Nerdy Little Secret

by Aarons, Carrie

  I just have to figure out how to avoid telling my roommates, and everyone else I know, that I’m going to community college.

  2

  Mick

  Turning in a wide circle, I feel like a kid on Christmas who just opened the full Encyclopedia Britannica.

  This campus is far better than the pictures, and if the outside is anything to go off of, I’m going to love it here. Lush grass, red brick buildings, lampposts with every graduating class year stamped into them dating back to nineteen fifteen. Dorm buildings with the school’s mascot, a Jaguar, hang in the window, and students dotting every spot on the quad with colorful textbooks, laptops, and blankets.

  And that’s just the landscape. I’ve pored over the course catalog for Salem Walsh University for months, and when it came time to schedule, I loaded my lineup with the hardest credits offered.

  Most of the kids here probably wouldn’t have done the same, overloading their course schedule with more credits than actually allowed, but I got special permission. Not only am I a transfer student, but I’m trying to graduate by next fall, with a summer semester added in. With extenuating home circumstances and the path I want to take in my career, administrators at Salem Walsh agreed to let me do what I wanted.

  See, it was embarrassing and awkward to tell people where I was going to college during my senior year of high school. With my grade point average and SAT scores, I could have gotten into an Ivy League school. Unfortunately, when you’re the son of a handicapped father and a mother working three jobs to pay the bills, it’s just not in the cards.

  So, I did my first two years at a community college five minutes from my house, to have the ability to take care of my dad while mom worked and put a roof over our heads. He was diagnosed with ALS six years ago, after function in his hands started to decrease. The diagnosis was a shock to all of us, after all, my dad was the kind of a person who ran marathons. He was healthy, fit. He wasn’t the type of person who got a life-altering disease.

  Six years later, he’s bound to a wheelchair and slurs his speech so badly, that most of the time he doesn’t talk at all. It was essential I was home for those two years, to feed him, change him, give him his meds, and basically be a full-time caregiver. Finally, after three years of waiting and applying and pleading with the right people, my father was approved for full-time home care.

  Which means I get to attend a real college. Going into my community college, I had already qualified out of most of the required courses due to my AP credits. That gave me a leg up, allowed me to take sophomore level courses as a freshman, and I just continued down that path. Now, as a first semester student at Salem, I could take my senior classes as a junior, take courses through the summer, and graduate in September.

  And hopefully, be enrolled in medical school by December. I had a plan, one that had formed the day my Dad was diagnosed, and I wasn’t going to slow down for anything.

  Walking through campus, I spot the building I’m looking for. Monmouth Hall, my dorm.

  It’s three flights up and six doors down before I’m knocking on the place I’ll call home for the next nine months.

  “It’s open!” someone calls, and then I hear a bunch of mumbling.

  Tentatively, I open up the door, and to my surprise I’m not hit with the stench of weed. Exhaling in relief, I push it open more to reveal what looks like a common room. There is a guy sitting in a gaming chair, completely ignoring me in favor of his headset, screaming at someone on the screen. Looking at the game, I see he’s playing Call of Duty, and I gingerly set my bags on the floor.

  “Hey, I’m Mick Barrett, your new roommate?” It’s more of a question than I intend it to be, but whatever.

  The guy, lanky with a brunette chin strap and shaved head, flicks his glance up to me, and then furiously hits his controller, bullets spraying on the television.

  Another person walks out of what looks to be a small kitchenette.

  “Yo, who’s this?” a short, stocky guy wearing a Kiss Me, I’m Irish T-shirt asks the guy in the gaming chair.

  I extend my hand. “Mick Barrett, your new roommate.”

  “Your name is Mick Barrett? That doesn’t fit at all.” He shakes his head and doesn’t take my hand.

  I’ve heard this a lot throughout my life, and I don’t disagree.

  “My dad is a huge rock fan, and since our last name is Barrett, it couldn’t work better. Syd Barrett from Pink Floyd? He’s like one of his heroes. And then he was a big fan of Mick Fleetwood and Mick Jagger, so he convinced my mom to let them name me Mick. Little did they both know, they’d be getting the most un-rock-like nerdy son in the history of the world.”

