The Wild One

by Gemma Burgess

  “Don’t presume to know me,” I snap. “Fucking hell, I’m sick of people telling me what I should do—”

  “There’s no need to use language like that.”

  “What does the list say, huh? For jobs for my personality type? Teacher? Librarian? Social worker?”

  All the jobs my father and sister told me I was allowed to have. Literally. Allowed.

  Because I am so stupid I couldn’t possibly choose for myself. Who gets told what she’s allowed to do with her life? Who puts limits on other people like that? It’s crazy!

  “Actually, yes—”

  “You can go to hell!” I’m shouting now. “You don’t get to determine my life! You don’t know me! I don’t even know me! Who the fuck do you think you—”

  The door to the room bangs open, and Samantha is standing there. “Coco! What is going on? Everyone can hear you!”

  Jessie stands up, snapping shut her laptop. “She lost it before we were past the first round of questions. I’m out of here.”

  She leaves, slamming the door behind her.

  Samantha and I meet eyes.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” says Samantha gently.

  And suddenly, though it’s the last thing I want to do, I burst into tears.

  “I just … I still don’t know,” I keep saying, after I tell Samantha everything. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, I don’t know…”

  “That’s okay,” Samantha says, over and over again.

  “I told everyone I was leaving, that I was moving home to Rochester, and I’d get another assistant job in a preschool. But I don’t want that. At all. But I also don’t know what I do want either…”

  “That’s okay, too,” says Samantha.

  “No, it’s not,” I say. “Everyone else knows. My sister has known she wanted to be an investment banker, like, since she was born. And my roommate, Madeleine, wants to be an accountant, and a singer, and I think maybe she wants to be a lesbian, but I’m not sure—”

  “Okay—” Samantha looks confused.

  “And my friend Pia? She lost her job, but she figured out what she was good at in just a couple of weeks! And even if she does quit, she’ll be fine. She’s just the kind of person who always figures it out. And Angie always wanted to work in fashion, and she made it happen. It’s so easy for everybody else.”

  “Do you think they’d say that?” says Samantha. “You don’t know what it’s like being in their shoes.”

  “Yeah, but they all have … their thing. Their talent. And I don’t. I have nothing. Except I know how to fucking help people…” I spit the words out. “I’m pathetic.”

  “You’re not,” says Samantha. “You’re just figuring out what you want to do.”

  “What if I never figure it out?” I say. “I’m twenty-one, I should know by now.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” says Samantha. “And your sister and friends are what, twenty-two, twenty-three? They might think they know what they want to do, but they don’t yet, not really. A few years, some more adventures, and they’ll discover new talents and passions. Life is full of surprises like that.”

  “But they’re so good at their jobs—”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t mean that’s it for them. Can you imagine how boring life would be if we all knew our destiny at twenty-one? It takes years to figure out what you really want. In fact, figuring it out, the process, that’s the best part. You should enjoy it, Coco. This period you’re in, the very start of adult life … it’s fun.”

  “Fun?” I almost laugh, but it comes out a sort of cry. “It’s hell!”

  “It’s not. It’s a blank slate, full of opportunities. You know what hell is? Not having any choices.”

  I think about what she just said, and she’s right. When I felt trapped in the preschool assistant job, in a life that didn’t fit me, that was hell.

  “You don’t need to rush,” Samantha says slowly. “You know, your generation of women experiences incredibly high levels of stress and anxiety. You all feel a huge pressure to succeed, without knowing what success even means for you, personally … And success is personal. There’s no one-size-fits-all. And to make it worse, you’ve got all this information at your fingertips, you know? The Internet and social media mean you’re overinformed, overfocused, and overpressured to achieve your goals. But it’s not easy to achieve your goals. It’s not even easy to decide what your goals are.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

  “That’s okay,” she says softly. “It shouldn’t be easy. It’s too important.”

  “But how do I even start? How do I know? What if I get it wrong?”

  “Nothing you ever do will be wrong, because it’s all part of your journey. It gives you perspective, experience, knowledge … everything you do creates you. This is the only life you’re ever going to get, Coco. No one else can choose what you’ll do with it; no one else can make you happy. You’re in control.” She pauses, considering me. “Want to know what my Uncle Vic told me when I was your age and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, please.”

  Samantha smiles. “He said, ‘Just think about what you truly love. What makes you smile. And after that … everything will be easy.’”

  CHAPTER 32

  I walk out of the building, Samantha’s words echoing in my head.

  Just think about what you truly love …

  For a crazy, irrational second, I think about Joe. I’m hit by that same guilt and sadness and something else, something bigger and more important, something I didn’t let myself feel before … I quickly squash those thoughts down. Joe and I are over. As friends and … whatever else we were. He thinks I’m an asshole. And he’s probably right.

  Then I think about books. About going to those summer classes with Topher, and how I felt that first day in Professor Guffey’s class. About how much I enjoyed writing his assignment. How good it felt to put my thoughts into words. To have a voice. I truly loved that.

  And suddenly I realize: that was what made my stomach wriggle with excitement every day. That was what made me feel excited beyond anything I’d ever experienced before. It was never Topher. It was college.

