The New Guy (and Other Senior Year Distractions)

by Amy Spalding

  “I sent this off last week.” Mr. Wheeler grabs the paper off the printer and hands it to me. “But I thought you should take a look at it.”

  “Mr. Wheeler, I—”

  “You’re dismissed,” he says. “I’ll see you later in class.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Dear Admissions Staff of Brown University:

  I’ve known Julia McAllister-Morgan since the summer before her freshman year at Eagle Vista Academy. I coincidentally moved to a house next door to her family’s, and through meeting her parents, met Julia as well. From the start she impressed me as a teenager mature beyond her years, with focus and dedication to school, despite the fact that her intelligence guaranteed she wouldn’t have to try very hard if she didn’t want to.

  Julia joined the staff of the school newspaper, the Crest, at the beginning of her freshman year. It was apparent early on that her goal was to eventually earn the position of editor in chief. Due to her hard work and high standards over the next three years, I was pleased to offer this position to her at the start of her senior year. Often once students achieve the title of editor in chief, I notice that their work ethic slides a bit with this goal achieved and senior-year responsibilities/activities encroaching on time and attention. With Julia, this couldn’t be further from the truth.

  This year, a new weekly news show commenced at Eagle Vista Academy. Their school TV program and Internet presence has certainly taken away some of the Crest’s readership, as new media is liable to do to older forms. Julia was immediately concerned about protecting the legacy of the paper, even after being assured that the Crest was funded through her senior year. Her efforts to regain—and grow—readership had nothing to do with her personally, but the school’s, and print media’s, tradition.

  This may give the impression that Julia is myopically focused on the Crest, but I’m aware she also handles duties for the Associated Student Body. In the hallways and during lunch, I’ve never seen her not surrounded by a large group of friends. And despite my declarations that I’m not at the stage of my life where I feel responsible enough for a pet, Julia’s devotion to her volunteer work at a dog rescue shelter means that I’ve received many brochures about adoptable dogs in my area. This is all to say that while a devoted student, journalist, and leader, Julia is also a young adult with a full and diverse life.

  Therefore, it’s with the highest degree of confidence that I recommend Julia for undergraduate admission to Brown University. Her unstoppable spirit and clear desire to better the world will, no doubt, benefit your campus. She has definitely accomplished this at Eagle Vista Academy, and I’m excited to know she’ll bring that energy with her next year to college.

  Sincerely,

  Joseph Wheeler

  Academic Advisor, The Crest,

  Eagle Vista Academy

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I hope that by fourth period, we can just get back to normal, but Mr. Wheeler’s anger is so palpable that even the freshmen know to slink in silently.

  “I’ve already spoken to Jules,” Mr. Wheeler says, “but I’d like to say that I’m disappointed in all of you. I’m sure many of you had absolutely nothing to do with this article, but I’m also sure that many of you did. There’s no one in this room who should think that this is the type of story we should feel proud of publishing.”

  “It’s gotten national media attention,” Marisa says. “Isn’t that good?”

  Mr. Wheeler sighs. “For you, Marisa, I guess that it is. You’ve got something to put on your college applications next year. But for a school paper founded with intramural information and communication as goals, national media attention shouldn’t have really been what we were aiming for. Marisa, you won’t be writing any articles for two weeks. Jules will also be suspended from her duties for that time, as will Carlos, as that layout work is clearly his.”

  Mr. Wheeler shakes his head. “I wish I could discipline all of you, but obviously I can’t write and design this entire thing on my own for two weeks, so that’ll have to be it.”

  The class moves on to normal topics, but it’s Mr. Wheeler collecting information, not me, and it’s Amanda working in the layout program, not Carlos. Marisa keeps raising her hand with story ideas and then very quickly putting it down. The three of us aren’t built to do nothing, and yet that’s all we’ll have for two weeks.

