by Isabel Morin
I was counting on the fact that Casey is a player and prefers girls who make things easy for him. No chase, no muss, no fuss. But maybe he’s not attracted to me, or the idea of teaching me sounds like too much work. Or maybe he’s turned off by my scars.
This last thought leaves me slightly nauseated, so I try to put it out of my head. I have no reason to think that has anything to do with it, and anyway he still hasn’t said no. There’s hope yet.
Monday morning after my run I hear that awful cough again as I pass his room, only this time it’s worse. I have a little time to spare, so I knock on his door.
He sounds like a pack-a-day smoker when he replies. “Yeah? Who is it?”
“It’s Hannah.”
“Hang on,” he croaks.
When he opens the door his eyes are red rimmed, his face pale under his tan. He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, the uniform of sick people everywhere. Still, he manages to look me over in my tank top and running shorts.
“Holy crap, Casey. You look like hell.”
“If you came to make out, you’re out of luck. I’m seriously not up for it.”
“You…of course not…I wasn’t…”
His bleary eyes gleam with amusement at my reaction.
“You jerk,” I say, finally getting a grip.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. What’s up?”
“I came to check on you. It sounded like you were dying.”
“It sounds worse than it is,” he says without conviction, turning away from the door. He slips back under the covers with a groan.
“Do you have anything to eat in here?” I ask. I wait patiently through a coughing fit for the answer.
“No. But I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll be right back.”
In my room I pour instant oatmeal into a bowl, add some water and nuke it for a couple of minutes. When it’s done, I grab a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and head back down the hall.
Casey sits up in bed when he sees what I’ve returned with, and his pale complexion flushes like he’s embarrassed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“You took care of me when I was a drunken mess, didn’t you?” I say, brisk as a nurse coming on shift. “Anyway, I can’t let you starve. You won’t be nearly as pretty.” I set the bowl on the desk next to him. “Just try it. It’s maple sugar and cinnamon.”
He takes an unenthusiastic bite, as if to placate me. “Huh. This is actually pretty good.” He finishes off the rest in a few swallows and then gulps the entire bottle of juice down without taking a breath.
The ridiculous thing is, even sick and miserable and phlegmy, Casey’s still better-looking than 99.9 percent of the male population.
“My very own Joan of Arc,” he says, surprisingly earnest.
“I think you mean Florence Nightingale,” I tell him, amused. “Or maybe Mother Theresa, since I am practically a nun.”
He tries to reply but ends up coughing. When he’s done his eyes are watering and his nose is running. Whatever smartass thing he was about to say has been forgotten.
I hate to leave when he’s so miserable, but I’m running really late now. I grab the empty bowl and orange juice bottle.
“Thanks, Hannah,” he says, his voice shredded.
“You’re welcome, Casey. I’ll see you later.”
…
I don’t make it back to the dorm until six o’clock that evening. Dropping my bag off in my room, I head down the hall to look in on Casey.
Maybe it’s weird that I’m checking on him, but I can’t help it. Even if he hadn’t looked after me the night of the party, I wouldn’t be able to stay away. If I were as sick as he is, Audrey would bring me food and make sure I didn’t waste away, but I don’t think guys do that sort of thing, and they don’t seem to ask for help, either.
Then again, maybe one of his many women has stopped by to see him.
I don’t immediately hear coughing, so that seems like a good sign. I knock quietly, not wanting to wake him if he’s sleeping, and he answers the door right away. He’s still pale and there are dark circles under his eyes, but his whole face lights up when he sees me. “Paying me another house call?”
“Just making sure you’re still alive. I’m heading down to the snack bar for dinner. Want me to get you anything?”
“I can go down myself.”
Even as he says this he starts coughing.
“Tell me what you want and I’ll get it. I don’t think anyone wants your germs down there.”
“I guess you’re right,” he says, looking glum. “A meatball grinder would be great.” He pulls his wallet off his desk and hands me some money.
I do a quick scan of the room when I get down there, relieved to see Brian isn’t in sight. He hasn’t asked me to hang out any particular day, but it’ll be hard to put him off if I run into him. I consider eating downstairs, far from Casey’s germ-riddled room, but I’d rather eat with him. Even sick he’s pretty good company.
He’s left the door ajar for me, so I give a quick knock and go in. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed and some kind of bluesy tune is playing on his computer.
“I’m really glad you came by,” he says, pulling his grinder out of the bag and taking a huge, messy bite.
“Hasn’t anyone else come around?”
“Derek stopped by. Also Suzanne called, but at that point I was practically in a coma from that medicine.”
“I don’t think I know her. Is she your latest conquest?”
“If anyone was conquering, it was her. She practically attacked me.”
“It’s a good thing word didn’t get out you were sick. There’d probably be a line of girls down the hall waiting to tend to you. I’d have to break up fights.”
He sighs. “You know you’re exaggerating, right?”
“Only a little.”
