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"I thought you might need it," he said. "It could—well, help you win friends and become popular." He pointed at the title.
Lydia felt as if her heart had fallen into an ice hole, and it was gradually leaving her. "I have friends, Dad," she said, even though she knew it was a lie.
Her father smiled, "Of course. I just think - you know, you grow up and go to high school - social skills are important. It teaches you how to get along with everyone." He looked at his daughter's face Moving to books, "This type of book was very popular in the 1930s and is a best-selling theme."
Lydia tried her best to suppress her emotions.
"That's great," she said. "Thanks, Dad."
Other people's gifts should be even less interesting to see, but Lydia opened them anyway. Nas gave her a fluffy acrylic scarf; Hannah gave her a Simon and Garfunkel record; and her mother still gave her books: "Pioneers in Science" and "Basic Physiology." "I thought you might be interested in this," Marilyn said, "since you're so good at biology." She took a sip of tea, the sound of which sent shivers down Lydia's spine. When there was nothing under the tree but clumps of wrapping paper and scraps of ribbon, Lydia carefully piled the gifts she had received, with the book from her father on top. At this moment, a shadow fell on the cover - her father appeared behind her.
"Don't you like this book?"
"Of course I do."
"I just thought it might be useful." He said, "But you probably already know a lot about what to do." He pinched her cheek, "How to win friends. I hope..." He stopped suddenly and said what he wanted to say. Swallow it back: I wish I had read this when I was your age. If that were the case, he thought, everything would be different; if he knew how to "manage people," how to make others like him, maybe he could fit in with Lloyd, he could please Marilyn's mother, and Harvard would hire him. . He will be able to get more "life gains". "I think you'll like it," he concluded awkwardly.
Although her father had never spoken of his school days, and she had never heard of how her parents got married or moved to Midwood, Lydia could still feel the pain, penetrating deeply like a foghorn on a ship. Through her heart. Her father's greatest concern was that she would be rejected and unable to adapt. She opened the book on her lap and turned to the first part: Principle 1. Avoid criticism, condemnation, or complaints.
"I like it," she said. "Thanks, Dad."
James couldn't ignore the harsh tone of her voice, however, he decided to ignore it. Of course she wouldn't like it, he thought, and she didn't need it at the moment. Lydia always had many friends; almost every night, after finishing all her homework, she would talk to someone on the phone. How stupid that he would buy this book. He secretly made up his mind to give her a better gift next time.
The truth is this. When Lydia was thirteen, she called Pam Sanders at her father's urging. She didn't even know Pam's phone number. She looked it up from the phone book. She put the phone book on her lap and dialed the numbers one by one. In addition to one phone in the kitchen and one in her father's study, the last phone in the house was on the landing at the corner of the stairs, where her mother placed a few cushions and a pot of African pansy on the bay window sill. The African pansy has withered. Therefore, no matter who passes under the stairs, he will hear her voice on the phone. Lydia waited until her father entered the living room before dialing the last number.
"Pam," she said, "I'm Lydia."
There was a brief silence. She could almost hear Pam frowning. "Lydia?"
"Lydia Lee. From school."
"Oh," another moment of silence, "Hi."
Lydia wrapped her fingers around the phone cord, trying to say something. "So—how was your geography test today?"
"It's okay, I guess." Pam chewed her gum and made a slight "tsk-tsk" sound. "I hate school."
"Me too," Lydia said, realizing for the first time that this was true, and speaking it out emboldened her even more, "Hey, do you want to go roller skating on Saturday? My dad will drive you. We went." The image suddenly appeared in her mind as she and Pam spun around the roller rink, giggling, and her father in the stands was delighted.
"Saturday?" There was a surprised silence. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't go. Maybe next time?" A small murmur came in the background. "Hey, I have to hang up. My sister needs to use the phone. Goodbye, Liddy. Ya." Then there was the sound of the receiver being replaced.
Pam hung up the phone suddenly, catching Lydia off guard, her ear still pressed against the receiver when her father appeared at the foot of the stairs. Seeing his daughter talking on the phone, James's eyes lit up, as if the clouds were blown away by the strong wind. The him she sees now must be very close to what he looked like when he was young - she was born many years later - childish and optimistic, with bright stars shining in his eyes as long as hope remains. He grinned at her, then made exaggerated tiptoe movements and walked into the living room.
With the receiver still pressed against her face, Lydia couldn't believe how easily she could cheer up her father. Just making a phone call, isn't this a trivial thing? From then on, she would purposely put the receiver to her ear and whisper, "Uh-huh, uh-huh, really?" until her father passed downstairs, stopped, smiled, and walked away. Later, she would look at the girls on campus from a distance and imagine what they would say if they were really her friends. "Shelly, did you watch Best Match last night?" "Oh my God, Pam, can you believe it, the English paper—ten pages? Mrs. Grayson didn't think we had anything better to do. Are you done?" "Stacey, your new haircut makes you look exactly like Farrah Fawcett. I want a haircut like that." It's no big deal, it's just a dial tone on the phone. As her friend, however, now her father actually gave her a book - making friends has become a big deal.
After breakfast, Lydia sat cross-legged in the corner next to the Christmas tree and opened the book again. Good listener. Encourage others to talk about themselves. She turned a few more pages. Remember, the person you are talking to cares more about themselves, their expectations, and problems than they do about you and your problems.
