by Jamie Shaw
“No such thing!” Leti opens the door for me, his wide smile brightening my mood as he flicks his shades down over his eyes. At a fork in the sidewalk, we slow to a stop. “Hey, I’ll see you on Wednesday?” he asks.
“Yep! See ya, Leti.”
“Ciao, Ro-bot!”
The minute Leti is out of sight, my shoulders slump and I feel like a ton of bricks has just collapsed on top of me. I don’t know where Adam disappeared to, but I hurry across the campus lawn like there’s a sniper creeping on the rooftops trying to trap me in his sights. My eyes are everywhere, and my frantic heartbeat doesn’t slow until I’ve dipped into Hoffman Hall, climbed the stairs, and am turning into Room 204.
“Ro!” Dee calls my name from the back, but I’m still in such a daze, I barely make eye contact before I slump into a chair beside her. This room is more traditional, with rows of small desks in front of a whiteboard. “How was your first class?!” Her excitement splashes me in the face, pulling me out of my own head.
“It was . . . interesting. I think I made a new friend. What about you?”
She starts rambling about the hot guy who sat next to her in biology. I nod and smile, smile and nod, add in an “oh” or a “wow” or a “that’s awesome” every now and then. When our speech professor walks in and starts the lecture, I am beyond relieved. My brain is too full. Too full of Adam and . . . Adam. Oh, God.
Dr. V is much nicer than Dr. Pullman. She starts the class by asking us to tell the class our names, our majors, and something interesting about ourselves. When it’s my turn, I’ve been too busy thinking about that girl’s fingers in Adam’s hair to come up with anything.
I stand up. “My name is Rowan Michaels. I haven’t decided on a major yet, but I’m thinking of language studies. And, um . . . something interesting . . .” I’m completely tongue-tied as the pause stretches awkwardly on. “Um . . .”
Oh my God, I’m totally blank! Something interesting, about me? There’s nothing! I made out with Adam Everest on his tour bus last weekend would be totally inappropriate, but I can’t think of anything else!
“And she can fit eleven marshmallows in her mouth at once!” Dee shouts to fill the horrific silence. She’s referring to the time we were sitting around a campfire with a group of friends, all trying to see who could stuff the most marshmallows in their mouth. I won by a landslide. When my loud laughter was muffled by all the marshmallows in my cheeks, everyone completely lost it. We all laughed hysterically until we were drowning in tears. Dee laughed like a hyena until she fell off her lawn chair, which made me laugh so hard I almost choked on a marshmallow.
The class laughs as Dr. V gives me an appreciative smile. “That’s quite the talent, Rowan.”
My cheeks are flush with embarrassment when I finally take my seat, fighting the urge to hide my face in my hands. Dee gives me a half smile and shrugs her shoulders, and I shake my head at myself, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead. So much for first impressions.
When class ends, I’m done for the day, so I walk directly back to Dee’s dorm and flop face-first onto her mattress. She has one class left and then we’re going to meet back here to figure out dinner plans.
I want to tell her about Adam so freaking badly. But I just don’t think she’d be the best person to give me any advice. She’s still trying to convince me to light Brady’s car on fire or replace all of his shampoo with . . . well, that conversation is just not one I want to commit to long-term memory.
When she bursts through the door an hour and half later, she hops onto the bed, making me bounce. “I love college!”
“Told you you would.” I’m glad to see her so happy. She’s been waiting for this day since before I can remember, and if I’m being honest, I had been a little worried it wouldn’t meet her expectations. For once, I’m glad I was wrong.
Macy is sitting on her own bed in the opposite corner, a laptop on her lap. She looks up from it and asks, “Did you like your classes, Deandra?”
Dee freezes, eyes wide with shock that Macy is attempting to converse. In person. With a fellow human. “Yeah, I did, Mace. What about you?” Dee shoots an “oh my God” glance at me out of the corner of her eye, but I pretend not to notice and wait for Macy to reply.
“They were alright, I suppose.”
“What are you taking?” I ask.
