Chapter 9
My life has become nothing more than a rerun.
The thought hits me on Wednesday as I’m disassociating through my eight a.m. class.
All week—the past week and a half, really—I’ve sat in my classes watching life go by a second time with a passivity not unakin to the experience of scrolling on my phone while an old TV rerun plays in the background.
Only the rerun is my life.
I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with my mother, the way she’s already pushing me to pad my law school application as if it’s a given that I’m going.
I remember this pressure. The crushing weight of it.
The fear that no matter how hard I tried, I would never achieve the success my parents wanted.
Even knowing now that I got into law school, that I got a good job, doesn’t help.
The pressure still weighed heavily in my chest during our conversation.
Maybe that kind of weight never goes away, and at best you simply learn to ignore it.
I keep replaying Alex’s words in my mind:
It’s your life. You’re the one who has to live it.
I’ve already lived my life once, and according to a cosmic being, I did it all wrong. And now, I’m just… doing it again.
Sure, some things are different. But not by much.
I slept with Ellie, but I’m still pining.
I keep finding myself drawn to his social media pages—all of them private. I stare at his tiny profile photos, my finger hovering over the Add Friend and Follow buttons only to narrowly stop in time when I consider the possibility that he just… ignores my request.
The only thing worse than having zero access to Ellie would be to have zero access to him while knowing he has a request from me sitting there, reminding him of how pathetic I am.
Until I find a way to fix that, I’ve got the distraction of a date with Alex on Friday, and we have a text chain of constant flirty banter. But honestly, that only adds to the watching-life-pass-by-while-I-scroll-on-my-phone analogy.
Something’s gotta give.
As I listen to my professor drone on about developing marketing strategies, I realize I can’t do this again. It’s time to flip the channel.
I jolt out of my seat, ignoring the other students’ stares.
Ten minutes later, I storm into the office of my adviser, Dr. Tom Barr.
After he welcomes me in, I start explaining why I’m there, and the high I feel from finally taking control of my life sustains me right up until the moment he cuts me off mid-sentence.
“I can’t allow you to switch all your classes.”
“What the hell do you mean, you can’t allow me?
” I snap, outraged that this man thinks he has to “allow” me to do anything, and then remember that I am basically a child, and Tom, though still in his twenties, is my elder and an authority figure.
Knowing that doesn’t make me less annoyed.
In a calmer voice, I plead my case. “School policy is clear that students are allowed to drop and add classes until this Friday without a fee or need to petition.”
Tom lets out a long, put-upon sigh. “Josephina—”
“It’s Joey,” I remind him, going for a gentle tone. I already told him to call me that when I came in. You’d think a man who insists his students call him Tom despite the fact that he has a PhD and should therefore be Dr. Barr would understand the concept of a nickname.
“Okay, Joey—” he says, stretching it out. “I can’t let you switch all your classes because I don’t believe it’s best for you.”
“I know what’s best for me,” I counter flatly. The nerve.
“I know you think you do. I get it, you’re a headstrong young girl, but I’m your academic adviser, and it is my job to advise you on your academics—”
Young girl? Headstrong?
“I hear what you’re saying. I’ll take it under advisement,” I say calmly.
“But the fact of the matter is that the drop and add deadlines aren’t until Friday.
In the meantime, I am an adult, and I’m free to do what I want when it comes to the classes I pay for.
” My scholarship pays for the classes, actually, but that’s irrelevant.
I’m confident as I speak these words. “And I’m telling you, not asking, I’m going to switch my classes. ”
I level him with a hard stare and don’t back down until he sees things my way.
I walk back to my room after my meeting with Tom, fully prepared to take a nap—my new first class isn’t for an hour and a half—and find Madison at the mirror, doing her makeup.
“Don’t you have class right now?” she asks.
In the reflection of the mirror, I watch as she frowns, confused, and turns to me, her makeup forgotten. It’s an amusing picture, her makeup half done, only one brow filled in.
“I decided to switch a couple classes. I dropped the one I had now.”
Her eyes widen. “What did you drop?”
I hold up the printout of my new courses. She crosses the room and grabs it.
