by Tori Alvarez
I really don’t have time for this, especially for the type of girl who turns down their nose to someone like me. Poor girl can’t get her Mercedes to start. She can afford to call AAA. The hesitation in answering gives her time to continue, “Please, I would really appreciate it.”
She does not have the haughty look girls like her usually give. The one where they think the world owes them. She actually seems sincere.
“Uh, I guess so,” stumbles out, surprised with the sincerity she seems to have. She smiles and hops around, walking past the Mercedes to the older truck on the other side of the aisle. An even bigger surprise. She jumps in, pulls the hood latch, and jumps back down.
“Where are you parked? I lucked out, because the space in front of me is open. I was keeping the space open so a car can get in to jump me.” A small devilish grin forms, knowing college kids are vultures for open parking spaces. She opens the back door to the extended cab and pulls out jumper cables. I stand in the same spot, still stunned with the turn of events. I’m not an easy one to surprise. “Pull your car up.”
Her statement pulls me out of my stupor. Luckily, I’m only a couple of rows down. I park and unlatch my hood before getting out. She has already placed the cables on her battery when I drive up. She lifts my hood and begins placing them on my car. She is doing this on her own, I think to myself. Usually, this type of girl is “helpless” and expects everything done for them.
“Okay, it’s ready. Crank it.” She turns to me and smiles. A genuine, appreciative smile. She jumps in her truck, and it starts. She revs the engine a couple of times before jumping back down. “My dad is not going to be happy.” She smirks. “He hates that I drive this truck, but I can’t part with it. For helping me, I owe you a coffee, lunch, drink…” She looks at me; I assume waiting for an answer.
“No worries. Glad I could help.” I watch her take the cables off and roll them up.
“I insist. A couple of dumbasses couldn’t stop for ten minutes to help. If you follow me to drop off my truck, there is a great taco shack next door. I’ll buy us a couple of tacos and beers for lunch.” She waits on my answer. “Oh wait, are you done for the day?”
“I’m done, but I was heading to meet a friend for coffee,” I reply so she does not feel the need to be around someone so opposite of her.
“Coffee?” Her smile widens. “Tacos and a couple of beers sound so much better right now.”
Catching me off guard, I nod. “Great! Follow me.”
I park at a small taco restaurant next door to an auto shop. I wait in my car as I watch her jump out of her truck, leaving it on and talking to the mechanic. I send a quick text to Garrett, explaining why I can’t make it. She shakes the mechanic’s hand and walks toward me.
I get out of the car as she approaches. Her smile is wider than before. “I can’t believe I’m such a doof. Here, you have been helping me, and even followed me, and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Lola.”
Her energy and kindness are so unexpected; it hadn’t occurred to me that we hadn’t exchanged names. “Yeah, sorry.” I shake my head slightly, not feeling like myself. “I’m Toni.” I extend my hand to shake.
The taco joint is small, but the smell wafting through the place smells fantastic. I follow her as she walks to a table and sits down. She hands me a menu.
“I hope you’re not on a diet, because these are the real deal. I try and stay away from this place because I swear I can eat my own weight in tortillas. But since I had to come to the auto shop my dad uses, well, I just had to walk in.” A guilty smile reaches her eyes as they sparkle in mischief.
I’m not sure if I’m going to agree with this white girl’s opinion of the tortillas, but today has been a day of surprises. “Well, if the aroma of the food is any indication, you are right,” I state politely.
A waitress walks up, and she jumps right in to order a couple of Dos XX for us. The waitress asks for IDs. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t ask if you were of age.”
I smile at her as I take my ID out of my wallet. “Here you go.” I hand it to the waitress.
When the waitress walks away, I ask, “You really like this place?” Looking around, it has the vibe of a real taqueria you would find on my side of town, not here. I assumed a sorority girl wouldn’t even look at a tortilla for fear of gaining weight just by the smell.
