First-Year Orientation, page 13
The white body thrashed, and there was a strangled, grating cry.
It was a goat.
“Jesus, Berta, I’m trying to help!” Gray cried. “Hold still!”
“Berta . . . Berta’s . . . a goat?” Mella shouted.
“Help me!” Gray yelled back. “She’s going to hurt herself!”
Mella hadn’t climbed a fence in . . . she didn’t know when the last time was she needed to climb a fence. She remembered it being easier. But when she was on the other side, she found Berta’s shaggy hips protruding from between the bars. She hesitated, then gripped the goat’s body and turned her as much as she could. The bony back legs thrashed, and one hoof came dangerously close to hitting her in the eye. Mella leaned far back, as she had when Shane Taylor tried to kiss her at the eighth-grade dance. She’d slept over at Kendall’s that night, their knee-length dresses in puddles on the floor once they’d changed into sleep shorts. Kendall’s with the magenta string.
Berta squirmed and Mella twisted and all at once there was movement, the shaggy goat legs slithering through the bars. Mella jumped up and peered over the fence to find Gray in a heap, Berta struggling on top of her for a moment before leaping clear and trotting to the nearby bushes.
“A goat?” Mella cried again as Gray picked herself up.
“Of course she’s a goat!” Gray said. She reached out to help Mella climb back over, but Mella just shook her head.
“You were doing a secret project with a goat?”
Gray looked a little embarrassed, then moved toward a bench just outside the shadows, where she sank down like all her muscles were cooked pasta. She unhooked the small backpack she carried on her back and flopped it onto her lap.
“It’s a . . . um, off-the-record QuEEn thing,” she said, scooting over to make room when Mella followed. “We, um . . . sometimes let Berta eat the fancy flowers in front of the campus buildings. A lot of times they plant invasive species because they’re pretty, but it fucks up the ecosystem and chokes out the native plants.”
“And you didn’t want Nia to know . . . why?”
“Well, Berta is hers, for one thing. But . . . I may have let Berta eat the shrubbery outside the president’s mansion.”
“Like . . . the president . . . of the college?”
Gray bit her lip in answer. Mella turned to Berta, who was staring at her as she munched on leaves and made goat noises in her throat. It was the only sound until Gray unzipped her backpack to dig around inside.
“I can’t believe I thought we were looking for a missing person,” Mella said after a while.
“Dr. Redsteer didn’t tell you?”
“No one said anything about a goat,” Mella muttered.
Gray withdrew her hand from the backpack, clutching a bag of baby carrots and corn.
“Berta,” Gray scolded. “Leave the bushes alone! Come eat this.”
She held the bag out to Mella.
“Want to feed her?”
With a baby carrot in Mella’s hands, it hit her, the ridiculousness of it. That she had come three hundred miles and nothing had changed. Above her, the moon was a sand dollar and the goat smelled like Renhill and it didn’t matter that Mella had let the magenta drawstring go—somewhere on this campus, a bird was using it to make a nest. But instead of crying, she was laughing hysterically. She thought she could uproot herself, replant, regrow. But she was the same flower.
In Renhill, the feeling of watchedness always felt smothering, but with Gray staring while she laughed, Mella laughed only more. She tried to explain the way everything was everywhere—that she had moved three hundred miles to end up petting her ex–best friend/ ex-whatever’s favorite animal. Carrots, corn, cabbage.
“So you went to college to get away from your ex?” Gray said in awe. She was chewing on one of the carrots meant for Berta, who was lipping Mella’s knuckles.
“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Mella answered. “And that’s not the only reason, but . . .”
“You wanted to be someone new.”
“Yes. Rianna took me to the roof; I tried to let it go, but—”
“Look,” Gray interrupted. “Rianna is great and all. But I think she’s wrong. You don’t always become somebody new by letting go of the past.” She looked down at her hands. They were empty, but she flexed them like they carried something Mella couldn’t see. “Sometimes it just sticks to you, like pollen. It drops off a little bit at a time.”
“It feels like somebody is playing a joke on me,” Mella said quietly. “I mean, a goat? On a college campus? What are the odds.”
