The Mountains Trilogy (Boxed Set)

by Phoebe Alexander

  Her father asked during the car ride back to campus what she thought of Bobbi. Abby pondered what her grandmother or mother would say and tried to follow suit. “She seemed a little uneasy around us, but overall she seems like a nice person.”

  Matt nodded in agreement. “Well, she was really nervous to meet everyone. She’ll loosen up next time she’s around you girls.”

  I’m sure she wanted to make a good impression, Abby considered, remembering how anxious she was the first time she met her father and her sisters a year and a half ago. Why is it so hard to relax and be yourself when you’re worried what people think of you? The one time it’s most important to show someone who you genuinely are as a person is when it’s the most difficult.

  Maddy was in panic mode when Sarah knocked on the door of her room. She hadn’t been to Maddy’s room yet; thus far they’d only met up for meals together and texted each other a few times. Maddy had already shared that her roommate went home nearly every weekend. I guess that explains why she’s latched onto me? she concluded.

  We’re two peas in a pod, Abby thought, using a phrase her grandmother was fond of. Both socially awkward, both unsure of ourselves here in this strange new world of college, both of us fish out of water.

  Maddy was relieved to see her friend, welcoming her with a tight hug, which marked the first time they’d ever touched. She had clothes strewn about the floor in piles: one of jeans, one of skirts, one of tops. She was clad in only a pair of hot pink boy shorts with white lace trim and small white polka dots and a matching bra. Abby was surprised to see the combination. She hadn’t figured Maddy for the Victoria’s Secret PINK type, but here she was prancing around in it.

  Abby thought about her own undergarments. They were black lace. And she had changed into black jeans and a black tank top with rhinestones that spelled out “WHATEVER.” She liked the irony of it. One would imagine something so sparkly to say “Princess” or “Angel” or “Love” -- or something equally trite and ditzy. But no, it went against convention. She liked that. She wore her honey-colored hair long and straight, parted down the middle, her blue-green eyes outlined in thick, black liner. The only pop of color were her aqua Chuck Taylors.

  “You look cute,” Maddy surveyed as she hugged her arms around her body to hide her nudity. She suddenly seemed self-conscious now that her relief that Abby was there had faded.

  “You’ll look cute too,” Abby replied, “if you just pick out some clothes and put them on.” She reached into the fabric abyss and pulled out a green ribbed tank top, and then fished for a short black skirt from a different pile.

  “I’ll be too cold!” Maddy protested.

  “Put on some tights and a cardigan and you’re good to go. And boots if you have them,” Abby directed, as if she was the world’s authority on what to wear to college parties.

  Maddy didn’t bother to argue this time, but rather pulled on the selected skirt and tank top. She dug a black sweater out from the back of her closet along with a pair of black lace-up boots. Five minutes later, after she’d swept on some makeup, she pronounced herself ready to go.

  They took a bus from campus to one of the residential areas. Abby was staring out the window into the darkening night when she remembered the time she got caught lying to her mother about being at her boyfriend Tyler’s house for his birthday party. In reality they were there unsupervised, making out and getting drunk. Tyler had sworn his parents wouldn’t be home until at least one in the morning, but at ten-thirty they saw headlights flash into the living room and there wasn’t time to get dressed AND put away the liquor, so they chose the former.

  Tyler’s parents dragged Abby home and forced her to face her mother’s wrath. It was a highly unpleasant experience. Feeling the bus wheels rumble under her, she almost felt like she was getting away with something, something her mother wouldn’t like. But I’m an adult now, she thought. This is what college students do. They go to parties and drink. No one is going to deposit me at my mother’s doorstep tonight. And I’m not going to get grounded.

  Abby heard the music thumping from clear down the street. She had a fleeting anxious thought about the police busting the party, but it seemed the entire block was full of college student rentals. It was a warm fall night and most of the houses still had lights on and residents smoking on porches. Abby didn’t concern herself with what was being smoked.

