𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐘

[09] Green Light

g r e e n  l i g h t
COVEY'S POV:

"If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him," Professor Monroe starts out, looking directly at me as he voices this quote. "Who is this talking about?" 

You, Coco Puff. You know that.

Someone raises their hand. "Gatsby, Sir."

"'I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.'" Conrad glances around the room. "And who was this speaking of?"

"Daisy's daughter," someone else says once they're called on.

"What did Daisy mean by this?" he asks, tilting his head to the side in challenge.

Margot Lee puts her hand up. Oh great. "Being a fool was better than being smart back then," she says. "Being a fool was the only way to get through that messed up society."

Conrad's professor side is quite attractive, must I say. He continues; "'Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.' This is a trick question, who is this referring to?"

Another one of my classmates raises their hand and comments, "Nick and Jordan's relationship."

Conrad nods, furrowing his thick eyebrows together above his gray irises. "Looks like most of you did your reading. That's very good. So if I can ask any of you, which symbols or uses of figurative language did you appreciate from the reading?"

I raise my hand, not sure if he'll call on me. Last time I talked in class—

"Yes, Covey?"

"The green light," I say, my chin high. Stay calm, stay calm.

"What about it?" he inquires, rubbing his jaw in a professional manner. "Elaborate, please."

I grab the book that's in front of me and say, "This book has a quote that says, 'No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.' Gatsby stored up unrealistic expectations. He was reaching out to this green light where Daisy lived knowing he couldn't have her. He practically spent his whole life wishing for something that was forbidden."

"And so he died in the end because of her," Conrad finishes, looking at me intensely.

"Fictionally, yes," I reply. "Though, like the book says, 'It takes two to make an accident.' And if he didn't let his desire for her overpower him, he wouldn't have died."

Professor Monroe clicks his teeth, pacing slowly around the room. "This is very true."

"But, as shown, forbidden love is the best kind, no matter the outcome." Glancing down at the book, I hide behind it and say, "I mean, Gatsby looked at Daisy the way every girl desires to be looked at. It was fatal, but we all can't live forever, so might as well embrace true love when you have it."

Thoughtfully, respectfully, he doesn't say anything for a minute. Then, with a sharp inhale, he says, "Are you still talking about the book, Miss Jensen?"

"Of course," I smile, crinkling my nose. 

Conrad nods, narrowing his glare at me. "This green light then, why must it be green?"

"Green-eyed monster of jealousy, of want, of possession," I say. "And Gatsby thought the green light meant 'Go' when really it meant 'Stop.' He didn't know where to draw the line between can and can't."

Venice clears his throat next to me. 

"Anything you'd like to add, Venice?" Conrad questions, gesturing a hand in invitation to speak.

"If Gatsby really wanted Daisy, why didn't he just say something?" Venice asks, looking over at me. "Why didn't he just make a move?"

"She was married," I reply.

"To a man who had a mistress," he says, opening his eyes wide.

"It's what makes up the story," I answer, shaking my head at him. Should've read the book, Venny. "If you read the book, you'd understand how it's a direct representation of real life—how not everything has closure, how sometimes things don't go the way you want it to. Not everything is fair, and not everything goes according to plan."

"Enough," Conrad interrupts, giving me an eerie-eyed look.

I laugh, setting my book down. "Okay, Coco Pu—" I blink. I didn't just—oh my dinos. I'm dead meat.

Conrad's face goes blank, his gray eyes changing and morphing into the deepest color of anger, especially considering the whole class is trying to hold in their laughter. Someone dig me a grave. But he just nods, his sharp jawline cutting through the air like a knife, his eyes sending daggers my way. And I know that I'm gonna get in big time trouble for this one. Uh oh.

He'll want to speak to me after class. Double uh oh.

"So these symbols and descriptions," Conrad says, trying to act unfazed, "are what make Fitzgerald's writing so unique. You all, as potential authors of your own, must develop your own writing style. For the remainder of this term, I will challenge each of you to hone in on your skills and become a better author. For those who take this seriously, well, you can be great. For those who want to barely get by, you're in for hell. Choose one, and I would advise you choose wisely."

Professor Monroe isn't in a good mood.

Totally not my fault.

Someone get him some chicken nuggies...

******
AUTHOR'S NOTE:

OMG THIS CHAPTER IS SO SHORT, but yk what? Just buckle up and come prepared for the next one.

Love yous <3
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