Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel

by Niki Hager

  "Bug …" The tone in his voice is gruff, and for the first time I hear a trace of his country roots come out of his mouth. And what timing he has. "I know you are. I'm sorry if I said something to offend you. I meant what I said even if I should not have said it. There is nothing to be embarrassed about."

  "I-I'm not embarrassed," I argue, but he gives me the side eye, like don't even play. "Maybe a little, but you have to understand it's not for the reasons you think."

  "Oh, you mean it's not because you are a hideous conversationalist and even worse to look at?" he jokes.

  "God I hope not; I really haven't given much thought to whether or not the guys I were with wanted to have sex with me. I only thought about not wanting to have sex with them. How terribly selfish of me," I joke back and nudge his shoulder.

  "In all honesty, though, why haven't you?" he asks. "Wanted to?" he then adds.

  "Honestly?" I ask

  "Yes."

  "I haven't met anyone I wanted to with. Every time I was getting far with a guy, I froze and got this awful feeling in my gut. I would think to myself is this is how it's going to happen, and this is who it's going to happen with? I was always so disappointed. Then I would panic, not do it, and then I would get dumped."

  I can't tell what he's thinking by looking at him, and the not knowing is killing me. I'm fully prepared for him to think I'm too complicated.

  "You're perfect," is what he says.

  "You're smiling," I point out in awe.

  "Is that a problem?"

  "No. I didn't know how you would react. In fact, you didn't react at all. And I really don't see you smile all that often."

  He brushes the hair back behind my ears and takes my face to look me in the eyes.

  "Just because I don't react, doesn't mean I don't feel. You're right, I don't smile a whole hell of a lot, but when I do smile, most of them are because of you. In one way or another."

  "I saw you smile once," I say quietly.

  "Well, I do do it from time to time, I'm not an emotionless asshole."

  "What I meant was, when I saw you smile I wondered who it was."

  He draws his eyebrows in. "Who it was?"

  "Making you smile. I wondered if it was a girlfriend you had at home. And then I got jealous." I laugh. "I got jealous of an imaginary girlfriend I pictured for you and worked myself up about it. No matter how illogical it is and no matter what the chances of it being real are. Ohmygod, Enzo was right! I'm a nightmare. Are you sure you want to be with me?"

  "Would you like me to show you how sure I am?" There's a loaded question that makes my skin dance.

  "Yes," I whisper carefully.

  "Now, it's my turn to ask if you are sure?" He studies my face, trying to get a non-verbal read on what my answer is.

  "I heard something once," I begin, "and right now it's the only thing coming to mind to describe to you how I feel."

  "Tell me."

  "If you want something you've never had, you have to do something you've never done. This is something I want that I've never had," I softly admit to him.

  "Well, then let's do some things you've never done."

  Holy Hell.

  Choking and Chugging

  Round Here- Counting Crows

  Rigbee

  It's happening. My stomach is lurching, and my legs are shaking, but those become nothing but a minor discomfort compared to the thickening in my throat.

  My body suddenly feels warm, causing a heated shudder. Roman searches my eyes for reception, while appeasement and a silent plea reflects in his own. When the blood pools under my cheeks, my reaction causes Roman to pull me in close and lean down to place a kiss on my forehead. He strokes my cheek with a finger and places his thumb on my lips. I'm too flustered to speak so I dig my fingers into the palm of my hands until my nails bite the skin. He looks into my eyes for a long moment and my breathing grows uneven under his scrutiny. The sympathetic smile he was wearing fades now as his features turn serious and focused.

  "Are you going to be okay?" he asks in a whisper. I squeeze my eyes closed and involuntarily turned my head away before I nod. My overwhelming senses numb the internal pain. The inside of my mouth tastes dry and I'm having a hard time thinking straight. As I breathe in deep to slow my racing heart, I find a way to make myself focus on the now. Roman tugs my chin back toward him so he can see my face.

