“Edie!”
I stiffened at the sound of my name.
“Edie, just hang on a sec.” I turned toward Hudson as he jogged my way.
I was shaking my head before he could even start. What could he possibly say that would make this situation any less embarrassing or disheartening?
“Listen, go to the tutoring center. It’s in the back of the library.” He raised his hands in surrender, his voice soft.
I watched his mouth as he spoke; I had to. There was too much going on in the lobby of the languages building. There were so many damn people in there. Was a rally about to start or something? A flash mob? I couldn’t process the words I needed to hear while so many others zoomed around. I glanced over my shoulder, giving everyone in a ten-foot radius some serious side-eye.
I turned back to Hudson. He was the same height as me, maybe a hair taller if I was barefoot. He was kind of chubby with broad shoulders and hair the color of hot cocoa. Short on the sides and a little longer on top, which I only knew because of the one time he didn’t wear that maroon beanie to class. He was attractive, if you liked the puppy-dog-eyed look on a guy, which I did. And if you liked red lips and rosy cheeks and the way he shoved his hands into his pockets. Which I did. I wondered if he was chubby soft or chubby firm, not caring either way because I was chubby soft in places, too. His ill-fitting clothes didn’t help, but I would be willing to bet he cleaned up well. Better than well.
“Get a tutor?” I said, pulling my mind out of the world in which everyone in my life was a paper doll, like the ones I played with when I was a kid, easily dressed and re-dressed in the latest one-dimensional fashions.
“Yeah. They have those here. At college. In the tutoring center.” His eyes were on mine, and mine on his lips. Just the left side of his mouth quirked into a hint of a smile as he let out a breathy laugh.
“Yeah … okay. Thank you?” I said, bringing my finger to my lips, but banishing it away just as quickly. I’d quit biting my nails in high school, but as of recently, the urge to start up again was growing stronger.
“That was a joke,” he said slowly, licking his lips. “No good?”
“What was a joke?” I asked, my eyes on his mouth for more than one reason.
“The whole they have those here, at college, in the tutoring center. I was just teasing you.”
I nodded. I knew he was teasing me, and I wanted to smile, but I resisted.
“Is there something on my face?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I had, like, ten tacos for lunch.”
“Uhh, no,” I said, surprised by the question. People didn’t usually ask outright; typically, they just felt self-conscious. Apparently, Hudson was the ask-outright type. Apparently, he was also the blurt-whatever-comes-to-mind type.
“Oh, okay.” He swiped his mouth once more and then shoved his hand back into his pocket. “Listen, you can always come to office hours if you need extra help. I’m always here; he isn’t.”
“Thanks.” I nodded. I pulled at the hem of my camisole. Played with the zipper of my jacket. Kicked at the tiled floor.
“No one ever comes for office hours so it’s mostly just me so we would be alone.” His words rushed out carelessly as he bounced on his toes. “You know, to study or whatever.”
He was being a little weird, right? Not that I wasn’t being weird by picturing him in J.Crew every Tuesday/Thursday from nine thirty to ten forty-five for the past three weeks, but his fidgeting and bouncing and telling me we’d be alone was weird.
Or was this his awkward way of flirting with me? Neither seemed ideal.
“Um, okay. Thanks,” I said, squinting at him. If this were any other time, I would be flattered and swoony over his long eyelashes and pinchable cheeks and the way it felt like he was really looking at me, but I couldn’t. Not right now. Not after that exchange with Dr. Clément. “I’ll, uh, remember that.”
He listed his head with a smile. “You’re not going to come to office hours, are you?” he asked, scrunching his nose.
I scrunched my nose in response. “No, probably not.”
He nodded with a laugh. “Okay, fair enough.”
“Sorry.” I shrugged, though I wasn’t sorry. I just didn’t know what to say as I threw a glance over my shoulder toward the exit.
“And just so you know, Clément doesn’t want people recording his lectures because he’s writing a textbook and doesn’t want anything he says to end up on the internet.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “A lot of people have told him that he can’t copyright every word he speaks, but”—he shrugged apathetically—“you know, he’s not really the type that listens.”
