Inside the Mind of Gideon Rayburn (20 page)

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Cullen's giving a presentation in American History on the Battle of Bunker
Hill. He's
going to make a model of the
barrier the American army made across the beach in North Charleston that ultimately led the British to defeat.

He
and Gideon have in front of them one thousand plastic toy soldiers and several bottles of black and red nail
polish. "We need to paint a black
B
for 'British' on half, and then a red
A
for 'Americans' on the other half."

Some of the soldiers stand at attention. Some stand and fire. Some are crouched and firing. Gid picks up one of
the
shooting soldiers and looks hard at its face. Whoever makes these, he thinks, does a good job of fitting that expression of determination and courage
on
such
a small area.
"We should do a black
A
and a red e," he says. "I
think that with the whole redcoat thing, people will get confused."

Cullen claps him on the back. "You're a genius," he says.

They get to work, Gid on the /\s,
Cullen
on the 6s. "You have to stop thinking about Pilar so much,"
Cullen
says.

"But I just can't help
it," Gid says. "She gave me a note, you know. I really think she might like me."

I think she really might like him too. And while it's easy for me to see why I like him, I don't know if I get why she
would.

Gid says, "I don't think I could feel this strongly for her if she didn't feel something for me."

Poor Gideon. Cullen has it so easy with girls.
He
doesn't understand Gideon's fear that if he doesn't
immediately capture whatever scrap of attention Pilar might throw his way, he will lose her forever.

Cullen hangs his head back and groans. "I want you to be single-minded, determined. Look, in order to get a
girl...I mean, for you...for the time that you're trying to get her, you have to be a little bit in
love
with her."

Wait a minute. Maybe Cullen does understand Gid's problem. That makes me like him a little more.

"Is Nicholas a little bit in love with Erica every time he has sex with her?" Gid asks.

Good question. I think that if I understand Nicholas at all, when he has sex with Erica, it's in that small window
of time where his generally repressed capacity for tenderness and generally repressed horniness converge.

Cullen makes a guttural noise of frustration and annoyance. "Look," he says, "it seems to me that you're more
upset about that than Nicholas is."

"Hmm." Gid wonders if this is true. "I guess it just fascinates me a little."

And he's been noticing that when he sees Erica, she looks a little damaged. Maybe he's just projecting.
Imagining causing the same kind of damage.

No...
she definitely looks damaged. But there's something to be said, as a girl, for that heartbroken look. I
guess I'm a little sick. Even with sunken cheeks and eyes, Erica, with absolutely no baby fat, well, she's kind of
working it.

Cullen ignores him and says, "I've been thinking a lot lately about Pilar and you."

"You have?" says Gid, flattered and almost as thrilled as if he actually were with her.

"I feel like Molly McGarry is the good starter girl for you," Cullen says. "I used to think that she was the kind of
girl for you, you know? But I see you with Pilar now, and I think, why not? And I don't mean this in a mean way about
Pilar, but she's very vulnerable. Someone like
you...
well...she could use you."

"Wow," says Gid.

Uh, yeah, wow. This is nice and all, but Cullen must be having some kind of serotonin overload in his brain right
now, because this kind of optimism, well, it sure smells chemical to me.

"At the same time, I feel like you need to just pick something, one goal, in your mind, or you create real
problems for yourself. Some people can be thinking of a lot of shit at once," Cullen says. "But it's usually because
they're not really thinking of anything. I can do that. You can't."

This is the closest thing to a tender moment Gid and Cullen have ever had.

Gid's nail polish letters are a lot neater than Cullen's. "Cullen," he says, gently, "you need to watch what you're

doing."

On the window ledge, Cullen arranges a standing British soldier so it is being shot at by a crouching American
soldier. "Don't you just feel like you're actually
at
the Battle of North Charleston?" He rolls his eyes. "Some girl in my
class is writing a fucking diary of Betsy Ross, when she was making the flag. Isn't that stupid?"

I think Cullen's project is stupider, actually.

"If my parents had any idea how incredibly art-faggy this school was, they would shit," Cullen says. "Hey, how
did you end up coming to school here, anyway?"

"My dad was building a house for this rich guy, Charlie Otterman. And right before he finishes the house,
Otterman gets a DWI coming home from a Northern Virginia Lawyers' club meeting. So he gets disbarred. Can't pay
my dad all he owes him. But he went to school here, and he told my dad he could get me in."

Cullen laughs out loud. "No shit! Dude, you could have gotten in here anyway, I bet. You should make that guy
give your dad his money."

Gid smiles. "I think I should just let my dad continue thinking he got a good deal.
¹⁷

And really, the skills Gid's developing
—pot smoking, manipulation of innocent (possible) virgins—how can you
put a price on that?

"Shit," Cullen says, "we're out of red. Hey. I have a good idea. Go find Pilar, and get more from her. It's a great
excuse."

"Pilar? You want me to talk to Pilar?"

"If you can bring back a bottle of red nail polish and solid proof that Pilar likes you
—not just 'Oh, she told me
she had a dorm room she could sneak out of,' or 'Oh, she gave me her phone number,' but something that proves
beyond a shadow of a doubt that she likes you, then I will talk to Nicholas about changing the bet around. It's my little
thank-you to you for helping me...and also, that story about your dad kind of made me sad. I don't know why."

