by Sarina Bowen
“I’m winning this thing,” she said.
“You’re tying this thing. The score is 1–1, smack-talker.”
With a fiery look at me — one which I felt in some very inappropriate places — she marched off again.
Chapter 6
Katie
The room was more crowded tonight than I’d anticipated. Everyone was taking this last opportunity to have a beer with friends before we all hunkered down for exams. As I waded back into the thick of things, I was halted by the sight of a girl’s limbs wrapped around Dash.
That was fast.
Peeking through the boughs of the Christmas tree, I snuck a closer look. When the girl shifted her face from one side of him to the other, I recognized her. Debbie Dunn. She wore an unhealthy amount of eye makeup. And was staring up into Dash’s face, and practically rubbing her boobs on his oxford shirt.
My first thought was: Ew. My second was: Have I ever done that? And did it cause someone else to say ‘ew’? My third thought was: Do I care? Am I actually slut-shaming Debbie Dunn because she’s wearing gloppy mascara?
My fourth thought was: When did I start over-thinking absolutely everything? And how can I stop?
Abruptly, I moved around the Christmas tree, looking for someone else to talk animals with. Andy had been right about one thing. It was hard to second-guess yourself to death when you were trying to come up with a reason for your neighborhood frat boy to say hedgehog. Or platypus.
For now, I steered a wide path around Dash. Later, maybe I would try to get him to say octopus. Because that’s what Debbie reminded me of.
Gah! Catty, much? There I went again, worrying about the wrong things. Because, hell, the girl was actually doing me a favor. If Dash was busy allowing Debbie to slither up his body like a sea creature, he couldn’t exactly make any crude comments about me (or my recent performance) to his pals.
I should thank her. I should buy her flowers. (Because Dash never would. That was for damned sure. He wasn’t a fan of “romantic shit,” he’d said once.)
And anyway, a few yards from where I stood, Andy was busy talking to Dash’s pledge mate, the one they called Ralph. “You’re from Chicago?” I heard Andy say. “How do you like your football team this year?”
Crap!
“The Bears look pretty good going into the playoffs,” Ralph said.
Andy’s eyes flicked over to me, and I saw a corner of his mouth turn up in satisfaction. Then, after he and Ralph exchanged a few more words, Andy actually moonwalked backwards a few paces, as if in victory. Now, someone as tall as he was really couldn’t moonwalk without making a spectacle of himself. And I saw a few eyebrows lift in his direction. But Andy seemed not to care, and that made me smile.
Once upon a time, I’d felt that way, too. In high school, I’d found it easy to be the silly one. I had a lot of good friends, and a solid standing in the social group of my choice. And were I to have moonwalked (not that I’d ever wanted to) through a party, nobody would have cared.
Somehow I’d taken a wrong turn these past few months. I cared too much about the opinions of people who cared too little about me. That was something I was definitely going to mull over later. But right now, I had work to do. Because Andy was a point ahead of me in our weird little game.
And there was never going to be a better time to face the music. So I marched up to stand among the group of fraternity boys which included Dash, and also Whittaker.
“Evening, Katie,” Whittaker said. A little smile played on his lips, making me almost certain that he’d been in on Dash’s stupid little prank.
Just breathe.
“Evening, Whittaker,” I said. “Are you ready for the art history exam?” He was one of Dash’s football cronies in that class. I used to sit beside them every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I’d felt smug about that, too. As if one seat in that lecture hall was better than another one. It seemed quite ridiculous now. Some other stupid girl could have that seat. Debbie, or a whole team of Debbies. I was done with it.
“Still have to memorize all those paintings,” Whittaker said.
“Yeah,” Andy put in. He slid in behind me and put a hand on my bare shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m taking that course, too. And some of those paintings are a little gruesome. You know, those Renaissance scenes? Especially that one from right after the hunt?”
Crap again! I knew where Andy was going with this. The hunt painting had a very dead wild boar in the foreground. But no way was he going to win this thing by getting Whittaker to say “boar.” It had to be pig. No substitutions. I leaned my shoulders back against him as a silent message. Don’t think this will work for you, pal.
He gave my shoulder another squeeze, as if to say: don’t you wish you’d thought of this?
Whittaker scratched his head. “I don’t think I know that one yet.”
“Bummer,” Andy said. “Add that one to your study list, then.” I tipped my head back on his shoulder so I could see his face. He winked at me, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling.
When I faced forward again, I found Dash watching us, and Whittaker, too. Maybe they were wondering why Andy and I kept giving each other significant glances. Or maybe they were remembering exactly how ridiculous I looked during what was supposed to be a private moment. God, I hoped it was the first thing, and not the second thing. Weirdly enough, though, I didn’t care quite so much as much as I had about an hour ago.
So that’s something.
“Anybody have any good plans for winter vacation?” Andy asked.
“Sailing in Fiji,” Dash bragged. God, he was such a tool. I can’t believe I ever thought he was a catch.
“Doing some skiing,” Whittaker said.
“Yeah?” Andy perked up. “What’s your favorite mountain?”
“We’re heading to Utah,” Whittaker answered. “Gonna hit Alta and Snowbird.”
