by Sara Ney
No less than ten minutes later we are standing in line at the ticket counter to get seats; a few minutes later we have snacks. I absolutely cannot do a movie without popcorn and chocolate—cannot.
Coke, too.
Eliza seems to share my same level of commitment to cinematic adventures, ordering herself nachos and chocolate then asking if I’m willing to share the popcorn.
I upgrade us to a large to be on the safe side.
“What seats do we have again?” Eliza cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of the tickets in my hand as she balances her books, book bag, chocolate, and nachos.
I love a woman who can multitask.
I also love these newly renovated American cinemas with reclining, overstuffed seats—not to mention, they’re assigned, so we get to choose our spots, able to see how many others will be within close range.
A few pet peeves of mine:
Talking during movies.
Anyone who is not in my party eating popcorn loudly enough for me to hear.
Gawd.
“We’re here—G5 and G6.”
She nods, trailing along behind me in this blessedly nearly empty theater.
It’s work getting adjusted—we’ve way too much shite we’ve brought along, but in quick time (just in time for the previews to start), we’re comfortably in our seats with our feet up and snacks in our laps.
“Ahh, this is the life,” Eliza mutters beside me as the screen illuminates, asking the audience to please turn off their mobile devices. Dancing hot dogs sing praises about the concession stand, which we’ve already visited. “I live for the previews—I’m glad we made it in time.”
“Me too.”
It’s loud in the theater; the surround sound is remarkable and promises to be stellar during the actual movie, and I swear my seat rumbles during a tire commercial. I feel like I’m at Universal Studios even though I’ve actually never been to Universal Studios, ha ha.
Eliza barely says another word.
We spend the next hour and fifty-three minutes in companionable silence, laughing at the same spots and flinching at the same spots.
Even better? I barely hear her chewing the popcorn! If I didn’t see her hand dipping into the bucket every few minutes and watch her pulling out entire fistfuls from the corner of my eye, I wouldn’t have known she was eating it at all.
What a bloody perfect evening.
When it’s time to pack up and head back into the real world, we stand outside debating whether we’re going to order a car or walk through the drizzly rain. I am no stranger to this kind of weather, having grown up in England where it is commonplace, but Eliza doesn’t seem eager to rush into walking through this.
“Are you sure you don’t want to live a little? It might be fun.”
She shoots me a cockeyed look that tells me she thinks I’ve lost my nob. “You want me to walk home in the rain? What about my textbooks?”
“You hold them with the spine up and wipe them off when you get home—it’s just a little condensation, it probably won’t bite.”
At least, I don’t think it’s going to ruin our books, but then I have been wrong before. Ha!
“It’ll be fun, he says. Just a little condensation, he says,” Eliza repeats with a laugh. “Fine, if you want to walk, we can walk. I have no problem with it—just cross your fingers that everything makes it back to the house intact.” She stops in her tracks. “Oh! Wait! Let me try to stuff some of these books in my bag. Hold on a second.”
She stoops to a kneel on the sidewalk and unzips her book bag, wedging the two books inside easily.
Smiles up at me. “Here, hand me your books, too. I think they’ll fit.”
We’re both pleasantly surprised when they do.
She zips up the bag—it takes a little bit of effort, but she makes it work—before standing and hands it to me. “It’s much heavier now, so can you carry it? Pretty please?”
“Who can resist a pretty smile like that?”
Her smile falters.
Disappears.
Shite, should I not have said that? Since when is calling a beautiful girl pretty a bad thing? Or maybe she’s one of those girls who can’t take a compliment?
I spend the next block wondering what is going on inside Eliza’s head, questioning what she might be thinking. Racking my brain for something clever to say and coming up with nothing. Nada.
Think, Jack, think.
She beats me to it. “So…you weren’t kidding when you said you suck at rugby, huh?”
The statement catches me completely off guard, and I look down at her, surprised. She laughs.
“Pardon?”
“I hate to admit this, but Kaylee and I were at the game this past weekend and saw some of the action—or lack of it. I know you said it was not your favorite sport to play, so I want to know how you made it through an entire match.”
“So what you’re saying is…” I begin slowly. “Is that you were at the game this past weekend?”
She nods.
Yes.
“And you saw me play like complete and utter bollocks?”
She nods again.
“So you probably saw Coach ripping me a new arsehole?”
Her sigh can be easily heard as we trudge along through the misty rain, back toward campus and her house just on the edge of it. Even with the traffic going by, I can hear her chuckling.
“Yes, Jack, we saw you running the wrong direction.”
Bloody hell. “And why were you there exactly?”
She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t have to tell you the reason we were there. It should be pretty obvious that my roommate has a crush on you and wanted to be there for moral support and to cheer you on.”
Moral support.
“Christ, I didn’t need moral support—I needed to be airlifted out of there.”
This makes her laugh. “I’m sorry I’m laughing, you poor thing.”
Poor thing.
No one has ever called me that, not a day in my life. Poor thing? Hardly. It must be an American thing to call someone that, and I’m sure she doesn’t mean it literally—I’m far from poor.
