He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and eyes me warily. Finally he says, “You’re that nervous?”
“Petrified.”
Henry lifts an eyebrow and says, “I think I can help.”
“Really? How?” I ask, but he’s already opened his apartment door and stepped inside.
“Follow me.”
On unsteady heels, I enter the apartment after him.
*
I watch Henry as he packs the small clay bowl. This is his solution. Getting high. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not surprised. If anything, I’m grateful.
“Why don’t you live with Tate? You two have been friends forever.”
“He lives in the fraternity house,” he says. His pink tongue darts out and licks his finger.
“And you didn’t join?”
“Uh, yeah I joined, but things didn’t work out so well.”
“What do you mean?”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m not really great with rules and stuff. Or being told what to do.” He offers me the pipe end. “Ladies first.”
I shake my head. “No, you.”
He shrugs like any stoner happy to get first the first shot. Henry licks his lips and thumbs the lighter. The bright orange flame bursts from the tip. He inhales deep, like a pro. When he’s finished, he hands me the lighter and bowl.
I’m less adept and fumble with the lighter. Henry exhales, coating the room in a haze of smoke and takes the lighter from me. “Here,” he says.
The paper is damp between my lips and I inhale, the smoke burning my throat. I hold it in as long as possible, which isn’t long at all. Smoke and air burst from my lungs in a loud cough and my eyes burn. “Sorry,” I bark between gasps of air.
He doesn’t reply but takes the pipe back and hits it again. Back and forth we go, my lungs slowly acclimating to the stinging heat. Henry and I sit across from one another and I hazily look around the room. Typical college furniture fills the room and posters line the walls. A huge canvas hangs over Henry’s head. It has a graphic, comic-y feel to it. I see the initials H. F. in the bottom corner.
Henry glances upward and says, “I painted that for class. It’s lopsided though and drives me crazy.”
Tilting my head, I try to figure out what he means, but everything seems sort of wavy right now. I look down and see Henry lean back on a black futon, his legs stretched under the coffee table. He has small fuzzy hair on his knees that I want to touch.
I’m sitting in a strange gold corduroy chair. I run my thumb down the fabric. We’re oddly matched and I start to giggle looking at my skin tight pants.
Henry smiles lazily. “What?”
“This.” I point to my outfit. “You’re dressed all normal and I’m in this ridiculous get up.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t look ridiculous. You look hot.”
Despite the numbness of the weed, I feel my cheeks heat. My tongue is loose and my body feels out of my control. I cross my legs slowly revealing the heeled boots. “Superhero fetish?”
His eyes travel from the boots to my boobs up to my eyes. “Something like that.”
Henry’s an enigma. Funny and nice. Sort of a hipster and obviously a bit of rebel, but more than once we’ve had this energy pulse through us that I can’t put my finger on. Attraction? Friends? Maybe Josh is right and I’m just chicken.
“Do you still write?” he asks.
“I try. But I’ve been a little blocked lately.” Lately is an understatement. Ever since the crap hit the fan at Elton I’ve floundered.
“I always liked your stuff in the school paper.”
“My emo, high school bullshit? I was so full of pretention.”
“Nah, it was good. I liked the short stories the best. My favorite one was about the dog. You know that could talk?”
“Really? That was my favorite one, too.” I say. “Other than ‘Fuck You, Henry Fletcher’, of course.”
“Of course.”
My phone buzzes on the couch next to me and I pick it up. Tate’s on his way. “I should go out front. Tate should be here in a minute.”
Henry nods and we both stand. I’m clumsy on my feet and he grabs my arm, steadying me. We’re standing close and I can feel the heat of his skin through my tight shirt. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, definitely calmer,” I stare at his chin, at the heavy stubble, afraid to look in his eyes. His fingers linger on my elbow but then he takes my phone and starts pressing buttons. “What are you doing?”
“I added my number. Call me if you need anything.”
“You’re coming, right?” I ask.
