#PastelPrincess

Chapter Thirteen

It’s our usual Wednesday night, post-dinner lounge-about in all our irrationally tired yet hopeful #HumpDay glory. Macen is laying long ways with his head hanging off my bed, handing me a bag of white chocolate-covered pretzels. Sophia sits cross-legged on the floor with me as we go through the list of our school’s extracurricular activity offerings. Now that I’ve officially decided not to be Juliet after our second on-stage run-through last night, I need to find something else to do.

“I’ll still be there to help with costuming during Drama and performance nights,” I look pointedly at Macen’s disappointed face.

“It’s not the same,” he whines while flipping on his stomach. “You are a perfect Juliet! I cannot believe after all the times you have been in front of a camera, you’re backing down now. I’ve seen you on the news! I’ve seen you with your family in front of Vasnestov Palace! And that’s real life. Being Juliet will be a kabillion times less stressful since it’s fake and not international.”

Already feeling guilty enough for giving into my stage fright, I can’t look at him. Since I’ve mentioned it this morning on the way to school, anytime he’s with earshot he’s been giving me a constant stream of reminders of how good I am, how passionate I am, how excited I was, how if I got Juliet after half the female population of the school showed up then I must be destined for it, how the whole cast is relying on me, how I promised I would do this play with him. All of this made me push off telling Mr. Holt – Drama teacher and Fall play and Spring musical director – until tomorrow morning (only a week and a day before the play is to premier and run the weekend).

“What if you do the first night and see how it goes? Friday night? And if you absolutely cannot do it, that’s why they have under-studies, you know? Com’on Lori! Please!” His voice sounds like he’s crying though there are no tears. (Not that he’s faking being upset; rather he’s a guy and doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone else ‘unless a roll requires it’.)

We both look to Sophia who keeps her eyes on the school’s booklet. “Don’t drag me into this.”

Macen jabs his hand our direction and practically starts yelling, “Com’on Freckles! Remember when you wanted to stop cheerleading? We both kept you level-headed, reminding you how much you loved it, and now you’re so happy you kept going. Right?”

She makes an odd, scrunched face where she actually at least sort of agrees with him but doesn’t want to g**g up against me.

Thinking of how brave I’ve been throughout my life, definitely in more serious situations, I am not surprised when I find myself nodding. “Okay,” I squeak. I clear my throat and try again, “Okay. First night, first show. Tell Angelica she needs to be ready to jump in at any time and tell Rupert not to be surprised if she’s there and I’m not.”

Smacking his palms together in prayer, his fingertips push up his chin. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Sophia puts her hand on my knee, and gives a reassuring smile, “And if it’s not your thing, no one will think any less of you, okay?”

I shrug but keep looking through all the schools’ activities.

If I can’t do the play, then there’s no way I’m auditioning for Grease and I’ll use my Drama class to only help with costuming or possibly sets – which means I’ll only have to do anything after school on performance nights.

I already have Journalism, which is the school newspaper – which never meets after school.

I already have Creative Writing I as an elective and will be taking II next semester.

I already have Astronomy as my other elective. Though I am planning on replacing Astronomy’s slot (because it’s only a semester class) with Art History I in the Spring, I’ve never really been artistically inclined enough to even want to join any of the Art Clubs.

I’m like most students, I’d think, and use my bonus period in the library to get ahead on homework.

I’ve been gifted Papa’s tone-deaf-ness and am very poor at playing any instruments or singing.

And though I love to dance and I take ballet Thursday evenings and Sunday afternoons, I like having that separate from school.

Feeling absolutely helpless, I toss the pamphlet across the carpet. “What am I going to do? If I can’t do it? Or if I don’t want to do Grease in the Spring? I can’t find any other extracurricular activities that sound appealing at all!” I fall softly to the pile of pillows behind me. “This sucks.”

“You know… you don’t actually have to do anything. It’s not like you need to worry about University applications.” I glower at Macen. He raises a hand, “Not because of your family!”

He puts all but his thumb down. “Your three core classes are AP.” A finger goes up. “You’re excelling so well with Journalism you have your own column in the school newspaper.” Another finger rises. “You’re floating through Creative Writing because of your natural talent.” A third finger lifts. “Astronomy is such a what-the-f**k-why class and yet you’re acing it.” And finally the pinky. “Drama is a pass-fail, passing if you show up – which you do. Plus, you’re always on top of your homework because you don’t goof off during free-period or weeknights.”

A light-heartily sigh and his eyebrows rise. “You occasionally volunteer at animal shelters and elementary school events of your own volition. And then! Then – though this has nothing to do with academics – you are totally consistent on social media. Like, Lori… my love, you’re already doing so much.”

