by Violet Paige
Dedication
For all of my Carolina Girls
Heads Carolina
London
I needed this. It was one grade. It was my graduation, my future, and my life—what choice did I have? He would forget this ever happened. We both would.
I tapped out the last sentence and pushed the enter button with limited certainty.
It was done. Now I just had to wait.
1
Three Months Earlier
I brushed my flyaway bangs from my eyes and settled into a seat in the middle of the lecture hall. The oversized room was drafty, but I shirked the heavy coat from my shoulders and rubbed my arms a few times. At least the layered scarf wrapped around my neck gave the illusion of warmth.
How was it possible that four years of my life came down to this last semester? If the class had been offered in the fall I would have already taken it, aced the class, and graduated in December. However, the-powers-that-be who create the labyrinth of class schedules only offer Communication 224 in the spring. And without the class, I couldn’t apply for graduation.
I guess the advantage of having such a light schedule this semester was the extra time I would have for theater group. Nina and Derek needed help. They always needed help when it came to the Encore Theater ensemble we joined as freshmen. The plays didn’t produce themselves.
Students filtered in a few at a time, filling in the gaps in the stadium-like seating. Backpacks littered the little space left in the aisles. In unison, we pulled out our laptops and began the pre-class ritual of checking in with our friends.
I logged on to Facebook, just to make sure Nina posted the announcement about open auditions for Spoiled Hearts. Maybe it was the cold weather or the spring semester blues, but we hadn’t received much interest in the play. This was Derek’s debut as a playwright, and Nina and I were doing our damnedest to make it a success. That boy could write—the rest of campus would know it soon. Other than paying people for tryouts, we were running out of ideas to fill up the cast. Before I could add my comments to the catchy post, the lights started flickering. Wait, was this curtain call?
“Welcome, everyone.” The woman at the front of the room cleared her throat and smiled at the students scattered in front of her. “I’m Professor Garcia and this is Communication 224: Current Issues in TV and Social Media.”
I closed out my screen and typed a new heading on a blank document.
“Before I move forward with my expectations for the semester, I want you to put those things away.” She shooed her hand in the direction of a line of computers dotting the front row. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking.” She rolled her eyes. “This might be a class on social media, but I don’t actually want you on social media while we’re in class. Understood?”
I didn’t see any heads nod, but Professor Garcia continued as if the entire class was on board with her rules.
“Most of you have heard that this class is a little unusual.” As she pulled the mic clipped to her lapel close to her lips, she smiled.
The class nervously chuckled in agreement. Communication 224 had a reputation for being the most unexpected class in the Communication Department. The waitlist to get in was always long and it didn’t help that it was only offered once a year. Maybe now that I was enrolled in the class I would actually find out what the buzz was about.
“I’ve posted your syllabus along with the reading assignments online on the class website. But I know what you’re really interested in is the project.” She raised her eyebrows and zeroed in on the students exchanging intense whispers.
A girl in yoga pants and a neon sweatshirt raised her hand. “Is it true we only have one grade all semester?”
Professor Garcia smiled. I observed the events unfolding like a stage production. It seemed this professor had rehearsed her lines.
“Your classmate in the front row asked if there is only one grade all semester.” She twirled on the heels of her leather boots and walked over to the smart board screen. She tapped a button and the screen flashed a Y, then an E, and finally an S appeared on the screen.
I couldn’t think of a time in class when I heard so many audible gasps. I kept my objections tightly locked away.
“Before I hear the outcry and protests on how this is unfair and I’m ruining your grade point averages, blah, blah, blah, let me explain how this class works. Yes, there is only one grade, but you’re not in this alone. Everyone has a partner, and together you work on a final project. Each week in class we discuss the readings and how they pertain to the project you’ve been assigned. I don’t give you random pop quizzes or ask that you post weekly on the discussion board. You are all either juniors or seniors. At this point, you know how to participate in your classes—it’s up to you what you do with the information I present in here.”
She paused and surveyed what I imagined was an entire auditorium of wide-eyed upperclassmen.
“Go home, do the reading, and at your next class, on Thursday, you get your assignment. For those of you who are required to take this class, you have a few weeks to decide if you want to drop it from your schedule. It’s not for everyone. See you in a few days.” Professor Garcia waved a hand in front of the class and walked to the smart board, cutting its power.
It was only for a moment, but I sat in my folding chair while the other students dispersed around me like ants. Class hadn’t even lasted ten minutes, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what had just happened. Maybe I was going to have more time on my hands than I realized.
“London! You’re here! I didn’t expect you for at least another hour. You can help me figure out this costume nightmare.”
My best friend, theater partner, and roommate looked ecstatic to see me. “Nina, you won’t believe this class.” I wasn’t sure where to start.
I dropped my bag on the floor and joined my bestie on the stained and spotted couch in the basement of the Encore Theater. Nina had scattered pages of a script and was flipping through magazine pages. We had been a part of the eclectic and fiercely independent theater group that wrote, directed, performed, and produced all of its plays since we first arrived at Carolina. My days and nights were devoted to every word uttered on this stage.
