by Mj Fields
I look at Jamie, who looks shocked.
“You ready, Romeo?” Logan grips his shoulder.
Mitch nods, and then they walk away.
“You couldn’t have saved me from myself two fucking minutes ago?” Mitch snarls.
“You did a fine job back there.” Logan chuckles. “Fine job.”
After that, they aren’t in the dining hall when we are.
The past few days have been spent running around, getting our schedules, getting acquainted with the campus, and getting a feel for our once very strong sisterhood that has been weakened by one football player who just had to play one girl to get to another.
Friday night, I decide I’ve had enough and tell them all we should go out.
“You don’t have an ID,” Jamie says, looking up from her laptop.
“Oh, au contraire, mon amie.” I hold up a surprise I received in the mail earlier that day.
Lisa gasps. “Where did you get it?”
“Well, it was in an envelope without a return address and no message.” I hold up a hundred-dollar bill. “Unless it was from Benjamin Franklin.”
“What?” Christy snickers.
“I think it’s my mom, and I think she sent the money so I could treat you three this time.”
“She knows about our night out?” Lisa asks.
I nod.
“You told her you drank?” Christy asks.
I nod again.
“That’s so cool.”
“Can we eat first this time?” Jamie asks. “I was so drunk.”
“We can hit the dining hall, right?” I ask the others.
“How about we go to that beer place, or the Dinosaur barbeque place I’ve heard so much about?” She pulls a few bills out of her pocket. “I’ll chip in.”
* * *
It’s Friday night and the place is busy. We wait thirty minutes to get a table. I’ve waited longer, but I don’t tell them that.
We order a pitcher of beer, and it feels so cool handing the waiter my new ID. Then we order the swag sample appetizer to start. It contains chicken wings, fried green tomatoes, deviled eggs, and a spicy shrimp bowl. For my meal, I order the Drunken Spicy Shrimp bowl, which I always avoided because I wasn’t sure how my mom would react since my dad was an alcoholic. But I’m apparently allowed since she got me a fake ID.
I remind myself to call her later to thank her.
The place is wall-to-wall people. Mostly bikers, which no longer makes me weary like it did when I was younger, but Lisa, she seems to be uncomfortable.
“You all right?” I ask, pulling the chicken off the wing and taking a bite.
“Are we safe?” she whispers.
I can’t help smiling and nod.
“But, bikers,” she whispers. “Bad, right?”
“Badass,” I tell her. “But no. I mean, unless they stole the bikes out in the parking lot, they have to be hard working people. Harleys are expensive.”
“Really?” she genuinely asks.
“Yep, and farmers.” I laugh. “They spend ten times on just one or those combines than it would cost to buy a BMW. They aren’t poor.”
Jamie nods as she takes a fried green tomato. “We can get equipment cheaper, but yeah, big bucks.”
“And to think, we aren’t the only ones getting stereotyped in the world.” She giggles. “Want to know a secret?”
We all nod and lean in.
“I totally suck at math.” She bursts into laughter, and so do we.
Christy is a little quieter than the first day. It could be one of two reasons. One, Lisa is coming out of her shell and being a great friend. Or two, she’s hurt. Either way, I really hope tonight, being off campus, maybe she will be able to relax a little and have fun.
After my second beer, I scoot out of my chair. “I need to use the restroom.”
“Don’t pop the cork,” Jamie warns.
“What?” I giggle.
“You’re in for a long night if you pee now. Hold it. Tighten the seal.”
“I’ll go, too,” Christy says. “We both should have went before we left.”
* * *
Standing at the mirror, washing our hands, I see her looking at herself. She looks much like I’m sure I do—questioning what it is about me that makes boys seem interested before I look the other way so she doesn’t catch me wondering.
I’m pretty sure with me, it’s one of three things.
1. My personality. It’s either me being what everyone wants me to be, or me being...me.
2. Brody Hines.
3. Maddox Hines.
I hate to see someone else scrutinize themselves.
