The Girl I Was Before

by Ginger Scott

  School starts next week, and I know Paige is flying in later today. She at least sent me a text about that. I’ve already got Casey prepped to help me move her things. I have a feeling Paige comes with a lot of things. Just like Barbie, she has…accessories.

  The store has been busy this week, with the students returning. A lot of people are stocking up on things like beer, bread, and peanut butter—pretty much the college-diet staples. The beer thing stresses Sheila out. Freshmen buy more beer than anyone, but they are also the ones not allowed. Sheila cards everyone, and I know most of those IDs are fake, but she gets overwhelmed, pulling her glasses down her nose and trying to match up the photos to the faces. I took over that duty today, and so far, I’ve been called a dickhead and a pussy for telling two guys to beat it.

  “Hey…sandwich guy,” his voice fills the store before he even makes it to the counter. Paige’s ex-boyfriend is an asshole. She hasn’t talked about him once, so I’m assuming that’s done. It better be. I think I’ll kick her out if it’s not.

  “Hey, asshole,” I say. I’m feeling brave, and now that I stand here, a little more prepared, I realize we’re the same height. I’m pretty sure I could take him if he threw a punch at me while I was looking.

  He spits—on the floor of the grocery store—and looks back up at me, his six-pack of beer in his hand. I shake my head and grab the mop rag from behind the register and round the counter. Holding his gaze, I drop the rag on the area he just spit and wipe it around with my foot. I don’t pick it up again, instead kicking it into the corner behind the register, next to the trash.

  “Dude, this place has bad service,” he says. “I’ve been standing here for almost five minutes now.”

  “Oh that’s because you spit on the floor like a fucking douchebag so I plan on ignoring you now,” I say, internally noting he’s only been waiting for thirty seconds, at the most. Lying douchebag.

  He shoves his beer forward with his fingers, as if somehow moving it closer is going to inspire me to do something about it. I lean back, pulling out the magazine Sheila has stashed under the register, and I flip through a few pages. It’s one of those chick magazines, about diet and organizing your life. It only takes a few seconds for him to reach over the counter and grab it from my hands, tossing it to the side.

  “What’s your fucking problem, bro?” he asks, tossing a twenty down on top of the beer.

  I look at it, then to him, then back to the money. Placing my finger on the bill, I slowly slide it toward me, lifting it with two fingers and holding it up between us.

  “What’s this for?” I ask. I catch Sheila watching us beyond his shoulder. She’s shaking her head, but she’s not worried. She knows I can take him too. And she’s sick of being pushed around. I’m sick of watching her be pushed around.

  “Listen, jack-off! Just ring up the beer, and I’ll get out of here,” he says.

  I fold the bill into quarters and hand it back to him, letting it linger in my hand waiting for him to take it.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, bro,” I say, and I hear Sheila snicker behind him. When he turns to look at her, she busies herself quickly, pretending to straighten the deli display. Chuck is now peering out of his office. He’s…less amused.

  Carson—I think that’s his name—pulls the bill from my hand, crinkles it and tosses it against my chest. I let it fall to the ground.

  “Keep the change,” he says, picking up the beer and tucking it under his arm. I pick up his money quickly and round the counter, confronting him—chest to chest. I grab the beer before he has time to react, shoving his crumpled money back at him.

  “You’re not of age. And I know you’re not. I read the football roster, and you’re a sophomore—a true sophomore. That makes you…twenty at the most?

  “Dude, fuck you! Give me my beer,” he says, reaching for it. I tug it away, toying with him. I can actually see his face growing red. I step back behind the counter and drop his beer in a cart to restock later. I turned my back for a fraction of a second, and in that time, he’s raced around the counter and has the collar of my shirt in his hand. The sensation of him yanking me backward chokes me a little. I see Chuck step out from his office with a bat in his hand. No way am I letting this guy kick my ass again.

  I push hard, using my legs to shove him until his back is flat against the rack of firewood and propane—the lock digging into his shoulder blade. He works his arms around to grab more of my shirt, but I’m so full of adrenaline now, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to get me off him.

