Viola in Reel Life (9 page)

“Mom and Dad always say that they start out thinking they’re making one documentary, and then the subject
dictates what the movie will actually be about once they start filming.”

“That’s exactly what happened to me! I had no idea that my movie would end up being about fleeing communism. I really thought it was about decorating sugar cubes. Have you ever seen them?”

“Yeah. My grandmother makes formal tea, and she uses them.” How funny. I just realized that I call my grandmother Grand, and that she actually does grand things—like make tea and serve it in a silver tea service with decorated sugar cubes and miniature sandwiches. It’s even more interesting to me that it’s a boy I just met who helps me make that connection.

“What was compelling to me was the story behind the woman. How she brought the art form to the United States from Czechoslovakia after the uprising of 1968 when the communists took over. A Czech-American family in Milwaukee sponsored her, and she moved here and basically saved her life and the life of her family by making and selling the sugar cubes.”

“I’d love to see it sometime.”

“Sure. I can show it to you.” Jared twists the lens cap on his camera without removing it. I do the same thing, sort of an involuntary cameraman thing.

“Maybe we should get back.” I look up toward the
main hall of the academy. Although, if I’m really honest, I’d rather stay here and talk to Jared all night. But that’s not an option. Trish and Mrs. Zidar would send out a search party.

I have a feeling that this is the beginning of something interesting with Jared Spencer. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve met someone my age who is as passionate about making movies as I am. Most of my friends back in Brooklyn are good at lots of things, and I’m really only good at film. I can tell that’s also true for Jared.

“I’m hungry,” he says. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” I admit. Here’s more proof I’m comfortable with this new boy. I’d actually eat in front of him.

Caitlin Pullapilly says she doubts she’d ever be able to eat on a date in front of a guy she liked. I thought that was sort of dumb—people
have
to eat—and why wouldn’t a girl eat in front of a boy? Caitlin says she’d be too nervous. But I’m not at all nervous with Jared, and I can’t wait to tell Caitlin that when she finds a boy she has a lot in common with, she won’t be anxious either.

Jared follows me back up the path. The moon is even brighter now, and I wish I could turn around and go back and film the water again. The perfectionist in me comes out when light changes to benefit my camera work. But Jared doesn’t turn back, so I don’t either.

Marisol is waiting for me by the DJ station. She looks relieved when she sees me. “Trish asked where you went,” she says nervously.

“I went on a walk with Jared,” I tell her.

Marisol’s eyes widen at the news. “Well, at least you’re back.” Marisol follows Jared and me into the main room to the food table. The table is totally picked over and getting bare: the quesadillas are limp, the sliders have slid, and the popcorn is basically rubble at the bottom of the bowl, more kernels than puffs.

“Sorry,” Jared says. “Looks like the food is gone.”

“That’s okay.” I smile. “Let’s make some movies.”

Jared and I slip off our lens caps and work through the crowd. I spin and get the faces of the freshmen, increasing the shutter speed. Then I go out into the main hall and do the same with the oil portraits. When I return to the party room, Jared is interviewing some of the girls from PA, including my roommates.

“Did you know they call the girls of Prefect Academy ‘Perfect Girls’?” he asks.

“Did you know they call Grabeel Sharpe…Drab Dull?” Romy says dramatically into the camera.

“That’s cold.” Jared laughs. “Do you think it’s true? Having survived your first freshman dance?”

“I don’t think it’s drab and I don’t think you’re dull,”
Romy says flirtatiously, but with a wink to me. She twirls and the tulle layers on her skirt flounce out.

“But you did run out of cupcakes,” Marisol says.

Jared turns the camera on her. “We’ll make sure that we don’t next time.”

“Fair enough,” Marisol says.

The DJ cranks up the music again and Jared introduces me to his roommates. They seem very nice, but I don’t really pay much attention because I’m most interested in Jared. I can’t believe he’s exactly my age and he’s already made a movie. That’s pretty impressive.

Suzanne pulls me aside. “So…”

“So?”

“How’s it going?” Suzanne says
going
like it’s eight syllables long.

“Great.”

“Fabulous,” she says with satisfaction. “See, we’re all still standing and we’re all still alive.”

“Girls, it’s almost time to get back on the bus,” Trish calls.

Suzanne goes to gather Marisol and Romy. I look around to say good-bye to Jared. I don’t have to look far. He motions to me from the door. “Can I walk you out?” he asks.

“Sure.”

