Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [43]
“How did you get involved?”
“Through a class.”
“Oh, really? So what’s … I mean … uh …”
“What’s what?”
“Uh … I was about to ask what your major is.”
“And you hesitated because?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. Maybe because it’s been a few years since I’ve asked anyone that question. I mean, in college it’s kind of an icebreaker. You know, ‘Where are you from? What’s your major?’ You don’t have any reason to ask that question when you aren’t in school anymore. It changes to ‘Where do you live? What do you do?’”
“I see. So you are far too mature to ask me about my major.”
“I didn’t mean it that way! Only that I was suddenly aware of asking you a very collegiate question, one that I haven’t had any reason to ask anyone since I graduated.”
“I see.”
“So?”
“So … what?”
“You’re going to make me ask it, just to make me ask it?”
“Ask what, Jessica?”
“Your major.”
“Take a guess.”
“I really have no idea.”
“Just guess.”
“I don’t want to guess, Marcus.”
“Why not?”
[Cough.] “I just don’t.”
“I’m a…”
“Philosophy. You’re a philosophy major.”
“Hmmm … philosophy. That’s interesting.”
“Am I right?”
“Wasn’t one of your college boyfriends a philosophy major?”
“Uh, yes. And for the record, I only had one college boyfriend. Not boyfriends, plural.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One!”
“One—him—plus one—me—equals …”
“Oh! [Cough.] I wasn’t counting you.”
“You weren’t counting me? Why don’t I count?”
“You weren’t a college boyfriend, Marcus.”
“We were together during college.”
“If together means three thousand miles apart!”
“A technicality.”
“And we got together before college.”
“So?”
“So that puts you in a different category.”
“And what category is that?”
“Marcus, if I knew the answer to that, this conversation would be a whole hell of a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”
[Pause.]
“So guess again.”
“Marcus, this is silly.”
“Just one more guess.”
“Why?”
“I want to hear how you think I’ve spent the past three years.”
“Women’s studies.”
“Now, that’s funny.”
“Seriously, Marcus, it seems like something you would do, choosing a major that’s ninety-nine-point-nine percent female just for the fun of being the point-one exception.”
“Tragically, Princeton offers only a minor in women’s and gender studies. Which is why I went with my second choice.”
“Which is?”
“Public and international affairs.”
“Public and international affairs. Duh. I should have known that all along. I mean, it makes sense, considering what you said about your work in New Orleans.”
“The class I referred to earlier, the one that took me there, was called Disaster, Race, and American Politics. After spending fifteen weeks discussing and debating all the many ways our federal government has screwed our neediest citizens, a bunch of us were inspired to take our lessons beyond the classroom. We needed to see the devastation for ourselves and do something about it.”
“Good for you.”
“Some of us were self-conscious about the idea of going down there at first. I know I was. Oh, how nice. A bunch of privileged Princeton students going to New Orleans to help poor black folk and unburden themselves of their liberal guilt. Oh, and won’t it look nice on their grad school applications? Or when they run for public office? But then I decided that anyone who thought that way was an asshole.”
“So true.”
“Why should I let some closed-minded asshole stop me from helping?”
“You remember Cinthia Wallace, right? She used a multimillion-dollar inheritance to start Do Better and has had to face a lot of that kind of cynicism. Like, how dare she start up a philanthropic collective with that money? Isn’t someone with her socialite credentials supposed to, I don’t know, mainline that money?”
“Someone of her station avoids needles. She’d snort the cash. Or smoke it.”
“Right. Anyway, people tend to be very suspicious of anyone