Going Geek (13 page)

J
ess barges into our room while I'm doing some last-minute cramming for my calculus test. “I need to start a documentary screening series,” she announces.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I say, flipping through my notebook.

“You have to help me,” she says.

“I don't even like watching documentaries. How am I supposed to convince other people to watch them?” I ask.

Jess grins. “I don't know. But if anyone can, it's you.”

I groan, but Jess only waves her hand dismissively. “You'll think of something. Opal says you helped her realize her dream of starting a yoga consciousness at Winthrop, and I figure that has to be harder than getting people into documentaries.”

“Okay, Opal's nuts. Yoga consciousness—are you kidding me? People just want a hard body and some feel-good stretches. The minute she tries to introduce chanting or her wacky dragon breathing, the jig is up.” I shake my head. It's like no one here understands people.

She plops into the chair in front of me, willfully oblivious to the fact that I'm trying to pass my classes. “There must be some angle we can take.”

She clearly isn't going to let this go. “Why don't you start with existing clubs? Ask them if you can show their members a documentary on a subject that would actually be relevant to them. It would have to tie in thematically. Then, when word gets around that you actually show interesting documentaries, you can start your own series and show whatever you want.”

“You. Are. A genius!” Jess stares at me wide-eyed before leaping up and kissing me on the cheek. “Oh my god, where should I start? I could show that food one to the Vegan Club!”

“Sure, all four members. Way to think big!”

“What about something on how health care costs are skyrocketing and bankrupting the average citizen?”

“Who're you going to show that to? Know your audience. Winthrop students are more likely the offspring of pharmaceutical giants, not people who struggle with their co-pay.”

Her brow furrows. “Then what's your idea?”

I seriously want to scream. “I don't have an idea! I'm trying to study.” Why won't she take no for an answer? “Start broad. Why don't you show a sports-related one to one of the teams?”

She lights up. “I love that! There's a really controversial one on concussions and brain damage. I could show that to the football team.”

“Great idea. I'm sure Coach Hewitt will love you for it. The whole team will be skittish and afraid to take a hit. Rally Weekend, not to mention our winning record, will be in the toilet.” I raise my eyebrows. Not big on common sense, this one.

“Okay, maybe not that one, but there are plenty of nonscary, inspiring sports ones. So it's still a great idea. I knew I came to the right place!”

It's like I'm talking to myself.

But within the week I see flyers around campus for a showing in the auditorium of a documentary on the Oakland Raiders. At least she managed to pick one that isn't too polarizing or out there. She's listed my name as one of the two founding members of the Documentary Club, and a murderous impulse flashes through my body. She says she got around the ten-initial-member rule by saying that we won't require a set space and time until we reach it. Even though I feel a bit railroaded, I am impressed that she got this off the ground so quickly.

The Calendar meeting is already in progress by the time I arrive. I've been summoned here, presumably to get reamed for Abbot's tea.

“The Halloween Masquerade Ball is approaching fast, and we need to plan some events around it for the people who are antisocial and don't want to get dressed up,” Whit says.

“We need people to step up,” Lila says. Everyone groans. People only like to work on the big stuff.

What the hell? I'm fairly certain that none of the Abbot girls have ever set foot in one of the big school dances, and I'm clearly not in the right frame of mind to socialize. Planning something for the nonparty crowd should be a no-brainer. Plus, it gets me further entrenched in the Calendar, so it'll be harder for Whit to pretend I don't exist. “We can do something,” I say.

Lila snorts, and Whitney stares at me in disbelief. “Oh, don't worry, we're getting to you,” Whitney says. “In what world is it a smart idea for you to do another event on the heels of your catastrophic tea?”

I recite the answer I prepared. “There was nothing inherently wrong with the concept. We just overestimated the taste level of our fellow students.”

“Yeah. That was the problem,” Lila says sarcastically. “Nobody covered the event, because Whit thought we could trust you to coordinate a tiny affair like that. But obviously she was wrong. Again.”

That last word hangs in the air. Whitney winces a little at Lila's words. “And by the way, you're not coming to the ball?” Whit asks.

I shrug. “I don't have a date. I'm fine with lying low.”

“It's our last year,” Olivia says, protesting.

“I know, but I can take one for the team.” Maybe if I act like I'm still a part of all this, we can get past our differences.

“That's very generous of you,” Lila says, suddenly looking much happier. “I'm sure you can put the tea behind you and figure out something cute.”

