It Doesn't Take a Genius: Chapter 32–Epilogue

“How are we going to stay on schedule? And why didn’t we figure this out earlier? We’ve had the schedule for days. Days!” She probably would have wrung her hands at that moment except she had gone to spa class the day before and gotten fake talons longer than a predator bird’s and had been walking around holding her hands out in front of her like a self-important zombie.

The swim test is hanging over my head like a perpetual storm cloud.

Every once in a while we’ll be hanging in the room, and Charles will look up from his book and say something like, “When states were ordered to desegregate public pools, many chose to close them down instead.”

“I had an idea and I had no idea how to execute and I’m in this place where everyone else seems to know how to do stuff and for once I think I’ve gotten myself into something that I can’t get myself out of.”

“It’s not like we don’t need to go over how to handle the equipment or anything, not like we haven’t had accidents already,” she says. “And by we, I mean you.”
“I had one mishap, Natasha, and you’re acting like I can’t turn on a microphone,” I say.

“We’ve got some great ambient noise happening right now—the birds, the swimming races in the background,” he says.

“Guess you’ve been hitting up that workbook.”
“I’ve been perusing it as Charles would say.”

“The truth is,” I continue, “I’m really behind on my dance for Street Style, and they’re depending on me...and Triple M is about to annihilate me…”

She gets in a quick huddle with Gordon, then she announces, “Pending a conversation with Dr. Triphammer, we will have a Black to the Future group presentation on showcase night! We know it’s only a couple of days from now, so don’t worry about doing anything elaborate, and you can use any media or creative form of expression for this project. It’s really about just sharing what’s been important to you.”

Despite our inauspicious start, I like Charles (and I’m using words like “inauspicious” so I guess he’s rubbing off on me).

He walks away, and it’s a full minute before a thin trickle of wetness in my palm makes me realize that I’m still holding the orange, and I’ve squeezed it open like a burst, soggy balloon.

This morning I took some kids on a field trip to find natural ephemera for their three-D collages and—

If I really got here on a fluke, I’m going to prove that I should have been here all along.

Ms. Clay makes me take all my finished pinch pots out of the studio; I know I won’t have room for thirty-seven bowlish-shaped objects in my room, but maybe Mom will appreciate my “sustained artistic effort,” which is what Ms. Clay calls it as she gives me a box to carry them back to my room.

I pry open the drive, drop the pieces on the floor, and kick them under the table.

You’ve been monopolizing my brother since we got here, and it makes me sick, like he thinks you’re some kind of good guy—you don’t deserve to hang out with Luke!

I was too little to go on the good rides, and I cried until he got me this cardboard kaleidoscope.

I thought it was amazing, and while Dad and Luke went on this wild loop-the-loop roller coaster, I waited with the attendant, looking through my kaleidoscope and loving how I could turn it and it would go from the confusing mishmash into a picture, clear and true.

I hold myself accountable for my actions. I let my team down, and I’m sorry.

Tonight is make your own pasta and he’s trying to decide between the cauliflower gnocchi and the sweet spaghetti.

“Ha, you’ll come around. And you know, Jeffrey Osborne, ‘On the Wings of Love’? It’s a classic! Timeless!” He starts singing it.
“Got it, got it,” I cover my ears. “That’s an uncle and auntie staple,” I say.

“Emmett messed up somehow, and Natasha was stressed about it but trying to act unbothered,” says Michelle. “Not that difficult.” She looks at me. “Don’t worry, she doesn’t hold grudges. She probably won’t even be thinking about you in ten minutes.”

“Why did you miss rehearsal?” Charles asks again. “And when do you think I should give the signal for the serenade?”

“I keep forgetting this is your first year,” says Charles. “It’s about five miles total. Didn’t you read the orientation packet?”

“Yes, they are espadrilles, and they may be corny to you, but I’ve liked them ever since I went to Italy for a language immersion program,” says Shiny Suit Man.

They look surprised, probably because they expected him to do a little more for the last class. I’m not, though; Shiny Suit Man is nothing if not consistent.

“Money’s not necessarily green in most of the world,” starts Charles, but then he stops himself.

He’s quiet as we walk, and I notice once again how he commands respect; even the mosquito vampires seem to be deferring to Luke (and attacking me in droves).

The DJ is pretty hype; the rumor is that he used to be Hip Hop Harry on TV, which seems plausible because he keeps shouting, “When I say dance, you say circle!” Hip Hop Harry did that every episode.

But we just kind of mill around and wait for the show.

“That’s my Charles, always awkward,” she says.
“Uh—your Charles?” he asks. “Do you mean your like the guy you know very well in a strictly platonic sense, or your, like, you know, your man?”

“Did you just use the word like, like in a colloquial sense?” I say. “I didn’t know you could talk regular like that!”

“You know, E. B. White once declined an invitation ‘for secret reasons,’” he says.
“Who’s E. B. White?” I ask. “And you are the king of non sequiturs for real.”

Triphammer lumbers up on stage and picks up the mic.

Michelle’s play is a little bit of a downer, but then she has the two Amys do a reprise of my big finale routine and everyone cheers.