“I like it. Should we get on with the scavenger hunt?”
He gives me a thumbs up, knowing very well where I’m going with this. I’m ready to bring Robert and Roxanne together. We hand out the scavenger hunt sheets being careful to give the impending lovebirds the ones made specifically for them. We wait as the residents search for the items, checking them off as they find them.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Will rolls his sleeves and I notice the muscles in his forearm for the first time. He’s so tan, too, a difficult feat in October in Wisconsin unless you go to a tanning salon. He doesn’t strike me as the tanning salon type though. Not that there is a type, I guess. His tan just looks so natural.
“Yeah. I went to Chicago.”
“Wait. You went to Chicago?”
His shock startles me. What’s the big deal about going to another city? I suppose just as I assumed he wouldn’t be the type to go to a tanning salon, he probably assumes I would never go to such a big city. “I went with some friends—and made some new ones, I think—but I never got off the bus.”
“Okay, okay. That makes more sense.”
“Why does that make more sense?”
“You’re playing it safe. If you got off the bus, there would have been more opportunity to do something you’d regret. Even though I don’t believe you should regret anything about your college experience.”
I hop onto the table and cross my ankles. “Tell me more about what my college experience should be.”
“Come on now, don’t be like that.” He joins me on the table. “I mean don’t allow yourself to miss out. Have you thought about joining a sorority?”
I laugh so hard I snort. “Me? A sorority? Um, no.”
“Okay, well then something else. A club or something.”
I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I didn’t join anything in high school out of fear. Am I doing the same thing now? There has to be some sort of club or group I can fit into. I never even checked or inquired about them. Something must pique my interest.
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” I hop down from the table. “Why don’t we check on our potential love birds?”
We make our way into the hallway in the back where we’ve set up the table. Roxanne and Robert are sharing a plate of appetizers, and Robert is holding Roxanne’s hand.
“Well look at that,” I say as I cross my arms. “It looks like you were right.”
“I believe I said this before but I’m always right. Just remember that.”
“I’m telling you it was the sweetest thing. They held hands through their meal, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Robert smile so much in one sitting.” Watching Robert have the time of his life brought me such joy. Not only was that the longest I’d ever seen him smile, but I’m not sure if he’s ever been so happy in his entire life. Or at least the years I’ve known him.
I’m in Jesse’s dorm room for the first time, and we’re laying on his bed. I can’t believe I’m here, with him, and I’m cradled in his arms. His roommate, Mark, is in class. I’m done with my classes for the day and Jesse doesn’t have any. Being back together with him is the best thing in the world right now and nothing can take it away from me. I won’t let it. Or her…because a her is what would stand in our way at this point.
He holds my right hand in his, and we’re linking our fingers together. “So you played Cupid for Halloween?”
“Yep, but I didn’t dress up as her.” Let’s face it, if Cupid is real, she’s a her.
“Who were you?”
“Lucille Ball.”
“Lucille Ball?” He laughs and kisses the top of my hand. “I can’t even imagine it.”
I pull out my phone and swipe through my photos. “I have proof.”
He takes the phone from my hand and looks at the picture. “Huh.”
“What? Is it bad?” I sit up and face him. “I thought I did a pretty good job on the costume.”
“No, you did.” He stares at the picture. “Who is this, though?”
I don’t even have to look. I know who he’s referring to. “Will. He works there, too.”
Jesse nods his head, refusing to make eye contact with me. Is he jealous? No. That can’t be. Guys don’t get jealous over a girl like me. Now me getting jealous of him, maybe I can see that. It’s much more likely to happen.
“He’s a friend, Jesse. If even that.” We get along just fine, but it’s not as though we hang out together outside of work. We would never do that. “What’s wrong?”
He hands me back my phone. “Nothing.”
“You can tell me. What’s the matter?” He doesn’t get a free pass. I confided in him about my past and my insecurities. Now it’s his turn.
“I’ve been cheated on before.” His face falls flat. “More than once.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” I find it interesting that Olivia dates a guy who cheats on her, and Jesse has the same issue. I wonder if he’s stayed with the women who have done so. I don’t know how people can do that. I’ve never had an opportunity to cheat, but if I did, I never could. It’s gross.
“No, no.” He shakes his head as he takes my hand again. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s my issue. It just seems to happen in every relationship I’ve had.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Again with the sorry. Don’t be. It sucks, though. I’m sure no one has ever cheated on you.”
“No, they haven’t.” And now it’s time to drop a bomb. “They haven’t because I’ve never had a boyfriend before. You’re my first.” I can’t believe that in all I’ve admitted to him, I haven’t fessed up to that. It’s embarrassing. What type of college aged girl has never had a boyfriend? Mine isn’t even out of choice. Just circumstance.
“What?” His lips curl into his cheek and I read the shock on his face. Though I don’t think this situation calls for shock. I don’t think most people expect me to have had tons of boyfriends. “I don’t believe that for one minute.”
