I take a closer look, trying to see if there’s anything in her face that would belie her words, because I don’t think of myself as all that cute. Past history tells me differently. Her face is round and pretty, and she’s flashing a bright smile at me. There’s a hint of something exotic in her features—maybe a bit of Spanish or American Indian or something. She’s got a small glass stud on the right side of her nose. Her dark eyes don’t show any guile or insincerity. She’s wearing a gray top off one shoulder with “PINK” scrawled diagonally in pink letters across a curvy chest.
I think about my own less sexy shape. A girl’s figure is the one place where B’s or C’s are way better than A’s. Oh, well, there’s nothing I can do about it. The shirt looks great on her. I don’t own any Pink stuff—it’s amazing how that one simple word adds twenty or thirty dollars to the price of a piece of clothing. Her jeans are ripped—maybe if she did them herself like me there’s hope for us yet. Her shoes are dark gray platforms, at least three inches high, which means she’s even shorter than I first thought. Short girls are lucky. They can wear heels and be taller. Tall girls can’t do anything to make ourselves shorter. Except sit down.
“Hi,” I manage to say. “You’re cute, too.”
Her smile grows wider. “I am kinda cute, huh?” she says. “But not like you. You’re gorgeous.”
I don’t know what to say to that. If I’m so gorgeous, where are all the guys? A line from a Sara Evans song pops into my head, something about straight haired girls wanting curly hair and brunettes wishing they were blond. Probably all the short girls wish they were tall. I wonder if the built ones wish they were flat. Somehow, I doubt that. Anyhow, I’m pretty sure I look uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry,” she says, grinning. “I’m not hitting on you or anything. I like guys way too much.”
“No, no,” I say. “I didn’t think that. I’m just kind of awkward sometimes. Sorry.”
“I’m Marissa,” she says, walking toward me. “You must be Heather.”
“Yes,” I say, extending my hand to shake hello.
She walks right past my hand and envelops me in a tight hug. “Great to meet you, Heather. We are going to have some fun this year, Roomie. I just know it.”
I have to admit, Marissa does seem like someone who knows how to have fun. That would be very good for me. And with luck, her outgoing personality will pull some attention away from me, which is how I prefer it.
Marissa lets go and steps back. “My brothers are bringing my stuff up,” she says. “They’re usually a pain in the ass, but they’re good for some things.”
The elevator dings across the hall, and a moment later, three short, muscular guys trudge into the room carrying Marissa’s boxes and suitcases. Two look so much alike they have to be twins, probably three or four years older than Marissa. The third looks like he’s still in high school, maybe a junior.
Marissa introduces them. The twins are Jason and Jeremy, and her younger brother is Michael.
“Wow, you’ve got a hot one here, Sis,” Michael says, smiling at me.
I can’t help but smile back. I guess I’m cute enough for high school kids, at least.
Marissa cuffs him playfully on the head. “Down boy. My roomie’s off limits.” She grins. “As if you’d have a chance, anyhow. Heather’s way out of your league.”
Michael returns his sister’s grin. I bet he doesn’t have any trouble with girls his age.
“Never hurts to shoot for the stars,” he says. He winks at me. “That’s how I roll.”
Marissa shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Okay, boys,” she says, pushing her brothers toward the door. “Time to go. Thanks for your help. I love you all, but I want to spend some time getting to know my roomie.”
We spend the next hour unpacking and talking non-stop—when we aren’t laughing, that is. By the end of the hour I feel like I’ve known Marissa for years. I don’t think I could have asked for a better roommate.
“We are going to have one helluva year, girl,” Marissa says. “Who says freshman year has to be difficult?”
Freshman year. Difficult. The words echo in my head, bringing back memories of my last freshman year, in high school. And of the last girl I’d felt this kind of connection with. Gaby.
Chapter 3
My thoughts must be showing on my face, because all of a sudden Marissa is staring hard at me, a perplexed look on her face.
