The Bad Boy’s Heart

by Holden, Blair

  “Oh.” She perks up. “Do you need some help? I could research something for you.”

  You know you’ve got the best roommate when they offer to help you despite being buried under a mountain of homework themselves.

  “Thanks, I love you for offering, but I think I need to sleep on this. Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow.”

  She gives me a knowing look. “It gets easier. you know. You’ll miss him a lot in the beginning, but trust me, a little distance is always good.”

  She winks at me and my mouth nearly drops open. Wait, what? Sweet little Sarah surely isn’t telling me about the merits of reunion sex?

  Or is she?

  Her face flushes a little after she’s said this, and before I know it, I’m laughing like crazy, because who would’ve thought that my roommate had a kinky side to her?

  It’s like finding out McGonagall wears negligees to bed.

  And then I’m laughing even harder at that particular image; from the other side, Sarah hits me with a cushion.

  Once we’re done acting like immature preteens, Sarah goes to sleep for the night as she has an eight a.m. class the next day. I keep checking my phone for any news from Cole because I don’t want to be the one to reach out first. I remember promising myself to give Cole a few days to relax and just be his age with his friends. By being my boyfriend, he’s automatically had to go into protector mode; I know he feels responsible for me, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be, right? I need a boyfriend, not a chaperone, and he needs someone he’s not constantly looking out for.

  But there’s no contact from his side even though I know he landed quite some time ago. Maybe he’s tired, I try to reason with myself. He probably needs to catch up on some sleep, or maybe he has commitments with his team, yeah, probably that. I pack up my books and try to get some sleep.

  ***

  I’m up early the next morning and taking out all my frustration on the treadmill; I run and run till my heart’s beating so fast, I can feel it in my mouth.

  “Steady there or you’ll wear yourself out too fast,” Bentley chastises me but I ignore him. There’s still no word from Cole, but I’ve seen the rest of his teammates post updates, and it’s infuriating. Doesn’t he know I’m worried? Whatever it is that’s going through his head, the least he could do is tell me he’s still alive.

  “Okay, that’s it.” The treadmill comes to a gradual halt so that I’m not on my butt on the floor. “You’re out of my gym until you come back without whatever the hell’s going on in your head.”

  He literally pushes me off and shoves my jacket at me. I glare at him. “This isn’t your gym, and I can’t believe you did that.”

  “As your trainer, I don’t want you to risk injuring yourself, and as your friend, I’m worried about you. Go take a walk, get some fresh air, listen to your sappy music. Then come back here, and if you still want to try that stunt, go for it.”

  My anger thaws a little, and suddenly I feel stupid for acting out like this. “I’m sorry, and yeah, let’s go for a rain check on this session.” My shoulders slump, and a pitying look flashes across Bentley’s face that I hate.

  “You haven’t heard from Cole,” he states, not even asking, and my head drops in shame. Yup, I’ve totally become that girl who bases her entire existence on one guy.

  “I’m sure he’s busy, but it’d be just nice to know that he’s okay. He didn’t really leave things in a good place.”

  Bentley looks uncomfortable, and I’m sure giving relationship advice isn’t something on his daily to-do list, but I appreciate him trying.

  “Well, I’m hanging out with Amanda later today, if you want to come with us…”

  “No! Honestly, I’m fine. Don’t ruin your date for me, but I do want to meet her sometime when I’m not acting like a raging beast with PMS.”

  To his credit, he laughs at this and doesn’t turn any redder.

  “Go home, Tessa, get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I shower and dress back up in my jeans and warm sweatshirt. Picking up my phone from my gym bag, I finally, finally see a text from Cole.

  Cole: Sorry I haven’t been able to call you, Shortcake. Coach is kicking our asses, but I’ll call when I can, miss you.

  I’m filled with a euphoric kind of a relief, but that ominous feeling is still nagging at me. This isn’t like him, but maybe I’m reading too much into a text. Quickly replying, I make my way out of the gym and back to the dorms.

  Outside my room I find Cami hovering and biting her nails; well, that’s never good news. She looks deep in thought as she paces, and when she hears me approaching, her face drops and she rushes toward me.

  “Are you okay?” She grips the tops of my arms.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I’m confused and half scared. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh.” She looks a little lost and then curses under her breath. “You haven’t seen it?”

  “Seen what? Cami, you’re scaring me.”

  “Shit.” She curses again and pulls out her phone from her pocket. It doesn’t take her long to load whatever she’s trying to show me.

  “So, this is an interview.” She bites her lip and hesitates before continuing. “Now, I don’t think this is a big deal or anything, but some of the girls were talking in class. I shut them up, but I thought you should hear it from me before it gets blown out of proportion.”

  “I’m confused and freaking out, so you better tell me whatever the hell’s going on.”

  I might be having a panic attack, who knows.

  “It’s Cole, okay? ESPN did a feature on him, and they asked him some personal questions. Everyone’s making a big deal because…”

  “Because what?”

  “Because he said he isn’t dating anyone, that he’s not looking to be in a relationship and wants to focus on football,” she says in a rush.

  Okay, breathe, Tessa, just breathe. There’s got to be an explanation, because there always is one. These things happen; people hide their personal lives from the press all the time. No big deal.