  The guy on the floor pauses his game. “Sweet, I love Pink Floyd. I’m Martin, that’s Rodney, and Paul is off sleeping somewhere. Or maybe he’s at the library, I can’t remember.”

  I nod. “Nice to meet you guys. Didn’t realize this was a suite.”

  “Yeah, we all have our own bedroom, though the twin beds suck ass. We have a rotating chore schedule, someone to clean the bathroom or kitchen every week ’cause I’m not a dirty-ass person. Hope that’s okay,” Martin says.

  “Good with me, I’d rather things be clean.” I thank my lucky stars at this moment that I got some decent roommates.

  Well, who knows if they’re decent, but at least they won’t leave beard trimmings in the bathroom sink or curdled milk in the fridge. Anything else, I could probably live with.

  “You guys are sophomores?” I ask, knowing that I’m one of the oldest people probably still living in the dorms.

  Rodney nods. “Yeah, we’re looking to get our own off-campus house next year, but this dude’s mom wouldn’t let us this year.”

  He punches Martin in the arm, and his friend scowls. “Whatever, it means we still get meals in the dining hall.”

  “You’re a junior? A transfer, right? I think I lost the piece of paper they gave us on you.” Rodney shrugs.

  I nod. “Yeah, a junior, but trying to graduate early. Mind showing me which is my room so I can unpack?”

  For two guys I hardly know, they seem pretty nice. They like video games, which I can hang with, and witty T-shirt sayings, so I think we’ll get along fine. They show me to my room, which is at the back of the suite. It’s small, no more than a twin bed, a desk, and a dresser, but it will do. It’s the first freedom I’ve been afforded away from my parents in nearly twenty-one years, so it’s more than adequate.

  After I unpack most of my clothes into the drawers and make my bed, my stomach is rumbling.

  Walking out into the living room, I meet Paul, my third roommate, and ask about food.

  “Anywhere I can go to get a good sandwich?”

  “We can take you to the Pub. It costs money, but it’s much better than the dining hall. You should get one good meal before the crap in the cafeteria.” Martin picks up his room keys.

  I follow, kind of excited to be traveling with a group of semi-friends around my new college.

  3

  Jolie

  My bag keeps swinging and hitting me sharply in the hip as I jog into the Pub, Salem’s on campus pay-per-meal dining area.

  I guess that’s what I get for being reckless. Every action has a reaction, or a consequence in this case, and mine is having to tote around a massive bag of textbooks while I sneak from one campus to another. It’s been three days of classes, and I’m still not adjusted to my new way of being a student.

  The Pub is cooler than the dining hall, and it’s got better food too, so Christine, Maddy, and I typically meet in here for lunch. It got its name because back in the day, you used to be able to buy alcohol here before the campus became dry. Now it’s just a large lounge/study/eating space where students occupy tables for hours at a time, and a salad costs ten bucks.

  When I finally get inside, relishing the cool air-conditioning as it smacks me in the face, I’m met with hundreds of students talking and eating. The place is mobbed, as is expected, but it doesn�
�t take me long to find the spot of our usual table. The walls are done in our school’s navy and gold colors; the booths are smooth leather, and the floors gleam a dark hardwood.

  Madison and Christine sit in the massive ten-person booth that we’ve claimed as our own, surrounded by our athlete friends and some of the girls they date. There is Charlie, the quarterback of the football team, Darell, the pitcher for the baseball team, Andy, who is the school’s leading wide receiver, and two more of their friends. Beside them sit Britta and Eileen, Charlie and Darell’s girlfriends, respectively.

  “Jolie!” Britta waves her hands, her olive skin glowing even more with its summer tan.

  I smile, waving as I walk over. “Good to be back, huh guys?”

  I managed to sneak away from the campus that none of them know I’m attending to bust my ass over here for lunch. I have to be back in an hour and a half, and that’s calculating the twenty-minute drive it takes me to get there.

