She was thoughtful for a moment. “What do you consider distracting?”
Mostly you, Sunshine. Thankfully, I had enough intelligence to know I couldn’t say that. I didn’t know if I wanted to explain this to her. It wasn’t something I shared. In the end, though, it was me, and if you couldn’t be honest about yourself, faults and all, then you were just a liar. “Everything and nothing. I have ADHD.”
She gaped at me.
“You’re surprised?”
“You’re just so focused and orderly. It’s hard to imagine.”
I smiled coyly. “I don’t take medication for it anymore, but my biggest problem is concentration. When I was in high school, I sucked at taking notes. I had the right ideas, but my writing was like hieroglyphics. I made good grades, but it was almost impossible to study. My therapist recommended a second notebook. I write stuff in it when it comes into my head. It helps me focus.”
“You go to therapy?”
“I did. My mom’s a psychologist. She believes everyone should go to therapy.”
“Does it work?”
“The therapy?”
She smiled. “The second notebook.”
“It does.”
“So, you just write the meaningless stuff in it?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s meaningless. It’s meaningful to me. That’s why it’s difficult not to focus on it. When I write it down, it’s kind of like taking it out of my head for a while. It serves as a visual. It helps. That and staying active.”
“What do you write about?”
“All kinds of stuff. It’s a scratchpad of randomness. Like today, I wrote down that Professor Malkin needs glasses. It’s not like I would tell him, but it was difficult to concentrate on his lecture with that distracting me, so I wrote it down and then I didn’t think about it anymore.”
She laughed. It automatically made me smile. “I think you’re right. He squints.”
How would she react if I told her she has several pages dedicated just to her, featuring insane run-on and fragmented sentences about the way her hair smells or the fact that I get a little hard every time she laughs? Hell, if she ever saw it, she’d think I was some kind of stalker. It was weird because I never used my scratchpad to write about girls. They never dominated my mind. Then again, she was always in my head, no matter how much I wrote.
“It must be nice to be able to release the useless stuff just by writing it,” she said.
“Some things are easier than others.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, sometimes I have to shred the paper. Get rid of it somehow. It’s just part of the visualization. When I don’t have it with me, it makes it easier to move on. Okay, I’m sounding like a total psycho now.”
She laughed, relaxing me instantly. “No, I don’t think it’s crazy at all. It’s kind of cool how that works for you. Your brain works differently…almost more efficiently in some ways.”
“Differently than most people? Isn’t that the definition of a psycho?” I asked, grinning at her.
“No, different isn’t bad. Although you have this issue, the left-brained math side of you has to organize it. You have to organize your chaos, and that’s kind of an amazing concept. I’m sort of in awe of it. Math people always amaze me.”
“I never thought of it that way.” I was glad for her to know that about me, and equally happy she didn’t pass any judgment. “But are you seriously telling me you’re not a math person, Meena? Economics and statistics have a basis in math. I think that qualifies you as one of us.”
She looked away from me, and it seemed she was going to shut down on me. I liked it when she talked about herself, but she always had a point of retreat. I waited for her patiently. If I didn’t muck up the conversation with too much pressure for her to answer, she usually did.
“I’m not like you. It doesn’t come naturally to me. I wouldn’t qualify it as my passion.”
“What is your passion?”
She looked up and smiled, like a child hiding a secret that would make them burst. I smiled back, hoping she wouldn’t keep me in suspense. “Do you want me to tell you or show you?” she replied.
“Definitely show me,” I said, straightening up in my seat.
She reached into her backpack, pulling out a pad of her own. It wasn’t a notebook, but a sketchpad. “These aren’t so great. I just did them with a pencil, but I like to draw.”
She slid the sketchpad toward me. She didn’t readily let it go when I took it. I gave her a reassuring smile before she finally released it. She tapped her fingers on the table nervously while I flipped through it, taking my time to observe each drawing. The level of depth and shading she was able to get with a pencil was impressive. There were drawings of simple objects like an apple to more complex sketches, like a picture of an older woman I recognized from the sub shop at the Union. Meena had captured the woman’s wrinkling complexion, salt and pepper hair, and cranky expression with perfect precision. “These are really good, Sunshine.”
“They’re okay. Just something I do for fun,” she said dismissively.
“If you sucked, I would tell you. Take the compliment.”
She exhaled. “Thank you for the compliment.”
“You’re welcome. Have you ever used another medium?”
“I took an art class in high school for an extracurricular. I used colored pencils and watercolors. I liked it.”
“You should be in art school.”
She choked and laughed at the same time.
“Why is that funny?”
“I was just imagining telling my dad I wanted to go to art school. I might as well tell him I’m going to cosmetology college.”
“There’s nothing wrong with pursing a degree in art or…cosmetology if that’s your thing. You should be doing this on a canvas using real artist supplies.”
She shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It’s just not quite…culturally acceptable for me. My parents wouldn’t be supportive of that decision. I mean, they would freak if I told them I was getting a liberal arts degree, let alone planning my career around this.” She gestured to the sketchpad. “We settled on economics because it was the only major we could all agree on.”
“Your parents picked your major?” It was my turn to be shocked.
