by Isabel Morin
Audrey raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
I’m totally out of my element, but my element is pretty boring, so it’s time I got out of it. I always thought hanging out with guys in their room would require some kind of knowledge I didn’t possess, but clearly, I’ve been overthinking it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little social lubrication.
After some more chitchat we get down to playing. I make sure I’m the last to throw down, and after a couple of hands I’ve got the hang of the game again. I’m having a good time, but I’m still in Jane Goodall mode, observing everyone like they’re a band of primates I need to document instead of being with them, in the moment.
Audrey banters easily with the guys, cracking inside-jokes I don’t get and rolling her eyes at them. She grew up with two brothers, plus all their friends hanging around the house, so guys hold no mystery for her. She’s baffled by my difficulty relating to them. With her curly blond hair and pretty Irish looks, she’s never had trouble attracting guys. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.
I’ve known Audrey since early sophomore year, and we lived together last year. Guys come and go, but she’s never been attached to anyone in particular. I would never say this to her, but she sort of reminds me of Casey in that way.
Derek has the college’s radio station on, and unlike some nights when it’s all punk or metal, right now it’s pretty good. The DJ plays a little bit of everything, and he doesn’t seem like he’s trying too hard to be cool. Sometimes he even plays songs that are drastically uncool, but of course that makes him even cooler, because what could be cooler than not caring what people think?
I could learn something from him. But how do I stop caring what other people think, when all I’ve ever done is want the whole world’s approval?
“Your turn,” Derek says.
I get nervous and throw down a king of hearts, wasting it on a hand I could have taken with my nine.
Derek shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me. “Bad move, Bloom.”
Maybe I’m not the anthropologist after all. Maybe I’m the primate under observation, trying to survive in a strange habitat. They don’t realize they’re looking at a rare but tenacious species: the twenty-one-year old virgin, highly adaptive and intensely secretive.
Then Derek and Trace start arguing over which Mad Max movie is better, with Derek saying that it’s so obvious the first one is the best, he doesn’t even know why they’re discussing it. Audrey rolls her eyes and gets up to go to the bathroom, but I’m fascinated. Not by what they say, but by how unexciting it is to be in a room with a couple of cute guys. I’m having an okay time, but it’s not blowing my mind like I thought it would. I’m actually pretty relaxed, which makes me think I could have been doing this all along.
Except I couldn’t. I was sure everyone I met was appalled by my appearance. I mean, I was appalled, why wouldn’t they be?
Hence, the continued virginity.
I don’t have any personal experience to draw on when it comes to sex, but I have a good imagination and I read a lot. I’ve been reading romance novels since I was fifteen years old, plus I went through my parents’ bookshelves and scanned every one of them for sexy parts. The most informative by far was The Valley of Horses. Not only were there lots of good, detailed sex scenes, but virginal girls on the cusp of womanhood were initiated into sex by a hunky member of the tribe.
I can’t help wishing I’d had something like that. For those of us who couldn’t arrange a sexual encounter on our own, a nice, safe deflowering would have been a game changer.
“Yoo hoo, earth to Hannah.”
I look up to find everyone’s eyes on me. There’s no way they know what I was thinking about, but even so my face burns. Audrey gives me a funny look, but the guys are just impatient for the game to continue.
“Sorry,” I say, looking down at my hand.
I manage to stay more focused through the rest of the game, and the nuances of strategy come back to me. A few hands later, I have all the highest diamonds and I’m going for it, trying to shoot the moon. They don’t catch on until it’s too late and I’m taking them down.
“What? Are you—” Derek sputters.
I give an evil smile as I throw down my ace of diamonds and take the last hand. Audrey groans like a sore loser but gives me a high five.
“So this is where the party is,” Casey says, appearing in the doorway. “I should have stayed in.”
“Bloom just kicked our asses after pretending she didn’t remember how to play,” Derek tells him.
“What? I wasn’t—”
But Derek’s laughing, just joking around, and I relax.
Casey grabs a beer from the little fridge and drops onto the couch. I try not to look at him, but I can’t help being super aware of him a few feet away on my left. Even in a worn Carlyle T-shirt and run-of-the-mill shorts he stands out. He’s got the kind of looks that make women do stupid things, and I can’t help thinking that must be a weird way to go through life.
Plus he’s careless with it. Last year it seemed like he was with a different girl every week. Girls who should be smart enough to know better fall for him. For a while they smile secret smiles and look really pleased with themselves, and then he moves on to the next one and leaves them in the dust.
Your standard player.
“What’re you doing slumming with these guys, Hannah?” Casey asks, his eyes heavy and slumberous. He tips his head back and takes a pull from his beer, his strong throat working as the liquid slides down.
“Audrey begged me.”
Audrey starts to deal another hand. “It was extremely non-desperate begging.”
“I always thought you were too shy to come out and play,” he says, a little smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. He starts to quietly hum the tune to the Beatles song, “Dear Prudence.”
Heat rushes up my neck into my face. All this time I thought no one noticed me, but even Casey had formed an impression.
