“It’s great! Do you have others in here?”
“Yeah.” His voice is strained and thick. “When I was little, I loved drawing floor plans. I loved using a ruler and deciding where to put doors and windows. I liked designing impossible houses with six stories, ten bedrooms, a game room, and an indoor swimming pool.”
“Can it also have a big doghouse?”
He smiles. “As long as I get my doughnuts back.”
I pass him the bag. “Thanks for showing me your drawing. Have you checked out schools with good architecture programs? The University of Tennessee at Knoxville has one.”
He gives me a long, annoyed look, and for a moment, I feel guilty for being a nagging girlfriend, but it seems to me that a serious relationship comes with an obligation to be truthful, and sometimes that means nagging.
“Let’s talk about something else, okay?” he asks.
“I won’t bring it up again. Just promise me you’ll consider it.”
He nods curtly, and stares at his Colonial drawing, then picks up his pencil to work on it a little more.
? ? ?
“You seem distracted.”
“I am,” I tell the guidance counselor. After I told her how things are getting better at soccer and it’s a lot more fun now, we spent most of this period going over my essays and application for Yale. But my life still feels weird. I twine and untwine my fingers.
“What’s wrong?” Miss Brady asks.
“I’ve been thinking…”
“Go on,” she encourages.
“I hate math. Why would I major in business?”
“Isn’t that what people in your family do?”
“Yes, but it’s not what I want.”
A smile blooms on Miss Brady’s face. “So what do you want then?”
“I’m not totally sure.”
“You should play to your strengths.”
There’s an inspirational poster behind her desk that says Strength, but it’s just a picture of Mount Everest. I’ve never understood what those posters are about. “What do you mean, play to my strengths?”
“What are you good at? What do you enjoy?”
I think for a long moment. “Museums.”
“Museums?”
“I love any kind of museum, but my favorite is the National Gallery in Vienna. I could see myself being a curator, but I love art, science, and history equally—I’m not sure how I’d choose. I just like learning.” Miss Brady smiles, so I keep going. “I also love animals…my boyfriend says I should become a vet. I kind of like that idea, but I don’t know that I could handle putting pets to sleep. I just know I’m good at history and that I love museums.”
“Great. Well, I’m glad that you are open to other options.”
“It’s kind of scary though, you know? One time, I told my dad it might be cool to be a museum curator, and he said there’s no money in that.”
Miss Brady looks around at her office, focusing on the patch of wall where the white paint is peeling away. “I could’ve used my psychology degree to work in a fancy practice and make lots of money, but I wanted to work with kids. It’s your life. If you want to live, you need to do what you love.”
I think back to what Ezra said about taking risks. Taking a risk can be scary, but it can also be worthwhile.
Museums are one prize I think I could keep my eyes on. But can I give up my desire to fulfill my family’s expectations?
Stupid, but Ballsy
The election is less than a week away.
The last time Dad was up for reelection, I was eleven years old. Back then, my biggest problem was being freaked out about having to shave my legs and wear a bra on election night. Dad’s campaign managers were constantly trotting me around in front of voters. I brought the cute factor.
Now, I’m under orders not to speak to anyone or do anything out of the ordinary for the next seven days, but I wish I could help Dad in some way. He’s barely sleeping. Neither is Mom.
My brother and sister are coming home this weekend to join him for speeches around the state and will stay until after the election on Tuesday. I can’t wait until it’s over, because then I’m going to tell Mom and Dad the truth about what happened at St. Andrew’s. The best thing I can do right now is lay low.
On the Wednesday night before the election, Ezra picks me up for his intramural soccer game. They’re down a man, so I end up playing right forward for them. It is so nice to take shots on goal again. I love just playing to play. When I score a goal, the team lifts me up on their shoulders and parades me around the field, laughing. Ezra grumbles at that, but I’m having a ball.
After the game, he and I grab dinner at Jiffy Burger. I always like going there, because it’s full of trucker guys cursing up a storm. It’s highly entertaining when they say things like, “I had to pull the truck over ’cause my engine got hotter than a billy goat’s ass in a pepper patch.”
When we’re finished eating, Ezra asks if I want to go back to his place.
“I wish I could, but my Yale application is due Friday. I should proofread it a few more times.”
Ezra opens the passenger door of his Range Rover, then helps me inside. He jogs around to his side of the SUV and climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Are you sure about applying there?”
I nod. “It’s what I’ve been working toward forever, Ez.”
“But if you get in early decision, you have to go there.” He starts the ignition. “Shouldn’t you take some time to try to figure out what you want?”
“People in my family go to Ivy League schools. My parents expect me to do something important with my life.”
He shakes his head. “You can still do something important even if you don’t go to Yale. Look at Jack Goodwin. His parents were pissed when he started dating somebody who works for him, but his life isn’t over.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me going to Yale, you know.”
“But what’s right about it? Tell me one good reason you want to go to there, and I will stop bothering you about this.”
“I don’t understand why you get to press me about my future, but I can’t even suggest you go back to school without you snapping at me to drop it.”
Ezra drums his hands on the steering wheel, agitated. “I just want what’s best for you.”
“That’s all I want for you too.”
I’m so close to telling him I love him.
We ride in silence all the way back to my house, and when we arrive, there’s a familiar-looking silver Jaguar in the driveway. Is that Michael Williamson’s car? We went to school together at St. Andrew’s. I climb out of the Range Rover and move to get a closer look. Sure enough, when I peer in the front window, he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, playing with his phone.
I knock on the window. He rolls it down. “Tee!”
I throw Ezra a nervous glance and shrug. “Michael, hi. What are you doing here?”
“Ben agreed to let me copy his chemistry homework if I gave him a ride. I guess he wants to win you back or something.” He gives Ezra a sly smile. “But something tells me I got the better end of my deal with Ben.”
“How long have you been here?” I rush to ask.
“Five minutes or so.”
My phone beeps in my hand. A text from Mom. Come home NOW.