Best,
Jared
Penelope threw that e-mail in her trash.
Lan came out of her room. She was wearing a T-shirt with a cat on the back of it. The cat looked a little like Raymond, but it had different-colored eyes.
“Lan?” asked Penelope. “I have a problem. My TF wants to meet with me. Again. And he already met with me today.”
“Eww,” said Lan.
“I know. And he wants to meet in a dining hall,” said Penelope. “He’s the proctor in Pennypacker too. What should I do?”
“I would never meet with him ever again,” said Lan.
“Really?” said Penelope. “Isn’t that a little disrespectful?”
“No,” said Lan.
“Would you write him an e-mail, maybe, explaining why you can’t meet with him?”
Lan gave Penelope a withering glance.
“OK,” said Penelope. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” said Lan. “I painted my room again, so don’t go inside.”
“I won’t,” said Penelope.
Lan snorted and shut her bedroom door.
The day of the Advocate party, Penelope decided that she was not going to dress the theme or wear a costume of any kind. If anyone asked her what she was dressed as, she would say a Lost Boy, and wore a brown dress to back up that claim.
Penelope waited in her room until about midnight before she went over to the party. She was nervous. She hated going to things alone. She couldn’t get ahold of Catherine, which meant Catherine was probably with Ted. Even if Catherine was around, Penelope wasn’t sure that she could bring her. Scott had warned all the compers in a follow-up e-mail that the parties were very exclusive, and it was doubtful they themselves would get in, much less a guest.
Eventually, Penelope walked over to the Advocate. When she got to the door there was a man standing outside it. He was wearing a gigantic alligator mask and a green spandex jumpsuit. He was one of the smallest men Penelope had ever seen. His kneecaps were the size of Sacagawea coins.
“Hi,” said Penelope. “I’m here for the Advocate party?”
“What’s your name?” said the man, muffled by the alligator mask. He was holding a clipboard with a list on it. He looked at it now.
“Penelope.”
“I don’t see you on this list,” said the Alligator. “Are you a comper?”
“Maybe,” said Penelope.
“I don’t see you. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s OK,” said Penelope. “I can go home.”
Just as Penelope was turning to leave, someone came up to the Alligator and started talking to him. It was Scott. He was wearing a tricorn hat, a black curly wig, and an entirely red spandex jumpsuit, which exposed his unexpectedly lush chest hair. Penelope realized he must be Captain Hook. She was surprised at the choice of a body suit over the more versatile pantaloons.
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, man,” he said, grabbing the Alligator by the waist. “That is my comper.”
“Oh. I didn’t know who she was,” said the Alligator.
“Yo, buddy,” said Scott. He was touching the Alligator’s face. “It’s OK.”
“OK, you can go inside,” said the Alligator to Penelope. Scott and he were embracing each other.
The Advocate was completely pitch-black on the bottom floor. Penelope thought she saw outlines of wings and tutus shifting around in the blackness, but it was hard to tell what they were doing or where exactly they were positioned, symbolically, in the Peter Pan saga. She saw blaring lights on the second floor and climbed the stairs.
One thing that Penelope could attest to, afterward to Ted when he asked, was that this party was much more spirited than the one she had been to in Currier. For one, everyone had really embraced the theme and, in addition, spandex seemed to be a unifying force in their interpretations. To Penelope, the use of spandex in a costume always implied, at the very least, a willingness to show the outline of your hip bone in the spirit of fair play.
In the middle of the room, there was an old-timey projector that was playing Peter Pan, the Disney version, on the ceiling. It was right at the part where Peter sings “What Makes the Red Man Red?” while blowing into a pipe. Even as a child, Penelope never understood that part of the movie. The sound was off and nobody seemed to be paying attention to the film anyway. Instead, everyone was dancing to a very slow, very obscure song that until now Penelope had never thought anyone could ever dance to.
