Halfway Perfect

by Julie Cross

  “That sucks,” I say. “But it’s probably helpful to have a sophomore for a roommate your first year.”

  She shrugs and pulls a pink long-sleeve top from the closet. “We got a big price break since we’re sharing, so I really don’t mind.”

  I decide to kneel on her bed and study her photos just in case she’s planning on changing in here. I’m going to need something to look at besides her. Although, it would even the score. She’s already seen me in underwear.

  I start with the far side of the photos and study them from top to bottom. I can tell most of the images were taken outside somewhere in New York City. But none of them are complete objects or people. She’s found a hundred ways to slice an image in half and still have it be symmetrical.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Eve sliding her jacket off. I keep my eyes trained on the wall. “Want me to leave?”

  “No, I’ll be done in like ten seconds. I’m afraid to leave you alone in the hall.” She laughs and then her voice gets muffled from the shirt she’s probably pulling over her head. “There are girls and boys on this floor that wouldn’t be above kidnapping you for the night.”

  My eyes rest on several pictures of Elana. I remember Eve taking these earlier this week. “She looks so young.”

  “I know. It’s weird how when you shoot her from the front and get her entire face, she ages like six years. Something about her bone structure.”

  It helps that Elana’s not standing up in any of the photos. She’s either lying on her stomach with her pink cell phone, or tapping her pencil against a textbook.

  And then I see me. The pictures she took and pretended to be capturing shots of the view out the window. It’s just my profile and there’s a shadow over my face so you can’t really tell it’s me. I’m also hunched over like I’ve forgotten to stand up straight.

  Eve catches me staring at myself. She’s now wearing jeans and the pink shirt she yanked from the closet a minute ago. She’s morphed back into College Eve. “Is it weird that I have pictures of you on my wall?”

  “You can’t really tell it’s me,” I say, but it is a little surprising. Not weird, just surprising. I don’t have pictures of anyone, including myself, in my room or in my shared apartment at all.

  Eve moves beside me and taps the picture I’m looking at. “I like this one a lot. You look human.”

  I laugh. “As opposed to alien?”

  “As opposed to supermodel.”

  “I get it. You’re against Photoshopped models and all that,” I say. It’s a tired argument—though I’d willingly have it with Eve—but it’s not like I can change the world or anything. It’s not like I have any say in what’s done to my pictures.

  She pulls two rubber bands out of her long wavy hair, letting it fall loose from the tight bun. I immediately smell her shampoo. “It’s not Photoshop that makes me hate fashion pictures. I edit too. I’m just not as intrigued by images where the subject knows they’re being photographed. It’s like being on trial. You’re going to hide all your vulnerability, all the raw emotion that you get in a real image.”

  “So what you’re saying is, if I were to replicate this pose…” I tap the picture in question. “But this time I knew you were taking a picture, I couldn’t make it look the same?”

  She’s still staring at the image. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too biased to answer that since I’m the one who took the photo. Maybe it would only look different to me.”

  Just hearing her say that makes me realize how much of her goes into her pictures, and how little of me is actually in a photo from any professional shoot I’ve ever done.

  “I think I get it.” I scan all her photos again. “If you don’t include the entire subject in the picture, then people are free to fill in their own blanks.”

  I’m not even sure where that came from. It sounded like a fucking Freudian analysis or something. The air must be different on a college campus than in the rest of New York City, and it’s gone to my head.

  Eve turns her eyes from the picture and stares at me. “Maybe.”

  Her proximity to me becomes the only thing my mind is able to focus on. I didn’t come on this date just so I could kiss her, and I didn’t come into her room for that reason either. Which is why I know for sure, the second her head turns and her eyes meet mine, that it’s exactly what I should do.

  I only have to lean in a few inches before my mouth is on hers and her eyes are closing. And there’s nothing to look at or think about, nobody watching us or taking our picture. It’s as easy and natural as taking my next breath, and I know I’m already addicted to kissing Eve before my tongue has even moved past her lips. My hands are going to insist on living in her hair forever, even if it’s really hard to walk around anywhere. And I’m pretty sure my heart is going to beat at this much faster pace for good.

  I should have done this five days ago. And every day since.

  And I was wrong about my hands; they decide on their own to drift under the back of Eve’s shirt. I tug her closer until she’s pressed against me, her arms tight around my neck. Somebody will have to carve a statue of us just like this.

  After a few seconds or a few minutes—I’m not sure—she pulls away, then drops her arms before sitting back on her heels. She’s smiling but also biting one of her nails, so I’m not sure what her “after” reaction is yet. I know the “during” reaction had a positive charge to it.

  I’m about to say something, but I’m still breathing like I just sprinted fifty yards to catch a bus.

  “Do you think this is okay?” she asks. “You know, with Elana and all?”

  Elana who?

  Oh right. Elana my almost supermodel girlfriend. “I don’t think Elana’s going to tell anyone if she does find out,” I say. “We just have to be careful. There’re so many places to go that aren’t going to bring on any tabloid people or anyone in the fashion industry at all.”

  I think I just turned date into dates. Which is something I haven’t done since my high school girlfriend, Lindsey.

