by Whitney G.
GRAYSON: THEN
Seven years ago
Pittsburgh
THE NIGHT OF KYLE’S birthday, I pulled up to the designated house on the North Shore, hoping his claim about it being a “tame” event this year was true.
I walked into the house and abandoned all hope in five seconds.
There were inflatable hot tubs set up in every corner of the living room, a beer keg competition was taking place in the kitchen, and the smell of marijuana and sour liquor was hanging in the air.
“Grayson!” Kyle called out to me from the staircase as two girls grinded against him. “Grayson, come over! Come over!”
I helped a girl steady herself onto the couch and walked over. “Yes, Kyle?”
“It’s my birthday tonight!” His eyes were tight, a tell-tale sign that he was going to pass out any minute now. “It’s my fucking birthday and ... I’m going to get good sex and cake, on my cock, on my birthday. Just watch.”
“How many drinks have you had tonight?”
“Two.” He held up five fingers and laughed. One of the girls who was dancing on him mouthed, “Twenty.”
I mouthed “Thank you” in return and walked over to the guy who was mixing drinks on the TV stand.
“Do me a favor,” I said to him.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t serve Kyle any more alcohol.” I pointed to the liters of orange juice behind him. “Go ahead and prefill a few beer bottles and red cups with juice just in case he comes over and asks for more.”
“He’ll know it’s juice.”
“He’ll also know it’s his best friend who is making you do this, so he won’t die tonight.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do it. Now.”
He groaned, but he grabbed a carton of orange juice and began filling the bottles.
I pushed my way through the bodies on the dance floor, smiling at a few of the girls I knew as I made my way to the crowded kitchen. A few of my teammates were sitting at the bar with girls in their laps.
“Hey there, stranger.” Penelope, a girl I once hooked up with, handed me a beer. “How are you feeling these days?”
Betrayed. “I’m decent. Yourself?”
“Good.” She sipped her beer and looked up at me. “You didn’t call me at all this summer. I was feeling quite neglected.”
“I was busy.”
“You weren’t that busy. I heard you haven’t been around much lately. You must have gone out and got a girlfriend. Is that true?”
“I think you know me better than that.”
“I would if you called me sometime.” She rubbed my shoulder and batted her eyes. “Call me so we can catch up in my room. Sooner, rather than later.” She looked me up and down before walking away.
I was never going to call her, but I smiled at her anyway and watched as she disappeared into the crowd. To prevent myself from ever giving in and calling her on a lonely night, I pulled out my phone and deleted her number.
Then I scrolled through the rest of my contacts, deleting everyone who wasn’t a teammate, coach, or close associate. I opened my email inbox to do the same thing and noticed a new email from Charlotte.
Subject: Peer Assignment Tutor (Change)
Dear Grayson,
I hope your weekend is going well.
I’m emailing you because I just met up with a friend of mine who recently took all three of the Lit classes you’re taking this semester. He is more than willing to tutor you on Tuesdays and I think he would be a much better fit for you.
Let me know what you think,
—Charlotte
I smiled and typed a response.
Subject: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)
Dear Charlotte,
I have no interest in being tutored by your friend (I don’t give a damn when he took the courses). I’m more than willing to act like this email didn’t happen instead of forwarding it to your advisor, and I’ll see you alone, on Tuesday.
PS—I think you’ll “fit me” just fine.
—Grayson
Her response was immediate.
Subject: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)
There’s no need to bring my advisor into this. Since you want to deal with someone who may be less “hostile,” I was only trying to help.
PS—Is this your attempt at a sexual innuendo?
—Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)
You were trying to get out of seeing me. For whatever reason that is, it’s not going to work. Ever.
PS—Depends. Is it working?
—Grayson
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)
This sounds like a threat.
PS—NO.
—Charlotte
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Peer Assignment (Change)
It’s a guarantee.
PS—I personally think this conversation would be better over the phone. You should give me your number.
—Grayson
She didn’t respond.
Half an hour passed and she never sent me another email.
Before I could email her about something else, I felt someone tapping on my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I turned around to see one of the girls who had been dancing with Kyle. “What’s up?”
“Um, Kyle just passed out in one of the hot tubs. Should we call 911, get your coach, or just let him lay there until tomorrow?”
Jesus Christ.
CHARLOTTE: NOW
Present Day
Pittsburgh
“WHERE ARE YOU HEADED again?” The police officer shone a light on my license. “Try to keep your story straight this time.”
“The University of Pittsburgh,” I said, forcing a smile, as he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Are you aware that the speed limit on this stretch of highway is only sixty-five miles an hour?”
No shit. “Yes, officer.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms. “So, can you explain to me why you were going ninety? And not only were you going ninety, can you explain to me why you were driving in the emergency lane?”
I didn’t really have a good reason for driving in the emergency lane. Well, minus the fact that the emergency lane was freshly salted, and the regular lanes were still coated in a light layer of snow and ice.
