I envy these kids, I realize. They’re still figuring out who they are.Deciding who they want to be. They could be anyone. Their lives could go any which way.
They have yet to meet both the best and worst parts of themselves.
I say the first novel that comes to mind: Haruki Murakami’s1Q84.
Shit. Why the hell did I say that?
I move to sit back down, but Professor Travers halts me.
“Interesting choice. What about that novel in particular appeals to you?”
Now that it’s too late, plenty of other novels come to mind. I should have gone withThe Hunger Games. OrTwilight. I exerted a lot of energy in high school and college defending both those books and their movie adaptations, and I felt downright vindicated when Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson began getting the critical respect they deserved.
But no, I went with1Q84. A novel I have never read.
I wrack my brain for anything, any piece of knowledge at all, about this novel, but the only thing that comes to mind is the cover of the book I saw in Alex’s hands the other day, the one where the woman seems to stare directly at the reader.
I blink at Professor Travers, focusing on that crease just between her eyes. God, I’m going to hate this class, aren’t I? This is a professor who loves to Challenge her students. Challenge with a capitalC. And that was all well and good when I was eighteen the first time, taking classes for my business degree on the pre-law track, because I knew that those professors’ Challenges would serve me well as I prepared for law school and my career.
But this is a creative writing class, and I don’t evenwantto be a writer. Being Challenged with a capitalC—and also Embarrassed with a capitalE—on my first day sucks.
And then I remember—there was a man on the back cover.
And I remember even more, the one and only thing I know about1Q84: It’s a love story. And something about a parallel universe?
Damn. Now that I think about it, maybe Ishouldread1Q84.
I put on my big-girl pants, collect my anxiety into a little basket and hold it at arm’s length, and lie, “I just really loved the romance. And the parallel universe.”
“Yes, I suppose those are its main appeals. I must confess, I found Aomame and Tengo difficult to root for. You didn’t find the writing repetitive?”
Okay,Jessica. Jesus Christ, just let me like what I like.
“Repetition has its place in writing. It worked for me.” I shrug coolly.
She nods once and says, “Very well. Welcome to creative writing, Josephina.”
“It’s Joey,” I correct as I sit down, flustered by the experience.
Helen leans in and whispers, “She did that to everyone. I don’t think she likes novels. She hated onPride and Prejudice, The Bell Jar, The Fountainhead—can’t blame her on that one—Lord of the Rings, evenFrankenstein. Who the hell doesn’t loveFrankenstein? The only person whose response she didn’t pick apart was that girl in the front row who said she doesn’t read many novels but loves a collection of short stories by George Saunders.”
I laugh as the tension leaves my body.
“Thanks for letting me know—I was starting to feel pretty dumb.”
And because I apparently am a glutton for punishment, right as I say those words, I allow my gaze to be pulled just a bit to the side to the natural spot for my attention to land…
Ellie’s eyes dart away from me to the front of the room, where Professor Travers is opening up a conversation about this week’s first story for workshop.
I snap my eyes forward.
I shouldn’t look at him. I shouldn’t even think about him.
But also…
He was looking at me first.
Part of me wonders if transferring into his class, though it looks weird, might be a second chance. Serendipity. A second chance at Ellie in my second chance at life. Maybe this is the universe telling me not to give up.