“Clearly.”
“Hey, maybe we should exchange numbers. You know, if you have any questions or need help or, I don’t know, need anything,” he said, switching gears quickly.
“Sure,” I said slowly, extending my hand to him palm up to receive his cell. I typed my number, pressing send to call myself. “There.”
I could use all the help I could get, and so far, he’d been the most helpful person all day.
He slipped his cell into his back pocket. “Maybe you could explain how this works to me sometime? You know, fill me in.” He tapped his temple as a frown crept onto his face.
Was he feeling sorry for me right now?
Strike everything I’d just thought about him. He was no longer easy on the eyes, or nice, or smart, or funny. His kissable cheeks were a thing of the past; his maroon beanie no longer my favorite part of French class. This was not going to work out.
“Yeah, um, maybe.” I took another step back as he kicked at the ground, his eyes on his browning white sneakers.
Except, nope.
Except, maybe I wanted to see if he watched me walk away, but I didn’t look back as I moved through the crowd.
3
I’m Cheering for Pizza
Sneakers screeched against the gym floor as a grunt came from Miranda, the girl standing closest to where I was seated.
I had my own spot. A seat on the bleachers reserved for only me. Terrance had his own spot as well, and it was next to mine. There were fewer than twenty people at this game, a pretty good turnout for a Tuesday night.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled through my cupped hands.
Serena, my roommate, shot me a look as she repositioned herself on the court. I didn’t play sports. I would probably never play sports, but one thing I did do was cheer on my roommate as she played club volleyball. And after the day I’d had, I was about to cheer the hell out of this game.
The team was six people, three guys, three girls. Serena, Miranda, and Catherine Joan. Yes, she preferred to go by both names, but we didn’t abide by it. CJ was much easier to cheer. The guys were Michael with the Ass, aka Serena’s boyfriend; Cody with the Cheekbones, aka the one with a crush on me; and Just Tony. Just Tony was cute, but he was just so … Tony. Serena didn’t dub him a physical attribute nickname.
“Seriously?” Terrance asked, looking at me over the teal Wayfarer sunglasses he chose to wear indoors.
“The same could be said to you,” I said, pursing my lips as I eyed his glasses.
He clicked his tongue as he turned away from me, mouthing the word whatever as he refocused his attention on the game.
Terrance and I met in an Intro to Theater class last fall. Me as a prerequisite to Basic Costuming and him for Stage Electronics.
The ball soared over the net and toward Serena. She dived for it, catching just a piece of it with her cupped hands. The ball skimmed the net as it fell into the opponents’ court.
The referee blew his whistle, calling the point for the other team.
“Oh, come on!” I said, pushing to my feet, gesturing wildly. “That was clearly over the net!”
The referee looked my way with the same face he always gave me.
I put both hands up in surrender, though it definitely wouldn’t be the last time I objected to one of his calls.
> “Get your head in the game, Carroll!” I yelled, using Michael’s last name for emphasis.
He pointed a finger my way as a warning; I raised my eyebrows in response. “I think your frat brother wants to fight me,” I said to Terrance with a laugh, my eyes never leaving the court.
“He does not love when you yell at him,” Terrance said, his eyes on his cell phone.
“And I don’t love when he misses an easy bump.”
Terrance laughed. “You take this way too seriously.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You do!” he said, shoving me lightly with his shoulder.
The ball volleyed twice before Cody spiked it.
“Pay attention,” I said with a quick elbow to his side.
“Suck it, Unblockables!” I yelled to the other team as Terrance and I jumped up, arms raised. “Stupid team name anyway,” I whispered to Terrance.
“Because I’d Hit That is so much better?” he teased.
“But you would and do hit that,” I said, motioning with my chin toward CJ. “You would probably hit literally everyone on this team … and I probably would, too—look at them.”
“Except you actually wouldn’t, because you could be with Cody but you aren’t,” he said.