“We'll go ahead and put Abbot in the calendar for October thirty-first,” Whitney says.

But when I get back to Abbot and tell the girls what I've committed to, they have a collective meltdown. “Maybe we didn't make it clear, but we want less social responsibility, not more,” Jess says.

“You're going to have to handle that one on your own,” Samantha says. “We don't want any part of it.”

“Well, it's not like you're going to the Masquerade Ball! Did you have something else on your busy agendas?” I can't believe the amount of pushback I'm getting on this. No one will be checking up on us, because they'll be too busy with the ball. We can pretty much do whatever we want. And we get credit for doing something when no one else wanted to. I fail to see the downside.

“Washing my hair,” Yasmin says.

“Doing my chem lab write-up,” Raksmey says.

I turn to Jess. “You owe me. You're using my name to start your club, so the least you can do is back me up on this.” She groans. “Come on. It's an easy way to get Abbot on the social map with no pressure.”

Everyone looks at Jess, waiting to see if she caves. She finally meets their gazes. “One more event. I guess it couldn't hurt.”

That's the spirit. I don't know why I'm pushing them. If they're content to languish in social obscurity, maybe I don't need to rock the boat.

I put the whole thing out of my mind and leave the dorm on Thursday night as soon as I hear Club Raks gearing up. Though I'm actually tempted to join her, I put myself on autopilot and head toward Albright. I haven't spoken to Declan since our awkward moment after film class the other day.

I'm passing the cemetery when someone pounces on me from behind. I scream and whirl around, fists raised. It's Jess, and she doesn't seem troubled that I'm about to beat the crap out of her. “Sorry,” she says with a smirk. “Didn't know you scared so easy.”

I shake my head and resume walking. “Where are you going?” I ask.

Jess grins. “Believe it or not, I have a date. Vince Romboli from the football team asked me out after the screening.”

“No way.” I stop short. Vince, while not exactly popular (football players don't have the same kind of status here that they seem to at other schools), is kind of a player, and not just in the football sense. I'm more than a little concerned.

“Yes!” She bounces happily on her toes.

“You sure he's your type?” I ask.

“You mean hot? Uh, yeah. Don't worry, I know he's got a reputation as kind of a ladies' man, but I'm not completely clueless.”

I'm not sure I agree with her, but she's too excited to hear anything rational at the moment.

“Dude, you should've come,” she says. “I was so nervous.”

“Apparently you did just fine.”

“Will you come to the next one? I'm doing what you said and starting out with interesting but not necessarily contentious ones.” She sounds both hopeful and somewhat desperate.

“I'll try, I promise. I have to actually work to get good grades.” I'm getting cranky just thinking about all the studying I have ahead of me.

“We all do. If I can help in any way, just ask. I work on the
Winthrop Times,
so I'm great at editing, not so useful on the science-and-math front,” Jess says. “Opal's better at those.”

I sigh. “Walk with me. What are your ideas for the next one?”

Jess starts prattling on. Maybe we're inspired by the sight of Albright, but we agree on one about a working-class couple who managed to amass one of the most impressive modern art collections in the world.

“But who's going to go to that?” I ask.

“A lot of artsy people go to this school. Plus it's just a cool story. You'd like it.”

“Does this mean you're going to help me with Halloween?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“I already said I would, didn't I?” Jess widens her eyes in an attempt at innocent cooperation.

I give her a look. “Where are you meeting Vince?” Date place options around here really suck.

“The gym. He's finishing his workout, but then we're going for a quick run and maybe the Study after.”

That sounds like a legit first date (for a boarding school), so I nod my approval. Vince isn't a completely terrible person, so I don't know why I'm acting weirdly and unexpectedly protective of Jess.

She drops me off at Albright, more excited than I've ever seen her when her face isn't stuck to her laptop screen. Maybe the Documentary Club wasn't such a horrible idea after all.

T
wo hours later I'm settled into the studio. I've worked and reworked my section of the physics lab report to death, and my brain has turned to mush. I email the draft to my lab partner so she can look it over.

Bettina's lost in her own little world of hot-glue-gunning and paint pots. Across the table from me, Declan's eyes never leave the paper as he sketches, headphones on, absorbed in his drawing.

He didn't acknowledge me when I came in, so, as far as I know, he's still mad about my insinuating that the Thatcher guys are uncool. I've been fine with ignoring him back, but now not talking to him is starting to drive me insane.

I lean over to take a closer look at his drawing, then walk around to his side of the table. He smells like pencil shavings and wintergreen gum. I pull one of the ears of his headphones away. “Is that me?”

