"Uh, no th-thanks," I stammer.
The pledge master moves to block my way. "But you have to," he whines, putting one hot, sweaty hand on my shoulder.
"No, I don't," I say, raising my voice to just below a yell.
Then, like magic, the door opens, and in steps Laird. He's the same height as the pledge master, but much more muscular. He's also even more gorgeous than I remember. Of course, I stare at him like a goggle-eyed loon. His moss-green eyes flicker with recognition, but he says nothing to me. Instead, he addresses the pledge master.
"What seems to be the problem here?" he asks softly. I know his voice, and my heart flutters in my chest. My throat constricts until all that's left is a tiny opening no wider than my fingertip. I know there's no way I'll be able to talk without wheezing and stammering.
The moment Laird takes a step towards the pledge master, I run out the door and into the main hallway, gasping for breath. I feel like a coward for running, but I tell myself it doesn't matter. It's not like someone like him—a rich boy from Jasper Heights—would ever be friends with someone like me.
While I'm trying to decide whether to find Darcy or just go home, I see her and our new friends Sasha, Aliyah, and Esther pushing their way through the crowd. I join them, pretending I was with them the entire time.
As I fall in with the girls, it occurs to me that this is the second time I've run away from Laird.
Chapter 16: Laird
I wake from a heavy, dreamless sleep to the bleating of my phone alarm. It's seven a.m. on Registration Day. It's also the day I'm going to have a real conversation with Amity and begin to put my plan into action. I don't think I can wait to casually meet her in class. She's too present in my thoughts, and I know she'll be there in my head, haunting everything I see and do until I make some kind of amends.
Seeing her at the frat party really opened my eyes. When I realized it was her in the pledge room, I could barely breathe. Her eyes widened when she looked at me, and her delicate pink tongue flicked over her lips. Without her shield of stage makeup, she seemed naked. Vulnerable. Open. In that instant, she became a real, fully dimensional part of my world. I felt drawn to her in a visceral way that I didn't when I saw her at the strip club. I'm going to have to watch myself around her.
I wonder if she remembers me from her mother's grave, and how I broke down, sobbing in her arms. I haven't really talked to anyone about my mother since then. Most people our age just don't understand. They can't imagine their parents dying and the grief that follows any more than they can imagine an alien from another planet. But Amity can. She knows what I've been through, and then some.
I tell myself to get a grip. I can't be more than the most casual, surface-skimming friends with Amity. I killed her mother, for God's sake. Not to mention the fact that I can't stop fucking Ember, the crazy girl who grabbed the wheel of my Land Rover and helped me put this whole nightmare into motion.
My phone vibrates against my nightstand, and my stomach clenches like a fist. There's only one person who would text me this early in the morning.
Thinking of me? Will I see you tonight?
It's Ember. And, yes, I'm thinking of her, but only because I can't help it. I switch my phone to silent mode. I'll deal with her later. For now, I need to get dressed and get to Registration Day. Professor Carmichael, the Ab Psych professor, will only be there until noon. I think I'll bring some pledges as camouflage, so I don't look too obviously like a lone stalker.
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The line for Professor Carmichael stretches out of the Jefferson Gymnasium, where each professor sits at his or her own small table, and around the Phelps Pool and Water Polo Complex. I spy Amity hurrying over from the Adams Apple. She walks with an odd, lurching gait, and I worry she's going to spill the huge cup of coffee she's holding with both hands.
When she gets in line, two pledges fall in behind her, saving my spot. I sidle over to them and take their place. I'm now close enough to Amity to touch her. Her smooth, glossy hair tumbles down her back. It smells like strawberries. To my utter shock and dismay, I crave her touch. I so badly want to put my arms around her and feel her awkward, long-limbed body melt into mine.
Instead, I say, "Excuse me?"
She turns around. For a moment, her eyes are narrow and guarded. Then, as recognition dawns, her expression softens by increments, and her mouth twitches into an uneasy smile.