“What’s the matter, Heather? One minute you’re laughing and smiling, now you look like you’re gonna cry.”
I force my lips into a weak smile. “Sorry. Something you said brought back some memories.”
Marissa sits down on her bed, still looking at me. I try to think of what to say next, but I’m not sure how much I want to get into this now. I can’t believe I still feel this stuff so strongly, after all these years. I feel like such a jerk.
“Care to share?” she asks. “Sometimes talking helps, you know.”
I pace a small circle in the room. What the heck, I think. I might as well give her an idea about who she’s going to be rooming with. Besides, I can stop whenever I feel like it, right?
Where to begin?
“When I try to say this out loud, it sounds so stupid,” I say. “It was four years ago, for chrissakes.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Marissa says. “I’m totally non-judgmental. I’ve got plenty of my own crap, believe me. And nothing leaves this room, I promise.”
“When you said freshman year doesn’t have to be difficult, it brought back some memories from high school.” I plop down on my bed. “Some of it was pretty rough.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I was a couple of inches under five feet tall freshman year, and I looked like I was twelve.” She places her hands under her boobs and lifts them, grinning. “Luckily, I started growing these during my sophomore year—and presto, no one thought I was twelve anymore.”
I laugh. I’m feeling more comfortable already. I think Marissa is going to understand.
“I was almost five-ten my freshman year,” I say. “And even skinnier than I am now. And awkward…god, how awkward. I always felt like everyone was staring at me.”
I lift my feet up onto the bed and wrap my arms around my shins. “Anyhow, the first couple weeks of school were hell. I didn’t have any friends, and I got lots of teasing—and worse—especially from some of the girls. They’d pretend to trip, and bump me into the lockers or knock my books out of my hands. I kept wishing I had one of those invisibility cloaks or something. Every time the bell rang to change classes, I’d feel my heart start racing. I really hated the hallways. And as soon as the day ended, I’d be the first one out the door.”
“Girls can be worse than guys,” Marissa says. “For sure. They kept asking me if I was lost, telling me kindergarten was down the block, where was my babysitter, mean stuff like that. At least they didn’t physically bully me, though. I think I was too small for that. They were probably afraid I’d break or something.”
The more we talk, the stronger it all comes back to me. Freshman year…
I’m hurrying down the hallway, keeping close to the edge, my shoulder almost scraping the lockers. This way, if anyone bumps me, I won’t hit the lockers very hard. I’ve got my books clutched tight against my chest. If I can just make it to math class, I’ll be safe for another hour. I hate math, but any class is better than being in the halls.
I keep my head and eyes down, avoiding any eye contact that might be seen as a threat or a challenge to anyone, looking out through my eyelashes and trying to stay out of everybody’s way. For a moment, I think I’m going to make it. But then I see my worst nightmare—Kristin, with her two pals, Brittany and Ashley. They’re only freshmen like me, but Kristin has already established herself as a big shot. And for some reason, she’s taken an especially strong dislike to me. She’s dark-haired and attractive, tall, but not as tall as me. Maybe she doesn’t like girls who are taller than her. Maybe she doesn’t like blon
des. It doesn’t really matter why. I’ve been her target before. It’s never fun.
The three girls swerve toward my side of the hallway, angling toward me like sharks heading for fresh meat. I can almost hear the score from that shark movie in my head—da-dum, da-dum, da-dum. They’re going to hit, and hit hard. I tense my muscles, awaiting the inevitable blow. Suddenly, Ashley trips, her arms flailing as she tries to maintain her balance. She sprawls into Kristin, who staggers sideways, away from me and into Brittany. Kristin just barely manages to remain on her feet, but Brittany is knocked to the floor. I catch a quick glimpse of a field hockey stick pulling back from between Ashley’s legs. I look up. The girl holding the stick is tall, maybe three inches shorter than me. Much thicker though. With a head of impossibly tangled black hair that makes mine look almost straight. She’s wearing baggy tan cargo pants and a brown sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off short. She grins and winks at me.
