The Girl I Was Before

by Ginger Scott

  He pulls away, leaving me breathless, then steps back slowly, his grin growing with every inch he moves away. “Now get in there and make me breakfast, woman!” he says, winking. Without hesitation, I dip the spoon in the powder mix and fling it at Houston, dusting his black sweater with a stripe of white.

  “No, no,” I say. “We don’t even make jokes like that.”

  He bites his lip through his smile and looks down at his soiled sweater, then shakes his head before looking back up to me. My lips are still pursed, though I’m mostly kidding. “See?” he says, his eyes starting at mine, then drawing a slow, affectionate line down the center of my body to the hand holding the spoon. “Phenomenal,” he says, meeting my eyes one more time before turning to the stairs.

  “What happened here?” his mom asks, meeting him at the bottom step as they pass. She’s pulling at the center of his sweater. I turn around and begin pouring ingredients in my bowl.

  “Houston said something sexist,” I say, adding water and stirring.

  “Oh, well then lucky she didn’t hit you,” she says, and I smile, hearing him chuckle. It’s a stupid little thing, but I like that his mom is proud of me for it.

  I feel Joyce’s presence at the table behind me, and I can hear her sorting through some things in her purse. I know she needs to leave soon, so I’m hoping she will. As much as it felt good to have her be proud, it also feels uncomfortable having her watch me make pancakes. There’s always this look in her eye, something unsure.

  “Paige,” she says. I stop stirring and shut my eyes for a moment. Uncertainty is about to be voiced, I think. I wipe my arm over my forehead as I turn, pretending to have splashed something on my face. I don’t even know why I do that, other than I just need to be busy, to do something with my hands. I should have kept the bowl in them.

  “Yeah?” I ask, just as I would if she were about to ask me to reach something on a shelf or pick up milk at the store. That’s not what this is, though. I know it.

  “I need to ask you to do something for me,” she says. Milk? Shelf? Please? Anything, but…

  “Sure, Joyce,” I smile.

  She takes a deep breath while she pulls her things back into her purse, her words paused, sitting right on the cusp while she straightens for her day. It only takes a few seconds, but the torture of the wait feels like forever. When her eyes meet mine, they level me a little, and I turn around to grab the bowl, then face her again, holding it in front of me, like it’s a shield. I stir, my ears focusing on the rhythmic sound of my spoon. I wonder if she can tell how nervous I am right now? Her soft smile at me tells me she can.

  “Paige, Houston has a really big heart, and his capacity to love is maybe one of the things I’m most proud of,” she says. I keep stirring, my eyes on her, my focus on the tense muscle of my forearm. Stirring. I’m stirring.

  “He’s an amazing guy,” I say. I had to say something. I don’t know why that’s what I chose, but there was nothing else ready to come out. He’s an amazing guy. I sound so stupid. She smiles anyway; I’m pretty sure because she knows I’m still nervous around her. I’ve never really cared about winning someone over, but Joyce—I want her to like me.

  “He is,” she agrees, her expression warm. Thank you, Joyce, for taking pity on my nerves. “My son cares for you. He cares…a lot,” she says. My forearm is cramping, so I switch hands. Stirring. “Paige, he will love you, and it will be…” she pauses, looking for the right word.

  Amazing.

  Beautiful.

  A dream.

  What I want.

  “It will be devastating,” she says. Devastating—such a destructive word. So wounded. There’s nothing happy about devastating. I don’t respond; I’m still caught up in trying to understand how her interpretation of her son’s love for me could be so out of line with my own. “I need you to be sure, Paige. If you think there’s a chance that you’re not…that you’re not ready…for this,” she says, looking up the stairs, up to where Houston and Leah are both existing. Both breathing. Both—they are a both. “You need to let him go. And you need to let him go before it becomes…”

  “Devastating,” I whisper, my eyes on the smooth paste in my bowl. I’m no longer hungry.