"I know you," she says in a breathless near-whisper. "From the frat party." She pauses and adds softly, "And the cemetery."
All at once, memories of my mother and the awful weeks following her death come flooding back. My eyes burn, and my throat tightens. All I can do is nod.
She reaches out a delicate white hand and rests it gently on my arm. "How are you doing?" she asks.
"Fine, most of the time. They just sneak up on me sometimes. The memories."
"I know what you mean," she says, squeezing my arm. Once again, I again want to sweep her into a lingering, full-bodied embrace. I bite the inside of my cheek and tell myself to get it together.
I quickly change the subject. "Which class are you taking with Professor Carmichael? He's quite a character."
She takes my cue and lets her hand fall away from my arm. "Abnormal Psychology. I'm taking it as my humanities requirement. All the rest of my classes are chem and bio."
"Pre-med?"
"Yep."
"Why Ab Psych?" I know I'm putting her on the spot, but I'm genuinely curious. "Is it because you want to see Carmichael's collection of funny hats?"
"No," she says with a small half-smile. "I just thought it would be interesting. I've, uh, met plenty of abnormal people. Maybe now I'll be able to diagnose them."
My phone vibrates again. Ember. Damn her. "Yeah, I know quite a few abnormals myself. I'm even related to some of them."
Now Amity's smile connects with her eyes. "What was going on at the frat the other night? Some guy wanted me to spit on your pledges. What's up with that?"
Now she's putting me on the spot. "Oh, we do all kinds of dumb things to the pledges," I explain sheepishly. "Nothing dangerous or anything. But some stuff is pretty gross."
We both laugh and find ourselves next in line. Professor Carmichael is a middle-aged man with large protuberant eyes and shoulder-length, iron gray hair. He signs our cards with a flourish.
"Where are you off to?" I ask as Amity stuffs her card into her bag.
"Chemistry professor," she says, grimacing. "Hardwick the hard ass."
"Good luck," I call as she hurries away.
As soon as she disappears into the mass of students, I pull my phone out of my pocket. I skip the messages from Ember—I'll deal with her later—and send Amity a Facebook friend request.
I feel a burst of happiness when she accepts my request within seconds. I tell myself this is all part of the plan.
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"The coffee here tastes like ass," complains Teo as he dumps three packets of sugar into his cup.
"It's not so bad," I reply. "It's got caffeine."
Teo makes a face. "I don't know why we had to meet at the Adams Apple. They don't even serve decent beer."
"It's centrally located," I say, adjusting my seat so I can get a better view of the barista. It's Amity, of course, looking sweet and kind of ridiculous in a huge white apron emblazoned with a big red apple and her piles of gorgeous hair squashed into a hairnet.
Caspar plops down next to Teo with a groan. "I forgot how much Econ sucks, man. Give me military history any day."
Finally, Hoover arrives with the biggest redhead I've ever seen on his arm. He swats her on the ass, and she waddles off to a table full of girls I've never seen before.
"What," asks Teo looking thoroughly nonplussed, "was that?"
Hoover chuckles. "Oh, that was Darcy. I ran into her at the party the other night. She's a hacker, and she's fucking hilarious."
Amity steps out from behind the coffee bar and greet
s the giant redhead and her friends. I can't believe how long her legs are. I wish she wasn't wearing that bulky apron so I could get a better look. I'm wondering if she's told any of her friends about me, when I feel a sharp, bracing kick in the shin. I remind myself that Amity is off limits for what feels like fiftieth time today. Then it occurs to me that I didn't kick myself in the shin.
I glance up, and Teo is rolling his eyes. Damn it, he knows. He kicks me again, harder this time. "OK, fearless leader. Let's get this meeting over with."
"Got it," I say, taking a slug of hot coffee. "We need a theme for the new brothers' dance after Hell Week. Something memorable that won't get our collective asses in a sling."