Jared guides me through the hall to the front entrance
door and outside. It’s about fifty degrees cooler than it was by the lake. A shiver goes up my spine.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“It’s like it turned into winter during the conga line.”

“I know,” he says with a laugh. I like his profile.

“And I wore this flimsy jacket.” I pull it tightly around me.

“I like what you’re wearing,” he says.

“You do?”

“Yeah. You’re very original. I like that. And you’re pretty without being, I don’t know, all made up.”

If only Jared Spencer knew how long it took me to get this natural look. I used a pineapple face scrub, followed by Proactiv moisturizer, and then some Benefit Lemon Aid, and Tarte lip gloss. I may look natural to him, but only as natural as the makeup my mother actually allows me to wear.

I follow him down the sidewalk. His compliment gives me this strange and new confidence that I never had in Brooklyn. Even Tag Nachmanoff, with his total admiration of my computer and camera abilities, never made me feel like a beauty. I feel like a beauty around Jared Spencer and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s like I’m at the beginning of a long marathon—going where, I don’t know—but I like that I’m getting a running start as opposed to tripping and falling and
lying there like a total disaster. Caitlin and I always talk about how it will be when we finally meet a boy who could be a potential BF. How will we know? Will there be signs? And I can’t wait to tell her that it’s just mutual, and sort of no fuss. My mom always says “you just know.” And it’s true. I like Jared, as much as I can after one school dance.

The last strains of music waft out of the doors of the Grabeel Sharpe building. The dance is over, but it’s not a letdown. It was a success from what I can tell. A group of girls is laughing and talking with a group of boys by the bus. Mrs. Zidar is having a big laugh with the GSA sponsor. Girls continue to pour out the front door and onto the sidewalk.

Jared walks me across the crunchy gravel to the side of the dark bus. The driver is not on the bus yet. Jared looks around. When he sees that no one is nearby, he takes my hand, and then places his other hand on my face. The only place on my body that isn’t shivering in the cold is where his warm hand meets my face. I close my eyes. I’m shaking from the night air.

“I had a great time tonight,” he whispers.

“Me too,” I tell him. I mean it.

And then Jared Spencer of Grabeel Sharpe Academy leans forward and kisses me. First, softly on my lips, and then once on each cheek, as if to cover my entire
face with sunshine. He brushes his lips over my ears and says, “I hope to see you again sometime.”

“Me too.”

The gravel crunches under his loafers as he walks back to the entrance. I stand in the dark and watch him go. When he kissed me, the world sort of went silent, and now, it’s as if it’s bursting with noise, as though the volume has been turned to high. I hear laughter, and talking, and whistling in hi-def sound. The engine of the bus starts up with blaring intensity. The dizzy noise matches my dizzy feelings. Weird. Suzanne, Romy, and Marisol come running around the side of the bus.

“What happened?” Marisol asks.

“What do you mean, what happened? Didn’t you see? He kissed her!” Suzanne says this triumphantly like I just won the gold medal in downhill skiing at the Winter Olympics or something. “It was so romantic.”

Make that pairs figure skating, not downhill skiing. I want to say something, but I can’t. I’m savoring the moment.

“This is so fabulously great!” Romy claps her hands together.

I nod, not wanting to say anything about Jared, or the lake, or the kiss. The kisses—three of them, not one—three! This is one of those times when explaining a feeling cannot measure up to actually having the
feeling. And the best part? It’s not for anybody else. It’s just mine.

We climb onto the bus. I sit next to Marisol, while Suzanne and Romy sit in the seat behind us. Romy leans forward and she and Marisol give a blow-by-blow of the dance and the boys they met. Suzanne taps me on the shoulder and I turn around. She says, “Told ya.”

I just smile back at her, then I turn and lean back in the seat. The chatter of the girls around me is like background music. I hardly notice it. I’m too busy thinking about Jared Spencer, which is about the best name for a boy I’ve ever heard.

I came to this dance tonight expecting the worst; I figured I would have a horrible time and go home wearing disappointment like the flimsy jean jacket I pull tightly around me to fend off the chill. Instead of something terrible happening, my whole life changed for the better. I went from fourteen, almost fifteen, totally unkissed, to fourteen, almost fifteen, totally kissed. Tonight, I am a Perfect Girl, because I had a perfect night. And it ended with three perfect kisses. Three. What a lucky number.