“Miss?” He handed me my license. “I need you to answer me. Now.”
“I’m just really late and I don’t want to miss my college-class reunion. Or the fireworks. They promised fireworks.”
He gave me a blank stare. Then he looked up at the sky.
“Fireworks?” He took his ticket pad from his back pocket and shook his head. “In the snow? And a college-class reunion on a Tuesday? Okay, Miss.”
“No, please.” I couldn’t afford another speeding ticket right now. I still owed the State of New York one thousand on a ticket I’d received last month. I leaned over and opened my glove compartment, pulling out a blue and gold envelope that I’d received months ago.
“I’m not making the reunion up,” I said, handing the invitation to him.
He mumbled the printed words out loud to himself, and I realized that I’d memorized every word on that page within minutes of it arriving in my mailbox.
Hail to Pitt!
As a member of the BEST class that has ever graduated from the University of Pittsburgh, we cordially invite you to a Night to Remember! Our seven-year class reunion! (Yes, ‘seven,' because it didn't take us ten to net four Pulitzer prize winners, twenty-eight Fulton Scholars, fifteen Olympic athletes, and hundreds of other distinguished honors that set our class far apart from the rest!)
The official date & time, ticket & fireworks information, & location are inside!
We hope to see you there, Charlotte!
And as always,
Hail to Pitt!
HE SIGHED AND RETURNED the invitation to me. “Tell you what, Miss Charlotte. I’m going to let you off with a severe warning today, but only because I wen
t to Pitt, too.” He placed his ticket pad in his back pocket once more. “But because I don’t trust you to drive the speed limit the rest of the way, I’ll follow you.”
I didn't get a chance to say, "Oh, that's okay," or "That's not really necessary" before he stepped away. And I knew telling him the truth—that I wasn't planning on going to this reunion at all, that I was planning to get off at the next exit and drive back to New York City, wasn't the best thing to do now.
Sighing, I tossed the invitation onto the seat and turned on my radio.
“Start driving!” He called out over his car’s speakers. “And move to the actual highway lanes!”
I steered my car onto the real part of the highway and set the cruise control to exactly sixty-five miles an hour. My heart was pounding against my chest and my palms were sweating against the steering wheel.
Just go in, take a few pictures, and leave right after the cop goes away.
I’d gone back and forth about this reunion for a long time—writing out the pros and cons, even making spreadsheets for all the possible scenarios that could happen. Each time the pros outnumbered the cons, but I was never happy with that result, so I always tried another tracking method, hoping for a negative.
I also wasn’t sure whose bright idea it was to host the reunion on a Tuesday, but that counted as strike one in my book. Strike two was the one-hundred-dollar ticket fee for a ‘gourmet’ menu of popcorn and local chocolates. Strike three should’ve been the “seven-year” time-stamp instead of the usual, ten-year one, but even I knew that our class was full of overachievers and record-setters the second my freshman year began.
I didn’t even know who would be attending tonight, since all the “close friends” I’d once made had drifted away long ago. Every now and then I’d catch glimpses of their lives through my Facebook newsfeed—clicking “like” or “love” in exchange for a phone call or a “How have you been?” text message. Occasionally, I’d even comment: “Your kids are adorable!” “Merry Christmas!” “Happy New Year! PS—Your kids are adorable!”
There was only one person I knew I couldn’t bear to see again, and I was hoping like hell he wouldn’t be there tonight.
Please don’t be there tonight.
Ten minutes later, I pulled my car through the university's campus—noticing that it looked completely different from seven years ago. Everything was more modern, and where there was once a block full of student unions, there was now a series of gray, steel cafés. The only thing that seemed to be the same was the Cathedral of Learning—the massive beige monolith that towered over every building on campus.
I circled the parking lot a few times, passing by a few empty spots in hopes that the officer would stop following me and I could bypass this thing after all.
“Park your car!” He yelled over the speakers and I pulled my car into a space right out front.
Is he really going to watch me go inside?
I turned off my engine and grabbed my nude heels from the backseat. I slipped them onto my feet and pulled out my compact to re-check my make-up. As I added a new coat of red gloss to my lips, I spotted the officer in my rearview mirror. He was tapping his watch and daring me to take any more time.
I secured the top buttons of my navy-blue coat and stepped out of the car, giving him a short wave and a smile.
He pointed to the cathedral and I turned around, walking slowly to the door.
Just go in, take a few pictures, and leave. Fifteen minutes at most, Charlotte. Fifteen minutes.
I pushed the doors open and was immediately greeted with thousands of blue and gold balloons that lined the deserted hallway. There were several shiny golden banners with the words, “Hail to Pitt! Class of 2010!” and “Go, Panthers! Go!” hanging high from the ceiling. The only sign of life was a red-haired woman at a table in the middle of the hall.
Confused, I walked over to her. “Is this where the reunion is?”