And that’s how I lure Macy into a conversation that ends with me insisting she come to dinner with us. At a diner downtown—since Dee insists the food on campus tastes like feet—Dee rattles on like Macy isn’t even there, so I guess she isn’t put off by me inviting an extra wheel. Macy sits at the table silently nibbling on some fries. She’s small and skinny, with straight black hair, a pale face, and eyes a little too large and dark for her face. But she has a friendly smile, and I find myself wanting to help her come out of her shell a little.
“So there’s this guy in my class,” I say. “His name’s Leti.”
“Oooh,” Dee says. “Is he hot?”
“He’s . . . he’s definitely something.” I chuckle, and Dee raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you two would love shoe-shopping together, if you know what I’m getting at.”
“A gay friend?! You already made a gay friend?! No fair! I want one!”
I laugh and sip my Coke. “Maybe we should invite him to hang out sometime.”
“We should definitely invite him to hang out sometime!”
“Next time we have class, I’ll get his number and see if he wants to meet up with us some night.”
When Macy speaks, it shocks us into silence again. “That’s very kind of you.”
I shrug it off. “It’s no big deal. The more friends, the better. Right, Dee?”
“As long as this Leti doesn’t try to steal my best girl, I’m golden.” She sucks down a vanilla milkshake.
I grin at her and then at Macy. “Thanks again for letting me stay with you, Macy.”
“Thank you for inviting me out tonight.”
“Mace,” Dee cuts in, shifting in her seat to face Macy, who is sitting beside her, pressed against the chipped yellow wall. “Let me ask you a question. You know Ro is staying with us because her scumbag piece-of-shit ex-boyfriend cheated on her, right?” Macy nods. “Well, don’t you think she deserves to get some type of revenge? Flatten his tires or something? I mean, they were together for three years.”
Macy gazes across the table at me. “I think Rowan is taking the higher road. It’s an admirable quality.”
“Higher road,” Dee scoffs. “I’d like to catch him on a higher road,” she mumbles, “and drive him right off it.”
Macy and I both chuckle, and Dee finishes off the last of her milkshake. After she drives us back to her dorm, I pull a textbook onto my lap. The heavy weight is comforting, reminding me of simpler times, when the only thing I had to worry about was homework. Homework, I can do. Homework, I can bury myself in. I fall asleep with the textbook on my lap and Dee’s knee jutting into my thigh. Much-needed sleep trumps the plan to go get my car, but it’s not like I’ll need it anytime soon anyway.
The next morning, I have to wake up earlier than Dee for my morning classes—she refused to take anything before 11 o’clock—so I try to keep quiet as I get ready for school. My first class is English 101. Then I have math, followed by an hour-and-a-half-long break during which I grab lunch in Lion’s Den, and then I head to Benton Hall for history class with Dee.
If all three classes were about a certain brown-haired rocker boy with ungodly skilled lips, I’d ace them with no problem. But as it stands, I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail.
My thoughts are back on Adam’s tour bus, and they travel to that black satin bed. In history class, I chew on the end of my pencil, simultaneously regretting the moment and wishing I could go back and live it all over again. Making out with him had been so,
so out of character for me. Before Adam, I’d only ever kissed two guys other than Brady. One was in fifth grade, so I’m not even sure if that counts, and the other was a guy I went on a few group dates with when I was a freshman, before Brady and I ever got together.
I have no idea why I’ve been thinking about Adam so much, probably even more than Brady. Maybe it’s my brain’s way of trying to protect itself from all the emotions I refuse to feel over the way Brady betrayed me. I loved him, I really did. But after seeing him with that girl . . . I almost feel like I never truly knew him. The Brady I knew never would have hurt me like that.
In a way, it feels like the boy I loved died, and part of me has accepted that . . . because when someone dies, there’s nothing you can do to bring them back. The only thing you can do is let them go.