“I love Snowbird,” Andy agreed, giving my shoulder yet another squeeze.
He would. Because now I was down by two points. The party would breaking up soon, too. My chance for victory would soon be over. I looked around the room, wondering how we were going to fit fifty kids in here tomorrow. “I’m glad it’s not my job to set this place up in the morning. It’s going to be mayhem, right?” There was another committee for that. (Sororities loved committees.) I wasn’t due to help out until the party started at eleven.
Dash shrugged. “I don’t think I’m going to make it over here. You girls seem to have it covered. Amy had a checklist, and shit.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and not because of Dash’s dismissal of a party for fifty indigent children. But because I had my Hail Mary idea. “It must be really hard to plan parties,” I said in a wistful tone. “I mean… where is Amy going to find all the tables and chairs that we need? Does anyone, like, deliver those things?”
I felt Andy stop breathing. Because he saw where I was going with this.
Dash gave another indifferent shrug. “She probably just called a party rental company.”
“Huh,” I said slowly. “Like that one with those trucks I see around campus sometimes? Those bright ones with…” Take the bait, I prayed. This is for all the marbles.
“Yeah,” he drained his beer. “With the pink pigs on ‘em.”
Andy’s hand closed firmly around my elbow, as if to say, I can’t believe you pulled that off. And I gave him a subtle bump with my hip. Take that, tall guy. I felt rather than saw the smile that he ducked his head to conceal. When he let out a nearly silent chuff of laughter, his nose grazed my hair, and his breath at the back of my neck gave me goose bumps. In a good way.
And through it all, Dash just stood there in front of me, looking half bored and half uncomfortable, worrying the label on his beer bottle. And then Debbie slithered up to him again, plastering herself against his side. She shot me an ornery look.
“Welp!” I said, turning toward Andy. “I think I’m done here. After I d
uck into the ladies’ room, do you mind if we head out?”
“Not at all,” he said, spinning the pink basketball on one finger.
“Back in a jiff,” I promised. I crossed the room, which was already beginning to thin out. It was still early, but exam week wasn’t the best time to party, even for this crew. And tomorrow the sorority was hosting fifty kids. A hangover would not be welcome in the morning.
I crossed through the parlor to the big old bathroom. Like so many buildings at Harkness, it was a blend of old-world grandeur (the marble tiles) and awkward 1970s renovations (the creaky metal doors on the toilets).
After I took care of business, I emerged from the stall to find Debbie in front of the single tiny mirror, refreshing her lipstick. Washing my hands, I began to feel philosophical. “That spot where you’re standing,” I said to Debbie, “is where we usually have elbow-jousting matches. Primping is practically a blood sport around here.”
“If I had your face, I wouldn’t bother primping,” Debbie said in a low voice.
I stared down at the paper towel in my hands. On the one hand, I really didn’t understand why she’d say that. But we girls put ourselves down often enough, even if we don’t usually do it for people who aren’t already our friends. I didn’t know what to say.
But while I struggled to figure it out, Debbie spoke again. “I don’t know why he broke up with you, either. If you lasted a month, I’ll probably last a week.”
“Whoa. Hey now,” I said, hands on my hips. “Don’t you dare give him all that power. Maybe he doesn’t get to decide.”
She gave me a sullen glance. “Of course he does. They already have the power.”
“Debbie.”
She turned to me, her eyes dark.
“He isn’t worth it, okay? Go out with him if you want. Or not. But treat yourself right. Because he’s not going to look out for you.”
She gave me a little eye roll. “Everybody gets dumped, Katie. Even you.”
“But I didn’t. I broke up with him.”
“Sure you did,” she said immediately. Her words had dismissed me, but her eyes were interested.
“I did. And then he decided to teach me a little lesson.”
“How?” she whispered, unable to hide her curiosity.
“I was stupid. I fooled around with him one more time…” God, I didn’t want to say this next part out loud. But she deserved to know what she was getting herself into. “Without my knowledge, he let some people watch.”
Her eyebrows shot straight up, disappearing into her bangs. “Like, through a hole in the door?”
Kill me now. I really was the only naive idiot left on this campus, wasn’t I? Slowly, I nodded.
“That is so wrong,” she hissed.
“You think?”
She stuffed makeup products back into her clutch purse. “You know, fuck it. I’m just going to sneak out and go home. He’s been giving me a not-so-nice vibe all night. And that is just too much.” She jammed the bag under her arm. “Good night.”
Without another word, she stormed out of the bathroom.
Then it was just me alone with the little mirror. And I felt an instinctual pull to go over to it and check my makeup. Because you never know when your eyeliner has smeared…
No, I coached myself. Andy’s waiting. And he doesn’t care about your stupid makeup.
I pushed open the bathroom door and went to find him.
Chapter 7
Andy
When Katie departed for the bathroom, it left me standing there with Dash and his thick-necked pals. I’d had enough to drink. So instead of reaching for another beer, I began to noodle around with the outrageous pink basketball I’d been carrying around. I rolled it up the back of my hand and along my arm. Then I dribbled it a couple of times on the old wooden floor beneath me.
“Nice ball you’ve got there,” Dash muttered. “Is your team switching teams this season?”
