I haven’t dredged up the memory in years because it’s been buried in so much resentful dirt between us. That’s all wrong. I should dust off that shining moment and keep it front and center. For myself, not for Jack. It was a brilliant moment for me, a moment of triumph that I could hold onto. And even though it was never something my parents would know about, it should be no less treasured.
That’s what I’ll do from now on. Looking at myself, I realize I’m wearing a Winnipesaukee T-shirt and I instantly decide it will symbolize that triumph. The triumph of the Winnipesaukee incident. The day I stood up for the victim of bullying. And it’s oh so sweet to remember that victim had been Jack.
Except that’s probably why he hates me, isn’t it? Deep down under all his resentful dirt, he remembers that I was witness to his being a victim. He understands on some level that I saw him being bullied and that I saved him from the bully and that makes me dangerous to him, fuels his resentment.
I wonder if I’ll ever have a chance to see him unbury his resentment and treat me as someone other than his victim, the girl who stands in for everything he resents most?
No. I won’t. I can’t. I need to keep away from him and live my own life. Put it all behind me, put him behind me.
Picking up my discarded Kate Spade bag, I take out my phone and call Dooley. I need to get outside of my head before I go crazy. “Good talk,” I say to the mirror as I listen to the ringing until Dooley picks up.
“Babe-a-la! How was the big night out with the oldies? Tell me everything. I need some sleep.”
“Shut up.” I laugh. Dooley’s the perfect antidote for the night.
“It wasn’t as boring as it should have been.” I consider how much to tell him. I can safely tell him I saw Jack and danced with him since we were out there for all to see. Not that anyone knew who I was.
“Don’t keep me waiting for the deets. What did you do?”
“I danced with Jack Hunter.”
“Not on your life? What the hell was he doing there?”
I explain about the nature of the reception, which was basically to let all the athletic program donors meet the athletes they’re supporting.
“Or in other words to make the athletes parade around like hunks of prime beef at a meat auction,” he says.
“Basically. Isabella was there. She said she was someone’s date.”
“I’ll find out who. She wasn’t there with Jack, was she?”
“No.”
“And you danced with him? Fuck, Babe-a-la, Izzy’s not going to like that. And I just had her convinced to invite you into her sorority.”
“Don’t worry. She invited me.”
“You don’t sound thrilled?”
“Not sure it’s my cup of tea.”
I flop onto my bed and burrow my head into the fluffy down pillow, my energy fading, feeling more relaxed by the comfort of my best friend. My mind flashes momentarily to Stacy and I feel the stab in my chest, but Dooley’s voice doesn’t let me dwell.
“I know, I know, but don’t decide yet. You can put up with the bullshit if the prize is worth it, right? You’ll get invited to all the best parties—”
“And let me guess—I get to bring you along as my date.”
“Now you’re talking, sistah.” I laugh and he goes on about how much fun we would have, all the roles he could play, until my eyes flutter and I yawn.
“Good night, Dooley. And thank you.”
“What for?”
“For being you. For being my friend.” He kisses the phone with a loud smack and we end the call on laughter. All my relationships should be this good. Too bad Dooley is so incontrovertibly gay.
The phone rings at nine a.m. as I’m having coffee and reading Pride and Prejudice for lit class—though I’ve read it three times before. This time I’m paying attention to Austen’s use of close point of view which was revolutionary at the time. Seeing DAD flash on my phone’s screen gives me a momentary jolt of nerves. The nerves are automatic, conditioned into me. I usually immediately calm down, but not this time. Guilt has me running through the scenes from last night in my head, the ones I’ve been trying to keep out all morning, where I’m in Jack’s arms, running across the dance floor and then leaving with him. Remembering sitting in his truck with him, close and having that moment where I almost felt he would kiss me, my heart races up and doesn’t slow. On the third ring, I heft the baggage in my head aside and stab the phone, then bring it to my ear.
“Dad, hello. You’re calling early.”
