Miracle Girl Part V

          Half a week later I get the phone call.   I'm sitting at home, organizing my biology notes when my phone goes off, buzzing wildly at me from the top of my dresser.  I reach over for it, pushing the green "talk" button even as I bring it up to my ear.

          "Hello?"

          "Is this Nick Bellestrand?" 

          I answer in the affirmative.

          "My name is John Broadhead.  I'm the director of lighting at University Broadcasting.  I understand you have an interest in a position here at the studio.  Is that correct?"

          My level of comprehension catches up to the words he's saying.  Is he for real?

          "Yes," I stammer back.

          "Would you be able to come in for an interview later today?"

          My mouth goes dry.

          "Sure.  What time?"

          "Four o'clock.  Come to the broadcasting building.  My office is number 117."

 

 

          Decked out in a collared shirt and slacks, I step off of the curb onto hot asphalt of the parking lot in front of the broadcasting building.  I'm scared out of my wits.  I've never really had an official job interview before, at least not one where there was an actual, worthwhile-paying job on the line.  Confidence.  It's all about confidence.   It's not about my resume,  it's the way I self-convey.  I thrust aside my fears and shove open the door, walking quickly and with assurance.  I go down the far hallway, scanning the numbers written in black paint on each door.  115...116...117.  I knock immediately, so as not to give myself enough time to get psyched out.  Almost immediately the door opens and I'm face to face with the man I gave my resume to last week.  I stick out my hand and give him a firm handshake.

          "Come in," he says.

          I walk in and sit down in front of his desk.  There's a stack of papers on one corner and a lamp on another, but other than that it's completely bare.  John Broadhead has a copy of my resume in his hand.  He places it in the middle of his desk and takes a seat as well.

          "How are you doing?"

          "Good," I reply, trying hard not to over-think things.  This is a student job, not a CEO position.

          "Tell me a little about yourself."

          "I'm a sophomore at the university, hoping to get into medical school.  I've worked mostly custodial jobs before, but now I thought I'd move on to something different."

          "Why do you want to work here in particular?"

          I pause for a moment, tapping my hand against my leg.  What's the honest answer to that question?

          "I want to challenge myself to get outside my comfort zone," I say finally.

          "What characteristic describes you the best?"

          He is probably looking for something like reliability or work ethic, but I pause again and think out my answer.  My thoughts jump instantly to the Gandhi Scheme.  Maybe the desire to help others?  Even as I think this though, I realize it isn't true.  I've been slipping in my resolve again over the last few days.  I haven't really even talked to Mercedes about anything more important than electron orbitals since I went to her class the first time.  I've let other things get in the way again.  A wave of frustration rolls over me and I wonder if I'll ever be able to make being an outlier of humanity a fundamental part of who I am.  I resolve anew that I will, but I still have to answer the question, so I look up at the interviewer and say,

          "The desire to have the desire to change other people's lives for good be the single most powerful motivating force in everything I do."

          Mr. Broadhead slides back an inch or so in his chair and cocks his head slightly, like he's not sure what he just heard.

          "Would you mind elaborating on that for me?"

          "I'm not to the point yet where I can say that I care what happens to other people more than I care about myself," I say, "but I'm working on it."

          He cocks his head a bit more.  "Then why do you want a job in broadcasting?"  He asks.

          "What do you mean?"

          "I mean if that's what's most important to you, why would you sign up for a job that will require you to spend the majority of your time trying to make yourself look good in front of your supervisor?  Why not join the Peace Corps?"

          The question catches me off-guard.  How would a broadcasting job help me care about other people?  And if it won't, then why am I here in the first place?  Even more importantly, why have I been spending so little time and effort helping Mercedes, if that's really the most important thing?  

          "Well...I need the money," I answer back lamely.

 

         

 

          I look over the table at Lydia, who's busy organizing her notes.  This is the third time we've met as a group now, but it's the first time I've been able to talk to her alone.

          "Do you know anyone that lives in apartment 26?"

          She raises a curious eyebrow at me.  "Maybe.  I'm not sure."

          It's been a week since the last time I've seen Mercedes.  She missed chemistry the last two days I've gone.  We've texted a couple times, but her shutdown of my last attempt to help her has left me a bit trigger-shy.  I know I need to take the initiative

          "There's this girl that lives there.  Blond hair.  Purple eyes.  You know her?"  It feels strange for me to mention her to someone else.  To me it feels like she exists in a world separate from the one everyone else I know lives in, my own personal Narnia that only I can access.  That little dream shatters into a thousand pieces when Lydia says, "Yes, actually.  She's friends with Kyra.  They're always out doing things on weekends."

          So there is someone that Mercedes is close to after all.  The disturbs me.  Why would she lie about that?  How well do I really know her?  What else has she been hiding?

           "I was wondering if you could set up a game night at your apartment with us and apartment 26."

          Lydia's already cocked eyebrow arches still further and her forehead crinkles as she tries to divine what's going on inside my head.  She knows I don't change my mind easily when it comes to girls, but there's no other obvious reason why I would make that kind of request from her.  Really, the reason I'm asking her is because I know that she'll do it.  That's just how Lydia is.