“Tell me. What is Garcia’s big project this semester? I can’t wait to hear what she’s come up with for you.” She grumbled as she folded the corners of her magazine.
“I don’t know. She’s keeping it a big mystery until next class. I’m surprised she’s not teaching in the Drama Department instead of Communication. She had this whole production lined up to deliver the big cliff-hanger just so she can shock us next class. Don’t know if I’m buying it.”
Nina laughed. “Yep, that sounds like her. I heard one year she had her class go all semester without using their Facebook or Twitter accounts, and one year they had to create their own website as a class and keep a twenty-four-hour chat going for the whole semester about stuff happening on campus. I never read it, but I heard it was intense.”
“Are you serious? Those both sound a little extreme.” I started tagging pictures as I read through scenes in the play. I didn’t like the idea of either of those projects, but this class was just a means to an end. “It doesn’t really matter to me. I have one semester left then I’m done. I’m so ready to pack my bags and head to L.A. Have you been outside today? It’s snowing again. Next year at this time, I’ll be in shorts, looking up at palm trees and sunny, warm skies. Good-bye, North Carolina. Good-bye, snow and ice. Hello, Hollywood.”
“Not everyone loves summer weather all year, you know. I like the snow—sometimes. Plus, it only snows a few times a year. You’re always talking about leaving, London. But I’m not giving up. I still have one semester to get you to change your mind.”
I laughed at my roommate. “No way. That’s not going to happen. I’ve been dreaming about living in California and acting since I was a little girl. Why would I stay in North Carolina?”
“Maybe because your
friends and family are here and you lo-ove it.” Nina giggled as she wiggled back and forth on the couch.
“That’s not fair. I do love it. You think I should give up everything and join the family business?”
Nina shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, that’s not what I want to do. I can’t be an actress here. Even the great plays that are on campus travel around the country. They don’t stay here. I’ll never make it as an actress in a small town like this.”
“London, they’ll eat you alive in L.A. You’re too sweet for Hollywood life. You’re the nicest person I know and nice people don’t finish first in that business.”
“Aww…you didn’t say that last week when I wore your white sweater without asking.”
“Well, you should have asked me. Are you going to at least do a college bucket list?”
“Um…aren’t those for old people?”
“No, look.” Nina pulled out her phone and opened a new screen. “There’s this guy on campus, Beau Anderson, who has this super funny blog and he just posted the Carolina Bucket List for this year’s seniors.”
“Let me see that list.” I grabbed the phone and scrolled through the blog while reading aloud a sampling of the tasks each senior should complete before graduation. “Nina, there are a hundred things on this list. Take an exam drunk. Go to a paint party. Take a spur of the moment trip. Get tickets to the Duke game. Climb the Bell Tower on Senior Day. Dance in a library flash mob. Have a picnic in the arboretum. Go stargazing in Kenan Stadium. Steal a kiss in Davis Library. This list is silly. No one actually does all of these things.”
“Yes, they do. I’m going to do as many things on there as I can before we graduate.” She said it with such undisputed assertiveness that I knew she was serious.
“Well, let me know when you get to number fifty-five, ‘feed a squirrel in the quad.’ I want to be there for that one.”
Nina punched me in the arm. “I have lab in a few minutes. Speaking of which, would you want to pick out a few of these costumes for me while I’m in class? I would really appreciate it. I can’t take trying to match another skirt and sweater set for this play.” I watched as she gathered her backpack and marched toward the stairs.
“Isn’t Candace supposed to be working on this? She’s the designer for Spoiled Hearts.”
“Ugh. I know, but she hasn’t been around and I don’t want to let Derek down.”
“Oh, so this if for Derek?” It was my turn to give her a hard time.
“Just do it, London. You’re so good at set and costume design. Please?”
Knowing Nina needed to get to class, I gave in like I always did to her last minute pleas for help. “Sure. What else do I have to do?” I sighed, realizing for the first time that having all of this free time on my hands might be more of a challenge than I anticipated.
“Awesome! You’re the best. See you tonight at the house?”
“Ok. We can rent that new zombie tonight. Is Candace going to be there?”
“Oh yeah, the one where they try to find a way to survive without eating brains. Sounds gross, but good. Not sure about Candace. She hasn’t returned my texts all day. Why don’t you try to call her? Bye, roomie.” Hugging her coat tightly to her chest, Nina darted up the staircase.
Candace could wait. Ever since we returned to Chapel Hill after Christmas break, she had been so wrapped up in Pearce it was as if she didn’t even live in the house anymore. I didn’t really understand why dating a football player was such a demanding job, but according to Candace, it wasn’t like everyone else’s boring relationships. Pearce needed her. Yeah, he needed her for his personal entertainment. Nina and I had probably been too vocal about the guy, and things with our third amigo were at best awkward when we did see her at the house on the rare occasion she resurfaced to repack and grab a change of clothes.