“Glad you got home all right,” he says, accusation clear in his voice, as if I need to check in—but wait. No, I don’t, because he’s never home. Or at least he hasn’t been for the last twenty years of my life. And now, when I’m pulling away to make a life of my own exactly where I want to be, he follows me, expecting me to account for where I am.
“Yes.” I don’t bother embellishing. “Is that why you called? I have reading to do.” It’s as rebellious as I’ve ever been and the beat of silence on his end may be a sign that I’ve stunned him.
“Did you enjoy the reception? There were quite a few students there. Did you see Jack Hunter?”
“Yes. You knew he’d be there.”
“Of course I did. He’s one of the reasons I became a trustee.”
“I don’t get it. That makes no sense. What does Jack Hunter have to do with you being a trustee?”
He clears his throat and I can sense him weighing his words. “I know he has the potential for trouble.”
“Are you watching out for him or for me?” I secretly hope he’s watching out for me, that he knew all along those years ago why I wanted to transfer to private school, that Jack bullied me. And that I need to be protected from him now. Maybe a little from myself too as the memory of the close-but-no-kiss fires me up.
“You. Always,” Dad says with more conviction than he has a right to. “If I didn’t realize you had enough sense to stay away from him I would never have brought you with me last night.” He pauses a few beats and I have no idea what to say. I’m surprised that he thinks I have sense and doubly surprised that he thinks I need to stay away from Jack.
“Why would I need to stay away from Jack? Why do you think he’s trouble? He’s the star quarterback and a good student. He’s the—”
“He’s the one who brought you back to your dorm last night isn’t he?” If I wasn’t hearing my father’s voice, low and serious, for myself, I wouldn’t believe it. He sounds angry?
And he’s right about Jack. My blush is automatic and I’m damn lucky he can’t see me. I do the quick calculation to figure the odds he already knows the answer to his question or whether he can and will find out, before I decide to tell him the truth. Jack doesn’t need another person to worry about, but Dad isn’t against him, is he?
“Yes.” No sense in embellishing, not even when I’m met with silence and the overwhelming urge to fill it. I tense, everything in me holding back, all in the name of preserving Jack Hunter’s precious secrets.
Dad brings a deep sigh, the kind he uses in place of a reprimand because he can’t be bothered.
“Joni, you know better than that. It would be a very bad idea for you to get involved with him. He’s not … your type.”
My sense of outrage starts in the tingling along my arms, raising hairs. I don’t even know what to say because he’s so wrong in so many ways—and also so right, but that doesn’t matter because he has no right. Before I can form the thoughts to form into words I hear Dooley’s voice outside in the hall followed by banging on my door.
No need for me to answer it because my best friend barges in. I’d given him an emergency key and apparently, he’s sensed an emergency. Maybe he’s right.
“Gotta go, Dad. Say hi to Mom.” I end the call and slip the phone in my jeans pocket where it barely fits. Not because I’m fat, but because the jeans are made with not even a molecule’s width of air to spare between them and my skin.
“Hey babe
-a-la, it’s time for a study break. Let’s go out for some lunch.”
Ignoring his question because he brought Isabella with him, I’m surprised and even more surprised that I don’t mind.
“Hey, Joni. Sorry to barge in.”
“Hello, Izzy,” I say, still catching up with the burst of energy in the room, like I’m waking up in the middle of a hurricane.
She sits on the bed next to me while Dooley prowls around the room, taking a handful of M&Ms from the bowl I keep at all times for emergencies.
”I know the best place to go for lunch. It’s where everyone hangs out on Sundays,” Izzy says.
“I’m in the mood for pizza,” Dooley says, shoveling the candy in his mouth. “Does your cool-kids place have pizza?”
“It’s Wildbeast Pizza. What do you think?”
“Perfecto. Let’s go, bookworm.” He pulls me by the hand to stand. I’m clearly not ready to go out and not only because I’m barefoot. I’m still wearing the Winnipesaukee T-shirt from last night paired with pink leggings not fit for public viewing.