  "You'll do fine," he assures me. "And trust me, you will be glad that we're getting this over with now," he says and then the corner of his mouth quirks up. Today is the one day I have been dreading for weeks. This is happening. Speech day.

  When I failed to have an attack Friday night, and then again Sunday, I thought I had won. I beat it. My first time with Roman had become a milestone in more ways than just the one. It was wonderful. Aside from the physical, burns-like-a-bitch pain of it, anyway. But Roman even had his way of easing that ache as well. The looming anxiety sure to be present during those kind of situations remained absent as I laid there looking into his eyes. Thinking about nothing and feeling everything.

  But the anxiety I have now eclipses it all. I'm doing everything I can to convince myself the attacks are not going happen anymore. I run the events of the weekend over in my head, I think about the soreness that I still feel between my legs and what that sweet burn means, in hopes the memory would somehow remind my body the defensive reaction is wanton.

  I go before Roman, and I can't decide if before is better or worse. Dwelling too long is pointless because I'd feel like I'm going to puke either way. I anxiously look at the clock. I have five minutes before class starts. Students are trickling in to fill every seat in the room. Half of the students give their speeches today, and the other half do theirs on Thursday. Roman thought we should sign up for today so we can get it out of the way and relax on Thursday. Easy for him—he is naturally magnetic and has no problem being in front of a room full of people. More than anything, I'm worried he's going to find out the one thing I never want him to know about. His girlfriend has a world of issues and should come with a user manual.

  Professor Weiss already knows about my condition, so at least I know he will understand. But what if Roman finds out, publicly no less, and then he will have to give his part of the speech I've already bombed for the both of us? The rest of class could get pretty awkward, and needless to say, we would not be walking in on Thursday holding hands. The entire class will know I ruined everything. Public humiliation is my biggest fear, well, that and spiders.

  It's time. I have to walk up to the podium. I can do this; I can do this. Don't trip, I can do this. Breathe, breathe, now talk. Talk, you idiot.

  "M-M-My name is Rigbee Damon, and I will be speaking to you today about the cons of marijuana."

  I hear a few low boos go around the room for my take on what is a popular pharmaceutical used here on campus, and I smile. My nerves immediately calm to their response. I look up at my audience and shrug my shoulders in mock apology, and everyone laughs, so I continue.

  I am two pages in, and I'm funny, I'm smart, I'm dominating … and I'm missing page three. Fuck.

  Seven years earlier...

  Rigbee

  Today I get a fresh start. I'm looking around at my new school, and I can't help but feel grateful to finally be out of the slums we moved here from. I walk in to my first class and see an open seat next to a group of girls so I go and sit down. If I come across open enough today, I could maybe make some friends. The girl next to me with the brown hair already notices me and turns toward me to ask,

  "You're new here, aren't you? What's your name?"

  "Yes, I am. Hi, I'm Rigbee," I tell her with a smile.

  "What a cute name, where are you from, Rigbee?" another one of the girls, the blond one, asks.

  "I just moved here from Flint."

  "Flint? I'm sorry," brunette says.

  "Oh, it's okay, it wasn't so bad and we—"

  Blond interrupts me, "No. She means we're sorry, but here we don't lik
e trash girls from Flint."

  Turns out when you're from a poor neighborhood, you're treated like trash. I didn't stand a chance.

  "Look, here comes the lesbian!"

  I hear someone shout right before I hear the gushing sound of liquid. And then I feel it. Wetness starts to seep on to my back and I quickly throw my bag off to examine the contents. A can of soda. An opened can of soda I know was not mine. Someone poured the pop in and then tossed in the empty aluminum for good measure.

  I don't know when or who and I don't care, because all I care about right now is how my homework is ruined. I'm not getting good grades as it is. The classes here are much harder than at my old school.

  "Seems you've spilled. Your poor backpack, looks like you'll have to get a new one. You did the bag a favor, really, it was old and ugly as shit," Emily, the brunette girl I sat next to on the first day, says in a condescendingly sweet tone.

