COLTON
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask out loud as I am woken by my ringing phone. I pry my eyes open and look at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s almost 2 a.m. I rub my eyes, lift myself up from the bed and grab my phone. I look at the caller I.D., finding Chase is calling. I know something is wrong because if anyone knows not to wake me up, it’s my best friend.
“What do you want, Boulder?” I demand. The guys had gone out tonight, but I was exhausted from extra football practices and finishing an assignment, so I decided to stay home.
“Colton, you need to get your ass here right now!” Chase responds seriously.
I jump out of bed and start searching for some clothes. “Where are you? What’s going on?” I put on my sweats, and search around for a sweatshirt.
“It’s Nick,” Chase says. Those words are like a bucket of cold water. I’m alert now. I feel my jaw harden, and I start to wonder what’s happened to my brother. He’s always getting into trouble, and I have to get him out of it. I’m his big brother. I’m the one that looks out for him, but damn, sometimes it gets tiring.
“Are you waiting for an invitation to continue?” I snap. “What the fuck happened to Nick?”
“We were at Thompson’s place. Nick had a few too many drinks and started flirting with one of the girls at the party. Her boyfriend showed up and a fight broke out. I tried to break up the fight,” he says in one breath.
“Where are you now?” I demand. I know he’s got more to tell me, and the fact that he isn’t right now is pissing me off.
“The police showed up and arrested Nick and the other guy. I’m on my way to the police station.” Fuck. My brother got himself arrested. Again.
If they call my parents, I’ll never hear the end of it.
As if sensing my thoughts Chase adds, “I told him not to call your parents. I told him I was going to call you and we’d get him out.”
I’m out the door by the time he finishes his sentence. I have my keys in hand, all semblance of sleep gone and replaced by rage. I tell Chase I’ll meet him at the station. I get in my car and speed off.
Ten minutes later, I park my car at the empty station, and run inside. I find Chase sitting in a chair, his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands covering his eyes. There’s dried blood on his knuckles. He’d thrown some punches, but clearly hadn’t been arrested.
He lifts his head and looks directly at me.
“Hey, Colton.”
I walk towards him as he slowly stands from his chair and meets me halfway.
“You okay?” I direct my eyes to his knuckles. He follows my gaze and nods.
“Yeah, you should see the other guy,” he says with a smirk.
“Why wasn’t anyone else arrested?” I ask.
He looks down at the floor avoiding my eyes. “Because when the police came, the rest of us stopped fighting, but Nick and the boyfriend kept going at it.” I know Chase wishes he’d stopped the fight, but I also know how stubborn my brother is.
“Okay, let’s get the idiot out of here,” I respond, walking towards the front desk like I have too many times before.
I talk to the clerk—a middle-aged woman whose eyes never leave my body—and after what feels like half an hour, my brother is let out. They don’t book him, or file any paperwork. They just wanted to hold him, to get him to calm down. This isn’t the first time my brother has ended up here, but his charm, reputation, and skill on the field make even the police feel bad about getting him in trouble.
Isn’t he lucky?
I thank the clerk and walk out of the police station with my brother in front of me. He has a busted lip, but all in all, it seems he won the fight. Part of me is angry that he got into a stupid brawl, and I had to run and bail him out. The other part is proud that I taught him how to defend himself.
We get in the car and I begin driving back home. Nick and Chase are talking, but I am not paying any attention to them. I am exhausted and ready for bed.
“I could have finished that guy if the cops hadn’t come in and broken us up,” Nick says smugly. “And I would’ve been screwing his girlfriend right now, too.”
His words snap me out of my stupor and I narrow my eyes at him through the rear-view mirror. He’s just sitting there, relaxed—proud of himself. Why can’t he see how much trouble he’s caused? Why doesn’t he give a fuck?
“You need to get your shit together,” I say to him, keeping my eyes on the road for a moment before flickering back to his face.
Nick sits up straight, and the shift in the mood is palpable. “I know,” he responds, but I know this won’t be the last time we’ll be having this conversation.
“I don’t want to get any more calls about you being in fucking jail because you decided to flirt with some chick at a party.” I scold him like a parent would—like a parent should.
“She shouldn’t have flirted back. If anything, I was doing the guy a favor. I showed him how easy his girlfriend is.” I can see him smiling through the intermittent street lights rolling over the car’s interior.
“Yeah, but you’re the dumbass that decided to fight her boyfriend, and land your ass in jail,” Chase jokes.
“Yeah, yeah.” Nick brushes it off, already bored of the conversation. He likes getting into fights. At first, I thought he did it to get our parents, William and Adaline’s, attention. They have never been attentive, or caring about what happens to us. But now, I think he just picks fights out of anger. He knows our parents don’t give a fuck if he’s in the hospital or not. They’re too worried about themselves, leaving it to me to pick up the slack.
My train of thought is interrupted by my phone ringing. It’s 3 a.m. now. I guess the theme of the night is to call Colton and piss him off. I look at the Caller I.D. It’s my sister, Kaitlyn.
“Hey, Kay, what’s up?” I ask when I answer the call.