  It was dark, but from the streetlights, Abby could see the house was run down with peeling paint and a few broken shutters. But the windows emanated a warm glow, and she could feel the throbbing of the bass from the stereo even out on the street. She and Maddy pushed their way past the people in various stages of passing out on the dilapidated deck and found their way inside.

  Maddy zeroed in on the “cute guy” from her chemistry class right away. His name was Ethan. “This is Abigail,” Maddy introduced her and Abby nodded with a smirk.

  Suddenly Ethan was descended upon by a pair of buddies. “This is Mason and Drew,” he announced. They both nodded. Drew was tall with curly blonde hair. Mason was stocky with dark hair and a scraggly goatee. The latter threw down the empty can of beer he’d just guzzled and belched loudly.

  “Charming,” Abby sighed and Maddy laughed.

  “Let’s get you two something to drink,” Ethan suggested, wrapping one arm around each of the girls’ waists and steering them toward the kitchen. The entire perimeter of dark wooden cabinets were lined with people. Ethan had to elbow his way to the keg.

  Abby chugged her first solo cup of beer. The cups were blue though, not red. I guess red is too cliché, she thought. She grimaced as she remembered how much she hated the taste of cheap beer.

  Maddy couldn’t even get a swig of hers down. “This stuff is nasty,” she complained. “Do you think they have any wine?”

  While Maddy went off in search of something more palatable, Abby was quickly pulled into a game of flip cup. Her sobriety went out the window around the second round. She was moved to the anchor spot though she was doing so well. “You’re a machine for such a tiny thing!” Mason exclaimed, slapping her on the back. He nearly knocked her face-first into the table.

  Drew took it upon himself to rescue her after the third round. Abby was woozy and suggestible, plus she’d lost track of Maddy. Some wing woman I am! she laughed at herself. Drew pulled her into the living room where the highly synthesized club music was thumping so hard it felt like it was syncing to her heart beat. She noticed a couple of girls were flashing their braless tits at each other and the very encouraging crowd of men who were gathering ever closer to appreciate the gesture. I wonder if they know I’m staring as much as the guys are? Abby laughed to herself.

  Speaking of tits, she suddenly remembered the hot pink and white polka dot bra that Maddy was wearing. “Hey, where’d Maddy go?” she screamed into Drew’s ear.

  “Let’s go find her,” he suggested and she followed him down the green shag-carpeted hall. He pulled her into the dark depths of one of the rooms. She was confused at first because clearly Maddy was not in the room. But then she noticed the bed. And nothing had ever looked more alluring than this unmade bed in the darkest corner of the room, a shabby quilt rumpled up at its foot.

  She found herself drawn like a magnet to the mattress, collapsing upon it as if she was crossing the finish line at a marathon. Drew laid down beside her and began to stroke her long hair from the top of her

  scalp to where it fell in the middle of her back. "That feels good," she murmured, but lucidity was beginning to elude her.

  She felt like a patient on the operating table undergoing surgery with the anesthesia prematurely wearing off. She could feel pain, see instruments in gloved hands coming toward her, but she found that her emphatic protests were only silent screams inside her head. She was aware that Drew was taking off her clothes, but she was completely incapable of stopping him.

  So this is it, she thought with a sick sense of amusement as he clumsily lowered himself on top of
<
br />   her, one hand between her legs fumbling for her sex. My first ever college party and I'm being raped. How cliché. Which is apparently the word of the night.

  Just at that moment, the door cracked open and the room was flooded by florescent light from the hallway. "Abigail?" a shrill voice screamed into the darkness. "Is that you?"

  Abby felt the considerable weight of the body on top of her slowly shift to the floor and feebly processed that Ethan had pulled Drew off her. "What the hell are you doing, man?" Ethan demanded, using his foot to prod Drew, who had curled into a fetal position on the ugly green shag carpeting.

