Finding Dell (6 page)

Sylvie Morrow stopped tapping on her breastbone and started tugging on her earlobe instead. She puffed up her cheeks and her face took on a bloated quality, her hair piled on her head in milkmaid braids so tight the skin around her temples was white with strain.

“Your mission is to reinvent an existing product. To make it more desirable. You’ll work with a partner from this class. Knowing how adolescent minds work, I won’t bother to explain the project until you’ve found a partner, as I know you won’t hear a word I say.” Professor Morrow frowned. “Go, pair up. Quickly.”

I edged closer to Bernie as other students gravitated away from her. She sat in a cloud of lemongrass scented perfume and cigarette smoke. Others thought she was a self-indulgent hippie. But I knew better than to underestimate her. Bernie often stared into space dreamily in Paso Fino, but now her eyes were hard, intimidating, as she tracked Professor Morrow pacing the room. She had a touch of whimsy mixed with a demanding independent streak; somehow, she managed to be free-spirited but exacting.

“Partners?” My voice had a needy, groping quality in just that one word, and I cringed inwardly.

“Obviously,” Bernie said. “We live four doors down from each other. And you’re the only person I can tolerate who won’t embarrass me in front of Sylvie.”

I glanced across the room. Professor Morrow rolled a piece
of chalk in her chubby fingers, sending a fine white dust sprinkling the sleeve of her dress. An irritation at wasting time edged into her eyes and she ushered us to our seats.

“The product that you will reinvent is a tad unconventional,” Professor Morrow said. “Your product is the State of Kentucky. Kentucky is more than bluegrass, bourbon, and basketball. I want you to find a new hook for the state’s tourism department. Your ad needs to attract, communicate, and persuade through graphic design.”

Professor Morrow turned to a discussion on the golden rule of thirds, a concept so basic that it begged to be broken by modern designers.

“The quickest way to create an uninteresting visual image is to place the subject at the center,” she started, turning to the blackboard to draw sharp white lines. “Instead, consider the intersections. Balancing the subject with a counterpoint leads to strong composition.”

What she said wasn’t a new concept to me, but I felt my concentration rise and turn inward. At the start of sophomore year I’d set up my life like a perfectly positioned photograph, with a balanced center focusing on what I already knew. But that didn’t work in art, and it didn’t work in life. If I shifted the composition, found my opposing crash point, would it create the balance of energy that predictable centering couldn’t?

I had a sudden urge to upset the remaining balance of my life, to kick at the crumbling base of who I was when I moved into Paso Fino and start fresh. I’d replace Natalie’s biting remarks with Bernie’s wise observations and memories of Will with unwritten moments with someone new.

After class, Bernie and I walked back to the dorm under the rumbling sky that promised a late-night storm. Leaves loosened
from the trees and danced through the humid air as I told Bernie about my change of heart.

“I thought if I could just talk to him and sort things out, I could fix it. But now I just want to forget him and start over.”

It wasn’t entirely true. I knew I’d still go back to Will if he asked, but I hated where I was at the moment and something needed to change.

“Talking to him wouldn’t help, anyway. It would send you into a spiral of interpretation, and he’s already showing you his reality,” she said as she glided down the sidewalk leisurely, ignoring the threat of rain as she blew smoke over my head. “I do agree that you should move on from this male-focused prison you’ve created for yourself. But the biggest mistake you could make is to live in denial. If you bury this relationship as a problem, you’ll never see the possibilities.”

“What possibilities?”

“The realization of every ending leads to new possibilities,” she said. “Why don’t you spend a night talking about the relationship with someone who knows you both? You might be surprised by what you say. It’s the best way to know if you’re denying a thread of hope, or truly ready to move on to the possibilities.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what Natalie would tell me to do,” I said.

“When you filter my advice through Natalie’s point of view, you give her power, power she doesn’t deserve. She seems unsupportive of you from what I’ve seen. Why do you care what she thinks?”

“She’s my best friend. Or, she used to be. We were inseparable last year. I was so scared to come here on my own. I didn’t know anyone, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be invited to a party or if I’d have someone to eat dinner with every night. Natalie
attached herself to me and then everything was easier with another person. She helped me be brave.”

