Chapter 4 Scarlett
FOUR
SCARLETT
When I left home at nineteen, I thought I was breaking free of the chains of my past. I thought if I moved to New York City, I’d finally be able to find myself. I envisioned exploring, making friends, trying new things. I envisioned an exciting new start.
Three years later, very little has changed. I’m just as numb to the world as I was when I left home. The only difference now is the amount in my bank account.
Every morning, my alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m., same as it has my entire life. Not so early that I don’t get my full eight hours of sleep, but not late enough that I could be considered lazy.
Then it’s right to the kitchen for a glass of water and a banana; just enough to give me a burst of energy for my workout.
When I feel like splurging, I’ll add a dollop of peanut butter.
Once I’ve finished the last bite, I change into my only non-work clothes—athletic wear—and jump onto the treadmill in my living room.
Five miles later, I blend the same green shake I make every morning. Full of vitamins, and with just enough calories to get me through the first half of my day.
After that, it’s straight to the bathroom to shower and get ready.
I have to run some errands today, but even if I wasn’t leaving the apartment until my client appointment tonight, I would still go through my whole process to ensure I look presentable.
It’s a lengthy process, but I’ve been doing it for so long that I don’t even notice it anymore.
In the shower, I wash my hair, exfoliate my body, and shave every inch that might grow hair. Once I’m toweled off and mostly dry, I reach for the body oil that makes my skin feel like silk. A quick inspection of my nails tells me I need to add a manicure and pedicure to my list today.
Then it’s back to my hair. It took me a while to learn how to do the perfect blowout, but now it’s become my go-to hairstyle. Once my hair goes up in curlers, I start my makeup.
Makeup took me far longer to master. If it wasn’t for Amara taking me under her wing and helping me get on my feet, I still might not know the shades that compliment my skin and eyes.
You’d think my mother would’ve taught me, considering she stressed that makeup was a necessity for women—just not too much—but I guess she couldn’t be bothered to actually teach the lesson.
It takes me an entire hour to perfect my face. Full coverage, a touch of life on the cheeks, subtle eyeshadow to complement my eyes; the only part of my routine I leave for later is the red lip that’s become my signature. For now, I just swipe on some gloss.
By 10 a.m., I’m ready for the only part of my day that evokes any kind of emotion in me these days: class.
It took me a long time to convince myself I could—and should—enroll in an undergraduate program. Because when you grow up with your mother constantly telling you beauty is more important than brains, and shushing you whenever your brains made an appearance, your academic interests consequently dim.
But after a year of living in the city, too scared to do things on my own and very much realizing that New York City is terrifying compared to a small southern town, the boredom started to eat at me. Only working two, three hours a night, meant I had a lot of free time.
Apparently, Arizona State University’s marketing really works, because after one too many ads and emails, I became curious.
And when I looked up their programs, they sucked me in.
Every class description looked similar to the things I was reading in my spare time anyway.
So, I applied for their liberal arts program, made my first tuition payment, and started online classes three months later.
While I’m waiting for today’s live session to start, I log into my school email and LMS dashboard to check my to-do list. I have class now until eleven, then nothing until work at 5 p.m. For my psychology course, I have some reading to finish, but technically, that assignment isn’t due for two weeks, so I could put that off until tomorrow.
Which means I have time to get my nails done after my hair appointment, because God forbid Dr. Schaffer sees me without perfect toenails—
The ding of the professor starting the session shakes me from my thoughts.
“Good morning, everyone. Hope you all had a great weekend. We’ll get started in just a minute.”
The lecture is an easy one to follow. I do most of the work ahead of time, partly because I’m fascinated by the subject and want to understand everything, and partly because I have all the time in the world to do supplemental research.
I could zone out if I wanted to, but I’m so relieved to have something to do that I don’t let myself do that.
On the screen, my social psychology professor switches the slide and asks, “Can anyone tell me the difference between conformity, compliance, and obedience?”
As I twirl the pen in my hand, I mentally recite the answer to the question, waiting for one of my peers to volunteer.
