I think of my father, and rebelliousness surges through me. I can accept much of what he wants for me—and I can’t refute the sheer logic of it—but we’re talking about a part-time job at a comic book store. I’m not moving to Siberia.
“Actually, if we can work it out with my school schedule, I would love to work here,” I say.
Her eyes light up. “Really? That would be wonderful. You just let me know when you’re available, and I’ll work your schedule around it. Would that be all right?”
I nod, pleased by her enthusiasm and support. “You don’t think Clover will mind me working here?”
“Are you kidding?” Fern rises and walks to the desk. “She’ll be thrilled. She really looks up to you. If you could just fill this out with your basic info—don’t worry about the job history or anything—I can get the paperwork started.”
She brings me an application. After tucking it into my bag, I head home. I suddenly wonder what it would be like if I didn’t, in fact, go back to the house on Dearborne. Yes, it’s true that I’m totally dependent on my father, but as an eighteen-year-old, I can go wherever I want. Do whatever I want.
My father can’t legally send me to an institution again. Given the rift Harbor View created between us, I don’t think he’d even consider it again, especially since I’ve done nothing to give him a reason to. He also can’t make me attend Evergreen College, not if I decline his financial support. Not if I can find a way to stand on my own.
When I get home, I search through the garden shed and clean off a large piece of plywood. I gather up an array of paints, adhesives, brushes, and scissors. When I first decided to enter the Student Art Competition, I’d assumed I would submit one of my photographs of a flower or insect. A bland image that revealed nothing about me.
But I don’t want to hide behind blandness anymore. I want to use my voice. Force people to see who I am. Tear open a hole in the world. Tell my story.
I just need to figure out how.
CHAPTER 27
Nell
Late November approaches, and the school corridors are filled with chatter about upcoming ski-trip vacations and family plans. I start working at Comic Castle a couple of times a week right after school. I haven’t told my father about the job yet, but since he doesn’t get home from campus until around six, it’s easy enough to keep it to myself for now.
I see Darius only at school, and our interactions focus on whatever assignment we’re working on. I struggle not to miss him.
Three months ago, I hadn’t wanted him in our house. Now I can’t help wanting him back. The air has gone stale and flat. The vase on our kitchen table no longer holds any wildflowers, evergreens, or autumn leaves. I stop hearing my father’s voice, his low laugh, the music from old vinyl records. I bring my baked goods—muffins, cookies, scones—to Fern, Clover, and Simon because Darius isn’t around to devour them anymore.
When I pass his room every morning, I glance in to see his camera bag still on the chair and shirts lined up in the open closet. He’d taken most of his stuff to the beach house, but the lingering evidence of him is a small comfort. A reminder that he’s still here.
Simon spends more and more time hanging around Comic Castle, eventually asking Clover to be his assistant for a couple of senior photo shoots he’s scheduled. This results in them going to dinner and the movies together.
Fern is delighted, which also makes me happy. Whenever my mother had been happy about something involving me, her mood had shifted so fast that I’d never absorbed the pleasure of her approval.
Darius leaves town for the holiday weekend to return to New York, where he has an apartment. Though Conrad Hawke also lives in Manhattan, my father tells me that Darius is going to visit some friends and has no plans to see his father. In fact, my father doesn’t think Darius has seen Conrad in years—a statement that revives my curiosity about both Conrad himself and his relationship, or lack thereof, with his son.
Thanksgiving on Dearborne Street is the same as it’s been for six years—my father and I have a small, traditional dinner of turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes after which he settles in to watch football, and I go to my room to read and draw.
My father is preparing his presentation for the annual Association of Greco-Roman History conference in Boston next Saturday, so he spends the rest of the weekend mostly in his office. I have a couple of shifts at Comic Castle, and being with Fern and Clover, talking about comics and graphic novels and eating leftover pie, is the best part of the holiday.
When school starts again, Ms. Meadows reminds me that the Student Art Competition is in two weeks, and the committee is still waiting for the wall text to accompany my entry.
“Untitled, by Nell Fairchild,” I tell her. “But that’s just a placeholder. I’m still working on it.”
“Do you know the medium yet? Maybe one of your drawings?”
“Mixed media.” I figure that’s vague enough to cover me. I haven’t yet managed to come up with even a concept for my artwork yet.
On Friday afternoon, I sign out of school early and take the bus to Evergreen College for my admissions interview. I’ll be glad to get it over with—first, because my father has been talking about it for weeks, and second because he’s leaving for the conference tonight and will be able to focus on his presentation while knowing I’ve completed the last step in the admissions process.
A billow of rain-bloated clouds is beginning to encroach on the sky from the east. The campus sprawls across the outskirts of town, with the older brick buildings arranged around a central grassy quad. Students wander the flagstone paths with backpacks, earbuds, and take-out coffee cups.
After I find the registration building, I check in with the receptionist, who leads me into an office. Three members of the admissions board conduct the interview with questions ranging from “Why do you want to attend Evergreen College?” to “What are your career goals?”
Since my father and I have discussed this ad nauseam, I hardly have to think about my answers. The interview lasts less than an hour, and I stand to shake the interviewers’ hands.
“Any other questions, Nell?” the recruiting officer asks.
“Actually, yes.” I was up half the night thinking of how to phrase this. “I understand the decision about my acceptance hasn’t been made yet. But since I’m applying to Evergreen with the condition that I won’t apply anywhere else, if I were accepted and found that I was unable to attend for personal reasons, what would be the penalty?”
If I’d expected surprise, I don’t get it. Mr. Williams heaves a sigh, as if he’s used to answering that exact question.
“Well, early decision is really an honor system,” he says. “At Evergreen, it’s not legally binding, so we wouldn’t come after you in court or anything. But your acceptance would be contingent upon your promise to attend here, so backing out could affect your plans.” He narrows his eyes slightly. “Is there a circumstance you’d like to tell us about now?”
“I’m not sure.” I also spent last night reviewing the college catalogs and brochures Ms. Meadows had given me. “I haven’t applied anywhere else…yet.”