“Maybe now you need to be brave in a different way. Brave enough to let her go. She may have helped you find your light, but now that it’s shining too bright for her, she’s weighing you down. So go. Go find out if you have a thread of hope, and don’t feel obligated to drown in Natalie’s negativity.”

The night was sticky with humidity and lightning flashed like bones in the dark sky with the promise of a coming heat storm. The downdrafts of wind carried the instability of electricity in the atmosphere, creating the unmistakable before-rain smell. I sat on a plastic lawn chair on Dean’s sagging front porch as the distant rumbling thunder competed with the campus clock tower as it struck midnight.

Students flooded the sidewalk, spilling over to the front lawns of the rented houses and small apartment complexes lining Massey Avenue, on their way to the bars on the Pass for the night.

My stick-straight hair curled in the humidity and my face was wet with sweat and tears as I cried to Dean.

“I really thought he cared about me. He told me we were going to be together after summer break.”

Dean’s blue eyes filled with concern and he nodded silently.

“How could he do that to me? And with a girl with such awful hair?”

Dean laughed. “Don’t compare yourself to her. You’re awesome. Easton’s an asshole.”

“He’s your friend, too.”

“Yeah, but if he said he was with you, then he should have let you know he wasn’t interested anymore instead of throwing it in your face like that.”

“You think he’s not interested anymore?” I sniffed. There it was: the thread of hope that Bernie warned of. The object of my denial that reminded me I wasn’t ready to move on yet.

“Well, yeah. He flaunted that girl with him. You should have told me sooner. I would have kicked him out of my party.”

“I can’t believe that it would be over just like that. After everything he said to me last spring about us being together. . . He lied to me.”

“He didn’t lie. He just got over it this summer when you were apart. Shit happens.”

I held my tongue as rain started to fall from the rumbling sky relentlessly. We were both silent as we watched the rain steaming on the hot asphalt. I twisted my hair into damp spirals on my head and remained quiet.

“What’s so great about Easton anyway?”

I looked over at him. His thick arms were folded across his chest like slabs of concrete and his blue eyes were vibrant against his ruddy cheeks.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

I sighed.

“We lived together in Sugarbush last year, but we didn’t start seeing each other until his birthday in the spring. After his party, we walked home to the dorm together and on the way he held my hand.” I replayed it in my head so often I loved saying it aloud. “When we got to Sugarbush, we were still holding hands, and all the way up the stairs he didn’t let go. We fell asleep in my bed that night, and when I woke up my hand was sweaty and my fingers were cramped, but he never let go all night. After that, we spent every night together, and every night he held my hand.”

When I told the story to Ruby, her dreamy smile with a hint of jealousy that told me I had the superior relationship to her
and Nicolas. But, now, Dean didn’t look dreamy or jealous. He looked indifferent.

“Never mind. I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“I get it,” he said. “I get it, Dell. You thought that was a metaphor that he’d never let go of you, and you built it up in your head until he more of a myth than anything else. Then, when he was real, you thought he broke your heart. You expected him to be the myth, and he never even knew it.”

I hated the way he minimized it, like all the moments I couldn’t stop thinking about were imagined, like they could disappear as easily as he thought I created them.

“Besides, you still haven’t told me what’s so great about him. I know how he makes you feel, but I don’t know what you see in him.”

I paused for a long time. “It’s his contradictions,” I said finally. “He’s an idealist, but he’s a cynic, too. At first, he’s aloof. If you asked him, he’d tell you he has more books than friends. But he catches you off guard. He draws you in because you never know what’s next. He’s always thinking, observing. He doesn’t like to do what’s expected.”

“So you like him because he’s unpredictable,” Dean said simply. “But you hate surprises, Dell.”

I couldn’t deny it so we sat in tense silence.

“I bet,” Dean said, “that when you think about Will, you replay two or three good memories over and over. You tell yourself they’re your favorites, but you won’t admit the truth—that you don’t have more than that. You block out the bad memories, even if they’re half your story. Why can’t you just let it go?” Dean asked finally.