He slides the headphones down around his neck and looks at me, so unembarrassed that he's almost mocking. “Well, you are sitting right there.”

My cheeks color. He's extremely talented, so there's not much for me to complain about. His rendering is flattering but not obsequious. As he shades the areas near my eyes, my good intentions to apologize evaporate. I feel too exposed to say anything.

I slip away to Bettina's side. The plastic bags have multiplied over the last few weeks and gotten even more colorful and elaborate. “You're procrastinating,” Bettina says.

“Nope. I'm waiting for my lab partner to email me back. I'm allowed to take a break, aren't I?” I've been working really hard in monk-like silence for the entire night.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask.

Bettina shakes her head, then rips a piece of packing tape off a roll with her teeth. “This is an original installation.”

“Then forgive me for asking, but how do you know it's going to work?”

She glares at me. “It's pretty straightforward in terms of the balloon science, but I have no clue as to how it's going to look.”

“Don't you want to test it out? I mean, you're spending so much time on it. You should make sure it'll work.” I'm trying to be helpful, but from the way she's looking at me, it's obviously not being taken that way.

“That's part of the discovery, the artistic journey. If there's no risk involved, it's not art,” Declan says. Evidently he's done ignoring me.

“I want to experience the rush of uncertainty and seeing them all go up together for the first time,” Bettina says.

Who knew artists were such adrenaline junkies? Not quite sure I agree with her, but it's her time and energy, so fair enough. “Do you know when you're going to release them?” I ask.

She studies the different designs laid out across the table. “Whenever they're ready.”

“And you're fairly certain it's going to work?”

“There's no logical reason why it wouldn't. And besides, the worst that happens is that I don't get the recording for my video portfolio. I still have time to come up with something else.”

As I listen to her talk, I'm getting an idea. It might be a terrible one, but I can't seem to stop it from coming out of my mouth. “Do you think they could be ready by Halloween?”

“Possibly. Perhaps,” she says.

“Because I have a great idea.”

Bettina stares at me, a flat look through half-lowered lids. “Do tell.”

“We make a party out of it. It's a perfect event for Halloween, and as you know, Abbot is on the hook to host something.” I talk fast, hoping to bombard her with so many reasons that she won't have a chance to think better of it. “Also, you said you want an element of risk. Well, what ups the ante more than a live audience? It's like those tightrope walkers who walk between skyscrapers. Everyone is psychically pulling for them to succeed, and all that cosmic group energy is part of the journey, like you said. And enjoying it with a crowd will only add to your emotional high.”

Her expression is skeptical. “And what if it doesn't work?”

“That's actually a great idea,” Declan says. “And you'll totally pull it off. No fear.”

I smile at him, grateful for the support and relieved that we seem to be getting past my slipup. “We'll make it clear that it's meant to be experimental art,” I say. “People will eat it up. They'll feel like they're part of something unique and special.”

She actually seems to be buying the nonsense I'm spewing. “So people are just going to stand around and watch me send them up?”

I think fast. “I'll have snacks of some kind, of course—Halloween themed, like popcorn balls and caramel apples. It'll be big. Where were you planning on doing this?”

“The athletic field?” she says, nose wrinkled.

“Kind of generic, don't you think? Won't look interesting on video. You need a more cinematic setting.”

Declan actually looks impressed by me, but an anxious look flashes across Bettina's face. “The Field would be ideal, but I'm guessing there'd be too much incidental traffic that could screw things up,” she says.

“Hmm. Yeah, that's not quite right either.” Then, a sudden stroke of genius: “What about the cemetery? It's always empty, and it'll be amazingly creepy and atmospheric. Oh my god, it's perfect!” Now I'm not even making stuff up. It really would be perfect. The cemetery would transform her art installation into a staged show.

“You mean near the Mausoleum?” Bettina asks.

The Mausoleum is actually a mausoleum. It entombs a handful of members of the Lawrence family. I have no idea who they are, but their burial site is a very popular make-out and smoking spot. I'm kind of surprised Bettina knows of it. “Sure,” I say. It's the only area without a lot of trees in the way.

Bettina's mouth twists sideways. “As long as all I have to worry about is my balloons, I'm in. You have to handle everything else.”

“Done!” I say. I'm actually ecstatic about this latest brainwave. If it works, it's going to be brilliant. If it doesn't, well, that'll be nothing new for the Abbot girls.