My Beautiful Failure by Janet Ruth Young

you see my point.”
    The canvas was covered. Linda moved it to the window, beside the first coated one.
    “I know exactly what your problem is,” she continued, looking straight at me.
    “What?”
    “You’re ticked off because you can’t paint. Painting is a talent. I inherited it. That’s why Dad needs me as his helper.”
    “I could if I wanted to.” I pointed to the pencil notations on the canvas. “Where’s the talent in following instructions? This is like paint-by-numbers.”
    Linda pointed the brush at me as if she wanted to Pollock my face.
    I backed off. “Forget it. I don’t want to be on your dumb team.” On the way to my room, I ignored how dumb that sounded.

37.
team dumb
    D ad, Linda, and Jodie seemed happy. Inseparable. A clot, a club, a dizzy beehive.
    Dad started calling Linda “Linda-Lou” and Jodie “Ponytail.”
    As in “Could you get that, Linda-Lou?” and “What do you think, Ponytail?”
    Linda and Jodie crawled over each other for a chance to paint.
    Paint in the bathroom, on the rugs, and everywhere.

38.
shift 3, november 11. call 18
    L isteners. Can I help you?”
    Yeah, hi. Just called to talk.
    “How are you doing tonight?”
    Okay, I guess. A little down.
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like to tell me your first name?”
    Jenney.
    “Hi, Jenney. So, what’s going on?”
    Margaret caught my eye. She knew I had trouble terminating Jenney’s calls. I would have to keep this one short.
    I’m having problems with my school situation.
    “Sorry to hear that. What’s been happening?”
    I’m pretty sure I told you before.
    “You may have.”
    But I guess I have to tell you again, so here goes. I was all set with a great college scholarship and getting ready to start school. I was going to study marine biology. But then I hadkind of a nervous breakdown and decided that I should take it easy and focus on my emotional issues instead. So I put my plans on hold. In fact, I’ve put my whole life on hold while I deal with this crisis. And some days are better than others and some are worse. Much worse.
    “Wow. It seems like you’re dealing with an awful lot there. I’m sorry it’s so stressful.”
    Thanks. Oh, God, I just dumped so much on you. Ugh.
    “That’s okay. Hey, take a deep breath. That’s what we’re here for. I’m glad you called.”
    How glad can you be?
    “So, out of all you just told me, what’s bothering you the most?”
    It’s hard to pick out one strand. . . .
    “It does sound hard.”
    Usually I don’t think about it much. Usually I live minute to minute, just trying to survive, but it’s only when it’s quiet that I really have a chance to think, and that’s when it hits me: This isn’t the way I wanted to live.
    “This isn’t the way you wanted to live.”
    That’s right.
    “How do you want to live?” Funny how the Incomings hardly ever noticed that we repeated their exact words. You would think they would get weirded out and stop talking.
    I thought I’d be in school. I gave up my scholarship when I had my breakdown. Now I’m not sure I had to. I know people do it, start school even when they’re dealing with emotional problems. And they’re living their life at the same time. They find a counselor at school or near school, or they get into asupport group. Maybe I don’t have to keep seeing Melinda over the next couple of years.
    “So you think maybe you didn’t have to give up the scholarship.”
    Not necessarily. But those people—they’re superhuman. They’re laser-focused go-getters. Bopping into class every day with their homework done and their clothes just right and their hair looking great and all their problems put aside.
    The Generic Laughing People. She meant they had them in college, too.
    “And you’re not a go-getter?” I asked, checking the clock. Only two minutes so far. I would impress Margaret by bringing this baby in under four.
    Not really. I was once. In high school. The whole package. Have