“Probably,” is the most he’ll answer. “Be careful, okay?”
I’m at the door and can see Tate getting out of his car. I don’t want him to come up here. “I will.” I pause and give Henry a hug. “I really appreciate it. Maybe now I won’t make an ass out of myself.”
He laughs and lets me go, shutting the door behind me. The summer air hits my skin and I’m immediately sweating. Tate sees me on the steps and whistles. I whistle back because he’s dressed in some sort of armor, his biceps bulging and his abs peeking out under a breast plate. Holy cow.
“Ready?” he asks, offering me his hand.
I stifle a giggle at the whole scene, mostly because I’m a little baked. “Yep, let’s go kick some ass.”
Chapter Six
I’ve been to fraternity parties before. The last one at Elton turned into a life-changing disaster. That’s my trend. Turning normal events into a crisis-worthy disaster. The solution? Running like hell.
Elton was such a small school that everyone was invited. We drank crappy beer and suspicious red punch, and once my roommates and I consumed way too many mushrooms in some guy’s bedroom before puking them up under a giant magnolia tree on campus. It was still cliquey but again, everyone mingled. Everyone knew everyone. This party is different. The Kappa Sigs have a huge house near the edge of campus. Brick with huge white columns. It looks like a plantation home from the outside. Huge Greek letters sit in the yard announcing the fraternity’s affiliation and people mill around everywhere dressed in tights and capes. Most of the girls chose Wonder Woman or Cat Woman (obviously the patent leather Halle Berry one). I wait for someone to stop me on the way up the massive stairs and ask who I am and what I’m doing here but it’s silly. Everyone knows Tate. And everyone can tell I’m with Tate by the way his hand never leaves mine.
It’s all so…weird.
The weed made me calm and I follow Tate through the house, past the questioning looks and stares. “Why is everyone looking at me?” I whisper as he hands me a drink I’m not planning to consume. I fake taking a sip. Weed and booze are not a good mix for me. Trust.
“Because you’re new,” Tate says. “And you’re with me.”
Something I’m learning about Tate is that he’s absolutely adorable. The egotistical swagger that made me dislike him in high school is still in force here, but I’ve got a different view and I realize I may have been a little harsh in my assessment. The attitude isn’t ego, it’s confidence. Dimples and a wide, easy smile make him impossible not to love. He charms the room, but never leaves my side. No one here knows me, not a soul, but they all treat me nicely because of him. He’s a God in this room and for this very strange night I’m sort of his Goddess. Tate is perfect, but even so, he’s almost too perfect for me. The more time we spent together, the more I realized I liked him; I just didn’t like, like him.
His hand links with mine, introducing me to people. I fight him a little at first but then remind myself that I’m breaking out of my shell. And no one knows me here. No one cares. The warmth of his skin against mine lacks a spark but that’s okay. In fact it’s more than okay.
“Go in the photo booth with me,” he asks. We pose like superheroes. Tate with his huge hammer and I pull out my toy gun. For the third photo he picks me up like I’m light as a feather. On the fourth photo I’m blinded by the flash and the feel
ing of his lips on my cheek.
“What was that?” I ask, with narrowed eyes. Several girls nod and whisper from nearby.
“Just having fun,” he promises. Probably true, but there’s something else going on here, for sure.
We walk through the kitchen to the back deck. Tate fills our cups and he leans against the wooden railing and takes a long swallow. I watch, surprised, as he places his cup on top of the rail and lights a cigarette. He watches me back.
“What?” I ask. My tongue is still bold from the weed and the few sips of punch.
“You’re alright, Pip.”
“I don’t even know what that means?” I say, shaking my head.
“It means I like you and I’m not sure why we weren’t friends before.”
I choke on my drink. “Because I’m younger and back in high school you didn’t notice me.” I eye him warily. “Or now you think you can get in my pants. Oh wait, and you were a douche.”