  “I’m sorry to be so direct about it. I almost didn’t have this conversation, but I saw the way you both looked at each other, and I care for you, too, Paige. You’re…” she stops when I interrupt.

  “Phenomenal,” I breathe out in a single laugh. Her brow pinches, but she smiles soon after.

  “Well, yes. I do think highly of you. I’m not sure what your history is with Cee Cee, but the fact that you stand up to her is something I wish more people in this house would do. But unfortunately, being a part of our small circle requires so much more of you. I just want you to be sure you’re ready. As much as I worry about Houston, I also want to make sure you’re being fair to yourself,” she says.

  “What if I am?” I ask. I’m a little surprised to hear my inner voice break the air, and I’m a little afraid, too—like I’m on a balance beam over shark-infested waters. Joyce is still with me, though. And she doesn’t look defensive, or ready to argue. She’s only smiling. “What if…what if I am ready for this, to be in a relationship with your son?”

  A blanket of silence falls over us. I can tell Joyce cares for me in the way she takes a long deep breath, her eyes almost smiling. She’s hopeful. But she’s also a mom, a grandmother—and, a widow. All of that makes her guarded against anything that might disrupt the careful routine that has to happen within this house.

  “Then that would be wonderful, Paige. But…” her brow pinches as she sighs. “But you are young. And I know from watching Houston what it looks like when someone grows up way too fast. You may fall in love many times in your life, but if you fall this time, you take two people with you. And that makes changing your mind pretty hard.”

  We stare at one another for a few seconds. Neither of us is upset; there’s a strange sense of mutual understanding instead, maybe even appreciation. I do appreciate her. As much as I wish like hell I didn’t hear everything going on in her head right now, I knew I had to hear it. It mirrors a lot of the things going on in my own head. Joyce and I are a lot alike, it’s just when she’s blunt with her words, they come out a lot nicer.

  “Thank you for hearing me out,” she says, finally, pulling her purse to her shoulder. “Leah should be down soon. She likes it when you draw faces on the pancakes with the blueberries.”

  I nod as she leaves, and as soon as the door closes, I search for the blueberries, because that task is so much easier than the other one she laid out for me—the one that requires me to question my feelings and my heart.

  Houston

  We haven’t talked about it, but I’m sure she’s seen it too. I checked as soon as I woke up to see if the story about Chandra had posted. It had, and there were no less than fifty comments from readers at the bottom. They didn’t use Paige’s photos in the story. It wasn’t a long piece; more of a breaking-news item really. There was a quote from the coach about her official dismissal from the soccer team, and a vague statement from the university on its position on drug usage within sororities and fraternities.

  The pictures were out, though. I’m not sure if it was someone at the paper, or if, perhaps, the other people Paige sent them to felt brave enough to begin Tweeting and sharing the photos. By the time we left for the game, a simple search for Chandra Campbell anywhere pulled up dozens of copies of the same image.

  Paige was right. This shot—it was indisputable. It’s clearly her, and the things around her are pretty intense—pipes, crystals, and lots of powder.

  In a rush, we left the house for Nate’s game. Paige said she was anxious to see her sister. I’m assuming to talk to her about the story and the pictures. Nobody on the outside would ever know she’s the inside source mentioned, but Cass might just be enough on the inside to know.

  We’re sitting in a section by ourselves when Ty and
Cass come up behind us. As soon as Paige hears them, she removes her hand from mine, crossing her arms in front of herself, closing herself off. It’s pretty clear we’re not sharing us with Cass today—and that disappoints me. I tuck that feeling away, though, because there are other things on her mind, other major things she’s dealing with, and as anxious as I am to shout my feelings for her from a rooftop, I know it can wait.

  “Houston, my man,” Ty says, slapping my back hard. “Come check out the good seats with me. I get special access.”

  I look to Paige, and she’s staring in her lap at her phone, sifting through messages—not making eye contact. This is weird; this whole thing—feeling—is weird.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, leaning into Paige. I notice she leans a little away, to the left, as I come closer. “I’m going to head over there with Ty. I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure,” she says, her eyes never moving up.