Of course, I can’t sleep. I’m too excited from the dance, too excited about meeting Jared, and I’m starving. My stomach is actually growling. Suzanne, Romy, and
Marisol are asleep. Finally, looking for something to do, I get up and check my emails. There’s one from Mom, another from Dad, two from Caitlin, two from Andrew, and one from…I can’t believe it: Tag Nachmanoff! TN. (!!!!!) I open it.

LaGuardia sucks without the Riot. Nobody to fix my Avid. Keep the faith. Tag.

Before I print it out I put the font in calligraphy instead of American Typewriter Light because this is, like, historic or something that Tag thinks I deserve an email—a totally personal email. I can’t believe he remembers me, and that school sucks without me. That means…he misses me. Now I’m practically sorry that I kissed Jared Spencer three times! How could this all happen in the same twenty-four-hour period? This is too much good stuff: a layer cake of joy, of possibility!

I turn off the computer. Either I’m shaking because the heat hasn’t kicked on, or I’m hungry, or, I don’t know, I just became a full-fledged teenager with an actual life, but the world has changed. I’m completely different. Maybe my father was right, that you have to shake up your world sometimes. You can’t just stay in Brooklyn, even though it’s cool, and it’s just a subway
stop from Christopher Street in Greenwich Village—the coolest place on the planet. Sometimes wonderful things can happen in other parts of the world, like Indiana.

I saw a full moon over a pristine lake, and I met a boy and I didn’t panic, and he kissed me three times, and I laughed and I had fun and I danced. In Indiana! After a bus ride! It doesn’t seem possible. But I’m learning that good things happen to people like me, and maybe this is just the beginning of lots of good things—a happy chapter in my video diaries, in the story of my life, my real life: Viola in Reel Life.

I pull the blankets up over me and nestle down into my bed. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in this moment. I’m content in my quad with three girls who are rooting for me, who seem to want my happiness more than I want my own. For the first time since I unpacked, the Prefect Academy for Girls Since 1890 is really and truly—and I’m not kidding, not one bit—home.

NOTHING, AND I MEAN
NOTHING,
MAKES A GIRL MORE
popular at PA than kissing a boy at the freshman dance at GSA. OMG. Who knew? This is, like, double the Founder’s Day admiration. Triple. Quadrillion. I’m on a whole different level at PA now. The upperclassmen sort of look at me as one of their own now, even though I was pigeonholed as an arty type who wore the wrong shoes on the first day of school. I may even be able to wear my yellow patent leather flats again, because it’s not so much about the shoes as it is about the person wearing them.

I went from rule breaker to rule maker overnight. No longer fringe, I am now mainstream. I thought academic achievement, excellence in field hockey, or not screaming
in terror during mouse college in biology qualified for respect. But no. It’s
dating.
That’s the ticket to instant status at PA.

Andrew IMs me.

AB: How was the dance?

Me: I thought it would suck, but it was fun.

AB: Were the guys in military uniforms?

Me: Most of them just wore blazers and ties. And they aren’t allowed to have long hair.

AB: Bummer.

Me: You’d hate it.

AB: So, what did you do?

Me: Had fun.

AB: I took Olivia Olson to the movies.

Okay, this is weird. I sit back in my seat. I meet a boy and suddenly at the very same moment, Andrew decides to date Olivia Olson? It can’t be something in the water, as we are, like, three states apart. What is it?

AB: Are you there?

Me: Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Suzanne just interrupted me.

That’s a lie. She didn’t. She’s in her bunk listening to
her iPod. I’m in a state of shock but I can’t share that with Andrew.

AB: Olivia is not annoying anymore. I don’t know what happened to her. But since her grandmother died, she’s actually okay.

Me: Cool.

Olivia Olson is probably the best-looking girl in the ninth-grade class at LaGuardia. She’s of actual and authentic Nordic descent so she is tall and blond and fierce in basketball. Nobody needs to make excuses for Olivia. She’s not annoying; she’s just a take-charge girl. A leader.

AB: She and I were put on a team for the science fair, and I felt I had to ask her out
.

Me: Great.

But I’m thinking it’s anything but “great.” Andrew has to make it seem like he doesn’t like her. I am sensing some insecurity and fear here. Maybe he’s afraid she’ll drop him.

AB: I hope you don’t mind.

Me: Mind what?

AB: That I asked her out.

Why would he think I would mind? Even though I sort of do.

Instead of reassuring him, I tell him my news.

Me: I met a nice guy at the GSA dance.

I call it GSA instead of Drab Dull just to make the point that it wasn’t
drab
or
dull,
it was
fun.