“You are beautiful,” I tell her, which makes her look at me like I’m crazy. “What? You are. I’d kill to have your skin tone—olive, and not pasty white.” I hold my arm out to hers. “And your hair, the texture, the color, it’s not drab and brown like mine, or bottle blonde like half the campus. Your face is a heart-shaped. Christy, again, stunning. And that bod...” I push myself to smack her butt. “I’d kill to have that pooper.”
To that, she cracks up, and then, then she hugs me. I hug her back.
“I’m being pathetic, aren’t I?” she whispers.
“No, not at all,” I whisper back.
“Why are we whispering?”
“Makes it less real?” I ask.
She sighs. “Insecurities suck.”
“Yep, but on stage, we can be whoever we want.”
She steps back. “We sure can.”
“You mad at Jamie?” I whisper.
“Honestly, no,” she whispers back. “I just, I don’t know. I mean, why did he show interest in me if it was her? And furthermore, what the hell is he doing not paying her any attention at all now? I’m not mad at her,” she says like it’s her final answer on Jeopardy. “I want to kick his stupid ass. I mean who...does that?”
“Man-children.”
She laughs as we walk out.
As soon as we come out of the little hallway, I see Logan, who’s looking around. His eyes meet mine, and then his jaw tightens like he’s angry. I roll mine and continue walking.
“Oh, great,” she sighs, and I look over at her. “They’re here.”
“So?” I tell her. “We were here first.”
I continue looking at Christy, avoiding Logan’s whiplash-inducing stare. I mean, we are on better terms. I wouldn’t say friendly, because apparently, guys like Logan can’t be friends with girls, and that’s just fine by me when it comes to him. I mean, he’s...whiplash.
We sit down and both grab our refilled beer glasses. “To girls’ night out,” I toast, raising my glass.
“I’ll drink to that.” Jamie taps her glass to mine.
“Let’s chug,” Christy suggests.
And so, we do, all four of us.
“Elle for the win!” Lisa exclaims, and I lift my arms in victory.
That’s when I hear another familiar voice.
“Is that?”
“No clue. Come on, Dad; let’s get to our table,” Logan says.
Immediately, I want to hide, but also… also I am suddenly filled with a more intense need. A need to burp.
I cover my mouth, hoping like crazy I can hold it back, or at least muffle it. Unfortunately, I fail, and it’s not a quick, little belch either. As it finally ends, I look around, hoping I wasn’t seen. However, then I hear Lucas, Logan’s father, laugh out loud, and then I see Logan nudge him.
I look away quickly, and that’s when I hear Mitch.
“Damn, girl.” He laughs. “On a scale of one to ten, that was an eleven.”
I want to die.
To further my embarrassment, Mitch waves Lucas and Logan over. “Come meet our new friends, Mr. Links.”
“Sure thing.” Lucas grins. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
“Dad, come on,” Logan mumbles.
“This table is free,” the blonde, all-too-bubbly hostess points to the table next to us. And I want to c
rawl under it.
I know Lucas knows I’m Elle here, but hello...beer!
Lucas laughs as he sits down...facing me. “That’s perfect, right, men?”
I give Logan a “please don’t do this to me” look, and his facial features change from annoyance to smug bastard.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“So, Mitch, how about you introduce us to your new friends?”
Lucas is enjoying this way too much, like waaaaay too much.
“We met these ladies at Sadler the other night.” Mitch nods at Jamie then begins his introductions. “Jamie, Lisa, Christy, and Elle, this is Lucas Links.”
I looked around, anywhere but at him, and I noticed Jamie grinning in his direction.
“You’re Lucas Links?” The way she says it is with recognition.
I glance at Logan. His jaw is working, muscles twitching, and he pulls his white hat down, covering his eyes.
“I am.” He winks.
“Number 12, quarterback, one year and moved on to the pros.” She smiles brightly.