“Intro to Film. Intro to Creative Writing. Acting for Non-Majors. Intro to Archaeology. Two-Dimensional Design?” she says, finally raising her eyes to meet mine, her eyebrows stretched upward.
“It’s a prerequisite for Three-Dimensional Design, which is a prerequisite for pottery-making,” I explain, and take a seat on my bed.
“You want to make pottery?”
“I’ve always thought I might be good at it if I tried, but I never had time, so…”
“What about your business and poli-sci classes? Are you dropping your minor?”
“I think I’m dropping all of it.”
“You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you were twelve years old. How is”—she glances down at my schedule—“archaeology going to help you get into law school?”
“I don’t think I’m going to go to law school,” I say, and whoa, does that feel like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I managed to tell my best friend I’ve changed my mind, and I didn’t explode from shame.
Now if I could only work up the guts to tell my mother.
“Is this a quarter-life crisis?” Madison demands.
“Sure.” I shrug; it’s as good an explanation as any. It’s not like I can tell her the truth—that if anything, this is a second-life crisis.
The first time around, I saw college as a means to an end.
It was just something I had to get through in order to get to the “real life” I had always dreamed of.
If I studied hard enough and got great internships, all would be okay—and it was, in a sense.
After college, I immediately started law school, and the summer before 3L, the company I was interning at told me they’d hire me as soon as I graduated.
And then I worked.
I worked almost nonstop for years. On weekends, I took my cases home.
It was not a dream life. In the last couple of years, the near-constant work started to catch up to me, burnout set in, and I began to wonder if maybe there was a better way to live.
But by that time, I was on a hamster wheel that wouldn’t stop spinning.
Being back in this dorm room, with a dozen Harry Styleses smiling down at me, is surreal. For the first time in years, I can breathe. Fifteen hours of class a week. Fifteen. As opposed to the sixty- to seventy-hour workweeks I averaged in corporate law.
I’m a college student. My only responsibility is to learn.
I plan on taking full advantage of that privilege.
So, yeah, I’m going to take archaeology and film classes and anything else that strikes my fancy.
I’ll wait to declare a major, and even after I do, I might mix it up and switch if the whim strikes.
It’s not like exploring my options means law school is out—I bet I could still score high on the LSAT if I decide to pursue that.
And besides, I’m not going to be totally fiscally irresponsible.
Once Madison returns to getting ready and starts talking about how she got the job at the library—I pretend to be surprised—I do a Google search to find where Bitcoin is at, then invest every penny I have in it.
At some point in 2020, Bitcoin will skyrocket to sixty thousand a share, and over a hundred thousand in 2024. I know this.
I’ve just used all my money to buy a hundred Bitcoins… holy hell, I’m rich.
At least, I will be in eight years.
It’s only once I’ve crashed from that high that I remember pesky things like having to buy basic necessities right now, in the present.
I should probably get a part-time job.
My new first class today is Intro to Film at eleven a.m. I arrive at the room early, and to my surprise, who is there but Alex fucking Aquino.
I freeze in the doorway. This cannot be happening.
What the hell is Alex doing in a film class?
He isn’t a film major. He double majored in business and computer science.
I know this because we had most of our business classes together.
Furthermore, it’s been written in every single profile on him since he made his first million.
Is he taking this as an elective? Did he start out as a film major and just never mention it?
Now that I think about it, that sounds exactly like Alex. He’d never own up to a hiccup or misstep on his path to greatness.
Someone behind me clears her throat, and I awkwardly move to allow her to pass. There’s an empty seat right next to Alex. Should I sit next to him? It’ll be weird, but it would be weirder if I sat elsewhere.
It takes Alex a moment to register who just dropped into the seat next to him. A glance, then a second take, then—
“Joey? You’re not in this class,” he says, smiling. “Our date isn’t until Friday, you know.”
“I added it this morning.” I ignore his flirtation. “I didn’t realize you were enrolled.”
His smile widens. “Then today is my lucky day.”
“Are you a film major?” I say, feigning ignorance. “I thought you said something about computer science on Saturday.”
Lie. The only major we discussed was mine—when he advised me not to let my parents’ wishes dictate my life. But we spoke about so much, I’m betting he won’t call me on it.
Turns out to be a safe bet.