I don’t know what reaction I expect to get, but all Tate has for me is a smile. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve noticed you for a long time.”
“Oh, really?” No chance.
“Yes, really. Pretty girls are usually on my radar and Austin High was in short supply.”
My cheeks burn. He called me pretty. Now I’m sure he’s trying to get in my pants. I have to admit his methods are pretty solid. “You don’t seem like the type to hold back from asking a girl out. Our age difference wasn’t that much.”
“True,” he said, pressing the cigarette between his lips and inhaling. “But, I had my reasons.”
“Care to share?”
“Nope.”
I can’t even begin to imagine how my life would have been altered if Tate had been into me in high school. No idea if it would have been better or worse but it sure as hell would have been different.
“And now? What is this now?”
“I know things got weird for us at the end of senior year. We were stupid, and Henry…”
“Henry what?” I ask, heart drumming.
A freshman walks by in an apron carrying a tray of Dixie cups. “Hold up,” Tate says to the kid, scooping a handful. He gives me a couple and I peer inside.
“Jell-o shots?”
He raises his to mine in a toast and says, “Here’s to summer, Pip. Growing up and taking risks.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about but he looks pretty as hell when he says it. I squeeze the paper cup into my mouth and say through a mouthful of Jell-o, “To summer!”
Chapter Seven
Things I remember from that night:
Lime green Jell-o shots that match Tate’s eyes.
Arguing with a guy dressed like Superman that he sucks because he isn’t an Avenger.
Snuggling with Tate on the porch.
I remember him smelling good. Like laundry and man-boy. I remember relaxing because his arms felt safe around me, until the swaying and swinging make my head spin and my stomach hurt.
When I look for Tate for help, he’s gone. He gets a series of texts and wanders off, leaving me alone with a bunch of strangers including more than one girl giving me the stink-eye.
“Bathroom?” I ask the crowd around me. It comes out a slurry mess. One girl points toward the house but I run in the opposite direction to the edge of the deck. Even tripping over my heel, I manage to make it in time, puking over the railing. The definitive splatter of liquefied Jell-o echoes off the concrete below.
Oh no.
*
Things I don’t remember from that night (but were relayed to me the next morning by Tricia):
Being unable to find Tate at the party.
Calling Henry to come pick me up.
Threatening to kick a sorority girl dressed as Wonder Woman in the ass.
Attempting to kick Wonder Woman in the ass and missing and face planting in the front yard of the party.
Henry carrying me to the car.
Henry pulling the car over so I could puke again and falling out of the still-moving car on my face.
Asking Henry if he knew his eyes were as blue as raspberry Jell-O. (No, apparently he did not know this.)
“You’re kidding,” I say to Tricia the next day. She’s sitting on my bed fighting to appear sympathetic.
“Nope, I wish I was honey, but no.”
“He dragged me home?” Poor Henry.
“Carried.” She hands me two aspirin and a bottle of water.
I lie back on my bed and cover my face with a pillow and moan, long and throaty. I want to scream but my throat hurts from puking. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing huge,” she says. “You just can’t handle your liquor.”
I sigh. “It was the weed and the liquor. Deadly combination. Like last time.”
Tricia frowns. “What last time?”
I stare at my friend and roommate and realize I have to come clean. Like really come clean. “Is Josh here?”
“He’s in his room.”
Tricia hops up and bangs on his door. He comes out, hair sticking in a dozen directions, rubbing his eyes. “What?”
She waves him into my room and he crawls in under the covers. His nose twitches and he makes a repulsed face. “What the hell is that smell?”
“I got kind of sick last night. Sorry.” I shift over.
“And your face!” He narrows his eyes. “Please don’t tell me that’s rug burn or something.”
“She fell out of Henry’s car,” Tricia says. Traitor.
“Henry? What about Tate?”
I cut in. “Listen, I haven’t been completely honest with you guys.”
