I look at the clock. Our last meeting has come to a close.
“I hope that USC ends up being everything you’re looking for,” she says at the end of our session. “And if you ever find yourself in New York City again, don’t be a stranger.”
Walking back home from Dr. Greyson’s office, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. My feet don’t seem to be connected to the ground. It’s an amazing feeling to feel like someone, a stranger, is proud of you. My parents have always told me that they loved me and were proud of me, but now hearing it from a complete stranger, I beam with self-confidence. Dr. Greyson is right. I have made a lot of progress this semester. Everything that has happened has made me a stronger and more self-assured person at the end. And that somehow made it all worthwhile.
* * *
I arrive at the auditorium where I’m supposed to give my speech early, as usual. There’s a line of nervous students backstage waiting to go on. The auditorium is filled with five classes of public speaking students. There have been two sessions of this particular kind of torture and this is the second one. Everyone backstage has been assigned an earlier time. And the rest of the people who are going today are waiting in the audience. I make small talk with some of the others, but we’re all focused and not really into it. We’re all too focused and too nervous about the speech that we’re about to make. I’m the third one up and I look over my flash cards. I’ve written the speech in big letters with a lot of spacing in the words to make sure that I could see it well when I’m up there. I did not take anything to calm my nerves and I’m jealous of the two girls and guy behind me who are talking about the anti-anxiety meds that they took to calm theirs.
“I can do this,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this. I’m going to be fine.”
Finally, it’s my turn. Everyone is still clapping for the last person who went up. I didn’t hear a word of what he said. I walk out onto the stage and force myself to smile. The lights are blinding and I can’t see a soul. Something about this experience feels different than the intimacy of my previous speeches. They were all in a room of about thirty people where I could see every set of eyes. Here, there are no individuals in the room. They’re just a sea of people. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, quietly. I open the lid of my water bottle so that I don’t have to fumble with it during the speech, if my mouth runs dry.
“Ladies and gentlemen I am extremely honored to be here and for this opportunity to speak about my friend Tristan Hilton. For many years, Tristan and I were very close friends. We did everything together. Played with light sabers in our own third-grade version of Star Wars, played endless games of Release and tag and slept over at each other’s houses until our moms grew concerned that we were getting too close for ten year olds. They had nothing to worry about, of course; we were only kids, and then we turned 13. Our feelings for each other grew and eventually, during our junior year in high school, we started dating.
“Dating in high school can be a complicated thing for many. There are a lot of letdowns and mixed feelings, but Tristan and I never experienced these things. Once we were together, we were together for good. We were best friends and nothing could break us up. But then we got to college. Things were more complicated for us in college. For one thing, we broke up right before we got here and then found out that we were going to be roommates.”
I pause for effect at the end of the sentence and let the crowd take that line in. There’s a gasp that emanates from them. I smile, turn a flash card, and continue.
“Not the easiest thing to go through, as many of you can imagine. College was a time of change. Both for us individually and for us as a couple. We weren’t a couple for a long time, and then we were a couple again. But our togetherness didn’t last either. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m sure that many of you either heard me relay some of the more sordid ones in one of my unfortunate speeches in class or at least heard about it.”
The crowd laughs. I thought that maybe only a few of them would laugh, the people from my class. But the laughter spreads throughout the room. Juicy rumors do fly rampant.
“Well, anyway,” I say with a smile, “what I really want to talk to you about is not really our history, but friendship. In college, friends come so easily. You meet someone in class, they like the same music as you, they also like to go out on Thursday nights, and you’re friends. And because they come so easily, it’s easy to take them for granted. You think that it’s no problem; you’ll just make more friends. But what my relationship with my friend Tristan taught me is that it’s not that easy to make friends. And it’s way too easy to lose friends. And so, to close, I just want to ask you all to look at the people in your own life who you care about and give them value. Don’t fight over stupid things, and if you fight, at least forgive easily. Friendships are important because they define who you are. The people you meet here will be the people who will forever know you as a nineteen or a twenty-year-old. So, when you’re an old fifty-seven-year old, there will still be people in your life who knew you when you were fun and vibrant and full of life. No offense, of course, to all the fifty-year-olds out there. I hope you know I’m kidding.
“And so, in closing, I want to say thank you to my friend. Tristan. No matter what happens to us in the future, you will always be special to me because you’re my oldest friend. You knew me even before college. You knew me as a third grader and I knew you. And I will always value that. Thank you.”
The auditorium explodes in applause. I smile and nod and smile again. I can’t believe that I actually did that. I gather my notecards, which are limp with sweat, grab my water bottle and walk backstage. A warm sensation spreads throughout my whole body. Relief. My heartbeat returns to its normal rhythm.
“You were great,” someone tells me.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, that was really good,” someone else says. I’m not paying attention to anyone who’s talking to me. I’m simply nodding and smiling and walking further backstage, toward the exit.
