by Nikki Harmon
That summer Savvy went off to space camp, and then on to MIT in the fall so I didn’t see her too much that year, but I was determined to follow her lead. We had often sat around and talked about going into space and I missed the friendship.
Much to her chagrin and my delight, I did join Savvy at MIT, but I didn’t recognize her when I got there. Her sweet Brooklyn accent with a Dominican lilt was replaced by the drawling Boston accent of her locale. Instead of her normal funky urban vibe, she exuded cool, calculated and controlled collegiate excellence. When I got there, hair locked, lip pierced and ready to bring the noise, she distanced herself until I was willing to come to her conclusions, which she laid out one night in September over very genteel glasses of white wine.
“Listen, Kim, use your brain, not your heart. This science game is owned, O-W-N-E-D by straight white men. And not necessarily good white men, like men with consciences or altruistic tendencies. These are men that want to own things – not the company but the patents, all the patents. These are men that want to run things, not the ships but all the parts that make up the ships and all the people who run the ships. Don’t think these scientists don’t have ambition. They do, they just don’t have to be loud about it. They don’t need you if they don’t know you. They won’t get to know you if you are too far outside their comfort zone.”
“I didn’t come here to shut up and sit pretty in the back of the classroom. I worked my ass to get here and I’m going to do my damnedest to bust these classes and make my mark at this school.”
“I never said shut up and sit pretty. I said be approachable or they will not approach, and they have the money and the networks. Their parents are alumni, and the professors have connections to every science agency in the world. But if you don’t suit up and get in the game, you will never get to bat.”
“So this is a suit?” I say nodding her way.
“It’s a suit, but I’m the same underneath.” She poured more wine.
“Oh yeah? Let me see,” I say.
She undressed for me that night and we made a slow and delicious re-acquaintance. But at 3am she kicked me out. Apparently, being a lesbian was not in the comfort zone.
I took her advice and decided to “play the game.” My mother didn’t even try to suppress her joy when I asked her for hair salon money to cut off my locks and get a weave. Taking out my piercings was tough, though. I had grown used to my face punctuated with classic gold adornments. Without them, my face looked so plain. Savvy suggested glasses. I was a little far-sighted so I bought a pair of classic gold-framed reading glasses from the drug store and they did the trick. Then she made me promise to wear lip-gloss and eyeliner every day. I got used to the new look. I didn’t look necessarily like me, but I didn’t hate it. I soon got caught up under my workload and had no time to think about what I looked like. I was just trying to keep up and do well. The semester flew by and now we were home for Christmas break, vegging out on TV and catching up with our friends from home. We came to this STEM party together but I can tell from the number of times she’s laughed at Nate’s jokes that she is going home with him. So be it. I’ll get the bus.
∆∆∆
Christmas break dragged on. There was no news about or from Jen. She just sent the baby gifts for Christmas and more money to her mother. Savvy was busy with Nate, and I tried not to be irked by it. I heard that my ex, Meer was a big baller at a community college, but I never ran into her. To be honest, I avoided her, my guilt still tucked away somewhere between my head and my heart. My mother claimed my leisure time as her free babysitting time. Every day, she had some kind of important errand to run and would leave me home to watch the babies. When she wasn’t “out” she would trot me out to her friends at church as some kind of trophy. She even invited Jackson, my old boyfriend from 9th grade over for dinner without asking me. I reminded her I was still a lesbian, but she didn’t believe me. I had on eyeliner.
Jackson showed up at 6pm sharp dressed in a dinner jacket and jeans. I almost laugh out loud but then I see his face, looking all hopeful and earnest, and I feel guilty all over again. He has grown taller since the prom and his face has a more serious cut to it. His mocha brown skin glows under the Christmas lights. His goatee is neatly trimmed. I just sigh and curse my mother for putting me in this position.
“Hi Jackson! Thanks for coming to dinner.”
“Thanks for asking me over.” I lead him to the living room while my mom finishes setting the table and generally pulling out all the stops.
“So how’s Howard?” I ask.
“Love it!” he answers. “How about MIT?”
“Awesome!” I say, “everything I wanted and more.”
“Oh yeah? That's great for you Kim! But what happened to your locks? I mean, you look nice, you’re still beautiful and all but this is so different for you. And where’s your lip ring? Did they make you get rid of it?”
“No, I needed to make a change, so I did. You know, I want to make sure I’m being taken seriously so I cut my hair, no big deal.”
“Oh. Anything else changed?” He reaches out to finger my new hair, which is weird since it isn’t really my hair. But I get his gist. Ugh! I could kill my mom. I reach up and gently pull his fingers away from my hair and back to the space between us.
“No, nothing else has changed. Just appearances.”
He looks confused. My mother calls us to dinner and we proceed to have the most awkward dinner ever. I head back to school as soon as the dorms open up.
∆∆∆
Spring semester brought interesting developments. Greeks had open houses, parties became formals, jockeying for class rank was considered a sport, as well as Quiddich and something called Magic: The Gathering. Despite trying to maintain some kind of social life, I stayed focused on my coursework and keeping up my grades for my scholarship. That is probably why I did not notice that one of the graduate assistants for my quantum theory class was trying to flirt with me. Savvy pointed it out one day at lunch in the cafeteria.