  My chest rises and falls heavily, and I try not to have a full-blown panic attack now.

  “And everyone’s seen it?” I whisper.

  She cringes. “Pretty much.”

  “And they’re all taking it to mean that Cole and I have broken up?”

  “Well, one particular breed of nasty bitch was spreading around lies that he was just using you for sex, but I think a punch in the face shut her up.”

  “You punched her?” I gasp.

  Cami shrugs. “What can I say? It’s been an interesting morning.”

  “Oh, okay, well, I think I need to sit down now.” My legs feel like Jell-O; gingerly I let myself in the room and am glad that Sarah’s in class. The poor girl has to tolerate more of my drama than I’d like her to witness.

  “He didn’t mention it to you?”

  “We haven’t talked since he left, so I had no idea.” My voice shakes as I sit down on my bed and wrap my arms around myself. “But he texted me this morning and didn’t say a word about the article.”

  “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

  “Yeah.”

  We’re both quiet for a minute or two. “So what now?” Cami asks.

  “I want to wait till he gets back before doing anything.”

  “That’s wise, I guess.”

  “I also have a dance audition this evening.” They didn’t give me a long time to prepare anything; I have to learn a routine and repeat it. It’ll be fine, I think.

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  “Of course. Like I said, I’m not going to react unless I talk to him, so there’s no reason for me to screw up this opportunity.”

  “And what about everyone else who’s chomping at the bit to make the most of the news?”

  “I’ll deal with it if it comes.” Right now, I desperately need a routine, a methodical task, something menial to get over this sudden shock.
>
  “Well then,” she says enthusiastically as she walks on over to where my iPod is plugged in the dock. “Since we’re here, why don’t you show me these moves you speak of? I need to make a cheer for you and need some inspiration.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Oh, but I have to; I even got some pom-poms. Now, how does some S&M sound?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Friends Don’t Let Friends Make Naked Mistakes

  “I aced my routine,” I tell Cami and Sarah while scooping a huge spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I contemplate an extra couple of hours in the gym versus finishing the entire tub and, what the heck, I’ll sweat it out. This is a complete ice cream emergency.

  “Then would you mind telling us why you’re putting more sugar inside you than all of Willy Wonka’s factory?” Sarah pushes the bridge of her reading glasses further up her nose and gazes at me with concern written all over her face. She’s aware of the situation with Cole; I’m sure Cami must’ve warned her of the crazy, possibly suicidal roommate, and she’s been on Hurricane Tessa watch all weekend.

  “Hmm, that was a nice book,” I muse and reach for my ice cream again. I probably paint a pathetic picture. Ratty old pajamas with more holes than I’d like to count, hair unwashed for what’s probably day three, and surrounded by heaps and heaps of sugar; sugar is good.

  Sugar doesn’t drop a Texas-sized bomb on you via the Internet.

  Sugar doesn’t avoid you and start screening your calls.

  Sugar sure as heck doesn’t take three days just to send an “I’m busy” text.

  So, of course, I’d love to be left alone with sugar, but somehow, I’ve managed to find people who care about me and refused to let me streak around the campus naked on a sugar high.

  Friends don’t let friends make naked mistakes.

  I’m pretty sure they’ve barricaded my door and are now trying some form of counseling; little do they know, my issues may not have only outsold Vogue, let’s just say all of Condé Nast would have a tough time competing with my numbers.

  “So, Lindsey actually said you have a shot at being on the team?”

  I shrug, the audition and everything that followed is a little bit hazy. Cami did go with me for moral support, but I received the judgement in private. They didn’t think that I sucked, and I sure as heck wasn’t as flaky or prone to post-hangover tantrums like the rest of their freshman girls, so things were looking good for me. I’d receive an e-mail from them sometime this week, but some of the girls from the squad had already starting smiling at me, waving like they’d finally acknowledged me as one of their “people.” I’d say it’s a good start.

  “I probably do, but then again, the rumor might just ruin everything.”

  It’s funny, because back when people first found out that Cole and I were together, the frat and sorority crowd treated me like dirt, and now that they’ve started thinking that we’re no longer together, the reaction’s even worse.

  How do I deal with these people?

  Oddly enough, it’s not the relationship I’m worried about, in my heart I know and am convinced that Cole would never break my heart like that, that he’d sooner kill himself than put me through that kind of pain.

  Knowing all of this doesn’t stop me from getting mad. I have an idea of what he’s doing, and it makes me want to go all the way up to New York and practice my nonexistent ninja skills on Nicole because she’s the one who started all of this. So much for trying to be a good person; it just came back to bite me in the butt.

  Cami waves her hand, dismissing my worries. “Please, you’d be surprised by the kind of popularity you’re getting right now. You’re the mysterious girl that they know the freshman QB is absolutely batshit crazy about, but now they’re all wondering why he’s denying your relationship. The latest rumor is that you broke his heart, and now every guy on campus wants to hook up with you.”

  I think I might just throw up. The idea of rumors and speculations finally manages to kill my appetite and I pack the stuff up. The ice cream goes back into the minifridge and I take a moment to get a grip.

