Authors: Stephanie Hale
“There are plenty of people who would gladly have sex with me!” I shout in my defense. Mom turns to Dad as if to say ‘I told you so’. “Not that I would or anything.” I add quickly.
“She’s just so young,” Mom stresses.
“You’re right, Marge. Let’s take Grace Kelly back home,” Dad says, making my heart race. “She can attend community college, and then if she’s really lucky, she’ll be running the grill at Steak N’ Shake in two years.” I try to catch his eye again to thank him for using reverse psychology on Mom but he’s too busy navigating the dorm parking lot trying not to make road kill of any co-eds.
“You know I don’t want to deny her this opportunity. It’s just that she can be so naïve sometimes,” Mom cuts off.
“You know I can actually hear you,” I smart off, deeply offended. “And I’m not stupid, you know,” I defend myself.
“Oh, Grace, don’t be so sensitive,” Mom says, spinning around to face me. “Of course you aren’t stupid. You’re the smartest person I know. But there is a big difference between being book smart and being emotionally smart.”
She is making no sense. Smart is smart. And you don’t graduate high school two years early and get a full scholarship unless you are smart. I’m smart.
“I just don’t want you getting in over your head,” Mom says gently, clasping my hand.
“Chill with the drama, mama,” Sean pipes up. “It’s not like Grace Kelly is going to be hitting keggers. The craziest thing she’ll do on campus is close down the library.” He snorts. I kick him hard. I’ve tried several times to convince myself how it is scientifically possible that Sean and I are from the same gene pool. My brain still won’t accept it.
“Shut up, Sean,” Mom scolds him. “Do you realize that you have never even spent a night away from us?” She asks, turning her attention back to me.
“It’s not my fault you kept me sheltered,” I yell.
“Sheltered? I used to beg you to make friends.”
“That’s not how I remember things,” I say, turning to look out the window. The truth is that I don’t ever remember being invited to stay all night with anyone so it was a non-issue. I hear Mom sigh loudly.
“Just promise me that you won’t try to impress people by doing things you aren’t comfortable with. You are much younger than most of these other kids.”
I really wish that she would stop reminding me of my age. I’m not exactly going to be volunteering this information at freshman orientation.
Mom suddenly lunges toward me, her body wedged in the middle console. She places both her hands on my cheeks and makes me look her in the eyes.
“Just promise me,” she says passionately. “Promise me you won’t drink, do drugs, or have sex.”
“I promise, Mom. I promise not to have any fun in college.”
Sean doubles over in his seat, laughing. The corners of Dad’s mouth are upturned in a smile matching mine. Mom gives me a disappointed look and slumps back down into her seat. Very slowly, I uncross my fingers.
When we get back to my dorm room, the door is standing wide open. I take it as a good sign that Jentry didn’t throw all my clothes into the hall. I peek inside to see all of my clothes are folded and placed neatly on my bed. Jentry is taping several black and white photographs over the desk that she has chosen as hers. Mom clears her throat loudly causing Jentry to spin around. She comes barreling toward me at the speed of light. My first instinct is to run, I figure she’s mad that I was staring at her boyfriends butt, but my feet won’t move, and I’m holding my laptop bag in one hand, and my book bag full of reference materials in the other, so I wouldn’t escape very fast anyway. Instead of pummeling me when she reaches me, she throws her arms around me in a giant hug. I just kind of stand there because I can’t hug her back with all this stuff in my hands. Besides, I’m not really all that familiar with friendly displays of affection.
“It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says, releasing me and backing into the room so my family can come in.
“Yeah, you too.” I say surprised. It’s almost like she doesn’t remember what happened earlier. I won’t be reminding her.
“Well, Jentry, you look really different with your clothes on,” Mom says sarcastically. I give her a dirty look, warning her that she better not try to sabotage my newly formed relationship with Jentry.
“Sorry about that,” Jentry says, shrugging, “I thought Aaron had locked the door.”
“Will your boyfriend be visiting frequently?” Mom prods, setting my TV on an empty desk.
“Marge.” Dad warns, smiling uncomfortably at Jentry. To my surprise Sean is the only one who doesn’t pipe up, but one glance at him tells me he is much too busy trying to imagine Jentry naked.
