by Claire Adams
I saw him straddling his bike which he had just started up. And there, climbing onto the back, dressed in a skin-tight, massively-revealing outfit, was that Melissa girl. I immediately stepped back behind the door, feeling my heart thumping in my chest.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “You're being totally irrational! You don't even like the guy! Why are you getting all jealous about him and his skanky girlfriend? Just walk out, say a polite hello, and keep on walking. Seriously! Why are you hiding like a confused adolescent?!”
I was being ridiculous. There was no logical reason for me to be feeling like I was, especially for some douchebag, hot-shot jock who was the polar opposite of my type. I drew in a deep breath, composed myself, and made sure I had an expression of calm neutrality on my face, and then I walked out, looking as nonchalant and carefree as possible.
“Hi, Emerson. Hi… um… what was your name again?” is what I was going to say. But I didn’t get the chance. Granted, it was petty, but I sure as hell wasn't going to give that poor excuse for a woman the satisfaction of knowing that she'd made enough of an impression on me for me to remember her name. Even if the reason I did remember, it was because she’d made a terrible impression.
I strutted down the walkway, running a hand through my hair which was, I had to admit, looking especially sexy and luscious for a bummed-out Saturday. I fully prepared myself to dish out my cool disdain to jock-boy and bimbo, but I was quickly stopped in my tracks.
He was already on the bike, his helmet on, glancing up and down the street to make sure it was clear. She was hanging on his back, her arms wrapped tight around his torso like those ugly little primates with the big bulging eyes I’d seen at a zoo once.
He clicked the rumbling machine into gear and with a fistful of loud, roaring throttle, he took off at a blistering pace and quickly disappeared around a bend at the end of the road as smoothly as any racer I’d ever seen handle a bike on TV. There was something sexy and alluring about it.
But more than the unwanted impulse of attraction, which I quickly suppressed, I felt disappointment. After gearing myself up for a performance—I'd wanted to show him and Melissa just how little I cared about them—I'd been denied an audience.
Okay, so maybe it was more than a little petty. In fact, it was pretty full-on bitchy. I had no clue what had come over me. I shook my head and shook out my arms too, trying to rid myself of this strange, uncomfortable feeling that seemed to take hold of me whenever I saw Emerson.
There was only one way to get past it. I needed to avoid him and his chauvinist friend, Chris, as much as possible. Given that they lived next door to me, I realized that might prove difficult. Nonetheless, I had to do it.
Avoid. At all costs.
Chapter Six
Emerson
“Come on, bro, the dive bar on 4th has their two-for-one special! Remember? Last Sunday of every month. Let's hit it, I bet there'll be some talent there. In fact, I know there'll be talent—hot, fresh talent that just arrived for the new semester! This is a college town, ya know.”
“Chris, dude, I told you already. I've got to do some prelim reading before the first day of class tomorrow. Seriously, man, I need to get through these articles. And, you should be brushing up a bit yourself. You barely scraped through last semester.”
Chris' expression morphed instantly from a cheesy grin to a scowl. He looked away from me and shook his head. “Bro, you're acting like… like a freakin' old man these days. Where's the E-Train I'm used to, huh? Man, for the past month you've been so damn serious. Lighten up!”
“Chris, we've been out drinking two nights in a row. We got back from the club at… what was it? Six in the morning Saturday? Then fourteen hours later, we were hitting it hard again. And that carried on until three this morning. Seriously, man, aren't you even feeling the slightest bit tired after all that? I know I am. If I do it again tonight, I guarantee that I won't be able to wake up for class tomorrow. And even if I do manage to get to class, I'll probably fall asleep halfway through. I've gotta have at least one quiet, sober, early evening. Seriously.”
Chris got up, obviously upset. “Whatever man. I'm gonna call Brent. He'll go have beers with me, at least. Enjoy your books, bro,” he mumbled as he left the apartment.
I shook my head and sighed as I watched him leave. He really could act like a spoiled child sometimes. We weren't eighteen anymore. I didn’t know when he’d realize that I needed to start taking life a bit more seriously and, quite frankly, so did he. However, there didn't seem to be any way to get through to him, so what could I do? I leaned back in my chair and resumed reading, trying to get my mind off Chris and the tension building in our friendship.
Several hours later, I closed my books and yawned, stretching my arms out in front of me. I felt proud of myself at that moment. I'd managed to get through everything I needed to read before my first class the next morning. To be honest, I should have read most of it a week before instead of procrastinating and wasting a bunch of time partying and then having to do it all at the last minute. But at least I'd had the determination to get it done, even if that happened to be the night before class.
I got up and stretched out a bit more, grimacing as my arms and chest burned from the post-workout pain from the grueling Saturday session and then headed to the kitchen to whip up a protein shake before bed.
As I was shaking the whey powder and milk in my gym bottle, for whatever reason the Ice Queen next door popped into my mind. I found myself wondering what she was going to be studying and if I'd see her around campus. I wondered if she had a boyfriend and maybe that’s why she was so stand-offish.
I stopped shaking the bottle and caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the kitchen window. I raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking at my reflection disapprovingly, and started to talk to myself.
