5
I’d never had such a long, deep conversation with my parents as I did last night.
After my father finished going off at me and my mother was done lecturing me for making her panic, they finally calmed down.
I was able to explain to them that I had lost track of time and that I was sorry for worrying them.
But also that I needed more freedom. That I had always been a sensible girl, worthy of their trust, and that it was high time they let me be eighteen. Not twelve.
I have no idea where I found all that boldness, that determination.
Okay, that’s not true.
His name is Vadim Arcadi…
I kept going, telling them how I didn’t really exist except with them, in their home, through them, and how much I wanted to break free and become my own person.
Just a little. They seemed bewildered, but strangely understanding.
I told them that I loved them, that they were wonderful parents, that I didn’t want to disappoint them, but that they had to let me grow up if they wanted me to become someone.
I never would have believed I was capable of getting through to them, but in the end, they accepted what I said, with several conditions: that I prioritize my studies, that I always answer the phone when they call, and that I never betray their trust.
This last promise will be the most difficult to keep.
Nevertheless, I agreed to their terms without hesitation, and they hugged me. In tears, my mother called me by the childish pet names she has for me, either to annoy me or perhaps to mourn the baby I no longer am. My father, all smiles, told me he was proud of me and of the “someone” I already am.
I went to bed with a light heart, my head full of images and crazy thoughts.
***
This morning, I get to the university early, with three goals in mind: to make it up to Tim, who was gone after I got back; to somehow cross paths with Vadim and make sure I didn’t dream what happened between us; and to find Clémentine to tell her everything. I don’t know in what order.
The first person I come across on campus is my boyfriend, his expression guarded.
He is as blond as Vadim is dark-haired, as sunny as the other is brooding, as reliable as Arcadi seems dangerous.
I kiss him to try and dissolve his worried look, and he kisses me back.
Reassured, he regains his zest for life along with his pride.
I’m still wrapped in his arms when Vadim walks by and lightly bumps us with his backpack.
Of course, Tim responds to the provocation. “Are you going to apologize, Arcadi?”
“For what? Oh, I didn’t even see you. Sorry, buddy.”
“Buddy? Yeah, right…”
“I just said I was sorry. Do you know that’s synonymous with apologizing?”
Vadim speaks in an exaggerated, overly precise way, and Tim is raging.
“Just leave us alone! Can’t you see we’re busy here?”
“Yeah, I can see that. Alma, maybe you can take the opportunity to explain the word ‘synonymous’ to him.”
“How many of your teeth am I going to have to break to wipe that disgusting smirk off your face?”
Tim’s voice is raised now, and I sense him starting to lose his temper. I step back, pulling away from his arms.
“Alright, alpha males, are you done?” I sigh.
“I was talking to Alma,” Vadim continues. “Unless she isn’t allowed to answer when she’s with you?”
“I told you to leave us alone. So, beat it!”
“Did you change your mind about my teeth?” Vadim provokes him again, still smirking.
“That’s enough, both of you. Stop!”
“Hey, Wallace, did you see that? She spoke without your permission!”
“Arcadi, dammit, what’s your problem?” Tim retorts, puffing out his chest.
Vadim approaches slowly, glaring at him, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black jeans.
He lifts an arrogant chin toward Tim and waits it out without blinking.
Tim faces him and steps forward in turn, his jaw tightening.
While they’re facing off, Vadim discreetly slips a tiny piece of paper into the palm of my free hand, then backs away.
“See you around, Wallace. Alma, you can put your tongue back in his mouth—it’ll keep him from saying stupid shit.”
Something about this jerk telling me to kiss my boyfriend makes me feel kind of… yuck. It leaves a hollow feeling in my chest. But I don’t have time to worry about it.
I somehow manage to stop Tim from running after him, while slipping the secret message into my pocket. I have to wait until I go to the restroom before I unfold it with trembling hands and decipher Vadim’s chaotic chicken scratch writing.
Same time, same place, tonight. This is NOT a second date. V.
It makes me smile, and I hesitate to throw the message into the water swirling down the toilet. In the end, I carefully fold it back up and tuck it away, then close my eyes as a thrill of excitement creeps up the back of my neck.
I leave the restroom and dash across campus to get to my next class, where I finally track down Clémentine.
“I don’t believe it! Stuff like this only happens to you. It sounds like a romantic comedy with a hint of drama.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not really sure I want to be the heroine.”
“Yes, you do, it’s going to be amazing! Usually in the movies, the girl falls for the bad boy but only realizes it when she sleeps with the nice guy. It sucks of course, so she ends up telling Mr. Nice Guy she can’t marry him.”
“I’m not going to sleep with anyone, and I’m definitely not marrying anyone!”
“Ah, so sex is more likely… just not with the person we’d have thought. You’ve already got it bad, Alma!”
