Girl Love Happens : Season One

by T. B. Markinson

  “Thanks, Se—I mean, Chewie.”

  He howled, “You’re welcome.”

  “Anyone seen April yet?” I asked.

  “Nope. Not sure she’s coming.” Jenny’s expression seemed troubled. “She’s, uh, feeling left out.”

  “How?” I put a hand on my hip. “She was the one who didn’t want to dress with the group and wouldn’t tell us anything about her costume.”

  Jenny shrugged. “You know April, always got her panties in a bunch.”

  It was the first time I had heard Jenny say anything negative about anyone.

  “Oh my God, you guys are a trip!” A girl I didn’t know, wearing a slutty French maid outfit, approached. “I clearly didn’t get the memo that this was a Star Wars Halloween party.”

  Jenny ogled her up and down. “I, for one, am glad you didn’t.”

  The girl, much to my surprise, enjoyed the compliment. “In that case, care to dance?”

  Jenny thrust her light saber at Gemma. “Hold this.”

  Seb and Michelle tailed them and started to jig as well.

  Gemma and I stood off to the side, not speaking. Someone behind us was breathing heavily, and I flipped around and saw Darth Vader. Whoever was inside spent some serious coin—the getup could have been worn on the movie set, or it may have been worn in the movie. And the Vader-like breathing was spot-on. I always thought Vader would be taller, though.

  “April?” I squeaked.

  Darth Vader didn’t confirm or deny. Its attention was on Jenny getting down with the maid.

  Gemma inched closer to me, and I couldn’t blame her. If it was April inside, she was more intimidating than ever. And Gem was dressed as Luke Skywalker—he and Vader didn’t get along, even though they were father and son.

  “You want to dance or something?” I asked.

  Gem looked at the light sabers in her hands. “What should I do with these?”

  “Hold onto them.” I jerked my head to the heavy-breathing Vader. “We might need them.”

  Gemma laughed and led me onto the dance floor, her sabers lighting the way for us in the dark basement. Occasionally a strobe light flashed, but it didn’t illuminate much of anything. Much to my relief, Michelle and Seb grooved with us. I pointed to Vader, and Michelle had to squint to see, but she nodded appreciatively. Chewie raised a paw and let out a terrifying roar. Jenny, too involved with the French maid, didn’t notice.

  Darth Vader whipped around, his cape snapping in a terrifying way, and left the room.

  Gemma, Michelle, and I raised our eyebrows and turned to see if Jenny noticed. If she did, she didn’t care. We all shrugged and continued dancing.

  An hour later, while the four of us took a break from dancing, April appeared, wearing an I Dream of Jeanie outfit. She was all smiles—for April at least. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Uh, nope,” I said. Jenny and the maid were in the corner getting it on.

  April’s eyes landed on them briefly, not showing any emotion. “I need a beer. Anyone need anything?” She waited patiently.

  “No thanks,” Gemma and I said in unison.

  When she was out of sight, I said, “What the fuck? Who was in the Darth Vader outfit?”

  Michelle lit a cigarette. “We should have dressed as Scooby-Doo characters because this is one fucked up mystery.”

  Seb removed his mask and took a drag of Michelle’s cigarette before putting the mask back on without saying a word.

  Michelle laughed. “I love the strong, silent type.” She discarded her cig and hustled her boyfriend back onto the floor, dancing provocatively. It gave me the creeps to see Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi seducing Chewie.

  Gemma, like Seb, didn’t say anything.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  She snapped out of her funk. “What? Oh, yeah.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  “No. Not unless you do.” Her eyes were a bit bleary, and I wondered if the alcohol was kicking in.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  “Do you?”

  Did I? From the looks of Michelle and Seb, they didn’t want to create a foursome, and I wouldn’t have my buffer. But standing in a dark corner with Gemma was making me nervous. April was across the room, chatting up Frankenstein, who was quite good-looking for a man brought back to life.

  “Yeah, why not. Show me some of your Nebraskan moves.” I wiggled my ass, and Gemma’s jaw dropped, making me smile. “Leave those behind.” I motioned to the light sabers.