“Dude, what are you doing? Why are you thinking about the Ice Queen again? Seriously, you have nothing in common with her. As a matter of fact, stop wasting your time thinking about girls, period. You gotta get focused on school. Ration your partying time accordingly. And while you’re at it, try to be a good friend and help Chris do the same. God knows he needs it even more than you do. Not that he seems to understand that. And for Christ’s sake, stop thinking about the girl next door. Brooke isn't gonna help with any of that. In fact, a chick like her will only make your life way more complicated than you can afford for it to be.”
I stared at my reflection for a minute and then gave myself a respectful nod.
“Thanks for the pep talk, man.”
“No worries, I got your back.”
I chuckled, thinking that if anyone had been watching my little exchange, they'd surely think I was insane. But I'm sure everyone does that sort of stuff when they're by themselves… right?
I chugged down the protein shake and then washed out the bottle thoroughly. I learned the hard way that stuff gets real nasty if left overnight. Leave it over a few days and you've got a nuclear situation the scale of Chernobyl on your hands. Not even joking.
I shuffled to the bathroom, turning off all the lights except one dim lamp in the living room so Chris would at least be able to see when he stumbled around like a blind man after he returned home from his alcohol-infused evening. I then headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash up before bed.
I got it all done in record time, then headed off to my room. It was only ten o' clock—plenty early for me. I switched off the light and was asleep in seconds.
***
I had no idea what time Chris had made it in, but his door was shut and I could hear his snoring when I got up nice and early the next morning. I showered and had a healthy breakfast of granola, fruit, and a protein shake. I was feeling pretty great. I'd done my mandatory reading, got my prep-work done, and I was looking forward to the first day of classes. The sun was even shining when I opened the door to head out. It seemed like a pretty perfect day: blue skies, warm but not uncomfortably hot, and crowds of fresh-f
aced, eager students milling around outside the apartments.
After locking the place up and heading to the parking lot, I put on my helmet, climbed on my bike, and fired her up. I loved that sound! It was going to be a great day. After my bike was suitably warmed up, I clicked her into gear and tore off down the road. I could have easily walked, but any excuse I got to ride my mean machine, I took it. Not to mention, it definitely made more of an impression arriving on campus riding a bright red, howling motorcycle than it did walking.
I pulled into the parking lot and dismounted after parking my bike in the spot I had dubbed my “usual spot” the previous semester. I locked my helmet to the tank and headed to the science building. My first lecture of the day was chemistry. I won't lie, I was feeling pretty stoked about it until I realized the west wing of the building was more than a little empty. There should have been a steady stream of students walking in, hurrying to the lecture, which was set to begin in five minutes. Instead, it seemed I was the only person there.
I was trying to find my class schedule in my backpack when it hit me and panic made the blood in my veins run ice-cold. I lifted smacked myself in the forehead, cursing at myself for my stupidity. I had been going on last semester's schedule and thinking my chemistry class was in the west wing when it was, instead, in the east wing!
I was going to be about fifteen minutes late for my first class.
Perfect. Just when I was trying to turn things around, here I was about to stroll into class fifteen minutes late and make a terrible first impression. I really couldn't think of a shittier way to start off the new semester. Out of instinct, I turned and started back toward the east wing. After a few steps, I stopped in my tracks. My mind raced as I tried to decide if I should just turn around and leave, pretend I'd been sick. That would look slightly better than arriving late, right?
But if I did that, I'd miss out on a wealth of really important stuff. It was crucial to be at the first class if I wanted to get a good grip on what the class would be like for the rest of the semester.
No. As awful as it would be, I knew I needed to suck it up and walk in fifteen minutes late. I just had to hope I could talk to the professor after class and explain my mistake. Maybe she’d be reasonable about it. No matter the outcome, there was only one thing I could do at the moment.
I took off at a fast jog and ran across down hallway after hallway until I reached the east wing. After I bolted up the stairs, I rounded the first corner and stopped in front of the door I should have entered fifteen minutes before. As I expected, it was closed and looking more than a little intimidating. With a lump in my throat, I walked to it and pushed it open slowly, fully expecting the class to fall silent, followed by me getting embarrassingly reprimanded for being late by the professor in front of everyone.
I breathed a quietly audible sigh of relief. She was writing on the board and almost every student was scribbling notes in notebooks or on iPads and tablets. I saw an available seat a few paces away from me, near the door in the back row. Without even scanning for any other seats, I dashed over and plonked my ass down, just as the professor turned around from the board to continue with her lecture.
Breathing hard from the run across campus, I leaned back in the chair, silently thanking every deity I could think of that I hadn't been busted for walking in late. The class was huge, so the professor thankfully didn't even notice there was now an extra body in the room.
I slid my backpack to the floor, opened it, and got my tablet out so I could start taking notes, too. That’s when I looked at the person sitting in front of me and I almost fell off my chair.
Brooke.
My heart started racing and I fumbled with my tablet, which dropped to the floor and clattered noisily. That got everyone's attention, you know… the attention I’d been trying to avoid. Everyone turned their heads to investigate the sound—including Brooke, who looked right into my eyes as she turned around.