  “Are you going to tell Wes?” she asks.

  I snort out a laugh. “God no.”

  Her face relaxes and I decide to tuck that subject far away. “It’s gonna be weird for you, right? Seeing pictures of me and Elana together?” I stop and refill my lungs with university air. “Of course it’s weird. It’s probably been weird watching us at the CK shoot all week.”

  She rubs her hands over her face and then starts laughing. “We haven’t even officially started our date. Maybe we should forget about those details for the moment.”

  “Good plan.” I stand up and pull her off the bed beside me before kissing her again.

  The sound of someone about to open the door breaks us apart and we look almost innocent by the time a short blond girl bounces into the room.

  “Stephanie, right?”

  She looks me over, shaking her head back and forth. “Oh no. You can’t go out like this,” she says.

  “Like what?” I look down at my outfit. Maybe it’s a little too designer? Wes is pretty much a stickler for me looking photo ready at all times.

  “Yeah, that Dolce & Gabbana blazer, while classy as hell, won’t blend in well with the Sig Pi guys. They’re a little like…what’s the word? Neanderthals,” Stephanie says.

  Eve throws a weary glance in my direction. “I told her you’re avoiding the crazy tabloid people tonight.”

  “So you’re not spotted cheating on your fake girlfriend,” Stephanie adds.

  Okay, I guess college roommates don’t keep secrets from each other. Which is so weird to me. I hardly tell my roommates anything.

  I pull my backpack off the floor and set it on the bed, opening it up. “I’ve got a T-shirt and gym shoes?”

  “Perfect,” both of them say.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask, trying to
peek inside the closet to search for the secret door.

  “Down the hall,” Eve says. “We can check it first before you go in. It’s the girls’ side of the floor.”

  After I switch to my blend-in clothes and use the bathroom, Eve takes a turn and comes out five minutes later with her hair brushed and makeup on. I can’t stop myself from staring a few seconds too long. Even without having changed, I would do a much better job of blending in than she will.

  Before we head back outside, Stephanie tosses a Green Bay Packers hat on my head. “I don’t like the Packers,” I tell her.

  She holds the bill firmly in place, not allowing me to remove it. “It’s key to the disguise.”

  I roll my eyes before adjusting it to my size. I’ll have to come up with an excuse for this one. I’m not about to be accused of being a fan.

  Eve stops when we get outside. Digging in her purse, she removes her cell phone and glances at an email. “Oh my God! Look what Janessa just sent me.”

  Stephanie and I both lean in to read.

  Just talked to CK marketing. This photo will be on a billboard in SoHo. Congrats, Eve. Keep it up and you’ll be doing my job.

  —Janessa

  She scrolls down, revealing a photo of Elana and I from yesterday's shoot when Eve had classes she couldn’t miss. “An Eve Nowakowski original on a giant billboard,” I say, grinning at her. “Not too bad for a freshman.”

  Eve looks like she just won the lottery. “I didn’t even know you guys reshot this pose. And I like it much better with the jeans, and Janessa fixed your hands…it looks beautiful.”

  “It looks hot,” Stephanie says. “Those jeans hug you in all the right places, Alex.”

  Normally, I’d respond with a snappy retort, but looking at this photo makes me think of being tangled with Eve in an almost identical fashion. She must be thinking the same thing because pink creeps up from her neck when she glances sideways at me, smiling a little before tucking her phone away. “Another excuse to celebrate tonight,” she says.

  “A damn good excuse,” I add. “That’s a pretty big item to add to your résumé.”

  She’s still beaming. “You think?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie and I say together. Not that I know anything about photographer résumés, but when you’ve done something that just about any random person would consider cool, it’s a huge asset. It has to be.

  When we finally start walking in the direction of our destination, Eve’s arm brushes against mine, and I immediately reach for her hand. It feels important, doing this off camera just because.

  Chapter 19: Eve

  October 13, 11:45 p.m.

  “Why did I have to pay five bucks for my beer and you didn’t?” Alex shouts into my ear as we elbow our way through the herd of students.

  This frat house event is actually pretty cool. The music is amazing and live, which is better than the last party I attended.

  “Because I have boobs and you don’t,” I shout back to him. “Want to go outside?”

  I can’t hear his answer but I can see that he’s following me, so we won’t lose each other in the crowd. It’s cold outside, but I’m already sweating after the first two acts—both groups who played lots of thrashing, jumping-up-and-down music.

  “Feels good out here,” Alex says as the cool air hits us from the yard in front of the frat house.

  Steph waves us over and we join her group of two guys and a girl who I think are also journalism students like her. I can’t remember their names though.

  “Okay, so,” Alex says, turning to me and taking a big drink from his cup. “What if I send you in there to get my next drink? Will it be free?”

  “If she’s getting two drinks,” Steph answers, “then no, ten bucks.”

  “Sexist pigs,” Alex mutters under his breath and we all laugh.

  One of the guys points at Alex’s head and says, “Dude, Packers? Seriously?”

  He rolls his eyes. “I lost a bet.”

  “You live on campus?” the guy asks Alex. Steph and I both stare at Alex, having no clue what he should say in response.