  I don’t even attempt to walk to the cafeteria for lunch, but Em and Thatcher spot me on my way to the library and strong-arm me into walking with them. No one looks as severe as they did yesterday, though no one includes me in conversation either. All I want to do is write note upon note for Alex, I love yous and I’m sorrys and I still want this weekends, but I can’t stand the thought of my words crumpled up again in his hands.

  Em leans over and scribbles into my notebook. Don’t worry, Jules—it’ll all blow over, she writes, amid doodled curlicues of wind. I try glancing up at Sadie. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t look angry either. I decide to take it as a positive sign, because it’s all I really have. But after school, no one texts or emails me, and lunch is exactly the same the next day, and the day after that. Maybe Em is right about the anger blowing over, but I worry everything else is here to stay.

  On Friday, Natalie is seriously addressing the camera when TALON starts. I admit I’m jealous of her navy pin-striped blazer and the way her hair manages to be sleek and yet full of volume. I guess I might be jealous of less shallow aspects of Natalie too, like that she created this from nothing, and that people chose to follow her.

  “Hello, TALON viewers. This week at Eagle Vista Academy, there were serious accusations made by the Crest against the validity of TALON’s success on VidLook, and possibly beyond. I’d like to address these accusations on behalf of the entire TALON staff.”

  Natalie’s voice-over runs over screenshots of the comment sections of their VidLook page, as well as responses from journalists on Twitter to promise to check out TALON. There’s no direct proof that TALON didn’t doctor their numbers, but it seems extremely unlikely.

  They’re exactly as successful as they claim to be. Natalie built herself something that works, and works well at that. I’m clinging to a crumbling empire past its glory days.

  When Alex’s segment begins, I’m relieved that he looks like himself and not like the shell of his usual self who’s been in classes and across the lunch table from me this week. He’s genuinely so good on camera. It’s not just that he’s cute (though of course he is) but he looks so comfortable, as if he was built just for this. In person, he’s just a boy—an attractive and funny boy—but he’d probably blend into the crowd if not for Chaos 4 All. On-screen, though, he has all the confidence and charisma in the world. I realize my opinion could be biased, but I also see how other students lean forward in their chairs, watching Alex closely.

  Of course, maybe the extra attention this week is my fault.

  “Today on Alex 4 All,” he says, and still grins like he’s in love with this reference. I’m proud of how strong he is for not being embarrassed, though I guess I have no right to pride anymore. “I’m on the set of The Beautiful Scourge with fellow E.V.A. student Sadie Sheraton-Hayes.”

  The camera pans out, and Sadie is standing next to him. I stare at her—Sadie at her desk, that is, not on the screen—but she won’t make eye contact with me.

  “Sadie,” I whisper, and then, “Sadie,” I say in my real voice when she doesn’t respond.

  “Miss McAllister-Morgan, be quiet during the presentation,” Ms. Cannon says.

  When Alex’s face popped up the first time TALON popped up, I didn’t think anything could feel worse.

  This is definitely worse.

  TALON ends, and I have to just sit there in my desk, next to Sadie, as if I care about women’s history when all I care about, right now, is our history.

  Sadie and I have fought before, of course. Neither of us remembers it very well, but apparently when we were four, we had some heated battles abo
ut which Powerpuff Girl was the best (for me it was always Blossom, and for Sadie it was Buttercup). In fourth grade my feelings got hurt because Sadie got invited to Shauna Weber’s birthday skating party and I didn’t, and then in sixth grade Sadie acted strangely threatened when I got my period before she’d gotten hers.

  All of that was kid stuff, though. Literally.

  This is something new. I’ve known for a while that our talking-every-day best-friend-ship had the expiration date of going off to college, but with me busy in Providence and her in Manhattan, we’d have other stuff to keep us occupied from missing each other. We’d see each other at Thanksgiving for the annual Sheraton-Hayes/McAllister-Morgan meal, and over Christmas breaks. We would have been fine.

  But now I have to see her constantly, and she’s already gone.