“YES!” she emphatically answers. “How could I not? Everything is delicious.”
The waitress drops off our beers. She jumps in and orders some tacos before I have a chance. When the waitress walks away, we both take a swig of the cold goodness. “You mentioned your dad hates your truck? Why?” I was still curious why she would be driving the old truck.
Her eyes drop to the table, and she takes a deep breath. “It was my mom’s truck. I can’t let it go.”
It is the start of an explanation. She looks around and back to me. “My mom passed away my senior year. I’ve just been floating around since.”
Her honesty in that one sentence is raw with emotion. “I’m so sorry. If you love it, then it’s a keeper.” Not knowing what we could talk about, “Are those your Greek letters?” falls out of my mouth. Ugh, now I’ll have to listen to sorority stories.
“Yes.” Her answer is flat. “But I’m not really active in their activities. First clean shirt I found this morning. What are you studying?” She changes directions again.
“Accounting and business. One more year left. You?”
“Media and marketing. But I really don’t have a clue.” She shrugs.
The conversation flows throughout lunch about superficial things. Music, movies, and school keep us in a safe zone. Lunch ends and I wonder how she will get back to her place. We walk outside toward my car.
“It was nice meeting you. Take my number in case you need anything. I owe you.”
“Not necessary. Glad I could help.”
“Just punch my number in your phone and call me. Lunch was fun.” She stands, waiting for me to comply. I do as she asks. “Thank you. Now, I’m heading next door to see if my truck is ready. Text me later.” She smiles before turning around and walking to the auto shop.
I’m beginning to regret saying yes to this party tonight. Garrett guilted me into it since I canceled our coffee date, and when I called Lola to tag along, she somehow had me agree to meeting here. I have never shared my place with anyone. This was always my secret sanctuary. A place I had all to myself.
I’m just finishing up when I hear a knock at the door. One last glance in the mirror before I take the few steps to the door. My hand is frozen on the handle as I scan my apartment—the one room. Shame begins to fill me. This is a foreign feeling. I have never had to worry about what others thought, because I did things on my terms. This is the first time I am allowing someone to walk slightly into my life.
“Come on. Open the door. I can hear you,” Lola speaks through the door.
Her demand spurs my hand to turn the handle. I open the door slightly, thinking about just walking out and not inviting her in.
“It’s about time.” Her smile is crooked as she rolls her eyes at me. Her relaxed nature is a change from most girls. “Are you going to invite me in, or should I just invite myself? You know I’m really good at inviting myself to things, right?”
“Fine, come in.” I open the door wider and step to the side. She walks past me, holding a bag.
“Eats and drinks before we go.” She places the bag on the small coffee table. “Food is always a good idea before a night of drinking. And it’s going to be keg beer. Thought we could have some good stuff before we go.” She pulls out a six-pack of Stellas.
“Thanks.” Her thoughtfulness surprises me. I should now just expect the unexpected from her.
I sit beside her on the couch, grabbing a beer while she pulls containers out of a to-go bag from a cheap TexMex restaurant. She opens up boxes of quesadillas and flautas while placing different salsas and queso in front of us.
&n
bsp; “Dig in. I bought so much. I couldn’t decide what I wanted and didn’t know what you liked.”
“Thanks. I haven’t had anything since lunch, so this is a great idea.” I grab a flauta and dip it in queso.
“You’ve got it made. An apartment to yourself. Do you get lonely?” she asks between bites.
“Not at all. It’s my little piece of the world away from the craziness of others. I was in the dorms my first year, and it nearly killed me.” I shrug. She is only seeing the positive of my crappy studio, not the size or the second-hand furniture.
“Yeah, the dorms aren’t ideal. I didn’t mind it, but I also dreaded being by myself that first year. It gave me too much time to think of my mom. I needed to be around people.”
“That must have been a hard year,” I respond, sympathetic to how she must have felt. “I don’t know how I would manage without my grandmother.”
“Where’s your mom?”