“We picked it together. They’re paying for my degree so it’s only right they have a say in it.”
“Yes, but it’s your life.” I held up her sketchpad. “This is what you should be doing.” We weren’t just talking about her choice in majors anymore. The sullen expression on her face told me she knew it too.
She took the pad from me. I’d upset her. “It’s just a stupid hobby.”
“You just said it was your passion. A hobby is something you do for fun, but a passion is something you’re meant to do. You choose a hobby, but a passion chooses you.”
She stuffed the sketchpad into her backpack. “Don’t make me regret showing you this. I’ve never shown anyone.”
“Not even friend number one or two?” I grinned.
“No, not even them. So, are you going to show me your scratchpad since I showed you my sketchpad?” It was a relief to see the sweet smile return to her face, but her question made me anxious.
I instantly closed my scratchpad and placed it safely into my bag. “No, it’s not a passion or a hobby. It’s random disorganization. Trust me—you don’t want to know the crazy that lives here,” I said, knocking my fist against my head.
“Well, thank you for telling me about your crazy.”
“Thank you for showing me your passion.”
“Meena, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. I texted you.” Rachael took a seat next to us.
We were so wrapped up in our conversation we hadn’t even noticed her coming. It was annoying. I only saw Meena a few hours a week, and I didn’t want to share them with Rachael. Honestly, I didn’t really like Rachael in general since Meena had told me about her e
ntertaining. I could read between the lines.
What if one of those random assholes she brought home made a play for Meena? It was ridiculous, but I had an insane need to protect her.
“What’s up?” Meena asked.
Rachael waved at me, before answering Meena. “I wanted to know if you were staying here again for Thanksgiving break. I was going to book my flight, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to book your ticket too. The rates are good right now.”
“I’m staying here again,” she said quietly.
Her choice was surprising, so I had to ask, “Why are you staying here? The campus is going to be ghost town.”
“I have homework to catch up on.” She wasn’t being honest, but I didn’t press it, especially with Rachael here.
Rachael nodded, turning to me. “I don’t even know why I asked. She never goes home for Thanksgiving.”
“It’s too expensive to fly, and besides, my family doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” Meena said a little too fast to be casual. She smiled brightly at me, but it was the fake, tight smile she reserved for other people. It isn’t my smile. “It’s hard to celebrate a holiday revolving around a bird when you’re vegetarian.”
“Yeah, a fact I try not to hold against you,” I said, trying to put her at ease.
“What are you doing?” Meena asked Rachael when she opened her laptop on the table. Cool, at least she’s pissed about Rachael sticking around too.
“Booking my ticket. I can’t put it off any longer.”
“Hey, Ethan. Hello, Meena,” Alex said, taking the seat next to her. Great, another interruption to my Meena time.
“Hi, Alex,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show.
“Alex, this is my roommate, Rachael Donavan,” Meena said.
“Nice to meet you.” Alex shook Rachael’s hand. Their grip lasted a little too long, and his eyes got wide. They made some small talk, but I wasn’t paying attention. I wanted to know why Meena was going to spend the holiday by herself.
“Do you want to hang out during break?” I asked her in a low voice so our conversation was more private.
“You’re not going home?”
“My mom’s in Paris, so I’m staying here. Let’s do something Wednesday.”
Alex shot me a funny look. I gave him a nonchalant shrug as a nonverbal apology, and he gave me an approving head nod. My mom was in Paris, but both Alex and Darren had invited me to their houses for Thanksgiving. I’d been debating which invite to accept, but now I couldn’t go to either. I wanted to be here with Meena.
Her expression turned ten shades of sad, and her eyes looked far away, like a shroud of misery was coming to claim her. “Not on Wednesday.”
“Another day?”
“Maybe,” she responded, looking down at her book. She didn’t say if she had any plans, but I wasn’t going to press it. Back off, Callahan, she doesn’t want you to know.
My random thoughts took a backseat when Reese Denton joined us. I played rugby with Reese, and I didn’t like him. He lived his life like he played the game. He was overly cocky without the passes or goals to back it up. He was tall but scrawny, and he wore skinny jeans—which I always thought made guys look like…girls. He had on a T-shirt that said “Rugby players have the biggest balls.”
He sat down on the other side of Meena, and my jaw tightened reflexively as it always did when a guy was eyeing her. I especially didn’t like it coming from Reese since he had a certain reputation. He greeted all of us, including Meena, pausing to give her what my mom called an “objectifying look.”
Rachael groaned loudly, looking up from her laptop.
“What’s wrong?” Meena asked.
“This majorly sucks. Reese, I can’t go to your frat party on Tuesday. The flights are cheaper that day so I can’t fly out on Wednesday like I wanted.”
“Too bad. It’s going to be a rager,” Reese said, staring at Meena. “Are you coming, Ethan?”
I shrugged, trying to act laid-back, but every muscle was tightening. “Maybe.” Those parties were notorious for casual hook-ups encouraged by the flowing alcohol and oddly placed couches. I usually went.
“I’ll be there, Denton,” Alex said.
“Good. Are you coming, Meena?” Reese asked, not even looking at Alex.
“I don’t think so.”
