“Are you drunk? When was the last time I went on a date?”
“My point exactly! When was the last time either one of us went on a date?” She puts the back of her hand against her forehead and arches her back. “Two beautiful young women, home alone night after night. It’s a tragedy.”
“You should have been a theater major,” I say dryly. “I like my life the way it is. Neat and orderly.”
“But life is meant to be messy, Scarlett. You need to live a little.”
“You can’t live a little or a lot, Caroline. You simply live.”
“Says the girl who’s never lived at all.” There’s no malice or sarcasm, only a hint of pity.
I’d prefer the sarcasm. I take the empty ice cream container and toss it in the trash. “I’m not going to a party, Caroline.”
She gives me a wicked smile. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”
Oh, yes we will.
***
The next morning when I wake up, there’s an e-mail in my inbox time stamped ten minutes earlier.
I would have texted, but the school refused to give me your number. We need to set up a tutoring time.
Tucker. I’m almost surprised he got in contact with me so soon. Not to mention he’s awake before eight-thirty. Maybe he’s taking this seriously after all.
I email him my free times then get in the shower, worrying about the Friday night party. Individually, Tina and Caroline are manageable, but I made the fatal mistake of introducing them last November. Now they’ve made it their combined effort to force me into some kind of social life. I seriously don’t understand why they can’t leave me alone. I’m happy with the way things are. Don’t they get that?
But when I rub my towel across the mirror to wipe off the steam, the expression on my face says differently. Funny how I never considered whether I was happy or unhappy until the last twenty-four hours. After I saw Tucker’s face in the cafeteria.
I shake off my melancholy and dry my hair, mulling over the question of happiness. Isn’t happiness getting what you want? If so, I’m the epitome of happy. My academic track has me well on my way to helping me get my dream job: working for the CIA or DOD, analyzing data. I have a great roommate and a handful of friends. I have student loans, but nothing monstrous to pay off after I graduate.
By my definition, I’m happy. So why does it feel like something is missing?
I get dressed and check my e-mail, surprised to see Tucker has responded already.
3:00 at the coffee shop on campus.
The hair on my neck prickles. I breathe in, filling my lungs and blowing out the air as I imagine blowing my anxiety away, and try to reason through my fear. I didn’t have problems with tutoring Tucker in the lab, so why does meeting him at the coffee shop make me nervous? It’s an easy answer. I’m comfortable in the lab. It’s a familiar environment. The coffee shop is an unknown variable.
Also, Tucker is a wild card. He was behaved in my environment, but I know that isn’t his usual behavior. I’m having major second thoughts about this endeavor, but I shake my head and force myself to calm down. This situation is manageable as long as I don’t flake out.
I pack my messenger bag for the day and pour a cup of coffee in my travel mug before I poke my head into Caroline’s room. Her clothes are scattered everywhere, and her sheets and blanket are a tangled mess. She’s lying sideways on the bed, her feet hanging off the side.
“Caroline.”
She buries her face into her pillow. “What?” she mumbles.
“You’re going to miss your textiles class. Get up.” She’s not usually like this, but this isn’t uncommon after late-night Gossip Girl and ice cream binges.
She pulls the covers over her head.
I step into the room, and grab a handful of the sheet and jerk it down to her waist. “Come on. This is your last warning. I’m leaving now or I’ll be late for class.”
“You’re so mean, Scarlett.”
“I can’t even imagine how you’ll survive in the real world,” I mumble and walk out of the room.
“I heard that!” she yells after me.
I meant her to, knowing it would get her out of bed. The more I study people in my attempt to fit into life, the more I realize that people are often driven by their fear. With my mother and her drinking and her many men, it was her fear of being alone. But with Caroline, whose family insisted she was wasting her time with college, her fear was that she’d never escape her trailer park roots. My own fears are too numerous to list.
I grab my coffee and a banana, and head for the front door, pausing until I hear her padding around in her room.
The rain has stopped, but heavy gray clouds hang in the sky. My first class is at ten, but I want to get there early. Set and logic is the class that separates the wheat from the chaff in mathematics majors, and I want to make sure I’m doing everything possible to ensure I do well. This includes getting to school early enough so I don’t have a repeat of what happened in Western civ yesterday. I can’t afford to spend ten minutes recovering from the embarrassment of being late. I can’t afford to miss even thirty seconds in this class.
Some days the lessons are more difficult, but I’m thankful when today’s concepts slip easily into place. When I struggle, all my fears that I can’t do this—that I’m destined to fail—swamp my head. And I need all the confidence I can muster to face this afternoon.