“Let’s bring them into this storage closet around the corner for the weekend. We can set them up in the quad Monday before class. How many are left?”
Lilian shrugs. “I didn’t even make it into the entry hall all night. I hope we sold some.”
The sale of the scarecrows is usually the biggest moneymaker for this activity. People (parents, of course) pay staggering sums to take the decorations home. I pull up the donations website on my phone. I scroll through the photos of each scarecrow, looking at the last bids for each of them. As I move through the pictures, I get more surprised and excited. Joey did a remarkable job of photographing each one to make it look amazing. I mean, they were already amazing, but she brought each to life in a way that highlights its coolest unique aspects, and it seems to have had an effect. Every picture has a least a four-figure final bid, and most are well into the thousands of dollars. I’ve never been involved with this part of the Harvest Ball before, but I remember seeing quite a few scarecrows hanging around classroom buildings last year.
Lilian staggers back in, dragging an eight-foot-tall robot made of gears and wires. Its eyes are shiny CDs, and its mane of hair is made from dozens of charging cables. The whole impression is of repurposed technology. Lilian looks appalled. “I can’t believe nobody bought this. It’s so,” she turns to look at its face, “gorgeous.” She gives the scarecrow a little pat, maybe hoping to ease its shame at being left behind.
I scroll through the list again. I land on the photo and hold my phone out for Lilian to see. “Nope. Sold. And donated back to the school.”
She squints at the screen. “Does that say $10,000? Am I reading that right? Ten thousand?” She turns back to the robot scarecrow and stands it upright. “Good job, sweetie,” she says, going up on her toes and kissing its metal cheek. “You get to live here forever.”
I consult my phone again. “In the engineering building, “I tell her. “Compliments of TechMundo, Sao Paolo office.”
“Wow. That must have been Enzo Olivera’s family. How generous. My parents feel like my tuition is a sufficient donation every year.” Lilian throws her hands up in a what-can-you-do gesture.
I nod. “When I was a student here, my parents came to everything. They were on every list and at every event and in every line. I was humiliated for four solid years. Everyone knew the Kaplans were shelling out all kinds of dollars, and I always wondered if people thought that’s why I was allowed to be here. I was pretty sure that was what everyone was thinking.”
“Didn’t they figure you were here because you were a star on the stage?”
I don’t laugh. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. “Not at all. Most of the time I was in high school, I was terrified to be on stage. I almost got comfortable at the back of the choir. It wasn’t until my senior year that someone convinced me to audition for a show.”
Lilian wiggles her eyebrows. “Was it a girl?”
“If I tell you it was a teacher, will you think I’m being gross?”
Lilian ponders this question. “Only a little bit gross. I’ll allow it.”
I lean on the broom. “I loved singing, and I loved the anonymity of the Chamberlain choir. And it was good for my art credit. But I wasn’t super great at blending. I fancied myself as something of a boy band star.” I duck my head, hoping she can see I’m wearing my shame with a side of pride.
She laughs. “So, did you sing on stage?”
“No. The show I tried out for wasn’t a musical. I played the main character’s grandfather. It was a great part, even if I was a little overdramatic. I walked with a cane and bent ninety degrees every time I came on stage. Somehow, I managed to make people laugh, though. That did it. I was hooked.”
“Really? That’s all it takes? We laugh at you, and you’ll do anything for us?” Lilian says.
I hear a short, sharp laugh. I turn and see Joey. She smiles. “He already does anything for you. Nobody worked as hard as Mr. Kaplan to make today possible.”
Is she serious? Is this Joey, giving a compliment? Did she somehow not know I missed the whole dance? Is she snarking? Is every one of those words ironic? How am I supposed to read this woman?
A voice in my head reminds me that if I never missed the dance, Joey would have no reason to be anything but sincere. So, does she know? Did she notice?
Sweating. I’m fully sweating.
Joey doesn’t stay around to hear if Lilian responds. She just makes that comment and walks away, leaving me to wonder, to worry, to stress out over my tendency to analyze every interaction.
Not to mention to weigh in the balance how often I’ve been wrong lately.