Gid knows why. Because it was white-trashy. No one with as charmed a life as Cullen wants to be reminded of
the dark side. Nice that Cullen said he would have gotten in on his own. He thinks he would have too. C-plus
notwithstanding.

Gid starts with the library periodicals room, where Pilar is known to go, generally under the influence of a
Xanax or two, and maybe some vodka slipped into her watermelon Vitaminwater, to read foreign fashion magazines.

The library is shaped like a concrete egg. Madison and Mija sit in the two orange vinyl chairs by the entrance.
Madison's reading Italian
Vogue,
and Mija, who is in Gid's English class, is reading
Moby-Dick.

Mija holds up
Moby-Dick.
"This book is super boring."

"Tell me about it," Gid agrees, pacing to the edge of the room and peering through the door into the periodicals
room. No Pilar. "I feel bad saying that, but I really can't read it."

Madison imitates a model's pout on the page she's open to. Mija and Gid exchange amused glances.

"I saw that," Madison says.

The sun sets early now, and the darkening room is snug. Gid stretches and then lies down on the floor under
the table. "I forget sometimes," he says, "that we're supposed to be in prep school to learn."

Mija lies down on the floor perpendicular to him. "Me too. You know, I think sometimes that I would just like to
be back in my village in Holland, you know, riding my bike around with my friends, playing broom hockey in the street.

Every year my parents would have their
Het Nationaal Dictee
party." Her cute little canary face is soft and wistful.
"My mother would make
spekulatius,
these Dutch cookies."

"What's
Het Nationaal Dictee?"

"It's a Dutch TV special. It only happens once a year. Famous Dutch people and some people selected from a
competition compete at live dictation."

Gid nods politely and looks toward the door again for a sign of his beloved. He looks the other way. Madison's
eyes flutter. Even Italian
Vogue
can't hold her attention for very long.

Mija frowns, very grave.
"Het Nationaal Dictee
is hard, you know."

"Oh, I can imagine," Gid says quickly. "Dictation. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"The winner gets a golden pencil," Mija says. "I mean, real gold."

"Well," Gid says, "it certainly must be an honor to have something so beautiful bestowed on you by fellow
Dutch people."

Now Gid's afraid he's going to laugh. But he doesn't want Mija to know he's making fun of her. So he turns his
head to the side. A pair of high-heeled boots advances over the low-pile blue carpet. He'd know those feet
anywhere.

Mija sees her too, pokes her head out from under the desk and smiles. "Don't you think so, Pilar?"

Heart beating, expectant, he thinks he was right to come here. And now all he needs is some red nail polish
and an admission that she is in love with him.

She is always like an apparition to him. He never imagined until he met her that such beauty could exist. Pilar's wearing a jean skirt with her black boots. She really is always dressed perfectly
—it's just what the young, on-the-go
international student
should
wear to the library on a Thursday night. Even though it's freezing outside, her legs are
bare. There's a patch of hair above the boot, below her hem, that she missed shaving.
It's
kind of dark. Gideon
marvels at the power of Pilar's sexual allure, that this mistake—this remnant of what I know is a serious hirsuteness
kept at bay with gallons of wax and jarfuls of razors—only enhances her appeal. I bet for a graduation present she's
getting laser hair removal.

"What's with her?" Pilar asks. Madison is asleep, with a copy of Italian
Vogue
over her face. Of all the poses
Madison could ever fancy herself in, I like this the most.

"I actually have to get out of here," Mija says. "That chick Edie has
Moby-Dick on
CD, and I'm going to go eat
and then I'm going to her room to listen to it."

Pilar purses
her
lips
—still luscious even without their patina of Diet Coke. "Doesn't Molly McGarry live with her?" She points a playfully accusing manicured finger at Gideon. The half-moons on her nails are perfectly white
and oval. "I see you talking to her a lot." Her eyelid does that half-closed flutter that always breaks Gid's heart. Mija

has gone now. Gid didn't even notice her leaving.

"Molly and I are doing a Spanish project together," Gid says. He feels a little guilty saying this. Not because of the romance aspect
—well, maybe a little—but because he feels he's selling Molly out socially. He doesn't want Pilar
to think they're involved, but he hates acting like the guy who can't even admit they are friends.

"Hmm...," Pilar says. "I suppose it has to do with Spain. You should do something to do with Argentina. It is way
more interesting."

Gid blurts out, "Do you have any red nail polish?"

I am not surprised when Pilar opens up her Louis Vuitton doctor bag and takes out a small bottle of red polish.
Gid reads the bottom. It is called Image Rose.

Pilar smirks at him. "Are you on a scavenger hunt?" she asks. "You are, aren't you?" She holds out the bottle to him. Gideon is so fixated on her that even though the generosity she's extending toward him is minimal, he's
absolutely floored by it. When she holds out her arm, it presses against her chest, advancing her breasts forward a
precious and fascinating quarter inch.

Gideon, you are so cute I almost wish you could disappear into an Italian
Vogue
fashion shoot with her and live
there forever. But I'm glad you can't.

"No," he says. "Cullen needs it for his American History project."

Pilar puts her bare feet up on Gid's chair. How did he miss her taking off her boots? Does she not wear
socks? "American History. You know, I don't have to take it because I am not American? It's true." She hooks a
thumb underneath her necklace, pulls it back and forth.

Gid has a flash: His mother played with her necklace the first time she talked to his middle-school science
teacher. And that man's now her husband!