“What do you mean?”
“Take a guess!” she yells in the middle of class.
“Shh! Clem, I’ve known you for fifteen years, and you still haven’t mastered the art of whispering!”
“Lancaster, D’Aragon, I’m not holding anyone prisoner here. If you’re not interested, you can leave,” snaps Mr. Abrams, who is clearly not having a good day.
“Sorry, Professor, that was me,” Clémentine says with a smile.
“Do I look like a cop? I don’t care if you own up to your crimes. Just like I don’t care if you skip class. Lancaster, you need to tell your partner that he’s throwing his year away. I’m not the one paying your tuition, though. D’Aragon, can we resume, or do you have more yelling to do?”
“I think I’ll be fine,” she replies, holding back a fit of giggles.
Vadim didn’t set foot on campus again for the rest of the day. I still have no end-of-term project to present, still haven’t achieved my third goal of the day, and still haven’t decided what to do tonight.
After class, Clem and I go hang out at the Sunset with the basketball players for a bit.
She drags me there because she’s infatuated with Cassius Banks, a tall, sweet Black guy with little dreadlocks that bounce around on his head.
“The most ripped arms on the whole team and the nicest butt,” according to my friend.
Tank tops that are way too loose and baggy pants worn way too low, according to me.
But sitting next to Tim, I find I can’t get into the conversations going on around me.
The schedule for the season’s upcoming games, the captain’s legendary dunk, the new cheerleader’s feats, and the latest Jordans with crazy cushioning…
I’m indifferent to it all. Even the gossip about the coach dating a player from the women’s team doesn’t interest me.
And Tim’s fully loaded new car only makes me think of Vadim Arcadi’s old beater.
Everything makes me think of him.
Why doesn’t he even have a light in the cab of his pickup? Is that part of the trap?
I sit there, swinging my legs and listening to the discussion without joining in. From afar, I watch Clémentine playing with Cassius’s dreadlocks. He doesn’t seem to mind the attention. From time to time, I feel Tim’s hand caressing my back, my side, my thigh. I discreetly dodge it.
Why did I let Vadim pull on my cardigan when I knew what he might do?
The conversation loops endlessly around the usual subjects: sports, money, parties, and romance.
I don’t remember it ever bothering me before.
I think I was even kind of proud to be the girlfriend of the captain, the best player, the cutest and most popular guy on the team.
Proud that he chose me, happy to be able to fit in, content with the idea of having someone to protect me, to guide me.
Why has that one hour locked in a car, deep in conversation, started to make everything else feel superficial, bland, and uninteresting?
I’m bored. I’m suffocating. I wonder what I’m doing here, suddenly feeling like I don’t belong. So, I get up and pull Clem by the arm, dragging her with me to the restroom.
“Clem, how about we say we’re doing a girls’ movie night tonight?”
“Ah, so you’ve made up your mind!”
“I think so…”
I see the pride in her eyes.
“I’m done with being here. Do you want to go?”
“You’re joking! Cassius Banks is this close to kissing me!”
“Yeah, I get the feeling he’s into you. His dreads practically take on a life of their own when he looks at you.”
She lets out a high-pitched squeal, fanning herself with her hand. “Manifest it with me, Alma! Repeat after me: ‘Soon, I won’t be the only one having secret dates.’”
I obey, and she spins around happily.
“Okay, I’ve got your back tonight, but you have to call me after!”
My parents find nothing to object to when it comes to a movie night with my down-in-the-dumps best friend.
After dinner they ask what Clémentine has been up to and complain that they don’t see her enough.
I think they’re also surprised to hear me talk less about the professor I admire so much and my studies.
I don’t tell them about the short film project—and definitely not who my partner is.
Instead, I tell them about Clémentine’s potential boyfriend, Timothy’s brand-new car, my classes on the history of cinema, and Mr. Abrams’s latest memorable quotes.
They give me a few last-minute reminders, and after a trip to the bathroom, I can finally leave the house. But once again, my brother sticks his nose into my business.
“Did you really need to get changed and put on makeup to go see Clémentine? You know it’s dark in a movie theater, right?”
“Basile, you do realize that some people on this earth wear things other than jeans and navy-blue sweaters, don’t you? And that you could consider finding yourself a hobby other than pissing people off?”
“Language, Alma!” my mother yells from the living room couch, looking up from her doorstop of a novel. “And take a sweater. It’s chilly for the season.”
“See you later, Mom. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Midnight, Alma, not a minute later,” my father adds for the tenth time.
“I know. I’ll be back on time.”
I give one final nod to Georgia, our beloved housekeeper of many years, who is getting ready to go to bed. Her affectionate wink is the last thing I see before I close the heavy door behind me.
The hollow feeling in my chest returns.