Andrew doesn’t respond for a moment. I bet he thinks I’m making Jared up just to be competitive. Okay. Whatever.

Me: Are you there?

AB: My mom called me.

Me: Do you need to go?

AB: Nope. So, who is this guy?

Me: His name is Jared. He’s already made a movie.

AB: No way!

Me: Yep. Short-subject doc.

AB: Not full length?

Me: Nope.

AB: Okay
.

Me: Okay what?

AB: Okay he hasn’t made a full-length movie yet.

Me: Should he have?

AB: Not necessarily…Gotta go.

Me: Me too.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell Andrew
everything
about Jared. I guess when he said he was dating Olivia Olson, I didn’t want to make it seem like I was competing with him. Andrew is my BFFAA, and not someone I have to impress. I’ll leave that kind of silly competition to girls who need their guy friends to worship them. I like my friendship with Andrew to be pure.

The computer dings softly. I look up at the screen. OMG. It’s Jared!

JS: Hi, Vi.

Me: Hi, Jared.

JS: What are you doing?

Me: Wishing I didn’t have to research nuclear fusion in the twenty-first century
.

JS: Boring.

Me: Tell me about it.

JS: I’ve been thinking about the pier.

Me: Me too.

JS: You’re different.

Me: Thanks. I’d rather focus on the fact that you said I was pretty.

JS: YOU ARE.

Me: I like the caps.

JS: I figured you would.

Me: So what’s new over there?

JS: Are you making a film for the Midwest Secondary School Film Competition?

Me: Don’t know anything about it.

JS: I’ll send you an application. It’s for the spring. March deadline
.

Me: Cool.

JS: I have to go home this weekend.

Me: Wish I could. Good for you.

JS: Is it? My mom is having the baby. C-section.

Me: Very exciting.

JS: Yeah.

I sit and think for a moment before typing. Then I hit the keys:

Me: I know that you’re apprehensive about the new baby, but take it from me, if you stay open to new experiences, sometimes life works out in ways you least expect.

There is a pause before Jared writes back. Finally:

JS: Thanks. You’re sweet.

I take a deep breath and type:

Me: So are you.

JS: I hope to see you real soon. There isn’t another dance until the new year.

Me: Sign up for the lecture series.

JS: Really?

Me: We invite you guys to the lecture series.

JS: Cool. I will.

Me: Great.

JS: It’s a date.

I take another deep breath before typing this, as my fingers are literally shaking with excitement. A date. How I love that word
date.
I type:

Me: It’s a date.

Suzanne stands behind me. “Wow. That IM was about four miles long.”

“I know.”

“He really likes you,” Suzanne says. “Excellent.”

“You think?”

“I would say you are right on schedule.” Suzanne flips her hair back into her hairband and it falls away from her face like gold ribbons.

“For what exactly?” I’m dying to know.

“Your first official boyfriend.” Suzanne shrugs. “I mean, you do have Andrew back home, but that’s platonic.”

“Right.”

“And that guy, Tag, he’s a total fantasy, right?”

“I guess.” I hate to admit it, but Suzanne is right. Only if there was some blight in Brooklyn that forced every teenage girl there to move out of the borough and I were the only girl left, then, and only then, would I have a realistic shot at TN. There’s nothing wrong with that, it just happens to be true.

“So this is perfect.” Suzanne stretches out on her bunk. “Sure makes life more interesting, doesn’t it?”

I smile. It is perfect. Jared is
perfect
for me. I didn’t think of him in that way, but it’s true. He’s just right.

Marisol and Romy come in carrying their books from math lab. The blue streaks in Romy’s hair have grown out since we’ve been here and now they look like two blue feathers. I think her hair grows faster than the general population’s and for sure, faster than mine.

“What a day.” Marisol plops down on her bed.

“Is it me, or are the classes, like, getting so difficult you have to be Madame Curie to pass?” Romy unloads her book bag.

“You guys need a break,” Suzanne says. “Listen, I asked my mom if I could invite you all home for Thanksgiving. She said, bring the quad!”

“Really?” Romy’s eyes widen. “Are your hot college brothers going to be there?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, I am
so
there.” Romy laughs.

“Thank you. I’d love to go,” Marisol says. “No way can my parents afford to bring me home at Thanksgiving and then again at Christmas.”

“I know.” Suzanne smiles. “Not that I eavesdrop on your phone calls or anything.”