“Paris,” I said, my eyes following the ball as it volleyed. “Plus, dudes … you know?” I shrugged, going for indifferent. I didn’t need a guy in my life. I didn’t need anything to distract me from going to Paris.
“But you know that kid likes you,” he added. “And as his friend—and yours, I feel like I need to say something. Once upon a time you two were good together.”
“Once upon a time … um, Paris,” I teased.
It was the only reply I needed. I was going to Paris for a summer, longer if I opted in to the abroad program, which I was planning to do—I just hadn’t told my friends yet. I had very little motivation to be in a relationship that would end come June first.
Terrance sighed. “Paris,” he repeated.
My eyes moved to Catherine Joan, who was about to, hopefully, serve the game-ending ball. The score was 20–24, us. “All right, CJ, let’s do this!” I yelled, clapping.
“Yeah, CJ, I’m starving; let’s finish this!” Terrance yelled as he clapped as well, wincing when he received my elbow to his ribs. “But I am starving,” he whimpered.
“Oh my God, shut up,” I said, laughing as I watched the ball volley once, twice … spike.
Terrance and I shot to our feet, cheering.
“I’m cheering because it’s pizza time!” Terrance yelled. “Yay, pizza!”
* * *
“Can we not go back to our room?” I pleaded as we walked toward our dorm.
“Why not?” Serena asked, hooking her arm around my neck and bringing my head in to her. “I smell bad or something?”
I broke free, shoving her lightly. “You’re so gross,” I whined, pulling the hair band out of my hair, then fixing it back into a bun.
“We could go to the house,” Michael offered with a smirk, pulling Serena in to him the same way she’d just pulled me in.
“Literally no one wants to go to your frat house,” Catherine Joan said, her eyes on Terrance.
Serena sneaked a quick pinch to the back of my arm. Everyone knew Terrance and CJ had a thing going on, but neither of them would openly admit it.
“Then we’ll go to your room,” Serena offered.
Catherine Joan shook her head. “Not gonna happen. The Terror of Room Two-Two-Four is there with her boyfriend.”
The group released a simultaneous cringing groan.
“Okay, well, that’s out,” I said, not wanting to be anywhere near CJ’s room if the two of them were there. God only knows what we would walk in on.
“Cody, options?” Serena asked, knowing I wouldn’t.
“Dog allergies, remember?” CJ said, pointing to her face, answering before Cody could. Cody’s dog and CJ didn’t get along, in the sense that Roger could kill CJ without even trying.
“Looks like that just leaves our room.” Serena smiled sweetly.
I groaned. Miranda had to meet her Western Civ. group at the library, so her place was out, and Just Tony had a shift in the engineering lab. Our options were severely limited.
“I hate you all,” I said as I held the lobby door for the group.
* * *
My phone vibrated against the table in the lounge. I’d convinced the group that the lounge on our floor was a much better eating place than the floor of our bedroom.
HUDSON: Hey
“Who’s that?” Serena asked, reading over my shoulder.
“French TA,” I said, flipping my phone facedown as I took a bite of pizza.
Terrance wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How’d that go today?” He wiped his hand against his jeans.
I shrugged as I tossed a paper towel his way. I knew they would all want to know, but I wasn’t in the mood to get into the whole thing, so I gave them the abridged version.
“So now what?” Serena asked.
I shook my head, chewing. “Get a tutor, I guess.” I covered my mouth as I spoke. My phone vibrated again.
HUDSON: I can tutor you if you want
“Are you seriously going to ignore his texts?” Serena asked.
I flipped my phone facedown again. I nodded with a shrug. “Yeah, probably.”
“Who is this kid?” Cody balled up his paper towel and shot it into the pizza box.
“If only your aim was that good on the court,” I said.
Serena laughed. “Seriously, though,” she said, smirking at Cody.
My phone vibrated again, but I didn’t bother to check it.
“What is going on with you?” Terrance asked. “You’re all—” He waved his hand in my direction.
