Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [66]
“Breakups are the new relationships,” she said.
“Uh . . . really?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Yes! Consider it an opportunity to discover yourself! To celebrate your newfound freedom!”
And while I didn't go wild in Single de Mayo revelry, being around Dexy couldn't help but lift my spirits. While most students—myself included—throw on jeans and a T-shirt that challenge the widely held parental notion that there is always a clear demarcation between clean and dirty, Dexy wears what can only be described as costumes. For her, every day is sort of like the Glam Slam Metal Jam. For example, today she's “feeling European,” so she's wearing black Capri pants, a sleeveless striped boatneck sweater, and ballet flats. There's a beret perched atop a black bobbed wig (hiding her dirty-blond hair), and her French-manicured fingers clutch a long, lacquered cigarette holder (filled with a candy cancer stick because she doesn't smoke).
Some people I know think she tries too hard. I mean, the costumes. The singing. The name. (Which is on her birth certificate. Her parents really liked the song “Come On Eileen” by Dexy's Midnight Runners.) The drama of her life can be a bit much. But she's so positive, so fun that it requires more energy to resist her charms than it does to just give in to them. Unlike Jane, who made me feel guilty when I didn't go along, there's no pressure from Dexy. She reminds me a lot of Hope, only without the talent or the personal tragedies that give Hope more depth.
Dexy's taking an Art History class because she couldn't imagine spending the summer with her family in Pennsylvania. I don't know much about her family, only that her parents are still together and that she has a brother who is a junior in high school. She calls them all “hopelessly unoriginal,” although, in her parents' defense, they must have once possessed a sense of whimsy if they named their daughter after a one-hit wonder about trying to get laid.
“Really, J,” Dexy said today. “Put the past behind you.”
“I know,” I said, still gripping the postcard.
“Don't stop thinking about tomorrow . . . Yesterday's gone! Yesterday's gone!”
“Please! Not Fleetwood Mac! If I promise to stop obsessing, do you promise to stop singing and come to the hall meeting with me?”
She took a drag on her candy cigarette. “Dah-ling!”
Thus compromised, we went. And that's when I discovered that it wasn't going to be so easy to put the past behind me. Because standing in the middle of the lounge was none other than William the Kissing Republican introducing himself as our RA for the summer. Ack.
“Well, if it isn't Darling, Jessica,” he said, tapping a finger on his alphabetized list. He's mastered the presidential cocky squint/smirk combo, and he didn't hesitate to toss one my way.
“We should have gone to Tom's,” Dexy whispered.
So we sat through the meeting as Mini Dub dictated the hall rules and regulations for the summer term in that cocky, cowpunk twang of his. This authority role is one he relishes, one that brings out his most irritating quality, which is his inability to acknowledge any alternative points of view. And that's when I decided that posthookup shame was not to blame for my avoidance of William. No. I just can't stand looking at his smug mug. As the F-Unit mastermind of the Breakup Pool, William is just pleased as can be with his role in my nonbreakup breakup with Marcus. I knew I'd have to try to wipe that smirk off his face if there was any hope of me surviving on his floor for the next three months. So after the meeting was over, I approached him to broker some sort of truce.
“So . . . ,” he said, oozing smarm. “How can I help you Darling, Jessica?”
“You can stop calling me that,” I snapped. “Can we talk?”
“Have you made an appointment?”
I glared.
“Okay, let's talk,” he said, unlocking, then opening the door to his room. I followed, then shut the door behind me.
“Isn't there some kind of rule against RAs hooking up with their advisees?”
“You're reaching, J,” he said. “I wasn't your RA when it happened.”
“Well, uh,