Lucas chuckles and thumbs toward Logan. “Father to this one, number 42. ‘Cuse football fan, same as you, apparently.”
“I did my homework,” Jamie admits.
“She did,” Mitch chimes in. “She knows a whole hell of a lot about Orangeman history.”
I look at the way Mitch looks at her, smitten, and she notices, too. When she rolls her eyes at him, as if he’s annoying to her and looks back at Lucas, I can’t help grinning. Then she orders two pitchers of beer from the waitress and she and Lucas talk football.
For a girl from the south, she knows a hell of a lot about Syracuse University’s history.
“Drink up, Elle,” she says when she fills everyone’s glasses with the fourth pitcher in half an hour.
“Nah.” I shake my head.
“Drank too much the other night, huh?” Mitch jokes and looks at Lucas. “We took these ladies out, and they got so drunk. This one threw up.”
“Is that so?” I feel Lucas’s eyes burning into me, and I sink lower into my seat.
“God, you’re an idiot,” Jamie snaps at Mitch.
“Me?” He forces a laugh.
Again, she glares at him.
“Damn, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today, Jamie?” Mitch pokes fun at her.
She waves him off and looks at Lucas. “It happens, Lucas Links.”
“Lucas is just fine, Jamie.” Lucas chuckles as he hands the menu to the waitress.
I am mortified and look toward Logan, hoping he will do something about it. He has also sunk lower in his seat, white hat pulled down over his eyes so I can’t see them to know what he’s thinking. Not that he gives his eyes to anyone often, but when he does, they are beautifully telling. No words, no paragraphs. No, a whole story pours out of them when he allows them to.
I have seen it with Ava and him. Never with me of course, so I have learned to read the dimples. And right now, they hint that he is amused. The slight shudder of his shoulders scream I’m right.
“So, you girls are what, juniors?” Lucas is clearly playing the game.
I glance at Logan again to see he’s biting the side of his lip, and his dimples get even deeper.
“No, we’re—” Christy stops and whispers, “Ouch.”
“Yep,” Lisa answers instead.
Lucas shakes his head. “I remember being a twenty-one-year-old here at SU.”
Jamie laughs. “But you left after freshman year.”
“Exactly.” Lucas laughs.
7
Drives...Me crazy
London
The past two weeks have been insane. Totally insane. It started with me calling my mom the night Lucas saw us out to thank her for the ID. That was a bad idea. She adamantly denied sending it, and then she went on an hour-long rant about alcoholism. My father was an alcoholic, and she didn’t want to see me go down the same path. I reminded her that I knew that, and I also knew we had discussed it being a choice to let it consume me.
After that, I sent Logan a message, thanking him. I mean, who else would have sent it?
His reply was:
- You’re fucking joking, right? LL
- No. Mom didn’t send it, so I figured...
- You figured wrong. I didn’t go out as a freshman. I was focused. You should be, too. LL
I didn’t reply. It was annoying. I was the most focused person I knew in high school, and I certainly would be here, too.
My schedule was stacked with Monday, Wednesday, and Friday classes. Having taken AP classes in high school, I was able to bypass those and jump right into what I loved—music and theatre. My first class, Intro to Theatre, was at nine in the morning. Next was Vocal Technique One, followed by studio writing. My last class was Piano Techniques. Dance was also required, and lucky for me, ballet was offered from seven until eight fifty. Jazz and Tap followed a two-hour break after classes. Dance not being my strongest, I was also taking three hours at an off-campus studio on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.
My roommates and I didn’t have the exact same schedule, but I had two classes with Jamie, and one with both Christy and Lisa. On top of those courses and the additional dance classes I was taking, we were required to participate in the drama departments Thursday lab, where we would participate in scenes, meet guest artists, talk to alumni, and have discussions.
I was in my dorm by six at night, except on Wednesdays, to study. And each night before bed, I spoke to Mom and Brody every other night, and Lexi on the opposite nights. I am pretty sure Mom doesn’t think I have a drinking problem anymore.
