I settle back into my seat with a deep exhale. The fake leather sticks to the skin on my back and its hard to get comfortable with my bags of supplies taking up all my legroom. The lady next to me drops her paper, gives me a flat smile, as if she were completely unaware of what happened right next to her a few seconds ago, and then flaps it open to another page.
I smile back, because what else am I going to do?
A few seconds later, my cell jingles. I think it might be Meg. But its my dad.
good luck today picasso
Dad is the only adult I know who can text. Thats how he and his secretary communicate while hes showing real estate properties and taking bids. He was the one who filled all the homes in Blossom Manor, who sold Megs family their house. He also brought in the Starbucks and leased the stores in the strip mall across the highway. Hes the real estate king of Cherry Grove.
Thirty minutes later, the train rolls over the steely blue Ben Franklin Bridge, the gray water of the Delaware River splashing in white-capped waves below us. At the end of the bridge, theres a huge sculpture of a lightning bolt crashing into an oversized metal key, which I guess represents Ben Franklins discovery of electricity. Its like Ive been struck by lightning, too, the way the hairs suddenly prickle up on my arms.
I am really doing this. Its kind of funny, how far thirty miles can be. How much bigger than myself I feel already.
As we pull into the station, everyone stands up even though we cant walk off the train yet. Someone behind me pushes into the small of my back with a briefcase. The train comes to a stop and everyone files out the small doors. I dont really know where to go so I follow the flow of the masses up to the street.
I try to find the map that came with my orientation packet, but there are too many old school papers in my bag that I forgot to throw out. A huge clock behind me chimes 9:00 a.m. Orientation will be starting.
I take off and run . . . even though Im still not sure if Im going in the right direction.
Three
If youre lost and trying to find an art school, you might as well forget about asking anyone who looks normal. Like moms pushing their babies in expensive-looking strollers, people in suits, groups of old ladies on their way to have brunch, or even police officers. Thats gotten me nothing but confused looks and indifferent shoulder shrugs, and now Im twenty minutes late for orientation and completely disoriented. You cant see for long distances when youre lost in the middle of a city. Theres no horizon just stacks of buildings interrupting your sight line. Its like running through a maze with tall, tall walls.
I kneel down on the sidewalk and open up my bag to try to find something with the exact address printed on it. The salty smell of bacon drifts over and makes my stomach growl. I wish I hadnt skipped breakfast.
Im a couple feet away from a shiny metal food truck parked next to a fire hydrant. A few people are in line two construction workers and an old lady with a dog. Theres also a very, very cute guy whos watching me. Hes tall and lean, in a loose pair of dirty jeans and a VACATION RHODE ISLAND! tee that looks real . . . not like one youd buy new in the mall. His hair locks in thick curls that look like rollatini pasta, and are almost the very same color of his skin a rich, chocolaty brown.
I smile quickly at him and go back to looking through my papers. But as I shift my weight up off my knees and the rough pavement, the breeze catches the papers and a couple of them flutter out of my bag and into the air.
Luckily, the cute boy steps off the line and grabs them for me. He actually has to jump in the air for one, and his shirt lifts up from his waistband, revealing a very flat stomach, a stretch of gray elastic band from his Calvins, and a couple of star tattoos across his hip bones.
Im sorry, I say, heated. I made you lose your place in line.
No problem, he says with a smile. Coffee can wait. But Im not so sure. He looks half asleep, and a bit of toothpaste flakes off the left corner of his mouth. Are you lost?
Is it that obvious? I say, still digging frantically. Ow! My fingertip gets sliced on the edge of a paper. I squeeze the tip to stop the burn, and it bleeds a deep red drop.
Maybe you just need coffee. Im always lost without coffee. He looks down at his sneakers. Can I buy you a cup?
Its sweet how awkward he is. I can tell by his refusal to make eye contact and the worried look on his face that this is probably the first time hes ever done something like this. And its painfully clear that its the first time Ive ever been asked by a cute stranger if I want some coffee, since Im so surprised by the question that my answer comes out as Yes?
Its okay if youd rather have tea, he says. I mean, Ill still want to buy you a cup if you prefer tea. Even if I dont personally understand it.
I personally dont understand drinking a hot beverage on a humid summer morning, but I seriously doubt this silver cart makes anything close to a frozen peppermint mocha. Whatever. Suffering through a few sips will be totally worth it for this guy. Coffee would be great, I say. Milk and sugar, please.
He acts like hes a waiter writing on a pad. Milk and sugar, coming up.
