35. The Cold Hard Facts of Life

Roger volunteers to go first. He’s wearing a vest with a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a fancy design on it. His hair looks extra faux-hawked out, and his beard looks extra thinly cut. He smiles, and I wonder if he still thinks there’s a chance with him and Lily. I know the answer to that one. No vest is going to help him with that.

“This is me,” Roger says, and glances up from his paper to see if we’re listening.

“Wow, that’s truly moving,” Brick says.

The teacher tells him to be quiet and let Roger continue.

“This is me. Six foot one. One hundred seventy-five pounds. Loving and giving. Crazy and fearless. Hopeless romantic. A dog person, not a cat person, but could live with a cat person if she allowed a dog person into her life. Panthers fan. Tarheels fan. Sugarland fan.”

Roger keeps going like this. It begins to sound like an ad for a dating service. He apparently didn’t get the memo about one hundred words. He doesn’t mind sharing all these wonderful, random tidbits about himself with us.

When he finishes, Mr. Charleton nods and thanks him, then asks who’s next.

“I’ll go,” Shawn says, sliding out of his seat and heading up front. He adjusts his pants as he turns to face us.

“People don’t know this about me, but deep down I’m really shy,” Shawn starts. “Deep down I love grandmothers and help them across the street. I love puppies and mice. I like to babysit. I love vegetables, especially the green kind. I love doing homework and can’t get enough of school (that’s why I took summer school, you know). I love romantic comedies, especially when one of the characters dies in the end. I love dances and slow music. Oh, and I love Katy Perry and her music and videos. I love singing in the shower and working out. If you believe me you can call 1-800-it’s-a-lie.”

He looks around to see if anybody is laughing, but nobody thinks it’s funny. Especially not the teacher. Once he said, “deep down, I’m really shy,” I think we all got the joke.

Ha. Ha.

I’m wondering if Mr. Charleton is regretting assigning us this task. Especially now that Brick has come up to share his thoughts.

He clears his throat to be dramatic.

“They call me Brick and think I’m a hick

They see my hair and think I don’t care

They hear my tone and then leave me alone

They see my friends and think they offend

They grade my tests and never let it rest

They think I’m poor but never wanna know more

They see me smoke and think I’m a joke

They close the books without a second look

’Cause they always look but they never really see

They seem to hear but they never really truly listen

They think they know but they will never—ever—fully know.”

Brick folds up the piece of paper and takes a bow as we all clap. I gotta admit—his little poem was actually quite good.

“Thank you,” Mr. Charleton says. “Great job. Who’s next?”

Harris goes up and reads his piece on why he loves flowers. He goes through every known flower he can think of until he gets to—surprise—his favorite flower, the lily. He pauses for dramatic effect and glances at Lily to see her shaking her head and saying “corny” out loud.

Gin is next, and everybody seems to know that this is going to be interesting. I’m thinking that none of us will even understand what she even says, but then again, I’m wondering if she understood the assignment.

“My name is Yin, yet I live in a Lin/Jen/Gin world that I’ve grown accustomed to,” she says in the most ordinary, American, non-accented voice I’ve ever heard.

Roger and Shawn look at each other, and even Brick laughs out loud.

“It’s easy to hide behind big glasses and long hair. Sometimes it’s easier that way. While they think I’m doing math equations and eating Peking duck, I’m beating them online at a video game or eating fried chicken while watching Battlestar Galactica.”

“Awesome,” Brick says.

I can’t help but laugh.

You’re a nice surprise, Yin.

“They have a phrase called fanboys, and they lump them with nerds and geeks who love sci-fi and Lost and comic-book movies. But what if—what if among these you included a girl with a Taiwanese background who blends in and never gets noticed?”

She looks up at us and smiles. “We live in a different time and age right now when a book shouldn’t be judged by its cover. Because frankly, nobody is buying books anymore. They download them. They pop up instantly.”

Suddenly I feel a bit ashamed. I definitely judged this book by its cover.

“My name is Yin, and I have always been part of the background as far as everybody knows. But little do they know that when I go home and turn on my computer, I’m part of their world and their conversations and their lives. Just under another name and another persona.”

She walks back to the back of the room, and we all look at her, stunned and wondering who in the world this Yin girl is. Where’d she come from?

No way I can top that.

“All right, great job, Yin,” Mr. Charleton says. “Final two?”

I glance at Lily, who says, “All yours.”

I open my sheet of paper.

“For a long time I considered myself a Foo Fighters or a Snow Patrol song. Cool and upbeat, but nothing that terribly different. Yet ever since coming to Solitary, I’ve realized that I’m really not that at all. I’m a Cure song off Disintegration. I’m a Smiths song off Meat Is Murder. I’m a Tears for Fears song from The Hurting.”

They’re looking at me, not really getting it. Or at least that’s what I think.

Except for Lily. She’s looking and smiling and getting it. Getting me.

“I never knew who I was deep down until I moved here and realized that in many ways, I was living in the wrong decade. I should’ve been living in my mother’s and uncle’s decade, where songs reflected—well, me.”

I look back at the teacher. “That was one hundred, exactly.”

“The Cure, huh?” he asks with a big grin. “How’d you discover them?”

“My uncle.”

Or more like my uncle’s closet.

“He’s got good taste. Thank you, Chris. Okay, Lily?”

We all watch her like we usually do—all the guys anyway—as she walks to the front. She’s wearing a black tank top with really tight white pants. Her shoes aren’t very high heels, but high enough for a summer school course.

“For the record, I think this assignment was rather lame,” Lily says.

“Thank you,” Mr. Charleton says.

For a second, standing there, Lily glances at me. Then she gives me a nice little smile.

What’s that mean?

I’m not sure. Like many things with girls and especially this girl, I don’t know. I can’t know. I’m only beginning to try and know.

“I grew up a happy girl, loving life and loving those around me. The future was always like a colorful movie poster with beautiful smiling stars on it. I found love and my leading actor and lost myself in them.”

Something strange is happening. Right at the time Lily said I found love, her voice starting shaking a bit. Now her eyes are tearing up a bit as she pauses.

Now this is really something.

“Being lost in love is dangerous. Because once you lose that someone, you can lose yourself. You can suddenly look out and wonder what happened to the story. You question whether the whole thing was made up to begin with. Your hero is just another hired gun. That movie poster suddenly turns from color to black and blue.”

Lily pauses and wipes her eyes and doesn’t look at any of us. I’d like to rush to her side and give her a hug, but then again, so would most of the others around me.

“I’ve realized that you don’t start over again. There are no do-overs. There are no second chances. Some lives are like epic movies. Some are just sad reruns.”

Lily turns and faces the teacher, who seems as surprised as all of us. “You happy with that? Those hundred words good enough for you?”

She flings her piece of paper his way and walks out of the room.