Kristin takes a quick look back, sizing up her options, but with Brittany still on the floor, she decides not to confront this stick-wielding Amazon. She yanks Brittany to her feet and the three bullies continue down the hall. The hallway echoes with laughter, mostly from older kids who have witnessed the skirmish. A few freshmen girls clap silently, probably girls who have suffered Kristin’s bullying themselves. My savior ignores it all and walks up to me, holding out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Gabrielle,” she says, “but you can call me Gaby.”
I clasp her hand. “Hi Gaby, I’m Heather. Thanks for that.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Speak softly, but carry a big stick,” she says, laughing. “You looked like you could use a little help. That Kristin is such an a-hole.”
“Aren’t you worried she’ll try to get back at you?”
“Naahh. Most bullies don’t mess with anyone who pushes back. Besides, I have this.” She grins and sweeps her stick across the floor. “The funny thing is, I don’t even play field hockey. I just figured it might come in handy.”
I laugh. “Well, I’m glad you brought it. I wish I’d thought of it.”
“Freshman year ain’t easy, if you’re not one of the cool kids.” Gaby fluffs her mass of dark curls with her hand. “And I’m definitely not one of the cool ones.”
“Well, you’re cool enough for me,” I say.
“Thanks.” She glances down the hallway, but there’s no sign of Kristin and her two pals. “They’ll probably leave you alone, now that they know you have a friend.” For the first time, I see a little uncertainty on her freckled face. “That is, if you want to be friends.”
I smile at her. “I’d love to. I could really use a friend, as you just saw.”
She smiles back. “Great. I’ll see you in the caf for lunch, then. Okay?”
“You bet.” It looks like my days of eating alone are behind me, for which I’m very grateful.
“Gaby and I became great friends really quick,” I tell Marissa. “She was one of the funniest girls I’ve ever known. We didn’t have any classes together, but we met between almost every class and ate lunch together every day. We texted each other every night, too.”
“I’ll see if I can find a field hockey stick somewhere,” Marissa jokes, “in case anyone tries messing with you here. You were lucky to make a good friend so quickly,” she adds, her tone serious now.
“Believe me, I know.” I don’t tell her I’m hoping for the same thing now, but her joke about the field hockey stick makes me think we’re on the same wavelength. “I was very grateful,” I continue. “And to think, I owed it all to Kristin.”
“What happened with her?”
“Oh, she stayed a jerk,” I say. “She and her whole little clique, who thought the sun shone out of their butts. But she left me alone, which was all that really mattered.”
“So, go on with your story,” Marissa says.
“Well, I guess the next important thing happened a week or two later.” I close my eyes for a moment to picture it better.
Gaby and I are at lunch, sitting at a table by ourselves. Gaby nudges me with her elbow.
“Don’t look,” she says. “But there are two guys over there watching us.”
I put my sandwich down and pick up my napkin. “Where?” I ask as I dab at my mouth.
“Two rows over, a little to the right. One’s got a blue number eighty-six jersey, the other’s wearing a black T.”
I casually scan the room, keeping my eyes moving, and immediately see who she’s talking about. The guy in the jersey is pretty cute, kind of lean, with wavy black hair and a dark complexion. His friend is average looking, with a more muscular build. They’re older—at least juniors, maybe seniors. They do indeed seem to be looking at us as they chat. I hope they aren’t saying anything bad. Maybe they’re making fun of Gaby and me, the way we’re making fun of other kids. I hope not, though.
I look back at them, and jersey guy catches my eye. Busted!
He smiles, then turns and says something to his friend. The other guy shrugs. They both stand up and begin walking around their table. Jersey guy is tall—he doesn’t really look like a football player. Oh my god! They’re coming over here!
I grab Gaby’s arm. “They saw me looking,” I say. “I think they’re coming over. What do we do?”
She follows them with her eyes. “Nothing we can do,” she says, “except hope they’re not jerks.”
