Looking in from the outside, I never really understood America’s obsession with New Year’s resolutions. Sure, it’s a fun excuse to get around to something you’ve put off, but if it takes a once-a-year-holiday to get you to finally start something, you probably won’t be sticking at it for very long. Still, that doesn’t seem to stop anyone around here–not even our school board.
As Henry and I walk into school the first day after Christmas Break, a giant, neon-yellow notice covering the announcement board snatches our attention.
“Personality and career assessment tests on Friday?”
“Nice,” says Henry, grinning. “A half day of internet quizzes instead of a full day of homework. I’ll take it!”
Scanning the rest of the notice, my gaze snags on a detail at the very bottom, making me do a double take. “Results will be publicly posted next Monday to encourage community and understanding among the student body?”
Henry snorts, adjusting his aviators as he glances sidelong at me. “Looks like all my nerd secrets are gonna get out.”
I grin for good measure, but the expression is long gone as I stew over the announcement in class. Community and understanding in the student body? The only reason I got into the community was by avoiding understanding in the student body. I don’t know what those tests might show, but I know enough to know it won’t be normal. Then, suddenly, mid-stew, Madison Jacobs raises her hand.
Now, until moving to the states, I thought girls like Madison Jacobs were all dumb blonds (that’s what the 2000’s tv teen movies said anyway), but it turns out it’s actually possible to be a gorgeous cheerleader and honors student at the same time. If there’s one girl at school everyone looks up to, it’s her, and suddenly ‘normal’ is looking a tad overrated.
On the day of the tests, I’m sitting at my desk next to Henry’s, my leg bouncing uncontrollably. Three hours have passed and there’s not a mark on my papers, in spite of my deceptively twiddling pencil. Time is running out, but if there’s one thing in the world I have faith in, it’s the predictability of teenage girls. Then, as if on cue, I catch a glimpse of Madison making her way down the hall from her testing room through the open classroom door. Only the strongest of us can make it through four hours’ testing session without a bathroom break, but not even Bertha Firth could keep strong after finding a gifted bottle of peppermint mocha left in their locker. Almost before I’m done getting the procter’s permission to ‘relieve myself,’ I’m out the door and into the hall. Without stopping, I rush down it in the other direction, quickly changing forms into Madison’s cute do-up in a secluded stretch between classroom doors. I’ve studied Madison’s average restroom routine all week for this, and I’m already counting the seconds.
Checking my pace as I reach Madison’s testing room (they really shouldn’t post room assignments on the board), I enter as nonchalantly as possible, making my way deftly to her vacant desk. Pretending to idly glance through the papers left there, I quickly scan her answers, trying my best to imprint them in my mind. Luckily for me, she’s all but finished. Turning towards the clock, I freeze. Time’s up. Drawing on what little I remember from my third grade drama class, I mime feeling sick to my stomach, flashing the test proctor my puppy dog eyes. He barely even looks up. “Go.”
As I slip back in my own seat a minute later, my face still flushed from running as I frantically begin filling out answers, Henry turns to watch me, indignant. “Why don’t you let me in on these things any more?” I grin.
The ruse goes off without a hitch. Thanks to the pretty repetitive nature of both tests, the main leanings of what I glimpsed translate perfectly, and by the time Monday rolls around, Madison and my tests are posted side by side under her personality type. When they announce the formation of get-to-know-you events for the different result sets, several of the girls actually squeal out of excitement to welcome me to the clan. I squeal too. It makes my throat hurt.
The night after our group’s meet-up at the mall, I sit on my bed pretending to do homework, instead staring silently at the opposite wall. There are no posters or pictures hung on it–just like there are no decorations scattered across my desk or dresser. Everything is clean and simple… and blank.
After a while dad comes in and, taking one look at my unopened books, grunts as he lowers himself to lay on my floor, propping his legs as always to keep Mac from making them his new doggy bed. I wonder what the rest of his coworkers on the base would think if they saw him now. He’s always left his wings on the front porch. “How was the get-together?”
“Good.” He doesn’t push it. After a long minute I glance down at him again, struggling to pull my thoughts together. “Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you supposed to know… who you are?” Pausing, he props himself up on one elbow, looking over at me. “I mean I guess you always knew,” I back pedal, trying to shrug it off. “You always knew where you belonged. But me? I’m even worse than mom. At least she had a choice in deciding to leave India, but with me it’s like everything I’ve ever done or said, everything that’s ever happened to me was always out of my control. And now… now I’ve just made it all worse.”
“I know that I didn’t have the same struggles as you growing up,” says dad quietly, his face serious as he meets my gaze, “but that doesn’t mean I always knew who I was. Nobody does. I remember after my dad died I spent most of my teenage years trying to be the man I thought he was. But that’s where I got it wrong. Who you are, Advika, isn’t some magical person you have to discover. It’s the sum of the places you’ve been and the person you decide you want to be.”
I sigh, wiping a hand over my face. “And how are you supposed to know who that is?”
He chuckles. “The same way you figure out most things, probably.”
“How is that?”
“You figure out who it’s not.”
***
As January wraps up, I can’t say I’ve succeeded in some resolution to find myself, but I may be just a step closer. The last few Saturdays dad has been helping me with his ‘trial and error’ tactic, and so far we’ve ruled out welder, poet, and lumberjack, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world. After finally washing all the remaining wood chips out of my hair, I make my way to my room to finish my own special project. I may not know where I’m heading, but I know where I’ve been, and as I hang pictures of my life so far across the wall, suddenly my future seems a little less blank.
Photo credit: https://homestylematters.com/bedroom-decorating-ideas-for-a-single-woman/