“Well, believe it.” I sigh a little and laugh at the same time. “I haven’t exactly had guys lining up to date me.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I’m glad.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, because if you did, you’d already be taken, and I want you all to myself.” He leans in and kisses me on my neck, and I shiver. It tickles, but I like it. He does it again, this time pressing his lips against my skin and letting his tongue take a taste. I allow myself to lie back on the bed and for him to crawl on top of me. He’s hovering above me, digging his head into my neck as he keeps kissing me.
Unsure of what to do next, I slide my hand up his back, and he flattens against me, though I can feel how hard he is. His penis is pressed against me. I can’t stop thinking this as he moves his lips to my chin, my cheek, my lips. His penis is pressed against me. “Is that okay?”
A thousand times over it’s okay. I’ve waited for this to happen between us, for things to go further. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “Yes.” My hands are at his pants line and if I move an inch further, I’ll be able to touch his underwear. I want this to happen. I know that. I mean, I don’t want to do everything. Should I stop him and tell him? I’ve never been in this situation. I don’t want to ruin the mood. But I want him to know my limits.
Jesse’s lips leave my skin, and the second they do my body goes into withdrawal. “I only want to go as far as you want to,” he says as though he has a crystal ball reading my mind.
All I know is I don’t want to do everything. I haven’t done anything. What if I don’t know how to do what I should? Is there an instruction manual somewhere on campus? What if I touch him wrong, make the wrong noise, or burst out laughing out of sheer nerves?
“Vi, baby,” he runs his finger along the side of my face. “Don’t think about it too much. Don’t worry about anything.”
Is he in my mind? How another human being can read me like this, I don’t know. I trust every word he is
saying, and every inch of my body is calling him to me.
“I do. I worry.”
I’m breaking protocol here and ruining the mood, but I want to be honest. Anything less than honest isn’t fair. To either of us.
“I’m serious, Vi. The last thing I want to do is pressure you. I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Excuse me?” Apparently, I read this situation incorrectly.
He runs his arms so they’re behind my neck and slides off me, pulling me to his chest. “Right now. That came out wrong.”
“It sure did!”
“I know you’re not ready for that. So even if you beg me, that will not happen tonight.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t want him to think I’m rejecting him. I’m glad he understands. If he didn’t, then I’d need to end things right here right now. Though I’m relieved, I’m still yearning for him. I want him to touch me everywhere, leave no inch of skin untouched.
“I have an idea,” he says as he kisses me on the lips. His hand folds around my breast, and even from outside the comfort of clothing, my body is tingling. “What about this? Are you okay with this?”
His hand is heavy on my breast but it feels right being there. “Yes.”
“Are you okay with it if I lift your shirt?”
My stomach drops for a moment. If he does, he’ll expose my belly, every flaw in plain view. He’s seen it all though, hasn’t he? He had to have seen that picture. The picture. He’s seen it all already, then. My dimpled legs, my apple butt, the roll of skin on my back. Still, he’s here.
“Violet, if you’re not okay with this, I won’t do it.”
I want him to. So bad. “No. Please.”
He lifts my shirt up and pulls my bra aside, taking me in his mouth. I groan, stopping when I realize I’ve done it out loud.
“No, please, be as loud as you need.” He rolls over and presses the hardest part of his body against me. “I love it.” His hand leaves my breast and makes its way into my pants. I flinch as he inches underneath my panty line. For a moment he stops but I urge him to keep going. When he touches me in the most intimate area, I want to close my legs. Not because I don’t want him there, but because it feels so good I can barely stand it.
“Shh,” he whispers. “Just relax.”
My legs fall open and he keeps one hand on my breast and the other tickles me with his fingers. I’m so wet but I can’t let embarrassment take over. I never want this to stop.
“Do you think I don’t allow myself to experience things?”
My legs drape over Jesse’s body, my arms across his chest, after perhaps the best time of my life. I never knew my body could feel that way, react in such a manner. He didn’t laugh at me or judge me. When I moaned louder, he pleasured me harder until I couldn’t take it anymore. He did as he said he would—he took care of me. When I’m ready, I’ll take care of him.
“After what just happened, I’d have to say you’re open to new experiences.” I love the feel of his hand stroking my arm as we lie there. “Why do you ask, babe?”
I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with Will. I’ve never so much as taken part in a spelling bee, always worried about what people would think if I messed up, or what if I spoke out of turn on accident, or fell on the stage. Of course, Jesse has experienced the latter and laughed at himself. I’m not so sure I’d be able to laugh at myself. Though that night on the bus helped break that barrier a little.
“I go to class every day, I spend time with you and Janna, I work my job, rinse and repeat.”
“And you’re tired of the repetitiveness?”
He used his readings of me prior, and can’t guess what is wrong now. “No. I like routine. I guess it makes me feel safe. But I wonder if I should do more while I’m here. It’s four short years. I spent four years of high school avoiding anything social. Maybe now is my chance.”
“What are you thinking about doing?”