“Oh my God, is he walking by here again! Kim, would you look up and smile at this poor sucker. He’s been stalking you this whole time.” I look up in time to see Tim glancing my way and lifting his hand in a wave. I wave back.
“That’s just Tim, my GA for QT. What are you talking about?” I turn back to my notes.
“Tim has walked by here at least five times, each time looking right at you. Uh oh, wait, now he’s coming over! Be nice!” she hisses.
I look up and sure enough, Tim has abandoned his tray and is headed over to our table. I sigh and close my book.
“Hi Kim, Hi Savvy! How’s it going?” he asks standing at a polite distance.
“Hi Tim. I’m fine. What about you?” I answer.
“I’m good. Listen do you need any extra tutoring for class? I know the lecture Tuesday was pretty dense …”
“Why would you think I need extra help?” I say, my indignation rising.
He takes a step back and Savvy kicks me under the table.
“Oh, I was just offering it to all the students … you know in case they … wanted to meet or something …” He trailed off and glanced around like he was looking for an escape route or something.
I took pity. “Oh, I see. Hey thanks for offering, but I really enjoyed the lecture actually and have started writing my opinion piece for it. You could help me by looking it over before I turn it in?” I offer as an apology.
“Oh sure, I’d be happy to look it over. I’d love to read it. The thing you said in class the other day, about quarks, I thought that was pretty brilliant.”
“Oh thank you,” I said, pleased. “I’ll email you my first draft when I’m done. Ok?”
“Ok,” he said and drifted away from the table.
“Ooohh, he has it bad for you girlfriend. He’s not too bad looking either, you know as far as white boys go.”
“Very funny, Savvy. You know I’m not interested no matter how “not too bad” looking he is. He is nice t
hough and if he can help me improve my paper, that would be great, I have a B so far in the class and I need an A.”
“I’m pretty sure he would be more than happy to help you with your ‘grade,’” she snarked. “I had a GA help me my freshman year with my ‘grade’ and it was the worst sex I ever had.”
I snapped my head up and looked at her. “You didn’t?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice. Josh was my section leader and even though I wasn’t having trouble understanding the material, my grades were coming in pretty low. I went to ask him for help, and he offered to help me if I did some extra credit work.”
I stared at her.
“What? I needed the grade. My money was in jeopardy.”
“He marked all your work?”
“Yes.”
“And it was lower than you thought it should be?”
“Yes.” The truth dawns on her. I watch her face change as she processes the information, the premeditation involved with her “extra credit”. It was sad and scary. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look so vulnerable and so hurt.
“That bastard! That bastard, that bastard, that bastard!’ Her suffering had transformed into fury.
“I knew he was a bastard, I mean, but to have set me up! And I fell for it! I. Fell. For. It. What the fuck! I’m never stupid, how did I not see…?”
She went quiet. I did not know what to say and was pretty sorry I had said anything at all. Sometimes it’s best just to let sleeping dogs lie. I understand the wisdom of that saying now.
“We have to get him back. We have to. He can’t get away with this shit. How many girls has he done this to? What if he’s doing it to somebody right now? Fuck! How could I have been so stupid?”
She’s pissed off and looks like she could rip the head off a bird with her teeth. But she’s looking at me for help, for support, for vengeance. I close my notebook and look her square in the eye.
“Ok, I’ll help. Of course, I’ll help. What do you need me to do?”
We went back to her room and kept the inner door locked. We plotted revenge. It was new for each of us. But we had always been good partners. We balanced each other. Where she could be impetuous, I was methodical. Where I could be divergent, she was laser-focused. When we had a plan that we both agreed was do-able, effective, and discreet but would achieve the desired results, we quit for the day. Exhausted, I just held her as she slept, stroking her hair and wondering how I had gotten mixed up in all this.
∆∆∆
While carrying on our normal college lives, Savvy and I execute our plan. She begins to flirt with Josh, then sleep with him. She gets him to fall in love with her and they become a “couple”. It only takes a couple of weeks and I am both impressed and alarmed by the skill of her manipulation. Then she gives me access to all his dissertation files online and his email passwords. I know his writing schedule, his submission schedule and when his feedback is due. I go through his work and make changes to his findings and his arguments for submission, then change them back so he can’t detect it. It is hard to make the changes subtle and untraceable, but I am stealthy and rigorous in my work. Savvy is over my shoulder for most of it and is impressed by my skills. We celebrate after a particularly difficult but finely executed edit, and I am able to tank his whole argumentation without him even realizing it.
But then, things begin to change. She celebrates less with me and spends more time with him. I get very busy with midterms and don’t notice the shift until she mentions something weird at lunch.
“Josh is going to help me get the Nuclear Forensics Scholarship. His father is on the board of advisors and he said he can help me with my application and recommendation letters.”
“Savvy, that’s great but don’t you think that’s going to be a problem when he gets kicked out of school and you dump him?” I ask. She is silent.
“Savvy?”