  I’ve somehow managed to make it this long without telling my parents about, well, anything that’s going on, but I’m never going to make it through the weekend. During dinner I try bringing it up about a hundred times, but I can never fully form the words. Before I know it, the dishwasher is loaded and my parents are getting ready to watch TV.

  I take a seat across from them before they have a chance to start watching whatever show’s on tonight about solving crimes with forensic evidence.

  “I have to talk to you guys,” I say, and then something dawns on me. “Wait, has Mr. Wheeler already told you?”

  “Told us what?” Darcy asks.

  “There was a story in the Crest,” I say. “About Alex.”

  “What about Alex?” Mom asks.

  “We broke up again,” I say. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

  “Well, honey, it isn’t that we don’t care,” Mom says, “because of course we do. But you really don’t have to apologize. We’ve been seventeen. My senior year boyfriend—”

  “Matt Hale?” I ask.

  “Matt was sophomore year. Junior year was… oh my god. Darce, do you remember who I went out with junior year? Oh, but, right, senior year was when Paul and I broke up at least three times.” Mom smiles. “And obviously Darcy had a lot of breakups to manage to date so many—”

  “This is serious,” I say.

  “We’re sorry,” Darcy says, though she’s still smiling as she rests her chin on Mom’s shoulder. “What happened with the Crest?”

  I explain the full situation, from when it came up at an after-school meeting to Marisa’s email, to the things Alex had said about Chaos 4 All to my decision made with Mr. Wheeler far away. I try to rush through it, because like with horror movies, the scariest parts are when everything’s moving slowly.

  “I’m so sorry.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “I didn’t mean to destroy the reputation of a one-hundred-and-four-year-old tradition.”

  “I can’t believe that’s the worst article the paper has had in one hundred and four years,” Darcy says.

  I take a deep breath. “Also Sadie’s really mad at me for the article, and I guess even more so for not telling her about being back together with Alex. And… maybe she was already mad at me for being a terrible friend.”

  “You aren’t a terrible friend,” Mom says very quickly.

  “Maybe I am.” I have to wipe my eyes on my other sleeve because the first one’s already all wet. “I disappointed everyone.”

  “Honey, not everyone,” Mom says. “Obviously Joe wasn’t happy, and clearly Alex… but people screw up.”

  “I’m not supposed to let you down,” I say.

  “We’re not let down,” Darcy says. “And best friends fight. Sadie will be fine soon. Why are you still crying?”

  “Don’t make her defend herself for crying,” Mom says. “Is there more going on, Jules?”

  Darcy gets up from the sofa and crowds into the chair with me. “I know you’re feeling a lot of pressure now, with your admission status hanging out there. But you’ve worked so hard. No matter what Brown says, you should be really proud of yourself.”

  “Right now the last thing I should be is proud.” I lean my head against her. “I wanted to make it all worth it for you guys, and right now I haven’t, at all.”

  “You wanted to make what worth it?” Mom asks.

  “Me. I know you had to spend a lot of money for me to exist.”

  They do the thing where they exchange a look I can’t decode. Being together for thirty years gives you communication superpowers.

  “Julia McAllister-Morgan,” Darcy says with a sigh. “We weren’t in need of some return on our investment.”

  Mom gets up, and I’m afraid she’s going to attempt a third person in this chair meant for one. Luckily she sits down in front of us and takes my hands. I wait to hear how they love me no matter what.

  “When I was seventeen, I just wanted to get stoned and hang out with the drama kids,” she says. “And Darcy—”

  “I know, I know, dated twenty-five girls.”

  “I would not say ‘dated,’ and I’d definitely not say ‘twenty-five,’” Darcy says. “But you get the gist. You are definitely the most together anyone in the immediate family’s been at seventeen.”

  “You told Paige and Ryan you couldn’t have another kid because it was too expensive.”

  “Honey…” Mom laughs. “That has nothing to do with how you were conceived. You’re in your thirteenth year of private school, after two years of private preschool. You’re planning on attending an Ivy League school.”