“Well, to be honest, you shouldn’t have to give up goats just because your ex-girlfriend—okay, sorry, ex–best friend, didn’t love you back. Or wasn’t ready to love you back, which is my personal theory. Goats are awesome. Goats are brave.” She ruffled Berta’s ears, who then sniffed her fingers for more food.
“So I was right,” Mella groaned, looking up at the sand-dollar moon. “Every day is just going to suck until . . . until, I don’t know . . . it just doesn’t hurt anymore?”
“Or until something takes its place,” Gray said softly. “Her place. Whatever, that’s the way life is. We can move somewhere new, start over, but we’re still us. We can either try to thrive or not.”
They sat in silence, the dark coming and going as clouds came and went. Eventually Berta got tired of the carrots, and when she went for the flowers Gray stood up, tapping her shaggy back.
“Come on, girl. Let’s go find Nia.”
Mella stood, too, but before Gray zipped up her backpack, she pulled out her water bottle.
“Want some tea?” she said. “You came with me before you got any at the greenhouse and it’s probably gone by now.”
“What kind is it?”
“Hibiscus.”
Above them, the moon was a sand dollar. Renhill was here and everywhere and nowhere. The wind was picking up again, and Mella didn’t yet know if she was a root or a seed or a bee.
But she reached out her hand.
“Just a sip.”
“It smells funny in here, Mercedes.”
I pause in the act of taping my Shirley Chisholm poster to the wall and turn around to face my new roommate, Kandice. She sniffs the air and narrows her eyes at me.
“Like Lysol,” she continues. “A lot of Lysol.”
I smile and shrug. I got here first this morning, and before I unpacked, I basically bombed the room with cleaning spray and scrubbed everything down. I read online that sometimes they don’t thoroughly clean dorm rooms before students move in. I mean, can you believe that? The Lysol smell is a bit overwhelming if I take a deep breath, but that’s why I opened a window. Kandice will thank me later when our room doesn’t become infested with bugs.
“It’s not so bad,” I say.
Kandice stares at me, straight-faced. “Uh huh.”
My natural reaction when I think someone is displeased with me is to smile and try to appear as pleasant as possible. It would suck if my roommate and I couldn’t get along for all of first year.
When I learned that Kandice was going to be my roommate, I found her on Instagram and messaged her:
Hi, I’m Mercedes Brown, your future roommate!!! I can’t wait to meet you!!!
My excitement deflated when Kandice only responded, Okay.
Maybe I scared her off with the overuse of exclamation points. My older brother, Julian, always says that I have a tendency to be aggressively friendly.
I finish taping my Shirley Chisholm poster to the wall and step into the center of our small room to survey my handiwork. Next to Shirley Chisholm is a poster of Michelle Obama, and beside Michelle is a poster of Fannie Lou Hamer. My laptop and notebooks and pencils and pens are neatly displayed on my desk. My cardigans, sundresses, and jeans are all hanging up in my closet or folded away in my drawers. It’s a satisfying sight to see everything secured in its designated spot.
I chose a light blue and neon-green comforter set, which I thought seemed pretty cheerful and inviting. Bright, so people on my floor would know I was someone they could talk to. Someone fun. My bubble was promptly burst when Kandice unpacked and decorated her side of the room in pink and purple pastels. Her bed is covered in plushy Pusheen cats. It makes my blue and green seem basic and dull.
Kandice’s parents and little brother helped her move in. My mom and my dad’s two interns helped me. My dad is running for reelection as mayor back home and couldn’t get the time to be here today. I can’t help but think that maybe if I’d gotten into Princeton, like Julian, or Columbia, like our older sister, Brianna, or Yale, where my parents met, he would have made the time regardless.
I was the valedictorian of my class. I had a 4.0 GPA. I was involved with so many clubs and activities, the yearbook committee made me narrow the list down to ten. I thought I’d get into an Ivy League, too, not Rolland College, which I only applied to when my guidance counselor told me I should cast a wide net, just in case. But sometimes we have to make lemonade from lemons. At least that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.