Caspar kicks things off with a long and possibly incoherent soliloquy about the Civil War. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Amity waiting on a customer whose tense posture screams anger. He's tall and rangy with shoulder-length hair pulled into a ponytail. His arms are covered in ink, and his face has an intense, moody quality I don't like.
He points a finger at Amity, and she shakes her head. Instead of getting him a coffee or a sandwich, she ducks under the counter and stands beside him. They talk some more, and I can tell she's uncomfortable. Her shoulders are hunched up by her ears, and she's looking down at the floor as if she'd like to dissolve into it. He takes her arm, and she visibly stiffens. Then they slip out a side entrance.
"'Scuse me for just a sec,'" I say, leaping to my feet. As I hurry towards the same door that swallowed Amity, I hear Caspar's nasal whine. "But I wasn't finished..."
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I find Amity and Hostile Hipster Poser under a street lamp. Amity looks scared, and Poser looks intense. I stand in the shadows. Neither of them seems to notice me.
"You owe me," says Poser, looming over Amity. "I got you that job at Dirk's club. I showed you how to be a woman. Something other than the Amityville Horror."
Amity stands her ground. "You have a fiancée, and I'm not going to help you keep cheating on her." Her voice is low and firm.
"There was a time," he growls, taking another step towards her, "that you didn't give a shit about my so-called fiancée."
"I was just a kid, you asshole. I'd just lost my parents, and I wasn't exactly brimming with healthy self-esteem." He keeps moving towards her, and she keeps stepping back until she's literally backed against the wall.
"You still haven't explained why you're here," she says.
Now her voice is higher and tinged with fear. Hot anger rushes through me. I position myself behind Poser, taking care to stay in the shadows. When he reaches for Amity, I grab his fake leather jacket and pull him into the darkness with me. We grapple for a moment before he stumbles and drops onto the pavement.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asks, rising slowly to his feet.
"Her friend."
"Her friend?" He coughs up a wad of phlegm and hawks it onto the ground in the general direction of Amity's feet. "Good luck with that. Good fucking luck." I watch as he walks away slowly, as if he has nothing to fear. I wonder what kind of history he and Amity have together, and how things got so ugly.
Once Poser is completely out of sight, I turn towards Amity and curse under my breath. Fuck. She's run away. I decide that I'm going to have to change my plan a little. If I start spending time with her, that asshole might think twice about bothering her again. It will be hard to keep from getting too close, but that's a risk I'm now willing to take. She has to be protected.
I also have an idea that could keep her safe when I'm not around—and it will make Caspar very, very happy.
Chapter 17: Amity
Darcy can barely fit into her seat. She huffs and groans with a look of terrible embarrassment on her round, freckled face.
I try to say something comforting or, at least, funny. "Girl, I bet those chairs have been in this lecture hall for more than hundred years. They were probably built for elves or something." It's a lame attempt at humor, but it does win me a wan smile.
Once Darcy is more or less in her seat, I squeeze by and fold all five feet ten inches of me into the wooden desk-chair combination right next to her. Almost immediately, my knees bang into the desk attachment. Then I slide down and—ouch!—my knees smash into the seat in front of me, earning me a glare from a tiny, pink-cheeked sorority girl.
Darcy giggles. "Elves, you say?"
"This is going to be a long hour," I say, shifting position once again.
Darcy is about to say something, when Laird enters the auditorium and waves at me. I wave back uncertainly. I can't believe I ran away from him yet again. I guess I was afraid that he would ask questions about Ethan, and I'd end up having to explain our twisted, ambiguous relationship. My latest theory is that Ethan keeps stalking me not because he wants me, but because he can't stand that I don't want him any more.
Darcy nudges me with barely contained excitement. "I was right! You know that guy."
"A little," I concede. I've only known her a few days, but it's already clear that lying to Darcy is pointless. She's great at reading faces, and she can hack into anything.
"Spill it, girl. How do you know him?"
I try to come up with an answer that's both truthful and vague. "We're from the same general area in Florida. I've seen him around."
