Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [24]
It’s a wonder he’s not as chrome-domed as my dad, so enthusiastically did my prof pull his hair throughout his lengthy tirade, one that included quotations from Nietzsche, Emerson, and Virginia Woolf in addition to his own well-chosen words, like “wasted opportunity,” “selfish short-sightedness,” and “reckless endangerment of a minor.”
When he was finally done telling me how irresponsible I was and how lucky I was that he was not going to tell my parents or the program directors about this (which, quite frankly, was more about saving his own—fine!—ass than mine), I replied:
“It’s your fault, you know.”
“My fault?”
“You’re the one who told me I needed to bust out of the snow globe.”
“What?”
“You’re the one who encouraged me to go out and experience the world. Or was that just a load of crap?”
“It wasn’t crap, Jessica,” he replied. “You do need to break out of your suburban bubble.”
“But just not on your watch, right?”
He yanked on his hair.
“One unsupervised walking tour of the Upper West Side is not what I was talking about. I was talking about—”
“Well, that tour was enough to change my whole life.”
He laughed. “Your life changed in two hours?”
“Yes. I’ve totally changed my college plans.”
A not altogether friendly smile crept across his face. It was more of a mocking smile. A smile that said, Your childish antics amuse me.
“Changing your college plans does not mean you’ve changed your whole life.”
“Well, for me it does.”
“Then you were even more sheltered than I thought,” he replied. He unsnared his hands from his hair. “Let me guess. Columbia.”
It was weird to hear someone else say it. It made it true.
“Yes.”
“Tch,” he said.
We stood there for a moment because I didn’t know what do say, but Mac hadn’t made a move that would indicate that the discussion was over.
“Do you know what John Steinbeck said about New York?”
“Uh, no.”
“He said, ‘New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about it—once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.’ ”
He took a dramatic pause, as he often does after his lengthier quotations.
“Well, Jessica Darling,” he replied as he opened the classroom door, “good for you.”
He meant it, too. More than I knew at the time, because the next day Mac handed me a sealed envelope right in front of all the Noir Bards.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Your letter of recommendation,” he replied, louder than necessary, so the Grim Reaper, Nosferatu, the Lump, Barbella, Loser, and the rest of the coven would hear.
“Don’t read it, though,” he urged. “I don’t want it going to your head.”
On the envelope he had attached a Post-it that read: “ ‘Be great in act as you have been in thought.’—William Shakespeare.”
I was so stunned by this gift from my fairy godfather that I couldn’t even express my gratitude.
“Thuh,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” Mac replied.
Of course, I will probably wake up tomorrow to find that the Noir Bards have turned me into a toad.
Mac’s generosity more than makes up for the lackluster reaction I initially got. I had wanted to share my life-changing excitement with someone, anyone, after I’d returned to campus on the train that night. The resulting exchange with Bridget (and her lamprey Ashleigh) had left a lot to be desired.
“Columbia!” Bridget screamed. “Like, Julia Stiles goes there!”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, yeah! And Meadow Soprano got in, so you, like, shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why I want to go to Columbia, because the fictional daughter of an HBO mob boss goes there.”
“OH MY GOD! Doesn’t Felicity go there?” she yelped again.
“Felicity who?”
“Duuuuhhh,” said Bridget and Ashleigh in unison. “Felicity from Felicity.”
“The TV show Felicity,” I said, not really getting it.
“I think she goes to a made-up school. . . .” Ashleigh’s voice trailed off, only