“Yeah,” Eli says. “It’s strange. I feel like I’m supposed to be in this state of constant motion. Like, if I’m not actively writing a paper at this moment I’m a failure at life.”
“Exactly,” Nance says. “Not to mention, it always freaks me out whenever I’m forced to actually look at the Harvard population and see just how many white people there are at this school.”
Really? There are a lot fewer white people at Harvard, percentagewise, than there were at my high school. I’m the only one of my roommates who’s white. Ebony and Felicia are both black, and Joanna is Vietnamese. I felt a little weird at first, like I was boring next to them. Then I remembered that I bring in the LGBTQIA diversity angle, so I was still contributing.
It’s true that the UBA seems to be mostly white, but my friends are kind of a mix. Derek’s black and Eli’s Korean, so Nance and I are the only white people in our immediate group. Hmm, maybe Nance was actually just complaining about me.
“So, Toni,” Derek says, “what with you being in a state of existential despair and all, I guess this isn’t a good time to mention that we’re supposed to have the transition guide finished before finals.”
I gulp down my latte.
“No,” I say. “It’s not. I don’t have time for anything. I did no work at all over Thanksgiving because I was too freaked. I seriously cannot believe how far behind I am.”
“That’s how it goes your first semester until you get used to the pace,” Eli says. “You always feel behind.”
“Is that information supposed to be helpful?” I ask.
“Hey, T, watch out,” Nance says. “I know your whole thing with the hottie sucks, but you don’t need to get snippy.”
“I know, I know,” I say. “Sorry, Eli.”
“No problem, man.” Eli claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve got lady problems. I get it.”
I’m lucky Eli’s a forgiving guy, because Nance speaks the truth. At the rate I’m going I won’t have any friends left by the end of the semester.
Eli gets up to pass out more flyers. One guy actually takes one. Based on the guy’s blank look, map and flip-flops, though, I have a feeling the guy is a non-English-speaking tourist, not a potential Christian Leaguer.
“Why are we sitting out here anyway?” I ask. “It’s cold. Let’s go into the café.”
“That’s too far away,” Derek says.
“From what?”
Nance sighs with exaggerated exasperation and leans in to talk quietly to me. “Look, when Eli was on flyering duty last year, some freshmen hassled him.”
“What? Why would anyone want to hassle Eli?” Eli is even smaller than me. He usually wears a custom-made suit jacket with suspenders plus the occasional snappy bow tie. I can’t imagine anyone less threatening.
“I don’t know,” Nance says. “People are assholes. Anyway, we try to watch out for him now when he does this stuff, but we can’t let him know. He thinks we’re just out here enjoying coffee on the Lamont steps on a frigid late November afternoon, and he’s going to keep on thinking that. Right?”
“Right. Sorry.” Now I feel like an asshole. How much else am I going to mess up today?
At least I’m not as bad as the freshmen last year who did whatever they’d done to Eli, just for looking different.
Nance is right. People really are assholes.
“By the way,” Nance says, speaking louder now so the others can hear, “can I just say that I feel a lot worse for Gretchen than I do for you? I mean, I know you’re upset, but trust me, it’s a lot harder to get dumped than to be the one doing the dumping.”
“I didn’t dump Gretchen.”
“Only because you let her talk you out of it,” Derek says.
Even Derek won’t take my side. I need to explain this better.
“I didn’t let her talk me out of it.” I catch my own pronoun this time. “Gretchen. I didn’t let Gretchen talk me out of it. I mean, yeah, Gretchen made a good point, about me not having the right to decide what’s best for both of us. It’s like, how arrogant am I, really? Before I did it, I’d been going back and forth all night anyway about whether it was really what I wanted. It’s all just so confusing. I don’t know how anyone ever knows for sure what they want.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Derek tells me. “The thing is, though, she’s got a point, but that doesn’t mean she has final say over what happens to you guys, either. You have to do what you have to do.”
Chris said that the night of the football game. You have to do what you think you have to do.
“Everything hurts,” I say.
Nance pats me on the shoulder a little too hard.
“It was your decision,” Derek says. “You can still change your mind.”
“Is that what you would do?” That question sounds pathetic even to my own ears.
“Well, I wouldn’t have broken up with her in the first place,” Derek says.
“What?” I almost choke on my latte. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“What difference does it make? You’re the one living your life, not me.”
“But—”
But I might not have done it if I’d known that.