“Joining a club or organization.”
“I think you should do it.” He doesn’t hesitate, and though I can’t see his face, I can tell he’s smiling. ”I’m in the computer club.”
“You are?” I lift my head and he’s smiling at me, his head against the wall, propped up with his arm.
“Yes,” he laughs. “It’s definitely helpful. The clubs are a chance to expand your knowledge in your area of study and make friends. It adds to your resume, too.”
I didn’t think about that. I’ll need to pad that up if I plan on securing a decent job after graduation. “What would I even join? What sort of club is there for me?”
“How about Writing Club?”
My heart almost stops when he says this. “There’s a writing club?” How did I not know about this already? A safe space to join with other writers and share our work. I already imagine myself among a group of people, each of us with our face down on paper as we write the afternoon away. All that’s missing is a balcony and a gentle breeze. The perfect day.
But creative writing isn’t my major. Will this even help me in any way? “Wait. I can’t do that. I’m not an English major. That makes little sense. I should find something related to my field.”
“Why? I played basketball in high school but didn’t plan on becoming a professional basketball player. Join because it’s fun. Besides, if your parents are pushing you to do this business thing, why not also do something you enjoy while you’re here?”
“You’re right. Okay, first thing tomorrow I’m doing it. I’m joining the Writing Club.”
“That’s my girl.” He kisses the top of my head, letting his hand fall to my waist again. His kisses follow down my neck as I lie back in bliss.
Chapter Thirteen
Liar
Years of searching
for people like myself
and always
I came up empty.
Finally I’ve found
a place to be myself
and truly be accepted
as me.
Still I don’t believe it.
The truth will fold into itself
and prove a lie.
^^^
I knock on the door before turning the knob and entering. The counselor in the office said the writing club meets in Thurber Hall, Room 205. “They’re actually meeting in about five minutes. Head over now,” she told me.
I didn’t expect to be thrown into the situation right away, but I can’t argue that that can be a good thing in my position. I open the door, and when I step through, I expect to see ten or twelve people gathered at a long table. Instead, three people sit in a small circle of desks.
As they gawk at me, I almost tell them I’m in the wrong room and leave. They won’t know the difference. Why am I so afraid of this? I want to do this. Why else would I be here? This is my chance to be a part of something. They may not accept me, or I might make a fool of myself, but that’s the name of the game.
I stand there, these people looking back at me in confusion. How long have I been standing here? My head is light, static like an untuned radio station the only soundtrack in the room, and it’s directly in my ears.
“May I help you?” A slinky girl with glasses stands up, her frizzy hair demanding attention.
“Oh!” I must have been standing there for too long. “I’m Violet. I want to join your club.” God, I sound like a kid asking for access into a treehouse with a sign that says, “No dorks allowed.” I’m part of a Judy Blume book.
“Welcome, Violet!” Glasses girl approaches me and shakes my hand. “I’m Karen. This is David and Erica.” She points to a man who reminds me of Jon Snow with his wild hair, and to a girl who seems about as shy as me as she lowers her head and waves.
“Hi, everyone. It’s nice to meet you.” I wave at them and take a hold of my right elbow with my left arm. Even though I’m in my element, I’m transported back to high school and every awkward moment I’ve had. The room is closing in on me, and I can hear my heart beating between my
ears. Does this mean I’m in? Am I part of the group? Just like that? What next?
“Welcome! Have a seat!” Karen slides a desk over and my rush of anxiety turns into relief. Her personality is already so inviting I can’t help but feel comfortable with her. I sit down, sliding my chair in and waiting for direction.
“What do you write, Violet?” Karen must be the leader of the club. She comes across as the strong one of the group.
“Um, poetry.” I admit this in a whisper. I love writing my poems, and I’m good at it, but poetry is something people don’t often admit to reading, much less writing. When people think of poetry, Shakespeare comes to mind, who I’m not, never have been, and never will be, or of someone like Shel Silverstein who writes poetry for children.
“We have a poet amongst us!” David startles me as he announces to the group in a deep, demanding voice. “So glad to have you here. We meet every Tuesday and Thursday at two right in this room. Always bring a notebook and a laptop.”
“Oh.” I stare down at my empty desktop. “Sorry. The counselor told me to come right over. I didn’t even stop back at my dorm.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Karen says as she tears a sheet of paper from a notebook and rolls a pen over. “We’re doing more critiquing here today than anything.”
“So, are any of you published?”
“Only Erica.” I glance over at Erica. Her head is still slightly bowed, and her eye contact is so fast I almost miss it.
“Really? That’s awesome.”
“A short story in a magazine. It’s not a big deal.”
I understand her hesitancy to discuss it. While I love writing my poems and hope to be published one day, it’s scary putting yourself out there and being so vulnerable to the world. Everyone, strangers, are out there to judge your every word. Why do writers put themselves through so much open criticism? We love the written word, expressing ourselves on paper, creating different worlds for people to explore—and us to escape to—that’s why.
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