Across the living room, Nath was looking through the viewfinder of his new camera. He pointed the lens at Lydia and kept adjusting the focus. He was apologizing to her for giving her the cold shoulder and closing the door when she needed comfort. Lydia understands this, but she is in no mood for reconciliation now, and in a few months he will be gone, leaving her alone at home to win friends, influence others, and become a scientific pioneer. Before Nath could press the shutter, she withdrew her gaze and continued reading, covering her face with her hair. A smile means: "I like you. You make me happy. It's nice to see you." This is why dogs are loved by humans. They were so excited to see us that they were beside themselves with excitement. Dog, Lydia thought. She imagined herself as a dog, docile and friendly, like a golden retriever, gifted with a smiling face and a fluffy tail. But the impression she gives people is not that she is friendly, pure-blooded, and has golden hair, but that she is unsociable and suspicious, just like the Woolf family's mongrel dog, full of hostility to others.
"Liz," Nath called persistently, "Lydia, Lydia." Through the hair curtain, Lydia saw the camera's zoom lens pointed at her like a giant microscope tube. . "Smile."
Don't you want to smile? what to do? Force yourself to laugh. Pretend to be happy, and eventually you will actually be happy.
Lydia gathered her hair and twisted it into a bun, draped it behind her shoulders, then looked directly into the dark lens, refusing to smile - even if she slightly curved the corners of her mouth, she still maintained this expression even after hearing the sound of the shutter.
When school reopened, despite having to face the torture of physics classes, Lydia felt relieved because she could escape from the house temporarily. She turned the failing paper—which her mother had signed—upside down on Mr. Kelly's desk. Mr. Kelly has come to the blackboard and is drawing a picture. "Unit 2: Electricity and Magnetism," he wrote above the image. Lydia slid into her seat and pressed her face against the table. Someone carved a coin-sized curse word "fuck you" on the desk with a thumbtack. She pressed her thumb on the mark, and when she raised her hand, a reversed word "fuck you" appeared on her His hand was like a brand.
"Have you had a good holiday?" It was Jack who asked. He sat lazily next to Lydia, one arm draped over the back of the chair as if it were the girl's shoulder. At this point, Lydia didn't know Jack very well at all, and although he lived around the corner, she hadn't spoken to him in years. His hair had turned light brown, and she remembered the freckles he had on his face as a child, which were now lighter but not completely gone. She knew Nath didn't like Jack at all, had never liked him, and for that reason alone she was willing to meet Jack.
"What are you doing here?"
Jack glanced at the blackboard. "Electricity and Magnetism."
Lydia blushed. "I mean," she said, "this is a sophomore class."
Jack took out a ballpoint pen without a cap from his backpack and put his feet on his knees. "Did you know, Miss Li, that you need to pass physics to graduate? I failed the second unit of physics last year, so here I am. This is my last chance." He began to draw the soles of tennis shoes with a pen . Lydia sat up straight.
"You failed?"
"Failed," he said. "Fifty-two points. Below average. I know that's hard to understand, Miss Li, because you never fail."
Lydia froze. "Actually," she said, "I failed physics."
Jack didn't turn his head, but she saw one of his eyebrows rise. Then, to her surprise, he reached across the aisle and drew a tiny "0" on the knee portion of her jeans.
"That's our secret membership mark," he said. At this time, the bell rang. His dark blue-gray eyes met Lydia's, "Welcome to the club, Miss Li."
Lydia had been rubbing the "0" with her fingers all morning while looking at Jack out of the corner of her eye. He was busy with something - although Mr. Kelly had been lecturing and the students around him were writing furiously, Jack was completely unaware of it. Lydia drummed her thumb on the table. "Does Jack Wolf want to be my friend?" she thought. "Nas will kill him. Or kill me." But after that day, Jack never spoke to her again. Sometimes he would come late and sit on the table for a lesson; sometimes he wouldn't come at all. The "0" on the jeans has been washed away. Lydia looked at her notes. She had written down everything that Teacher Kelly had written on the blackboard. Her textbook also showed signs of wear due to frequent flipping.
Then, in late January, at dinner, her mother served Lydia a salad and a plate of macaroni and looked at her expectantly, shaking her head as if it were a TV antenna searching for a signal. Finally, Marilyn spoke: "Lydia, how was physics?"
"Not bad," Lydia forked a piece of carrot, "much better, getting much better."
"How good is it?" her mother asked, her voice a little urgent.
Lydia chewed a carrot. "We don't have a test yet, but I did a good job with my homework." This was only half a lie: the first test would be next week, but her homework was not completed smoothly, and she encountered an odd-numbered For questions, she would directly copy the answers at the back of the book. For even-numbered questions, she would try her best to guess and fabricate the answers.
Her mother frowned but scooped up a spoonful of macaroni. "Ask the teacher if you can do more questions and get more credits," she said. "You don't want to stay at this level, you have so much potential..."
Lydia poked at a piece of tomato. The only reason she didn't scream on the spot was because she could hear the disappointment in her mother's voice. "I know, Mom," she said, glancing across the table at Nath, hoping he would change the subject, but Nath was thinking about other things and didn't pay attention to their conversation.
"Lydia, how is Shelly?" James asked. Lydia paused. Last summer, at her father's urging, she invited Shelly to her home. But Shelly seemed more willing to flirt with Nas, trying to convince him to play catch with her in the yard and asking him who he thought was sexier, Linda Carter or Lindsay Wagner. They haven't spoken since.
"Shelley is fine," she said. "She's very busy. She's now the student union secretary."
"Maybe you could give it a try," James said, shaking his fork at her like a wise man preaching aphorisms. "I'm sure they like having you help. How are Pam and Karen? ?”