Click. Static.
“Testing one, two, three.” My mother’s soft voice came through.
It still worked. I sighed as I slid down the chair, my legs splayed out under the table. Now if I could get the professor to wear this gaudy thing, then I wouldn’t need Hudson as a tutor.
6
Pennies in a Pint Glass, Actually
“Okay, so this pink monstrosity is an FM transmitter,” I said, handing Serena the earpiece. “Put it in your ear like an earbud.”
“This is, um—interesting,” she said with a laugh as she slipped the earpiece onto her ear.
“And this,” I said, holding up the tiny transmitter, “is the transmitter, but you can think of it like a microphone.”
“You got this when you went home?” Serena asked, still fidgeting with the earpiece.
I slipped the transmitter around my neck. “Yup. My mom convinced me to try to get Dr. Clément to wear it, and I thought maybe you and I could have a little fun with it before I decide I hate it all over again.”
“And you hated it before because?” she asked, elongating the last word.
I shrugged. “Less than stylish,” I said, playing off the real anxiety the transmitter gave me. “Obviously.”
“All right, let’s do this.” She patted the earpiece again, ensuring it was secured. She rubbed her hands together, shifting from foot to foot like a boxer warming up for a fight.
I stepped into the hall, my back against the wall outside our room as I slid to the floor. “So, this is it, boss. This is the transmitter. This is my, fingers crossed, other idea that Clément tasked me with bringing to him.”
I pushed my legs out, letting my feet fall to the sides.
The girls from the dance team were practicing in the lounge. Our neighbor’s alarm clock was going off. The elevator dinged open, but there was no indication anyone had gotten off.
“I’m sitting in the hallway talking to myself with my legs out like I don’t care. I wish someone would walk by. You know, knowing my luck, no one will be around to witness this. Me. Of all people. Sitting on the floor. In a skirt that took me a month to make.”
The door cracked open just enough for Serena’s camera-bearing hand to fit through.
“Don’t you—”
The camera clicked twice before I could finish my warning.
“I hate you a little right now.” I laughed as Serena pulled the door open.
“Trade?” she asked, pulling off the earpiece and holding it out.
I slipped the transmitter off and handed it to her. “Please, please, please, don’t yell. Okay?” I adjusted the earpiece as I looked up at my roommate. “Literally just speak in your normal voice.”
Serena held the transmitter at her side, a smile creeping across her face.
“Blink once if you understand,” I said, my finger pointed her way in warning.
“I promise I will not yell into your ear even though you are constantly yelling at me during volleyball. And even though you have literally never whispered into my ear. And also the fact that you once actually yelled in my ear that time at Michael’s house.”
“You were passed out in the backyard,” I said defensively.
She crossed her arms and jutted out her hip.
I tilted my head. “Are you done now?” I asked with a smile.
Serena smiled back as she pushed into the room and closed the door.
“So, I was thinking, you know how I have that photo series to do for Locations and Documentary?” Serena’s voice came through the earpiece.
I nodded as I pulled my legs into a crisscrossed position.
“I was thinking maybe you would want to be the subject of the series. I could chronicle the completion of your dress, and you could use the pictures for your portfolio for Paris. I know you probably don’t want me following you around with a camera, and I also know that the costume-shop drill sergeant doesn’t love photography in her shop, but still.”
I pushed up from the floor, pulling off the earpiece as I entered the room.
“Really?” I asked.
Serena smiled. “Yes, really. I think it would be a really unique project for me, and it would be a really cheap way for you to start developing your portfolio.”
I grimaced sarcastically, sucking in a breath through my teeth. “I don’t know. Having you follow me around with a camera makes me feel a little too glamorous, you know?”
“Too glamorous, huh?” Serena asked, hopping onto her bed. She was in pajama pants and the T-shirt she got for free at freshman orientation. That thing needed to go.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod as I took the transmitter from her and set it and the earpiece on my desk. “You know how I hate feeling glamorous. It’s why I always dress so muted and in clothing I got for free over a year ago.” I motioned to her shirt with my chin.
“Your sarcasm is not lost on me, boss,” she sighed, running a hand down the front of her well-worn T-shirt. “So, is it a yes?”
“It’s a yes, but an I-get-to-approve-all-pictures-before-they-are-displayed yes.”
Serena nodded, but as she responded, a crash and subsequent plink, plink, plink, plink, plink from above stole our attention.
“Please tell me that was a glass jar full of marbles,” Serena said, laughing as we both stared at the ceiling.
“I have no clue what you were saying when whatever that was just fell,” I said, righting my head so I could watch Serena’s face.
“I was just saying that of course you would have final approval of all displayed pictures.” Steepling her fingers together movie-villain style.
“Because that doesn’t sound ominous,” I said as another round of plinks showered down above our heads. “And when you tent your fingers like that, it doesn’t help.”
“Or does it?” she asked, continuing to steeple her fingers.
“It does not,” I said with a shake of my head.
“Or does it—”
“All right, fine. Take your pictures. Write your documentary stuff. And if you get an A, we’re splitting it.”
