my shoulders—mostly for the fun of braiding it and wrapping it up in wild buns.
I’d kept the bangs pink, though.
Pink bangs had kind of become my signature thing.
I added hoop earrings and red lipstick and subtle winged eyeliner that gave a retro Mary Tyler Moore vibe. Alice had given me a little pack of edible tattoos in cupcake flavors for my birthday with little empowering sayings, like, I REALLY DON’T NEED YOU, BECAUSE I SAID SO, and I WOKE UP LIKE THIS. I went ahead and applied one—YOU GOT THIS—to the outside of my bicep, even though my sleeve covered it. I could smell its faint caramel scent through the fabric.
You got this.
I wanted to be amazing. Not something as ordinary as “hot” or something as common as “pretty.” I wanted to be astonishing.
Kind of a tall order for a Monday morning faculty meeting.
Before I left, I put my hair in two high buns and stuck little paper flowers in them, Frida Kahlo-style.
Then I pulled my bike and its flower-covered basket out of the garage, and I got on.
It was the longest three-block biking commute in the history of time.
I couldn’t wait to see Duncan Carpenter again exactly as much as I hoped he would never show up. I longed for the moment to arrive as plainly as I dreaded it. And, just as I had since the moment Kent Buckley had spoken Duncan Carpenter’s name, I thought about his arrival fully as often as I refused to think about it.
Which was constantly.
What would it be like to see him again?
In that photo Kent Buckley had shown us, Duncan had cut his hair … so that would be weird. The Duncan I’d known and loved had sported the very definition of bed head—some different configuration every day. A lovable mess.
In the photo, Duncan had seemed undeniably different: more grown up, more serious, better at shaving. But I couldn’t think of Duncan as a guy in a suit.
I knew who Duncan was.
He was a guy in a Hawaiian shirt.
The anticipation woke up all my senses, raised my awareness of everything—the feel of the wind over my skin, the sounds of the cars going by, the color of blue in the sky, the flock of pelicans gliding by overhead. My insides were tingling with nervousness—in good ways and bad.
Would he be glad to see me? Would he remember me right away—or would I seem so different it would take him a second? Would he like my new vibe? There was always the possibility that he wouldn’t. How would I respond to him if he told me to tone it down? Would I be the old me and nod meekly, eyes downcast—or would I get sassy, lift my eyebrows, and say something like, “Says the man in the flamingo pants”?
Would it be joy or would it be agony? There was no way to tell.
But my money was most definitely on both.
* * *
I arrived right on time, expecting to find Duncan handing out donuts, or arm-wrestling somebody, or doing the robot on the stage. Expecting the fun would’ve already started.
But when I stepped through the doorway, Duncan wasn’t there yet.
The way our historic school building was set up, the cafeteria did double-duty as a theater. A kitchen at one end, and a stage at the other. This was why all large school meetings took place in the cafeteria—and why we could never hold assemblies at lunchtime.
My nervousness crescendoed as I stepped through the doorway, but then it subsided.
The chairs were full of teachers.
But no Duncan.
I was both relieved and disappointed at the same time
I blinked. Scanned again. And then I decided to leave the room quickly and come back later.
Look, this was Duncan Carpenter.
I couldn’t be just a dot in an audience the first time I saw him again. I needed to stride into the room, tall and resplendent in my red outfit like a slightly funky and very Technicolor goddess, thankyouverymuch. This was the biggest crush-slash-heartache of my life, and I had a lot to prove and a whole new paradigm about myself to set up—right before I quit forever.
This had to be a heck of a moment, and I wouldn’t get a do-over.
I needed to make an entrance.
Was that so unreasonable?
Answering my own question, I threw myself in reverse—lifting a finger like I’d forgotten something, then backing up and spinning around, figuring I’d take a lap around the cloisters and come back in five for a second grand entrance attempt.