When no one does, I suddenly hear, “Scarlett, want to take a stab at it?”
My head jerks up, my cheeks heating. I hate being put on the spot in class. I can never get the balance right with being a good student and earning the title of teacher’s pet. I hate sounding like a know-it-all.
“Um…” I fidget in my seat, glancing nervously at the faces on my screen. “Well, conformity has to do with fitting into a group. I think.” I know.
My professor nods. “Good. Go on.”
“Compliance has to do with complying with a request, as in, the case of doing a friend a favor.” Another nod. “And then…obedience is following orders?”
He’s watching me as if he’s trying to figure me out. After a moment of hesitation, he says, “All correct. Anything else to add? Your assignment last week was remarkable in its breakdown.”
I try not to beam at the praise. Being complimented for my brain—instead of scolded—always hits harder than I’m prepared for.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I debate my answer. But half the class isn’t even paying attention, so I decide: screw it. I’m paying hard-earned money for this education.
“The most important differences have to do with the power dynamics,” I start carefully. “For conformity, the influence comes from social pressure. For compliance, it’s from another person. And for obedience, it’s specifically from an authority figure.”
Is that amusement on my professor’s face? “Very good. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” I continue, and he doesn’t hide his grin anymore. “I think the motivation behind these three ideas is important, too.”
“How so?”
I sit up straighter, a spark of excitement jolting me.
“Well, as I said, conformity has to do with social pressure. So the motivation behind it is wanting to fit in. And with compliance, you’re fulfilling someone’s request. So the motivation is either wanting to help, or possibly to avoid conflict.
And with obedience, there’s an authority figure involved, which means you either fear being punished if you don’t abide by the order, or you genuinely believe in their leadership.
Either way, the motivations highlight big differences between the three. ”
By the time I finish speaking, my professor looks impressed—but not surprised. He gives an approving nod and says, “That’s very insightful, Scarlett. And correct on all counts.”
I duck my head to hide my smile.
“You should volunteer more. The class would benefit from your insights.”
My head snaps up at that. Nervously, my gaze darts to the other students to see if that comment solidified the feared teacher’s pet status.
But half are still nodding off, some look curious, and the rest are furiously typing notes.
I let out a relieved breath and nod at the professor.
The rest of the class goes smoothly. I’m not put on the spot, but I do offer two more answers. By the time the hour ends, there’s the slightest sizzle of life in my veins.
Normally on my day off, I’d rot away in front of the TV and try not to think about the parallel universe where I’m happy, have friends, and I wake up with a desire to explore the city.
But I don’t want to do that today. Maybe I’ll actually explore the city.
I could take a walk and go shopping. I have plenty of clothes, but it’s been a while since I’ve shopped for myself.
Or maybe I’ll finally take the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty—
My phone rings, stemming all thoughts of plans for the day.
Amara’s the only one who ever calls me. And the reminder of my job is enough to make every ounce of excitement freeze in my veins.
“Scarlett,” she says sweetly when I answer. “How are you today?”
I let out an unfeeling hum. “I’m okay.”
“Class was good? How did you do on your exam yesterday?”
I hide my sigh as I slump back into my chair. Leave it to me to find the one madam who genuinely cares about her girls.
In an instant, my mind flashes back to the night I met Amara.
I’d been on my own for exactly one day and was already being slapped in the face by reality.
Namely, that the world was much more expensive than I realized and that I had zero marketable skills to find a job.
I’d spent all day searching, growing more and more defeated with every rejection.
I barely had enough money for another night at a cheap hotel and I hadn’t eaten anything all day, too nervous to buy anything more than a hot dog from a street vendor.
By the time I ducked into a bar to ask for a glass of water, my hopelessness had grown to the same level it had been when I left home.
That’s where Amara found me.
Apparently, she watched as I turned down a businessman’s advances at the bar, in awe of the gentle way I did it. With the way she tells the story, I was so polite about it that he wasn’t even offended by the rejection.
She pulled me aside after that, bought me a drink, and asked me what I was doing so far from home.