Chapter 53: Sharing Good News

Saturday, November 20, 1982

No tournament — I hoped the gang at Jersey Village was doing well, though! — no HAAUG, no play. So, we slept late, of course. Nine being ‘late’.

Mom and Dad were done with breakfast when we got up. Mom was cutting out recipes from the paper, and Dad was paying bills and balancing the checkbook.

We had a somewhat busy day, though mostly busy with fun. It’d been a while since the two of us had just gone shopping at the mall, and this was a good opportunity. We had a mid-afternoon appointment with Jane — her last official appointment ended at two, so we’d turn up around two-fifteen. After that, we had date plans.

The mall was fun. Both of us bought a few things, and we collaborated on Christmas gifts for Mom and Dad. Some things were simply necessary. Dad always got a bottle of cologne. Mom always got perfume. Always. I knew this was a complete waste. I knew it because I’d cleaned out the house years later and some of those bottles were still there, untouched for thirty years.

Didn’t matter. Tradition must be observed. But we also knew cleverness would be appreciated, to a point. One irony: something Mom would actually use, and love, like a well-chosen kitchen gadget, was still a lousy gift. On the other hand, something Mom would enjoy once and stuff on a shelf, like a wood-block cutout of ‘Mom,’ was a great gift. The trick was to bridge the two, while not getting in the way of something they already loved.

We didn’t find anything right away, but I had hopes. I also had memories: memories of what had cluttered up the house and what Mom and Dad had actually treasured.

If we’d been able to own up to the money we had, I’d have strongly considered sending them to one of the places that they’d obviously thought about visiting but had never gone to. But we couldn’t do that at sixteen, even though we could take care of ourselves — and they knew we could.

We kept wracking our brains for the perfect idea. It would turn up, and when it did, we’d be ready.

In the meantime: both of us needed some new clothes, Angie really needed to browse fancy formal dresses (though I had a suspicion she’d wind up visiting a bunch of second-hand shops in the end), and we both needed the music store. Desperately.

We had lunch at the food court, then headed over to Jane’s office. After we’d made sure her receptionist had left, we parked and headed in. Jane opened up the door and met us with hugs.

“Good to see you both. How’ve you been?”

“Great!” I said.

Angie nodded. “It’s been really good.”

“How were the other performances?”

“Maybe better, honestly? We got more and more into the groove.”

“The one I saw was very good, so I won’t be jealous about missing better ones.”

“Thanks! We were really glad you could make it,” Angie said.

“We were,” I said.

“Any news?” she said.

“We got our PSAT scores,” Angie said.

“And?”

“National Merit Semi-Finalists, pretty much all around,” I said.

“I can’t say that I’m in the least surprised,” she said, smiling.

“I promise that we did not memorize the test and hold onto it for decades just for this day,” I said, trying hard not to grin. And failing.

Angie giggled at that and bopped my shoulder lightly. “As if I could do that if I wanted to!”

Jane shook her head. “The thought never even entered my mind, though it should have, even as something easy to reject.”

“So, now we have to do well on the SATs — not that we didn’t the first time through — and write some essays and brag about our extracurriculars and all of that stuff. Oh, and get someone from the school to brag about us,” Angie said.

“Which you can obviously do very easily,” Jane said, nodding.

“That’s the thing. Most of us will have it easy, but some of them will have to do some tap-dancing around extracurriculars. Connie obviously never took a student aide position — no grade point there — but she might take another look at being an after-hours volunteer trainer next year. It’d be a great move on her part. Jimmy needs to find something. Mike, too. Sarah can talk about things with her synagogue, but she might need something. Most of my friends, though, are shoo-ins there.”

“Even the ones you mentioned are overachievers.”

I nodded. “Honestly, there’s no rational way anyone would turn down Connie for a National Merit Scholarship. Jimmy, either. Mike or Sarah ... maybe, just on some silly weed-out thing. But they’ll come up with stuff.”

“Irrational things happen, though,” Angie said.

“True. Okay ... putting on my analyst hat ... tell me what this means to you.”

Angie looked at me and gave a little nod. I’d been pretty sure she would want me to go first.

“For me ... well. My own score means almost nothing to me personally, honestly.”

Jane nodded, but it was a ‘go on’ sort of nod.

“I’ve been there, done that. I was a National Merit finalist my first go-round. It’s nice, and it opens the door to other things, but ... I’ve already proven to myself that I can do it, so now it’s just proving consistency, I guess. I have the money to put both of us through pretty much any school we’d ever go to, with more left over for Jasmine. And investments.”

Jane nodded again.