“Kaylee and I made the executive decision not to stay for the entire thing. We wanted to spare your dignity.” She laughs again.
“Spare my dignity?” Ha. “It’s way too late—I gave that up when I joined the team.” I switch her book bag from one shoulder to the other.
“And you’re still not ready to call it quits? I won’t lie to you, Jack…that was a painful match to watch, and I know nothing about rugby. Did you get hurt?”
“Just my pride.” I think on it. “Oh—and I have a few bruises on my collarbone where I got jacked by a few elbows. Probably from my own teammates, who fancied giving me a good thrashing afterward.” I sigh. “Wish I would have taken a shiner to the eye, but…perhaps next time.”
She jabs me in the arm. “You do not wish you had a black eye.”
“Sure do.” I’m quiet as I think. “Or a broken arm.”
“Jack Jones!” Eliza is appalled. “Take that back.”
“Will not. If I had a broken arm, I’d be out for the season and wouldn’t get sacked.” I glance down at her. “That’s English for ‘let go’ or fired.”
“You’re sick, do you know that?”
Is she being serious? It’s hard to tell—she’s not smiling or smirking or doing any of the number of things I’m used to seeing her face do.
It must show on mine that I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“Relax, I’m joking.”
“Right. I knew that. But, to be clear, I was only half jesting about the broken arm.”
That finally has her cracking a smile, and we’re both laughing as we continue heading toward her place; it’s still raining, but nothing that has us rushing along. Can see her house, but it’s still far enough in the distance that we have more time to talk.
“At what point do you think someone is going to realize you have no ide
a what you’re doing?”
“When I fashion a wig and send you out onto the field for me?”
“Fashion me a wig?” Eliza gives an unladylike snort. “I’d probably do a better job.”
What’s this sass?
Where is it coming from!
I like it…
“Hey now! I’m slightly offended. But also: facts.”
“You know, the funny thing is I didn’t believe you when you told me you stink at rugby. I thought you were being modest.”
Sounds about right. “Oddly enough, that’s the same reaction I got from a lot of people. I’m just waiting to be axed from the team or made the water boy.”
“I just don’t understand why you won’t quit… That seems like the easiest solution instead of putting yourself through all that trouble, not to mention you could get seriously hurt. I saw some of those guys, and they were busted up. No knee pads or shoulder pads or helmets? You guys are out of your minds.”
“Yes, well, it’s the manly thing to do.” Plus, I’m not a quitter.
“Don’t tell me you buy into that toxic masculinity bullshit.” She laughs.
“Toxic masculinity? Don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
“It’s basically the theory that men feel like they can’t be sensitive, or cry, or feel the same things a woman feels. Emotions and stuff. Macho men and tough guys and all that.”
“Ahh. I see.” We come to the end of the block and wait on the walkway for the light to change from the orange STOP hand to the white illuminated WALK dude. “That’s not it at all. I told you I joined the team because I wanted to make friends and get to know people. At the time it seemed like the easiest way to go about it, but I didn’t actually think I would get my skull crushed.”
“Your skull crushed? That seems a bit dramatic.”
“Skull crushed, nose broken—same thing.”
“You’re the only guy I’ve ever met who wants to get hurt so he can sit on the bench instead of taking yourself out of the game.”
Her hair has gotten saturated with the thousands of water droplets that have begun coating our bodies, her skin glistening beneath the lights of the street lamps.
I study her profile as we walk, noticing that somewhere along the way, we slowed our pace.
Once again, I switch her book bag from one shoulder to the other, readjusting it because it’s pretty bloody heavy.
“Thanks again for inviting me to the movie,” Eliza finally says after a stretch of silence.
I’ve enjoyed the time with her—the movie after studying, then walking her home in the night; it’s been a nice break from the chaos of the day. There’s something about being in the rain that’s soothing, and Eliza is great company.
“You’re welcome.” I paid for the tickets, but she paid for the food. “Thanks for the popcorn.”
“You’re welcome.”
More silence.
Eliza clears her throat. “Maybe…um…” Her sentence trails off before she begins again. “You shouldn’t walk me all the way. Maybe I should walk the rest of the way alone. You know—just in case.” Eliza pauses, staring up the street. “Not that I’m trying to hide the fact that we went to a movie, but…”
“To hide the fact that we went to a movie?” And didn’t invite Kaylee.
She laughs nervously. “You said it, not me.”
“You implied it, love.”
Love.
Her eyes go wide and she’s surprised for a few seconds before recovering.
“I should probably take your stuff out of my bag.”
She has stopped walking and is standing in the center of the sidewalk, gazing up at me expectantly. I shoulder off her book bag but don’t set it on the ground—don’t want it to get wet.
We make quick work of removing my books and rezipping her bag, then we’re standing awkwardly staring at each other, not a clue what to say although we just had a really great time together. A weird static lingers in the air between us that I can’t quite put my finger on—one that wasn’t there earlier.
“Well I guess I’ll see you around?”
