The Broken Hearts' Society of Suite 17C

by LeighAnn Kopans

  “Self-defense? Like, street fighting?” Amy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy to punch and kick and yell.”

  ”What, because I’m a pacifist? Does that mean I can’t work out? I need a t-shirt. ‘Satan can’t handle these guns,’ or something. I should write that down.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he fake-leaned toward his bag.

  Amy swatted his shoulder with her hand. “Stop it. If you wear that t-shirt I am not going to be seen with you again.”

  He sat up straight. “You were planning on being seen with me? Again? I thought these were all just chance encounters.”

  They were, weren’t they? “Um…they are.”

  He leaned forward. “So you’re telling me you come to this coffee shop every other day after my last class because you love the lattes?”

  “Yes,” she said carefully. “That’s what I’m saying.” She might have been saying that, but her heart was going a mile a minute. He is not your type. You’re just happy a guy is paying attention to you. You are pathetic, Amy. Get a grip.

  “Okay. Well, how about this. If I promise not to get the ‘Satan can’t handle these guns’ shirt, will you go out with me?”

  Amy startled. “I can’t,” she blurted.

  He looked at her, taking in her expression, examining her face as it twisted in reaction to emotions not even she understood. He nodded slowly, and slumped back in his chair. “Okay.”

  She knew what he was thinking. She had told him about Adam. “Don’t…I mean…it’s not you.”

  It was true. She fumbled for something, anything to say that made sense. But he jumped in.

  He started shaking his head and sat up again. He moved his hand like he was going to touch hers, which he sometimes did, but now he pulled it back. “Listen to me. You don’t owe me a single explanation. I’ve taken women’s studies.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I don’t believe in the friend zone. You don’t have to go out with me just because we happen to spend a lot of time together. Or, um …” he cast his eyes down at his paper coffee cup. “Maybe it just seems like a lot of time to me. Anyway, I like spending time with you because you’re you, not because I’m hoping to eventually make out with you.”

  Amy’s stomach dropped as the image of Matt leaning in to kiss her flashed through her mind. And she really liked it. She bit her lip and pressed the back of her hand to her cheek as it flushed. What in the world was wrong with her? He was so patient and charming and funny and, seriously? A committed Christian? Maybe she should go out with him once. Give him a chance.

  “Seriously. Let’s be friends. Come to this martial arts self-defense class with me, though, so I can stop feeling so pathetic hanging out at this coffee shop waiting to run into you.”

  Did he just wink at her? Amy was about to turn into a puddle, and she didn’t even like Matt. Did she?

  “You want me to come to self-defense class,” Amy said in a measured voice, pretending to be interested in few dregs at the bottom of her long-empty latte cup. “Basically, you want me to learn to fight.”

  “Yes. I want you to learn how to punch someone in case you ever run into assholes like those guys I yelled at a couple weeks ago. And I don’t want to be that asshole friend who thinks you need him to protect you just because he’s a guy and you’re a girl.”

  Amy stared into her coffee. “Yeah, I know those guys.” Her voice was more bitter than Matt’s dark roast must have tasted. Amy had grown up with nothing but the idea that girls needed to be protected by men. Protected, kept, and led by them. People hardly said as much, but it was everywhere. Mom always listened to whatever Dad told her to do. Women never preached at church. She had always been encouraged to start a career where she would be able to follow Adam.

  “Oh. An ex-boyfriend?” Matt’s eyes trained on her, like if he didn’t watch her carefully he’d miss some vital information.

  “Yeah. And every guy in my home town.”

  “No wonder you’re not thrilled with the idea of dating. And that sucks. But, Ames—” Matt leaned forward like he was about to tell her a huge secret. “If it inspires you to be my self-defense class buddy, I can’t say I’m that upset about it.”

  Amy bit her lip, reached down to loop her bag around her hand. Thank God there was a Society meeting tonight. “Okay. I’ll come,” she said.

  Matt’s face lit up with a grin. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she said, standing. “Probably.” The feeling stirring in her belly was familiar, even if it was distant—excitement. Anticipation. Uncertainty.