“It matters to me for Mom and Dad, because they haven’t been there and done that. It’s new to them, and I know what it means to them. Not the money, but the pride. Living vicariously through us. Dad’s regrets about the money running out on his own college dream, and Mom’s wanting us to reach our potential. But I’d have traded my own score in a minute for Ang, or for Jas.”

“About what I expected. Angie?”

Angie blushed. “It’s ... yeah. I haven’t been there and done that, and you both know it. National Merit wouldn’t have saved first-go-round Angie. It’s not enough money. But proving I can do these things ... I mean, I knew I could, and I’d done so much to prove it, mostly to myself, but ... first-life me was a huge disappointment for Mom and Dad in so many ways, and not being a disappointment now is ... huge. I can’t live for them, but I don’t have to, I just have to be a better me, and ... I am.”

Jane nodded. “Also about what I expected. Thanks, Angie.”

Angie went over and hugged her. “You’re part of that, Jane. And, of course, Steve is. It’s ... you both make me better.”

That got me sniffling, and it got Jane sniffling, too. Several hugs later, we got back on track.

“And Jasmine?”

“We went right over there and opened our envelopes together,” I said. “We had to. It ... well. I think she’s got her own case of impostor syndrome. The non-ultimate-solipsist-time-traveler version, but still. This was at least a bit of a nail in that coffin, not that it stopped me during my first go-round. It mattered, after Blue, after all the... stuff ... there.”

“She should talk to someone. That someone shouldn’t be me — that would be a very complicated and likely difficult relationship. Not that I think her needs and yours would conflict, but...”

“But we have enormous secrets, and she wouldn’t expect us to have anything like that,” Angie said.

“That. Mostly that,” Jane said, nodding.

“I’m going to talk to her about it, intruding on your territory again. She knows I’m not a therapist, though. Even if I give good advice, which apparently I do.” I gave Angie a look, which she pretended not to understand.

“What am I missing?” Jane said.

“Cammie’s comment?” I said to Angie.

Angie blushed. “Oh. That. Um ... Cammie might have called big brother ‘The Guru of Self-Image’ last spring.”

Jane burst out laughing, though she got it under control fairly quickly. “That ... I can completely see that. Though Angie, you...”

I jumped in. “Cammie was quick to say that little sis deserves a bunch of credit, too.”

“That’s where I was going, yes. I think you’d stand out in any group, but among high schoolers? With all the potential you two have to lead people? Or, manipulate them? I suspect other people see it. It’s just that they don’t really understand what they’re seeing. And I mean teachers, your parents, others kids’ parents, all of that.”

“I had a close call, in a way, a bit ago,” I said.

Angie looked at me. “Huh? What didn’t you tell me?” she said.

I blushed a bit. “It wasn’t that big a thing, it’s ... well. I’d forgotten about it until Jane reminded me by accident. Anyway ... I took Paige out to a hole-in-the-wall taco place. Angie and I’ve been there. Rico’s. It’s behind a McDonald’s near school.”

“Yeah! That place! So good!” Angie said.

“So ... it’s a tiny little three-table place with very inexpensive and very good tacos. I doubt more than a handful of Memorial kids — even the ones from Hispanic families — would ever go in there. Paige sounded like she’d have reservations if not accompanied by a guy. I’m sure it’s completely safe, but it feels strange and dangerous for privileged suburban kids.”

Jane nodded. “I get the picture. Go on.”

“So, Paige asked me a very obvious question that I should’ve been more prepared for: ‘How do you know all about these different cuisines and places?’”

Angie giggled. “Oh! Yeah ... close call, but ... not. But ... yeah.”

“Yeah. I put together an answer about hanging out with college kids — which I, and I mean this me, did, in D&D — and getting recommendations for cool places, and then trying them once I could drive. Which is not totally inaccurate — I did find that taco place on my own, and a bunch of others. And I read restaurant reviews, too. But ... yeah. First-life me didn’t eat Chinese food in a restaurant until college. Didn’t eat Indian or Thai until later than that. No Dim Sum until graduate school. Heck — no Mexican food until well into high school. Pho? That would be graduate school.”

“But it satisfied her?”

I nodded. “See, that’s the thing. I can get away with that with Paige. If Jessica asked me that question, I’d have died. She’d have accepted whatever I said, but she’d keep picking at my answer until she decided I wasn’t telling the truth. And, if I wasn’t telling the truth, what could the truth be? The answer is unguessable, but that there is an answer is enough to be a problem.”

“And you applied it to others.”

“Of course. Mom and Dad likely have little questions. Maybe ones they’re afraid to actually ask themselves, but questions. Mom is terrific at not quite asking the questions that matter the most to her, and Dad is very good at letting Mom worry about things like that. But neither of them is in any way dumb, and we pretty much showed off on that first trip. How in the heck did we know about dim sum, really? Or other things?”