![]() They assured me that he had been eyeing me in Mathletes, laughing at my attempts at trigonometry jokes, bringing me up in conversation. All my friends were just as excited, but they seemed to understand it more than I did. I had no idea if he had asked me because he liked me, or if his mom made him (our parents know each other), or because he lost a bet. It was so bad that I actually had to consciously practice walking in my room before I went to his house. I couldn’t walk straight for three days when I got the invitation. So when Noah invited me to come along to El Smorgasbord on Christmas Eve last year, I more or less ruptured an eye in my excitement and confusion. Noah was the whole package-athlete, academic, school-government bigwig-the kind of person you think must only date models or spies or people who have laboratories named after them. He was a year older than me, a foot taller, broad of shoulder, bright of eye, and floppy of hair. I never thought that was a reasonable thing to want. I had always liked him, but it never really occurred to me to like him, like him. that person can feel even farther off and more unobtainable than an actual celebrity. but somehow when it’s real, when it’s your life. I’d known Noah since the fourth grade, but it felt like I knew him in the same way that I know people on television. constant, familiar, bright, and far above me. Before the Smorgasbord, Noah Price was just a star in my sky. It was how we got together in the first place. The Price Family Annual Smorgasbord is a big deal in our personal history. It was all leading up to the big event: at six, I was supposed to go to Noah’s house-Noah Price, my boyfriend-for his family’s annual Christmas Eve Smorgasbord. ![]() All my presents were wrapped and ready to go. I was drinking a little eggnog latte that I’d cooked up for myself. I was dressed for the night in a new outfit I’d saved for-a black skirt, tights, a sparkly red T-shirt, and my new black boots. I was alone in our house, which was feeling very cozy and snug. Finals were over and school was done until New Year’s. ![]() I was having one of those days when you feel that life. My name has a lot to do with this story, and like I said, it was the afternoon before Christmas. It sounds like something where you have to rent a large inflatable object, put up bunting, and make a complicated plan for trash disposal.Ĭome to think of it, it might be interchangeable with hoedown. Have you ever heard of someone throwing a jubilee? And if you did, would you go? Because I wouldn’t. My objection is that Jubilee isn’t a name-it’s some kind of a party. I think latex is probably bad for your skin because it doesn’t allow it to breathe.) My major concern, stripage-wise, is the latex. (I have no problem with strippers, in case any strippers are reading this. I play field hockey, which lacks the undulating, baby-oiled grace that is the stripper’s stock and trade. I’m sixteen, I sing in choir, I attend Mathletes events. I wear glasses half the time, and contacts the other half. If you saw me, you’d get the idea pretty quickly that I’m not a stripper (I think). You probably think I have heard the call of the pole. I realize Jubilee is a bit of a stripper name. “By the way, my name is Jubilee.” You wouldn’t know what to do next. Now imagine I was halfway through some long story (like I’m about to be), and I dropped that one on you. See, when you get it up front, it’s not that bad. I know from experience that if it comes up later, it will distract you so much that you won’t be able to concentrate on anything else I tell you. ![]() But before I take you into the beating heart of the action, let’s get one thing out of the way. Well, to be more precise, it was the afternoon before Christmas. And for all who toil behind the facade of a corporate monolith, for every person who has to say grande latte three thousand times a day, for every soul who's ever had to deal with a broken credit card reader in the holiday rush. For Hamish, who embodied the "go down the hill really fast, and if something gets in your way, turn" school of teaching me how to deal with a snowy slope.
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