You Asked for Perfect(18)

“But I have an A in that class.” I do, thanks to keeping up with the absurd amount of reading.

“I see that. Ariel, I’m only letting you know it’s possible. But I agree. You should only drop a class if you have no other options. It will show up as a withdrawal on your record. Stick it out. I’m sure you can pull your grade up.”

I stare down at the date. The two is smudged a bit, like the paper was pulled out of the printer too soon. September is almost over, so there’s less than a month until the drop date.

I can’t believe it’s come to this. I still remember my first meeting with Ms. Hayes, when I was a freshman. At the time, I remember being excited. I was special. A smart kid. A really smart kid. She laid out my future in front of me like a journey of discovery and wonderful opportunities. Smaller classes. Better teachers. The perfect college applicant.

And the sick part is, when I’m doing well, I still feel like that special kid. Like I’m important for having so much work. Kids at school brag about all-nighters like badges of honor. There’s this twisted part of me that feels proud, invigorated even, every time I stay up all night.

But I’m not special. I’m not smart enough. I put on a front, and now it’s catching up to me.

“I didn’t realize… It was just one grade…”

Ms. Hayes lowers her voice. “Look, I’m not supposed to share this, but I know Pari Shah is also applying early action to Harvard. If they only accept one student from here like last year, well, it’s tight competition. You can’t slip up.”

Nausea sweeps over me.

“I’m not trying to overwhelm you, sweetie.” Ms. Hayes reaches across the desk and pats my hand. “You have some decisions to make, that’s all. I really think you should try again with that tutor. Will you do that for me?”

“Yeah.” I slip my hand away, so she won’t notice it shaking. “Sure. No problem.”

*

“Want more?” Sook asks.

I nod, and she passes me the joint. It’s down to the length of a pen cap, so when I take a hit, the smoke burns my eyes as much as my throat. “Another?” I ask, throwing the roach to the ground and grinding it out with the bottom of my metal water bottle. My head buzzes, fizzes.

“Fantastic idea,” Sook replies.

We’re sitting on a giant boulder, half a mile down the twisted trails of Tinder Hill. Canopies of leaves provide respite from the lingering summer heat, but the air is still tacky with humidity.

Sook pulls her lighter and a second joint from a floral-printed pencil pouch. She lights the joint and takes a hit before handing it to me.

The weed eases my racing pulse. I don’t smoke often, especially not during the school year. Usually I like my express train of thoughts. It gives me an edge, helps me get more done. But for today, for the moment, I need to chill.

“Grateful Dead okay?” I ask, queuing up music on my phone.

Sook laughs. “Fine, I guess it is appropriate.” She snatches the joint back from me. “Maybe it’ll be good inspiration to mix it up anyways.”

“Scarlet Begonias” begins to play. Sook and I finish the joint and lean back on the boulder. There’s a cool breeze and a dappling of sun through the trees. Jerry Garcia’s music mingles with the sound of wind ruffling leaves.

“Remember the first time we smoked?” Sook asks.

“Unfortunately, yes.” I laugh. “Summer before ninth grade. Isaac had some, but he was worried they were going to drug test him for football, so he gave it to us.”

“And we came right to this boulder,” Sook says. “Well, after walking around for like two hours trying to find the least suspicious spot.”

“And then we had to YouTube how to roll a joint. And how to light a joint. And how to smoke a joint.”

Sook laughs. “It was a lot of work. Good thing we were fast learners.”

I’ll never forget that summer. My last months of freedom before high school; though I didn’t know what high school would be like at the time. It was also the summer I started figuring out my sexuality.

I’d always been attracted to girls. My first kiss was as clichéd as it comes—a game of spin the bottle in sixth grade, a red-cheeked peck with Cindy Lao in front of twenty of our closest friends. Then in seventh grade, I had my first real kiss. It was Ava Newman’s bat mitzvah party, and Hailey Bloom and I snuck out of the social hall and down to the east wing of the synagogue and made out for ten minutes in an empty preschool classroom. It was great.

But in eighth grade, I met Ian. He had blue eyes and played bass in orchestra, and my stomach flipped every time I saw him. I tried to brush off my interest as nothing, a silly infatuation. I liked girls, not guys. But the infatuation progressed into a hard-core crush, and one day, I was hanging out with him in the bass room after class, and he kissed me, and I kissed him back. And it was great, too.

It took a lot of processing. I knew bisexuality was a thing, but I guess I wanted it to be simple: straight or gay. Sook, already out as a lesbian, was the first person I confided in. Over that summer, she helped me confirm that yes, I am attracted to girls, and yes, I am attracted to guys, and yes, bisexuality is definitely a thing, and it might be complicated for some people to understand, but it’ll get easier.

And then we watched that Brooklyn Nine-Nine scene where Rosa comes out as bisexual to the squad about a hundred times.