"That's about as nonspecific as it gets. What, exactly, does that mean?"
I sigh and close my eyes for about half a second. Darcy would make a great interrogator. I throw her a few more details, hoping they will sate her hunger for information.
"We both lost our mothers at about the same time. I met him briefly at the cemetery when I was, um, making a family visit. I ran into him again on Registration Day."
"Oh," gasps Darcy. "I'm so sorry. That must be really hard."
"You get used to it. It's been almost three years. Most of the time I'm fine. It's just part of my reality now."
Darcy nods as if I've said something very wise, and we watch the professor write Borderline Personality Disorder on the blackboard. My eyes scan the auditorium, and somehow they land on Laird. He winks at me, and I smile back. There's just something about him that makes me feel good. He may be a rich asshole from Jasper Heights, but maybe—just maybe—we can be friends.
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My head hurts from Professor Carmichael's description of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy and the lengthy puppet show he used to illustrate it.
"That was...interesting," says Darcy sounding equally stunned. "Want to get lunch at the Apple?"
"No, I've got organic chemistry this afternoon and a ton of homework to finish."
Darcy wrinkles her nose. "Organic chemistry is so brutal. How can you stand it?"
I laugh out loud. "How can you stand advanced Neural Networking and Heuristic Theory?"
Darcy blushes so deeply that her freckles practically disappear. "Software is easy. It's just another language, except you're talking to machines instead of people. It's all basically logical. But naturally occurring systems? Ugh." She mock shudders.
Finally, the lecture hall is almost empty, and we get up to leave. As I'm stuffing my laptop into its case, Darcy whispers, "I think someone's looking for you."
I raise my eyes and see Laird making his way through the row of seats immediately opposite us. He smiles and waves. Shit, I'm stuck.
Before I can say anything, Darcy moves down the aisle towards the exit with surprising speed. Before she ducks out the door, she turns and mouths something like, "Tell me all about it!"
"My buddy Hoover thinks she's hilarious," says Laird, who has somehow materialized at my side. I practically jump out of my skin when I see him standing there. He moves incredibly quietly for a guy his size, but I guess I knew that. How else could he have snuck up on Ethan so easily?
My stupid heart is flopping around in my chest, but I force myself to meet his eyes. "Yeah, she's great." I pause to take a breath, and he keeps gazing into my eyes as if they contain the winning lottery number—which,
I suppose, wouldn't matter to the son of billionaire. "She's my r-r-roommate," I stammer, feeling increasingly awkward. What is wrong with me?
"Are you OK?" he asks. "I was worried when you ran off the other night. I was relieved when I saw your status updates on Facebook."
"Oh, I'm fine. S-s-sorry I took off. I was just a little f-f-freaked out." My stammer is getting worse, and I can feel my face turning red. I'm acting as if I have a major crush on him, which is probably the dumbest idea in the world. We're barely even friends. All we have in common are dead parents.
Laird doesn't seem to notice what a freak I'm being. "Who was that guy? Does he stalk you all the time?"
His voice is low and intense. I feel a rush of warmth and can't help wondering if his concern is more than friendly. I try to explain Ethan as quickly and simply as I can. "He's an old friend from back home. He has some, er, personal problems, but he's harmless." When Laird's expression turns incredulous, I add, "Well, m-m-mostly harmless."
"Just be careful. I bet he has full blown Borderline Personality Disorder." We both laugh and fall quiet. I finish wrestling my computer into its case and get ready to go. He's being a good friend, checking in to assure himself I'm not a drooling basket case after our run-in with Ethan. Still, I feel strangely disappointed, even though I have no real reason to be.
"Thanks for everything," I say. "I'll see you around."
"Amity?"
I go from disappointment to excitement in a flash.
"Can I ask you one thing?"
His voice sounds a touch less confident. My pulse is pounding in my ears. "Yes. I mean, sure. Ask away."
"Would you like to get dinner tomorrow night? "
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Amends: A Love Story Page 11