“As in we both get a C plus?” she asked, reaching across her bed for her laptop.
“Is a C plus half of an A?” I asked, reaching for my own laptop. “I feel like a literal half of an A would be an F, because if an A is, like, a ninety-five, then half of that would be in the forties, which would be a failing grade.”
“Then what you’re proposing is that you would also get an A in a class that you are not in and for work you did not do?” She put the tip of her pen in her mouth as she spoke.
“Yes—”
“Oops, I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the pen away from her lips.
“What? Why?” I asked, scanning my email.
“Because the pen was in my mouth when I was talking and I thought maybe you didn’t know what I was saying or whatever.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to figure out what she was even talking about.
“Because you always watch my mouth, I just assumed you were reading my lips.”
“Ever since you found out about my processing disorder, you’ve thought I read lips?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said with a shrug.
I laughed, hard. “I definitely don’t read lips, boss. I just watch your mouth to focus my attention.”
“Oh,” she said, her face contemplative as she nodded several times. “Okay, then. That explains a few things.”
“What explains what things?” I asked, putting my laptop to the side.
“Just Tony thinks you’re obsessed with his mouth,” she said. “He thinks he should be renamed Tony with the Lips.”
“What?” I asked, another hard laugh escaping. “He thinks I’m obsessed with his mouth because I look at him when he speaks?”
Serena nodded. “Yup,” she said, popping the p at the end.
I leaned back against the wall. “I guess I have to be more careful of whose mouth I watch.” I pulled my laptop back onto my lap. “And
absolutely not, he will never be renamed Tony with the Lips. He is, and will forever be, Just Tony.”
7
Merci Beaucoup, Cookie Monster
I waited until the end of class to approach Dr. Clément, after all the other students had left. Not only did I want Clément’s undivided attention, I also wanted to maintain anonymity as much as I could.
Hudson was still there, though. He’d looked at me a hundred times throughout Dr. Clément’s lecture, and now I was the one feeling like I had something on my face. Was he staring because of our awkward encounter at the tutoring center? Or was he looking to see if I understood what Dr. Clément was saying? Because if it was the latter, then he knew I was still as lost as ever. I started to pick up words here and there, vocab that I’d been studying every night, but it still wasn’t enough.
“You want me to wear that thing during my lecture?” Clément asked, pointing at the transmitter after I’d explained what it was and how it worked.
I resisted looking at Hudson even though I could feel his eyes on me. I let out a deep breath as I smoothed my skirt. I was keenly aware of everything I wasn’t in that moment, but I needed to keep the conversation going. I needed to get my whole speech out before I lost the courage. I needed to remind myself of who I was. A force to be reckoned with.
“Yes, please,” I said, trying not to beg.
“No, I will not.”
“What? Why?” I pleaded. Hudson’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed away from the table, momentarily stealing my attention. “You said to come back with another idea. This is another idea.”
“Thomas, come on. Give it a try,” Hudson said as he stepped beside me. “Here, let me see it.” He held his hand out to me.
I looked at Dr. Clément before pulling the transmitter over my head and placing it into Hudson’s outstretched hand. He had that maroon beanie on again, a small tuft of his brown hair escaping at his forehead.
“I put it on like this?” Hudson slipped the lanyard over his head.
I watched him for a half second as his words settled into my brain. “Yeah.” I tried to focus on Dr. Clément’s reaction, or lack thereof. I wanted to watch Hudson—he looked great in that sage-colored sweater. And those jeans. And his sneakers weren’t the dirty white ones from the other day.
Stop it, Edie. Pay attention.
“And send you to lasagna?” Hudson held up the device.
Send you to lasagna. What? See, this was what happened when I wasn’t paying attention. Screw it, just ask; there’s no way I’m getting around that weird one.
“What?”
“I asked how to turn it on,” he said, his eyes lighting up.
“You just press it here.” My cheeks were getting hotter by the second. I pressed the on button, my hand skimming against his. Focus. Paris. Paris. Paris. “But I can give it to you turned on—that isn’t a problem,” I added quickly. The less Dr. Clément had to do the better.
“And then I just talk into it?” Hudson brought the device up to his lips like a microphone.
Luckily, my earpiece wasn’t turned on or else I might have lost an eardrum, but that didn’t stop me from ripping it from my ear out of instinct.
“No.” A nervous laugh escaped me as I reached forward to push the device away from his mouth, stopping just shy of touching him. “Just, um, let it hang—”
He let go of the device, and it bounced against his chest once before settling.
“Yeah, like that,” I said, prying my eyes off him.
“And I just talk normally?”
“Uh-huh,” I answered, though I was looking at Dr. Clément. I turned the earpiece over in my hands as I waited for a response.
There was a moment of complete silence, relatively speaking. A moment where I looked at Dr. Clément, he looked at the transmitter, and Hudson looked at me. Which I could feel burning a hole into my face and stomach.
“If you bring that to me turned on at least ten minutes before class, I will wear it,” Dr. Clément said, breaking the silence.