“It’s okay,” Jentry says, totally unfazed by Mom’s attitude. “We were just saying goodbye. We broke up. He’s staying back home and long distance relationships just don’t work for me.”
“How would your mother feel about the way you said goodbye to Aaron?” Mom asks. She’s like a rottweiler with a steak when she’s on a mission. I have a bad feeling that I’m going to be making a trip to the housing department once this conversation is over. We all stare anxiously at Jentry waiting for her response.
I watch as her whole demeanor changes. Her tiny shoulders slump forward and her curly chestnut-colored hair falls over her face. When she finally looks up, her hair is still covering one of her startling green eyes. I can’t get over how pretty she is. Our housing arrangement obviously wasn’t based on looks. Her lip starts to quiver slightly as she answers.
“I guess she wouldn’t be very proud of me,” she says quietly. Sean slumps down on my mattress, which is covered with shadows of old stains, disappointed that Jentry obviously isn’t a total slut after all.
“Probably not,” Mom says, almost beaming she’s so proud of herself. “You probably wouldn’t like it very much if I called her up and told her about it, would you?”
“Mom…”
“Marge…”
Dad and I both yell over each other. Why does she always have to take everything so far? It’s like she wants to ruin it for me. Sometimes I almost think she’s jealous of me and just trying to hold me back from things that she can’t do. But that’s crazy. She’s my mom. How could a mother be jealous of a daughter?
“It’s okay,” Jentry says calmly. “I really wish you would call her, Mrs. Cook. I’d love to talk to my mom.”
Mom tilts her head to the side and raises an eyebrow not sure how to take Jentry’s comment. Is she playing Mom’s bluff or does she really not care if her mom finds out she was having sex?
“Because she’s been dead for ten years,” Jentry continues, shocking us all.
“Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry,” Mom says, rushing to Jentry and throwing her arms around her. Jentry wraps her arms around Mom and returns the hug. After a few seconds, Mom releases her and studies Jentry’s now tear-soaked face.
“I think your mother would be very proud of you, Jentry,” Mom says, trying desperately to backtrack from her earlier statements. I feel bad for her. She can be a bit over the top sometimes but she would never knowingly hurt someone’s feelings.
“Thanks, Mrs. Cook,” Jentry answers, wiping her face. “Do you have more stuff, Grace Kelly?” she asks, suddenly brightening.
****
After three trips to the mini-van, and two trips to the first-aid kit (both for me), we finally got all my stuff to my room. Mom immediately opens one of my boxes and starts putting stuff where she thinks it should go. Couldn’t she just ask me where I want my socks to go? Mom would just laugh at me if I told her that I Googled feng shui and I know exactly where to place my things to bring the maximum amount of harmony to my new life. She just wouldn’t get it.
“You don’t have to do that, Mom.” I say, hoping that I won’t have to spell it out for her.
Mom refolds a towel she pulled out of the box then sets it gently on the bed. She glances around the tiny cinder block room and sighs.
“Okay, I get it,” she says, admitting defeat. She hugs me tightly and kisses me on the forehead. “Thanksgiving isn’t that far away,” she says, more to comfort herself than me.
“It’ll be here before you know it,” I say, praying that it isn’t true. Dad comes up behind us and wraps his arms around both of us.
“Both my girls are going to be just fine,” he says, kissing my cheek. I’m suddenly overwhelmed and it takes every bit of inner strength I have not to start crying. What is going on? I should be ecstatic that I am minutes away from being on my own. I’ve been counting down this day since I got my acceptance letter. I’m ready to be challenged by harder curriculums. I’m ready to separate from my parents and annoying sibling. I’m ready to live with a total stranger. But what if I’m not? I think, panicked. What if Jentry is just putting on an act for my parents and doesn’t like me at all? I grip my parents tight trying to squeeze out some of my fear.
I sneak a peek over dad’s shoulder to see Sean checking out Jentry’s butt while she puts away her clothes. She turns around and busts him. She smiles and he blushes. I see her slingshot something across the room to him and when he jams a pair of thong panties into his jeans pocket, I’m not sure if I should scream in horror, or fall down laughing. Jentry sees me and smirks, all of my fear evaporates because I know we are going to get along just fine. I also can’t help but wonder if maybe Jentry is the variable that might help me prove my hypothesis true.