I take a big sip of my water. But I don’t stop at one gulp. Suddenly, I’m thirstier than I’ve ever been. And I drink the entire bottle without stopping.
“You were amazing,” someone says.
“Thank you,” I mumble and walk past him.
“Alice?” the voice says again. It’s mildly familiar.
“Yeah?” I turn around and see Tristan.
29
Tristan is standing backstage with his foot propped up on the wall. There are wires and poles all around him, but he’s standing so casually that it looks as if he’s back in our dorm. His arms are by his sides and his face is tilted slightly toward me.
“You came,” I say. Still on a high from my performance and the crowd’s response, I throw my arms around him. “Thank you.”
For a second, he seems surprised by my exuberance, but then quickly wraps his arms around me too.
“You were wonderful,” Tristan whispers into my ear.
“Thanks,” I say when I pull away. “I was super nervous, as you can imagine. But I got through it. I can’t believe I got through it.”
I’m keenly aware of the fact that I can’t stop smiling. I try to press my lips together, but they just won’t budge.
“I can’t believe you said all those things,” Tristan says.
“Oh, yeah, well…I don’t know,” I say. I don’t really know what to say. “That’s how I feel and I just wanted you to know that.”
I’m owning my words. I’m being honest to my true feelings. Wow. This is a whole new world. A whole new me.
“Well, thank you,” Tristan says. “Thank you for saying those things and thank you for inviting me.”
“Sure, anytime,” I say jokingly. “Actually, no, not anytime. This is the last time. I’m surprised I didn’t have a heart attack leading up to this.”
“I thought that given how well this went, you’d be considering a career in public service. Somewhere where you can make speeches a
ll the time,” Tristan jokes.
“Hell, no!”
We share an awkward moment of silence. Tristan takes a step closer to me. I look up at him.
“Well, thanks for coming,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”
“No, thank you for inviting me,” he says. “I had no idea that you were going to do a whole speech about me.”
“What can I say? You are sort of an important person in my life. And I want you to know that I meant what I said. I’m really grateful for our friendship.”
He nods his head, hanging his shoulders. Then he looks up at me. His eyes sparkle in the dim light. And suddenly, the moment changes. We are friends one second and more than that the next. Nothing changes except that I know, I can sense, that he wants to kiss me. I want to kiss him, too. He takes my hand in his and looks carefully at each of my fingers, as if he’s seeing them for the very first time. Slowly, he brings them up to his lips and gives me a light peck. I know what’s coming next. I want it to happen, but I don’t let it.
Instead, I take a step back.
“I have to go,” I say. “Thanks for coming again.”
I walk back home in a daze. I’m on a high from my speech and from the moment with Tristan. I did not give my speech or invite him to it for that to happen. And I pulled away because I don’t want to spend the rest of my time here and the summer wondering about the kiss. No, it’s time for me to move on. Tristan will be in my life as a friend only. And that’s enough. That was the whole freakin’ point of the speech. So why can’t I get him out of my head?
* * *
Finals finally come to an end. It’s funny how you wait for this one week each semester, dreading it, hating it, and each day of the week passes ever so slowly. But then it’s Friday and you look back and bam! Finals week is over. This time I didn’t procrastinate until the last possible minute to study for any of my classes and was able to get a proper night of sleep every night. Unlike Juliet, of course. She stayed up all night for what seemed like three days straight.
“Did you end up getting any sleep at all this week?” I ask her, packing up the disaster that is my desk.
I’m not so much packing up as going through all the junk that has piled up in there and throwing almost all of it out. Why didn’t I do this earlier again? Why did I think that I would need to hold on to all of this junk mail? Juliet doesn’t keep anything and calls me a hoarder.
“Not really.” She shrugs. “A few hours here and there in the afternoon.”
“I don’t know how you’re still functioning,” I joke.
“Red Bull, baby! Red Bull and about fifty pots of coffee.”
“So, what are your plans for the summer?” I ask.
“Oh my God! I completely forgot to tell you,” she says, jumping up and down. Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree.
“I’m going to the Hamptons! Well, not just me. A bunch of people I know are pulling together and getting a place there. It’s not cheap, but it’s going to be epic!!”
“Oh wow, that sounds exciting,” I say unenthusiastically.
“You’re a West Coast girl, so I’m not sure you’re quite getting the significance of this. This is the Hamptons. The Hamptons are the place to be in the summer. There’s like a million parties everyday.”
“No, I get it. I’m sure you’ll have a blast,” I say, trying to infuse my voice with more excitement.
“And of course, you have to come!”
“What?”
“Yes! Please, c’mon. It won’t be the same without you,” Juliet pleads. Juliet is an expert in pleading. This is probably the exact same voice she uses to plead for things from her father. Its high pitch makes her sound completely helpless, when in reality, she’s the only one in control.
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
“Okay, promise me that you’ll think about it. Especially around July 4th. Or any week or weekend really. It doesn’t matter, they’re all going to be amazing!”
