The Mechanical Muse

Chapter 4 (Part 2)

The rest of my afternoon proceeded rather uneventfully, but productively, and I was glad to have lost myself in my homework and my piano practice until an Instagram notification from Carmen popped up on my screen, confirming our dinner for that night. It was too late to back out—not that I had other dinner plans. Now that I had my wits about me and was out of the moment, I browsed her Instagram profile: a few thousand followers, a far smaller amount she followed back; this included me, and I felt honored. I had seen it all by then, and she offered nothing new: a few swimsuit photos, her with a mint julep wearing a funny hat at the Kentucky Derby, a selfie from the ramparts of a castle in Seville. Well-traveled, but somehow still cultureless. Not that anyone would post themselves reading on Instagram.

My hopes dashed, I packed up my belongings and walked to the dining hall, enjoying the evening air. I remembered that when I was on my way to meet Cassandra, I could think of no weightier question than how her two-dimensional self would transfer to real life. I felt nothing like that today. Only a hint of intellectual curiosity, and a burgeoning sense that after Cassandra, everyone else would be "Cassandra, but..." or "Cassandra, except...". I wondered how she was doing. It had only been a few days since I had last seen her, but I had entered a new chapter of my life, and it was in my best interest to treat everything that had passed and would never pass again as prologue.

I had arrived early, and for lack of anything better to do abandoned my nonchalant temperament and began pacing back and forth, before ultimately deciding that seemed undignified. I chose instead to stand by the lockers and engage in some dignified people-watching. All sorts entered and left the dining hall—couples, single people, some who looked too old to be students. I checked my phone and realized Carmen was veering on being "fashionably late." I figured I could wait a bit longer before messaging her—there was no need to be petty about small details. People like her and Lucy were constantly busy: their time was precious because so many people craved it, so it was basic supply-and-demand that let them get away with minor acts of impoliteness.

And there she was: she had changed outfits, and her hair had not fully dried from the shower. She still wore that jade pendant that drew my eyes—it swung slightly as she walked, like a pendulum, and I realized it was unbecoming to stare at her chest and not her face.

"So nice to see you again!" she said. "I'm so sorry for being late, I'm sure you're really busy, jet skiing and taming tigers and all. How was your day?"

"Not too bad. Business as usual." She was unfazed, though I'm sure she was hoping for something juicier.

"Did you hang out with any celebrities? I bet you've met so many, you'll have to tell me about them."

"Not today. Let's go in," I said, and I held the door open for her as we walked in.

"You're so chivalrous. No wonder why everyone likes you," she laughed at my common courtesy.

"Do they really?"

"All my friends rave about you: they say you're elegant, eloquent... uh..."

"Exquisite?" I said, sensing my tone soften—what was I doing? All of Valdez's jocular barbs had wormed their way into my tongue, and it was developing a life of its own.

"Exactly. What's your major?"

"English."

"Do English majors make a lot of money?" she asked, reserving our seats with napkins.

"Uhh..."

"It's an honest question. So, like, I saw Avenue Q in New York—I'm a huge Broadway fan—and there's this song asking what you can do with a BA in English. So is it true?"