  And now I know what I have to do.

  I walk straight over to Greenwich Village to find the one person who might understand.

  Professor Guffey.

  I knock tentatively on the door to her office. She answers the door, sees me, and smiles.

  “Coco. I was hoping I’d see you again. Come in.”

  Professor Guffey looks questioningly at me, her bright eyes staring so intently that I find it hard to meet her gaze.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I’m not a student at NYU.”

  Professor Guffey doesn’t say anything.

  “I’m so sorry I lied. I mean, I didn’t really lie because no one asked me, but I was coming to your class illegally, I guess, I just, you know, I loved it so much, and…” I trail off. Is she about to kick me out? Have me arrested?

  “I know. I suspected from the start.”

  I’m so stunned I’m not sure what to say. Professor Guffey goes back to her desk and sits down and indicates that I should sit in the worn little chair opposite her.

  “You did? How?” I finally croak out.

  Professor Guffey sighs. “I don’t know, Coco. Call it thirty years in the trenches. I just knew. You were too green, too eager … You didn’t fit in.”

  My face falls. I wasn’t as cool and as smart as her other students. That’s what she means. I looked like some dumbass just stealing education.

  “I mean … you stood out,” she quickly corrects herself. “You were actively listening. Obviously thinking and responding to the literature. Taking part in the discussion. It was like there was a spotlight shining on you. Summer classes aren’t usually full of students like you.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Then you
told me your name,” says Professor Guffey, “and I knew there wasn’t a Coco in my class. It was my mother’s name. I’d remember.”

  “Oh,” I say again. “Um … I am so sorry that I misled you.”

  Professor Guffey smiles. “Don’t worry about that. It was nice having someone care enough about my class to fake it as a student.”

  I grin. I guess that’s true.

  Her smile drops. “So why are you here now?”

  “I loved your classes. I felt, for the first time in my life, that I was doing what I was meant to do. And I want … I want to go to NYU. I want to study literature. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but I was hoping that you might be able to help me figure something out…” As the words rush out of my mouth, I realize how stupid I must sound.

  “Well, first things first, Coco. Can you afford it?”

  “I have a college fund,” I say. “I don’t know if it’s enough, but I’m sure I can get by, get a job in a bar … It’s not the money. It’s my SAT scores. They’re not high enough. And is it too late? Am I wasting my time even thinking about this?”

  “NYU isn’t all about SATs, Coco … You can retake the SATs and submit those scores. You can submit your ACP scores, or get predicted result scores and submit them. But truthfully, it’s more about the essays, and I don’t think you’ll have any problems there, right?”

  I chew my lip, thinking. “Really? It’s not too late?”

  “It’s August, so it’s late to apply, but it’s not too late. There are always last-minute ways around the rules if you know where to look. I can help you fill out all the necessary forms and speak to the right people.”

  This isn’t what I was expecting. The word no, that’s what I was expecting.

  “Coco, if you really want something, you can make it happen. It’s that simple.”

  “Why are you so nice to me?” I choke out.

  “Because … because you remind me of me when I started college.” Professor Guffey’s face softens. “You’re just waking up.”

  “I want to go back to college,” I say clearly. “I want to go to NYU. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

  CHAPTER 33

  On the walk from the subway to Union Street, I see a missed call from my dad. I sigh, ringing him back. I need to tell him I’ve changed my mind.

  “Hey, Daddy, sorry I missed your call…”

  “Fine.” My dad’s at work: he’s using his bullish business voice. “So your flight gets in at midday tomorrow. I’ll pick you up from the airport and we’ll get pizza for dinner.”

  “Um…”

  “Can’t wait to see you, little one. I never thought you were cut out for New York City. You’ll feel better as soon as you get back home.”

  “I, um…” I take a deep breath. “I changed my mind. I want to stay. And I want to apply to NYU.”

  I tell him all about Samantha, and Professor Guffey, and how I know, just know, that this is what I’m supposed to do. I reach Rookhaven and sit down on the stoop, staring at the street as I try to explain how life-changing my summer has been.

  When I’m done, there’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  “What if you’re wrong, honey?” he asks quietly. “What if it doesn’t make you happy? What then?”

  “Then … I’ll deal with it,” I say. There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  He doesn’t believe in me. But maybe that’s okay. I believe in myself. “Hey, Daddy?”

  “Yes?”

  “What makes you happy?”

  “Me?” Dad pauses, thinking. “Golf. Wine. Knowing you and your sister are safe. But especially you, I guess, you were just so young when Mom…” His sentence trails off, and then he clears his throat. “After everything you had to go through, knowing you don’t have anything to worry about, or be scared about, is really the only thing that makes me happy.”

  “I’ll be safe here, Daddy,” I say. “I promise.”

  “Okay, well, I think I just have to trust that you’re right,” he says. “You know, Coco … you sound different. You sound like an adult.”

  I smile. “I am.”

  After we hang up, his words about his idea of happiness echo in my mind.

  That’s the reason he always told me what to do.

  My dad didn’t think I was stupid.

