The Memory Book(18)

“I’m not a great texter,” he said.

It’s been a day since the party and I still have the faded letters of Stuart’s email address written on my arm in marker. I have his email because he gave it to me, and now he has mine because I emailed him.

Holy. Saint. James. Iago. Joan. Of. Fucking. Arc.

I still can’t believe it.


Wait. He’s online now. HE EMAILED ME.



Sammie,



Hey, glad you survived. Like I said last night, don’t worry about it. We were both in weird party mode. It was actually kind of refreshing. I mean, we don’t know each other very well but I will say I always felt this strange connection to you when I was at Hanover. Not a crush per se (ha-ha), because to be honest, I was always too busy acting and writing and doing homework to have much of a crush on anyone. But I remember seeing you in the cafeteria, and when Ms. Cigler read your essay aloud, I really was impressed. Maybe I should have chased after you tonight but it seemed like you wanted to get out of there. I guess I’m just not used to being so upfront with anyone. But I was glad when Maddie asked me to go find you. And I’m glad you told me that.


-Stu





Okay—I wrote back asking if he had a girlfriend. Not going to keep refreshing and checking for a reply. I have plenty of other things to do. I wait for no man. OH WAIT LOOK:

Ha-ha! No, I don’t have a girlfriend. If we’re going to keep playing the frankness game, I said “not really” to Ross because he always used to give me shit for not having a girlfriend. I had one before, in New York, but things ended last year.

Jesus, you really do just dig into it, don’t you? Ha-ha. Um. Why did I give you my email? Because I think you’re cute and smart.


-Stu




PS That book you were pretending to read? It was Anagrams by Lorrie Moore and when you get the chance (maybe when your schedule clears up) you should read it. It’s one of my favorites.





I have just been going back to my email inbox in between doing homework, expecting these emails to disappear, and they never do.

Especially this part: Because I think you’re cute and smart.

Because I think you’re cute and smart.

Because I think you’re cute and smart.

^^^ He said that. Stuart Shah said that!





THOUGHTS


Okay, it’s two a.m. but this thought just occurred to me: Maddie is a bigger fan of simplified plans as opposed to plank plans in 1AR (first affirmative rebuttal, in case you forgot that), but I think it’s just because she’s stressed and wants less to memorize.

Plus, if we go by records alone, we’ll probably be facing Hartford Prep, and those f*ckers pack planks like they’re going out of style. Again, don’t worry if you forgot planks—it’s just what it sounds like—flat statements of “what we intend to do about the problem” on top of each other in a really specific order. Simplified plans are much easier and more natural to say, but planks are better at preventing you leaving anything out or (ahem) forgetting anything.

So I’m going to tell her, leave researching the planks to me on both the 1AR AND 2AR, and I’ll give her cards, she can just do the thing where she acts like each idea is occurring to her as she’s saying it.

Okay, you know what, I’m going to email this to Maddie.





Still up at four a.m. I hear a car coming up the mountain—Mom’s home from her shift.





Went down to visit Mom before she went to bed, and she was making tea. Her turquoise scrubs clashed with the old red-and-yellow tile on the counters and walls. Coop always used to say our kitchen and dining room looked like a McDonald’s. The house was dark except for one light above the kitchen table. While she filled up the kettle, Mom kicked off her white tennis shoes.

When I said “hi,” she jumped. I scared the bejesus out of her.

“What are you doing up?” she asked when she recovered and sat down at the chrome table.

I sat across from her. “It’s two days before Nationals, Ma, what do you think?”

She shook her head over the steaming cup. “Oh, Sammie. You gotta sleep. You can’t push yourself this hard.”

“You should talk. You’ve been working a lot of overtime.”

She muttered, “Well, these medical bills aren’t going to pay themselves.”

She immediately said, “Oh god,” and put her hand on my arm. I knew she was sorry. I forgave her. Her big eyes had dark circles around them.

“So what’s the deal with this one? With Nationals,” she continued. “It’s the big show, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re done after this, right?”

I sighed. I hadn’t really thought about it that way. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mom smiled a bit, relaxing. “And does this mean you’ll be spending a little more time at home?”

“Depends. Why? I mean, Harrison is going to be fourteen soon, he can babysit just fine. Plus I paid him to do my chores while I’m gone this weekend…”

“No, hon. I mean just to be with us. Just to watch a movie or something once in a while.” She rubbed my arm. I got goose bumps.