Chapter 6 #2
more, but I am technically closer to Mother, though our communication is mostly through letters. Father travels often so I’m
distant from him as well.
I feel like I’m drifting, not sure where I fit. I don’t know if that’s something you can relate to.
Yours,
Jay
I read over his words twice, the vulnerability standing out against the rough edges of most boys around here.
Despite Cannon’s accusations, I was quick to believe Jay’s own view of his father, even if their relationship is distant.
But still . . .
I almost flipped the letter over and used its blank side to write my response inside my locker. But there were too many witnesses, so I didn’t. My one question for him would be, What is your father’s true occupation?
Was that too blunt? It was the first thing that popped into my head. A man who earned his wealth honestly would want to help
others follow the same path, right? But his school’s programs didn’t seem to reflect that idea. They only gave a few of us
the chance to learn skills that could lead to wealth. Maybe that was a flaw on his part.
Before I could question myself further, a figure emerged from the steam near the showers, calling out, “Okay, who here’s a
virgin?”
It was Vinny, choosing to be confident suddenly, perhaps due to the pressures that came with being surrounded by a bunch of
shirtless guys.
They all broke into laughter, and I quickly balled up the letter.
“Nick, for sure,” Charlie chimed in, grinning at me. “It’s the reason he and Jay are passing notes back and forth like a couple
of schoolgirls.” A ripple of laughter went through the room.
My face burned, but I pretended the comment didn’t matter. Being the center of attention stung though. I hated it.
“That is what’s going on, isn’t it?” Charlie asked, his cold green eyes piercing through mine.
I tucked the balled-up paper into my bag. I’d give his words nothing and let them pass by. I didn’t know Charlie well enough
to let him capsize me.
Jay, on the other hand, was visibly affected by it. He walked right up to Charlie and barked, “What did you say?” as if he still hadn’t calmed down from the other night.
Charlie didn’t back down. They stood chest to chest, chin to chin, in a ridiculous contest of who was tougher. “I said your
little friend is a virgin,” Charlie pronounced. “Am I wrong?”
A crowd of eyes corralled them into an energy spotlight.
“Charlie,” Jay said, shaking his head. “The only reason you’d be concerned with that is if you wanted him yourself.”
Everyone oohed at that one, but Charlie rolled his eyes.
“Come on, people. That was weak!” He stepped toward Jay, staring him dead in the eye, and then their bodies were almost close enough to touch. “I don’t want
your boyfriend,” Charlie said. “But I’m glad you’re finally making the kinds of friends you’ve always wanted, Jay.”
“Meaning what?” I said, making Charlie face me. Others turned to face me too, the room quieting as everyone remembered I was
there. “What kinds of friends?” I asked.
He couldn’t answer right away. He laughed quietly and then looked at Jay. “Like father like son is what it means.”
“I’m not arguing anymore,” Jay said, and he slunk around bodies to leave the locker room.
I followed him. This situation would push him away before we really had a chance to become friends, and I was really enjoying
getting to know him! More than I could say for most people.
“That’s right,” Charlie called after us. “Go and smooch each other in private!”
Jay stormed away from the ensuing laughter, going for the outdoor corridor that led to West Egg’s main lawn. He fell against a stone pillar as if he needed it to steady him. He pulled a tiny silver tray from his pocket and from that wrenched a shaking cigarette.
I stood and watched him try to light it. Eventually he gave up, as if he didn’t even want it. I wanted to approach, but I
wasn’t sure if he’d tell me to leave him to his tragic thinking.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m a virgin too,” he announced. Jay held up the lighter and finally turned to faced me. “No
fluid,” he said, shaking the lighter. “Hey, I’m not in the best mood. Wouldn’t want it to rub off on you. I’ll see you.” And
then he walked away.
I watched him go, right across the dark yard, back in the direction of the street. Didn’t he want to commemorate how we’d
just survived a locker room bloodbath? Why did it seem he was always escaping, and just out of reach?
“Wow, two virgins,” said a voice behind me. “How unfortunate.”
I spun around to find Artie Botts studying his face in a handheld mirror, his sleek girlish hair shining in the campus’s orange
lamps. He was ladylike in all ways, but so confident in it that the bullies mostly left him alone.
“Please don’t tell people about that?” I asked.
Artie closed his mirror and shook his hair from out of his face. “Don’t take it personally if I do. Talk is what I do.”
Artie was the West Egg Chronicle’s first Negro writer.