“Not at one of my matches, though—stay away from those,” I jest, which makes us both laugh.
“Um…why? They’re so entertaining.”
“For you, maybe—not for me.”
“I’m telling you, Jack, you should call it a wash and leave the team. Not worth it. You could be dedicating your time to other things.”
“Like what?” I can’t think of a single thing to dedicate my time to besides the team. “I’m taking suggestions.”
We’re still standing there even though she should be walking toward her house, to the dry comfort of her bedroom.
“I don’t know…don’t you have any hobbies?”
Would it be weird if I told her my hobbies are the same hobbies as hers? Comic books and Marvel movies and memorabilia. I don’t want it to seem like I’m copying her, but I honestly don’t have many other interests.
Maybe day trading, watching the stock market move up and down—but I haven’t taken a vested interest in that since moving here. Seems I’ve had other things to occupy my time, mostly my new mates.
“What about golf?”
Golf? What the fuck…
“Do I look like the type of bloke who golfs?”
“Lots of guys who don’t look like the type who golf, golf.” Eliza giggles. “I’m just throwing out ideas—calm down.”
“I’m good. I’ll be fine.”
She studies me in the dim light, rain streaming down around us. “Famous last words.”
Eight
Eliza
“Where the heck have you been? It’s pouring outside.”
It’s not actually pouring rain outside.
My roommates are both holed up in the kitchen when I walk through the door, soaking wet, having trudged back from the movie theater rather than taking a cab.
“It’s just drizzle.”
“Well—you’re soaking.”
I’m not actually soaking, but I am way too wet to have just come from the library.
“I was at the library.”
Kaylee eyes me up and down, taking in my wet hair, my wet jacket, my wet shoes. “Well we’ve been waiting for you to get home so we could watch a movie together—you haven’t returned any of our messages, and we started to get worried.”
“I was about to call campus security.” Lilly sniffs, bottom lip jutting out stubbornly.
Shoot, they’re right; I haven’t checked my phone since leaving the library with Jack. I’m not even sure where the stupid thing is. Pocket of my backpack? Pocket of my jacket? Who even knows. I haven’t thought to even glance at it he had me so distracted.
“Sorry guys, I lost track of time and didn’t have my phone out.”
“Doodling those silly cartoons?” Kaylee frowns. “Do you actually do any schoolwork? Or do you just fiddle around with daydreams?”
Did she seriously just say that?
She knows this is just a hobby and not something I want to do as a career; I’m not a fool. I know I’m not nearly good enough to do it full time when I graduate, but it’s something that fuels my soul. If I want to doodle my life away in the library, that’s my business, not hers.
“I said I was sorry.” What more does she want? She’s not my mother.
I shiver. Remove my shoes and place them by the door.
“I’m going to get these wet clothes off and take a shower before I catch a chill. If y’all want to watch a movie after I’m done, we can, unless you think it’s too late?” I have a TV in my room, so I can always watch something in there if they’re annoyed with me.
Lilly shrugs. “Kyle might come over tonight—he’s leaving town this weekend and I feel like I barely see him.”
Barely see him?
The girl spends almost every waking minute with him. I’m pretty confident they’re going to end up getting engaged when they graduate; they’ve been inseparable since the moment they me
t.
Kaylee groans at her pronouncement. “Kyle is coming over on girls’ night?”
“It’s not technically girls’ night—we just wanted to watch a movie,” Lilly argues. “It’s not a big deal. Plus he’s leaving, and…” Her diminutive shrug is a helpless one.
“Whatever.” Kaylee hefts herself out of the chair. “I’m going to text Jack to see what he’s up to.”
I watch her walk out of the room. “I really am sorry…”
Lilly smiles up at me, always a sweetheart. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we’ve never been caught up before, and she’s just edgy because she texted that guy a bunch of times and he hasn’t replied.” She stands, pushing in her chair. “Kaylee hates rejection.”
I’m beginning to see that.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I’m still holding the wet backpack in my hand and head toward the hallway, off the hook and wanting to be out of these damp clothes, Lilly’s words ringing in my ears.
She’s just edgy because she texted that guy a bunch of times and he hasn’t replied…
Because he was with me.
I didn’t text back and he didn’t text back because we were together.
Shit.
I dump my backpack in my bedroom then make my way to the bathroom to shed my clothes. Start the water so it’ll be warm by the time I climb in, setting a towel on the edge of the tub so I don’t have to search for it when I’m done. I give another shiver once I’m naked, the air inside the room cool.
Standing underneath the hot spray of water, I close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting it pour over my skin. The only thing I see behind those eyelids is Jack’s smiling, joking face.
I laugh despite myself at the joke he made about wanting a broken arm.
He’s so cute…
…and my roommate is in the other room right now, texting him, hoping he texts her back.
Ugh, what a mess.
Stop thinking about Jack, Eliza. He is not for you.
Maybe he’s not for Kaylee, either. It doesn’t seem like he’s into her.
But he’s not into you—and even if he were, it doesn’t matter because your roommate is.
Girl code…