  He just wanted to protect me. I was only a little girl, such a dreamy, bookish, softhearted little girl, when Mom died. He never wanted anything to hurt me ever again. That’s why he’s always treated me like a baby. To him, I was just a baby.

  And the scary thing is, until recently, I liked it. It’s nice to be taken care of.

  But it’s far, far nicer to take care of yourself.

  “You okay, girlie?”

  I stand up and look over to see Vic sitting on that little chair outside his door.

  “You just heard my whole conversation, didn’t you?” I say, grinning.

  Vic smirks. “You want privacy, girlie, don’t talk on the stoop.” He looks up at me with a smile. “Sounds like you’ve figured out what you’re gonna do with your life.”

  “No, I still don’t know what I’m going to do with my entire life,” I say. “And that’s okay. Because I know what I’m doing next. Everything else I’ll just figure out as I go along.”

  Vic nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “And, Vic, just so you know, I like myself now. For the first time in maybe my whole life. I like being me.”

  “Now you sound like me. Next you’ll be talking about the loves of your life. How you can only be truly happy when they’re happy.”

  Joe flashes into my heads again. But—

  Before I can finish my thought, Angie runs out of Rookhaven, slamming the front door behind her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in over a week, since that awful fight with Julia. Shouldn’t she be at work?

  “Hi, Vic! Oh, Coco, thank God. I need you. Can you help me?”

  “Of course!” I say.

  “We’re going to TriBeCa,” she says. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The memory of what happened with Joe this morning is like a bruise somewhere deep in my soul. If I press it, it hurts.

  Is that just the guilt of hurting someone so important to me, someone who knew me better than anyone, someone who had become my best friend? What else could I do? I had to tell him the truth.

  I just need to keep telling myself that every time I think I’m going to cry.

  “Are you okay?” asks Angie, as we get on the train. She’s practically buzzing with excitement, but she hasn’t explained why. “Coco? Is something going on with you?”

  “Yes, no, sorry,” I say, shaking my head to clear the thoughts. “I’m fine. What are we doing?”

  “Sam is coming home today.”

  Angie is so happy she almost can’t get the words out.

  “He’s arriving this afternoon. They made really good time on the crossing and got here a few days early. I only just found out. So we’re going to welcome him. But first, we’re stopping at the Balloon Saloon on West Broadway. I have a plan.”

  Apparently, Angie’s plan involves a dozen perfectly round red helium balloons, each over five feet in diameter. The balloon store guy has to take us out the back to get them, because they’re too big to carry out the front door of the store. Then we walk down West Broadway, with six giant balloons each, in the scorching sunshine. Cars honk at us, kids squeal with excitement, and a small dog goes beserk, barking hysterically.

  “God, I love attention,” says Angie.

  I laugh. “You’d think they’d never seen two grown women carrying giant red balloons before.” I pause for a moment, and glance at her. “Why the hell are we carrying giant red balloons, by the way?”

  “Well,” Angie says. “Sam said that whenever he pictures himself returning to New York, he thinks about that moment when he’s sailing up the Hudson, staring at the marina, looking for me, and how it a
lmost stresses him out imagining it, because, you know, it’s hard to see people well until you’re pretty close, so you could be staring at the wrong person … I figured that with the balloons, he’d know exactly where I am.”

  “Wow. That’s so romantic.”

  “Do you think it’s lame?” Angie looks uncharacteristically insecure. “Be honest. I can take it.”

  I shake my head. “It’s perfect.”

  When we stop, holding our giant red balloons and waiting to cross the street, Angie turns to me again. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on with you?”

  I take a deep breath. “Well, I think I’m going to stay at Rookhaven.”

  “Yay!” Angie hugs me, our balloons colliding in the air.

  “And I’m going to NYU this year. Officially, this time. No more faking it.”

  “Fuck, yeah.” Angie grins. “So why do you look so damn unhappy?”

  “I ended things with Joe,” I say. “Remember when you said it was okay to just be friends with benefits, as long as it was all he wanted too? Well, he wanted more.”

  “And you don’t?” says Angie. “That’s weird.”

  “Why?”

  “We all thought that you and Joe just had so much chemistry. I mean, I know Julia wanted you to be with Topher, but of course she would; he’s her friend. If you dated him she’d be able to feel like she was in charge of your relationship.”

  Wow. She’s right. She’s totally right. Just like my dad, Julia has always tried to protect me. How much did Julia influence my decisions even when I thought I was acting for myself?

  I’m not even sure it was deliberate. I guess Julia subconsciously imitated how our father treated me: like someone who always needed to be looked after and told what to do. Maybe the dynamics of family relationships are embedded long before the kids are really aware of them. No wonder she was so upset when I started acting out: she’s practically programmed to protect me. It’s not conscious. It’s just the way it is … or was.

  I’m sure it comes from a good, loving place. When you think about it, it’s tradition. Families have always had to protect their daughters, because if they didn’t, bad things happened to us. For centuries, that’s how it’s been. But that meant we couldn’t work, we couldn’t live alone or own property, we couldn’t do anything without someone looking after us, giving us permission to exist and excuses not to think for ourselves. We were small and vulnerable and powerless.