“How long are you going to be there?” I ask.
“Two months,” Juliet says. “Most people will be coming and going, but I’m planning on soaking every second of my Hamptons time.”
I turn back to packing. I’m almost done with my desk, which now looks like a shell of its prior self. How many students have sat at this desk before? I wonder. How many papers were written here? How many tests were studied for? How many hours were wasted procrastinating?
“So?” Juliet asks.
She walks over to my bed and plops herself on it. There are piles and stacks of clothes everywhere. I have a tendency to fold things first before figuring out what order I want to stuff them into my bags. I do this mainly because I hate to unpack when I get home, and often let my bag just sit there half unpacked in the corner of my room. And if I’m not going to unpack then I need to be able to reach all of my favorite clothes easily.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Will you really think about it? Or are you just saying that to get me off your back? You know you say that a lot when you really have no intention of thinking about anything ‘cause your mind is already made up.”
“Oh my God.” I laugh. “You’re such a pest. I’ll think about it. Really. I promise.”
The Hamptons do sound nice. I’ve never been to Long Island, but I’ve seen it in plenty of movies and television shows. Maybe it would be nice to fly back here for a week or so and really let loose. If there’s anyone who knows how to have fun, it’s definitely Juliet.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, getting off my bed. “I’m really going to miss you, girlie.”
I turn to face her. She taps her foot slightly on the floor and doesn’t look directly at me.
“I’m going to miss you too,” I say and wrap my arms around her.
“Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on here?” Dylan walks into our room through the open door.
“Are you saying your goodbyes already? You’re not leaving today, are you?” he asks.
I shake my head without letting go of Juliet. We’re still locked in an embrace and when I shake my head, we both move side to side.
“So what’s up with the waterworks?” Dylan asks.
Juliet and I finally let go of each other. There’s mist in both of our eyes.
“Well, since you’re saying your goodbyes already, I wanted to make sure that you’ve said your goodbye to your engagement ring,” Dylan says, pulling out a small blue box from his pocket. “I’m taking it back to Tiffany’s today.”
Juliet’s eyes light up. “Give that to me,” she says.
“You haven’t taken it back already?” I ask.
Juliet opens the box and puts the ring on her finger.
“Gorgeous,” she whispers. “My future fiancé has his work cut out for him.”
I roll my eyes.
“Here, you have to put it on, Alice. One last time,” Juliet says.
I shake my head, but she grabs my hand and pushes the ring on my ring finger. The two-carat diamond and the little diamonds around the halo sparkle so bright that they make me want to reach for my sunglasses. I find myself transfixed, unable to look away.
“I have to hand it to you, Dylan,” I say. “I’m not sure that I’ll ever have a ring this beautiful in my life. And I want to thank you for that. Whomever you marry in the future will be one lucky lady.”
Dylan’s face explodes in a wide, effervescent grin.
“No matter what, I have a feeling that you’ll be my favorite wife,” he says.
All three of us crack up laughing. Even now, I have a hard time believing that the events of this semester actually took place. Wow, what a ride.
30
A few hours later, I’m pretty much packed up. All the posters and pictures from my side of the room are down and all that’s left are little bits of glue and tape that I wasn’t able to scrape off. It’s definitely a sorry sight. Finals have this odd letdown quality to them. There’s all this build up, anxiety, and anticipation a
nd work leading up to them. And then, one moment later, they’re over and you find yourself at a loss as to what to do. It’s like there was a purpose of you being there and suddenly there isn’t. It’s already my second semester, but I still haven’t found a decent way to cope with this feeling. A huge part of me wants to go to sleep and rest, but my mind keeps racing and my body wants to celebrate. We’re all going out later tonight, around 10, but there’re still hours until then. I plop down on my bed, pull the covers all around me, and wrap myself around my phone. The Internet is always a good way to kill time.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Hey.” Tristan stands in the doorway. “Can I come in?”
I just started a game of Candy Crush.
“Sure,” I say reluctantly, barely able to pull myself away from the screen.
“You going out tonight?” I ask.
“Yep,” he says, nodding.
“Cool.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Okay, I have to put down the phone. He’s waiting for me to pay attention.
“What’s up?” I look up at him.
He sits down on the bed next to me. A little too close. I pull the covers over and create a little bit of a barrier between us.
“How did your finals go?” he asks.
“Good.” I shrug. “I don’t really know. I guess we’ll see.”
He looks somewhere behind me on the wall. I can tell that he’s not really interested in my answer.
“You? How was your Macroeconomics final?” I ask. That’s his most difficult class. I really hope that he ends up passing it. And not just passing, but succeeding.
“I actually think it went okay,” he says. His eyes light up at the thought. “I’m really hoping for an A-. That professor never gives out As.”
“Oh wow, that’s great. And you see, you were worried.”
There’s a moment of silence. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.
“Tristan?” I say. His eyes return to mine. “What’s up? Did you just come here to talk about finals?”
Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract Page 136