I slipped and may have opened a can of worms. She doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s around, but we have never had the typical mother/daughter relationship. My grandmother raised me,” I try explaining without giving up too much.
“That’s really sweet of your grandmother to step up like that. To have such a close relationship with a grandparent. Many times they just come around on birthdays and holidays. People you are supposed to be close to but only see a couple times a year.”
“She’s the best.” I think of how hard my grandmother worked to ensure my cousins and I had everything we needed since our parents were assholes who only thought of themselves. “When do you want to get there?” I move our conversation away from me.
“No rush, really. It will be going for a while. Thanks for inviting me. I was thinking about going, but I really didn’t want to head over by myself.”
“If you are part of a sorority, why would you need to go by yourself?” I ask, confused, remembering her Greek letter shirt the day we met.
“I don’t want to be active. My dad pays my dues, but they are not really my kind of friends. They can be so vapid. How many times can we shop and discuss money and guys with money? It’s really a bore.”
“Then why be a part of it?” I’m utterly confused by her admission.
“My mom. I’m a legacy. My mom was president way back when, and it’s an automatic admission for me. I want to like it by the stories my mom told me, but times have changed.” She pauses, taking a bite, and I let the information settle. “I just got back this year from my year off. I don’t plan on participating in their activities. Just the minimum so I can keep the letters for my mom. Maybe it will change if and when I have a daughter.” She looks past me with a sadness in her eyes.
“Sometimes, the shoe just doesn’t fit no matter how hard we try to squeeze it on.” A genuine smile creeps on her face as she looks back at me and takes a long swig from her beer. “So a year off? What did you do?” I’m curious how someone can afford to do that.
“Yep. I know I’m lucky because not all people could do that. I won’t forget the experience. I took classes in Italy. I still think of it as a year off, because I did not take a full load.”
We get out of the Uber she insisted on getting us for the night so that we were both free to drink. That is an expense I rarely splurge on.
I can’t help but begin to notice the ‘nose stuck in the air’ attitude many of the girls walking around have. Last time, I was taking in everything, and I didn’t pay attention to individuals. These privileged girls are carrying around expensive designer bags and tossing them around as if they got them at the local thrift store. I wouldn’t even do that with my thrift store finds. When gems are found, you have to take care of them, because you don’t know when another lucky find will happen. Another large disparity between them and me.
Knowing what to expect, I’m not as shocked or disgusted. I’ve had a few years to build my tolerance for the snobs. I don’t want to be one, but I do want to have their money. Their kind of money will let me take care of myself and my grandmother. Give her peace of mind.
I watch as people are entering and the excitement in seeing each other is put on display. We have passed a couple of people who Lola has quickly greeted and made introductions, but there is a coolness in her greeting. Not recognizing anyone yet, I follow along to gauge the crowd and place. I still wonder more about her. It’s obvious she comes from money, but her nonchalant attitude about it is not something I have run into yet.
I fear the run-in with Kevin that is bound to happen, but it is unavoidable if I keep saying yes to Garrett. My brain tells me to say no to both Lola and Garrett, but their charm catches me off guard, and I am agreeing to things I usually have no problem staying away from.
I can’t stop myself from scanning the room for any problems which could arise. This behavior has been ingrained in me by my cousins. Growing up in the ghetto, you never knew when trouble was coming, so no matter how wasted you were, you’d better keep one eye out to save yourself.
Garrett is also the other reason I keep scanning the room. There is no shortage of girls here, all dressed to perfection, so I don’t understand the reason he keeps up his pursuit of me. I mean, yes, I know I have the goods, but I’m not blind to know others have them too.
“Ha, found the bar!” Lola breaks me from my thoughts. “It’s crap beer, but it’ll do.” She smiles at me as she scoots her way past a few people to get our drinks. I follow her lead.
“There are more people here than the last time.” I casually mention my observation.