  He held out his phone. “Give me your number? Just so I can text you details? I don’t know them yet,” he explained hastily.

  Amy thought it was pretty unlikely that he didn’t know the details of a workout class he’d already committed to. But the idea of him texting her suddenly seemed pretty good. One way to move slowly closer, maybe. Her belly flipped as she reached out and her fingers typed in her number on auto pilot. “Thanks,” he said as she handed it back to him.

  She bit the inside of her lip harder, unsure of whether she wanted to suppress the smile for him, or for herself.

  October 5th– Society Meeting

  “Rion’s here!” Arielle clapped when the doorknob to Suite 17C turned. Amy arranged the paisley plates she’d bought especially for the meeting and tried to find a comfortable way to sit on the thinly-carpeted floor.

  “I brought four pints this time,” Rion proclaimed, dropping the white plastic shopping bags emblazoned with “THANK YOU” in red letters on the floor. “The dining hall chick was really excited because of the flavors she called ‘seasonal,’ or some shit.”

  Amy barely flinched at the curse word, and smiled to herself as she reached into the bag and pulled out a pint and a spoon. She had never tasted sweet potato ice cream, but the way Jeni’s Ice Creams made it almost convinced her to stuff her freezer with every pint on campus. She whimpered as the sweet, cold spiciness filled her mouth. It was almost enough to forget that she’d just turned Matt down for a date.

  Arielle pulled out the Society Notebook, stared at the blank page for a moment, then looked sheepishly at her roommates. “I don’t even have an agenda.”

  “That’s okay. Amy has something she wants to tell us,” Rion said, unboxing the personal pizzas.

  “I…what?” Amy stuffed another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, realizing almost instantly that she’d been found out. She swallowed and mumbled, “How did you know?”

  “Okay, I guess we can just…um…open up the floor,” Arielle said, scribbling the date and “Meeting #2” at the top of the page.

  “Hold on. You didn’t say you wouldn’t date any guy. You said you weren’t going to get serious with a guy,” Rion pointed out, blotting the grease off her personal pizza with a stack of napkins. “And he’s not even your type. You said that after you met him.”

  “Which is why I shouldn’t go out with him!”

  “No. That’s why you should. Because you can spend time with him without worrying about falling madly in love with him,” Arielle said, nodding like she’d just said the most logical thing in the world.

  “I saw him,” Rion said, nodding. “He was very nice, but Red Rocks is not your type. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Red Rocks?” Arielle crinkled her nose. “What, is he a redhead too?”

  Amy’s gaze flicked between them. “I…I guess. Is that bad? Or good? Or …” The smiles on both girls’ faces crept wider. “Listen. He’s SO not my type,” Amy repeated.

  “Are you sure?” Arielle asked in the same way her mom would when she knew she was lying.

  “Do you think his dick has freckles on it?” Rion piped in, the edges of her mouth twitching and her eyes crinkling.

  “Huh. I guess I never thought about a dick having freckles before,” Arielle mused.

  “Yeah, cause you only ever think about pussy.” Rion grinned at Arielle, who snorted, choking on the big swig of pop s
he’d just taken.

  “Okay, STOP IT!” Amy yelled, letting her slice of pizza slap down onto her plate. “He is not my type, I do not like him, and I don’t care if he has freckles…down there.” Heat flooded her cheeks as she tried, and failed, to keep from picturing what was below Matt’s belt. Were his abs as defined as his biceps? Did his chest move down into a cut stomach? She swallowed. “So neither should you. Anyway, he just wants to be friends. He said that.”

  “Hold on. He actually said that? He said, ‘I just want to be friends,’” Arielle raised her eyebrows and stared into her with the question.

  Not exactly.

  “Yes,” Amy said. She returned to her prim feet-tucked-under-bottom, knees-together, and back straight position. She picked at a corner of her pizza crust. She was suddenly not hungry.

  “So there’s no problem,” Rion concluded. “You don’t like him, he doesn’t like you, there’s no way this is going to turn into a relationship, much less a horrible, all-consuming, attached-at-the-hip one, so you go to the self defense class, throw a punch, break a board, shake hands goodnight, and meet him for Jesus time the next day. Hell, it’s not even a date date.”