Izzy looks me over and raises a brow. “You might want to dress. Chances are we’ll run into some hot guys.”
I know she wants to run into Jack, and that would be a problem. It’s the last thing I want. Even if I do need to be prepared to run into him now and then, my nerves couldn’t stand it right now, not with last night’s close encounter fresh and still assaulting the senses of my imagination.
Dooley says, “By hot guys, you mean Jack Hunter?”
“Maybe. And his hot friends.” She winks at me. I make a mental note to never go to Wildbeast Pizza in the future.
“Look guys, why don’t you go without me. I’m not into pizza much.” Lamest excuse ever. I cringe at the looks on their faces. For one, Dooley knows this is a flat-out lie.
“No wonder you’re so willowy,” Izzy says. “You have the perfect body. I wouldn’t fool with it if I were you either.” She takes Dooley’s arm like she’s going to leave without me.
“Wait a sec,” he says. “We need to talk about last night’s reception.”
I’d told Dooley all about the reception last night, so I’m wondering what’s up with that and I flick a look at Izzy. She whips around with excited energy lighting her eyes. I want to step back, but I don’t.
“That’s right. I didn’t see you again before I left. Did you see the fight? I don’t know where I was during the excitement, but I missed it.”
I nod, releasing a breath of relief that she missed my mad dash from the place with Jack.
“No. I didn’t see a thing.”
“How’d you get home?” Dooley says pointedly, shoving his phone under my nose with a bouncy, almost blurred clip of me and Jack running through the crowd on the dance floor. It wasn’t much and if I didn’t know it was me and Jack, I might not recognize us.
“It’s not viral. Yet,” he says in a quiet voice.
The rush of horror heats me and I snap my head up to meet Izzy’s eyes. She doesn’t know.
“What do you have there? Let me see,” Izzy says.
Dooley hands the phone over to her. I suppose it’s just as well since she’ll find out sooner or later. I feel myself forming words in my head: It’s not what it looks like, but I’m not pathetic enough to utter such a cliché. I feel like a traitor for no reason.
“Is … is that you? With Jack? Running—leaving the party together?” She keeps her eyes on the phone, her voice steady but high as she stabs at the screen, no doubt replaying the short clip.
“Yes.” I remember what he told me to say. “I wasn’t feeling well. He brought me outside. My father took me home. We called him after I got some air. Jack was a perfect gentleman.” Mostly true.
She finally looks up from the phone, her eyes bright, her smile off. “Yeah. Jack is always a gentleman—except in private. Then he’s every girl’s wet dream of a very bad boy.”
“TMI, Isabelle.” I put my hands up.
“Not TMI. I want to hear about the bad boy,” Dooley says. I’m not sure if he’s teasing, but either way, he drags Izzy from the room willing and eager to share details about her favorite subject—Jack. More specifically, her relationship with Jack. Even though it’s over.
“Catch you later, babe-a-la,” Dooley says over his shoulder.
I close the door behind them and crash back onto my bed. Crisis averted.
No one will ever convince me that calculus is meant to be useful in the everyday life of a writer. The only thing more uncomfortable than the molded plastic chairs in this classroom meant for shorter people than me, is the indecipherable scrawl Professor Greenleaf just put up on the whiteboard. I’m surprised to find Izzy in my class when she arrives five minutes late, waves and sits next to me in the last row.
This is one of only two classes I’ve attended in my college career with fewer than twenty students. There’s no crowd for me to hide in, no hope that the prof won’t call on me at some point. And with Izzy here, no hope of avoiding the shame of being outed as math-challenged in the extreme.
Prof Greenleaf glances around the room to call on someone to answer his question about solving the equation, or figuring out the function, or doing whatever the hell it is he’s trying to do on the whiteboard. As he looks my way, I hold my breath. The girl sitting in front of me raises her hand with enough enthusiasm to divert his attention and I’m saved. For today. But it’s the first week of the semester and I’m already behind.
“See you Wednesday.” Prof Greenleaf smiles and the rest of the students file out.
