the progress project [3]

2 8

yuli

she and atília eat their chicken sandwiches in the car.

"christmas is in a few days and you are still here," he says, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "why? everyone else is gone."

she shrugs. "not much family to get back to. you?"

"likewise. not all of my family could immigrate here. it is just my grandmother and i."

curiosity tempts her and wins. "i hate to sound... nosy or rude. where are you from?"

"argentina," he says, sipping his coke. "now it is my turn. why do you not have friends? i know it is only the first month of school, but even i have people that i have grown close to."

she sighs and fidgets with her own hands. "i don't know. i act like i'm all tough and confident, when in reality, i'm terrified of getting close to someone, only to have to leave them."

"you are scared of running away?"

"i always run. when it comes to fight or flight, i choose flight every time."

he ponders that. he collects their garbage and shoves it into the bag, then turns to her, gray eyes cool, hard to decipher the emotions, if there are any, inside. "then stop running."

"it's not e—"

"we all have our fears," he shrugs. "mine was struggling to speak english. i know many languages, but english was one of the toughest for me. so many people speak it, and if i could not, i knew i would not fit in. so day after day, i pushed myself to learn it. i do not care anymore if i sound simple-minded or weird."

"that's..." she decides to change the subject. "amazing. what do you study?"

"languages. i do not know what career yet. translator? or child care services around the world."

"holy shit," she curses in amazement. "how many do you know?"

he smiles, and she changes the gear of the car to reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. "seven: portuguese, spanish, german, french, italian, a little bit of russian, and english."

"wow."

"what are you studying?"

a blush rises to her cheeks. "art education."

"that is fun," he comments, and she can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not.

"i'm not smart like you," she says, and immediately hates herself for saying it aloud. the problem is, once her big mouth starts, it won't stop. "i'm actually probably one of the dumbest people at this university. the only reason i'm here is because my aunt is rich and paid big bucks—"

"are you always such a talented liar?" he interrupts, features devoid of any emotion except for a hint of anger.

"excuse me?"

his voice is clipped, full of raw emotion despite the fact that they just met less than 12 hours ago. "you lie. you tell me that you are not smart just because i may know more than you? you tell me that you are the dumbest person at nyu even though there are people here that are, in fact, more stupid than you. yet you want to throw a pity party just because you are insecure? that is selfish, and embarrassing. there is always going to be someone smarter than you."

"um," she pauses. "okay. that was rude."

"no, it was not," he says, getting out of the car when she reaches the building to his dorm. "it was honest. i am sorry if you are unable to handle the truth."

he walks away, his shadow disappearing from the absence of a street lamp.