  "You know where she's from, don't you? She can't afford another one," Shana, the blond one she was sitting with, spits out.

  "Maybe she can go eat a pussy in the bathroom before class for a quick twenty."

  "Why would someone pay for it when we've heard all about how often she does it for free?" Shana looks me up and down and then smiles to her friends.

  She, out of all of them, seems to get an extra sick kick out of tormenting me.

  I try to bite back the tears I feel forming in the back of my throat, but a choking breath escapes from my trembling lips and the dam cracks.

  "Oh, look, she's crying. I didn't think dykes could cry."

  I rarely use my locker for fear of standing within firing distance of the mean girls. I am that girl, the girl who drags all of her heavy books to every class with her. However, today I ended up leaving my bag in my locker to dry out during my next class. I hurry back during passing time, and when I open my locker it's gone.

  "Where is my backpack?" I mutter to myself a little too loud.

  "Are you looking for your bag? I think I heard someone talking about airing it out in the locker room since it reeked after your little incident earlier, so it wouldn't funk up the rest of our lockers in the hall." Bitch.

  I make the long trek to the locker rooms on the other side of the school and am already late for my next class when I start to search every single open locker.

  "The bag's not here anywhere," I groan, and I sit down on a bench looking defeated.

  I listen to the bell ring which means the class period I missed is already being let out. As expected, girls from the gym class start to pour in.

  "Try the boy’s."

  Great. Bitch-face number two had gym during the period. Of course she would. She is probably the one who took my bag in the first place.

  "The boy's?" I ask, not understanding what she is trying to tell me.

  "The boy's locker room."

  I've been standing outside of the boy's locker room for almost a half hour, missing yet again another class. I had to make sure nobody was in there naked for me to walk in on, and to gather up the courage. Knowing there isn't any way I could go to class without my bag, I decide it's now or never, and I cautiously venture in. Sure enough, my bag is in there.

  After checking a few lockers, and getting tremendously uncomfortable with some of the cargo I find left and forgotten in some of them, I spot the strap of my bag peeking out of one of the school trash bins. My bag didn't smell bad before, despite what Bitch-face number one said, but it sure as hell does now.

  "Excuse me, miss. May I ask what exactly you think you are doing in here?" I hear a deep voice which sounds alarmingly like the school principal.

  And then I am awarded my very first detention.

  "Did you hear how epic the party you weren't invited to over the weekend was?" a girl, whose name I don't know but who also hangs out with Emily and Shana, whispers to me during detention.

  "How would I have heard?" I respond dryly to the girl.

  She knew I would not have heard about any party.

  "Facebook."

  "I don't have Facebook," I tell her.

  "'Probably for the better. If you don't want to end up a suicide statistic then you probably shouldn't get one now," she says, as if she is doing me an actual favor.

  I discreetly get out my phone to text my lab partner, Enzo, and ask him to help me set up a Facebook page.

  Lying on the ground at the bottom of the cement staircases, unable and unwilling to move, I wonder to myself how things got so bad. I won't look up. I don't want to see who or how many people walk by laughing at me. I don't want to be here, to be the subject these people use for their sadistic entertainment or to make them feel better about themselves. I don't want to be here, but I do want to sit here and cry for a while. Cry until there is nothing left of me to cry for.

  I wore cute shoes today, what a great idea. Cute and expensive shoes with a cute heel. I thought maybe if I started to dress better then I might fit in better, maybe these people wouldn't be so cruel to me all of the time. Maybe things like the backpack incident last week would stop. How stupid of me.

  I was halfway down the steps and on my way to science, wondering how Enzo would to react to my new appearance, when I felt my foot catch. I caught Shana's smirk out of the corner of my eye as I went down. Bitch-face number two tripped me, and she did it on purpose.