  “So good. Life is boring without college. I’ll even take the classes.” Charlie puts one beefy arm around Britta.

  “He says that now.” Andy snorts, chucking a fry at his quarterback’s head.

  Madison makes a choking noise. “Ew, you almost got ketchup on me.”

  “Glad to see we still retained our table.” I set my bag down, fishing around for my wallet. “I need to get a salad.”

  “Oh, the cash part of the machine is broken, so they’re only taking Salem cards, just FYI,” Christine tells me.

  My heart panics, beating against my chest. “Um, could I borrow yours? I actually left mine at home. You know I’m good for it.”

  She hands her ID card over without another thought, thank God. I don’t know how I would have thrown out another excuse on the spot. I can’t damn well tell them the real reason, that my ID card was deactivated due to me not being a student here this year.

  After I wait in line and grab my strawberry balsamic salad, I head back to our table.

  “We were talking about hitting the pool later, you in?” Eileen asks, and I have to avert my eyes from Darell practically biting her throat like a vampire.

  Those two were separated by three states all summer, so it looks like they haven’t wasted any time now that they’re back.

  “Sure,” I say between forkfuls. “We doing chicken contests again?”

  “Are we fifteen? Why are we still doing that?” Christine rolls her eyes.

  I point my fork at her, talking to the group. “She’s just mad that I completely owned her last time. Andy, partners?”

  The wide receiver looks me up and down. “Of course.”

  We had a brief fling freshman year that fizzled out when he hooked up with a sorority girl and I saw his tongue down her throat. Since then, we’ve remained friends, with him trying to get in my pants every shot he can. I’ve said no each and every time. I love hookups, love sex, but once you betray me, or I have to smell another girl on your sheets, I’m done.

  We lapse into a conversation about classes; the guys start hypothesizing wins based on teams they’re playing this year, and Eileen keeps bringing the talks back to a hilarious new Netflix show she’s watching.

  Out of the corner of my eye, a familiar head of swooping auburn locks catches my attention. And in an instant, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  “Mick?” I cry out, completely unaware of where I am.

  He halts, looking around at the sound of his name. Clover-green eyes land on me, and those full lips quirk up in his signature smirk.

  “What the heck …” He looks as genuinely shocked as I feel.

  Before I think about what I’m doing, I jump up and into his arms. Mick hugs me back, albeit awkwardly, since we’re in a cafeteria full of people. I guess when you hook up in the shadows all summer, it might feel weird to express attraction out in the open.

  “What are you doing here?” I smack his chest, which is clad in a shirt that reads B is for Beets, with a picture of that weird guy from The Office on it.

  Mick points at himself, his green eyes sparking with shock and amusement. “I go to school here.”

  My mind feels blown. How had we not talked about this all summer? “Have you always gone here?”

  “No, I just transferred this year. How did I not know you went here?” He seems to be having the same thoughts, though his eyes are wandering down my legs.

  A sizzle of attraction burns through my spine, and I’m aware of how much sexual tension there still is between us.

  “Guess we never talked about.” I shrug, a smug grin painting my lips.

  We were too busy fucking each other’s brains out and sneaking around the summer camp we both worked at.

  It surprised me, how drawn I was to Mick Barrett. His name sounds like that of a rock star’s, but the guy couldn’t be further from the moniker. Even now, his surprisingly hot physique is trapped in the wardrobe of a nerdy teen. A graphic tee, jeans that don’t fit his ass right, sneakers more scuffed than a country line dancing floor, and those glasses.

  Scratch that, the black-rimmed glasses are pretty sexy. Mick is pretty sexy, though not conventionally. He’s a strawberry-blond, so almost a redhead, which makes girls overlook him. But those green eyes are blazing and his bone structure is that of a lean cowboy or something … I’m just drawing from the smut novels I’ve read. He’s a swimmer, so his body is perfection, but he hides it all under the unassuming clothes and quiet personality.