“Hey, is this Colton Hunter?” An unfamiliar girl’s voice asks on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, who’s this?” I practically shout back, my anger flaring. This isn’t the first time this has happened. My sister’s friends are always calling to flirt with me, or ask me out. It’s pathetic.
I’m about to hang up the phone when she says, “My name is Kiya. I’m calling because you need to come and pick up Kaitlyn.”
“Pick her up from where, and why?” I ask, fearing what her answer is. I’m still annoyed from having to deal with my brother, and now this? This is a night from hell.
“We’re at Eclipse. She’s hammered and throwing up. None of her friends are here,” the girl says.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
Kaitlyn likes going to Eclipse. I never go there. It’s a tacky bar with sketchy people. I’m so tired that I just want to find my bed, but I know I’m not going to anytime soon. My sister needs me to pick her up. I take the next left turn, and start heading towards Eclipse.
Everybody needs rescuing tonight.
I guess I’m on call.
2
MIA
After what feels like a thirty-minute wait, I spot a black Camaro approaching the club. I’ve always loved Camaros. They are sexy and mysterious. I can admire a beauty when I see it, and this car is definitely one that captures your attention, and makes you want to look. As I stare at the Camaro, it comes to an abrupt stop in front of us.
The windows of the car are tinted, probably too dark to be legal, and though I try, I can’t make out anyone inside it. Suddenly, the door opens and a man steps out.
I can’t help but watch. He’s a giant, and you can tell he takes his workout seriously. His arms are so built that I can make out the muscles through his sweatshirt. I bet all the girls run after him. Well, muscles are not enough to impress me. He closes the distance, walking directly towards me. Who is this guy?
I command myself to stop watching him. He isn’t my type, not even close. Not that I know what my type is with my limited experience and all, but I know it isn’t him. And
I am most definitely not his type.
“Are you serious?” The guy shouts while standing in front of Kaitlyn. She lowers her head, avoiding his questioning eyes.
This is Kaitlyn’s brother?
“I’m fine, Colton,” she responds bringing her eyes back up to his.
“Really, you’re fine? I get a phone call from a stranger saying that I need to pick you up because you’re too drunk to take care of yourself, and you’re standing here saying you’re fine!’” He seems frustrated, and I can empathize. He’s probably mad he had to leave whatever party he was at because of Kiya’s call.
Kaitlyn opens her mouth to respond, but before she can utter a word, Colton grabs her by the arm and pulls her in the direction of his car. He bumps into me as he walks past, knocking me to the side. I throw my hands out in front of me to stop myself from falling to the ground.
“Excuse you!” I yell at him as he continues to walk in the direction of his car like he didn’t even notice what he just did. I straighten myself up, and rub my shoulder trying to numb the aching pain.
“Get over it,” he says in a hard voice.
Asshole.
What kind of idiot doesn’t even thank the strangers for helping his sister out.
Ungrateful imbecile.
I turn to Kiya, looking for support, and I realize she too had been watching his every move. Her gaze lifts to me, and she sends me a silent message to calm down. I nod. I’m normally not one to react, but I want to. I am livid. I am in pain. I keep telling myself that it’s because he plowed into me and didn’t seem to care, but I know it’s because for once I want someone to notice me. Not just anyone, though. I want him to notice me.
I hear a door slam, and then another, followed by the Camaro speeding away. I stand there, staring in its direction until it’s out of sight, thinking of what else I could have said.
“He is so hot!” Kiya exclaims, my attention snapping back to the present.
“I didn’t notice,” I lie.
“Yeah right!” Kiya sees right through my lie, like she always does, but I am not about to admit to anything more. So, I evade the topic.
“He’s an asshole,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, well that asshole can take me home any day he wants.”
I roll my eyes at her comment, telling myself that I’d happily decline if given the opportunity.
“How do you know him?” I say, trying not to sound too interested. I don’t want to think about him, but I want to know more, and see if my roommate has had any encounters with him. I could just hear my mom now: No como ni dejo comer. It was something she always said to me when I didn’t want something, but also didn’t want anyone else to have it either. That is how I feel about him. Colton. The mannerless imbecile.
Kiya and I decide to call it a night. We still hadn’t finished packing.
* * *
“Have you loaded the last box?” I ask Kiya. We’ve spent the afternoon packing the rental van, and making sure everything was out of the dorm. We’re finally moving to our own place―my place really—but I am happy to share it with Kiya. As much as I tell myself I like being alone, I really don’t.
“Yeah, I just got the last box. There is nothing left. At all.”
“I am not looking forward to unpacking.” I laugh. “But I am looking forward to finally keeping some wine in the house.”
“Oh yeah, we’re getting wine wasted tonight,” she responds, shifting the car into drive and pulling out into traffic.
It sounds like a wonderful night―unpacking with my roommate, and having some wine and laughs while we’re at it.
We arrive at the loft a few minutes later. I wanted to be close enough to walk to class every day, since walking helps me clear my head. We spend two hours pulling out boxes from the rental. That little room we shared had a lot more stuff than we thought. When we finally finish unloading the van, my roommate drops into the black leather couch, and I take a seat on the piano bench. I bought a few things with some of the money my mother had left me to make this loft feel more like a home.