“I’d love to come,” I tell Suzanne. “They keep school open, but we’ll be stuck doing morning hikes with Mrs. Zidar—and pressed turkey in the cafeteria might kill me.”

“Great. I’ll tell my mom. We’ll take the train into the city.”

My appointments with Mrs. Zidar have become a pain. I really don’t have any extra time to hang out and speculate about the roots of my insomnia when I have bio, horticulture, and English midterms that count for 30
percent of the grades in each class. I don’t even notice how much I’m sleeping—or not sleeping—because I’m so busy.

“I sense you’re getting a little impatient with this process,” Mrs. Zidar says.

Oh, really, what was your first clue? I want to retort, but instead, I say, “No, I just have a lot on my mind.” I’m dying to spice up these sessions with a play-by-play of the dance, my three kisses, and my obvious boost upward on the PA social ladder. But that’s
way
too private.

“We could suspend our sessions until after Thanksgiving,” she offers.

“Fantastic!” I stand up so fast it takes Mrs. Zidar aback.

“Well, that was easy,” she says. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving break?”

“I’m going to Chicago with my roommates, all of us, to Suzanne Santry’s.”

“Wonderful!”

“I’ll miss you on the nature hike,” I tell her. “But I won’t miss the pressed turkey with the yellow gravy.”

Mrs. Zidar tries not to laugh.

Romy, Marisol, Suzanne, and I stand on the platform of Union Station after having made, like, a million stops
between South Bend and downtown Chicago. I didn’t mind all the stops because I knew at the end of the ride, I’d be back in a major city.

As I breathe in the Chicago air for the first time, cold and smoky with exhaust, I remember what I left behind in Brooklyn: sirens, traffic noise, and crowds. It’s so peaceful in South Bend that I’ve actually forgotten how to tune out because there’s no need to in a small city that folds up at nightfall. The only noise you hear in South Bend is the occasional long-distance fire whistle or the marching band at the University of Notre Dame when they practice their drills outdoors. I’ve missed the racket of city life.

Chicago is a sprawling city spread over miles, with a giant lake in the center, whereas New York City is crammed onto one small island. Chicago has skyscrapers like New York City, but here, there seems to be more room on the ground. There are wide streets and sidewalks. No cobblestones.

The sky over Chicago is expansive. At home, we appreciate the smallest stretches of sky. Sometimes a cloud that passes through what looks like a small blanket of blue between two buildings is all you will see of the greater universe.

“Crepes!”

Suzanne turns. “Kevin!” She waves. “Over here!”

One of Suzanne’s brothers, Kevin, stands by the driver door of an old station wagon across from Union Station. He has layered light-brown hair and blue eyes. He looks even better in person than he did in the picture on Suzanne’s desk.

Suzanne leads us across the median. Kevin grabs her duffel and mine and takes them around to the back of the car. Romy sort of freezes until Kevin smiles at her and grabs her bag out of her hands before throwing it in the back. Marisol stuffs hers in on top of the rest. “Step on it, girls. I’m in a tow zone.”

We pile into the car. Kevin and Suzanne get in the front. Romy, Marisol, and I climb into the backseat. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, I see that Kevin has a nice smile and an overbite that has been partially corrected. He’s major handsome. He looks a lot like Suzanne, with the same high forehead and strong jawline.

“This is Kevin,” Suzanne says, giving her brother a big hug. “He’s my favorite brother.”

“Until Joe picks her up.”

“He’s your other brother?” Romy pipes up.

“Yep. But this is the one who counts, until I get my license of course.”

“I’m not teaching you how to drive, Crepes,” Kevin says, and he sort of twinkles.

“Why do you call her Crepes?” Romy asks. I think she couldn’t care less about Suzanne’s nickname; she just wants to keep the conversation going with Kevin.

“For Suzette. Crepe Suzette. Because she’s so sweet,” Kevin says.

“I’m going to be sick,” I joke.

The drive to Lake Forest is speedy, as Kevin knows the back roads and the best ways to avoid traffic. He plays the radio loudly and, every once in a while, lowers the volume to say something to his sister.

We can only see the back of his head and occasionally his blue eyes in the rearview, but it doesn’t matter. I can tell Romy is already crazy about Kevin. She applies pink gloss on her lips repeatedly until it’s so thick, I finally lean over and whisper, “You look great.” Romy has one of those instant love-at-first-sight crushes that almost-fifteen-year-old-girls
only
get on older guys. It’s like Romy’s been hit with a rubber mallet that we use to pound chicken fillets in healthy cooking class.