While he returns to the silver truck and my heart skips all over my body, I finally find my orientation packet. Thank goodness! I say, and when he returns with two steaming cups, I triumphantly show him the bunch of red papers with the words PHILADELPHIA COLLEGE OF FINE ART printed on them in a big bold font. Can you tell me how to get here?
Oh, sorry! The boy takes a step back, and suddenly notices the bags of art supplies at my feet. Youre a summer student? His eyebrows pop up, like that wasnt at all what he was expecting. He is now very much awake.
I nod, though I dont get what he has to be sorry for. Do you know where the university is? Im so late. Then my cell phone rings loud in my bag. Its a lame beeping version of Madonnas Like a Virgin that Meg downloaded for me as a joke one time when I was in the bathroom. Weve always laughed at it, but now, in front of this boy, it makes me feel incredibly lame.
I fumble to ignore the call. My mom, I tell him. I dont know why. Shes checking in on me. I think shes nervous because Im in the city all by myself. And then I laugh, but it sounds so uncomfortable, I close my mouth and decide never to speak again.
Interesting, he says, with a teasing sort of grin. No need to stress. Its just around the corner on your left.
He hands over my coffee, and Im not sure what to do. Id really love to stay. But I really have to go.
He makes up my mind for me.
Maybe Ill see you around sometime, he says. After all, you know where I get my coffee in the morning. Thats practically like knowing where I live.
I point to the intersection. I guess that makes us neighbors, I say, and take off, grinning. A cute boy was just interested in me. That never, ever happens in Cherry Grove. People know each other too well there, so much so that surprises never really happen.
As soon as I step into the crosswalk and glance to my right, I see the Philadelphia College of Fine Art, all massive and stone and old like a castle, occupying almost an entire city block. Its not what I imagined at all. When I had pictured a college, I thought about a big green lawn, kids outside playing Frisbee, a real campus. Its a bit jarring, seeing it sandwiched between the sleek architecture of the surrounding silvery skyscrapers.
A bunch of signs lead the way through a set of red wooden doors. I have to push on them a couple times before they open into a huge atrium, with a glass ceiling and three levels of catwalks running along the sides.
The noise inside is deafening. High school kids are everywhere, bright flashes of color and personality, meandering from registration table to registration table, filling out permission slips, getting their temporary IDs laminated, picking up the keys to their dorm rooms, and not-so-subtly sizing each other up. Rows and rows of metal folding chairs are set up in the middle of the atrium, facing a low stage and podium. The seats are almost all filled.
A few older kids students who are actually enrolled in this college, I guess stare down from the catwalks, underneath a big WELCOME PRE-COLLEGE STUDENTS banner, and laugh at the whole crazy scene.
And it is crazy.
Two boys in striped shirts like Bert and Ernie are hugging and crying. They look like they are mid-good-bye. One boy fishes a red marker out of his pocket and draws a heart inside the other boys palm. It makes them both cry harder.
Next to them, a chubby Asian girl with blue-black hair, dressed in a high-neck beige lace dress that looks incredibly out of season for the last week of June, allows her mom to wipe some tomato-y lipstick from the corners of her mouth with a tissue while she taps away on her mini video game player.
A couple of feet ahead, a tall boy with an asymmetrical haircut and swollen acne awkwardly navigates the crowd toting three canvases one under each arm and one strapped to his back. He swats people with the corners, unintentionally branding them with touches of wet pink paint.
I take small steps backward until Im pressed against the wall. The place is crawling with the types of people you find huddled in groups of two or three at a typical high school. I dont see anyone here who looks like me, and that feels strange. There are always people like me around. We are everywhere.
A hand squeezes my shoulder. Its a slender lady wearing a white lab coat and carrying a clipboard marked STUDENT HEALTH SERVICES. She seems like a regular nurse, except for her orange Afro and the lei of hibiscus tattoos ringing her collarbone. Sweetie, do you have your schedule and your ID? Were about to get started.
I shake my head. I my train
Do you know who your roommate is?
No. I mean, Im a commuter. Im not staying in the dorms.
I shake my head. I my train
Do you know who your roommate is?
No. I mean, Im a commuter. Im not staying in the dorms.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, she chants in a warm, friendly voice. Come with me.
I follow the nurse down through the crowds. She leads me to several tables, helps me get checked in, and fills my arms with even more papers and information. Im glad shes taking charge of the situation, because I cant seem to concentrate on anything. Theres too much to look at.