Penelope felt very overwhelmed. She knew no one, Gustav apparently had not made it to this party either, and seeing Peter Pan projected on the ceiling was actually kind of scary. Everyone was dancing in a way that involved a lot of jumping on the part of the males and a lot of adorable hand motions and shaking of the head on the part of the females. If Penelope’s mother had been there, she would have worried that someone was going to drop their cigarette on the floor, cause a fire, and condemn everyone to die in a burning barn.
After watching Peter Pan for a while, Penelope decided to get a drink. She didn’t even want to drink alcohol, necessarily, but she needed something to occupy herself. There were boxes of wine on the long table in the front of the room that a couple of people were dancing on. When Penelope reached the table, all the wine boxes were empty, and there were no more cups. She scanned the room and spotted a bar in the corner and decided to make her way there.
To her surprise, while walking to the bar, she finally spotted people she knew. Behind the counter, she recognized Lisa from the fiction comp, who was wearing a bathing suit covered in feathers (Was there a bird in Peter Pan? Penelope could not remember this) and talking to the sophomore who wanted to sleep with Sappho. The sophomore was wearing an eye patch on his eye and a tattoo of a mermaid on his biceps. Penelope saw a bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the counter and got an idea. She would make herself a drink and then slowly insinuate herself into their conversation. She just had to think up an icebreaker.
Penelope made herself a concoction of whiskey, orange juice, and milk. She took a very long time doing it, hoping that Lisa and the sophomore would see her and say hi. They did not. After putting eight slices of lemon into her drink in an effort to buy time, she decided she had to break into their conversation by forced means.
“Hey, guys,” said Penelope. “Do you know where the bathroom is?”
They both looked at her blankly.
“Uh, no, sorry,” said the sophomore.
“Oh, OK,” said Penelope. She almost wandered away, but she steeled her resolve.
“Aren’t you guys in my group?” she asked.
“Are you comping the fiction board?” asked Lisa.
“Yeah,” said Penelope.
“Oh, yeah,” said the sophomore. “I’m John.”
“Lisa,” said Lisa. Penelope nodded slightly at both.
“This party is so nuts,” said John.
“It’s always like this. Everybody here is insane. But it’s so awesome,” said Lisa.
Penelope nodded again. What could she say? She touched a pierced ear to see if the hole was still there.
“Do you want a drink?” John asked Penelope. “There is some Jack Daniel’s here. I think we drank all the wine, which is too bad.”
“Oh, that’s OK,” said Penelope. “I already have one.”
“Nice,” said John.
“Where are you from?” asked Penelope.
“Pittsburgh.”
“Great.”
“It’s so boring now,” said John in an authoritative voice. “I mean it’s fine. It’s like a fine place to grow up and everything, but it just used to be this really cool place in the seventies. It had this underground art culture that was really compelling. Everyone was strung out on heroin and could lead these very interesting lives because unemployment was so high. Now, at least where I live, there are just Starbucks everywhere. It’s just totally corporate and weird.”
“Oh,” said Penelope.
“John, what were you saying before?” asked Li
sa.
“About what?” said John.
“I forget what we were talking about,” said Lisa.
“I thought we were talking about when Professor Parker went to that party at Story Street or something,” said John. He laughed. “I don’t really know though.”
“That was before,” said Lisa.
“Oh, yeah, I think I was saying something about how long I have been spending in that fucking editing room,” said John. “But how now, I finally decided what my objective is for my movie.”
“What is your movie about?” asked Penelope.
“Well, it’s more about an effect right now. Plot-wise, it’s kind of hard to explain.”
Suddenly, Lisa started pointing. “John, guess who’s here? You’ll never guess. It’s Gary Sherman. I wasn’t sure he’d show up.”
“The panda-opticon guy? Oh my God. Awesome.”
Lisa pointed to a guy drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbon across the room. He had curly hair that was forcibly parted to the side and a handlebar mustache, and was wearing a vertically striped tunic and tiny bloomers.
“Is that mustache part of his costume?” asked Penelope. “It really matches his hair though.”