  “I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to leave this store…right now!” I seethe. “If I ever hear you are in here—that you’re trying to get away with your shitty-ass fake ID, or that you’re being a disrespectful asshole—I will find where you live, wake your ass up in the middle of the night, and drag you into the middle of the street to make sure your pleas for help echo for all of those nobodies that give a shit.”

  My face is close to his. I sniff once, and lean my head to the side to crack my neck. The more I stare at his smug face, the more I wonder about how he treated Paige. I wonder if he ever hit her…or if he just treated her like shit with his words. Neither is acceptable, but if he touched her—hurt her physically—I will kill him now, without any more reason.

  “Whatever, dude,” he says finally, pushing out from my arms, his muscles relaxing their hold on me. As he walks away, I keep my muscles flexed; I’ve learned he fights dirty. He’d turn around and clock me when I wasn’t expecting it. I watch him walk all the way out the door, down the sidewalk, and around the building.

  “Houston,” Chuck says, his voice carrying a sense of scolding. Chuck doesn’t like problems. Part of owning a business in a college town is dealing with young tempers. I just became one.

  “Sorry, Chuck,” I say, looking down at the dirty rag crumpled on the floor and the wheels of the cart with ten bucks of beer inside. “That guy pushes my buttons, and I sort of let it get to me.” He gets to me, and I’m tired of letting him get to me. I’m tired of not acting like a twenty-one-year-old.

  I stare up into Chuck’s eyes, silently apologizing, but showing him how tired I am of everything. He walks over and looks at the rag, bends down, picks it up and drops it in the basket. He leans his head toward the cart. “Go on and put that back, then throw the rag in the washer. Maybe this is a good time for your break, yeah?” he says, patting me twice on the shoulder.

  “Yeah…maybe,” I say, pulling my clothing straight, turning my collar and re-tucking my shirt.

  I get to the back of the store, my heart still pounding from almost getting punched in the face, when my phone chirps. I pull it from my pocket, my nostrils flaring with my heavy breath as I sit against the stack of cardboard bundled along the wall.

  I need your help with something. It’s stupid. But it’s important.

  Paige needs my help. I notice those words first, and my heart kicks into action. I’m standing and reading again when I get the rest of the message—what she needs is stupid. She needs me, and I jumped. That’s…that’s probably not good.

  I text her back.

  Okay, I’m your guy for stupid, important things. Whatcha need?

  It takes her a while to write, and eventually I get back to work, now restocking shelves and cleaning the aisles. Seems Chuck thinks I should stay away from people for the rest of the day. I’m just finishing the last aisle when Paige finally messages me.

  I need you to meet me at my sister’s dorm. Hayden. And bring help.

  I start to write back, but I have too many questions. I give up on the last aisle and pull my apron and badge off, rolling them as I walk into Chuck’s office. I stuff them in my cubby and pull out my keys and hat. As I turn to leave, I catch Chuck’s attention on me, his feet on his desk and the bat still in his hands. He’s trying to be intimidating. He’s in his sixties, but the man has several tattoos from his years in the Navy. I’ve only heard the stories behind a few of t
hem, but the one’s I’ve heard have all ended with a guy with a broken arm, nose, or face at the end.

  Deciding it’s better to just own up to my outburst, I wipe my hand dry along my pants and walk over to where he’s sitting and reach out my hand. He pats the bat in his hand a few times before finally resting it on his desk and leaning forward to grab my hand. We shake once.

  “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again,” I say, looking down as I slide my hat on. Old man or not, I still don’t want to make eye contact and deal with facing his disappointment. That shit sucks.

  “Sounds good,” he says, returning to his resting position, picking the bat up again.

  Once I’m in my car, I dial Paige, and she answers quickly.

  “You didn’t have to call,” she says. I smile at her greeting, and then I laugh over the fact that this is what I’ve missed for two days.

  “And hello to you. Yes, I had a fine day, thank you for asking,” I tease.

  “Oh, don’t be an asshole. I’m at the airport, about to get on a plane. What do you want?” she asks.

  “Uh, you need me…remember?” I say. She’s being a little meaner than usual.