  “Seriously, Ames. What are you worried about?” Arielle glanced at Amy’s pizza with a napkin crumpled on top, and pried the top off another pint of Jeni’s, handing it to her. Amy hadn’t felt very hungry, but suddenly dark chocolate ice cream felt like exactly what she needed. She licked the rest of the sweet potato ice cream off her spoon and dug in.

  “Nothing. I’m worried about nothing.” That was the simple answer, but really she was worried about a lot of little somethings—the way her stomach flipped when Matt said something sweet to her, how she was actually thinking about buying one of those Jesus shirts of his, the nagging need to know more about his job at the church and what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The way his smile made her feel warm and the way heading to Francis Beans coffee shop after class was almost automatic now.

  “Nothing,” Amy repeated. “I just don’t need to take a self-defense class, so I’m going to stay home.”

  “Says the girl who almost got mugged coming to meet me after work” Rion pointed out, polishing off her second piece of pizza and reaching for a pint of salty caramel. Amy had no idea where she put all that food, as tiny as she was.

  Arielle gasped and swallowed a mouthful of Diet Coke hard, then coughed. “You what? Jesus, Amy.”

  Amy’s eyes flared. Swearing, she might get used to, but that? Maybe never.

  “Aw, holy shit. I’m sorry.”

  Rion stifled a laugh.

  “I’m just going to shut up now. I suck,” Arielle growled. Amy didn’t have the heart to tell her that even that last word would have made her squirm a couple months ago.

  “You do not…um…you know,” Amy said, “In fact, I was going to ask you. Will you come with me, to the class? Just in case…you know.”

  “Just in case you finally freaking realize Freckles is your type and you decide you want to jump him on the way into the locker room?”

  “I wouldn’t…I mean, I don’t…argh!” Amy said as she clapped the lid back on the ice cream and let her shoulders fall in defeat.

  “I know,” Arielle said, putting a gentle hand on Amy’s shoulder. “We know. Besides, you’re still dealing with the whole Adam thing, I’m sure.”

  “I saw him the other day,” Amy said, remembering the way her breath caught and her legs froze in place when she saw Adam walking toward her on the quad, with his hand not only around the waist of some girl, but with his fingers hooked in her front belt loop. Something he’d never ever done with her, saying he wasn’t into PDA. The girl was petite, more willowy than Amy would ever be, and her smile flashed white and perfect up at Adam, like he was a god.

  Adam had seen Amy, had noticed her staring. She knew it because his mouth dropped open like he was going to say something, and for the briefest second, he stopped in his tracks. But the girl tugged him along, asking him a silent question. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and Amy would have sworn she saw him kiss just below it. Amy’s heart twisted, remembering when he’d kissed her there.

  That was always a sign with him that things were about to go farther than she really wanted them to go.

  Amy remembered when she’d looked at him that way, like he was worthy of her worship, and believed it. She’d still be doing it, believing that, if he hadn’t broken up with her.

  Now, she wasn’t sure whether she was grateful to him for leaving her, or just trying to dull the still-gaping wounds. But she knew one thing—the depression that had taken over in the week right after he’d broken up with her had faded, little by little, every day. Now, four weeks into the semester, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d dreamed about him.

  In fact, when she’d finally told Mom about the breakup, she could have sworn that Mom had been more upset than she’d been. With Dad as Adam’s football coach, and Adam’s dad her pastor since childhood, the families had always been so linked that the two of them being together felt like the last puzzle piece of their families’ story clicking into place.

  That was what accounted for the strange, empty feeling when Adam left her. Maybe when that one piece was gone, the rest of the puzzle would stop making sense. Maybe that was why she couldn’t find a church she liked.

  Maybe that was why coffee with a guy with freckles was the thing that made her look forward to going to class every day.

  “Amy? Earth to Amy? I’ll go to the class with you, if you really want me to. Then at least I won’t feel guilty for skipping another work out. Which I would definitely do either way.” Arielle reached back and tied her shoulder-length waves back at the base of her neck.

