American Panda(48)

She flapped her comforter open, revealing a flash of navy-blue pajamas. “So I showed you mine; now show me yours. What happened last night?”

I hugged a pillow to my chest. “My parents disowned me.”

“What does that mean? Aren’t you eighteen?”

“Well, no, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I told them I don’t want to be a doctor—”

“Thank God!” she yelled at the ceiling. “That would’ve been like a dog trying to be a cat.”

“And . . . some other stuff, and they cut me off. Physically, emotionally, financially. But it’s more than just that. They think I’m a terrible person. Immoral. They’re ashamed of me.” I wanted to crawl under the covers and hide.

“If they’re getting their G-string in a twist over something that trivial, then I say fuck them! Who cares what they think? You’re the one who has to live your life, not them. And you’re at MIT, for Christ’s sake! How is that not enough? Now that I’m here, I could murder someone and my parents would still be proud of me.”

Her words pierced through my brainwashing and I felt a little better. I considered saying, Yeah, fuck them, but couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t actually believe the ancestors would strike me down, but I don’t know, why risk it?

“I don’t understand why making your own life decisions makes you immoral,” Nicolette said.

When I didn’t respond (I couldn’t), she flung her covers off and jumped out of bed. “Come on, we’re gonna take your mind off this shit. Get dressed.”

Both our heads turned as something banged against our door. Not a knock, just one single thud. I pointed to Nicolette to ask, Expecting anyone? to which she shook her head. Since I was closer, I dragged myself over.

My foot landed on an ice puck and slid out from under me, sending me headfirst into the wall.

Nicolette flung the door open. After a beat, she yelled, “What the fuck, Arthur! You made my roommate hit her head. You’re such an asshole!”

I peeked around Nicolette to see a torn Dixie Cup on the floor next to a red-haired boy wearing a Nu Delta sweatshirt.

“You’re the asshole!” he yelled, flinging the cup at Nicolette. “You gave me chlamydia!”

After flipping her off, he bolted, moving with intoxicated swerves and dulled reflexes.

Nicolette slammed the door. “What a loser. I can’t believe I ever thought he was cute.”

I picked the thin circle of ice up off the floor and tilted it this way and that. It caught the light overhead, reflecting a yellow tint. It also smelled. Like Chinatown. Holy Mother of . . . Did this kid freeze his pee and slide it under our door so it would melt into our carpet?

Screaming, I chucked the frozen puck as hard as I could toward Nicolette’s side. It shot under the bed, disappearing in a tangle of blankets. She scrambled over, grabbed the revenge pee, and hurled it out the door. It ricocheted down the hall, smacking against the wall periodically. Whack. Whack. Whack. Gross. There was a trail of chlamydia down the hallway now.

“Why have I held pee twice this year?” I screamed as I ran to the bathroom.

“Twice?” Nicolette’s voice called after me.

I washed my hands ten times, scrubbing for a minute each with the damn surgical scrubs I’d received from Urgent Care. If they believed it could cure herpes, maybe it could kill the chlamydia crawling up and down my fingers. For the first time in my life, I worried I might faint. My mother would be so proud, except for the fact that it confirmed once and for all I could never be a doctor.



“Are you ready?” Nicolette asked, her hands on the back of the chair I was in. We were in MIT’s secret tunnels—really, just underground corridors, but “secret tunnels” sounded infinitely cooler.

I was hanging over the precipice of a downslope, just one rolly wheel contacting the floor.

“Wait,” I said just as she let go.

My scream filled the passageway, reverberating back to me and making me whoop even louder. As I picked up speed, I clutched the seat to keep from flying off. My loose hair tangled in front of my eyes, but I didn’t dare let go to move it aside.

“Push yourself off the wall!” Nicolette screamed at me.

I flung my head to clear the hair from my vision and stuck my foot out just in time, pushing off and sending myself down the next hallway. My chair spun in a circle, making me giggle with dizziness. I felt so free. Free of secrets, if just for a moment.

As the incline decreased and the chair slowed, I finally let go and threw my hands in the air. I shrieked, feeling the anger, frustration, and disappointment escape my body through my lungs. The chair hit a bump. I tried to right myself, but it was too late. I went flying . . .

Straight into Darren.

He managed to wrap his arms around me as my momentum knocked him into the wall. The chair crashed and a wheel popped off. His messenger bag dug into my ribs, and I prayed that he didn’t have a laptop in there. He was probably on his way back from the library and using the tunnels to stay warm.

I was still catching my breath when Darren said, “Chair surfing?”

“How does everyone know about this but me?” I was still pressed against him, our faces inches apart, and he was the only thing I saw. Meaning, I didn’t see Nicolette approach. I had completely forgotten about her.