  “Oh,” she says, and I can tell she also means sorry. “Hang on,” she says. I hear someone speaking over the loudspeaker at the airport, and the voice grows quieter until I can barely hear it. “Okay, I’m in the ladies room.”

  “Sexy,” I say, knowing it will piss her off.

  “Gross! This is not sexy, Houston. We pee here; that’s all,” she says.

  “Well, maybe that’s all you’ve done,” I tease. I should probably get to the point, but I haven’t talked to her for a few days, and the last time she was pissed at me. Joking with her is kind of fun.

  “Right, like you’ve had sex in an airport,” she says, her voice so sure. She has that I-know-I’m-right tone. I’m going to shock her.

  “I’ve had sex lots of places…Paige,” I say, and there is no mistaking my innuendo. There’s a long quiet between us. That…saying that…to her…it felt strange to do. That was me—completely obliterating the line I thought was so important this morning. Mentally, I draw it right back in place, and check myself to make sure I don’t let that voice slip out again. It also felt kind of good, which is an even bigger reason to draw that line again—this time in permanent marker.

  “What do you need, Paige?” I ask, wincing that I’ve set her off, made her uncomfortable, or…I don’t know…that I’m now some creep.

  She takes her time answering, and I can tell she’s affected by what I said. “I told you in the text,” she says, clearing her throat, trying to regain her place as the dominant one. It makes me smile.

  “You told me to meet you at Hayden Hall. But…when? What am I doing? And you said bring help?” I don’t want to tell her, but I don’t really have help to bring. I’ll call Casey—if I have to—and maybe his roommate can come. But that’s all I’ve got…unless she wants a church secretary and a four-year-old to show up to this thing.

  “We land at about four, if you can be there then. And I’ll explain more. Just…just be ready to move things. Lot’s of things,” she says. “Oh, that’s us. I gotta go. See you soon! Miss you!”

  And just like that, Paige is back on top.

  Miss you? Miss you. She…misses…me.

  Line gone.

  Again.

  Paige

  Shit!

  That just slipped out. Miss you. I said, “Miss you.” I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone. Maybe my old life. My high school life—the one that was simple and didn’t require planning or plotting or moving in with a dude I met at the grocery store. I fucking miss you? What the hell.

  That last sentence is all I think about the entire flight back to Oklahoma. I’ve been pretending to read a magazine, not wanting to talk to Cass because it’s her fault I called Houston in the first place. She has a scheme cooked up to prank her boyfriend and his brother, and that’s what I need his help with. I’m helping her—Houston is helping me. Cass’s fault.

  We get to the dorm, exchanging a few words about her plan, what she needs me to do, but now that we’re back here, I can’t help but let thoughts of Chandra creep back in too. I’m moving tomorrow morning. If I had my way, I’d move everything tonight—before more people are there.

  Before Chandra is there.

  I wonder if my things have been destroyed or sold? I would have sold her things. In fact, that’s a good idea. If I’m ever in a position, I’m putting her things up on Craigslist—with her phone number!

  I let these thoughts of revenge amuse me for the elevator ride upstairs, but then reality slams right back into my face. Rowe, my old roommate, is jumping up and down. I smile, not a fake smile, but a real one—genuine—because Rowe…she’s actually always been good to me. Even when I wasn’t so good to her when we lived together. In a way, I’m kind of glad to have this chance to help her with something, no matter how unimportant it is. Maybe she and I can somehow start over too.

  “Okay, so here are their keys,” Rowe says, handing me a ring with hers and another set with a Playboy cover attached to it. I hold the keys up and dangle them in front of my sister.

  “These are your boyfriend’s keys,” I deadpan to Cass. Her boyfriend, Ty, is one of those over-the-top guys. I didn’t trust him at first. He’s in a wheelchair, but you don’t even notice because his personality is enormous—arrogant. His arrogance grew on me; maybe I recognize it in myself. Either way, watching him with Cass at my parents’ house when she was suffering last week sold me in his favor.

  “Apparently, she was Miss April 2009, and that makes her special,” Cass rolls her eyes.

  “I see,” I say, holding the laminated cover photo in front of me. It makes me think about the video floating around of me, and I wonder if maybe I’ll make someone’s key ring some day. Jesus, I hope not!

