“We’re in fairyland,” she whispered, running her hands through the water and setting off sparkling waves. His hair and eyelashes glittered as he came closer. “You’re made of magic dust,” she said.
He took her in his arms and held her close, and the world stopped spinning as they stood there. But when she raised her lips, looking for his, he pulled away.
“I miss you,” she whispered.
“Jenny, I need help.”
“Why?”
“It’s Kate. It’s like we’re in this sick game that I don’t know how to get out of.”
A powerful wave of bitterness swept over her as she heard the truth in his voice. The stupid fool was in love with Kate.
“If you think she’s bad for you, break up with her, or stop whining about it already.”
“You don’t understand. She’s inside my brain, under my skin. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t escape.”
“What is wrong with you? You have no backbone? Leave me out of it, Lucas.”
Just then, the horn sounded, three long blasts, loud enough to make them jump.
“I’m going back to the boat,” Jenny said, and took off swimming toward the ladder.
16
In high school, Aubrey imagined that once she got to Carlisle, life would be perfect. She would finally fit somewhere. She would find her true friends, and they would love her for herself. But Carlisle proved to be a new treadmill, faster and more slippery than any she’d encountered before, with no way to get off. She had no recourse, no other vision for her future. Either succeed here or give up forever. So naturally, she tried to prove herself in Jamaica by matching Kate shot for shot, toke for toke. She ingested any pill or powder or smoked any bong that they put into her hands to show them she was one of them. She gave up her virginity to Griff because he was of that place and she craved his stamp of approval. (Sometimes she thought she maybe even loved him.) Now, back at school, Griff walked the other way every time he saw her coming, and she’d accomplished nothing, except to pick up an expensive Ivy League drug habit. Not that she was alone in this. Drugs were an everyday vice at Carlisle. Nobody thought twice about it, everybody did it, but Aubrey seemed to have more trouble managing it than other kids did. Her hands shook all the time. She felt headachey, feverish, unable to eat or sleep, and the only thing that made her feel better was getting high again. So she started going to parties where she knew there would be drugs. Not just on weekends. She went on weeknights, too, even when she had a paper due or a midterm the next day.
Aubrey never intended to stop going to class. She loved her classes. At first she had a rule that no matter how late she partied, she’d force herself to get up for class the next morning. Trouble was, she kept sleeping through her alarm. She’d wake up when it was dark outside and find that she slept the clock around. The dorm was quiet not because it was early morning (how could it be—it had been early morning already when she collapsed on her bed fully clothed and lay there watching the ceiling spin), but because everybody was at dinner without her. The first time this happened, she was terribly upset. But the second time, she didn’t think as much of it. She missed one day of classes, and then another, and before she knew it, the thought of going to class provoked greater anxiety than the thought of not going. Without the touchstone of the lectures to keep her grounded, she fell behind on her reading. And once she missed reading for a few days in a row, the syllabus became like a tall mountain to climb. She couldn’t catch up; she wouldn’t know where to begin.
Aubrey imagined that something very bad would come of all this. She wanted to escape the consequences, but there was nowhere to go. She couldn’t go home. Her mother was dead. Dead dead dead dead. Her only home now was her rumpled bed in the double with its stale-smelling sheets, or the bathtub she sat in until the water went cold, looking at the veins on her wrists and wondering how much it would hurt to slash them. For the first time Aubrey realized how much her occasional telephone calls with her mother had grounded her. Quick and contentless, just—Hi, how you doing, what’s up, babe? A few brief facts about how much and where her mother was working, which courses Aubrey was taking, how she’d done on a test. They never talked about anything deep. But if her mother was alive still, and asked her what was going on, this time, Aubrey would confess. She would spill her troubles, get help. She faulted her mother for not doing more for her when she was alive. But her mother had loved her, and the mere fact of that love would have been enough, she was sure, to arrest her tailspin. Without it, there was only open air to grab as she fell.
During the long afternoons when she should have been in class, Aubrey took the ugly, crocheted throw that was her only legacy from her mother, pulled it over her head, and lay in the hot, scratchy darkness, pretending she was dead. She was sort of hoping to commune with her mother that way. But it was never dark enough under the throw to imitate the grave. The loose rows of stitches let in too much light. And besides, her mother was in a cold, clear lake, with watery light shining down. Aubrey was wasting her time, trying to reach her this way. But she kept doing it anyway, because imagining that she was dead comforted her somehow.
One afternoon toward the end of April, Aubrey was lying on the couch in the living room with the throw over her head when the doorbell of suite 402 rang. It was late in the day, and she was alone in the suite.
“Abby Miller?” asked Chen Mei, the Whipple RA, when Aubrey opened the door.
“Aubrey.”
“Huh?”
“I’m Aubrey Miller.”
“Here,” Chen Mei said, thrusting a clipboard at her. “Sign the paper, on the line. Then I can give you the letter.”
“What letter?” Aubrey said.
“Just sign.”
Aubrey took the clipboard and read the paper attached to it. It was an acknowledgment that she’d received a Notice of Hearing Regarding Academic Probation from the Committee on Academic Standards. Her heart stopped.
“What does this mean?” she asked Chen Mei.
“You got ac pro. Either shape up, or they’ll kick you out.”
“But—”
“Don’t tell me. I don’t have any say. Sign it and take the letter,” Chen Mei said, holding out an envelope.
Aubrey scribbled her name, and ripped open the envelope with shaking hands. The letter advised her that she had been placed on academic probation because her GPA after midterm examinations stood at 1.95. What midterm examinations? Time had gotten away from her. She’d missed tests. Aubrey felt nauseous. A hearing date was scheduled for the week after finals. If at the time of the hearing, her GPA was 2.50 or higher, she would be removed from academic probation. If it was between 2.00 and 2.50, she would be required to withdraw for a semester and complete a prescribed course of remedial instruction before reenrolling. If it was below 2.00, she would be expelled.
Expelled. The word echoed in her mind. Aubrey staggered and grabbed the doorframe.