I look at Kandice now and take in her dark brown skin and her light blue denim overalls, the bright pink shirt underneath that matches her long pink braids. I glance down at my own outfit: a purple Rolland College T-shirt and a pair of plain black tights. My two-strand twists are pulled back in a ponytail and covered with a baseball cap. I feel basic beside her and wonder if I should change into one of my sundresses. But would it be weird to change in front of her? I know we’ll have to do that eventually, but maybe doing so on the first day, barely even a full day in, isn’t the right choice.
Kandice glances up from her phone and catches me standing in the middle of the room, lost in my thoughts.
I walk over to my bed and plop down. “So you’re an art major, right?”
She stares at me blankly for so long, I almost wonder if I should repeat myself when she says, “Yep.”
“That’s really cool. I’m a political science major. I can’t remember if I told you that or not. After graduation, my plan is law school, and ideally get an internship with a local politician, but not my dad because that would be cheating. He’s the mayor back home. I’m from Ludlow, by the way, it’s only, like, forty-five minutes from here. I thought about just commuting, but my parents wanted me to get the full experience, and the person at Rolland who gave my student tour suggested I stay on campus, too. My brother Julian said tour guides are probably paid to say stuff like that so incoming students pay more money, but Julian is a pretty pessimistic person overall. He’s at Princeton. I applied there but didn’t get in . . . I saw that I can take a bus to a train to see him. I think I might do that in a couple weeks. That way I’d get to see my brother and experience a little of what it might have been like to go to Princeton . . .”
I trail off when Kandice’s eyes glaze over. I do this sometimes—talk people to death when I’m nervous. I got good at reining it in during high school when I was on student council. I was the rep for my class from first year to junior year, and I loved every minute of it. Senior year when I ran for president is when it all went downhill.
I get a weird feeling in my gut and stand up. Thinking about the senior-year student council election still makes me nauseated after all this time.
I don’t want to think about it. I won’t. This is supposed to be a fresh start.
I’m snapped out of my spiral when Kandice groans loudly. She’s frowning at her phone as her thumbs move at the speed of light. She lets out a deep sigh and shakes her head.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“My ex,” she says. “She didn’t even come to my graduation, and she has the nerve to text me and invite me to some party tonight,” Kandice says. Then adds, “She’s a sophomore here.”
“Oh.” I let her words sink in. I know nothing about relationships, being that I’ve never had one, so I really don’t know what I should say here. Maybe there’s a positive angle somewhere? “It’s probably nice to already know someone on campus.”
“Not even.” Kandice rolls her eyes. “She broke up with me last year because she said she didn’t want to start college in a relationship, and I’m gonna do the same thing. It doesn’t matter if we’re both at Rolland now. I’m not getting back with her. And no, I didn’t come here because she’s here. I got a scholarship.”
I nod. “Right. Of course.”
“What about you?” Kandice asks.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you in a relationship?”
Against my own will, a face pops into my mind. The face of someone who was never even my boyfriend, but I liked him so much all the same. The face I’ve been trying to erase from my memory. The bright smile, brown eyes, and electric, goofy laugh. The face that would turn around and grin at me every morning during homeroom senior year. Until the student council election when he ruined everything.
“Nope, single,” I say.
“Oh.” Kandice slides on her bright pink crocs and stands. “I’m hungry.”
She walks toward the door and a part of me deflates. I thought we were making some headway there, but maybe not.
“You coming?” she asks, holding the door open.
“Oh! Okay!” Relieved, I quickly hop up and follow her.
There’s a club fair happening in the courtyard outside the student union where the cafeteria is. The courtyard is filled with students sitting on benches or standing around talking. There’s someone dressed in a Rolland owl mascot costume, and a DJ is playing an upbeat Dua Lipa song.
I spot the Student Government Association table and immediately make a beeline, then remember I’m with Kandice.
“Hey, do you mind if we check out some of the clubs first?” I ask.
She shrugs, disinterested. “Sure.”
She follows me to the Student Government Association table where I quickly sign up to receive an email about the first official meeting of the semester. I feel giddy thinking about the conversation I’ll have with my dad once we get a chance to talk later. He’ll know I’m determined to keep up my club involvement, regardless of what college I’m at.