  The bell rang, and the hall is finally empty, so I begin to think about how to get myself up without moving my foot. I stop trying when I hear steps in the hallway draw closer and closer and then come down the stairs until they are right next to me. I refuse to look up at the person, so I'm stuck staring at a pair of dirty red Chucks.

  "Bee." I ignore him. "Hey, Bee, it's me. Look at me, will ya? What the hell happened here?" Enzo somehow comes across sounding soft and angry at the same time. His voice sounds so ambiguous it's funny. Not ha-ha funny, but for some reason, all I can do is laugh. And cry, and laugh.

  I finally look up at him through my hysterics, and he's looking at me like I've lost my damn mind. He very well should because I actually might have.

  After I give Enzo the rundown of the events which led to my ending up on the ground with a broken ankle, he crosses his arms, crouches down until he's eye level with me, then blows out a whistle and responds with,

  "I think you should delete your Facebook."

  I go to school the next day in a brace and a pair of crutches. Enzo volunteered to walk with me to my classes so he can help carry my things. I knew he was really trying to help ward off any unwanted attention or harassment sure to come my way, but I'm having such a hard time with these stupid sticks I have to take him up on the offer.

  On our way to the science class we're in together, we approach the set of staircases and I experience my very first panic attack.

  Now...

  Roman

  Shit, she is gonna choke. I see it coming. The exact moment she fumbles. Her face goes white and her eyes are darting back and forth all over her papers. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but it looks like she's lost her spot. She was doing so goddamn good, too. For her, this one little thing is all it's going to take to annihilate her nerve. The stone in the lake causing ripple after ripple.

  "The third page—I mean problem … with … the drug … is … that … well … um …"

  I can't sit here and watch this happen to her. As much as I like to see her blush, this isn't the way I'd want it to happen. Something comes over me and I stand up out of my seat and make a beeline for Bug. I don't have a plan for what the fuck I'm doing exactly, but she needed me so I put my arm around her shoulders and give the class my best charming smile.

  I nod toward Weiss, "Will you all excuse us for a moment please? We seem to have a minor marijuana crisis that we need to hash out."

  Rigbee

  He walks me out into the hallway, but I am still in a state of shock. My heart is beating so fast my ribs hurt. The squeezing in my chest makes me unable to breathe. My entire body is shaking, and I am hot, so hot. />
  The hallway begins to spin, and I know what comes next, I am going to pass out. I wonder to myself, as the darkness creeps in, if he will catch me.

  As my legs turn to lead, I feel him begin to shake me and the dark edges retreat as I start to come out of a state of numbness to the sound of his deep beautiful voice. The sound is blurry at first, like I'm hearing him from under water, but then it becomes clear.

  "Rigbee, come back to me! You need to snap out of it. Now."

  My eyes are focusing, and I seem to be standing on my own now.

  "There she is, there's my girl. All right, what exactly happened?"

  "Third page missing," is about all I can mumble.

  Meanwhile, he grabs the stack of papers we've gone over a hundred times out of my hand and goes through them.

  "There." He hands them back. "They were slightly out of order is all, page three was stuck behind page five. Back in sequential succession, all is right with the world and we can get back in there."

  "No, it's not! You are out of your ever-loving mind if you think I am going back up there!"

  "Babe … Bug, I'll go up there with if you need me to, but I'm telling you, you got this."

  "I've already made a complete fool out of myself!" I put my hand on my chest as my airways constrict again.

  "Oh, please, you have no idea what making a fool out of yourself is, because trust me, what just happened is not it."

  "I'm scared," I admit in a whisper.

  "I know. It's okay to be scared. But, most of your fear will dissolve if you, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, stop overthinking every little thing and calm the fuck down."

  I'm hunched over and trying my best to breathe, but I still find the energy to tilt my head up and give him a dirty look.

  "You're only scared because you're about to do something out of your comfort zone. You can't be brave without first being scared. Remember the thing you said to me? You have to do something you've never done in order to get something you want that you don't have."