Dee and I walk from the building with some guy who she’s apparently gotten friendly with from one of her other classes. My phone beeps again, and I peek at it while Dee talks the poor guy’s ear off. Brady again. Of course. All it says is “I miss you,” and it’s the simplest text he’s sent me so far—and the one that chokes me up the worst. His texts are like daily hauntings, apparitions reminding me of everything I lost.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I say, and then I’m practically speed-walking back to Dee’s dorm before anyone can catch me.
The minute I get back to the room, I change into sweat pants and one of my dad’s old work T-shirts. When Dee arrives later, I have a carton of Rocky Road in my lap and I’m staring off into space. She grabs a spoon and dips it in next to mine, but she doesn’t ask any questions. Which is good, because I sure as hell don’t have any answers.
Chapter Six
AT 3 A.M., I’m lying awake next to Dee. Eight hours until I see Adam again.
Eight. freaking. hours.
Eight turns into seven, and seven turns into six. By the time the alarm goes off, my eyes are red from sleep deprivation, but I hop out of bed like I’ve been lying on coals. After a quick shower, I stare down at the stacks of clothes that line almost an entire wall of Dee’s dorm room. It sucks not having a dresser or any closet space for my stuff, but beggars can’t be choosers. It’s time to figure out what I’m going to wear today.
On one hand, I want to look decent in case Adam looks my way during French. The heavens would part, angels would sing, and he . . . probably wouldn’t even remember me. Ugh.
On the other hand, I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. I made the right decision when I didn’t go back to his tour bus that night after the show. It was the right call . . . It was, I know it was.
I sift through my neatly stacked piles until nearly every piece of clothing is lying in an unfolded mess on the floor, and then I sigh and find myself raiding Dee’s closet. I opt for a short pair of jean shorts and a cute blue top that complements my deep blue eyes. In front of her vanity mirror, I yank my hair up into a ponytail and do my makeup before Dee gets back from her shower.
“Cute top,” she says as her reflection enters the door behind me.
“Mind if I borrow it?”
“Hell no I don’t mind! Keep borrowing my clothes and we’ll have you a new boyfriend by the end of the week.”
“How about this,” I say with a snarky grin, stepping away from the mirror as Dee squeezes in front of it and leans in to rub moisturizer all over her face, “I’ll get a boyfriend in no time.”
She gives my reflection a serious look, and then she laughs. “Touché.”
Dee has never had a serious boyfriend, and she’s never wanted one. What she wants is to be admired by all, to be showered with flowers and candy from guys whose names she hasn’t bothered to remember. She wants to hoard their affection but give none back, and even though she’d never admit it, I know that her aversion to relationships stems from how terribly things ended between her parents.
When she and I were in sixth grade, her dad discovered that her mom had been having a long-term affair, and Dee witnessed firsthand the devastation that love can leave in its wake. The first time she ever saw her dad cry—after her mom abandoned the family to move with the other man across the country—Dee snuck into my room and sobbed herself to sleep on my pillow while I assured her that her dad would be fine and she would be too. I told her she didn’t need her stupid mom because she’d always have me instead, and then I smoothed her hair until she fell asleep.
That was the last time I saw her cry about her parents—after that, it was just anger, heated tears, and trashed bedrooms. Her dad has always been the most doting father I’ve ever known, but he couldn’t fill the void her mom left behind, and even though Dee never said it out loud, I knew that she missed her mom as much as she hated her. Truthfully, since then, I don’t think anything has terrified her more than commitment. I always suspected that maybe that was why she was so uncomfortable with me settling down with Brady so quickly—that and all the time he sucked away from her.
I wish I could give every minute of it back.
I rush Dee out the door, and we walk to campus as quickly as I can get her legs to move. I skirt through Adam’s perfume-drenched welcome party and arrive at the auditorium for my French class extra early to make sure I get there before him. Then I scurry into the same seat I sat in two days earlier, making sure to save the one next to me for Leti.
“ ’Sup, Ro-town?” he says as he slides in beside me. “Lovin’ those blue piglets.”
I gaze down at my blue toenails and then smile at him as he pushes his shades on top of his head. A girl could seriously get used to receiving compliments so often. Now, if only straight guys paid the same attention to detail. “Thanks. I love your T-shirt.”
