Her Perfect 10
Page 14
Magic isn’t real, but monsters are.
They’ll watch you, learning your weaknesses, your fears, your secrets. And they’ll do everything they can to hurt you.
Might as well prepare you for that fact when you’re young.
One day, the little girl happened upon a naïve boy. The boy believed in magic. This didn’t surprise her. But the fact that he was intent on changing her mind about magic, did.
She humored him, enjoying his silly attempts to prove her wrong, but enjoying her time with him, more. Until one day, she told him some of her weaknesses, completely forgetting about monsters because he made her happy enough that she sometimes felt like she was flying.
As soon as she realized her mistake, she shut him out, not wanting him to turn into anything other than the boy she knew. The boy whose attention and time she’d come to treasure. She’d rather lose him than have him hurt her. And he now knew too much. He could easily turn into a ferocious, ugly beast. If she lost him now, she would always remember him as the friend he was, and not the Deception Monster he now had the potential to be.
But the boy was persistent. He sent her letters and called out to her in front of everyone, begging her to trust him, to believe in the magic of friendship.
She didn’t believe in magic, though.
She went about her life, missing the boy she’d lost, but doing her best to forget about him.
Eventually, he sent her a chocolate cake as a symbol of the magic of their friendship. He knew this particular cake was her favorite, because he knew her weaknesses.
If she trusted him, this chocolate dessert would be the best she’d ever tasted. If she didn’t, it would sit there, forever uneaten, because she couldn’t trust that he hadn’t laced it with something that would poison her.
She faced a dilemma.
Before she met the boy, she would’ve thrown that cake away without a second thought. She didn’t believe in magic. Any kind of magic. It didn’t exist. It wasn’t plausible. It wasn’t something tangible or real.
But she wanted that cake, and it had nothing to do with the way the chocolate would fill her with such wonderful flavors that she would moan out loud.
No.
She wanted the cake simply because she wanted to trust the boy.
For the first time, she wanted to believe.
She deliberated for days, unsure of her answer. His offering sat there, taunting her, hour after hour, day after day. The boy had stopped begging, knowing her decision about his gift would seal their fate. He left the decision of whether she could trust him entirely in her hands. He’d done all he could, and now, he could only wait.
Finally, she made her decision.
She would invite the boy over, and they would eat the cake together.
Some said if the cake was meant as a weapon, she would get her revenge. Others said she trusted him completely, and she only wanted to share the cake with him, because it was a symbol of their friendship. And others said she couldn’t stand his silence and wanted him around, whether he ate the cake with her or not.
No matter what anyone said, she knew it was because the boy had done what no one else had managed to do before. The boy made her believe in magic.
Instead of living happily ever after, they ate cake every day, and got fat and happy.
To: sd275@solc.edu, profmereeder@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Assignment #8 Write a short story. Start with the line: She didn’t believe in magic.
She didn’t believe in magic.
It was the saddest thing he’d ever heard. Magic was the reason he was alive, his only reason for living. And she didn’t believe in it.
He assumed she believed in magic, because it’s around them every day, showing them amazing, beautiful things, if they would just open their eyes and see it. She seemed so open about everything else, he thought she would be open about magic, too. But she wasn’t.
He decided to change her mind.
He didn’t know how he would change her mind; he just knew he would.
Eventually, he came up with the perfect strategy. It was quite simple, really, and he questioned if it would work, but he knew nothing else would.
They’d started off as complete strangers, knowing absolutely nothing about each other. One simple email changed everything. He was offended by that one email, and he attempted to discourage her from any further communication, but she had her own agenda, and was incredibly stubborn.
He tried to resist arguing with her to no avail. He wanted to explain himself, defend himself to her, the person who appeared to be his superior on many levels. And he took her advice, hoping to better himself, while also trying to earn her respect.
He asked questions, grew as stubborn as she was, refused to stop believing in her, even when she had, and eventually learned enough to find the key to the puzzle.
She might not believe in magic, but she wanted to.
