“Great. Then you and I are going shopping tomorrow. We’ll go to that resale place I told you about.”
Marissa and I are in The Buff, a resale clothing store on the edge of campus. The place isn’t very big, but it’s packed—and I mean packed—with all kinds of stuff. There’s barely room to squeeze down the aisles between the racks of clothing. A lot of the clothes are pretty wild—not my kind of thing at all—but I can see why Marissa shops here. Two of the walls are lined floor to ceiling with wooden shelves. The shelves on one wall are filled with jeans, the other with sweatshirts and sweaters. The place smells faintly of burned incense. An Eminem song is thumping in the background. I’m not much of a Rap fan, but I can see why a store like this would play that kind of hip music.
A half-dozen other kids are rummaging through the store in search of fashion treasure. I’m mostly a bystander, watching Marissa paw through the racks looking for tops for me to wear over my black yoga pants, which I’m wearing under my jeans. She’s already found a long sleeve gray silk shirt with pointed tails that she likes. It’s in great condition—I can’t believe it’s only nine bucks. I’ve got it draped over my arm while she continues her search for more goodies.
“Take this one, too,” Marissa says, handing me burgundy cotton shirt with the same long, pointed tails as the gray one.
I’m sensing a theme here. But so far, nothing she’s chosen is out of my comfort zone, for which I’m very grateful, especially considering some of the other stuff I’ve seen in here. Of course, my yoga pants are still under my jeans.
“Hey, this is cool,” she says, showing me a short-sleeve gray shirt with white skulls and purple hearts leading diagonally down the front to a frayed edge.
What is she thinking? That shirt is definitely not my style. No way am I getting that.
“It looks kind of small,” I say.
“Not for you, silly. I know it’s not your kinda thing. It’s for me.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“C’mon,” she says as she spins and heads toward the wall of sweatshirts and sweaters. “Let’s get you one more top, and then we’ll look for some cool boots.”
Boots? Who said anything about boots? I’m a sneakers girl, and flats. I follow Marissa dutifully across the store. It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for.
“This’ll be great when the weather turns cooler,” she says, handing me a light, ivory-colored knit sweater with cable stitching.
So far, so good. I like all three of the things she’s picked out for me.
“Now, if we can just find the right boots,” Marissa says. She looks down at my feet and grins. “Luckily, your feet don’t look too big. What size are you?”
“Eight and a half,” I say. As tall as I am, I guess I should be grateful my feet aren’t any bigger.
Marissa leads me to the back of the store, where there are rows and rows of shoes and boots resting on metal shelves, arranged by sizes. She grabs a pair of dark gray, calf-high suede boots.
“Perfect!” she exclaims. “Exactly what I was hoping for. They’re in pretty good shape, too.”
She holds them out to me. I see a few scuffs in the suede, but they really are in pretty good shape. But what I like best is they have no heels.
“Okay,” Marissa says. “Time to see how everything looks on you.”
We thread our way to a row of dressing booths fronted by long purple curtains. Marissa hands me the boots.
“In you go, Roomie. Try the gray shirt first.”
Taylor Swift is singing “Blank Space” as I duck behind the curtain. I love the humorous take on relationships in that song. I hang the shirts and sweater on plastic hooks and drop the boots onto a narrow wooden bench. I’m both nervous and excited as I pull off my jeans and sit down to put the boots on. My feet slip easily into them. They’re really comfortable, and even better, I don’t feel any taller than normal in them.
I put on the gray shirt and check myself out in the mirror. Not a whole lot of light filters in from the top of the dressing booth, so I can’t get the full effect of the outfit. The points of the shirt’s tails reach to mid-thigh, covering my butt, but barely. The inverted V’s on the side show an awful lot of my hips—more than I’m comfortable with, really—but I know I need to get at least a little out of my comfort zone. I suck in a deep breath and step outside the curtain, into the light.
“Wow! You look hot!” Marissa tells me. “That outfit looks even better than I expected. The boots are perfect.”
