, Nosferatu, the Lump, Barbella, Loser, and the rest of the coven would hear.

Dont read it, though, he urged. I dont want it going to your head.

On the envelope he had attached a Post-it that read: Be great in act as you have been in thought.William Shakespeare.

I was so stunned by this gift from my fairy godfather that I couldnt even express my gratitude.

Thuh, I said.

Youre welcome, Mac replied.

Of course, I will probably wake up tomorrow to find that the Noir Bards have turned me into a toad.

Macs generosity more than makes up for the lackluster reaction 1 initially got. I had wanted to share my life-changing excitement with someone, anyone , after Id returned to campus on the train that night. The resulting exchange with Bridget (and her lamprey Ashleigh) had left a lot to be desired.

Columbia! Bridget screamed. Like, Julia Stiles goes there!

I didnt know that.

Oh, yeah! And Meadow Soprano got in, so you, like, shouldnt have any trouble.

Yeah, thats exactly why I want to go to Columbia, because the fictional daughter of an HBO mob boss goes there.

OH MY GOD! Doesnt Felicity go there? she yelped again.

Felicity who?

Duuuuhhh, said Bridget and Ashleigh in unison. Felicity from Felicity .

The TV show Felicity , I said, not really getting it.

I think she goes to a made-up school Ashleighs voice trailed off, only to come back three hundred decibels louder than before. YES! she screamed. Its just like Felicity because youre following your high-school crush to college just like she followed her high-school crush, only in your case its really pathetic because your crush is a homo.

I shot Bridget a look.

Well, Ash, like, asked me if you had boyfriend and I told her no, but then I told her about

Never mind, I said, cutting her off. I turned to Ashleigh. For the record, I am not trying to emulate the heroine of a WB dramedy. I dont watch those kinds of shows.

Whatever you say, Ashleigh said in a singsongy tone that just made me want to clock her in that broccoli schnozz of hers.

I. Dont. Watch. Those. Shows.

Whatever.

Ive learned from years of experience with the Clueless Crew that its futile to have a constructive argument with people I hate. So I walked out of the room for the very last time, which sounds more dramatic than it really is because at the time there were only six days left in the program, anyway.

So youre probably wondering what Macs letter says, right? You assumed I steamed it open and read it. Oh, ye of little faith. I didnt and wontopen it. And it has little to do with respecting Macs wishes. The truth is, Id rather not know what Mac said about me. I really cant handle reading other peoples assessments of my intelligence. Like the quarterly accommodations from my teachers. They always say that they hope I learned as much from them as they did from me. Stuff like that. Excruciating. They go so overboard that I cant believe one word of it. Its hard to buy into all that crap when I know the chaos thats really going on inside my head.

eleventh

Ive spent my last days in Macs class developing a strategy for breaking it to my parents that my final answer to the Question is one that they dont want to hear. The four-step approach to solving my college conundrum is calledThe Perfection, Deception, Acception, Defection Plan. I will share my PDAD plan in the hopes that it will help others, who, like me, are unjustifiably stuck under the fat thumbs of parental totalitarianism.

HHHH1.Phase 1: Perfection

I will act like the daughter my parents have always wanted. By smiling a lot in their presence and offering up enough information about my life that they think Im telling them everything, when Im really sharing nothing of any genuine importance, they will believe that they have raised a happy, healthy, well-adjusted teen who has gotten over her growing pains and no longer needs parental policing of all her activities.

This gives them permission to back off and leave me the hell alone so I can begin Phase 2.

HHHH2. Phase 2: Deception

Meanwhile, I will complete as much of the Columbia application process as possible without my parents knowledge. Ive got Macs recommendation and can recycle the one Haviland wrote to get me into SPECIAL. All my parents financial stuff can be easily accessed on the computer, so I can even take care of that part, too. Applying on-line makes this easyno paper trail!

HHHH3. Phase 3: Acception

This is the part when I get accepted to Columbia. If I dont get accepted, I am screwed.

HHHH4. Phase 4: Defection

By the time Im forced to inform my parents of my college plans, they will be so awed by my Perfection (see Phase 1) that even they will consider it unreasonable to bar me from the first-choice university that I have earned the right to attend.

Im still working out the kinks. Phase 1 is particularly troublesome. Perfection is much easier to strive for in theory than in practice. Within five minutes of my parents arrival on the SPECIAL campus to pick me up and take me back to Pineville, my flawless veneer was already at risk of losing some of its luster.

Call Me Chantalle had already packed her toe shoes and Nutcrackers and douches by the time my parents walked into the room. But it was enough time to give the Darlings and the DePasquales an opportunity to do what all college-bound seniors parents do when they are in a room together: brag about their offspring.

Vassar and Piedmont are already wooing Mary for their honors programs!

Piedmont, Swarthmore, Amherst, and Williams will practically pay our Jessie to attend their honors programs!

Our Mary doesnt need financial incentives! She can write her own ticket!

Our Jessie already has! She has her pick of the Ivies!

The one-upmanship was enough to make their Jessie drop out of high school and become a hooker on the Point.

Its been so fun rooming with you! Call Me Chantalle gushed, handing me a pink piece of stationery with a tea-rose border.

The sound of her voice came as a surprise to me. We hadnt spoken a word to each other for weeks, not since she neglected to put a toe shoe on the door and I walked in on her polishing the Grim Reapers skin scythe with her tongue.

I took a closer look at the paper, on which she had written Mary DePasquale in loopy, girlie cursive. What? Didnt her parents know about Chantalle? Beneath it was a series of numbers, letters, and symbols which surely couldnt represent what I thought they did.