After that, it was almost easy. He kept doing exactly what he was doing. Being himself. She might not have liked or respected him at first, but through their correspondence, she grew to do both. She even started trusting him enough that she told him she might give him a chance to prove that magic was real.
That was all he needed. A chance. He knew if she gave him that chance, he would change her mind. He would make her believe in magic.
Sadie
Holy shit, our assignments are almost identical.
That’s so fucking scary.
How did he get in my head?
Lying on the soft, luxurious, stark-white comforter of the hotel room I’m sharing with Roxy, I wait for the next email. The one that’s just to me and not the professor. I know it’s coming. He needs a couple extra minutes, because I almost always write more than he does. I’m a faster typer, or thinker, or something.
I’m glad Roxy, Olivia, Alena, and the other girl, Bailey, are all out right now. They went to the fancy restaurant at the resort, the one you need reservations for. I claimed to have a fierce headache from the sun and alcohol, and ordered room service while secretly doing my assignment.
The resort is amazing. Posh and sophisticated. I feel really out of place, but with the never-ending alcohol, I’m starting to forget that this resort and everything and everyone in it is way above my paygrade. We arrived last night and had dinner at the buffet before exploring and making mental lists of all the places we want to visit before we leave on Sunday, then partied the night away in one of the many clubs. Today was spent checking off some of those things and lounging in the sun. There’s no way I’ll get everything on my list checked off, but I’m sure as hell going to try.
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: You’re the girl…
We both wrote about you and how you don’t believe in love.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Not true
I wrote a story about a girl who didn’t believe in magic.
I’m not the girl, and magic doesn’t equal love.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Yes it is.
You’re totally the girl. And magic is totally love in both our stories. Why else would you write about a boy making you a chocolate cake?
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Meeting with cake?
Because I’ve been dreaming about chocolate cake since you sent me that damn picture of the one you made me last week! When we meet—when is that going to be, by the way? We’re done with this course in December. Are we meeting then? Are we waiting until next year? Are we just going to pretend we were both kidding until we can’t take it anymore and we call off from work and travel however many thousands of miles it takes to see each other’s faces?
Back to the topic at hand. When we meet, I expect you to bring that
chocolate cake.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Definitely meeting. Possibly with cake.
I think when—also where and whether I bring you any cake—depends entirely on how close we live to each other. If we live two thousand miles apart, are you going to come to me? Am I going to come to you?
Or are we meeting in the middle?
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: How much time?
Meeting in the middle sounds fair. Are we planning on a meet and greet, then fly back home? Or should I make sure I have enough time to eat that delicious dessert with you?
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Time for cake.
You’d better plan on eating it with me, or I’m not bringing it.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Code
Not to get your hopes up, but I wasn’t really talking about the cake.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Standards
Cake is code. Got it.
I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’d like some time with you to figure out if you meet my standards to eat cake with.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: No cake, no magic
I so meet your standards. According to you, you’re going to make me believe in love. How’re you going to do that if we don’t have cake?
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Magic—with or without cake
Love has so much more to it than any kind of dessert, SD. I’ll teach you that, too.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Promise?
I hope you’re successful, but you’ve got your work cut out for you. I’ve been told I’m a shitty student, and our current professor seems to agree with that assessment.
Where do you live?
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Promise.
I don’t care what our professor thinks. I’m incredibly patient when I have to be.
The same city the college is based out of.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Seriously?
I live in that city, too…
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Seriously.
Perfect. We can eat cake together as often as we like.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Cake… again.
I like cake a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. Are you prepared to do a lot of baking for me?
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Full time baker
I love baking for 92-year-old women. You’ll have more cake than you know what to do with.
(Whether cake is code or not.)
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Scary
You shouldn’t want sex with a 92-year-old.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Not scary
You’re not really 92 and I still haven’t determined whether you meet my standards or not.
How old are you?
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: No comment
You’re not out of my age range. You’re toeing the edge of the younger side, but other than that, my lips (and fingers, since I’m typing) are sealed.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Re: No comment
I’ll wait until you fall asleep after all the fantastic dessert we eat and check your license.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: Just…no.
Then you’ll be a Deception Monster, like in my story.
