performance to make me a believer, she was a very talented actress. What actress could make herself turn pale or make her own hands shake? Was it possible that my “energy” really bothered her that much? And what was it she had said at the end? “So many voices?” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Whether she’d been joking or not, Madame Rabinski had seriously freaked me out.
Back in our room, Tia pulled a pair of striped pajamas out of her top drawer.
“So, that was pretty weird, huh?”
“Just a little. What happened after I left?”
Tia shrugged. “Just my reading.”
“She must have said something about practically hurling me out of her tent! Didn’t she apologize or anything?”
“Yeah, she did. She said that she was really sorry, but that your energy was very intense and she couldn’t concentrate on my energy while you were there.”
“Oh.” Well, that was anticlimactic. I grabbed my shower caddy and slid my feet into my slippers. “Well, my energy and I are heading over to the bathroom to brush our teeth. Want to come with us?”
Tia made a sharp intake of breath through her teeth. “I dunno, Jess. I’m not sure that I can focus on my dental hygiene in the presence of your intensity.”
And with that we both laughed and trekked across the hall to brave the terrifying and uncharted territory of common hall bathrooms.
Chapter 4—Enter Evan
Chapter 4—Enter Evan
T ia and I were fast friends, though in many ways we were polar opposites. Her meticulously packed belongings and color-coordinated accessories I noticed on move-in day were merely symptomatic of full-scale neat freak syndrome. Her school books were arranged in order by subject on her desk in a maddeningly straight row, like a freshly faced shelf of boxes at a grocery store. She ironed her underwear and organized her drawers by color. She made her bed with hospital corners and had been caught red-handed on several occasions lint-rolling her throw pillows.
My brilliant system of organization involved piles: the book pile; the binder pile; the miscellaneous-papers-I-have-yet-to-organize pile. I had no system for where or in what order I put away my clothes, but at least they were clean and usually not very wrinkled. Luckily, Tia didn’t seem to mind being the Felix to my Oscar.
“I love those boots,” Tia said on the first day of classes, as I laced myself into my favorite knee-high purple Docs—a fifteen minute process.
“You can borrow them if you want. They’d fit you.”
“Oh, please, can you imagine me in those things? I’d look like a moron!”
“Um, thanks?”
“No, no, I don’t mean that you look like a moron,” she said, picking up one of my shirts from the laundry pile, a black lace tank decorated with silver studs. “I just mean that I can’t pull off your look. On you it looks so great, but on me … well, I’d just look silly.”
“Okay, if you say so,” I said. I stood up and grabbed my bulging messenger bag. “Well, I’m ready. Let’s go!”
I was taking Astronomy, Introduction to Art History, French III, and Sociology, but the class I was really looking forward to was my first one, Introduction to Shakespeare, which met at 10 AM in Turner Hall. And as luck would have it, it was Tia’s first class too.
Our class was held in a huge lecture hall; there had to be about two hundred freshman in it. Tia had confided in me that she was taking it to get her English requirement out of the way, but I was fully intending to enjoy every minute of that class. We found seats towards the front of the room, though not in the very front row, as Tia would have preferred. I coaxed her back to the third row, where we’d be slightly less prominent in the eyes of the professor. I was fishing my notebook and my Complete Works out of my messenger bag when a melodious voice echoed through the room.
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their
Back in our room, Tia pulled a pair of striped pajamas out of her top drawer.
“So, that was pretty weird, huh?”
“Just a little. What happened after I left?”
Tia shrugged. “Just my reading.”
“She must have said something about practically hurling me out of her tent! Didn’t she apologize or anything?”
“Yeah, she did. She said that she was really sorry, but that your energy was very intense and she couldn’t concentrate on my energy while you were there.”
“Oh.” Well, that was anticlimactic. I grabbed my shower caddy and slid my feet into my slippers. “Well, my energy and I are heading over to the bathroom to brush our teeth. Want to come with us?”
Tia made a sharp intake of breath through her teeth. “I dunno, Jess. I’m not sure that I can focus on my dental hygiene in the presence of your intensity.”
And with that we both laughed and trekked across the hall to brave the terrifying and uncharted territory of common hall bathrooms.
Chapter 4—Enter Evan
Chapter 4—Enter Evan
T ia and I were fast friends, though in many ways we were polar opposites. Her meticulously packed belongings and color-coordinated accessories I noticed on move-in day were merely symptomatic of full-scale neat freak syndrome. Her school books were arranged in order by subject on her desk in a maddeningly straight row, like a freshly faced shelf of boxes at a grocery store. She ironed her underwear and organized her drawers by color. She made her bed with hospital corners and had been caught red-handed on several occasions lint-rolling her throw pillows.
My brilliant system of organization involved piles: the book pile; the binder pile; the miscellaneous-papers-I-have-yet-to-organize pile. I had no system for where or in what order I put away my clothes, but at least they were clean and usually not very wrinkled. Luckily, Tia didn’t seem to mind being the Felix to my Oscar.
“I love those boots,” Tia said on the first day of classes, as I laced myself into my favorite knee-high purple Docs—a fifteen minute process.
“You can borrow them if you want. They’d fit you.”
“Oh, please, can you imagine me in those things? I’d look like a moron!”
“Um, thanks?”
“No, no, I don’t mean that you look like a moron,” she said, picking up one of my shirts from the laundry pile, a black lace tank decorated with silver studs. “I just mean that I can’t pull off your look. On you it looks so great, but on me … well, I’d just look silly.”
“Okay, if you say so,” I said. I stood up and grabbed my bulging messenger bag. “Well, I’m ready. Let’s go!”
I was taking Astronomy, Introduction to Art History, French III, and Sociology, but the class I was really looking forward to was my first one, Introduction to Shakespeare, which met at 10 AM in Turner Hall. And as luck would have it, it was Tia’s first class too.
Our class was held in a huge lecture hall; there had to be about two hundred freshman in it. Tia had confided in me that she was taking it to get her English requirement out of the way, but I was fully intending to enjoy every minute of that class. We found seats towards the front of the room, though not in the very front row, as Tia would have preferred. I coaxed her back to the third row, where we’d be slightly less prominent in the eyes of the professor. I was fishing my notebook and my Complete Works out of my messenger bag when a melodious voice echoed through the room.
“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their
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