They stop on the other side of our table. Jersey guy is opposite me; his friend is across from Gaby.
“Mind if we join you,” jersey guy asks.
No words come from my mouth, but Gaby saves the day.
“Sure, take a load off,” she says. She’s such a lady.
They sit down.
“I’m Brian,” jersey guy says.
“I’m Jimmy,” says the other.
Gaby introduces herself, and I finally find my voice enough to tell them my name.
“Nice to meet you both,” Brian says, but his eyes remain on me. “I haven’t seen you girls around. You freshmen?”
“Guilty as charged,” Gaby replies.
“That’s cool,” Jimmy says. “Most of the girls in our grade are stuck up tight-asses.”
“Same with some in our class,” Gaby replies.
“You guys seniors?” I ask.
Brian shakes his head. “Juniors.”
The bell rings, ending lunch. Dang!
“Well, back to class,” Brian says. “Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hope so. They both seem like nice guys.
That night, Gaby and I text like maniacs. She thinks Jimmy’s cute, and I think the same about Brian. We wonder if they like us. Why else would they have come over? My caution flag is up, though. Careful Heather does not take chances. I will not get my expectations up. I will not move too quickly. I’m not sure I can say the same about Gaby, though. She’s pretty much the full throttle type.
Brian and Jimmy join us for lunch again the next day and the day after that. They continue to seem like nice guys, and I’m beginning to open up a bit.
Brian must sense that I’m becoming more comfortable. “How about a quick walk outside before class?” he asks me.
I look at Gaby. She winks at me and nods her approval.
I make sure Brian and I walk past Kristin’s table, where she’s surrounded by her clique. Kristin hasn’t bothered me since I started hanging with Gaby, but she still gives me attitude whenever she sees me, like I’m something she needs to scrape off her shoe. I love the look on her face when she sees me with a junior. One who’s on the football team, no less. I wish he had his arm around me—that would really bust Kristin—but no way am I really ready for that.
It’s sunny and warm outside. Brian and I stroll across the wide grass yard behind the school, talking about nothing and everything. I feel like I’m walking on air.
Brian glances at his watch. It has to be getting close to the end of lunch period. He seems a little nervous—why, I don’t know. I’m the
one who should be nervous. He’s a junior, for god sakes.
“Heather, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say. “What?”
He stops walking and turns to face me. I like that I have to look up a bit to look into his eyes.
“I was, uh, wondering, if…uh…”
I can’t help smiling. He’s as nervous as I am. Welcome to the club, Brian.
“…if maybe you’d like to go out Friday night.”
I’m stunned. I’m screaming “yes” in my head, but nothing is coming out of my mouth. I think Brian is mistaking my shock for reluctance.
“No big deal,” he says. “Something simple. Go for a pizza, maybe. I can’t stay out too late. Got a game on Saturday.”
My brain finally engages my tongue. “That’d be great. I’d love to.”
He smiles, and I feel myself melting a little.
“Great,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Now I really am walking on air. I’ve got a date with a junior!
Chapter 4
“None of this sounds all that traumatic so far,” Marissa says, grinning. “A great best friend and dating a cool older guy.”
I laugh. “No, those were the good parts. I may have minimized the bullying and stuff, especially before I met Gaby. But the next few months were pretty good, for sure.”
“I’m guessing there must be some bad stuff still to come?” Marissa says.
“Yeah, there is,” I say. “But like I said, it was really good for awhile. My first date with Brian was great. We went for pizza, then sat and talked for hours. We stayed out later than he planned, but he played good the next day, so no big deal. I got in a little trouble for being out too late, but I didn’t care. I was so happy—I remember dancing around my room after he dropped me off.”
Marissa stands up and begins dancing around the room, her arms held in front of her like she’s ballroom dancing with an invisible partner.
“I’m in love,” she croons. “I’m sooo in love.”
I crack up. “I don’t think I looked quite that sick,” I say when I stop laughing. “But who knows, I probably did.”
Mine: A Love Story Page 2