“Yeah, I guess … yes! I just want this scholarship. I still hate the bastard, though.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She runs her hand up my leg under the table. “There’s one more thing left to do, right? Submit for citations and research data. Once we plagiarize and then fudge all his citations, he’ll be done for, right?”
“Right. I can probably get to that tomorrow. Will you come and help? It’s going to be complicated.”
“Ok, but late, because we’re going out to dinner with his parents.”
“You are kidding me, right?”
“No, they’re coming in town and he wants them to meet me. What am I supposed to do?” She shrugs. “But I’ll be over when it’s done, I promise.” When she doesn’t come, I just go ahead and do it myself.
∆∆∆
Standing in front of the Dean of Students, my face is hot with shame and anger. Savvy stands on the other side of the room with Josh, his hand on her shoulder. They have just explained to Dean Smith how the forgery and document tampering had been all my idea. How my jealousy of their relationship had motivated me to try to ruin Josh and make his life a living hell. Josh was angry and indignant, animosity coming off of him in waves. I look at Savvy who will not meet my gaze. She stares straight ahead, making her stand, making her choice and turning her back on me. That bitch. I try to listen to Dean Smith; she is saying something about honor codes and rules of conduct and no choice but to expel me. I stare at Savvy. I have never loathed anybody in my life before. It tastes like hot metal, feels like an anvil and hammer pounding out thunderous clangs of hate, hate, hate.
∆∆∆
I am sent home in April. I am in shock. My mother doesn’t talk to me for three days. On the morning of the fourth day, I tell her I didn’t do it. I amend that to I did do it but it was Savvy’s idea and she just glares at me.
“Kim, I don’t even know what to say to you. You threw away your dream of MIT and NASA for a girl? I’m speechless.”
“I did not. I was helping a friend,” I plead. “I swear it was her idea. She asked me to help her get revenge on him and then she lied!” I am desperate for her to understand. I am drowning.
“Some friend then. You should have stuck with men, Kim. Jackson would never have done that to you. Either way, you were a fool. Now, what are you going to do?” With that, she turns and leaves me.
I return to my bed and put Billie Holiday’s "Good Morning, Heartache" on repeat. I stare at the ceiling. I stare around my room. I cannot fathom how I ended up back here, in this room, back home, with my mother. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should stay away from women. I cannot believe Savvy did that to me. I cannot believe she played me like that. I cannot believe I got kicked out of school. I was so stupid, so incredibly stupid! Maybe I was blinded by her, focused on being something to her, being important to her. I wanted her to need me. I wanted to matter to her. But I didn’t. I did not think another woman could be so selfish and cruel. But what do I know about women? Two schoolgirl crushes, two summer flings and now this. Maybe I am not even a lesbian, or if I am, I’m failing horribly at it. Just like I’m failing horribly at everything. “Good Morning, Heartache” starts over. I turn it up loud. Billie sings and I sob through the whole song. Had I ruined my chance at the stars? Had I wasted everything I had worked for. Who would take me now that I’d been thrown out of MIT for honors violations? I cry and wish I hadn’t listened to Savvy, I wish I hadn’t followed her to MIT, I wish I hadn’t met her, I wish I’d never paid any attention to my wandering desires, I wish I had kept it simple and stayed with Jackson, I wish I had not set my sights on NASA. I wish, I cry, I sink into despair. The music turns to a roar, my eyes close against the daylight, and I wish to just leave, to escape to not be here anymore. Suicide floats through my thoughts but I shake it away and just wish for all this to go away. The roar increases and I push, hard, I push away from my reality and feel myself crash through, tumbling forward, over and over until I land on something hard.
Chapter 18
I am lying face down on the sidew
alk. I can hear the murmur of surprised and worried voices. I open my eyes and see the mica sparkling in the concrete. I am surrounded by the sensible pumps and thick stockinged ankles of older women as they gather around. My vision is blurred and I try to sit up, but my hands are trapped under me, cradling my stomach. Hands pull me up to sitting and I gather myself, clearing my head. I look down and see my hands are scraped and bloody. I see my belly is round and taut. Pregnant. I look up into the faces of church ladies and I can hear yelling in the background. “Call 911, she hit her head.” “Oh Lord, I hope the baby is ok. “Kim, Kim honey, can you hear me?” “Would someone get Jackson, he’s in the sanctuary, I think.”
“Kim?” It’s my mother. I look up at her. “Are you ok sweetie? You took a nasty fall.” She uses a handkerchief and wipes my forehead. I see the blood smear and feel at my cut. I am fuzzy. I shake my head and try to clear it. I am nauseous.
“You probably have a concussion. Take it easy, Kim, the ambulance is on its way,” she says. She rubs my back and examines my hands. “Oh dear.” One is turning purple.
On the ride to the hospital, Jackson sits next to me holding my good hand. He speaks to me in quiet tones. He’s worried that I’m so quiet.
“Kim, you are going to be just fine, probably just a mild concussion and your hand might be broken, but they think the baby will be fine so that’s good. You must have fainted or missed a step maybe? Honey, do you remember what happened?”