“You will?” I smiled, pressing my fingers to my mouth. “Thank you so much.” I resisted the urge to jump up and down.
“I like you, Edie Kits. Vous ne manquez pas de culot, mademoiselle!”
I had no clue what he was saying, but if he liked me, then it didn’t matter.
“Wesley will have to use it on days I do not teach, d’accord?”
“Oui, ça va,” I responded, though I wasn’t 100 percent sure I was okay with Hudson using the transmitter. I glanced his way, and his eyes were on me.
“You sure?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“It doesn’t record?” Clément asked, interrupting what felt like more than a quick exchange between me and Hudson.
“Nope,” I said, exaggerating a head shake.
“And no one else can pick up the waves?”
Huh? Pick up the waves. Pick up the waves?
“No one else can listen in, is what he’s asking,” Hudson said.
Oh. I had heard him correctly.
“Um, no. I mean, I’ve used this thing for a long time and I’ve never heard of anyone picking up on the frequency with another device.”
Except my earpiece used to pick up the walkie-talkies the principal and assistant principal used around the building. Occasionally, I would pick up an entire conversation if one of them was close enough to my classroom. That added distraction was one of the many reasons I’d quit wearing it.
“Okay. I’ll do it.” Clément flicked his wrist in my direction.
How were the French able to both agree to something and dismiss it at the same time?
“Thank you so much,” I said, letting go of his uncaring tone to be grateful for his small agreement.
“En français, s’il vous plaît.”
“Um, merci beaucoup,” I said, my voice rising at the end like it was a question.
“Très bien.”
I glanced at a grinning Hudson. My stomach fluttered at his approving smile. The way his cheeks pressed into his eyes and made them just a little squinty …
Little did either of them know that years of watching Sesame Street was to thank for getting through that brief exchange, not sitting through an entire semester plus three weeks of his class.
8
Just Because You Can Wear Them Doesn’t Mean You Should
“Tell me how it went today with Clément,” Serena said, sitting at her desk with her camera in hand. She was in polar-bear-printed pajama pants and a fleece hoodie. She looked ready for bed. It was three-thirty in the afternoon.
“You know that when you’re out in the real world taking pictures of stuff, you will have to dress accordingly,” I said, pointing my sewing needle her way. “We can start right now if you want. I’ll help.”
“Ha. Ha.” Serena forced a smile that turned into a genuine one quickly. “But you bought me these pants!”
I sighed. It was true; I had bought them for her. As a joke.
“Are you seriously planning on starting this photography journey right now?” I asked, eyeing her from my desk. There was a pile of blue fabric in my lap, a sewing needle in one hand, and a straight pin between my lips. I was working on a final project. The Dress. My dress. The dress I’d been dreaming of making since high school. The one I’d finally actually started constructing last semester.
“I’m documenting you constructing The Dress, so yes, I am going to start now. While you are literally constructing The Dress. Right in front of me,” she said as she snapped two pictures.
I stuck both the needle and the straight pin into the tomato-shaped pincushion that sat on my desk and raised an eyebrow at her as I bent over to pull my fuzzy teal socks up over my leggings. “If any pictures of these socks end up in the final photos, you won’t live to see tomorrow,” I warned.
She snapped a few more pictures, including one of me giving her the finger.
“Okay, fine. Let’s get to it,” Serena said, stickin
g her tongue out at me. “The question of the hour: Did Clément agree to wear the transmitter?”
“He did,” I said with a smile as I thought about Hudson’s help in making it happen. “It took some convincing, but he agreed as long as I come to class early and turn it on for him.”
“He won’t turn it on himself?” she asked, her face contorted.
I shrugged. “I mean, I offered, so—”
“And why do you have to be there early?” she interrupted.
“Uh, that I’m not sure of.” I hadn’t thought to ask. “But it isn’t a problem. His class is my first class on Tuesday- Thursday.”
“Right, but that’s not the point. Does anyone else have to show up early?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Exactly. That’s bullshit, Edie. That’s not fair.”
Maybe it wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have had to do extra just to get what I needed to learn, but I did and I wasn’t about to complain. Complaining wasn’t action.
I recited the words I’d heard my whole life. “Fair doesn’t mean equal. It doesn’t mean everyone should be treated the same, because what is fair to you isn’t fair to me. Fair is getting what I need, and if that means I have to show up ten minutes early to class, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Ugh. I sounded like my mom.
“I guess I never thought of it that way,” Serena said, her forehead scrunching.
“Well, right. You’ve never had to.”
“True,” she said, her eyebrows knitted together. “So how did you get him to agree to it?”
“I actually didn’t,” I said, readjusting the fabric in my lap. “Hudson convinced him.” I pointed to the unopened water bottles under her desk, and she tossed me one.
“Clément said no right off the bat, but then Hudson jumped in and sold him on it.” I took a sip of water, hoping to cover the fact that my cheeks were burning.
“Is that right?” Her eyes lit up as she watched my face begin to resemble the pincushion.
Meet Me in Outer Space Page 4