  “No, I’m not a student here,” he says smoothly. “I’m at Hunter College.”

  “He lives in Jersey,” Steph chimes in.

  “I see,” the guy says. “So you just come here to steal all the hot Ivy League girls who have spent their school years studying and are ready to unleash their sexual prowess on you.”

  Alex smirks. “You got it, man.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. He’s good at this. It’s almost like he wants to be this person tonight.

  Forty-five minutes later, while Alex is in the middle of an animated discussion about the first band with Ben or Bill or Bob (can’t remember his name), my roommate tips over and falls asleep in my lap. At least one of us kept up the crazy drunk plan for tonight.

  “I’m impressed that her head didn’t hit the table,” the guy with the B name says.

  Alex leans around me to look at Stephanie. “Time to go?”

  I push the hair off her face and pat her cheek gently. “Steph?”

  When she doesn’t respond, Alex laughs, stands up, and then says, “Yep, time to go. Want me to throw her over my shoulder?”

  Steph ends up walking most of the way back to the dorm, but she leans on me the whole time, her eyes opening and closing. I get her onto her bed and pull her shoes off, then grab Alex’s bag for him.

  He tosses it over his shoulder and leans against the door frame before hooking an arm around my waist, tugging me closer. “So, what are you doing tomorrow?”

  I feel myself smiling. I’m kind of done acting cool in front of him. “Probably some studying, some picture taking, some running with my 5K team.”

  His eyebrows lift. “Running? Let’s do that. What time should I be here?”

  Many different comebacks and smartass remarks surface about him not being invited or him being a little too eager, but none of them leave my mouth because they’re all things you say when you don’t want someone to know how you really feel. “We meet at ten.”

  “I’ll be back at ten, then.” He smiles then brings my face closer so he can kiss me again.

  Kissing Alex is like getting the chance to be a kid again. It’s light and uncomplicated and exhilarating and completely consuming in a way that isn’t even a little bit scary. All I can feel are his lips on mine and his hands touching my cheeks and my neck and my hair and my body leaning against his. The way his legs shift to fit one of mine between them and the way our feet line up…if we were a picture, I’d never be able to decide which half to show.

  His eyes are still closed when he whispers, “I should probably go.”

  I give him one more quick kiss on the mouth before backing away. “It’s no big deal if you change your mind about tomorrow considering it is tomorrow and already after one.”

  He stands up straight and grins. “I won’t change my mind.”

  After he leaves, I lock the door and turn on my reading light so I can check on Stephanie and then I fall into bed with my clothes still on and start mentally replaying all my favorite parts of the evening.

  Chapter 20: Alex

  November 20, 1:30 p.m.

  “What happens if I let go?”

  So, it’s not Chuck E. Cheese’s, but it’s my idea of an appropriate date with a fourteen-year-old. Plus, I get to work out. Kill two birds with one stone. After six weeks, I’ve gotten pretty good at this fake girlfriend thing and I’m not too bad at the real girlfriend thing either.

  “It’s totally foolproof, I swear,” Elliot says to her.

  My phone beeps, and I fish it out of my pocket to check the incoming text.

  WES: Someone just tweeted pics of you and the gf having lunch. Very cozy. Nice work! Keep it up.

  HARVARD: Elana’s salad looked really good. Was
that avocado?

  I laugh to myself. Wes isn’t the only one who’s seen the tweeted photos already. And we just had lunch, like, an hour ago. That’s insane.

  ME: Yes, it had avocado. Maybe I’ll bring you one later.

  “Are you texting?” Elana says, looking over her shoulder. “You’re going to drop me, aren’t you?”

  It’s amazing to me how quickly Elana’s accent is fading.

  I stuff my phone into my pocket. “I’m a hundred percent focused on you. Just don’t, you know, go crazy or anything. You can stop a few feet up if you want.”

  That comment wasn’t intended as a challenge, but when Elana glances over her shoulder at me, I know that’s exactly how she takes it. Oh boy.

  By the time Elana climbs (to the very top, of course) and then figures out how to rappel off the wall, she’s addicted and wants to go again. I’d been hoping to get in some weights and cardio since I finally landed that big GQ spread Wes has been pining for. And we start the week after next. Right after Thanksgiving.

  The way things have been going with the fragrance campaign and the GQ spread, I have a feeling I’m going to have to add “and I owe everything to Wes Danes” on my tombstone.

  “The treadmills are really cool. They have satellite TV,” I say, trying to entice Elana into helping me finish my daily to-do list. I might not be the best boyfriend, but I’m an excellent multitasker.

  “If you want to go work out, I can help her climb,” Elliot suggests.

  I can tell he doesn’t really think I’ll go for that, given the fact that I’m supposed to want to be around my one true love every waking hour. Before I blurt out a yes, I stop myself and glance at Elana, who’s a whole head taller than Elliot and a whole year younger (though he thinks she’s eighteen).

  Elana gives me one of her famous smiles and says, “Go, we’ll be fine.”

  I pat Elliot on the shoulder. “Don’t let her go anywhere or get hurt or anything.”