They glance at one another and Josh slips his fingers through mine. “I didn’t leave school for the reasons I told you. I mean the size and classes mattered. The university does have the major-related courses I need and Elton didn’t. But there was this thing and…” I trail off, already embarrassed.
“What happened?” Tricia asks.
I pick at my bedspread and fight a wave of nausea that I’m not sure is from the night before or from spilling this story. Probably both.
“Basically I made a raging fool of myself in front of the whole school,” I confess. “Tyler and I were at this frat party and I did the same thing. Weed plus alcohol and it fucks with my head. I hardly remember anything but someone caught me on video.”
Josh squeezes my hand. “Doing what?”
“Well, first I got on the top of the fraternity house bar and did my best Coyote Ugly impression. After that I sang Sweet Child of Mine, including an air guitar solo with some girl I don’t know. Tyler tried to get me down and I flipped him off a couple of times. The grand finale was when I slipped and fell, landing on my face, ass up.”
They both stare at me, mouths hanging.
“Oh and I had on a dress and nothing on underneath.”
Tricia slaps a hand over her still gaping mouth. “No.”
“Yep, I flashed my ass and vag for everyone on campus to see. It was what the kids call, ‘Epic’.” I use my fingers to make air quotes.
Josh shakes his head. “And this was on video?”
I nod, feeling the tightness in my chest. “Some asshat loaded it on Youtube and sent it around campus. I got called into my advisor’s office and referred to an addiction program. The frat was put on probation for serving alcohol to a minor. My small school community became microscopic. Everyone knew me and recognized me.”
“Oh no. Did you just play it off? Like no big deal?” Josh asks. He could totally do this. He’s confident and adorable and men and women would pay to see him in his underpants.
“I started having panic attacks. Everything seemed so close. I couldn’t handle walking across campus and everyone knowing who I was and laughing at me, even if it was just in fun. My life was a mess. The professors knew about it. My parents were called out of concern. The frat was pissed at me for getting them in trouble,” I explain. “Tyler and I broke up. I wouldn’t go out and he got pissed tha
t I got so freaking depressed about it. The whole thing was a disaster and I just moved back here.”
“Oh honey.” Tricia wraps me in a hug. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone else to know. I just wanted one place where I felt safe. The school did get the video pulled, thank god, but only because it made them look bad.” Tears well in my eyes and I wipe them away with the back of my hand “Now I’ve done it again. Embarrassed the crap out of myself, this time at a bigger school.” I drop my hands into my face. “This is why I didn’t want to push the thing with Henry or break out of my shell. Look what happens when I do!”
“Look,” Josh says, sitting up. “This school is way bigger and no one will care about a puking girl in an Avengers suit. You’re going to have to suck this one up because you can’t hide forever. Also, no more weed and drinks. Pick one or the other.”
“Seriously,” I agree. “I’ve learned my lesson. And stupid Tate. Bailing on me like that. I have the worst judgment with guys.”
“To be fair he called here about fifteen times last night. He feels really bad,” Tricia says.
“Ugh,” I groan, slumping into Josh’s side. “I’m pretty pissed he bailed on me. He swore he wouldn’t and then it sounds like I embarrassed the crap out of myself with Henry.”
Josh pulls me into a tight hug but recoils after a couple seconds. “Honey, I love you and we’ll get through this but you have got to take a shower because oh my god you’re nasty.”
I open an eye and glare at Josh. “The only way I’ll get out of bed and clean up is if we can go get waffles.”
“Done.”
*
That afternoon, I slide a piece of paper under Henry’s door.
I’m barely up the first level of steps when he opens the door with the paper between two slim fingers. “What’s this?”
I press my head against the railing. “Just read it.”
“Why?”
“Oh my god. Just. Read. It.” He looks skeptical. Maybe he suspects I puked on it. I grind my teeth and said, “Please.”
Because he has to make me feel worse he reads it out loud. I stare at the wall.
No Regrets Page 6
