Page 12 of Leaving the Station
“Thanks, pal,” Clint says, untwisting to face me and Oakley.
“Do you know him?” I ask Clint.
“Met him while I was coming out of the bathroom earlier.”
“See, I’m always right,” Virginia says. “The theory holds.”
“Of course you are,” Clint says in a way that makes it clear they’ve had this conversation countless times.
I’m about to try to steer the discussion back to Oakley, since I desperately want to know why her parents don’t approve of her, but before I can, she asks Virginia, “So, doyourparents approve, then? Of your life?
“Oh, absolutely not,” Virginia says. “Didn’t stop me from spending most of my adulthood trying to earn their approval, though. They’re long dead now, and I don’t have anyone left to disappoint.” She laughs a little. “So, I take the train back and forth across the country.” She leans forward. “Want to know how they spent their retirement? Volunteering at a local food bank.” This time she really laughs. “They were saints, God rest their souls. I’m sure they wouldn’t approve of this either.”
“The train is much more exciting than the food bank anyway,” Clint adds.
After this, the waiter makes his way down the aisle, and the conversation dies.
I know my parents were proud of who I was in high school.But I couldn’t continue being that person. When I got to college, it felt like a lie, even though nothing had changed except my surroundings.
Maybe that was why I spent so much time with Alden.
Day Ten of College
For most of my first week at Cornell, I would return to my dorm at the end of the day and immediately fall asleep on top of my floral twin XL comforter.
In high school, I had a fixed schedule. I knew that by nine every night, I’d be at my desk, doing homework, my lamp shining into my bloodshot eyes.
But that wasn’t the case here. I was regularly getting back to my room at midnight or later, having spent most of the day with the Tees.
They took me to improv shows and club meetings (mostly for the free food) and to get plenty of late-night french fries.
And it did feel like that—liketheywere takingmeplaces. They made an effort to include me, but I always felt separate from them, however much I wanted to slide comfortably into the group.
Autumn and Shelly were both solidly declared in their respective major, which meant that Autumn was always busy with an architecture studio assignment, and Shelly was taking a yarn analysis laboratory that took up a shocking amount of his time.
Rex didn’t know what they were doing, academically speaking, but they were already running to be an officer of the LGBTQ Student Union.
I had none of that certainty or drive.
But there were two evenings a week where I had a purpose: Tuesdays and Thursdays, in the Straight, after my biology lecture.
I’d seen Alden a few times since that first night, but he was always on his way somewhere else. He would wave to me, then smile like we had a shared secret, which I guess we did. We were bonded by our time at the top of the clock tower, by our poor decision-making.
The only reason I went to class at all was because there was a chance I would run into him as I left the temporary lecture hall. Plus, I couldn’t give up on my study of the girl’s bouncing leg, results pending.
I didn’t have Alden’s number, so after class, I would not-so-subtly sit on the same couch where I’d found him that first night, hoping that he might join me.
Finally, he did. He sat on the armchair across from me, and I spent another few seconds staring at my notebook, pretending not to notice him.
“Hi, Zoe,” he said when I finally looked up—casually, of course—and acted surprised by his presence.
“Hi, Alden.”
“I was just thinking about you.”
My heart fluttered almost painfully. “You were?”
“Do you know the band Dunk Sonic?”