I do a slow pirouette in front of the outside mirror, twisting my neck to examine myself from all angles. The boots and tight yoga pants draw attention to my legs, which I’ve always thought are my best feature. The shirt threatens to reveal more of my butt than I want, but it’s not like I’m naked underneath. Heck, I’ve seen lots of girls wearing yoga pants with shirts that don’t even cover their butts, so my outfit is tame by comparison. Still, the overall effect of the combination is a bit provocative, which is exactly what Marissa wants. It’s certainly not an outfit I’d wear to class, but it should be great for a party or something. I take a last look at myself and smile. For the first time in my life, I actually feel sexy!
“I like it,” I say.
“You should,” Marissa says. “You look great. Go try on the other shirt.”
We both agree the burgundy shirt doesn’t look quite as good as the gray one, probably because the cotton doesn’t hang as well as the silk. But the sweater works great. It reaches just below my butt, like a very short skirt. I buy the gray shirt, the sweater and the boots, all for under thirty-five dollars. Marissa gets the shirt with the skulls and hearts. She wants me to wear the boots, yoga pants and shirt home from the store, but I tell her no way. This is not a daytime walk around campus outfit—not in my mind, anyhow. I leave the store dressed the same way I entered it, except that my yoga pants are now in the shopping bag instead of under my jeans.
We head down the block. Near the corner, I stop and grab Marissa by the arm.
“Oh my god!” I say.
“What?” Marissa asks, looking around and not seeing anything that should cause such an outburst. “What?”
“Over there,” I say. “On the corner. Waiting for the light to change. It’s the guy I told you about. From my vampire class.”
Marissa looks at me a little funny. Okay, maybe I’ve overreacted just a bit. She checks him out. He’s wearing tight black jeans, black and white checked sneakers and a vertical striped purple, gray and white button shirt untucked over the jeans.
“He’s cute,” she says. “Go say hi.”
“I can’t,” I protest. Cautious girl does not walk up to guys and say hi, even if they are cute. Especially if they’re cute. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you’d better think of something,” she says, and shoves me toward him.
I stumble to a stop just a few feet from him. He turns and looks at me. His eyes are blue, like I’d hoped. Bright blue and flecked with green, like a lake on a sunny summer day. I realize I have to look up to look into his eyes. He’s at least two inches taller than me, which is great.
Say something, please I scream at him in my head, but he just looks at me, waiting. I struggle to come up with something clever to say, but my mind is blank. I have to say something, or he’ll think I’m an idiot.
“Red, blue, green, black,” I blurt, hating myself the instant the words leave my mouth. Now he knows I’m an idiot. I wish a hole would open in the sidewalk and swallow me.
He looks at me like I’m speaking Greek. Marissa, I’m going to kill you!
The light turns green. I’m sure I’ve blown any chance I had with him, but he makes no move to cross the street. I think I spot the barest glimmer of a smile on his lips.
“Orange, yellow, purple, white,” he says.
We look at each other for another moment, and then all of a sudden we’re both laughing.
“I’m Chris,” he says finally. “What was tha
t red, blue, green, black stuff all about?”
I blush. “Sorry about that. I’m Heather. My friend told me to say anything,” I explain. “She said guys don’t care what girls say, as long as we say something to start the conversation. She used ‘red, blue, green, black’ as an example, and when she shoved me toward you, that’s the only thing I could think of to say.”
“Your friend shoved you?” he asks skeptically.
“Yeah, she did.” I turn to point to Marissa, but she’s disappeared, leaving me on my own, damn her.
Chris grins. “Is this friend an imaginary friend?” he asks teasingly.
Now I’m really embarrassed. I must be making quite an impression. First the color thing, and now I’m talking about someone who isn’t there. He’s going to think I escaped from the local asylum. I wish I was wearing my new outfit. Maybe then he wouldn’t notice what a dope I am.