I’m placing my pen down on the table, and that’s when I hear it. That loud, goofy laugh that used to make my skin tingle.
I whip around, searching, wondering if I’m tripping. But then I spot him.
Tyler Vaughn.
He’s walking toward the patio, surrounded by a group of friends. They’re all laughing at whatever joke he just made.
I freeze. Like, my whole body actually stills. Except for my heart. It’s pounding in my chest. Because I’m in complete disbelief. What is he doing here?
“You okay?” Kandice asks. When I don’t answer, she follows my line of sight toward Tyler. “Do you know him?”
I want to tell her no, that I have no idea who he is. I want to grab her and lead her into the cafeteria, to get away from this. But then Tyler catches eyes with me, too. He slows his walk, and one of his friends bumps into him. Beside me, a girl drops her stack of pamphlets, sending sheets of paper flying everywhere. Startled, I glance over at her and the stir she’s caused. But when I look at Tyler again, he’s no longer smiling and laughing. His expression suddenly becomes very serious as he continues to stare at me. Then he starts walking right in our direction. That snaps me out of my daze.
“Come on,” I say, looping my arm through Kandice’s. I force a bright smile and march toward the cafeteria.
Kandice walks quickly to keep up. “Who was that?”
“Just someone from my high school.”
“Oh,” she says, but the lilt of her voice still sounds questioning.
Inside the cafeteria, we stand in line for hamburgers and fries. I glance over my shoulder every few minutes, wondering if Tyler is going to walk through the cafeteria doors, but thankfully he doesn’t. My heartbeat begins to slow, and I try my best not to think about him.
I don’t want to think about how he showed up as the new kid on the first day of senior year. How I felt bad for him, having to start over so late in high school. Principal Gale asked me to show him around, because I was always the go-to student to help welcome new kids. Tyler was tall and brown-skinned, his hair was cut into a fade, and he had a wide, friendly smile. He’d moved from a town in North Jersey, not too far from New York. He said moving to Ludlow was like moving to the country, which I thought was funny. Soon everyone found out just how funny he could be. He was the class clown, always cracking jokes and making people smile. His jokes were never mean, which I appreciated. And he wasn’t judgmental. Most people in my class had written me off as a goody two-shoes who took everything too seriously. I didn’t have many friends. But Tyler never seemed to care about that. He always invited me to his parties, even though I always declined. And every morning during homeroom, he’d turn around, flash his charming smile at me, and say, “So, Merce, what are your plans for world domination today?” He was so not my type. He was a slacker and skipped class and had very strong opinions about his lack of faith in the improvement of the US government (which was an affront to someone like me, who plans to run for president one day). In the end, it didn’t matter. My crush on him was a huge, living, breathing thing that was nurtured every time we talked. Until the student council election.
The election was supposed to be held at the end of junior year, but they’d delayed it due to renovations to our auditorium. So the beginning of senior year was finally the time that I was going to officially run for student council president. And everyone knew. I’d been on student council since first year, and I actually took student government seriously. The rumor was that no one had planned to even run against me. It was a sure thing. But then, as a joke, Tyler decided he wanted to run, too. His campaign slogan was “Vote for Tyler and get Doritos in the vending machine.” It didn’t even rhyme. At first, I was only slightly annoyed. I mean, why would I ever take an opponent like Tyler seriously? But then a couple weeks passed and he hadn’t dropped out, and I realized he was never going to. And he was getting momentum. There were people who were actually considering voting for him instead of me. Me, who actually cared about the students at the school and ran fundraisers every year for those who couldn’t afford dresses and tuxes for prom, who started a gardening program as a way to introduce healthier eating habits by incorporating fruits and vegetables into our meals. I was the one who encouraged Principal Gale to extend the late bell from 8:05 to 8:10 to give the students who had to drive on traffic-heavy Route 9 more time to get to school. And yet Tyler was beating me because he was cute and popular. I was so stressed, I started to fall behind in my SAT prep class, using all my spare time trying to figure out how I could beat Tyler.