“Your turn, Hannah,” Trace says, saving me from having to reply.
I need to focus on my cards. It’s not a great hand, but I sort them by suit and watch what the others throw down. You don’t have to shoot the moon to win, after all. My knee starts to jiggle and I bite my lip, groaning when I lose the next hand.
Which is when I remember one of the other reasons I don’t usually play. I’m kind of a perfectionist, so I tend to take things way too seriously. Even a game of cards.
Derek hands me the deck. “Don’t sweat it. It’s just a game.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out. “A game. Right.”
Casey gives a low laugh and sweat breaks out under my arms. When I try to shuffle, the cards scatter over the floor.
Then Derek says something about rugby practice the next day, because all three of them are on the team, and they start talking about their chances to go all the way this year.
I’ve been to only one game, and it was my first year. I don’t think Casey was on the team at that point. Part of me thinks it’s crazy hot, but another part of me can’t help worrying about how dangerous it is.
“Do you guys ever worry about concussions?” I ask.
They look at me with identical expressions of surprise.
“It’s just, you know, that’s a thing,” I say. “You guys tackle and all that, and you don’t have helmets…” I trail off, my face burning. I sound like a schoolteacher—or worse, their mother.
“You’re right, it’s a thing,” Casey says. “They put new protocols in place a couple years ago, but it still happens. There were one or two last year, right D?”
“Yeah, it goes with the territory. I promised my mom I’d stop playing after two concussions, and I haven’t had any, so I’m good.”
Casey rubs his head like he’s remembering something painful. “I’d stop if I
had another one. I took a hit a couple years ago and it messed me up.”
“He whined about it for a week,” Trace confirms.
“Hey, it really hurt, and I could barely think straight. But what are you gonna do, sit on a couch all day?”
“I guess not,” I say.
“It’s pretty cute, you worrying about us,” Casey says, giving me a wink.
No guy has ever winked at me. It doesn’t mean anything, but I finish out the hand with my face burning yet again.
It’s time to get out of here before I go up in flames, so I pass my cards back and stand up. “I’ve gotta go. Casey can take my place.”
They all make noise like they don’t want me to leave, but I hold firm.
“Want a beer for the road?” Derek asks.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say, heading for the door.
Audrey smiles, telepathically telling me it went okay, and I smile back.
I’d have been more comfortable in my room, but all things considered, it went all right. Maybe I can actually do this.
Chapter Three
Wednesday morning I’m up at seven, which is way earlier than I need to be, given my first class is at eleven o’clock, so I decide to go for a run. Back in my freshman year I got used to working out early, because no way was I going to let anyone witness me hot and sweaty with neon-red acne. I couldn’t bear the thought of being in the gym with someone else, or even passing other people in the hall on my way back from a run.
I don’t have to hide away anymore, but since I’m up I change, gulp down some water, and head through the quiet hallways.
Outside, the sky’s a soft blue and birds chirp in the trees overhead, as if welcoming me to the day. I love mornings like this. It’s going to be scorching hot later, but right now it couldn’t be more perfect. The air is light on my skin, and I’m clearheaded and ready for anything.
I take a minute to stretch, then head off at a slow jog, letting my muscles warm up. I’m not fast or very strong, but I’m okay being more tortoise than hare. Slow and steady is how I get things done, and it’s been working for me.
Still, it’s my first run back on campus, and I guess I got soft running the flat roads back home. I do my usual three miles, but I slow to a walk when I hit the hill back up to my dorm. My thighs burn and my breath saws in and out of me so loudly, I don’t notice that someone’s coming up behind me until he’s passing me.
It’s Casey, his calves sharply defined as he takes the hill without slowing down. He’s out of sight before I’m even halfway up. By the time I make it to the top, he’s pacing in circles cooling down. He pulls the hem of his white tech shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing hard, flat abs in neat little sections. He’s gleaming and muscled, golden and gorgeous.
An ache opens up in my chest, and a new kind of heat sweeps over me. I’m standing there, staring at him, when he lets the material drop back into place and notices me.
His teeth flash with his smile. “Hey, Hannah.” His gaze drops to my legs, then flicks back up to my face.
I’m a sweaty, trembling mess, but I make myself head toward him. “Hey.”
“Tough hill, huh?”
“For some of us.”
“I feel it.”
We make another little circle together, walking it out and stretching. His breathing is already back to normal, but he completes another loop with me before we head for the dorm.
“Do you usually run this early?” I ask as we head inside. I never once saw him last year.
“Only when it’s too hot to do it later.”
He bounces lightly up the three flights of stairs as I drag myself along beside him, trying not to wince.
“It’s pretty great, though, don’t you think?” I say.
“Yeah, I just can’t always drag myself out of bed this early. If you ever want to run later in the day, let me know.” He lets himself into his room with a wave goodbye.
I continue down the hall to my suite, where I toss my clothes into my laundry bag and pull on my bathrobe.
But I can’t stop thinking about his invitation, if that’s what it was. Does he want to go running with me, or was that just a thing to say?