“She was just here,” I say lamely. “She knows I’m a little shy, so she pushed me toward you to get me to say hi. She must have ducked into one of the stores.”
“Sure she did,” he says, still smiling. He seems to be enjoying my discomfort. He lets me suffer for another moment before continuing. “Actually, a girl went into that store over there a moment ago. Short, with dark hair, blond at the tips?”
“Yeah, that’s her.” I’m sooo relieved. At least he knows I wasn’t making the whole thing up. Now if I could just take back red, blue, green, black….
“You’re in my vampire lit class,” he says. “I sat next to you yesterday.”
My heart jumps. He remembers! I tell myself to calm down. Of course he remembers. It was only yesterday.
“I sat there on purpose,” he says. “I thought you were one of the cutest girls in class.” He grins again. “The cutest with an empty seat next to her, anyway.”
I laugh. I like his sense of humor.
“I wanted to talk to you after class,” he says, “but that other chick started talking to me. By the time I got rid of her, you were gone.”
I look into his eyes, trying to see if he’s still teasing. His eyes are even prettier close-up. The green flecks seem to be floating in the blue. He seems sincere, but I’m not going to commit myself.
“Yeah, I bet you were totally bummed,” I say, smiling and keeping my tone light. “A cute girl wanting to talk to you. Guys must hate that.”
He laughs. “Well, not usually. But I really did want to talk to you. This is way better, though. If we’d talked after class, I’d probably never have known about your fascination with colors. Now we’ll have a great story to tell our grandchildren.”
Whoa! Grandchildren? This guy is smooooth. Cautious girl better be extra careful here!
“More like a story you’ll tell the guys back at the dorm,” I say. “About this crazy chick who came up to you and started spouting off colors.”
“Naaah, I’ll tell the guys in the dorm you walked up to me and started talking dirty. They’ll like that story much better.”
We both laugh. He’s kidding—I hope!
“Do you think your friend wants you to wait for her?” he asks. “Or would it be okay if I walked you back?”
Are you kidding, I think to myself. She’d love it if you walked me back. But no way am I going to tell him that. Let’s see if he can take as well as he gives.
“I don’t think she’d mind,” I say. “But how do you know I want to walk back with you?”
“Ouch,” he says. He makes an exaggerated bow. “Fair lady, would you kindly allow me the pleasure of walking you home?”
I smile. “Well, when you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?”
I have no idea what I’m getting myself into.
Chapter 7
Chris nods toward my shopping bag. “Can I carry that for you?”
Uh, oh. Funny and a gentleman. And did I mention he’s cute, too?
“Sure,” I say. I hand him the bag.
He grabs it by the handles, and then pretends it’s so heavy it pulls his arm down to the ground. “What have you got in here?” he asks. “I didn’t know The Buff sold weights.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” I say as he lifts the bag back off the sidewalk. “I bought a shirt, a sweater and a pair of boots.”
“Boots, huh?” He gives my legs a long, playfully leering look. “Boots would look good on you. What kind did you get?”
“Oh, nothing special,” I say matter-of-factly as I begin walking. Chris falls into step beside me. “Just a pair of knee high black leathers.” I pause for effect. “With six-inch stilettos. They’ll go great with my leather hot pants.”
Chris stops abruptly. I wish I had my cell out, so I could snap a picture of his face. After a moment, he realizes I’m messing with him, and he grins.
“Better be careful where you wear that combo,” he says. “Guys’ll get whiplash if you walk past them in hot pants and six-inch heels.”
I smile. “Whiplash? From little ol’ me?”
He laughs, and makes a show of moving his eyes slowly from my face all the way down to my feet. “Either that, or you’ll get arrested for soliciting.”
Did I mention he’s funny? We resume walking.
“So, are you a freshman or sophomore?” he asks.
“Just a freshman,” I say.
I hope that’s okay. Chris seems older.
“Cool. Welcome to State.”
“Thanks. What about you?”
“Sophomore.”
