Page 37 of Something in Between

What does that mean?

Were they...? Did they...?

Ugh. Why would she say that? She’s just trying to get into my head. She can’t mean he was her boyfriend or something. How could that be? He lives in LA and she lives in D.C. She’s probably just jealous.

Determined not to let Carrie ruin my beautiful memory of last night, I go to look out the windows. Morning light bursts over the beautiful, busy city, highlighting people bundled up in coats, hurrying to their jobs, and early-morning traffic. The hotel is only a few blocks from the White House to the southeast, and just a few blocks north from Constitution Gardens, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington Monument, Potomac Park.

Half an hour later, I’ve showered, dressed, and eaten, and I barely make it to the tour in time. Part of me can’t wait to see Royce again, no matter what Carrie said about him, but the other part wants to be able to see this place on my own, to not worry about anything other than enjoying the present. I’ve also remembered to bring along my empty little glass bottle, for my own souvenir.

The tour group approaches the outside of the Capitol and I feel myself getting emotional. My eyes burn with tears. Why am I like this? Is this awe of the history before us? Am I anxious about whether or not the reform bill will pass? Or does it have to do with last night?

Suzanne is leading our small group, peppy as a cheerleader at her first football game. She doesn’t look tired. No bags around her eyes. Does she even sleep? She must be so busy running the scholarship program, rushing from meetings to parties to cocktail hours. You know who needs sleep though? Me.

Guilt washes over me. What would my parents think if they knew I’d been alone for most of the night with a boy?

I try to stop thinking about Royce and focus on the tour. I’m amazed at all the artwork inside the Capitol. The architecture. The sound of footsteps in the wide halls. The rotunda is my favorite place. I gaze up at the Apotheosis of Washington like I’ve been frozen into the center of everything.

“It was painted at the end of the Civil War,” Suzanne says.

The other students and I crane our necks.

“Who is that up there?” Richard Morales asks. “God?”

“The guy in the royal purple coat most toward the center?” Suzanne laughs. “Not quite,” she says. “Try George Washington. As you know, he was the first US president and commander in chief of the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War.”

“But who is that with him?” Richard asks. “Those aren’t people from the Constitutional Convention. Only men signed the Constitution. Women were still second-class citizens in those days.”

“You’ve been doing your homework,” Suzanne says. “Figures from classical mythology. Everyone up there is exalted. That’s Liberty and Victory on either side of him.”

Some of the students have lost interest. I knew they would. Half the students in our group go to private schools. They’ve been here before and so act bored, except when they spot certain political figures power walking around the Capitol.

Carrie, Nina, and Mallory are turning their backs on the art and noting who’s walking by our group. When the Secretary of State passes through the hallway, Carrie whispers to one of her friends, “My mom threw a fundraiser for her last year when she thought she’d run for president.”

“Remember that night? I thought I was going to hurl right in her lap,” Nina says.

Mallory joins them. “You almost did.”

I wander away from them, trying to take in the immensity of the fresco. The way the painter did the perspective makes you think the Capitol’s rotunda reaches all the way up to heaven. It’s overwhelming. Even though I’ve never been to the Sistine Chapel in Italy, I imagine that looking at this is a little bit like they describe looking at Michelangelo’s painting of God and Adam. I’m thinking about a lecture my AP Art History teacher, Mr. Lee, gave once about this weird thing that happens when people look at great pieces of art and start to feel sick. Like they’re going to pass out.

But I think my symptoms are more from last night. I’m still light-headed and not quite awake. Staring up at the painting, I hear a few voices chattering behind me.

“You remember that party. Don’t you?” Carrie asks.

A boy’s voice responds. “Yeah, that was epic.”

I turn around. It’s Royce. He doesn’t see me, and I duck away. My head hurts and now my heart does too. Ofcoursehe knows Carrie.

I was so stupid to assume Carrie was lying to me. How could she not know Royce? He must spend a lot of time in D.C. with his dad. He and Carrie have probably known each other for years. Maybe they’ve even dated, like she hinted. He was at that “epic” party, right? Ugh.

Suzanne has moved into one of the corridors. Royce is still chatting with Carrie and her private-school clique and I hear them laughing, telling inside jokes. I don’t recognize any of the names they throw around, or the places they talk about. I haven’t been to Vail or to Jackson Hole, have no opinion on whether Parrot Cay is overrated or if the service at the Breakers is better than ever. They’re like a real-life version of Rich Kids of Instagram. I bet they’ll talk about private planes next. Their whole insider vibe makes me want to puke.

Carrie invites him to go to some party with “the group” later and he says sure.

“Can you believe we have to do this?” Carrie sneers. “I’ve been on private tours of this place, where they take you to the places the tourists can’t go. I wish we could go find a bar or something.”

Her friends titter, but I don’t know if Royce agreed with her or not and I don’t want to stay and find out, so I purposefully lag behind, gawking at a row of female portraits. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with them, with him.

Of course, right then, when I’m feeling the most alienated and out of it is when Royce finally sees me.

---