Lifting on his hand, Macen swings his legs under him to sit upright. Hands clasps at his chest he gives me a serious look. “I know your role models are Audrey Hepburn and Emma Watson, I know that you always say you want to ‘change lives’ but maybe it would be good for you to relax… and just… be a teenager. Hang with us, lounge about, take up hobbies, drop said hobbies, go to your boyfriend’s sporting events. I don’t know… binge Netflix, read a Barnes And Noble worth of books, take Anastasia to the park and find her a puppy boyfriend,” he chuckles loudly.

He studies my face and shakes his head with a smile, “And if that all sounds all so viscously unproductive, doll, maybe take the time to figure out what you want to do after High School… in University, but especially after that… like, as a career.”

With his tangent over Sophia takes her turn, “Really, Lori. You’ve made it really clear to everyone – even your dad, that you don’t want to go into politics. We know you love writing just as much as your mother but you’ve always said ‘it’s for fun’ and you ‘could never dream it as a career’. So, what then…? I’ve known since I was six that I wanted to be a large animal vet at a zoo, Mayday has always known since before he was born that he takes after his mother and is destined for acting. So, what about you, Lori? What fuels your fire?”

Staring through the barely lavender tulle sheets draped from one side of my room to the other, I study the inaccurate arrangement of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars and moons and planets from pre-teen life with Chris, and I find that my mind goes completely blank. Still mind, still body, slow breathing, resting heart.

Though saying every week is an exaggeration, every week it seems I run through my five-year plan. Or, in this case, my possible ten-year plan. It’s something I keep close to my chest, something I haven’t even gone in-depth with my therapist. I’m so ridiculously worried that I’m going to f**k up said plan in some way that I don’t want to let anyone one in case something does go wrong. I don’t want the information I give to be wrong; I don’t want to make a mistake, I don’t want to be a failure.

But… since I picked my classes for Junior year and because Doctor Renfield always says ‘the more you talk about something, the less it weighs on you’, I’m starting to warm up to the idea of talking about this. This huge master plan of my future that I’ve been toiling over for years. Sure, I might not have come out of the womb knowing exactly what I’m meant to do and sure, I didn’t have that life-altering moment as a child, but that doesn’t mean I’m not sure.

“A professor.”

The words seem alien on my tongue, my voice seeming so far away from my body. But the moment it’s said, the moment everything falls into place. Chills on my skin, electricity through my body, a warmth spreading from my heart, I push up, leaning on my elbows. Looking between my two best friends in the whole world – my persons, my confidants, my committee – their faces expressing friendly shock, I say it again. “A professor.

“A creative writing professor,” I continue. My heart rate kicking up, I fully sit. “Bachelor’s degree for editing – which my Journalism teacher says falls under that degree or just plain English. I’d totally want a minor for social media correspondence though – which I can safely assume is under the Marketing umbrella. I’d push for another minor in Psychology, too, because let’s face it, that’s just a life skill I’d love to have.

“Then! Then I’d push for a master’s in whatever will let me be a creative writing professor.” Nodding excitingly, I wave my hand between my Mayday and my So-So, “Obviously that would fall under an English degree – maybe even needing a Creative Writing one. I suppose it may vary on the state or country if I need anything specific to education. And then depending on the actual institute, they may want me to have a doctorate as well….

“Anyway, though!” A huge smile on my face and I take the deepest breath I can manage. An almost addictive sense of relief flooding my body. Nose tingling, little tears of happiness catch on my bottom lid. “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

Slipping off my bed with one fluid motion, Macen holds his palms to my cheeks. Under the impression this is not something I’ve been obsessing over, he says “You just beautiful-mind-ed your f*****g life. Jesus f*****g Christ.” Still holding my face, he turns to Sophia, “You know how many people spend years figuring out what to do? And our Lori here figures it out in minutes! Minutes! While staring at the ceiling.” A huge, goofy smile on his face and he kisses my forehead. “You are simply glorious, my friend,” and he lets go of me to lean back against the bed.

Sophia clomps onto me in a very sideways hug, falling over my lap. “Lori! That’s so wonderful!” A tight squeeze and she backs up just a bit, hands now on my arms. “And you will totally change people’s lives that way. Teachers are what shape the next generation! This is completely what you’re meant to do, I can feel it my bones.” She sits back and looks to Macen. “Not ‘if you can’t do, teach’ but teach because you very much can do. This makes so much sense!”

And I can’t help but think it really does.