“You have to come over and meet him,” said Lisa to John. “Excuse me, Penelope.” She took John by the arm and ran in the direction of Gary Sherman. Penelope watched them. Lisa tapped Gary Sherman on the shoulder to alert him of her presence. Gary Sherman looked rather bemused at the liberty.
Penelope wandered over to a couch piled with coats and sat down on it. She watched the people dancing on the table. There were more of them. Scott, no longer wearing his Captain Hook wig, was leading a conga line on it. The table was gently swaying back and forth.
She had been sitting on the couch for a while when suddenly the man who was Gary Sherman sat down next to her. Lisa and John were nowhere to be seen. Gary Sherman twiddled his handlebar mustache. Then he spoke.
“Yo,” he said. “That table is going to break.”
“What?” said Penelope.
“Do you see that long table with all those people dancing on it, in the front of the room?”
“Yes, I do,” said Penelope.
“Well, it’s going to break,” said Gary Sherman.
Penelope looked at the table. It did seem to be swaying more violently now.
“Are you sure?” said Penelope.
“I’m positive,” said Gary Sherman, scratching his arm. “Are you a comper?”
“Yes,” said Penelope. But her reply was muffled by the sound of the table breaking and all the dancers falling to the ground. A man in a headband seemed to take a particularly nasty spill. Penelope saw him rubbing his elbow while the others tried to clear the table debris off the dance floor.
“Come,” said Gary Sherman. He grabbed Penelope’s hand and pulled her up off the couch.
“Let’s go downstairs,” said Gary Sherman.
“OK,” said Penelope. She followed him.
“How old are you?” asked Penelope as they walked down the stairs.
“Twenty-seven,” said Gary Sherman.
“That is pretty old,” said Penelope. “Why are you here?”
“I was in town. I always try to check in on what my fellow Advo-cats are doing.”
They were downstairs. It was still pitch-black. Gary Sherman opened a door into a small room. Inside this room, the lights were on, and there were three boys smoking marijuana on a couch. They did not acknowledge Gary Sherman or Penelope.
“Come back here,” said Gary Sherman to Penelope, gesturing to a table in the back of the room.
“OK,” said Penelope.
Gary Sherman picked up Penelope and sat her on the table. Penelope jumped off the table and stood next to it.
“So,” said Penelope, “what are you dressed up as from Peter Pan? A pirate?”
“I am not dressed up,” said Gary Sherman, who was shimmying, dreadfully, to the rhythm of the muffled bass coming from upstairs. The music had resumed after the accident. “This is what I wore to work.”
“Cool,” said Penelope. “That’s so cool. Where do you work?”
“I work at the Grolier Bookstore,” said Gary Sherman, “down the street.”
“Neat,” said Penelope. “So you live right near here.”
“Yeah,” said Gary Sherman. “I write on the side.”
“That’s fun,” said Penelope.
“These parties keep getting lamer though. It was at its best five years ago,” said Gary Sherman.
Gary Sherman took a packet of white powder out from his pocket and dumped the contents on the table. He took a card out of his pocket and organized it into a line. Then he sniffed it off the table.
“Do you want any of this?” asked Gary Sherman.
“No, that’s OK,” said Penelope. “I am worried I will get allergies.”
“Fair enough,” said Gary Sherman. He patted his nose protectively.
“Were you on the Advocate when you were a student here?” asked Penelope.
“These are the only cool people at Harvard!” said Gary Sherman. He took Penelope’s hands and moved them in a waving motion to the beat of the music. Penelope kept her hands limp but Gary Sherman was really not taking the hint.
“Really,” said Penelope.
“Yeah,” said Gary Sherman. “Everyone else is just a banker. Or a lawyer or something.”
“Oh, wow,” said Penelope.
“You realize later that those people are such a waste of space. They don’t have interests. They don’t listen to cool music. They are robots.” Then Gary Sherman took Penelope’s hands and made them “vogue” around her face. This was the last straw.
“Hmm,” said Penelope. “You know what? I think I’d better go.”