          "Ok, sure.  What day were you thinking?"

          "What's your schedule like this weekend?"

          She taps the table absentmindedly with a forefinger as she thinks.   "Maybe Saturday?"

          "That'll work," I say instantly, even though it means skipping intramural basketball and rescheduling my Call of Duty rematch with Matt.  "Thanks."

          Just then Jarren storms in and slams his bag on the counter.

          "If you two lovebirds are done flirting, let's get this thing over with."

          I attempt not to let my cringing insides show outwardly.  Lydia tries as well but fails.  The look on her face makes me think of someone being force-fed rotten Jello.  I get the sense that she's regretting the decision she made to let him into our group. 

 

 

          Saturday comes even faster than I had anticipated.  Lydia is true to her word.  In fact, she's gone the extra mile and made food for everyone.  I wonder for the 100th time if this is even a good idea.  I stare around at them all. Mara's sitting there in the corner but my mind is so wrapped up in other things, she doesn't catch my attention like normal.  Kyra, Mercedes' friend, is there, and Brandon and Paul from our apartment.  We're just  waiting for apartment 26.  I stare absentmindedly at a small-framed picture of a sunset leaning against a book about whales on the bookshelf.  Knock knock.  Lydia steps around me to open the door.  A burst of cold air from outside makes the hair on my neck stand upright.

          "Hey!  How's it going?"

          Lydia only has the door open partway and she's blocking my view so I can't tell if it's her or not.

          "Great, thanks for asking."

          It's her.  I'd know that voice anywhere.  Lydia steps to the side to let her through.  My eyes jump to Mercedes' face as soon as it pierces the threshold, searching for the inevitable reaction.  What will it be?  Pleasant surprise?  Or the urge to run?

          Her eyes run over mine, but they don't say anything special.  She sits down between Kyra and Brandon.  I feel a little let-down.

          "Your roommates couldn't come?" Lydia asks her.

          She shakes her head.  "They said they have a lot of homework."

          Lydia lays out a Monopoly board on the table in front of us.

          "I've never played with this many people before, so I had to combine with another game to make sure the bank has enough money."   

          I smile out at them all.  Mara, Kyra, Mercedes, Brandon, and Paul.  I had never, until that moment, realized how much I loved them.  I had loved them all along I knew now, but I had never thought to put that name to it.  But I do.  I feel it swell within my heart, and for the first time, I understand the old saying that there is nothing more powerful than love.  It's cliché, but it's also true.  I would do anything for them.  In fact, that's exactly what I'm trying to do.

          Lydia hands out the money.  We crowd around the table, crouching close together so we can all fit.  I feel a strange detachment from the game.  It's fun, but not important.  What is important is the bond between us all.  I have no plan this time, not even vestiges of an idea how to use this situation to help Mercedes or anyone else.  But the feeling down deep in my heart was driving me to act, to build up, to lift those around me to a higher plane of living.  It isn't a completely new feeling; I recognize that it has been there in some form all along.  But I've never felt it so strong.  I can't hold back from throwing my heart into these people, my friends.  I can only hope that some of them are willing to act on what I have to give them.

          "Thanks for putting this together, Lydia." I say to her near the start.  "You're always so thorough about these things."  Both Brandon and Mercedes eye me interestingly.

          Lydia looks a bit pink.  "Thanks for saying that."

          I wait a few more minutes and strike again.  "Did I ever tell you that you're some of my favorite roommates?"  I tell Brandon and Paul.

          "What's with you today?" asks Paul.  I don't have a good answer for him.

          "Just happy, I guess."

          Of course, the reason I'm really here is Mercedes, but I don't know that spouting random compliments at her over the Monopoly board will necessarily be the most effective way of helping her in particular.  In fact, she'll probably feel weirded out about anything I try at this point.  So I wait.

          About halfway through we take a break for food.  Most everyone heads off into the kitchen, but Mercedes stays where she's at in the front room.  I do too.  It's just the two of us.

          "We haven't talked much the last couple days," I start.

          Mercedes says nothing, just shrugs.  I'm a little surprised by such a cold response.

          "Is Chem treating you better?  I haven't seen you there the last couple times."

          "No.   I don't want to talk about it."

          I look for an apologetic smile, but it never comes.  Something is different than before.  Mercedes' always been a bit distant, but always friendly, at least.  What's going on with her?

          "Well, if you ever need any help, let me know,"  I say.  It would mean having to study all that chemistry all over again, but if it means I can actually hold a real conversation with her, it's worth it.   Then Kyra walks back in and the discussion fades.  I stand up to get food, a strange aching in my heart I can't explain.

          The rest of the game passes without any hint of an opportunity to talk to Mercedes again..  Just before the end she stands up and excuses herself.  I notice Lydia watching me to see if I'll follow suite, but I don't.  It doesn't feel right, for some reason.  I need to let Mercedes make her own decisions, and chasing her down when she's obviously not in the mood does not fall under that category.