  “Kids are really expensive,” Darcy says. “And our life is great. We didn’t want to mess it up with dividing our time and money more. Of course we could have made it work if we wanted to.”

  “Do you promise?” I ask.

  “We also say that to Paige and Ryan about anything we don’t want to do,” Darcy says. “Haven’t you figured that out? It always shuts them up.”

  “They never stop otherwise,” Mom says. “We’ve gotten out of so many things by claiming poverty.”

  “Anyway, you’re my favorite thing we’ve spent money on,” Darcy says. “Well, you or the espresso machine.”

  “Or the new pillow-top mattress,” Mom says. “It’s a toss-up.”

  “You’re both so mean,” I say.

  Mom pulls me out of the chair so I’m sitting next to her on the floor. I expect Darcy to join us, but she just takes up more space in the chair. “You could publish a hundred bad articles and not get into any colleges at all, and we’d still think you were worth it, you know.”

  “Mom, I know you’re trying to be nice,” I say, “but that’s almost literally my worst nightmare.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I get up on Saturday to walk dogs, of course, but just like Wednesday night, Alex isn’t there. He was here almost constantly when we were broken up, and especially when we were “broken up,” and so I know that his absence means something.

  I miss him even more this time around, which I didn’t realize was possible.

  Mom and Darcy take me to the Huntington Gardens once I’m home, and I can tell they think the beauty and serenity of all the plants and flowers will make me forget about Alex, Sadie, and my failings. That’s a lot to ask of orchids and succulents, though.

  At home I check in on the blogs that “broke” Marisa’s story. I’m relieved to see that the comments sections aren’t exploding out of control any more than they do on any other unmoderated comments sections on the Internet. Most people have just taken the time to write something along the lines of “Who cares?”

  If only that was the reaction within the halls of Eagle Vista Academy.

  I know that technically there’s no reason I couldn’t go out, even if alone, but I feel like I should be grounded—even if Mom and Darcy don’t. They go out to dinner just the two of them after I refuse to join (to be fair, they don’t push me too hard), and then I’m left alone with all my thoughts and feelings.

  Even the orchids and succulents would be better than those.

  Em texts while I’m watching TV. We’re going to check out an ar
t show at Pehrspace. Come with?

  I don’t know who we includes, and I’m afraid to text to find out. I’m afraid to text back at all. Obviously Em believes in the magical healing power of time and breezes, but all I can picture is my whole group of friends—who mostly hate me at this point—staring when my name lights up on Em’s phone. Nothing good could come from my phone at all these days, so I just turn it off.

  It washes over me while two characters are kissing on-screen, and even though I know, I get out my organizer anyway. I open to today and stare at the heart I’d drawn. Right now I’m supposed to be with Alex. With Alex. And instead I’m alone watching TV actors make out.

  After my run on Sunday, I finally respond to Em’s text with an apology for not responding sooner. She replies with an offer to meet for coffee at Swork, but after ruining so many things I’m still not sure I deserve to be going out and having fun. Or even attempting it. I tell her I’m grounded, and that seems to settle it.

  School somehow seems almost back to normal on Monday, with issues unrelated to me, that is. No one’s clamoring to talk to me when I walk inside, but less people are staring at Alex today. I’ll take the whole world hating me in exchange for that, considering it wasn’t his fault.

  The paper’s back to covering its usual topics. I’ve never had so little to do with an issue, but I still save a copy of it, and not just because my name’s in its usual spot on the masthead. The rest of the staff and Mr. Wheeler did a good job without Carlos, Marisa, or me. I try as hard as I can to not let that mean anything, though I fear it does.

  I take an extra shift at Stray Rescue after school, because I know Mom will be home early enough to take care of Peanut and Daisy and start dinner. I’m sick of being alone with my thoughts about how much I’ve screwed up for people. At least I can do something good for dogs.