Underage

[45] Fine and Studio Art

[45] Fine and Studio Art

"Do I look okay?"

Ethan's sitting on my bed, his back against the wall and his legs sprawled out before him. He's only in a pair of black boxers, his hair is sticking up, and his face is unshaven. He blinks his eyes, as if to try and make himself wake up.

It's early. Earlier than I would have liked to be awake, but today is orientation. Orientation for Wepner University's incoming freshman class, at least those of us who were signed up for the very first one. Where we take a tour, sit through lectures on how to be great students, and then sit with an adviser for who knows how long until we have our classes picked out and major officially declared.

"You look beautiful, baby."

I roll my eyes as he slumps down into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin. It's just past five in the morning, the sun has yet to break through the ground. My alarm woke him up thirty minutes ago and I've been keeping him up since.

I look at myself in the mirror. I have no idea what to wear so I put on a simple pair of jeans and a light pink blouse. I keep the makeup simple and curl my hair. Do I need to wear something more dressy? I turn to the side, watching as I blow up like I'm standing in front of a carnival mirror.

Despite Grace and I actually sticking with the gym, we've cut down the days we go. I've lost a little weight, enough to make me feel more confident. My tightest pair of jeans are now easy to button. I can sit down without the button imprinting on my skin.

I change the part in my hair from left to right. Should I put it up? Should I bring a jacket? Maybe it'll be cold inside.

"Stop over thinking it," he says to me. "You look beautiful. Who cares what you're wearing anyway, they're going to stick you in a large room with hundreds of other people and it's hours long. Just be comfortable."

I cast him a glance but still play with the edge of my shirt. Maybe I should just wear a v-neck.

"Take a sweatshirt with you. If nobody else is wearing nice clothes then put it on, if they are just keep it in case you get cold."

I lean over the bed and kiss his lips. "You're the best."

"I know," he tells me. "When are Grace and Cooper getting here?"

"They're on their way," I say.

He's the only one not going to Wepner in the fall. Instead, his orientation isn't for weeks. He signed up for the last possible one. It's only two weeks before his classes start. The day after the end of summer party at the grove. I don't let myself think about it any more.

It had been a long night last night. My parents, who knew exactly what was happening today, had politely demanded that I be at dinner. They at least had the courtesy of waiting until I was on my second helping of chocolate cake before bringing out the folder. It was a densely filled Manila folder, plain and beige in color. On the flap read my name and inside was every class, when and with what professor, I would be taking for the next four years of my life.

They had it all planned out for me.

I wanted to tell them then and there. Wanted to start the fight that I knew would last for years. Maybe my whole life. I wanted to tell them that I didn't want to be a lawyer. That I wanted different things, I had different goals. But I couldn't. My dad looked so happy and excited.

Everything was color coated and highlighted. Sticky notes with course numbers and dates were placed in strategic places, all yellow in color and written in his neat all upper-case letters.