You’ll never get me to believe in magic if you turn into any kind of monster.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Believe
Did you forget the ending to your own story? We eat cake and get fat and happy.
You trust me, SD. Quit being scared and believe already.
OC
To: oc736@solc.edu
From: sd275@solc.edu
Subject: No
Maybe in magic. Not in love.
Me
To: sd275@solc.edu
From: oc736@solc.edu
Subject: Yes
Give me some time, SD. This is just the start of our story.
OC
Roxy barrels through the door and I slam my laptop closed, ending the discussion even though I could email him all night. She flops on her bed, rubbing her stomach and moaning loud enough our neighbors are sure to hear. “I’m so damn full!”
“Guess you shouldn’t have eaten so much.”
“Bitch.”
“Glutton.”
She rolls her head to the side, taking note of me in my pajamas. I went all out with my excuse. If anyone in my group came back to the room early, they would’ve found me in pajamas under the covers and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. The only thing that makes my story suspect is the laptop I hastily closed the second the door opened.
“Wanna hear something fun?” She rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand.
“Sure.”
“The boys are coming tomorrow.”
“What boys?”
I should get it instantly, but I’m stuck on that conversation with 736. I probably shouldn’t call him that, but it seems even more clandestine to refer to him as a number than a set of initials that, to me, have always meant Ocean City instead of a person’s name.
Plus, I’m spiteful. He tells me he’s not just a number, therefore, his nickname is a number.
“Rob and his groomsmen.”
Sitting straight up in bed, I forget all about 736 and focus instead on the guy that kissed me silly in the closet at Alena’s parents’ country club. “They’re coming here?”
“Yeah. They get here sometime in the afternoon.”
“Why didn’t we know about this sooner? I would’ve packed different clothes.”
She sneers at me from her lazy, sprawled out position on her bed. “Ones that were easier to get out of?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Do we know anything about Rob’s brother yet? I don’t want to ask Alena; she’ll set me up on a date with him. With the chemistry we had, a date would be a total waste of time. Time when we could be fucking.”
“Nothing. I’ve been focused on getting info about the other guy.”
“What’d you find out about him?”
She lets out a loud, unattractive grunt as she rolls onto her stomach, pulling a pillow down and crossing her arms underneath it. “He likes black girls and big asses.”
“You’re golden!” I laugh at how little she needs to know about a guy to fuck him. Not that I should talk right now. I normally do a ton of research before fucking a guy, but it would be criminal to not fully explore what Rob’s brother’s lips and tongue can do in the little time I have with him.
“I hear he also likes threesomes. In case the brother doesn’t work out.”
As if. I roll my eyes and wave my hand before leaning back in bed. “The brother’s going to work out.”
“I figured a
s much,” she says, a gleam in her eye that piques my interest. “Our guys are rooming together. I think I should give the brother my key and switch rooms with him.”
I love that gleam. “You’re brilliant!”
“I knew there was a reason I love you.”
736 tries to push his way back inside my head with Roxy’s random comment about love, but I put up an impenetrable wall. After this weekend, I’ll give 736 his chance. I’m not in the country and the guy who gave me the best kiss of my whole damn life will soon be joining me in this slice of Heaven on earth.
This weekend is his chance to let me rate him in that fifth category. I don’t even know if he would pass the first four, but that kiss surpassed all necessary criteria.
Occasionally, even my own rules need to be broken.
Chapter 13
Owen
I love vacations, no matter how short they may be. But why Rob and Alena couldn’t pick locations for their bachelor parties somewhere within driving distance is beyond me.
Sure, the tropics sound fantastic in October. Sure, it will be nice to get away, even if for just over 36 hours between flights. Sure, the sun and sand will be a great change of scenery. I just wish I didn’t have to set foot on a plane, where I have control over nothing. I can drown out the noise with my earbuds, and read a book on my phone, but I’m still uncomfortable in the made-for-midget seats. And the air is too dry. And the people on every side of me are too nosey or selfish. If they’re not trying to engage me in conversation, they’re stealing the armrest, shoving the seat against my legs, or kicking me from behind.