  Before we started dancing, April was already in a lip-lock with Frankenstein. “Wanna bet she and Frankie leave together?”

  Gemma surveyed the couple. “I hate losing money.”

  “You hate losing, period.” I wrapped my arms around her neck. “I’m a little tipsy.” I felt compelled to give a reason as to why I was holding onto her.

  “Could be the pre-party drinks you insisted on.” She maneuvered me closer to her body.

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” I rested my head on her shoulder.

  A faster song came on, but I didn’t let go of Gemma’s neck. Her arms squeezed me tighter. I glanced up and gazed into her eyes, which were even blearier than before. I stumbled, but Gem didn’t let me fall.

  “Thanks. The booze is really hitting me.”

  “Do you want to take a break?”

  That was the last thing I wanted. I shook my head. “No, let’s keep dancing. It’s a party after all.”

  She smiled, and her arms continued to hold on tight. “Never fear. I won’t let you fall.”

  “You’re good to me.”

  “That’s what best friends are for.”

  “Exactly.” I rested my head on her shoulder again. “To hold onto each other.” I almost added “forever.”

  Season One

  The First Time

  Chapter One

  “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I slammed the door of the dorm room and fled down the hallway, crashing through the gray metal door leading to the stairwell.

  With hands on knees, I sucked in a deep breath. Then another.

  “I just saw Gemma completely naked,” I said to no one in particular since the landing was devoid of human life aside from me, Spazzy Tegan.

  In an attempt to still the tornado of emotions churning inside, I theorized it probably wasn’t all that unusual for college roommates to see each other in the flesh. Dorm rooms, after all, didn’t provide many nooks and crannies to hide one’s skin. Delicious creamy white skin—Tegan, don’t go there.

  A but blurred my logic. Not Gem’s butt. The but that exposed the true heart of the matter. Gemma and I had been extra careful when it came to nudity. I’d always been shy in this department because of a scar and other insecurities. As Mom was fond of saying, I was roomy in the hips. And Gem took shyness to a whole new level. Of course, there was more under the surface. For one, Gemma had recently confided to me she was a lesbian, and she was afraid she was forcing her sexuality on me. That didn’t freak me out. Other stuff did, but I was doing my best to shove all of it below the surface. So much, in fact, if it took the form of an iceberg, it would slice through a ship three times the size of the Titanic upon impact, not hours afterward.

  I sighed, resting my forehead against the cool stone wall of the stairwell, knowing I couldn’t hole up here for the rest of the semester. It wasn’t even February yet. The term was barely underway. And the reason I’d busted into the room in the first place was because I needed to snatch an assignment due—I glanced at my watch—in ten minutes.

  I tiptoed back into the hallway. Outside the room, I raised a fist to knock on the door, willing my heart to stop hammering. Could Gemma hear it from inside the room? My mind flashed to the heart removal scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. The weird chanting filled my ears. The victim prayed as his arms were locked into the odd metal contraption. The priest with the scary skull headdress reached not for the man’s chest but mine. The thumping of the heart grew louder and louder, th
reatening to burst my eardrums.

  I shook the image from my thoughts.

  Ever so lightly, I rapped my knuckles on the wood.

  Gemma, now clad in jeans and a hoodie, swung the door open. “Why’d you knock?” she said in her normal voice, although there was evidence of the beginnings of a blush.

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to…” I left the obvious unsaid.

  “Don’t you have class?” She didn’t sound defensive, but her arms hugged her chest. Was she mad? Feeling violated?

  “I forgot my nutrition paper, which is due… now.” I tapped my watch, avoiding her eyes.

  “Ah.” She dragged out the word.

  Was ah a word? Exclamation, perhaps? That’s right, Tegan. Keep thinking of stupid stuff to keep your mind off what happened.

  I grabbed the paper from my desk and stuffed it into my bag. “I’ll see ya later.”

  “I’ll try to keep my clothes on.” She flashed a shy smile.

  Did she know the effect she had on me? Her lips, soft and tempting pink.