Today at Vocal Techniques, I was unable to hold a note as long as normal and decided I would try to swim every morning to help with my breathing control.
“You going to bed already?” Jamie asks as I walk out of the bathroom in my robe.
“Yeah, gonna swim in the morning.”
“Swim?” they all ask at the same time.
“Yeah,” I reply, toweling my hair. “Maybe start running again, too. It worked for old Blue Eyes.”
“Sinatra?” Lisa asks.
“Or Lucas Links?” Jamie wags her eyebrows. “Now that’s a DILF.”
“Speaking of DILF.” Christy giggles and turns up the music. “I would give it up to this man, or his son, any day of the week.”
“Brody and Maddox Hines,” Lisa swoons.
I want to throw up. In fact, I may have just done so in my mouth.
“You okay?” Jamie asks, seeing my face contort.
“Just tired. I’ll see you all in the morning or at class.”
Lisa looks over my face. “Well, get some sleep. We’ll see you in the morning.”
* * *
Archbold is located on the North campus, not South where the football team housing is located, so I assume the gym won’t be busy, especially at five thirty in the morning. I am wrong.
After swiping my student ID card, I quickly make my way to the locker room and change into my tankini.
Standing on the diving board, I am thankful I’m one of three people in this Olympic size pool. I don’t bother dipping my toe in. If it’s cold, I will hesitate, and I don’t have time to hesitate. I hardly have time to breathe. Whoever said college was easier than high school clearly wasn’t a theatre major.
It’s not easy, but I do eighty lengths, which is only one point two miles. Then I decide to forget the Uber and run back to Lawrinson Hall, adding another two miles to my morning before dancing all day.
It’s Thursday, so I only have one more day of actual classes before the weekend. It’ll be busy Saturday, with SU playing at home. I will enjoy the day by sleeping in and not leaving the dorms.
Running in place, waiting for the crosswalk light to change colors, I take my pulse, hoping to keep my heart rate up. That’s when someone blares their horn from behind me. My heart rate certainly rises.
I look up, half-expecting to be mowed down by a vehicle, and see Logan leaning out of his t
ruck.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, still jogging in place.
“Get in the damn truck, London.”
“Elle,” I correct him loudly.
“Your girls aren’t here,” he defends. “Now get in.”
“I’m fine, Logan.”
“Get in or I’ll drag you in here,” he threatens as horns blare behind him.
“Go.” I wave him on. “You’re holding up traffic.”
“You’re holding it up. Get in and that problem is solved,” he demands, throwing the door open.
I climb into his big, old truck since he’s not leaving and is making a huge scene.
“You seriously piss me off,” I tell him.
He peels out as the light turns yellow.
“Logan, no!” I scream, nearing panic as I buckle my seatbelt.
“Fuck. Sorry.” He pulls over quickly.
“It’s already buckled!” I yell at him.
“Said I’m sorry, London.” He pulls his hat down, covering his eyes.
My hands are shaking as I reach over and grab his hat, throwing it out the window.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks as horns start blowing again.
“You made me get in, then you can’t wait until I freaking buckle to take off!”
“Said I was sorry,” he says, looking briefly over at me. “But what the hell does that have to do with my damn hat?”
“Can you even see when it’s pulled down like that?”
“I can assure you—”
“Will you just go!” I cut him off as horns start blowing again.
“My hat,” he hisses.
“Get a new one.” I hold on to the seatbelt with one hand and the oh shit handle with the other. “Go!”
He drives a block, my heart racing, his jaw twitching, and then pulls into an empty parking lot.
“What are you doing?”
He throws it in park then turns his whole body and glares at me.
“Oh, don’t you even act like any or this is my damn fault, Logan Links!”
He doesn’t say a damn word, but those freaking eyes aren’t masked right now, and I see anger, confusion, frustration, irritation, and more confusion all directed at me. I don’t know whether to applaud their performance or slug him in that bulging arm.