I repressed an inner sigh. Guys were always the root of drama. If it wasn’t a wide receiver breaking up our trio, it was Nina pining after Derek and his brilliant playwright mind. How many nights had we stayed up until two coming up with ways for Nina to tell Derek how she really felt? If he couldn’t see how she gushed over his every brilliant idea and volunteered for all of his projects, then he didn’t deserve my best friend. She had too much to offer to waste her time on a guy clearly more interested in what was happening downstage than right in front of his face.
Although, deep down I understood Derek’s passion for the theater, I wasn’t about to tell Nina. I loved being on stage more than anything. It was where I felt completely alive and calm all at the same time. Something happened every time I walked in front of an audience—I didn’t care if I was only part of the ensemble, or if I was the lead. Being on stage felt as natural to me as breathing.
Alone in the basement, I turned off thoughts of my friends and their distorted love lives and focused on the pictures in my lap. It looked like Nina was going scene by scene, pulling out potential costume options for each act in the script. It was time to divide the costume assignment among the characters to round out each one’s style in the play, rather than the scene itself.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Awesome. I had at least two hours before the next group invaded the Encore Theater in the basement of Graham Memorial Hall. I tucked earbuds in each ear, hit play on my phone, and started styling for the production.
The blanket of snow cast a soft white glow throughout campus. It was after five, and except for the illumination from the street lamps, the quad was dark. I watched as my breath turned to a frosty cloud. Tugging on the edges of my collar, I pulled the coat closer to my neck. It was freakin’ cold.
Something about the way the fluffy snowflakes drifted through the sky reminded me of magic. When I was twelve, I played Clara in the Nutcracker and the snow on stage looked just like this. With one palm turned toward the clouds, I couldn’t help but reach forward to catch one of the heavy flakes. My eyes followed the quiet dissent as the cluster of flakes made their way to rest in the bowl of my hand. I was glad Nina wasn’t here to witness the smile and giddiness forming. This place was beautiful—freezing snowy wonderland and all.
“Watch out!” A voice cut through the serene stillness.
Before I could shake my momentary snow trance and sidestep the oncoming biker, I hit the cold pavement under my feet.
“Ouch.” I rubbed just below my right hip, which had taken the brunt of the fall.
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry.” The frantic biker dismounted, propped his two-wheeled ride against a lamppost, and crouched next to me. “Did you break anything?” He eyed my heavy coat and scarf.
“No. I’m fine. Just a little banged up.” Startled and embarrassed, I looked at the assailant. Was I really that absorbed in a snowflake that I walked into an oncoming bike? Maybe the handlebars clipped the side of my backpack just enough to send me spiraling to the sidewalk.
His hand was outstretched and his face worried.
“My fault. Let me help you up.”
No arguments here. He clasped my hand in a firm grip and I pushed off the ground. The biker pulled me straight up before I was ready to be vertical. I caught myself before I slipped again.
“You sure you’re ok?” He tilted his head. I noticed earbuds dangling from around his neck. He was wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt. Not exactly cold weather gear.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.” I dodged his concerned look and retreated in the direction of the bus stop.
“Uh. Ok. Bye.”
As I scrambled from the scene of the accident, I thought I felt him watching me. Not wanting to get caught with a sneak peek, I waited until I crossed the street before turning around. I watched as he grabbed his handlebars, slung one leg over the side of the bike, and pushed down on the pedals.
Through a confetti parade of snowflakes, he wheeled off and disappeared behind Graham Memorial. I hadn’t even bothered to berate him for his crazy steering or thank him for taking the time to help me up. After four years of dodging maniac bi
kers, one had finally hit me. It was bound to happen.
A deep sigh produced another hovering crystal cloud of breath, I thought I could reach out and grab. Bike Guy had been kind of cute with his deep-set eyes and sandy brown hair. It was hard to miss his arms with that T-shirt. I shook my head. No, he was just a random guy that plowed me down on the sidewalk and saw me act like a complete idiot.
The unmistakable sound of the air brakes for my bus squeaked to an ear-piercing stop. I dashed off before I was stranded on campus for another hour. Nina was probably already waiting with pizza and zombies.
2
Professor Garcia swished a red pashmina over her left shoulder and strolled to the front of the lecture hall, letting the impact of her heels on the floor command attention.
The sudden sounds jerked me out of my dreary thoughts. The left side of the auditorium was flanked with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the only thing I could see from my seat was a gloomy gray sky and naked oak trees glistening with melting icicles. The January temperatures hovered around forty degrees, making it a miserable existence on campus for my cold-natured body.
“Welcome back, everyone! Let’s get started.” Jumping into the presentation, she pointed her remote at the smart board. “This is the day you’ve been waiting for. It’s finally here. It was a long few days, wasn’t it?” A Cheshire-like smile spread across her face. “I’m going to reveal your final project.”
Ok, this was starting to feel like student hazing in some twisted kind of academically acceptable way. The three-day buildup for the mystery assignment had manifested itself in unrecognizable nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t even get this worked up before walking on stage. Why was Professor Garcia being overly dramatic about this?