  “Yeah, me too.” I opted to amscray—completely cowardly I admit—so I couldn’t glimpse her reaction to that inane comment.

  That night, after returning from the cafeteria, Gemma and I camped out on our respective beds, watching a Roseanne rerun. For the entire episode, neither of us spoke, which was highly unusual.

  When the credits rolled, Gemma asked, “Do you want to talk about earlier?”

  I nearly swallowed my tongue. Finally, I croaked out, “What about earlier?”

  “When you barged into the room… after my shower. You’ve been weird since then.” Her tone implied she hadn’t been able to knock the incident from her mind either.

  “Oh, that.” I chewed on a hangnail, accidentally ripping it off and making my finger bleed. I hated the sight of my own blood. I tucked both hands under my butt to prevent more carnage, ignoring the fact there’d be a drop of blood on my sheets. It was time to wash them anyway. “It was no biggie. So, I saw you in the buff? Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Why did I have to babble? And toss in pretty head to boot?

  “I didn’t convert you to women, then?” Nervous laughter burbled out of her like spurts of water from a leaky faucet.

  “Uh…” How could I put into words what I’d felt when I saw Gem in her birthday suit and the thoughts that hadn’t left my mind since?

  “Kidding.” She put her palms in the air.

  “Did you want to see me naked? To get even?”

  Gemma blinked.

  Could I make this situation more awkward? Probably yes.

  I stood, stretching my arms overhead. “I should go to the library.”

  Gemma glanced at the digital clock on the beat-up mini fridge next to her bedside.

  Before she could question me further, I said, “I have a history test on Friday, and I’m so not prepared.” I dragged out the word so.

  “Okay. Do you want me to go with you?” Gemma glanced over her shoulder to peer out the window into the black night, concern registering in her hunched shoulders.

  “I’ll bring my whacking stick.” My dad had purchased a massive flashlight he claimed would double as a weapon in a pinch. Even with it, I still hated the thought of wandering across the field to campus on a cold winter night. “Or, maybe I’ll study in the cafeteria now that dinner service is over.”

  The worry in Gemma’s shoulders lessened.

  At least one of us felt more relaxed.

  As if in tune with my troubled mind, she said, “I really was kidding.”

  I forced a confident smile. “I know, but if I did lean that way…”

  Gem filled in the blanks. “I’d be your first choice?” Her teasing smile reflected in her eyes.

  “Exactly!”

  “We’re cool, right?” Her face was sincere.

  “Of course, we are. Besties don’t fall apart over something so silly.”

  “Good.” The relief in her eyes troubled me some.

  I grabbed my backpack and vamoosed in a hurry for the third time in one day.

  Downstairs, I reached into my bag and discovered I’d neglected to pack my history notebook and textbook. Unwilling to face Gemma again so soon, I doodled in my nutrition notebook until I deemed an adequate amount of time had elapsed for my ruse.

  I was unsure, though, who I was desperately trying to fool.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m going to fail!” I collapsed onto the pillows on my bed, with arms flailed out.

  Gemma, on her bed with her back against the wall near the window, peered over a copy of Rubyfruit Jungle. We were both in a women’s studies class and had a paper on Rita May Brown’s lesbian coming-of-age novel due in a week. Gemma’s soft green eyes always calmed me. “No you won’t, Teeg.” I loved that nickname. Most called me Tiny T or TR, the initials of my first and middle name—Tegan Raye. Only Gemma called me Teeg. When possible, I avoided telling people my last name: Ferber. In grade school, the mean kids had called me Furball.

  I grunted. Gemma always cheered me on, no matter what. We’d grown close over the past few months. During a weekly “gin and tonic Thursday” house party, which came into being after listening repeatedly to “Hey Jealousy” by the Gin Blossoms, one of our friends said, “You two belong together, like gin and tonic.”

  Jenny had added her two cents by saying, “Dude, you’re so right. Gemma is totally the gin: quietly confident and dependable, and TR is the spazzy fizz.”

  Now, people referred to us as G&T. I wasn’t thrilled that Jenny viewed me as the fizz, but it was hard to argue the point considering I could be high-strung on occasion. Or so people kept telling me.