  “Are you sure you’re good with this?” Cass asks as she pushes the elevator button.

  “I can handle this,” I say as I pull my jacket from my arms and drop it on top of our suitcase. We came right here, which is good, because my things don’t really have a place to go until Houston shows up anyhow. I kick off my Jimmy Choos too, which for some reason, makes Rowe and Cass laugh.

  “What? I’m not lifting in those!” I motion down to my prized shoes, the ones I scored on after-Christmas clearance back home. I’ve wanted Jimmy Choos for years!

  Rowe and Cass only giggle more. I blow my hair out of my face and retie the band around my ponytail, trying to ignore them. My back is still to the elevator when it opens, so I don’t notice Houston step off, or the two guys he’s brought with him. Suddenly, though, I’m in his arms. He’s squeezing me tightly, lifting me from the ground, and spinning me.

  He’s…he’s happy to see me! Probably because I told him I missed him. And I did. But…not in the spin me around like a ballerina in love kind of way. His arms, though—they do feel…nice.

  “Okay, you can put me down now,” I say, purposely not looking up at him. I direct my gaze right to my shoes on the floor. I pick them up as soon as he sets me down, tucking them in my suitcase so they don’t get damaged, or stolen.

  “Sorry,” Houston says, and his mouth is grimacing. His friends are both looking at him trying not to laugh. “So,” he breathes out, clapping his hands together once. Back to business. No more whatever that was.

  “Hey, I’m Casey. And you must be the hot new roommate,” says one of the guys standing behind Houston. He reaches past him, his build nowhere near as broad or muscular, but he’s tall, and I immediately size him up to make sure he can lift things.

  “Hot new roommate, meet Casey, my dumb-ass friend,” Houston says as we shake hands. I can tell he’s annoyed that his friend called me hot, and in a way gave away the fact that Houston probably called me hot, too. I’ve been called hot before, though. This isn’t special. There are lots of other things about me, things that only someone who really understood me would point out. Hot isn’t on
e of them.

  “Dumb-ass Casey, nice to meet you,” I say, for Houston’s benefit. He seems happy when I take the dig at his friend. His smile dimples his cheek, and I…I notice.

  “I’m Eli,” the other guy says. This guy’s bigger, strong like Houston. His face is half covered in a beard, and he’s wearing a shirt with a beard on it.

  “Eli, nice to meet you. Clever shirt,” I say. He smiles and says thanks, even though I wasn’t really complimenting him. I glance at Houston, and he’s holding in a laugh. When our eyes meet, we both break a little and have to turn away. I need Eli to move a shitload of furniture, so I can’t go offending him right from the start.

  “So what are we doing here, Paige?” Houston asks, leaning against one of the hallway walls. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that hugs his body more than most of the things I’ve seen him in, and when he crosses his arms, I notice that there’s a tattoo on his right arm. I don’t have to ask to know it’s for her.

  “Follow me,” I say, walking down the hall toward my old room. The smell of paint is still strong, and when I open the door and see the horrible brown color that my sister’s boyfriend and his brother Nate have painted on the walls, I understand why my sister is doing this now. Rowe only sent pictures—and honestly, in the photos, it didn’t seem so bad. But seeing it live—in person? The brown paint looks more like a stain, a gigantic stain that drips all around the room. I have to give Ty credit—it’s pretty funny, and it’s far away from the pink we painted his room a few months ago.

  “Dude, the paint stinks,” Eli says as he steps into the room and around me. Houston and Casey are still behind me, surveying the space.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal. About three months ago, me, my sister, and our other roommate painted Ty and Nate’s room,” I start.

  “Who are Ty and Nate?” Casey asks, now covering his own nose with his sleeve. Babies. The paint smell isn’t that bad.

  “Keep up. Ty’s my sister’s boyfriend, and Nate’s his brother. He’s dating Rowe, my other old roommate. They have this stupid prank war. And now I have this to deal with,” I say, turning in a slow circle with my hand outstretched to take it all in. Their room honestly looks like one of those dens from the seventies. All it needs is orange shag carpet.