  “Ooooookayyyy,” I say with a sigh. I follow Ty down a ramp near the front to a group of seats by the dugout. His brother steps out and shakes both our hands.

  “Hey, Houston. Thanks for coming. And thanks for bringing that one,” Nate chuckles, nodding in Paige’s direction.

  “Well, it was hard to get the rope around her, but she came willingly after that,” I joke. They both look at me silently for a few seconds, then erupt into laughter.

  “Dude, for a second I thought you might be serious,” Ty says.

  “I know; I mean Paige can be stubborn,” Nate says, kicking the mud from his cleats against the brick wall between us.

  I turn back to glance at her, watching her talk—yet very much not talk—to her sister and Rowe. “Yeah…she can be stubborn all right,” I say, letting my eyes linger on her until she looks up and meets me in the middle. She’s saying something with that expression—but fuck if I know what it is. Maybe she’s just tired. I slept, and she never took a nap.

  “So what’s the plan?” Nate asks Ty, the rest of the team starting to gather behind him to stretch and throw.

  “You said something about a barbecue. Where’s that at?” Ty asks. I’m watching their conversation, only half involved.

  “That apartment complex over on Center. Cash lives there along with a few football players,” Nate says.

  “Beer?” Ty asks.

  “Always,” Nate laughs.

  “We’re in. Houston, dinner’s on me,” Ty says, slapping my arm.

  “Isn’t it just a barbecue at someone’s house?” I ask.

  “Precisely. That’s why it’s on me,” he laughs. I smile and nod, never committing or agreeing, but letting the conversation keep moving onto topics like Ty’s work schedule and the series Nate has next week. If Paige goes, I’ll be there…until I have to go home. I feel bad just leaving Leah with my mom, and I feel like I’ve done that—a lot—lately.

  When the game starts, the conversation shifts to every play. Ty is his brother’s biggest fan, and there isn’t a move that happens on that field he doesn’t have something to say about—even if Nate’s not involved in the play. Everyone was right, though, when they said Nate was gifted. He’s not really any bigger than the other guys, but there’s something about the way he carries his bat to the plate that makes him intimidating.

  He picked off two people at second. I used to go to a lot of McConnell games with my dad when I was young—at least one a week when I was ten and eleven, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a successful pickoff in person. Nate just made two, and he made them look easy.

  Paige stays near her sister and Rowe. The few times I look back, I can tell they’re talking. I’m not sure if she’s telling them about the story in the paper, or if she’s talking about us. I’m in the dark, and it’s starting to suffocate me a little. By the time the game’s over, I’m anxious to stand. I take the steps and stop near the end of the bleachers while Ty waits for Nate, and the three girls huddle together talking even more. After a few minutes, Paige glances up and sees I’m standing alone.

  “Hang on,” she says to Cass and Rowe, excusing herself to come talk to me. I think I might be a little offended.

  “Hey,” she says. It’s a guilty hey, and now I feel like shit that she feels guilty.

  “Hey,” I say back. Lame.

  “Cass wants me to go with them, to some barbecue or whatever,” she says. She looks tired, and she looks beaten down. It’s from waiting for the other shoe to drop; I can tell.

  “Yeah, Ty mentioned something. We can go…if you want,” I say, but while I’m talking I can read her face. She doesn’t want me to go. What the fuck?

  “I was thinking, it might be nice…to have a little time with my sister? I’m sorry. Is that…” she doesn’t finish.

  Is that rude? Well not when she puts it that way. But it feels rude, or wrong, or something that is definitely opposite of good. But it’s her sister, and she just lent her reputation to help expose drug abuse in the Greek system—or so the story played out this morning. I guess I can cut her some slack on wanting to go somewhere without me. I might be being a little…fuck, am I clingy?

  “Sure,” I smile. “If you need a ride, or…or whatever.” I hold up my phone.