His essay was featured in the West Egg pamphlet, and in it he talked about how proud he was to have impressed the paper’s faculty supervisor with his easy voice and punchy humor.
Now he ran a column in the Chronicle, where he published tabloid-style journalism about popular students.
Artie’s presence was at times loud and at others quiet—he’d go unnoticed as he moved like a shadow through the locker room,
observing conversations and storing details away to write about later. He seemed to know each student’s story before they’d
told it to him.
“Late night showdown between the founding boys?” Artie continued. “You best believe I’m on it. And you . . .” He tilted his
head and sized me up, in a way that made me feel small, despite Artie being inches shorter. “You really, really like Jay,
don’t you?” He laughed smugly and wiped lip balm off the corner of his mouth. “Another fan taking the kind humanitarian act a little too personally, I see.”
I was not in the mood for any fighting. “Can’t you focus on something else?” I asked, voice bleeding with exhaustion. “All
I do is mind my own business around here—I don’t bother anyone.”
“Unfortunately no, Nicholas, I can’t. Because this is my favorite subject. You know why? Because nothing is more interesting than the truth underneath a disguise.” He began
to advance on me, his eyes severe. “Your dear Jay, for example—charitable, oh-so-charming on the outside, but what’s underneath?
Anything real? His personality is all for show—just like this school!”
Artie wasn’t technically wrong, about the school anyway. White boys came here to look good on paper but wanted little to do with us in reality.
Artie gave me a fake smile, probably because he saw my face fall.
“I’d tell you to be careful, but it seems like you’re in the full swing of things already, so good luck!” He waved with his
fingers insincerely and spun away.
The next day I returned to the bathroom several times in the afternoon; something about nerves made my bladder inconsistent.
I kept throwing gel into my hair and splashing water on my face.
When I caught myself in the mirror, I realized how nervous I was. I didn’t think my burgeoning friendship with Jay would get
attention. Now there were unwanted visitors with me when I was inside the small corners of my mind, feeling my emotions.
I liked that Jay continued to stick up for me. But I wasn’t a chump—I wanted to be someone who could stick up for himself.
When I got back to the room, Vinny was sprawled on his bed, skimming through his homework. He glanced up, caught the look
on my face, and raised an eyebrow. “So, how’s the note passing going with Jay?”
“Ugh,” I groaned, collapsing onto my bed, face-first into the lumpy mattress. I turned my head to speak, but didn’t bother
moving the rest of me. “It’s actually fine. Like, I’ve got myself a pen pal now.”
Vinny snorted, not looking up from his notebook. “A pen pal? Man, we’re not in grade school. You know you can just talk to him, right? In person?”
“What if it wasn’t my idea to write in the first place?” I muttered. “Ever think of that?”
Vinny shrugged. “Sure, but if you’re gonna write him back, that’s your thing. Don’t act like it’s some big secret. You could
talk to him anytime. Seems like you like the safety of writing, though.”
I shot him a glance, suddenly self-conscious. He wasn’t wrong.
Vinny caught my eye with a knowing smirk. “What’s the deal? What’re you holding back?”
I felt I was in the hot seat. But before I could respond, a loud voice called from outside, “Come on, baby! Give us a smile!”
Someone was catcalling outside the window, and it ripped me out of the conversation just in time.
I looked outside and found some boys gathered in front of the building, barking at someone. A little further out, where the
walkway toward the front of campus began, a girl in a headwrap and sunglasses was talking to a boy. When she gave him a shoo motion and he ran back toward the building, I realized that it was Daisy! She must have sent the boy back for me.
I raced down to meet her—I was excited she’d come to visit me here!
She’d nearly made her way to the street when I got downstairs. I caught up to her at the front of campus, where she’d gone
to lean back on a roofless car, one of her heels propped up on its body. A skirt umbrellaed in black and white polka dots
from her waist to her knees.
“Daisy?” I called, shuffling down the front steps and squinting.
“Hi, cousin!” she replied, waving when I reached the gravel road, her voice bright.
“What are you doing here? Whose . . . car is this?” I asked, gesturing to the sleek black automobile behind her, which gleamed
like polished onyx.
“Oh, it’s my boss’s,” she said, casting a quick look at the car. “Well, one of his cars. He let me borrow it.” She glanced
down at her wristwatch, a glimmer of silver and diamonds flashing. “I’m being stonewalled by Jay Gatsby. He hasn’t been returning