A gay joke from a frat guy? Shocker. “You know, it’s not nice to make fun of a guy’s balls,” I quipped. Nothing he could say right now could ruin my mood. I still wouldn’t have minded landing a punch right in the middle of his smirk. But I wasn’t going to do it. Because fighting Dash and his crew was a pretty bad idea, one which would surely mess up the plan I had to walk Katie home and ask her out.
Eyes on the prize, and all.
Ignoring Dash, I toyed with the ball, spinning it on my finger and dribbling through my legs. This always relaxed me. Whenever I was stressed out about something, I took the ball in my hands and began to calm down.
Still, I could feel him watching me. Maybe he thought I was showing off, but it wasn’t really like that. If I wanted to show off, I’d do these tricks twice as fast. I was just taking things nice and easy, letting the ball slide off my palms, feeling the satisfying bounce of rubber against wood and then skin.
“Pass,” Dash said.
Really, dude? You have to get competitive? Maybe he didn’t enjoy the fact that I was friendly with his ex-girlfriend. What a tool.
I passed him the ball. He palmed it, then bent his knees to execute a couple behind-the-back bounces. Then once under the knee. And then he bounced it back to me.
You want to show off? Fine. For the next fifteen seconds, I gave it to him: bang-bang under one leg, followed by a scissor cross, a few strokes of walking the dog, and then a quick bounce back to him.
He fumbled it, which made me irrationally happy. Then he did a little handiwork with a triangle dribble around his right leg (and I’d bet money he couldn’t do his left) before a fake and a snap back to me.
The fake and the snap were exactly what I thought he’d do. So I took that ball as if I’d been waiting for it all my life. Slowing it down, I dribbled around my body a few times, spinning it on a fingertip after that. “Stay ready,” I warned him.
He lifted a brow, irritated that I’d warn him like that. As if he were a bumbler. (Even if he was.)
I dropped the ball low in front of me, pounding the dribble for four or five strokes. Then I let go. The ball ricocheted up… and straight into Dash’s crotch.
Three-pointer! So to speak.
“URMMFFF!” the guy groaned, catching the ball and bending over in the time-honored position of a guy whose eggs had just been scrambled.
It took all my effort not to laugh. “Ouch,” I said.
“You ass,” Dash muttered. And when he straightened up, his face was red with anger.
My heart rate kicked up a couple of points, but I held his gaze. “That hurts, right? When you think you’ve signed up for a simple game of one-on-one, but then it turns out that someone else had different plans for you?”
His face did something interesting then. It locked up tight in surprise. And then guilt crossed his features. His mouth sagged, and his eyes looked away from me. He swallowed uncomfortably.
“You can call me an ass if it makes you feel better,” I said in a low voice. “But you leave Katie alone.”
Dash didn’t acknowledge me. He just set the ridiculous pink basketball down on a wicker chair, and then picked up a sport coat that had been lying over the back of it.
“You get me?” I pressed. That’s when I heard the sound of high heels tapping toward me. “Hey!” Katie said, skidding up to me. “Sorry about that. I got caught up chatting in the bathroom.”
“No problem.” I turned to give her my full attention and was basically walloped all over again by how attractive she was. Her silky hair slid over her bare shoulders as she moved. And those kissable lips gave me a little smile. “Are you ready to head out?” I asked, hoping the answer was yes.
“Sure! We can grab my coat on the way.”
A frat brother nudged Dash, whose face was still red and ornery. “Let’s hit it, bro,” he said.
Dash cleared his throat. “I was waiting for Debbie. She might still be in the bathroom.”
Katie paused, her hand grabbing mine. “She left,” she told Dash.
“What?”
Part 2
Chapter 8
Andy
When Katie had put her coat on, she’d had to drop my hand. Now that we were walking along the sidewalk together, I wanted it back. Your only real problem is confidence, my sister had said. What would a confident guy do in this situation?
As casually as I could, I reached over and took Katie’s smooth hand in mine. She laced her fingers in mine, just like that.
Huh. Thank you, Delia.
“Your game saved me tonight,” Katie said. “But what on earth inspired it?”
“Ah,” I said, as my thumb skimmed her palm. “During the summer, I work at a boys’ sleep-away camp in the White Mountains. And we’re always having to think up games to keep them from fighting with each other before dinnertime.”
“So you counseled me, like one of your nine-year-old campers?” She was smiling again, which I loved.
“Well, they’re twelve. But, yeah.” Maybe I was a sap, but tonight I felt truly connected to someone for the first time in a long while. Katie might not remember this night except as a blip on her way toward feeling better about the shitty thing that happened to her. But I wasn’t going to forget it any time soon.
“So, you know my tale of woe,” she said. “What’s your story? No girlfriend, I guess?”
“Not at the moment,” I said, because it sounded smoother than my dry spell is as vast as the Sahara. “I’ve dated two girls at Harkness. One my frosh year, and one last year. But, um…” I chuckled, because my tale of woe was more funny than sad. “Turns out I wasn’t a good match for either girl.”
“Bad breakups?” she guessed.
“Nope. I’m still friends with both of them, actually.”
“But you got your heart broken?”