“Why?” said Gary Sherman. “The table broke. This party could become awesome.”
“It’s sort of late,” said Penelope, “and I have so many things to do. My roommates are at home. I am sure they want to know what I am doing …”
“Suit yourself,” said Gary Sherman. He quickly exited. After standing near the table for about thirty seconds, staring blankly at the door, Penelope also left the room and the party. Because the thing was, Penelope hated whimsy as she hated hell. It was the last time she ever set foot in the Advocate.
“Penelope. Are you whistling?” said Ted, or the voice of Ted. Penelope couldn’t really see where he was. She was almost back to Pennypacker but it was very dark out, and she couldn’t see very much in front of her. That was why she was whistling, to inform predators that she was alive and unafraid.
Ted stepped under the streetlight in front of Pennypacker, so Penelope finally spotted him. He had his phone in his hand. He was wearing cargo shorts, a white T-shirt, and a flannel shirt over the T-shirt, like a minor figure in Pearl Jam.
“You are like the best whistler I have ever heard,” said Ted.
“Thanks!” said Penelope. This was not the first time she had heard this compliment. She was an excellent whistler. Still, it was pleasing every time it was said. She smiled at Ted.
“What were you doing tonight?” asked Ted. He shifted his weight to his other leg.
“Oh, I was at that Advocate party,” said Penelope. She drifted toward the front door of the dorm and opened it. Ted followed her inside.
“Was it fun?” asked Ted. He followed her up the stairs too.
“Was it fun,” said Penelope. She thought about this. It was probably more fun than other things she had done in her life, but not by much.
“Why are you home so early?” asked Ted. They were almost at Penelope’s door.
“I don’t know,” said Penelope, fiddling with the lock and opening the door. Ted was going to come inside her suite, it turned out. He followed her into the common room and sat on the futon. Penelope gingerly removed her shoes and sat next to him on the futon, to be polite.
“Everyone says those parties are fun,” said Ted, crossing one leg over the other. “Maybe you just didn�
�t hang out with the right people.”
“Maybe,” said Penelope. “What did you do tonight?’
“Me?” said Ted. “Well, there is still a pregame going on downstairs. I was there.”
“Oh,” said Penelope. “How was that?”
“Fine,” said Ted. “Sort of boring. Nikil is going insane because he is comping the business board of the Crimson and also doing something at the Institute of Politics. He spent like five hours talking about it. I think he wants to be president or something.”
“Do you think he would be a good president?” asked Penelope.
“No,” said Ted.
“I think he would be. It’s too bad he has already lost most of his hair. But maybe he can be secretary of state,” said Penelope.
“I just wanted to get out of there after a while,” said Ted. “It’s much better when you go. I wished you were there.”
“Really?” asked Penelope.
“I am so drunk,” said Ted suddenly.
“You are?” asked Penelope.
“I have been drinking like the whole day!” said Ted.
“I hope you don’t vomit,” said Penelope.
“I won’t.” Ted lay back on the futon and closed his eyes.
“Good,” said Penelope.
“Were there any guys at this Advocate party?” asked Ted in a too-loud voice, eyes still closed. He was acting very drunk now, like a drunk person in a movie.
“Well,” said Penelope. “It was coed, yes.”
“Did you make out with anyone?” asked Ted.
“I don’t think so,” said Penelope.
“Oh, Penelope. I am sorry.” He hiccoughed theatrically.
“For what?” asked Penelope nervously.
“That you had a bad time,” said Ted. He pulled at the back of Penelope’s dress so that she had to lie on the futon right next to him.
“Yeah,” said Penelope. “It’s OK.”
At this, Ted laid his head on Penelope’s shoulder. Ted’s head was rather heavy for being comparatively small, Penelope thought. He was like a velociraptor. Penelope was more like a T. rex.
“Oh, man, Penelope,” said Ted. “I am so tired.”
“You should go to sleep I guess,” said Penelope, sitting up. “Maybe I should go too. Because I am semi-tired.”
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