The audience is nearly packed. I don’t know what I expected as far as turnout, but it wasn’t this. The pendulum swings to the nervous side, and I drum my fingers against my legs in no particular rhythm. Just something to get the nerves out.
One of the students Jade introduced me to hops up onstage and gets the evening started. He introduces himself and explains how the evening will go, how audience participation will work, and that this is not a regular show and laughing, clapping, hooting, hollering, and throwing money at the stage are all accepted forms of participation. The whole room cackles at this guy, and I do too, but I also feel a twinge of something I recognize from soccer.
When I was in middle school, I went to a soccer camp for a week in the summer. Some college-aged guys led the camp, and I remember being so impressed by their skills. I also remember this certainty I got in my head that I could do what they did at their level. There was one particular trick, elastico, that I knew was way above my skill level, and I also knew I was capable of getting it. So I worked my ass off, and sure enough, by the end of the week I’d mastered it.
I get that same feeling here. I know on an instinctual level that I could do what he’s doing. I could make these people laugh. I know I could be just as entertaining. Given the chance, I could be really good at this stuff.
And tonight I’m going to take my chance.
The pendulum stills. Whatever doubt I had going into tonight disappears.
The first time they ask for an audience member, I shoot my hand up. I’m chosen quickly and join the other theater students on stage for a scene. We play a game called Taxi Cab that requires each player to have a distinct personality and be able—or at least attempt—to mimic each of the other players’ chosen personalities. It’s a riot, and I do as well as I thought I would. When my turn is over I go back to my seat, but I’m buzzing. For the first time all week, I’m smiling and I can’t stop. For the first time maybe in my whole life, I feel the thing I’ve been searching for: belonging.
Even when I was in soccer, no goal scored felt quite this right. No grade earned, no scholastic honor, no pat on the back from my dad has brought me to life quite like being on stage for those few minutes.
I volunteer again and again, especially when it becomes clear not many of the audience members are interested. I go up as often as they let me, and I let them tease me for how often I go up. I don’t care. All I care about is the crystal-clear certainty that whatever I’ve been looking for with my dad, approval or pride, I feel it for myself tonight.
I approve of this. I am proud of me for doing this. Like the shedding of an old skin, whatever I thought I may have needed from him, I don’t need it anymore.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
JESSIE
The problem with not wanting to forgive Mac is that the desire only lives in the logical part of my brain. My body keeps cycling me through the Halloween party and all the moments that came after it. I relive every encounter we’ve had over the past six weeks. The small touches, the passing glances, the way his hand would brush against my thigh, against my hand…the night we listened to the album together. None of it blurs together for me. Every moment is distinct and precious and painful.
Every time I think about our fight, my blood boils. It’s been nine days and I can’t stop thinking about the look on Mac’s face when he fessed up. When I replay that exact moment I feel the same stabbing pain in my chest. And now I’ve had the space to reflect on the fight, it’s clear I wasn’t exactly a saint. So I’m also at war with my shame and my anger. I haven’t had a moment’s peace in nine days. I’ve never been more distracted by my inner world, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I run headlong into Ava Gold in the science building as I’m leaving class one afternoon, the papers she was holding falling to the floor.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say as I help pick up the papers scattered everywhere.
“No worries. Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, I was just…thinking. It’s— I’m sorry. I should have been paying attention.”
“It’s not a problem,” she says as I stack papers in her arms. “Actually, Jessica—”
“Jessie.”
“You’re just the person I wanted to see. I emailed you about an hour ago to set up a meeting with you. Any chance you’re free now?”
“Uh, sure.” My stomach flutters. I’ve never liked being summoned to teachers’ offices even though I’m twenty-one now and there’s no reason this meeting couldn’t be good news. But my brain doesn’t seem to think anything good can come of being summoned by a teacher.
I follow her down the hallway, taking deep breaths in through my nose and out through my pursed lips. She lets me into her office and gestures for me to sit as she sets down her disorganized stack of papers. I cringe.
“Sorry again about your papers.” I point to the stack.
“Not a problem. I’ve had my head in the clouds a number of times,” she says with a reassuring smile.
I smile back at her despite not having a thing to smile about, just eager for her to get on with it.
“So I wanted to bring you in and congratulate you because you have won the Walden Senior Scholarship.” The smile on her face grows, and she holds her hands out in a celebratory jazz hands kind of way.
A thousand pounds lift from my chest and shoulders. I grip the handles of the chair because I might actually float away, the relief is so instant. Tears well in my eyes. I won’t have to take out loans. I won’t have to think one more minute about how I’m going to afford to finish college.
I think of the younger version of me, the little girl who cried in Miss Julie’s office, and how grateful she was to have an adult who didn’t tell her to dry her tears and get on with her day. I think of the slightly older version of me who found a safe space to speak her dreams out loud to another school counselor, how both of those versions of myself are celebrating this win with me today because they know I’m about to be one step closer to realizing my dreams of being a safe place for someone else who needs it.
“Thank you so much for letting me know,” I say.
“It’s my pleasure. You should be getting an email soon with more details, and of course the financial aid office will be in touch to work out details. Congratulations, Jessie. This was well-deserved.”