“Yep!” She looked up at me and smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Charlotte Taylor,” I said. I started to ask if I was the only person who’d bothered to show up, but the sound of loud laughter and cheers suddenly came from the far end, and I realized everyone was in the ballroom.
“Oh, here you are!” The woman handed me a folder and a name badge. “Charlotte Taylor. So, you’ve kind of missed the meet and greet social part, but you’re just in time for the class presentation and special speech. There’s an open bar at the back of the room with a few chocolates left, if you’re interested. And make sure you sign the ‘I Was Here’ book. UPMC is donating one hundred dollars per signature to the university’s new health research center, and we would all greatly appreciate that.”
“I’ll be sure to sign it.” I placed my name badge on my coat and set a fifteen-minute timer on my phone. Then I headed straight into the ballroom.
Decorated in even more of Pitt’s trademark navy blue and gold, the room was filled with people dressed in suits and designer dresses. Waiters waded through them with champagne trays held high, and there was a band dressed in all-white onstage. A band I remembered watching every Saturday night as a sophomore.
“Is that you, Charlotte?” A brunette walked up to me and touched my shoulder. “Charlotte Taylor, right?”
“Yes.” I smiled. She didn’t look familiar.
“You wouldn’t remember me, I’m sure.” She laughed. “I used to intern at Heinz Stadium, and I handled all the specialty tickets for the players and the skybox seats.” She winked at me. “I’m sure you can remember that, though.”
“I do.” I was leaving in five minutes. Timer be damned. “Where’s the ‘I Was Here’ Book?”
“Over there under the golden balloon arches.” She pointed to a corner. “You can’t miss it. I’ll see you at the fireworks?”
"Absolutely." I walked away and headed straight for the arches, taking my spot in line behind three other people I faintly recognized. I considered striking up a conversation or asking them what I'd missed, but I didn't want to be lured into staying longer than I needed.
“May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” A woman stepped onto the stage, waving at the crowd. “We still have quite a few things to get through tonight, but we did promise you a special speech from one of your very own.”
The loud talking and laughter slowly dissipated into soft murmurs. Then silence.
"I would normally take the time to say a long, drawn-out introduction, but we can all agree that this man needs no introduction, and his name is enough. Ladies and gentlemen, from the special class of 2010, I’m honored to present to you, Grayson Connors!”
I dropped my pen to the floor as the room erupted into applause, as the stunningly gorgeous man I fell for years ago walked onto the stage.
His sapphire blue eyes gleamed beneath the bright spotlights, and his trademark dimple in his right cheek deepened as he smiled at the audience. The dark gray suit he was wearing accentuated his muscles, and the mere sight of his full lips was still capable of making my heart skip a beat.
Smiling a set of pearly whites, he shook the woman’s hand and took his place behind the podium.
“Good evening, Class of 2010,” he said, his voice deep.
“Good evening.” The crowd responded, and the only sounds in the room were now the light clinks of champagne flutes and murmurs of “Wow,” “Whoa, ” and “Awesome.”
“All these years.” A brunette in front of me nudged her friend, whispering. “He’s still sexy as hell.”
“Tonight, I’m honored to present our class with one of the most distinguished honors the university has ever bestowed upon a group.” He held up a golden plaque. “Out of all the classes that have ever graduated from the University of Pittsburgh, our class holds the highest number of accomplished students in every single field. Every. Single. Field.”
There was a loud and raucous applause, and he nodded at the crowd—clapping right along with them. He stepped in front of the podium to high-five
one of his old teammates, and then he smiled his infectious smile once more before returning to his notes.
“Speaking of accomplishments, our amazing class of 2010 also has the honor of—” His gorgeous eyes suddenly met mine and he stopped talking. He blinked a few times, then squinted—as if he was trying to determine if what he was seeing was real.
Several seconds passed, and he still didn’t say a word. He simply clenched his jaw.
He picked up a glass of water and took a slow sip, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time. Keeping me pinned to my spot.
Clearing his throat, he let out a short breath. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I just realized that this is only our seven-year reunion. Does this mean we don’t have to put up with the ten-year one?”
The crowd laughed, and he continued his speech.
“We also have the honor of being the class that has somehow kept in contact the most. I’m not sure how they keep up with that type of thing, but I can honestly say that some of my best friends and memories—” He clenched his jaw again. “Those were all made right here on this campus.”
I tried my hardest to look away from him, to slip some place into the crowd where his eyes wouldn’t find mine but I couldn’t get my feet to move. All these years and he still had the ability to make my world stop with a single syllable. To make my heart race with a single glance in my direction.
The second he finished his speech, he finally looked away from me and the room gave him a well-deserved standing ovation.
I immediately took my chance.
I made sure my name and phone number were legible in the book, and then I pushed my way through the crowd, rushing toward the exit.
My heels clacked against the floor as I raced through the hallway, but before I could reach the doors, a familiar hand grabbed my elbow from behind and spun me around.
With my heart racing a mile a minute, I looked directly into Grayson’s eyes, unsure of what to say.