The pink ponies on his My Little Pony T-shirt match his hot-pink Chucks. “What can I say, I’m a total bronie.”
I laugh and open my notebook to a blank page. “Hey, would you want to hang out with me and my roommate sometime? Like maybe this weekend?”
“Is she as cool as you are?”
“Way cooler.”
He chuckles and tugs on my long ponytail. “Don’t sell yourself short, Corn-Ro! I’d love to hang out with you and your roommate! What’s her name?”
“Dee.”
“She goes by a one-letter nickname? Wow, you’re right, she is cooler than you.”
My laughter is cut short when Dr. Pullman enters the room. Dressed in brown slacks and a pale yellow button-down, he reaches back to close the door behind him. But Adam hasn’t shown up yet. Maybe he dropped the class. Or . . . did I freaking hallucinate him or something? Am I losing my damn mind?
The door is nearly shut when a hand slaps against it, preventing it from closing all the way. Adam appears in the open sliver and gives Dr. Pullman a charming smile that makes my heart sputter. He unapologetically slips into the room, two girls on his heels, and sits in his seat at the front.
I feel like a pathetic stalker as I steal glances at him throughout class. We only kissed—just like I’m sure he kissed every girl sitting with him in that front row. And I’m nothing compared to them. My chest isn’t as big and my face isn’t as pretty, my hair isn’t as voluptuous and my ass isn’t as va-va-voom. Whatever this is that I’m feeling, I need to quash it before it adds to the emotional cluster-fuck I’m already feeling over Brady. Adam was a nice rebound. He did me a favor. Who knew we’d end up in the same damn class?
All rationality be damned, I leave class feeling almost as shattered as I felt that night at Mayhem. I shouldn’t feel like Adam betrayed me like Brady did, but . . . ugh. I feel so . . . rejected. By both of them.
Leti flips his shades down when we step into the brightly lit courtyard. The sun beats down on us like a vampire’s worst nightmare, and with the mood I’m in, I nearly hiss.
“You have class now, right?” Leti gazes down at me from behind black lenses.
“Yeah. Speech with Dee.
Hey, give me your phone.”
He hands it over and I give him mine. We punch our digits in and then trade back. “I’ll text you about this weekend, ’kay?”
He tucks earbuds into his ears as he backs away. “You better!”
The next day, during my break between math class and my history class with Dee, I eat lunch alone in Lion’s Den again, burying my face in my French textbook as I munch on a BLT and chips. We’re spending the first week reviewing, and I read the word for boyfriend out loud. “Petit ami.” I glare at my textbook, thinking of Brady. “Je déteste mon ex-petit ami!” I’m tempted to end the sentiment by spitting on the floor next to my chair, but I’m guessing that might earn me more looks than I’m already getting. I’m officially that girl who eats alone and talks to herself.
In French.
Great.
I think of Brady until my brain starts following one association after another. Brady. That Girl. Mayhem. Adam. Adam’s tour bus. That black satin bed. My skin starts to tingle, but then I remember French class, and all those girls. The giggling. The manicured fingernails combing through his hair.
I groan and close my textbook, letting my forehead fall against it. Adam. He’s such a man-whore. I almost slept with a man-whore. A freaking man-whore.
And it was wonderful. And classes with him are going to be brutal. And my emotions are so all over the place that I seriously want to slap myself. I’m a mess. My whole freaking life is a mess.
By the time my lunch break is over, I’ve worked myself into one hell of a mood. I mope into my history class and slump into a seat next to Dee, who reaches over to play with the blonde pony tail cascading over my shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just . . . French homework I was working on during lunch. Totally has me drained.”
“Well I have the perfect medicine!” Dee says, and already I’m suspicious. “Guess who got invited to a party this weekend!”
I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going with her to a party. I think I’d rather get hit by a dump truck full of cow manure than try to brave a social event. A social event with lots of people—lots of smiling, happy people.
