Priscila Tonman X

Inglourious Basterds

It must have been only a few minutes, but it felt like the entire incident took hours. I took a deep breath and looked at the application one last time. It was crinkled now, and I was worried someone was going to notice. But what could I do? I tried to straighten it out, knowing it was futile. I placed it back in the pile (it was behind Annie Wilcox and in front of Terry Williamson), and locked the office door behind me as quietly as I could. My heart began speeding up again, because the hall was even more silent and darker than before. The sun had completely set by now, and when I opened the building’s door, two feelings flooded over me. Relief and disappointment. Relief because I had gotten out of there without getting caught, and disappointment because I had really liked and admired Eric. He was everything a girl wanted, and everything a guy wanted to be. Intelligent, handsome, kind (on the surface at least) and a leader. Every single member of Cottage loved Eric, and things always seemed more fun, less stress when he was around. And the way he always looked at you like you were the only person in the world at that moment was, well to say the least, dreamy. I don’t think I could ever look at him the same way again.  

I kept running the scene in my head over and over again. I kept trying to think of reasons why Eric should be forgiven. But it all just kept adding up to the fact that he a) tried to break a law (and not just Princeton’s rules, but I’m pretty sure an American law) b) betrayed and lied to me. Ok, I always had a tendency to be dramatic, and maybe I am exaggerating, but I was going to wallow in self pity as every girl has a right to. I put on my favorite song ever, Kelly Clarkson’s Since U Been Gone, and sung to my heart’s content. I wish I could say I sung as loudly as I could, but I didn’t. If I did, someone would be bound to come knocking and ask me to shut it.

I went on Facebook, hoping to talk to some of my friends who weren’t at Princeton, so that I could complain about what bastards Princeton guys could be (total generalization, and untrue…half the time) when the second thing on my newsfeed was Tommy’s status. It read, “Looking forward to tonight! Long time since Mr. Moscato and I were reunited.” Mr. Moscato! I looked at the time on my laptop and it said 7:12pm. I was already 12 minutes late to Tommy’s!  I glanced at my mirror and gasped. I looked horrible. My hair was all over the place, and my makeup was smeared from the number of times I rubbed my eyes. I quickly used Lancome Double-Action Eye Makeup Remover to eliminate the eyeliner that had smudged all around my eyes. Note to self: do not buy cheap eyeliner again. I applied some Elizabeth Arden cream to my face and instantly felt better. This stuff was potent – and a beauty secret that was passed onto my by my mother, who got it from Grandmother, who swears by it. I think it works too, because Grandmama was already 72 years old, and looked as regal as Helen Mirren did in The Queen. It has turned my frazzled or hungover face to delightful freshness more times than I can count now.

I took out the Barefoot Moscato out of my minifridge and put it in my fuschia Longchamp tote. I put a cardigan around the bottle too, because naturally, as a 19 year old, alcohol is sadly illegal for me. As I left my room, I texted Tommy to let him know I was late and coming. I almost half ran there, I was walking so fast. My shins began to ache, but it was already 7:21 by then. I reached The Street and walked briskly past Cottage and straight to Tiger Inn, where Tommy had been waiting for the past half an hour. Tiger Inn was a beautiful mansion with two large clovers on the front of it, and looked like a house straight from Amsterdam. It always looked like a classy yet cosy place to be in, and I was a little excited to be able to see it again. I’d gone in a few times with Tommy, but it was crammed with drunk people (as with all other eating club parties)so I didn’t get to appreciate it so much.

I knocked on the large door, and for a second, felt like Little Red Riding Hood knocking on Grandma’s door (yes, the door was that scary). A guy I recognized as Tiger Inn’s Alcohol Chair (and before you laugh or cringe, Tommy told me they had two of these positions) opened the door and said, “Hi, what’s up?”

 

I replied, “I am looking for Tommy? Is he in?” I looked past him. He stepped back and let me in, and said, “Oh so you’re the girl he’s always fussing over. Hm…didn’t take you for his type.” He smirked and walked back to another room, where it sounded like there was a TV on. “Well, hello! Where is Tommy?” I asked after him. Jerk. I looked around, and I saw Tommy’s head poke out from the corner of the room. He walked out and folded his arms. Uh oh, that was a look I’ve seen on Tommy several times. It was when he was really annoyed.

“You’re half an hour late, Pris,” he said. I walked over to him and said pleadingly, “I know, I’m so sorry. You won’t believe what happened to me.” I pulled out the wine, and shuffled on my feet. “I brought Mr. Moscato as well! I’ll tell you what happened, I promise.” I looked down on the ground, half ashamed, half worried. Tommy sighed and took the wine out of my hands and groaned reluctantly. “Fine, but this better be good, because the chicken chops I made us are already cold, and I’m pretty sure the salad has begun to wilt.” I looked up and gave him my most winning smiles, and he shook his head, half disgusted at himself for forgiving again, half bemused at me. Story of our relationship. “Come on then!”

We went to a living room area, and the food was already there, set up very nicely. It looked almost like a restaurant, and when we both sat down, it suddenly felt awkward. This was like a date. I looked up at Tommy, and he was fussing over the salad, making sure it was tossed right. Not knowing what to do, I opened the wine and began telling him what happened with Eric this evening. Throughout the whole time, he hardly spoke, and didn’t touched his food. He just listened to what had happened, and his eyebrows kept shooting up. When I finished, he took a huge swig of the wine, and said bitterly, “That man is mental.” I nodded, “I know. I just don’t know what to do now. How am I supposed to avoid him? I see him every day! Three times a day!” I had dinner with Eric quite often, and though it was just the two of us, it would be so obvious to our group of friends when we would suddenly sit on the opposite ends of each other (instead of next to each other) and not speak to each other (as opposed to the usual, where we would poke fun of each other all night).

“You should turn him in,” Tommy said. “You have to. He broke a law!”

“But there’s no evidence, and besides, I think I broke the law, not him. I was the one who saw his brother’s application, he didn’t even get to touch it.” I replied. Believe me, the thought had crossed my mind. Tommy nodded, and sighed. He picked up his fork and looked at me intensely and said, “Fine, you’re right, but I hope you’re not forgiving him. Just because you two were…” he trailed off and started picking at his chicken chop. “He and I were what?” I asked sharply. Here we go again.

“You know, very close.” he muttered. Tommy looked up. “Didn’t you like him?”

Now it was my turn to start picking at the food. I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ears and said, “I think I liked the idea of him. He seemed so…charming. So cool, you know? I thought he was a good friend and person. I guess I couldn’t be more wrong. Stupid, huh?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Priscilla. A little naïve sometimes, but not stupid. Sometimes what you need and what you want is the same thing, and sometimes it’s right in front of you.” he said. I looked up, frowning a little, because I knew he was hinting at something. “Anyway, how’s the food?” So glad to be over that subject, I was more than happy to start eating. Again, I hadn’t realized I was hungry till now. I cut off a large piece of chicken and put it in my mouth. It was soft yet juicy.

“Amazing, just the way I like it.” I replied. And for some reason, Bruno Mars’ song “Just The Way You Are” came to mind. I laughed to myself and complimented Tommy’s culinary skills. I couldn’t believe I was pining over some other guy when this one in front of me was more than I needed. What other guy would cook for you? Kelly Clarkson was so right: I can breathe for the first time, and I’m so moving on!