  Mick is Prince Charming wrapped in tinfoil, and he’s the best damn lay I’ve ever had.

  That’s when it comes back to me, the reality of where we are. Three guys stand next to Mick, and they all look young or too skinny. Maybe I just hang out with the beefcakes at my table all day, and so I notice their structure more. They’re all gaping at us, and the short stocky one is clearly staring at my boobs.

  “Um, Jolie?” I hear Maddy from behind me and turn to see our entire table looking at me.

  Nine pairs of eyes blink at me, curious, weirded out, and my two best friends look at me like I’m an alien. Here I am, hanging onto a strange guy in the Pub, and he’s not my typical type.

  I take two steps back and slick a hand nervously through my brown waves. “Uh, yeah, this is Mick. We … worked together over the summer.”

  That’s when I notice I can’t even make eye contact with Mick. What would my friends say if I told them about what had happened between us this summer? Christine and Maddy didn’t even know I’d been mandated to work at the camp by the court as my community service. How would I explain Mick and why we know each other?

  “You worked this summer?” Andy chuckles in disbelief.

  “I didn’t realize Daddy wasn’t paying for the country club membership this June.” Darell winks at me, teasing.

  “Yeah, it was nothing really. Good to see you, Mick. Hope you enjoy Salem.”

  And with that, I climb back into my booth, not making eye contact with Mick again. Inside, I’m burning with shame. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I a high schooler, trying to prove my worth to the table of popular kids?

  Yes. That’s exactly what I am, as horrible as that is. I just have too much to lose, too much that can be uncovered and harm me even worse than a summer fling I still seemingly have feelings for.

  I only allow myself to glance up once, and the look of disappointment is not the one I expect to see on Mick’s face.

  Disbelief, maybe, disgust, sure. But disappointment? That cuts deeper than anything.

  Mick Barrett sees right through my bullshit, and it’s almost as if he expected this kind of rejection from a girl like me.

  As shitty as I felt about myself this morning with everything I have to carry, and all that I have to make up for, this makes me feel the worst.

  I’m the exact stereotype people have always pegged me as, and it never hurt quite as much than when the one boy who I could have really felt something for looks me in the eyes like that.

  4

  Jolie

  Four-
inch wedge sandals were the wrong choice today.

  It could also be the fire-engine red fit and flare dress I have on too, or the pearl clips I put in my hair. I keep forgetting that Salem Community College is a very different place than Salem Walsh University.

  I’ve gotten no less than sixteen strange or leering looks as I’ve walked through the tiny, rundown campus carrying my designer bag full of textbooks. Two catcalls, some scathing stares from girls in the tiniest jean shorts with their belly button rings sticking out under crop tops. I look like some kind of pageant girl in a land of trailer parks.

  Okay, that’s mean. I know that. Salem CC isn’t very different from my high school, with all sorts of types of people who belong to all different types of social classes. I’m just bitter about being here and choosing to put on the opposite of rose-colored glasses when it comes to this place.

  It’s been exactly eight days of me being an enrolled student here, and not only am I still struggling with classes at the lowest level of college possible, but I’m so uncomfortable here I can barely drag myself to campus. The whole landscape is gray, aside from the patches of dirt in the untended lawn. The buildings, the windows, the doors—all shades of doldrum and it’s honestly depressing.

  There are no students flocking the measly quad, or clubs and sports teams advertising their latest game or membership opportunity. The professors in my courses are monotone and seem overworked. A lot of the kids don’t even seem to want to be here.

  As I walk into my biology class, the hardest of my course load, at least three people roll their eyes.

  “Don’t worry, they’re just jealous because they can’t afford that Chanel bag,” a voice comes from my right.

  Looking down at the desk next to where I’m standing, I see a girl with wild curls dyed the color of a lavender bush. Her skin is porcelain white, and her eyes glow this interesting color of amber. She’s striking, and I’m not sure why I haven’t recognized her before. She’s also wearing black jeans and a black tank top on a blistering ninety-degree day, which makes her even more interesting.