  On the portable speakers behind me, Whitney Houston belted out the line “And I will always love you.” I spied Gemma peeking longingly in my direction. The first time I had noticed, it frightened me. Now, I coveted it. If only she would do it purposefully so I could address it.

  “I haven’t been to class in over a week, and tomorrow’s our first test.” I stared out our dorm room window, where snowflakes zipped across the murky sky. The soft yellow glow of the streetlight across the road didn’t fit the stormy mood in our sleepy Colorado college town. The first of February had brought the biggest storm of the season.

  Gemma tapped a pink highlighter against her leg in time with the next song on my mixed tape: “Under the Bridge” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Her charcoal gray Cornhuskers hoodie made me smile. I wasn’t a sports person, but since meeting Gemma last August, when we’d both started our freshman year, I stayed abreast of all the football news. Hill University wasn’t in Nebraska’s division, but that didn’t stop Gemma from knowing all the top players on all the teams of our small-time conference. In Keller, her hometown, she’d been the sportswriter for the high school paper. No matter what, Gemma was always Gemma—as her ubiquitous hoodie confirmed. Even though she was attending school in Colorado, she usually wore a shirt, hat, or sweatshirt proclaiming she was a Cornhusker through and through. Her parents even mailed the Sunday paper so Gemma could keep up with her beloved state and school.

  “You always panic over exams, but then you rock them. Stay calm. Maybe you need a break. You’ve been cramming U.S. history into your brain since seven this morning.” She set her book on the floor.

  I sat up and rolled my neck from side to side. “Maybe.”

  We’d first met on the day we moved into our dorm room and discovered we’d be living together in the tiny twelve-by-twelve-foot space. Over a relatively short amount of time Gemma had become my best friend. My rock. My…

  She patted the big N on her bright red Huskers bedspread, beckoning me. I complied.

  “Here. Let me massage your neck.” Her soft hands gripped my shoulders and kneaded the tension. “You’ll be fine. You hardly attended class last semester for the first half of this course and got As on every test.” Her fingers roamed down my back. “You’re a nerd.”

  �
��I’m a nerd? I’m not the one who got an A-plus in Calc 101 last semester.”

  Her hands dug into my shoulder, pulling me back against perky breasts. Jasmine perfume wrapped around me like a hot towel straight from the dryer. “Don’t be mean,” she said.

  “I’m not being mean.” I swiveled my head to look into her eyes. Golden flecks glowed in her green irises. “I’m jealous. I had to take Math for Idiots and had several sessions on long division.”

  “It wasn’t that bad. Struggling with math doesn’t make you an idiot. You got As in all your classes last semester, even in math. Stop acting like you’re a nitwit.”

  I shrugged, and she pushed me away to focus on my neck once again.

  Moments later, she said, “Lie down so I can work on your back.”

  A surge of heat pulsed through my body as I did as I was told.

  “Wait. Tug your shirt up a bit,” Gemma instructed in a not-so-demanding way. This wasn’t the first time she’d given me a backrub. That time hadn’t elicited any alarm bells. Weeks later, however, I noticed a tingling sensation when her hands were on my bare skin. It wasn’t until finals week last semester when I realized the throbbing sensation was sexual.

  I obeyed and then settled on my stomach with my hands above my head like I was about to dive headfirst into the deep end of a pool. Gemma wended a finger down my back. Her fingertips lingered on my scar. “Is this from the accident?” She’d seen it before, of course, but never asked. Not many knew about what had happened, and Gemma knew how embarrassed I was by what I deemed a hideous scar. When it had happened, my mother joked I was damaged goods.

  “Yeah,” I croaked. When I was a junior in high school, I volunteered to help construct sets for the drama club. Some jock had to help us after getting busted for supergluing the locks on the principal’s Ford Bronco. He had been showing off with a nail gun the carpenter left behind and shot it off multiple times into a part of the set. One of the nails crashed through the flimsy board and lodged into my back. Luckily, it missed any organs. The tiny scar made me self-conscious, though. To this day, I still hadn’t worn a bikini.