I take a bite of my grilled cheese sandwich, and it’s so good a moan escapes me before I can hold it back. When I look up, Casey’s gone still, watching me. The air in the room is charged, awareness humming between us.
Heat washes over me, and I’m hyper-aware of every move I make—the way my throat moves when I swallow, my tongue as I lick my lips. His attention on me makes everything take on a sensual aspect, as if my body is trying to communicate something to him. I’ve never been the object of this kind of focus, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying.
No wonder he has girls falling all over him.
Casey clears his throat. “I’ve never been able to understand wanting to be a doctor.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d be terrified of misdiagnosing someone or, I don’t know, doing something that kills them or ruins their life.”
“It’s not that I’ve never thought about that,” I say. “But it’s so far behind all the things that get me excited, you know?” I stuff another bite in my mouth. “Besides, I plan to be so brilliant that nothing gets past me.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he laughs.
His eyes crinkle and his smile is big and beautiful, and for a second I can hardly think for looking at him. It’s so strange to be his buddy one second, then nearly swoon over him the next.
I’m probably a fool for thinking I could handle lessons with him. Maybe I should start considering someone else. My friend Ned might agree, but he’s going to school in western Massachusetts, so the logistics of lessons would be a nightmare.
We eat in silence a few more minutes, and I study the drawings above his desk.
“Those are really good,” I say.
At first, he looks surprised, but then a new expression comes over him—shyness mixed with pride and uncertainty. I’m seeing something new, some vulnerability I didn’t expect.
“What’s that thing in the middle?” I ask, pointing at the wall.
“It’s a termite mound. This architect in Zimbabwe had a commission to design a building that would stay cool without air conditioning, and that inspired him. The building in the photo next to it is what he designed.”
I move closer to the wall for a better look. “That’s incredible. How does it work?”
“Outside air gets drawn in, and it’s either warmed or cooled by the building, depending on whether the building concrete or the air is hotter.”
“Lots of medical research is on biomimicry, but I would never have thought architects would be interested in it.”
He looks pleased I know the concept. “It’s pretty amazing. I’ve been doing some reading on it.”
Funny how he lights up when he talks about this stuff, but he never says anything about his computer science classes.
“How come you haven’t told your dad what you really want to do?”
He doesn’t look thrilled I brought up the subject.
“Because he’s been waiting for me to join the company since he first started it. He can hardly talk about anything else, especially now that it’s so close.” He takes a last bite of his sub, but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it anymore. He sighs and shoves the wrapper into the paper bag, then sags back against his pillows. “He already sends me all the board meeting minutes.”
“But what about what you want?”
“For a long time, that is what I wanted. I spent every summer working at Fortify, learning the ropes, and it was great. I mean, my dad’s a great guy, and he built an incredible company. Running it with him seemed like the best job ever for a long time. I can’t imagine pulling the rug out from under him now.”
“But maybe if he knew how much—”
“He’d be totally blindsided. Besides, what kind of an idiot turns down a partnership in a company that successful?”
“I’m not saying it would be easy…” I trail off, worried I’ve already said too much. This really isn’t any of my business.
His arms are crossed and he looks defensive. “What?”
“I just think sometimes you need to fight for what you want.”
I immediately regret it when his jaw hardens and his eyes go flat. Who am I to be giving him advice? Maybe I have it all wrong. “Then again, I’m probably more selfish than you are. I mean, you’re doing it for your dad, which is amazing.”
“So I keep telling myself.”
“At least, you won’t have to go straight back to school after graduating,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll be in school for another zillion years. And I’ll have crazy debt on top of it.”
“Yeah, you’ll be completely miserable fulfilling your heart’s desire.”
It’s so unlike anything Casey’s ever said, so bleak and resigned and bitter. I’m getting a rare glimpse into his inner life, and it’s not a happy place. His situation is so different from what I imagined. I thought he was strolling into the perfect life with no thought whatsoever, and it’s the complete opposite.
I’m trying to decide whether I should leave or make another attempt at improving his mood when Derek pounds on the door and walks in.
“I’m trying to get a Hearts game going. You guys in?”
“Sorry, I can’t,” I say, balling up my wrapper. “I have a lot of studying to do tonight.”
Casey shakes his head. “I have work to catch up on. Plus you really don’t want me touching your cards.”
“I guess I’ll take off now,” I say, standing up.
Casey doesn’t argue with me. I give something I hope resembles a smile and hurry out.
Back in my room it takes me a long time to focus on my work. I assumed an awful lot about Casey without knowing anything, and I’m not proud of it.
Chapter Eight
Brian and I grab sushi in the student center on Tuesday. I think he hoped we’d have dinner somewhere off campus, but I told him I needed to meet here so I could get back to the library faster. When we’re done, he hugs me goodbye, which Audrey once told me means he wants to have sex. This seems like a pretty big leap, but apparently guys don’t hug girls they’re not into.