“Yeah, that’s expected. We are only a few weeks into the semester. If you came the first weekend, not enough people knew about it yet.” That is something I would never have known on my own since these things are not my norm.
The guy behind the bar is about to hand us two Solo cups when I hear, “Get those ladies a can, please.” That voice. What is it about him?
I turn around to see Garrett strolling confidently toward the back of the bar. His attire is in contrast to most of the frat guys. He is wearing a snug-fitting t-shirt with jeans and boots. His hair is tucked away under a backwards baseball cap. He isn’t dressed to impress like all the others. The underclassman, I’m assuming, passes the Solo cups to a couple of people on the side of us and turns away toward the ice chest.
Garrett comes to stand right in front of me and takes my hand, pulling it up toward his mouth. He places a gentle kiss on the back of my hand. “I’m glad you came.” He lets it go and extends his hand to Lola. She takes his hand as he shakes. “I’m Garrett, pleased to meet you.” He gives her one of those dazzling smiles that accentuates the dimple, and I feel a pull of jealousy that she is the recipient. Such an unfamiliar feeling.
“Lola.” They pull their hands apart just as the underclassman places two canned beers in front of us.
Garrett’s eyes are back on me as he begins, “Give me about thirty more minutes, darlin’, then I’m all yours. Gotta finish up my duty and pass the baton off.” He watches me, waiting for my answer.
“Okay,” is all I can muster.
He brushes the back of his hand lightly on the side of my cheek. His large, rough hand sends a tingle down my spine. “I’ll find you in a bit,” he says as he walks away.
“Boy oh boy, does he have it bad,” Lola says as she lets out a low whistle.
I turn my head to her and away from Garrett’s departure. “Huh?” I’m truly confused by her statement.
“You have that boy so wrapped around your finger.” She grabs her beer and begins walking.
“No I don’t. We’ve only been on one date.” Guys—especially guys this age—are after one thing and one thing only. “I’m sure he’s just working really hard on getting down my pants,” I respond, unwilling to accept her analysis.
“If that’s what you think.” She rolls her eyes and laughs at me.
What would she know? She just met him. And me. She is probably one of those girls who believes in love at first sight and mushy feelings. I know it
is just a matter of time before the “real” guy shows up and the “love” he declared has faded away to his next conquest or back to the unsuspecting wife at home raising his damn kids.
We are standing around, talking to a group of Lola’s friends who don’t seem too bad, when I hear, “Garrett, I haven’t heard from you.” I turn to see a girl as she wraps her fingers around Garrett’s arm. I step behind a guy in the group, hiding so Garrett doesn’t see me, wanting to witness yet another reason men should not be trusted. She continues, “Not one single text. I didn’t even see you on campus last week.” A seductive pout appears.
“I’ve been busy. Working at my parents’ ranch and classes have filled my time.” Yup, here we go. No mention of this stupid cat-and-mouse game he thinks he is playing with me. Little does he know, I’m wise to guys’ ways.
“You were at the ranch? I would love to see it.” Why would she want to see a family ranch? She does not look the type to rough it.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful out there. But as beautiful as it is, it’s a shitload of work.” There he goes, bragging about his helping Daddy on the farm. That’s his pickup line.
The giggle that escapes her lips is like nails on a chalkboard. I can’t stand when women do that. So not necessary. I should know; I seduce them all. “That’s what you have employees for.”
“Darlin’, we may have employees, but I will always be the one working the ranch. I need to be out there, making sure all is well.” What does he mean he has employees? “I need to get back to duty.” And just like that, he walks away, leaving her staring at the nice ass which fills a pair of jeans perfectly.
Garrett
I’m glad I was able to guilt another date out of her for canceling coffee with me, but I’m annoyed we are hosting another party. I originally had the last duty slot but was able to switch at the last minute so I could enjoy the party with her. She texted me, saying she was bringing a friend, which I wasn’t thrilled about, but at least she has someone with her while I’m still working.
