Why not, though?whispers a voice in my head.
I shake my head and push the thought away. But I’m distracted the rest of the day, and at lunchtime I find myself typing “private caregiving services New York City” into my phone. I close the tab before it can load, annoyed with myself. Yes, I miss talking with older people, but I’ve already decided I’m not going to try to do any caregiving here. I need to focus on my internship, my new friends, my new life.
I open a new tab and type in “young hot up-and-coming artistsNYC,” and after filtering out the inevitable porn, I find a twenty-one-year-old artist in Queens who re-creates famous paintings out of candy. AMona Lisamade of M&M’S, blue raspberry Twizzlers swirling inThe Starry Night. In thirty minutes, I’ve done up my presentation for the end of the month. It’s bright and quirky and young, the polar opposite of my first idea.
When I tell Leah, Katarina, and David about it at dinner, they smile and tell me they love it, and David suggests I call it “Candy Land,” as a funny tie-in to his children’s toy exhibit. I make myself laugh with them, but there’s a hollow feeling in my chest.
Katarina tilts her head at me. “Everything okay, Emily?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say quickly. “Just a bit tired. A bunch of sirens woke me up at, like, five a.m. today.”
She grimaces. “Brutal. You’ll get used to them after a while. I don’t even hear them anymore.”
“Yeah, but you’re a city girl,” Leah says. “Em and I are small town. Right, Em?”
“Small town!” Katarina laughs. “You grew up in Boston, Leah.”
“Outside of Boston,” Leah retorts. “My suburb wastiny, there were, like, barely two thousand kids at my high school.”
“Two thousand is a lot, dummy,” Katarina says.
David catches my eye and pulls an amused face. Katarina and Leah can bicker for hours about nothing. I try to smile back, but my mind is still caught on Leah’s words.
Em and I are small town.
She says it like it’s something innate and unchangeable, like someone’s eye color or height. As if there’s a small-town gene that makes you crave quiet mornings and wide-open spaces. My mouth twitches up a little at the thought. If there is a small-town gene,John definitely has it. And Kiara, too, for all she liked to complain about Waldon.
As for me... I don’t know. Maybe I am small town at heart. But that doesn’t mean I have to stay that way. People can change their natures, if they want it enough.
I shake my head and refocus on Leah and Katarina’s conversation, but the thought follows me home on the subway, echoing under the thrum of the rails and the noise of the crowd. In the relative quiet of my dorm room, the words get louder.
People can change their natures, if they want it enough.
I peer out of my window, watching all the people, staring at all the lights. This is what I came here for. The noise, the energy. I want this life.
Don’t I?
34
On Friday, at the end of our third week, the intern schedule brings us all back to our classroom at the end of the day, where Benedita gives us some exciting news. We’re all invited to come back to the museum tonight to attend a gala that one of the museum’s major donors is hosting. A murmur of excitement spreads through the room. As Benedita passes our invitations around, I hear Lydia (or as I still sometimes call her in my head, Notebook Girl) whisper to her friend, “I amsowearing Prada.”
Since I don’t have any Prada (and probably couldn’t even afford a Prada rip-off), I put on my nicest sundress and heels after dinner and head back to the museum at eight. The whole building is lit up from within, and there are a bunch of people in gowns and tuxes on the stairs. I feel like I’ve been dropped into a scene fromThe Devil Wears Prada(only I’m dressed like the girl was before her makeover).
Inside, it’s loud and gorgeous and more than a little intimidating. I shake my head politely at a waiter who offers me champagne (can’t he tell I’m not a proper guest?) and hurry to the corner, where I spy a group of my fellow interns. They all look as out-of-place as I feel, except Lydia, who’s dressed in a seriously gorgeous gown and keeps flipping her hair and smiling at one of the guests nearby.
The interns’ talk turns to everyone’s school plans for fall, and I try to listen politely, but it’s hard to hear much of what they’re saying. The high ceiling and smooth marble floors make everything louder and yet more muffled at the same time. I smile and nod occasionally, shifting my weight surreptitiously as my feet start to ache in my heels.
After a while, my attention starts to wander. I gaze around the hall, taking in the general atmosphere. The Great Hall is staggeringly beautiful at night, with the dim light magnifying every intricate carving on the walls and ceiling, and all the guests look so fancy and glittery. It’s exactly the type of event I always dreamed I’d attend—and yet I can’t picture myself ever belonging with the people around me, no matter how hard I try.
I spot Benedita in the distance. She’s walking across the room with her wife, whom I’ve learned is also a curator at the museum. They’re both dressed in long gowns that I know probably aren’t as expensive as the other guests’, but that look just as lovely to me. They seem to be talking seriously about something, though they’re interrupted every few steps by guests who want to talk to them.
I catch echoed snippets of their conversation as they come nearer.
“Ana can’t do ballet the same night Molly does tae kwon do, unless we can find a place closer by— Evening Mrs. Bellmont! Yes, the collection is coming along wonderfully—of course, thanks again—”
“What if we let Ana take the subway by herself? She’s fourteen now, I’d say she’s— Oh, hi, Frederick, lovely to see you. How’s your wife doing? She must be due any day now, right?”
“Lord, what an insufferable man. The last thing this world needs is more of his DNA— Well, hello, my lovely interns!”