Wednesday night I’m in the basement pulling my clothes out of the dryer when Casey walks by. He’s dressed in sneakers, shorts, and a short-sleeved tech shirt, so he must be on his way to the gym down the hall. Clearly the man is feeling better.
He glances into the laundry room, then does a double take when he sees me. Coming closer, he peers at the colorful pile of silky underwear and bras sitting on top. Right before the school year began, I took a look at my ratty underwear and went shopping—a modest act of hope that things would be different this year.
“Mmm, nice. Need any help?”
I can’t think of a witty comeback so instead I settle for making a face. “I think I can manage.”
“You’re blushing.”
“It’s very warm down here.”
He leans against the wall. “I was looking for you earlier. I wanted to say thanks for checking in on me like you did. That was really nice of you.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised by how earnest he is. “You’re welcome.”
“You have a very good bedside manner,” he says, the teasing gleam back in his eye.
“I was pretty saintly,” I say, throwing a second load into the washing machine, “especially considering you turned me down in my hour of need.”
I didn’t plan on saying that, but I guess I’m testing him. I need to know if lessons with him are off the table so I can come up with a Plan B.
“I didn’t exactly turn you down. I just don’t want us to end up avoiding each other because I accidentally hurt your feelings or you see me with another girl.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. All you have to do is help me check a few boxes so that I can pass as someone who knows what she’s doing.”
He still looks skeptical.
“Fine. You’re officially off the hook,” I say. I add soap to my clothes and let the lid of the washer slam shut.
He gives me a narrow look. “Does that mean you have someone else in mind for the job?”
“I know someone who might help me.”
“Why didn’t you ask him in the first place?”
“Because he’s gay and he lives too far away, and I kind of wanted to do it with someone who was at least a little interested.”
“Oh, man.”
“Well, you don’t want the job, and I need to know what I’m doing before I subject someone else to kissing me.”
“Hannah, that’s the most…that’s…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Just because a girl doesn’t have experience doesn’t mean kissing her is awful. It can be pretty great.”
“You’re just saying that. Besides, the whole point is that I don’t want anyone to know how inexperienced I am.”
“I had some pretty good kisses back in the day. It’s like…like holding a hummingbird in your hands. You know she could tell you to stop any second, so you notice everything. The sounds she makes, the second she forgets to worry, and when she gets nervous again.”
I’ve gone utterly still, unable to take my eyes off him. Heat washes over me, dilating my veins, shortening my breath.
His voice is lower now, drawing me in, and his eyes have gone dreamy. “You try to make it so good—she forgets to be nervous.” He pauses, his gaze still inward. “It’s like discovering girls all over again.”
I’m trembling, my breath hitching as I try to breathe normally.
He looks at me, and he’s definitely back in the here and now. His smile is slow and devastating. “So yeah, I’ll give you lessons.”
It takes me a second to form words. “I…okay.”
We look at each other for several long moments. Awareness tightens its net around me and sends goose bumps down my spine.
Then some guy comes in carrying a basket heaped with clothes and nods at us. “What’s up?”
Casey straightens, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be seeing you, Hannah.”
I’m still dumbfounded as I fly up the stairs a few minutes later. Finally, the promise of knowing what I’ve been missing all these years. For so long this one door stood locked, and I had no idea how to get in. Now I get to peek inside, maybe even throw the door wide open.
Now the only question is, when will this lesson take place?
Fantasies of kissing Casey loop through my brain the rest of the night and interfere with my concentration all day Thursday. I try to push them aside, and when that doesn’t work, I try to convert them into scenes featuring Brian. Those don’t quite take, though. Brian keeps turning into Casey, and my breath gets a tiny bit faster, my imagination more limber as the day goes on. By the time I get to Professor Stein’s lab, I’m wet and my whole body feels loose and languid.
And I haven’t even kissed him yet. Just the idea is already wreaking havoc on me.
Back in my room later that night I assess my clothes for date readiness and decide my wardrobe is sadly lacking. If I’m going to be dating, I need to kick things up a notch, and I can’t keep borrowing clothes to do it.
I stick my head into Audrey’s room. “You’re probably pretty tired of loaning me your clothes, right?”
She peers at me over her laptop, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is this a trick question?”
“No, I was just trying to provide motivation for the favor I’m going to ask you.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
“I need to buy new clothes, and you know I suck at that. I was hoping you could go with me for moral and fashion support.”
“How’s Saturday afternoon?”
“I knew there was a reason you’re my BFF,” I tell her, practically skipping back to my room.
Saturday morning I head to the clinic, then rush into town to meet Audrey. It’s a perfect September afternoon—clear blue sky, warm sun, the trees just starting to turn yellow and red—and I’m smiling as I head down the street. I’m a block away from the store we’re meeting at when my phone buzzes with a text from Audrey: So sorry!!! Forgot there was an editorial meeting this afternoon. Jen will meet you instead. Can’t wait to see what you get!!!!