“Wow,” Kiya says, looking around. “I can’t believe this is where we live,” she exclaims.
“I know, right?” I am equally in awe.
“Mia, thanks so much for letting me live with you. You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”
“I can’t imagine living with anyone else,” I say reassuringly. It’s true though; I enjoy living with her. “Anyway, let’s keep it moving! We have to put it all away now,” I say and Kiya groans.
Two hours later, all our boxes are unpacked, and everything is in its proper place. Kiya decides to make dinner and puts me in charge of setting the table and getting drinks. I pour two glasses of white wine for us, and take a seat on the stool in the kitchen to watch her cook. She looks just like my mom and my mind can’t help but drift to a memory of her.
I was sitting at the dining room table, and my mother was in the kitchen. She was making my favorite meal for lunch, arroz blanco con camarones. I was home for the long Christmas break after spending freshmen year in school. I hadn’t wanted to live on campus, but my mother insisted, telling me that although she would miss me, I needed to have the full college experience.
“Mia, la comida estara lista en cinco minutos.” My mother turned around and looked at me as she said this. She knew I was waiting, and impatiently at that. I was tired of burgers, fries, and pizza, and ready for some soul food―some of the delicious native foods my mother made.
No. Don’t think about the past. Don’t let it creep up on you. It starts with good memories, but the bad ones follow, the voice at the back of my mind insists.
Don’t let it take over, Mia. You know better.
And with that, I come back to the present. Kiya has finished making dinner, and we take our seats at the dining table. The first meal, it’s like a christening. It feels amazing, liberating and right. The place looks wonderful, and I get to enjoy it with my best friend. This feeling of peace is what confirms that I made a good decision in moving to Forest Pines. The place I used to call home no longer held the people that made it my haven. Now, there was only emptiness.
3
Monday mornings, oh how I dislike thee!
I lift my hand and slam it down on the alarm clock. It doesn’t matter how good of a student I am; any morning that I have to wake up at six-thirty is a morning I will wake up angry. I promised myself that I wouldn’t take any morning classes. Apparently, I couldn’t keep this promise since every session of my Junior Seminar class is at 8:00 a.m.
Mornings here I come, I think drily.
I get up from bed and hiss. My whole body is sore from lifting boxes all day yesterday. I massage one shoulder gently then set about choosing what I’m going to wear―not that I particularly care. I pick out a long black shirt, light blue jeans, and black boots. Despite my general indifference to fashion, there is one thing I am obsessed with: shoes. I love boots, and fall is the perfect time to bring them all out. Fall in New England is breathtaking.
I head to the bathroom, brush my teeth, hop in the shower, then get dressed. The house is eerily quiet, and I try not to add any extra noise. I know Kiya will probably sleep until ten since she never takes early classes. She’s a senior and the Junior Seminar class wasn’t a requirement this year. She doesn’t have to experience the nightmare that is waking up at the ass-crack of dawn, also known as 6:30 a.m.
I wish I was her right now.
I walk over to the kitchen, and realize that we barely have anything to eat since we didn’t go grocery shopping. The food we made yesterday was what was leftover in the dorm. If I leave now, I can still make it to the coffee shop at school. Coffee is a must; it is the college student’s drug of choice. And if I am going to make it through this class, I need a hit. I grab my book bag and walk out.
The school coffee shop is always busy, but I manage to get something hot and caffeinated and a chocolate chip muffin with more than enough time to spare
. Since I’ve been taking classes over the summer, I easily find the building and classroom where my seminar is taking place. I make it to class with fifteen minutes until class starts, which is my goal since I like marking my space.
I feel a little nervous to finally feel the fullness of campus. Not a lot of people take summer classes, so I haven’t been exposed to Bragan U. in its thirty thousand strong capacity. Even as I was walking to class, I saw students everywhere. I can’t help but feel a little out of place. Bragan is a large school, yet everyone seems to know everyone…except me.
“Okay class,” says a middle-aged man from the front of the room.
My head jerks up at the sound of his voice, and the din of the classroom fills my ears. I hadn’t even realized I wasn’t alone anymore.
“My name is James Clift and I will be your professor for this course. As you all know, this is Junior Seminar, and though I’d like to think you all enrolled in this class because you want to learn, I know better to know that it is a required course that needs to be taken before senior year.”
The class laughs as the professor begins to pass out the syllabus. He gives a stack to each person in the front row and asks us to pass it back. When I look behind me, I realize that the class isn’t too large―maybe thirty students at most. I focus my attention back to the professor, who is now standing to the left of the board.
“Unlike most of your classes, in this class you will be graded based on group work.”
As those words leave his mouth, everyone in the class begins to utter complaints. I hate group work. I hate the fact that my grades depend on other students, and for some reason, with my luck, I always get stuck with the dumb ones and end up doing all the work.
“I will be assigning the groups on Wednesday, and we will start the first part of our assignment then. The purpose of this class is to select an international problem and ultimately make a proposal as to how to resolve it. This is supposed to help your humanitarian side,” the professor continues.
Better With You: A Bragan University Novel Page 2