“So, what got you to take a class like Vampire Lit?” I ask. “You got a thing for vampires?”
“Naahh….” The flecks in his eyes seem to twinkle. “I just figured it’d be an easy credit. Got to grab ‘em where you can.”
“And I bet it didn’t hurt that the class is mostly girls, either.”
He looks at me all innocent like. “Is it really? I didn’t notice.”
“Yeah, right,” I say, laughing. “Says the guy who told me he was looking for a seat next to a cute girl.”
He laughs. “Well, like I said, you’ve got to grab ‘em where you can. But really, the easy credit was the draw. The other is just a bonus.” He gives me another once-over with his eyes. “A very nice bonus, I have to say.”
I feel myself blushing. I don’t know how to reply to that. Luckily, Chris takes me off the hook.
“What about you?” he asks. “Are you one of those vampire fanatics?”
“No, not really. I’m a sucker for love stories, though.”
“That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad to hear you’re not a complete vampire freak.”
“I liked the Twilight books,” I admit, “but it was more about the romance and passion than the vampire stuff. I figured the books would be part of this class, so that would save me some reading.” I smile. “But getting a credit for something that sounded fun and easy was the main thing.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Chris says.
He pauses for a moment. I can tell he’s thinking—I bet he doesn’t know he’s biting his lip. He looks like he’s about to get serious.
“So, Heather,” he asks finally, “is there some lucky guy from high school you go home to on the weekends?”
His question catches me so off guard I almost miss a step. It’s a good thing I don’t wear heels—I’m sure I would have tripped.
“No,” I say. “Just my dog, and he doesn’t need to see me every week. What about you? You got a girlfriend?”
He shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just broke up with her.”
Uh, oh. A rebound. Be careful, girl! Maybe that’s why he seems so interested. I definitely don’t want to get involved with anything like that.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. I really am sorry to hear it—not to hear that he’s single, but that it just happened recently. “When did you two break up?”
“About ten minutes ago,” he says, “when this totally cute girl started talking colors at me.” He tries to keep a straight face, but his mouth stretches into a grin.
/> “Stop it!” I say, but I can’t help laughing.
“Actually, we broke up back in June.”
I do a quick calculation. Three months. Not bad.
“How come?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Naahh, I don’t mind,” he says. He doesn’t look troubled at all. I wonder if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “She said I was too sweet.”
“Really?” I definitely did not expect to hear that. Maybe she was one of those girls who like bad boys. Lots of girls do, I know.
“And too funny,” he continues.
Oh, he’s kidding again. “Yeah, right,” I say. “I think you’ve been dreaming, Chris.”
“And too good in bed,” he adds.
I crack up. “Now I know you’re dreaming. Were you too rich and too smart, too?”
He laughs. “Hey, were you listening when she broke up with me?”
Now we’re both laughing. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Marissa and I laugh a lot, but it’s different with a guy.
We keep walking. Chris is really easy to talk to. And our few silences are comfortable, too, which is not something I’m used to. Silences at home are usually just the prelude to an explosion. I like this much better.
We reach my dorm waaay too quickly.
I’m sitting on my bed, strumming my guitar. Not playing anything, really, just fooling around. I got it out as soon as I got upstairs, didn’t even take my new clothes out of the bag, which is still sitting on the floor. I like the weight of the guitar on my lap, the feel of the strings beneath my fingers. Playing the guitar helps slow my mind when it’s racing. And believe me, it’s racing along pretty good right now.
The door swings open and Marissa comes bustling through the doorway. She tosses her bag onto her bed and sits down next to me.
“So, how’d it go?” she asks.
“You mean after you shoved me at him?” I say, trying to sound stern.
She grins. “Yeah, then.”
“And after I blurted ‘red, blue, green, black?”
Marissa’s hands fly to her cheeks. “You didn’t!”
I strum a chord on my guitar. “Yep, I did. Thanks to you.”
Mine: A Love Story Page 4