Either way, I won’t be taking him up on it.
I take a nice, long shower, doing a deep condition in honor of the first day of classes, but I can’t stop seeing Casey as he ran past me, his muscles working as they were meant to. As a student of physiology and anatomy, I’m not unmoved. And let’s face it, he’s literally breathtaking.
What does he see when he looks at me?
Back in my room, I settle at my desk with a bowl of cereal and page through the notebook I’ve dedicated to my med school applications, scanning the deadlines I’ve written down. A lot of people take the MCAT their senior year and apply for med school after graduating, so they have a break before starting a program. But I don’t want a break. I took the exam last May, and I did really well. I’m ready to keep going.
I work on my personal statement for about an hour, until I hear Audrey moving around. Sticking my head out the door, I find her starting the coffeemaker. “Make some for me?”
She yawns and scoops more grounds in, then collapses on the couch and closes her eyes. I sit down next to her and let her prop her feet on my lap. Her toes are painted bright purple, reminding me that my own need some attention.
The coffeemaker burbles and starts to emit its life-giving aroma.
“Are you really going to hook up with Todd again?” I ask.
“Probably,” she says, her eyes still closed. “He already texted me to see if I want to hang sometime.”
“Huh.”
She opens her eyes. “What does that mean?”
I slip out from under her feet and go over to the coffeemaker. “Nothing. It’s just that he really likes you.” I pour us both a cup, adding sugar and milk to hers.
She sits up and watches me over the back of the couch. “So? I like him, too.”
“Not like he likes you.”
I don’t tell her how my heart gives a little squeeze when I see the way he looks at her. I’ve never had anyone look at me like that, and it bothers me that she takes it for granted.
She takes her mug from me, her eyes wary. “So what are you saying? You think I’m going to hurt him? He knows the deal, and he’s fine with it. We have a good time.”
“Forget I said anything,” I say, sitting back down. It’s none of my business, anyway. I put my feet up on the coffee table and wiggle my toes. “My feet are feeling inadequate. Can I look at your stash?”
“Of course, darling. Just let me finish my coffee.”
A little while later she brings me her plastic tub full of nail polish, and I agonize over what color to choose—the pale shell pink or the sassy hot pink? The old me would have chosen the pale one, the one that’s barely noticeable, but maybe the new me needs to be bolder.
Audrey looks up from her phone and slants me a look. “You know it’s not permanent, right? You can take it off anytime.”
I huff out a breath. “I know that. But it’s symbolic. I don’t want to do the same things I’ve always done.” I take the sassy one out of the tub and get to work, precise as a surgeon.
The next issue is my clothing. I never spent a lot of time trying to look good, what with trying to be invisible, so my wardrobe is pretty boring. I’m still not entirely comfortable being seen, but I also don’t need to disappear anymore.
I finally choose a denim skirt and pink tank top, then take a deep breath and look in the mirror. For years I saw something different every time I looked at myself, and it was never good. Sometimes I’d back away until the angry red blotches faded, and I could see what I’d look like in another, kinder reality. Maybe even the future.
I’d be pretty.
Now here I am, staring at my f
uture self, not quite caught up to her.
I glance at the clock again. Time to go learn about Renaissance art.
For an hour, I sit in the dim lecture hall as the professor moves through slides. Each semester I’ve managed to take one non-science course, and it’s always felt like a little vacation. Not that it’s always easy—in fact sometimes I find them the hardest, since I have to go outside my comfort zone—but I love the feeling of my brain waking up when I discover a whole new way of looking at the world.
I don’t see anyone I know in the dining hall, so I get some sushi and head for a table near the windows. I don’t mind sitting alone, since I’ve always liked reading during meals, and I can get a lot of work done.
“Hey, Hannah. Over here.”
I turn and see Trace waving to me from across the room. He’s sitting at one of the longer tables with Casey and a dark-haired girl I don’t know. I get a quick introduction to Monica before she and Casey go back to eating lunch. Casey asks her about her summer, but it sounds like the kind of polite conversation you’d make with your parents’ friend.
I slide into the seat between Monica and Trace. “What’s going on with them?” I whisper to Trace.
He rolls his eyes. “She’s not taking the hint, that’s what’s going on.”
“Poor girl.”
“Tell me about it.” He chews on a fry. “Guys hang around him at parties, waiting for his castoffs.”
My mouth falls open. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Guys suck.” The words are barely out of his mouth when he sits up straighter, his face brightening. “Correction. Most guys suck.”
Josh Beckman, a cute junior who’s also premed, reaches the table and kisses Trace. “Hey, babe.”
Casey turns. “Dude, what’s up?”
Soon all three of them are talking about rugby and which newbies seem promising. Monica and I look at each other.
“Sorry to crash your lunch,” I tell her.
She gives a sad smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m an idiot.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I stick another piece of avocado cucumber roll in my mouth. We have a stilted conversation about classes and how we can’t believe it’s our last year, and the whole time she’s casting wistful glances at Casey.