“Meena, I’ve invited you to every party since freshman year. This might be your last chance to come.” He paused too long on the word “come.” Fucking dickhead.
“Reese, you have a party every month.” That was true. It was funny how we knew the same people, but I had never met her before. Then again, she didn’t socialize much.
“True, but this is going to epic. You can bring someone with you if you want. I know how you girls like to travel in packs.” It was obvious what he was getting at—don’t bring a guy. “Come on, tell me what you like to drink, and I’ll make sure we have it.”
“I don’t drink.”
Everyone our age drank, but I wasn’t surprised by her answer. It fit.
Denton picked up the energy drink she had in front of her, staring at the label. “I’ll get this.” It was almost comical how strong he was coming on to Meena, or it would have been, if my fists didn’t have an uncontrollable urge to wipe that smirk right off his face.
“Thanks, Reese, but I’m busy. Next time.”
I wanted to say something. To let him know she was off limits, but she wasn’t mine to claim. Any verbal sparring between Reese and I would make her uncomfortable, so I let it go. Besides, Sunshine had done a good job of letting him down in her own gentle way.
Chapter 7
I HADN’T PLANNED ON GOING to Denton’s party, but I was bored on Tuesday night. Darren was at Mandy’s house, and all my other friends had either gone home for break, or were at the frat house.
I stood there with a red cup in my hand, hanging out with Claire Stevens. Claire and I dated last year. She was a cute girl, but boring. I knew she was super smart based on her honors standing, but she acted dumb¸ or at least she did in front of me. We hadn’t come together, but she saw me and cornered me as soon I got there. She was droning on about the cons of certain kinds of liquor or some shit.
The Craftsman-style house, which was large, seemed claustrophobic tonight. Couples were making out on the couches, putting on a free soft porn show for the rest of us. There was an arm wrestling contest in one corner and groups playing beer pong in the other.
Someone was on the beer-cliner—a recliner the engineering students designed as a quick and stupid way to get drunk. I ought to know.
The latest participant, or victim, was leaning back in the chair. They’d inserted a tube down their throat that acted as the perfect delivery system for massive quantities of cheap alcohol. It was on a timer that would automatically fling them upright so that instead of choking, they downed the foul liquid without tasting it.
A group gathered around the chair, cheering the idiot on. Reese Denton was among them, yelling the loudest. I laughed because the beer-cliner, if nothing else, was entertaining.
The laugh died in my throat when I saw him pull her out of the chair and hug her as if she’d run a marathon. My hand tightened around my red cup so hard that some of the liquid spilled out. What is Meena doing here?
Shit. She was wasted, and there was shithead, Reese Denton, groping her, taking advantage of it. I walked over to them, leaving Claire in mid-sentence. It wasn’t the easiest journey because I had to step on a few feet, bump some shoulders, and keep myself calm at the same time. I thrust myself forward as if I was in a freaking rugby scrum. Finally, I stood between Reese and Meena, creating a space that didn’t previously exist.
I put my hands on her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” I demanded.
She blinked her eyes rapidly before registering me. Then she smiled. “Ethan, you’re here! Friend number three is here.” She wasn’t slurring, but she swayed slightly.
“You said you weren’t coming.”
“She couldn’t resist the lure of one of my parties,” Denton said, sidling up next to her.
I ignored his idiotic comment and waited for her to answer.
“Raj wanted to come.”
“And where is Raj?”
She scanned the room in confusion. I looked with her and couldn’t find him either, although in this crowded space, he could have been a few feet away.
“How much have you had to drink?” I was yelling at her because it was so loud, but part of it was because I was so pissed off. Someone who never drank getting drunk at a frat party without anyone watching over her was a dumbass thing to do.
“I didn’t count. I’m not a math person, you know?” She laughed, patting my shoulder.
“Relax, man, are you her mother or something?” Denton said, clapping me on the back a little too hard to be friendly. He came around to face me and put his arm over Meena’s shoulder, pulling her away from me. Fucking dickhead!
“How much has she had to drink, Denton?”
“You think I kept track? Jesus, Ethan, she’s fine. She’s not doing anything illegal. She can definitely hold her own.”
I wanted to smash my fist into his face. Instead, I gritted my teeth so hard it hurt. “She doesn’t drink, asshole.”
She giggled, like this was a joke. She laughed at me. “I’m fine, Ethan. Why do you look so worried? Guess what? It’s a free country!”
“This has been fun, Callahan, but I promised this girl the tour.”
I knew what that meant. His tours always ended in his bedroom, with an inebriated girl…or two.
“That’s not happening,” I said, stepping up to him. To his credit, he didn’t back away.
“Are you telling me what to do in my own house?”
“I am—at least when it comes to her. Do we understand each other?” I said each syllable slowly, letting it sink in.
He opened his mouth to argue with me or maybe to punch me. I welcomed the physical contact. It would be the perfect excuse to pummel him. Meena interrupted us, though, like she got the situation even in her drunken state. “Reese, I don’t want a tour right now. I don’t think I can do stairs. I’m hot.” The staircase was loaded with loitering people, probably all waiting for turns to get into a bedroom.
Variables of Love Page 7