****
Jentry and I spend the next few hours setting up our respective sides of the room. Her side is completely covered with black and white photographs, expensive-looking bedding, and stylish accessories. My side is filled with my many dictionaries, encyclopedias, and some old textbooks I thought I might need for reference. I thought about setting my new trinocular compound microscope out but I was afraid somebody might break in and steal it, so I tucked it carefully away in my sock drawer. Nobody would ever think to look there. The only personal photo I have propped up on my desk is one of Sean and me last Christmas.
“GK, you’re a minimalist when it comes to sentimentality, that’s for sure,” Jentry laughs.
I beam at her, not because of the comment, but because she’s only known me for four hours and she’s already given me a nickname. I’ve never had a nickname before because that one in high school totally doesn’t count.
I can’t believe how quickly we’ve bonded. It’s like fate brought us together. I didn’t really have any girlfriends in high school. I was always too busying studying and I never really met anyone who understood me.
Jentry plugs her iPod into its base and one of my favorite songs comes blaring out of the speakers. I’m so comfortable that I start dancing around the room.
“I just love William,” I say, throwing my hip out a little too far and catching it on the end of my desk. Ouch, that’s gonna leave a mark.
“It’s will.i.am,” Jentry replies, laughing.
“Huh?” I throw my butt out and wiggle it around to the beat. Jentry throws herself on her bed in a laughing fit. I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m not as good a dancer as I imagined. Oh well, Jentry won’t tell anyone. Our first secret. This is exactly how I pictured college!
I move to Jentry’s side of the room to browse her photos. They are amazing. The photographer has captured the essence of the moment so well that I almost feel like I’m there.
“Wow, who’s this?” I ask, pointing to a particularly striking photo of a woman swinging with her hair blowing behind her in a perfect sheet.
“That’s my mom,” Jentry says proudly.
“She’s gorgeous. Who took all of these?”
“I did. I’m a photography major,” she answers.
“But…”
“Yeah, she’s not really dead. I was just messing with your mom,” Jentry giggles. I stand rooted to ground unable to move. What kind of a person lies about their mom being dead? I didn’t know, but I knew that Jentry was exactly what I needed to kick start my new life. I look over at her and start laughing. Before long we are both practically on the floor, squatting, so that we don’t pee our pants we are laughing so hard.
“You know she’s probably researching campus grief recovery groups as we speak?” I tell Jentry.
“I couldn’t help it. She was just such an easy mark. I can’t imagine what you’ve had to endure,” she says, panting heavily from laughing so hard. She falls down on her bed and the expensive comforter swallows her small frame.
“She’s not that bad. I mean, as moms go,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty laughing at Mom’s expense.
“It’s ok, GK. I’m not saying she’s Satan or anything, but did you pick those pants out for yourself,” she asks, reaching over to pull on my elastic waistband. “I thought you had to have an AARP card to buy anything like that.”
I pull away from her and move over to my own bed. I ease myself down on my old Disney Princess sheets and comforter. The truth was I had grabbed the pants up from a rummage sale pile my grandma had brought to our house. Mom begged me to wear something different and even gave me money to go clothes shopping. Instead, I took it and bought my new microscope. Mom was not thrilled but I convinced her I needed the microscope much more than I needed aesthetics. After a few weeks, she finally stopped trying to take me shopping. Now I can’t help but think that she may have had a point. I’ve always thought of clothes and shoes as frivolous but maybe I should just consider them more variables that can be used to help prove my hypothesis true.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that in your letter this summer you said you wanted to make some changes,” she reminds me.
She’s right. For once in my life, I’m going to be making my own decisions. I can do whatever I want, and I’m going to, starting right now.
“Let’s go get something to eat, like pizza, or something really bad for us,” I say, jumping off the bed.
“Now you’re talking,” Jentry replies ecstatically.
****
“So, were you and Aaron having sex?” I ask Jentry, immediately cramming more pizza into my mouth, and gazing at the old photos on the walls to avoid meeting her eyes. We’re sharing a booth in a pizza place on campus. From the looks of the photos, this place has been a favorite hangout for at least forty years. I love the idea that I’m sitting in the same booth as several generations of college students before me. One photograph catches my eye and I do a double take realizing that the pants I’m wearing are almost identical to the ones the woman in the forty-year-old photo is wearing. I’m not loving that.