“I know, right?” Serena added. “Your hair is all”—she motioned around her head—“and you’re in sneakers. I mean, come on.”
I sighed. “I’m not in the mood, guys. I had two professors be completely unhelpful and a TA who wants to pick my brain apart because he thinks it’s interesting, or fun, or—who knows.”
“Again, who is this kid?” Cody asked.
“Wes Hudson,” I said. “He wasn’t unhelpful, just completely insulting.”
“Hudson?” Catherine Joan asked. “Like, brown-hair-blue-eyes-always-wears-a-red-hat Hudson?”
“Maroon hat,” I said.
Cue the simultaneous eye roll.
“Fine, maroon hat,” she sighed.
“Yes, that’s him.”
“The French TA with the Eyes?” Serena asked, pointing to me with her rainbow-patterned water bottle before twisting off the cap. “You’ve mentioned him.”
I’d mentioned Hudson to Serena before, for several reasons. The first was about all the ways I would have dressed him if I had the opportunity. The second was his blue-gray eyes. The third was also his blue-gray eyes. The fourth was the time he tripped going down the stairs to the front of the room.
“So, tell me what the TA was wearing today. Was it awful?” Serena asked with a smirk. “Edie loves talking about this kid’s clothes.”
I buried my face into my hands. “I’ve seen worse,” I said, muffled. “And I don’t love talking about his clothes. He literally gives me no choice.”
“Were his eyes all Pantone-y?” Serena teased.
“What the hell is Pantone-y?” Cody asked, his own Pantone-like sage-and-amber-colored eyes searching mine.
“Pantone—you seriously don’t know what that is?” I asked as my eyes roamed the faces of my friends. “Guys.”
“Dude, not everyone cares about the world of fashion like you, Edie,” Michael said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs under the table.
“They’re only, like, the world authority on color. They literally invent a new color every year.…” I looked around. “Nothing?”
I rolled my eyes at all the head shakes.
“His eyes are kind of Pantone-y, though,�
�� CJ said as she nodded. “Like, they’re all blue-y and gray-y and, like—” She cleared her throat before taking a bite of her crust. We stared at her, waiting for her to continue.
“And…,” Serena prompted.
CJ shrugged, her eyes on her plate.
“Oh my God, what?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that he’s, like, the nicest person on campus.”
“I am not sold on that,” I said, watching her avoid eye contact. “And besides, I’m pretty sure he just feels sorry for me, so…”
“I’m sure he doesn’t feel sorry for you, Edie,” Serena said, her hand on my shoulder and catching my gaze. “Seriously.”
I nodded. She was probably right, but she didn’t see the look on his face, or the tone of his voice. Serena wasn’t someone who was accustomed to people feeling bad for her.
CJ took a sip of her water. “He’s really nice, Edie. Like, really.”
“Yeah, you’re acting a little sketchy,” Michael replied to CJ, his brow furrowing dramatically. “I feel like you’re selling this kid a little hard right now.”
CJ picked up her phone, her eyes on me and then Serena.
Both our phones vibrated.
“Are you serious?” Cody asked as Serena and I checked our phones.
CJ: Really nice = hot as hell
Serena let out a big laugh. “You couldn’t say this out loud?” she asked.
CJ glanced toward Serena. “Just give him a chance, Edie,” CJ said through gritted teeth, her eyes on Serena. “That’s all I wanted you to know.”
“Yeah.” I nodded as I set my phone down. “That’s exactly what you wanted us to know. And you’re not wrong, he is really nice.”
“Anyway,” Cody said, his eyes on me as he leaned back in his chair, mirroring Michael.
“Why French anyway? Spanish is a hundred times more practical,” Terrance said through a mouthful of food.
“Coco Chanel. Hermès. Minaudière. Chic. Boutique.” I counted off on my fingers as I said each word. “I mean, come on. I need this if I’m going to survive in Paris for the summer … and beyond.” I glanced toward Cody. Our eyes met and then his went to his lap.
Meet Me in Outer Space Page 2