I have no idea what emotions ran through her mind when our eyes locked, but I imagined it was a cocktail similar to that which ran through my own head: surprise, shock, confusion, and definitely attraction.
I was even more surprised to see her cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of red to match what felt like my own face was doing. That’s right, I blushed. Something I almost never do. Brooke hurriedly averted her eyes from mine and turned around without saying or doing anything else.
She didn't look at me again for the rest of the class and I tried to keep my mind off of her while I took notes and did my best to pay attention—which was almost impossible with her lush, flowing hair and the delicate curve of her exposed shoulders mere inches from me. But, as if that wasn’t enough, the real kicker came at the end of the lesson.
The professor wrapped up her lesson by addressing the class. “As you all know, we're going to be doing a lot of practical lab work this semester,” she started. “And, that means that every student in here is going to have to have a lab partner. Now, what I don't want is for you to be working with your friend or someone you already know well. That, I'm afraid, will lend itself to fooling around in the labs and wasting of valuable time. So, I've taken the liberty of running all of your names through a computer program which has randomized partners. I'm going to read the list of names and who you are partnered with, and I want you to make a careful note of who your lab partner is going to be for the rest of the semester. Now, unless there is an extremely prudent reason that you cannot work with the person you've been assigned to—and I'm talking serious issues here, people, serious issues. Not 'I don't like them' or 'they're not fun' or any other wishy-washy nonsense like that—you will be partnered with this person for the entire semester. Understand?”
We all mumbled monosyllabic responses of affirmation.
“Good. I'll start.” She began reading out the names. I sat bolt upright in my seat, wondering with suspense who I was going to be stuck with for the rest of the semester. My pulse began to race as soon as she read out the first name and it happened to be mine.
“Emerson Reed, your lab partner is Brooke Baker. Could you both raise your hands please?”
I thought my heart was going to explode, my pulse was hammering so hard in my chest. Brooke and I both raised our hands, but she didn't even turn around to look at me.
“Good. Next, Jonathan Biln, you're with David Henderson. Could you two raise your hands? Yes. Fran Corleone, you're with…”
The professor's voice began to fade out as I thought about what had just happened. Brooke, the Ice Queen, was going to be my lab partner. This was gonna be interesting.
Chapter Seven
Brooke
As soon as the professor said Emerson’s name with mine, my blood ran cold. What the hell? I mean, seriously, what the hell? Of all the names her computer program could have randomized, it had to put me with the one person I'd been trying to avoid like the plague.
As if it hadn’t been enough of a shock to see him walking into the lecture hall and taking a seat right behind me. I'd imagined a jock like Emerson would be taking business or marketing or sports management classes—anything but advanced chemistry. But there he was. And so, for the rest of the class, I'd had to sit there, feeling super uncomfortable, with him literally breathing down my neck.
After the professor dropped her bomb, there was absolutely no way I could avoid contact with him. Not only did he live next door to me, but he was also my lab partner for the semester. The entire semester. Absolutely perfect. Why couldn't life have been kind and just partnered me with the uber-nerd a few rows down—the one who looked like he weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet in his Star Trek t-shirt with coke bottle glasses, a bad case of acne, and a mop of mousy hair? You know, someone who I'd have absolutely zero attraction to. Not the cover model jock from next door. The same jock who made me weak in the knees every time he looked at me.
And, I hated admitting that. I hated that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling that way about someone I barely knew. All it did w
as make my life more complicated. In so many ways, I felt as though the Andrew debacle was still hanging over my head. For that reason alone, I didn’t need complicated. I needed logical. Simple. Clear-cut.
Being lab partners with the one person on campus who I wanted nothing to do with, well, it was none of those things. As the professor kept rattling off names pairing lab partners together, I tore off a scrap of paper from my notebook and scribbled my email address on it.
That's all Emerson was going to get from me. Just an email address. Not my Facebook, not my Snapchat, not my Instagram, and definitely not my phone number.
Not that any of those would have really made much difference considering he lived on the other side of my bedroom wall. A bedroom wall that I wasn’t sure he wasn’t desecrating with a slew of bimbos on a regular basis. My thoughts suddenly flashed to the noises I'd heard on Friday night and Saturday morning. Had it been him or had it been Chris?
An unwarranted and bizarre concoction of sensations ran through me—hostility, repulsion, annoyance, and as much as I hate to say it, jealousy. Maybe even a little arousal.
I shook my head to rid it of the thought. No. Hell no! There's no way, there's just no way…
“That's all, class,” the professor announced, snapping me out of my trance. “If you didn’t see who your partners are, a few students were absent today, so that could be the case. Just come see me and we will get you in contact with your partner during the next class. Anyway, you have your reading assignments to do before Wednesday, so please see to it that you do them, or you'll quickly find yourself in over your head. I don't slow this class down for slackers and have no sympathy for lazy students who don't do their assigned readings. Now, if you have any questions, you have my email. Don't hesitate to contact me if there's anything in your reading you're having trouble with. Alternatively, if there's something serious you need to discuss, you can find me in office 15C on the third floor of this building. Class dismissed.”
