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I hauled my boxes in and started to unpack them. Besides my computer, I had only four boxes and a big duffel bag, compared to the crammed-full U-Hauls and pickup trucks I saw all around me. There were student helpers in red shorts and white Bucky Badger t-shirts to help me move my computer. I didn’t have the mini fridge, television, stereo, or other necessities of college life. I wondered what Mystery Girl was bringing into this. I knew she would hate me and be disappointed to be stuck with me. I felt sorry for her already.
It didn’t take long to unpack. I sat on my new bed excited, but a little surprised that I felt lonely. I missed my parents, which was a new feeling for me, and I considered calling them. Just to let them know I was settled in. Then I remembered the elaborate care packages my mom packed for my brother and sister and I started to cry. This is ridiculous, I decided. Here I was, away from them. Hadn’t I wanted this for my whole life? I decided to take a walk.
There was a lot to be happy about. I was in a dorm called Liz Waters and it was right by Lake Mendota. Was I really going to live in downtown Madison, by the lake, on my own? This, I realized, was my chance to reinvent myself. I could become anyone. Just like the dream I’d had at the start of junior high school, I had it again, only this time I was older, wiser, and more disciplined.
I am going to be normal. Hell, I’m going to be Better than Normal!
People will like me. People Really Will!
I am going to make it happen. Did you hear that? Yes! I heard that! I am Going To Make It Happen!
I got so excited that I was practically marching. I looked around me and turned it down a notch. I didn’t know that every single freshman on the entire campus had the same dream. Truly, anything felt possible as I walked along the path by the lake, watching sailboats and feeling the warm late-summer wind against my face.
There were only a few things I had to do to fit in, I decided. First, I could not flunk out of school or the whole plan would have been for nothing. My mother had warned me so many times about flunking out that it was starting to seem like circumstances beyond my control, before classes had even started. Step two was to find a boyfriend. No one gross, because he would represent to others who I was. Someone like Alex Wescott would be good. Part three was that I needed to look like I had been popular in my old life. This was, perhaps, the most important step of all, and I already had it covered.
I had spent a fair amount of time my senior year collecting pictures of the popular students. The girls in particular were happy to throw their senior pictures to any stray dog. They carried little plastic boxes with clear plastic lids that they all had the habit of snapping open and closed. If you asked for a picture they would cheerfully spread out four, five, six poses on the table in front of them. There was always one close-up with a class ring adorned hand pressed to a thoughtful, poreless face, and another close-up with a beautiful gleaming smile. Next were the full body pictures, as evidence of being beautiful from a distance as well as from inches away. One would show her standing by a tree, or on a flowery hill. Finally there were the ones taken with a best friend or boyfriend, and the occasional wildcard picture. Different outfits for each was a MUST. They would steer the losers like me toward their least favorite pose, but it was still a vast improvement from four years earlier when they wouldn’t talk to anyone but the most worthy few.
So because of my patience and endurance, I had a thick stack of pictures that I had already plastered to my bulletin board. Hopefully my roommate was back in our room, noticing them all and realizing what a formidable opponent I was.
When I got back to the room she was there, lying on her bed. I gasped when I saw her and then tried to disguise it as a cough. She had to weigh at least four hundred pounds.
“Hi Sara. Nice to meet you,” I said, sticking out my hand, trying to redeem myself.
“Nice to meet you too. My parents just left…” She began to cry. I looked around the room a little and saw she had started to unpack. On her bulletin board were two 8 x 10 portraits. One of a white sheepdog and the other of the world’s cutest, happiest, biggest couple.
“Are these your parents?” I asked, pointing to the picture. She nodded. I felt terrible that she was crying.
“Want to take a walk?” I asked her.
She shook her head.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
She reached into a purse on her bed and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Will you get me some ice cream?”
“Okay. What flavor?”
“Butter pecan.”
I had never met anyone younger than my parents who liked butter pecan ice cream. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” I told her.
I didn’t have any idea where I was going to buy ice cream. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already being taken advantage of. Here I was on an ice cream run for someone I had just met five minutes ago. Why did this kind of thing always happen to me?
“Can I get you anything?” chirped the recording of myself in my head. That was my problem, I realized. “Stop asking questions you don’t want answered,” I told myself. It’s a lesson no one ever learns.
It didn’t take me long to stumble upon a small grocery store on State Street. I bought a family sized tub of what Valencia and Van used to refer to as “Nursing Home Special” and carried it back to our room. By the time I got there, the bucket was slippery and the ice cream was slopping around inside. I handed it to Sara, who was already waiting with a serving spoon in her hand. I was prepared to have to share a bowl with her, to be social, but the opportunity didn’t present itself. She peeled back the lid and stuck the spoon in, starting with the soft, runny edges. She didn’t say a word to me, just ate. I started to feel embarrassed, so I turned on my computer and played solitaire. Minutes turned into an hour before I heard the bucket’s lid snap back into place. She set the empty container by her bed and lay down to take a nap.
I took to hanging out in common areas most of the time. Our room smelled like popcorn, salsa, angel food cake, and chicken McNuggets, all rolled into one stench. Sara was in there constantly eating and studying. I was still invisible, never able to grasp the art of being important. I tried jumping into other people’s conversations, tried just sitting around reading, hoping I looked approachable. I struck up conversations with other people who looked lonely. No one wanted anything to do with me. I stopped wearing Valencia’s ring for a while, after some people made fun of me, thinking it was my high school class ring. But then I missed the way it felt and put it back on, even if it meant I looked uncool. I watched life happen around me, as I always had.
People walked past with peace signs drawn on their notebooks and love beads around their necks, but this was just a fashion statement. Their goodwill and acceptance were theoretical, at best. I kept my grades at about a C average since even this was better than going back to Hudson.
Chapter 53
Frisky was so happy to see us that it almost made me like him. He lounged around with either Adrian or me for the next couple days, as we avoided each other.
Three days after the fake romantic getaway, Adrian was in his studio working and I was in the backyard reading a book when I heard Frisky going crazy, barking and growling in the front yard. Adrian and I met each other at the front door, both of us checking to see what was the matter. Standing at our front gate were two men, both wearing plain black suits. They showed us their badges.
“I’m Detective Stoller and this is Detective Heinz. May we have a word with you?”
