“I’ll help you choose something.”
“Thanks.”
I glanced once more at Troy. He was walking with his head down. How, I wondered, could he be satisfied with his solitude? I was an expert with that challenge now. It wasn’t something I thought I would ever choose for myself.
“Spending eyesight,” Marcy warned.
I didn’t argue. I hurried along and followed her to Cook Hall.
Claudia was very excited, and Marcy reluctantly talked up their double date. She came into our room to help Claudia choose something from her closet, swinging her eyes my way every time Claudia reached for something.
“You know what?” Marcy finally said. “Wear that dark blue skirt, even though it looks like my grandmother’s, and maybe Kaylee will lend you that turquoise knit sweater. You can wear it over one of those granny blouses and with a pair of earrings and a necklace I’ll lend you. You’ll look great.”
“Really?” Claudia looked at me. I was already taking out the sweater. Marcy knew my wardrobe better than I did by now. “Thank you,” Claudia said.
Marcy raised her eyes toward the ceiling and then smiled.
Afterward, she got Claudia to come into her room to do her makeup and hair under her supervision. When Claudia stepped back into the room, I had to smile and clap.
“Who are you?” I asked.
Marcy stood behind her, looking very proud. “Imagine what I could do for you when you find someone interesting,” she said.
I laughed and wished them both a good time. After they left, I made my way over to Asper Hall to have some dinner. Later, I was planning on writing a long letter to my mother. Perhaps if I put my feelings into written words, they would have a good impact on her, I thought.
The cafeteria was about a third or so less populated. I saw the girls Marcy, Claudia, and I hung with already seated. Terri waved to me. I nodded and smiled, imagining their conversation was about Marcy’s and Claudia’s dates. That would lead to them talking about the boys they liked at the school and boyfriends they’d had in the past. Once again, I would feel their eyes on me, waiting for me to reveal more of myself.
Just as I stepped off the line with my tray, however, I heard someone say, “Thought you’d have a date by now.”
It was Troy Matzner. I didn’t see him behind me in the line and didn’t anticipate seeing him. I thought he might have left for the weekend.
“More puzzling is why you don’t,” I replied, and he laughed.
“I’m what you call the more serious student,” he said.
“Can’t you have a serious date?”
He nodded, a glint of appreciation in his eyes. “I would if you would sacrifice dinner with the dissectors and join me at that table,” he said, nodding at one in the far left corner.
He started for it. There was an invisible chain wrapped around my waist and anchored to the girls’ table, but, more important, it was anchored to all my fears. Was I ready to get more involved with any boy? How could I do that and not eventually reveal my sister’s and my horrid history? Right now, even when some boy accidentally grazed my arm in the hallways, I felt my insides cringe.
I took a deep breath. I could hear my father telling Haylee and me that if we fell off a bike, we had to get right back on, or the fear of it would sink so deeply into our hearts and souls we’d never ride again. Maybe riding a bike wasn’t exactly the proper analogy to make, but it seemed to work.
I followed Troy, knowing that the moment I sat at his table, all the girls at ours would have the topic for the weekend, and it would get to Marcy with lightning speed. I watched him sit and neatly unfold his napkin to place on his lap, something I rarely saw any boy do, even here.
He looked up. “This open-faced turkey sandwich is surprisingly good, especially the gravy on the mashed potatoes.” He looked at my Asian chicken salad. “That’s all you’re having?”
I sat across from him. “I like a light dinner sometimes,” I said. “So why do you call them dissectors?”
“Aren’t they? Don’t they spend most of their time together tearing apart other girls?”
“Boys don’t do that, sit and take apart other boys?”
“They usually do it with a single banderole.”
“A what?”
“A diagonal cut across the chest or abdomen. It’s a term from fencing. When I was in a junior prep school, we had fencing lessons instead of regular physical education. Sons of noblemen,” he added.