Born Confused by Tanuja Desai Hidier Page A

sure I’d sweat an actual hole through my shirt pits. A college boy. What was I going to talk about with a college boy? And in a white vinyl miniskirt, too.
    Julian Rothschild was hanging alone by the potted plants, fists in the pockets of his pleather pants and chestnut hair curling rockstar-esque down the nape of his neck. He made being alone look cool.
    And when I saw how, well, how Julian he looked, even in thesickly mall light, my stomach did the watusi. Where were Gwyn and Dylan? Now I wished I’d insisted she ride over with me. Julian’s gaze turned towards me, no visible shift on his face. My stomach queased: I was going to have to introduce myself. I felt like a consummate idiot and ducked behind a potted palm.
    This was probably not the best move if avoiding attention was the goal.
    Julian was looking right at me now, the truth dawning on him.
    —That you? he said, tentatively approaching my fronded hideout. He walked like a movie image, a reservoir dog moving speedily in slow motion: swaggering.
    —Yes.
    —I’m sorry, I just didn’t recognize you. It’s been a while, I guess, since we’ve spoken.
    Just short of seventeen years, give or take a few hours, to be precise.
    —Where’s Gwyn? I asked, trying to emerge as gracefully as possible from the foliage.
    —Dillweed beeped me. They’re running a little late.
    Base sludged down my face; I could feel it. I wondered why the sample colors on the drugstore swatches never matched the shade inside when it came to makeup.
    —Why?
    Julian gave me a duh look.
    —Let’s just say they’re getting to know each other better. Anyways, as it turns out, they’re going to meet us straight at Chimi’s to get a guzzle before the movie—so we can try out your new ID, according to Gwyndolyne. We could head on over, if you’re ready.
    Chimichanga’s was a Tex-Mex restaurant smack between the Chinese one and a used car dealer’s across the street from the mall. They were particularly famous for a Shoot the Worm drink, andpeople went there to get plastered before the movies. Therefore it was always packed at six and eight. And therefore there was also a lot of audience participation at the seven and nine o’clock shows.
    The walk to the mall exit, which really wasn’t so far in the normal world, seemed excruciatingly long in the doped-up universe where a girl like me was hanging with a guy like him.
    —You look hot, Julian said suddenly.
    I was taken aback and hope illogical went off like a flash inside me.
    —Well, thanks, I said, smiling goofily.
    —No, I mean…
    He gestured. I realized he was referring to my arctic number.
    —Uh, no, I’m fine.
    (Then why are you in a winter coat, stupid?)
    —I mean, I’m really cold.
    (Now he’ll think I’m hypothermic.)
    —I mean I have a cold.
    (Even worse—now he’ll think I’m contagious!)
    —Not a cold but it’s a little chilly, I concluded; blame it on forces beyond my control.
    We stepped outside into the 101 degree weather and sweat immediately steeped my face.
    —What ever, said Julian.
    I was burning up. And I had no idea what to talk about all the interminable way through the parking lot and across the street to Chimi’s.
    —So, uh, how’s film school?
    —You couldn’t imagine. To be immersed in your métier 24/7, to be liaisoning with people of nearly equal artistic aptitude—it takes rad to a whole new level.
    He pronounced métier and liaisoning and, oddly, aptitude, as ifhe were speaking French. I didn’t think he was French though, not even French-Canadian. What the frock was I saying? He was from Jersey.
    Inside Chimi’s, it was all nighttime ambiance even though the sun was unbudgeably out outside. And also inside Chimi’s—swigging with Dylan in the overflowing bar area and waving around the beeper that flashed when your seat was ready—I could make out that reverse mirror image of myself. Except instead of all the black parts being white and white being black as usual, today our