  Abby was caught between a black world of unconsciousness and semi-awareness of the scene playing out three feet away. Maddy perched on the bed beside Abby as if she was forming a physical barrier

  between her body and Drew. "I need to get her home." They spoke of her as if she was not actually there.

  "She's in no condition to go anywhere like this," Ethan warned. And that was the last thing Abby remembered hearing before surrendering to the black world that had slowly been swallowing her.

  ****

  Six hours later, Abby woke up in her own bed. But she had no idea how she had gotten there. Maddy had sent a two word text: "Call me."

  She was still disoriented as she stumbled down the hallway toward the bathrooms. Her stomach felt like it was swirling with shards of glass begging to be ejected from her body. She succumbed to their desires and felt her esophagus burn with bile, her bare knees shaking against the cold mosaic tiled floor.

  After expelling every last drop of her stomach contents plus plenty of dry heaving for good measure, she made it to her feet. She found herself in a state somewhere beyond dizzy. She'd have to put off calling Maddy until she could actually get her eyes to focus on her phone without the room violently spinning around her.

  She managed to navigate to the sink where she brushed her teeth and rinsed out her mouth with

  Listerine. Then she stumbled back down the hallway to her room, where she noticed her roommate had not come home the night before. Hopefully she's in better condition than I am, Abby thought. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

  She pulled out her phone and Whispered: I don’t remember exactly what happened last night, but I feel better knowing that my mother will never know either.

  ***

  Sarah’s nerves were ignited once again when her phone showed the doctor’s office was calling. It reminded her of the way her body would react in those early days every time she received contact from James. She felt a mixture of excitement and anxiousness, and it could not be controlled. With trembling fingers, she pressed to accept the call.

  “Good news, Dr. McAllister,” the nurse said cheerfully, “your bloodwork came back great! We’ll need you to come in next week so we can give you a timeline and your injections. Then you’ll be closely monitored to see how many follicles you have and how big they are. Are you ready for this?”

  Blood was rushing through Sarah’s head and pumping through her heart at the speed of a thousand galloping horses. “I guess so,” she managed, trying not to be overwhelmed.

  Even though she’d done extensive reading and research about the process, none of it had prepared her for feeling like she was about to jump off a giant cliff.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  Timing

  Esther Thompson sat across from Sarah with her long, un-manicured fingers interlaced and folded together in her lap. She looked as though she belonged in one of those paintings of Amish children Sarah remembered seeing when they’d visited James’s family in Ohio. The area where the McAllisters settled after many military moves had a large community of Amish and Mennonites. Pure, Sarah thought. She looks pure and wholesome. And here I am trying to corrupt her. She was certain Esther wasn’t Amish, but she hadn’t probed to learn her background. She was almost afraid to know, because then she’d be tempted to research the denomination and discover exactly how sheltered she’d been.

  “Do you have any idea what you’d like to study in lieu of the original topic?” Sarah questioned as she watched Esther turn through the four page syllabus she’d re-created specifically for her. “I’ll need to find appropriate readings to correspond.”

  Esther looked straight up into Sarah’s eyes. “I’d like to do something about religious persecution.”

  She suddenly thought about Abby and how vehemently she’d disapprove if one of her professors tried to indoctrinate her in some misogynistic religion. Did Esther really believe that she was being persecuted? Maybe she thought that Sarah was persecuting her? Sarah had always believed those who cried “religious persecution” thought their religion was so superior that no one should be allowed to disagree with them.

  She thought about asking Esther to clarify what she meant by the term, but instead offered some advice. “It’s a good idea to start research with a thorough literature review to find out what kind of studies have already been published. As you can see, literature reviews comprise the first section of the syllabus, and they’re also what the rest of the class will be focusing on in the next few weeks. We’re having an information literacy session with the research librarian at McKeldin Library on Tuesday, but we’ll be using search terms specific to the class topic so you might not want to join us. However, it would probably be a good idea to set up a research appointment for a one-on-one session on how to use the databases to find scholarly journal articles, okay?”