Izzy stands expectantly, waiting for me. “Go ahead, Izzy. I need to talk to the prof.” She shrugs and heads out the door without me, sympathy in her eyes. She seems more sincere than the shallow sorority girl she pretends to be. But that’s a puzzle for another day. Right now, I need to have a talk with Professor Greenleaf. I need to see if I can get out of taking this class.
When the last person leaves me alone with him, I approach the front of the smallish classroom. Of course I’m several inches taller than he is. What else is new?
“Can I help you, Ms. Dowd? You seemed a little lost today in class.”
“Understatement. Look, I know calculus is wonderful and important, but it’s not my thing. I’m a literature and creative writing major and—”
He puts up his hands. “Stop right there. You can’t get out of taking this class. You’re liberal arts. And in spite of what you think, the brain exercise of problem-solving you get with this class will be absolutely useful to you in life. I promise.”
I almost believe him. Except I still have no clue.
“But I—”
He raises his hand again, “I can see you’re asking for help. We have a tutoring program I’ll put your name into.”
I laugh. “I have a feeling I’m not the first student in dire calculus straits you’ve run into.”
“Not even the hundredth. I’ll make sure you get a tutor before next class. You’ll be contacted.”
“Wow. Thanks.” Not my desired outcome, because I know I’ll need to work my ass off and probably need to stock up on aspirin, but I should be used to having to work hard to keep up in math by now.
Stepping outside the brick building into the balmy day, I get a text from Dooley to meet for lunch at the Main Street Cafeteria with Izzy and a few of her sorority friends. I figure I deserve lunch with Dooley to cheer me after my close call with calculus.
Guiding me by directional texts, Dooley is already making me laugh before I reach the table where he and his misaligned band of sex-kitten sorority sisters sit. Dropping my slim iPad case on the table, I pull out the chair next to him and throw myself into a big hug.
“There, there. It’s all over now. You’re safe from calculus here.”
Izzy gives me a cheery greeting and reintroduces me to the three girls sitting across from us, all wearing curious perfectly made-up faces. Shit. I’m so out of place. No makeup, no styled hair, no jewelry save for the bracelet Stacy gave
me back in high school. My smile falters. I can’t go there. Thanks to my self-conscious and morose wandering mind, I totally miss the names again. Double shit.
Girl with the blue bangles says, “So you’re an old friend of Jack’s? What was he like back then—before he was famous?”
“I don’t know. I think he was always famous. Or that’s how it seemed in Moreland.”
“Moreland?” Girl with the pink scrunchy ponytail says, “Isn’t that on Lake Winnie?”
I nod and stand. “I need to get some food.” I yank Dooley’s arm. He catches on.
“I’ll come with you. I need dessert,” he says.
When we’re away from the prying sorority sisters, I say, “What is with the Jack obsession? Is it contagious? I thought it was only Izzy’s problem?”
“Nah, honey. It’s a campus-wide pandemic.”
“Shit. He’s the last topic I want to discuss. I want to spend my last two years of college focused on writing and enjoying myself, not talking about how I know Jack Hunter.”
“That’s a tough one, babe-a-la. Heads-up. They’re all hot to have you join the sisterhood.”
“I bet it’s not because I’m cool and fashionable. I wish I’d never met Jack Hunter.” It’s not the first time I’ve thought this. Not even the hundredth, to quote Prof Greenleaf, but it’s the first time I recall saying it out loud.
“Don’t go extreme on me. It’s not like you’re a dog. These ladies pride themselves on having only the best-looking women on campus in the sorority. It’s like in the by-laws or something. And last I looked at your gorgeous face, you’re overqualified.”
I grab a tray and we shoot down the line where I order a burrito bowl.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. In the meantime, we need to change the topic.”
“We can talk about the juicy novel you’re writing.”
“Better idea: how about we talk about the juicy play you and Izzy are auditioning for?”
Big Man on Campus: an Enemies to Lovers College Romance (Big Men on Campus Book 1) Page 9