  “This is just like high school, only worse, because at least then I had a hope of escaping anywhere, well, basically here, but now what? Do I think about the next big thing? Grad school? Do grad students like to gossip, too?”

  “Honey, it’s a good thing it’s college; the semester is going to start kicking all our asses pretty soon, and no one’s going to have time to be anything but the single reason why Starbucks stays in business.”

  Sarah snorts. “She’s got a point. How do people even have the spare time to think about these things when I’m struggling to breathe under all these books?” She gestures to the hundreds of dollars’ worth of textbooks strewn over our room, and she’s right. Between going regularly to classes, working part time, and studying late into the night, it’s not really convenient to be dissecting someone else’s life.

  “They aren’t the real problem, Tessa; have you tried calling Cole again?”

  I snuggle inside my blankets and pull them tighter around me because suddenly I’m shivering.

  “He’s not answering my calls or texts. I know he’s on some kind of a heroic mission to protect me, but this is just…”

  “Stupid?” Sarah offers.

  “Absolutely moronic?” Cami chimes in.

  “A dick move,” I end, and then for some reason, the three of us start laughing. Laughing feels good, I haven’t laughed in a while now, and somehow now, with these two around me, I’m able to forget about my idiot boyfriend’s idiotic plans for just a second.

  ***

  On day six post Cole’s breakthrough interview on the ESPN website, I’m still fielding calls from my friends and family. Of course, Beth, Megan, and my brother are fuming. They’ve seen zombie Tessa at her best, so it freaks them out that I might possibly revert to that, but I assure them that everything’s fine. They know that Nicole’s words could’ve had a domino effect because Cole’s like a DIY addict when it comes to his perceptions of my safety; he always wants to find ways to make me feel more protected, safer, comfortable.

  I think in the end he forgets that he’s not supposed to be a winter coat, he’s supposed to be my boyfriend, my more.

  But it’s exasperating to see how stubborn he is, and I’m not going to try forcing his hand when he’s so far away. I push myself into focusing on my classes, taking copious notes that are far more detailed than necessary, and then knocking a good few hours in the library. I’m still waiting to hear from Lindsey, but she said they needed at least a week to sort all the details and decide which freshman girl’s dreams to rip away from her.

  With such pleasant thoughts, I make my way to Professor Flynn’s office to collect a paper for my British Lit class. The usual butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling is absent because I know I worked my butt off for this paper and am really proud of what I submitted. Professor Flynn’s class is one that I actually enjoy and don’t need multiple cups of coffee to survive. Her lectures are interesting and make you want to participate; it’s the only class where I speak up without the fear of being ridiculed or snickered at.

  So, it comes as a definitely burning, hot steel rod in the chest when she places my paper in front of me and I see the letter “D-” encircled on the front.

  For a couple of minutes, I think I refuse to blink or breathe. The other letters on the piece of paper in front of me start to jumble up, but that one letter glares at me, and I just can’t seem to stop looking at it.

  Wow, have I ever gotten a grade this low?

  And did I really have to get it now, in my first semester of college, when my self-confidence is already plummeting faster than Juicy Couture’s sales?

  “B-but surely there must have been a mistake,” I stutter as I push the paper back toward Professor Flynn, who’s staring at me sympathetically. She knows how much work I’ve put into this, how many times I’ve been the only person coming to her during office
hours to discuss it. I feel tears beginning to prick the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to be the wimp that cries in front of her teacher.

  God, even I’m not that pathetic.

  She sighs, “I’m afraid not, Tessa. I tried to point out what you were doing wrong all the times you came to see me, but you haven’t seemed to pick up on it. I was really disappointed with your work, but only because I expect so much more from you.”

  And it just keeps getting worse.

  My hands shake slightly as I skim through the paper that has more red ink on it than the printed black script. All those hours’ worth of research and going over the material again and again, how the hell did I end up getting a D-?

  This could potentially screw up my entire GPA; the dance team and the student newspaper begin to look like pipe dreams. Does anyone even get anything below an A in this place?

  “Could you tell me specifically what I did wrong? Because, honestly? I did everything I possibly could for your paper.”

  Again, she looks at me pitifully. “You went about it the wrong way. As an introductory-level course, I wasn’t looking for groundbreaking research on Austen; however, I will commend you for your effort. Not even my senior students put that amount of work into their resources, but what you missed was the point of the paper. I didn’t want research, Tessa, I wanted spirit and originality. I wanted you to get your voice through to me in the paper, and all I received was you quoting and reiterating all that’s been said and done before. Your paper lacked creativity.”

  Huh, good thing I’m choosing to becoming an English major. My noncreative self and I will surely flourish in the field.

  I feel like the walls of her office are closing in on me. I want to argue more; actually, I want to throw a fit and call her out on her bullshit. Why did she not say these things when I was running draft after draft with her? Did she want to fail me and then shove all my hard work in my face, telling me that even my best isn’t good enough?

  With quivering legs, I grab my paper and make a beeline for the door. I’m sure when I’m in a better state, I’ll reach out to her again and talk about a potential makeup paper, a redo or something I can do for extra credit, but right now, it’s either leaving her office or dunking her head in her fishbowl.