  Esther nodded but looked as if a weight had been squarely dropped onto her shoulders. It seemed as though she was finally beginning to realize how much more work it was going to be for her to “go it alone.” She’d be working independently. The rest of the class would be working in groups of 4-5 students.

  “When you meet with me next week,” Sarah went on, “I want you to have an annotated bibliography of at least ten sources that address the scope of your topic and prior research in the area.”

  Esther nodded again, but the color was draining from her face. Did she really think this was going to be easy? Sarah couldn’t repress a slight smile as Esther gathered her books into her backpack and headed out the door, a defeated look on her pure, unadorned face.

  ***

  By Monday Abby was feeling much more like herself. It was an important day because she was handing in her first-ever college paper. And also because she finally got to see Star Tattoo’s face.

  When she walked into her English class, Star Tattoo was already seated toward the back of the room. She had finally returned to class like the Prodigal Son. Abby made up all sorts of stories in her head for why Star Tattoo might have missed so many classes. She was certain there had been some sort of tragedy: a dying grandparent, a grave illness, perhaps a brush with law enforcement. Maybe she was kidnapped by a motorcycle gang, Abby theorized, believing that particular excuse made for the best story. I mean, this is an English comp class after all, she amused herself.

  Star Tattoo’s face did not disappoint. Although her hair was cropped very short in the back, and Abby well-remembered the curvy hairline that decorated the nape of her neck, the front of her hair featured long, black bangs that fell into her face and brushed against her chin. A thick blue stripe ran from her side-part, over her ear and ended in a tip that rested against her jaw. When she tucked her bangs behind her ear, Abby discovered she had eyes so dark they almost looked like inkwells. They were rimmed in thick, black eyeliner just like Abby wore, only Star Tattoo’s eyes were almond-shaped at each end and so wide in the middle, they almost looked like they belonged on an animé character.

  Abby realized Star Tattoo had noticed her staring, so she anxiously took a seat toward the front of the room. She hadn’t been able to get past those eyes. She had no idea what the rest of her face looked like. I guess I will have to learn about her in stolen glimpses, she thought. It’s like reading a series of short stories instead of a full novel.

  At lunch she found Maddy had already chosen a table near the win
dows and was peeling an orange. Abby could smell the pungent citrus from five feet away as she approached. “You’re looking a lot better today!” Maddy said cheerfully as Abby took the seat across from her.

  “Well, that’s a plus.” She poked at a cherry tomato with her fork, piercing its skin with the stainless steel tines. It occurred to her that she still wasn’t hungry. Her stomach had been on strike since Sunday morning’s violent revolt.

  “Well, did you see her today or not?” Abby had finally confessed her Star Tattoo obsession when she and Maddy had dissected the failure that was their first off campus party. It was shortly after Maddy admitted Ethan wasn’t all she thought he’d be, not to mention the fact that his friends were raging asshats. Her term, not mine, Abby clarified.

  “I did,” Abby revealed. Their conversation Sunday also involved Maddy asking if Abby was just too drunk to be into Drew or if there was something else going on. That was when Abby had confessed that she was pretty sure she only liked girls. Star Tattoo had possibly sealed the deal.

  “So why didn’t you talk to her?” Maddy prodded.

  Abby shrugged. Because staring at her and fantasizing is so much easier? Because when you’re admiring someone from afar they’ll behave and be whomever you want them to be. Because if you grow closer and get to know them, you might find out they’re not at all who you wanted them to be. After all, isn’t that what had happened with Maddy and Ethan?

  ***

  Sarah walked out of the appointment feeling hopeful. Although Dr. Kapoor was honest about the success rates based on her age, medical history and test results, he didn’t seem daunted. Rather, he was upbeat and positive, with an infectious smile and a clever sense of humor. She had about a 30% chance of a successful pregnancy for this first round. He said that each month, most couples only have a 15-20% success rate going the old-fashioned way. James had not been able to accompany her to the office, but she knew he’d be anxious to hear the prognosis.