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“But here’s the thing,” Mendel’s saying this with his hands up in the air and a look on his face like he’s about to tell them all the secrets of the universe. “Samwise is the real hero of Lord of the Rings.”
“You’re full of shit.” Marvin says with a sneer. “Everyone knows that Frodo’s the hero.”
“Just because he’s the main character, that doesn’t make him hero.” Mendel insists. “I mean, think about it: who does everything? Samwise. Who got the ring back from Gollum? Samwise. Who pulled Frodo off the side of that mountain? Samwise. He’s the hero, he actually did the heroics.”
Marvin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but Whizzer cuts in, “Look, you losers are the only ones who care about this dumbass argument at all. Either knock it off, or make your own chat, because I’ll kick you out. And I’m not afraid of either of you; I was trained in karate.”
“Whizzer, one month of classes in the third grade does not make you trained in karate.” Charlotte says, furrowing her eyebrows and letting her mouth hang open just a bit. Sometimes, she swears to God, she thinks this boy might kill her. Whizzer’s got a habit of embellishing the truth and getting himself into trouble; it’s easier to just call him out on it when it happens than try to put out the fires afterward, but Charlotte still finds it just as exhausting.
Whizzer makes a face, as if to ask, “Charlotte, what the hell?”
“Please, everyone, just be nice to each other.” Trina sighs, rubbing her temples.
“Oh, great,” Whizzer says. “Now the talking cheese is gonna preach to us.” He’s not entirely wrong in that description of her, Charlotte reasons, even if it is a little mean spirited; Trina’s roommate has them trying some homemade face mask that’s bright yellow and clumpy, like half-melted nacho cheese. For all they know over the internet, it might be.
“A Spongebob reference?” Trina asks, wrinkling her nose. “Very mature of you, Whizzer.”
“I’m mature as shit.” Whizzer retorts, sticking his nose in the air like he’s somehow won with that oh-so-witty line.
“Maybe this is our sign to call it night.” Charlotte says, trying to play peacemaker. She’s always trying to play peacemaker. She’s fairly good at it too; the others listen to her. They’ve always listened to her, because she’s levelheaded and optimistic, and she’s good at giving advice, because she can see both sides of a situation when she’s not involved in it.
“Y’know,” she goes on. “Since we’ve delved into our usual geek arguments instead of real conversation, and are lobbing children’s television-based insults at each other.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Cordelia says. It’s the first thing she’s said all night. Charlotte’s been paying close attention, even if she’s also been acting as the adult in the group all night.
“Aye, aye, mes capitaines.” Whizzer gives a mock salute. “G’night everybody.” There’s a chorus of goodnights, and then Charlotte’s staring at her list of contacts. She pauses for a half a minute, and then she clicks on Cordelia’s name--well, actually, she clicks on what Cordelia’s changed her name to, which, this week, is ‘Softest Peanut’; Charlotte’s got no idea what it means or where it came from, but it suits her.
Cordelia picks up on the second ring, and she waves as she comes into focus on Charlotte’s laptop screen.
“Hey, baby!” Charlotte grins. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” Cordelia says with a shrug. She pushes a loose blonde curl behind her ear. She rest of her hair is tied up in a bun on top of her head; Charlotte likes it, because it lets her see the curve of Delia’s jaw and her perfect cheekbones.
But even being distracted by her girlfriend’s pretty face, Charlotte can tell that something is wrong. Cordelia’s smiling, like she’s feeling like her usual bubbly self, but there’s an uncharacteristic insincerity to it.
“No, you’re not.” Charlotte declares. “Tell me what’s wrong? Do I need to come over there? You know, if I hop on the Red Line right now, I can be in your dorm within the hour--maybe even with ice cream--unless you had something else in mind?” She wiggles her eyebrows in that way that always makes Delia laugh; it’s a dumb choice, considering she doesn’t know exactly what is up, but it works, and a genuine grin cracks across her girlfriend’s face.
“You stay where you are.” Cordelia giggles, covering her face with her hands in a futile attempt to hide the flush on her cheeks. There’s a moment where the two of them are just grinning at each other, and then Cordelia sighs again.
“I’m just having one of those nights, y’know?” She says, locking her fingers and resting her chin on them. “Where this whole thing feels so much harder than it seemed when I started? And I just wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to not try at all.”
Charlotte nods, pursing her lips slightly. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t had the same thoughts. The endless nights of studying, the piles upon piles of books, the mountains of flash cards with complicated Latin names and ridiculous spellings--it was all too much sometimes. But Cordelia had it worse, from what Charlotte could tell. Delia had too-early mornings and too-late nights. Delia came home from school covered in mystery stains and sauces she couldn’t pronounce the names of. Delia could make a rose out of a tomato in six seconds flat--that didn’t come from relaxing evenings and laid back instructors.
“And then,” Delia goes on. “I’m also wondering whether I’m even good enough at this to bother--or if I’m even good at this at all.”
Charlotte kind of freezes there, because what can she say? It’s not that Delia is bad at cooking, because she isn’t really. It’s just that it takes her a long time to master a recipe, and it takes her twice as much work as everyone else. But, Charlotte supposes that she can kind of relate to that too.
“And anyway, it’s just a lot easier to wallow in my own self doubt,” Delia says. “Than to listen to Mendel and Marvin bicker about who the real hero of Lord of the Rings is, for the millionth time.”
“That’s fair.” Charlotte nods. Then, “Your self-doubt is unfounded, though. I promise.” Cordelia makes a motion of understanding, but Charlotte can tell she isn’t really sold. She doesn’t press, however, because she knows that nights like this can’t be fixed with placations and platitudes spouted by your girlfriend. She knows they can’t really be fixed at all.
So Charlotte firms herself in the position of active listener, letting Delia spill her insecurities and fears for another hour and a half. And when her girlfriend is finally relaxed enough to fall asleep, Charlotte hangs up and googles when the Dunkin Donuts around the corner opens; she’s going to be standing outside Delia’s door with donuts and coffee when she wakes up tomorrow, even if it’s the last thing she ever does.