Hot tears began to form at the edge of my eyes. I tipped my head back and blinked, trying to avoid a rush of tears.

“Sometimes I want to, but I just can’t,” I whispered. “But
shouldn’t that mean something in itself?”

Another long silence ensued. Crowds of people were no longer walking down the street; everyone was already at the bar. Every so often, a lone straggler wandered down the street, or a pair of stumbling drunken girls giggled their way past, holding each other with linked arms.

“I know about you and Alex last weekend.”

My head snapped in Dean’s direction.

“How did you know about that?”

Dean laughed, a single noisy exhale that sounded more mean-spirited than joyful.

“Everyone talks.”

“Does Will know about me and Alex?” I asked, my heart racing.

Dean ignored my question. “You say you can’t get over Will, but you go home with Alex,” he said. “Did you ever stop to think that Alex might not be looking at you in the same casual way you’re looking at him? What are you doing?”

I was at a loss for words. “I . . . I’m trying to . . . I need to figure out something,” I stammered. “I need to know which way works. You know, being really into the guy emotionally and not sleeping with him, or having distance.” I took a shaking breath. “Maybe it’s important that I don’t want to give up on Will, despite the rocky times since we got back. Maybe that means something more.”

“Important?” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “You know what actually means something, Dell? That Easton doesn’t care about you anymore. You’re not important to him.”

I flew up, sending the plastic chair clattering to the wooden porch floor beneath me.

“Where do you get off saying that to me?”

Dean stared at me levelly from his chair.

“You expect me to just sit back and watch you come between all of my friends and always take your side when things go wrong. Look at you and Alex. You’re self-centered because you don’t notice how bad you’re treating him, and reckless because you don’t care anyway. You’re Hurricane Dell. You destroy everything in your path.”

I spun off the porch and bounded down the rain-slicked steps, crashing through rushing water that streamed into the sewers. The downpour had stopped, but I was crying so hard I didn’t notice.

CHAPTER 7

“HURRICANE DELL.”

I buried my head in Ruby’s pillow while she laughed. The thunderstorms from last night returned at lunchtime and the insistent battering of rain at the windows reminded me constantly of my new nickname.

“It’s not so bad, Dell. It makes you sound strong, powerful,” Ruby said.

Ruby sat in the middle of the rug arranging her photos into a large collage. She brought a photo of her snuggled against Nicholas Cruz to her face to examine it, and then set it aside in a pile of rejected pictures.

“A hurricane is a destructive force of nature,” I said.

She looked up at me as a deep roll of thunder rattled the large picture window.

“Honey, I think you should embrace it,” she said in her light drawl.

“Dean has a point, though,” I argued. “I need to take a break from Alex and Will. I can’t keep dating within our circle of friends.”

After the fight with Dean, waves of guilt washed over me all day. I wondered how much I’d sabotaged our friendship by insisting on pursuing relationships with his friends.

“So you find someone new. Easy enough.”

I exhaled sharply. “Easier said than done.”

“It’ll take time. You’re in withdrawal.” She looked up and studied my face. “Think about it, Dell. You’re addicted to Will. Addicted to the passion and romance and the way he made you feel. And the more he gave you, the needier you became, until your neediness made him withdraw, sending you into your own withdrawal. He’s your drug and you need to kick the habit.”

“You really think that?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “Your brain releases chemicals when you’re that happy, and it’s like losing a high when you lose that happiness.”

She picked up a picture and touched a hand to her soft strawberry blond hair as she studied the image. “Is my hair really this flat in real life?”

I smiled into her pillow and continued to watch her out of one eye.

“What’s wrong with that one?” I asked, referring to the photo she’d set aside.

“His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not sincere.”

I raised my eyebrows and rolled over to study her. Nicholas Cruz had lived on the second floor of Sugarbush last year, and he and Ruby met while they were waiting for an open washing machine in the basement laundry room. He was a junior when we were freshmen, and he had a studied aloofness about him, brought about by female reinforcement that his dark complexion and smoldering gaze were desirable. Ruby’s insistent attention and infectious Southern laugh won him over, and they started dating soon after meeting.