  “Maybe it’ll be fun.” Amy forced a smile. “Maybe Matt’s right when he worries about how dangerous this campus can be at night.”

  Rion grabbed another pint of ice cream. “Matt’s right. Mmmhm. Okay.”

  Amy pushed her lips into a hard line. “Time to talk about you, Rion? What’s the update on Crash?”

  “Yes, Rion. Give us the update on Crash.” Arielle grinned, letting his name roll off her tongue in a teasing lilt.

  Rion’s expression hardened. She looked like she was debating whether to call in nuclear launch codes before she uttered a word. “He…is definitely interested.”

  “In what? You?” Amy pushed her. If she had to open up, she was definitely going to push Rion to do the same.

  “Fucking me, definitely.”

  Amy winced.

  “Sorry, Ames.”

  Amy shook her head, trying to brush off the coarse language. Admittedly, it got easier to hear every time. Rion’s bluntness was something she could appreciate, at least.

  “Is he interested in me? Like, being with me? I’m not sure, but my bet is on no.”

  Arielle frowned, and so Rion gave her a little more. “Nobody’s ever been interested in me for more than my tits.” Rion shrugged and stared at her hands.

  She didn’t say it, but Amy could tell by the look on her face that this wasn’t a statement she was super happy about.” So what are you going to do?”

  Rion shrugged like her particular genius in this situation was no big deal. “I’m testing him.”

  “Ooooh. How?” Amy asked, while Arielle quirked an eyebrow. “Standing him up for a date? Asking him about the future?”

  “Making him actually take you out on a date after running away from him for a month?” Arielle snarked as she started to stack the used paper plates.

  Now it was Rion’s turn to roll her eyes. “No. Like, literally testing him. I told you guys—after what Tate did, any guy who touches drugs is not allowed to touch me. At all. I told him he had to piss in a cup before I’d go anywhere with him.”

  “Whoa,” Arielle said, with an exaggerated slow clap. “Impressive. What about alcohol?”

  The way Rion’s eyes flared in response said she obviously hadn’t thought of that.

&
nbsp; “The only way you could know that for sure is if he was still drunk,” Amy said.

  Rion quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “I had…friends who got in trouble. With a breathalyzer.” The football team was far from squeaky-clean on the alcohol front, despite Adam the Pastor’s Kid being the captain.

  “So, anyway,” Rion said. “I told him to be at the Student Health Center tomorrow morning. I have class two buildings down before it, so I’ll be walking by anyway. If he’s there, I’ll know he’s interested. If he’s not, I go to lunch and forget I ever let him bother me.”

  “This is a really weird sort of romantic,” Arielle cooed, pulling up her shoulders and giving Rion puppy dog eyes, like she’d never heard of anything sweeter than a guy who was willing to pee in a cup for a chance to date someone. “Can I come? Amy will come too. It’s right after the ridiculous self-defense class she’s dragging me to so she’ll owe me one.”

  Rion’s eyes narrowed at Arielle, and for the first time Amy found her biting look amusing.

  “What’s with you? Last time you broke out that notebook I thought you were going to use the pages to wipe snot and tears until our next meeting.”

  “It’s been a month,” Arielle said, concentrating on her ice cream.

  “Sorry, but you’re doing a really bad job of deflecting,” Amy giggled. “Might as well tell us why you’re not miserable.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s nothing. Probably,” Arielle said through a mouthful of Brambleberry Crisp.

  “It’s a girl. You had sex,” Rion said, leaning in and peering at Arielle with a look that was half jealousy and half amusement.

  Arielle laughed shortly and shook her head. “No. Nope. No, I definitely did not. Not even close.”

  “But you met someone,” Rion persisted.

  Amy had spent much more time with Arielle than Rion had, and her heart froze at Rion’s easy conclusion. She looked at Arielle, her eyebrows furrowed.

  “I…sort of. I mean…maybe. I don’t know. It’s nothing. Probably.” Now Arielle twisted her fingers together and stared at them, speaking just above a murmur. Definitely uncharacteristic.