The Christmas Orphans Club(3)
Finn Everett looks me up and down, taking in my plaid pajama pants, oversized Boston College sweatshirt, and greasy hair that’s been in the same messy bun for the last three days. “No,” he says, shaking his head like I’m a math problem he can’t solve. “You’re too pretty to be an orphan.”
“Excuse me?”
“All those white ladies would have been fighting to bring you home from the orphanage. You’re cute. Underdressed, but cute.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “That was a compliment, by the way!”
Well, shit. He’s not one of the people who clam up when they hear about my parents; he has questions. There’s nothing worse than the question people. How? At the same time? How old were you? How do you feel about it?
“Not that kind of orphan. I’m not some Cabbage Patch doll, or whatever you’re thinking. My parents died when I was fifteen.”
“Oh, okay. Well, we’re going on an adventure.” My whole body unclenches when I realize he’s on to the next topic.
“We are?” I haven’t left my dorm in two days because the entire campus is closed, even the dining halls. I’ve been subsisting on boxes of Special K with Red Berries and microwaved bean and cheese burritos from the convenience store down the hill. What kind of adventure could we possibly have?
“Did you have something better planned?”
I do not. I’m going to listen to my playlist while I eat an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s Milk & Cookies ice cream, and then maybe I’ll watch Die Hard, the least sappy Christmas movie, so I can tell myself I’m in the holiday spirit. But I don’t want to tell him this, because I get how it sounds.
But Finn Everett doesn’t need confirmation. He nudges past me and looks back and forth at both sides of the room, each equipped with a bed, a desk, and a dresser. “Which closet is yours?”
One side has a generic navy blue comforter. Every square inch of cinder block wall is plastered with band posters. Guster, O.A.R., Weezer, Wilco, the Postal Service. The other side is decorated with a Lilly Pulitzer bedspread and a single poster of Jessica Simpson vacuuming in her underwear. I think it’s obvious which side is mine, but I point to the closet on the right side of the room anyway. He starts flipping through hangers. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but I’m positive he won’t find it. I live in a rotation of concert tees bought off merch tables at Paradise Rock Club and the Orpheum.
“That’s it?!” He sighs so dramatically I swallow an apology for my lack of evening gowns.
“What were you looking for?”
“Something better than”—he motions at my pajamas and pulls a face like he smelled spoiled milk—“this.”
“And where are we going that has such a strict dress code?”
“Now we’re going to have to make a pit stop. Grab your coat. Let’s go.” He snaps his fingers twice to punctuate his demand.
I must be stunned into compliance, because I find myself grabbing my puffer coat and sliding on a pair of salt-stained Ugg boots. I guess we’re going on an adventure.
* * *
? ? ?
?We spill out of Welch Hall into the brisk night air. Snow flurries dance in the wind. What’s most striking isn’t the snow, it’s the silence. Usually there are ten thousand students rushing to a Perspectives on Western Culture seminar or a spin class at the Plex, or at night—let’s be honest, sometimes during the day, too—ambling to off-campus parties in Cleveland Circle to play flip cup. But tonight it’s just us.
We cross into the unfortunately named Dustbowl, which isn’t dusty at all. Most of the year it’s a grassy quad ringed by stately stone buildings, but now it’s covered in two inches of hardened snow. When I toured the campus, it was spring, and the lawn was dotted with pairs of girls tanning on beach towels while groups of boys playing Frisbee maneuvered around them. It was exactly how I thought college should look from episodes of Dawson’s Creek. This was the slice of normal I was craving.
“How’d you find me?” I wonder aloud. Maybe I should have asked more questions before agreeing to this outing. Not that I ever technically agreed.
“Your music,” Finn answers. “But this was the sixth dorm I tried! Trust me, you were not easy to find. I’ve been barely entertaining myself for a week.” He gestures at his ridiculous outfit. “I was beginning to think I was the only person on campus.”
Finn and I cross into O’Neill Plaza and make our way toward the sad, unlit Christmas tree at its center. Is this where we’re going? Some adventure this is. With students home for break, the facilities staff must have decided it wasn’t worth the cost of electricity to keep the tree lit, even on Christmas.
“Wait here,” Finn instructs.
He leaves me standing under the tree and heads toward the library on the east side of the plaza. I’m not close enough to see what he’s doing, but I hear the jingle of keys he produces from underneath his cape and watch him slip inside the building.
I jump from foot to foot to stay warm as minutes pass and he doesn’t reappear. For a second, I wonder if I’m being abandoned—again—and he has a getaway horse-drawn carriage waiting on the other side of the building.
I’ll give him five more minutes before I head back to the warmth of my dorm and queue up Die Hard. As I look down at my watch to start timing him, the tree in front of me flickers on. I crane my neck to gawk at thousands of rainbow twinkle lights. I can feel myself grinning like an idiot. Okay, Finn Everett, not a bad start.