  She glances back at her sister and Rowe, and they’re watching us closely. I know she’s not going to kiss me in front of them, so I nod in understanding. It’s okay, Paige. For now, this is still okay.

  Ty pushes up next to me.

  “Nate will be a few minutes, then we’ll head over to Center,” he says.

  “Actually, I’ve gotta run. I’m sorry, but it’s my mom…you know how that goes,” I lie. I hate using my mother as a pawn—almost as much as I hate lying, but the longer I stand here, the more I really want to leave. Paige is walking away with the girls, and she glances back at me once, our eyes meeting, and from this distance I can read them more clearly. She’s saying she’s sorry. I have no idea what for. And it’s making me sick as hell.

  Paige

  “Why do they only ever serve beer at these damn parties,” I say, my red cup in my hand while I stand in line with Rowe and Cass.

  “Because it’s cheap,” Cass says, stepping up to the Keg and filling hers.

  “Cheap,” I say. “Exactly.”

  I don’t really like beer, but I’ll drink it. I’ll drink dish soap tonight if I have to just to numb the guilt and stress. I had every intention of telling Cass about the video, but the words won’t come out. I’ve searched a few times on my phone, and there still doesn’t seem to be anything about the source in any of the stories. Maybe…just maybe I’ll skate by.

  “Are you seriously not drinking?” I ask, looking to Rowe standing behind me. She doesn’t have her cup in her hand, and I’m not giving her mine.

  “Rowe doesn’t hold her liquor well,” Cass teases.

  “She’s right,” Rowe shrugs. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of you two; make sure you get home. Make sure you don’t go home with the wrong person.”

  She’s joking, and her nervous laugh is waiting for me to join in. I smile, then turn to the tap and let my lips fall back to a flat line. No, Rowe—I plan on going home to someone. But now I’m all fucked up over that, too.

  “I can’t believe she’s here,” Cass says, gripping at my arm, making me spill a little of my drink.

  “Bitch,” I say. I used to tease her with that word all the time, but it’s been a while. It doesn’t feel right saying it like it once did. I grab a towel from the table and wipe the drips from my jeans, then turn to see who she’s talking about. I know before I look. I think part of me knew she’d be here. That’s why I wanted Houston to stay home.

  “Is that her?” Rowe asks. Cass nods and whispers something in her ear. I glide to the back, hiding behind them both as we pass into the living room, dozens of bodies and a few sofas coming between Chandra and me.

  “Paige, go ask her about it. Go see what’s up,” Cass says, pulling on my arm, trying to urge me to the front of our small group.

  “Stop it,” I say, s
hirking her grip. Her brow pinches in. “I don’t like being manhandled,” I say, not quite the I never want to see her again that I really want to say, but it seems to work and Cass lets it drop.

  “So coach completely tossed her this time, huh?” Rowe asks Cass.

  “Yeah, she was on probation during the investigation, but I think the athletic director made the final decision. Sometimes the bad press just isn’t worth it. Not like women’s soccer is a big draw or anything, but then people start looking into drug-use for other things—like football,” she says.

  I notice Chandra along with my former sorority sister Ashley move through the kitchen to an outside patio. As long as I can keep an eye on her, I think I might be okay. And I can call Houston if I need to leave.

  “You should try to get back into Delta,” Cass says, bringing my attention to her. I nod slowly, then sip my beer, always keeping my sight on the crowd that’s growing in the small apartment.

  “Maybe,” I say. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m okay not being friends with a bunch of backstabbing bitches. I’m pretty sure Chandra isn’t the rarity anymore. Most of those girls, they’re clones, just waiting to step into her shoes and run things their way. I guess I was waiting for that, too. Now the idea of having to deal with girl drama sounds like a fucking nightmare.

  “Maybe not,” I say aloud, still looking—always watching. Cass’s eyes meet mine for a second, and she smirks.

  “Yeah, maybe you do your own thing. You know, they’re taking nominations for campus council. You should run for vice president. I’d say president, but you have to be a senior,” Cass says.