by Amy Henwood
“Well, to stand politically correct, there was someone eyeing her up in lecture hall.”
It was useless staring at Lucy, as she never was good with social clues—or maybe she just avoided them.
“She couldn't focus in class. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Details!” Emily insisted, leaning on the table, enthused. “I cannot believe I missed such an event.”
“There are no details to be said,” I insisted.
“Ah, I remember my first love.” Mia moved the focus from her to me, knowing I wanted away from being the centre of the conversation. I mouthed a silent thank you at her.
“How about the second, third, fourth, twenty-seventh, thirty-ninth?” Lucy asked Mia.
“Be kind to poor Mia,” Emily said. “She has yet to figure out that every man walking this planet is complete scum.”
“Just because Jason cheated on you doesn’t mean all boys are slimeballs,” Lucy responded.
Emily raised her eyebrows in response to her ex-boyfriend’s name. “Easy for you to say. It is a free country, I am entitled to my opinions and yes, men are all the same. Self-centred, lying, cheating bastards.”
“In her defence,” I joined in, “she did catch him in the act of unfaithfulness and a horrible attempt in covering it up.”
“How did that go again?” said Mia.
“You well know what he said. Why do you enjoy getting pleasure out of my painful heartache?” Emily said to Mia.
“Because I am a terrible person. I quite thoroughly enjoy hearing the part of you walking in on him and he pretending he had no idea who you were. Referring to himself as Jason’s twin brother, Jack, well knowing that you knew he is an only child.” Mia recounted the story despite Emily’s protests.
“Mia, you left out the best part,” Lucy said.
“That’s right. Now what were his exact words?” She pretended to forget.
“Why don't you come join us?” we said in unison, Emily excluded.
“Alright, thanks for bringing that up again,” Emily said, rolling her eyes, “but we need to get back to Scarlett and this guy from first period.”
“Like I said already, there is nothing to be told.” I made every effort to hide my true feelings.
“There had to be something that caught your attention. Come on, Scarlett. We could use a juicy man-story.”
I reluctantly gave in, but only to get them off my back, or the harassment would drag on all day.
“It was harmless. I was explaining to Lucy about my rude awakening this morning.” I stopped to watch Mia unable to keep from cracking a smile.
“What?” said Mia. “I didn’t want either of us to be late. Scarlett, please continue.”
“As I was saying, when I was turning my head to the front of the class, this guy a few rows up and I made eye contact. That was it.” I only gave them the Cole’s notes in hopes that it was enough to satisfy their boy appetite.
“So, you did make eye contact,” Lucy responded. “You told me you didn’t notice anyone until I pointed him out.”
“Well, I lied,” I said.
“That’s it?” Emily was not impressed with my narrative.
“That is it. Short, sweet, and meaning nothing.”
“You better be adding to this in the very near future and spilling all the beans to us,” Emily insisted.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I said, tilting my coffee cup back and ingesting the remaining drops.
“Do you know who he is?” Mia asked, intrigued.
“How would I know? This school has several thousand people walking through the doors annually. Sorry for not being on a first name basis with them all.” I was becoming increasingly annoyed with each passing question.
“A little bitchy today,” Emily said to Mia, but clearly referencing me.
Emily might’ve been right but forgive me for wanting to keep this moment to myself. I did not see the necessary urgency to tell everyone in passing about my encounter. It was a stupid little thing anyway. I saw, I dreamed, and now it was over. I knew better not to get my hopes up on one person I shared a smile with for three point five seconds.
The noise of the school buzzer filled the cafeteria, indicating the current period had succeeded and moved along. Thankfully, it saved me from additional interrogation.
The remainder of the day continued as normal as it could. Mia and I attended financial accounting and a shared computer application class with Emily and Lucy, with an English and math class thrown in as well. There were no further sightings of Mr. Brunette—not like I was looking for him or anything.
The four of us met in the library after our final class of the day to prepare for upcoming midterms.
I found library studying more productive than bedroom studying. A typical bedroom study session for me went something like this: first order of business was cozy pyjamas, fixing a snack with high sugar content and pouring a beverage with either a carbohydrate or caffeine component. The pillows got propped just right on the bed—because why sit on an uncomfortable desk chair when my semi-luxurious bed was only steps away. Finally, I would prepare myself not to drool on my textbook as I fell asleep. Yes, the library sounded like a much better option.
We located a table that sat four people, cracked open textbooks and binders, and got down to business. Mia and I, in quiet library voices, debated back and forth about what content would land on our business law midterm. We compared notes, quizzed each other and discussed legal scenarios. I felt our study session was accomplishing something.
The dry winter had carried its environment inside the library, and shortly into our studies, my throat was begging for liquid content.
“I’m going to grab a drink from the vending machine,” I announced. “Do you guys want anything?”
Mia began rummaging her way through her bag to locate her wallet. She found a dollar and handed it to me.
“Pepsi, please,” she requested.
Lucy and Emily declined the offering.
I stepped out the double glass doors of the library and turned right, approaching the vending machine down the hallway. I put the dollar from Mia into the machine and pressed the Pepsi button. I did the same process again for myself, this time selecting a bottle of water, passing on the Pepsi. I was more of a Coca-Cola kind of girl, but PepsiCo had outbid the other beverage companies and had exclusive rights at Darlington University in the drink sector. Not being able to wait, I opened my bottle right away and chugged half before leaving the company of the vending machine. The cold liquid slid down my throat with ease, reviving my dry vocal cords.
Turning back toward the library, a group of people caught my attention. They were all focusing on one individual: Mr. Brunette, talking to the group, cracking them up. Gorgeous and funny? Jackpot qualities on my list.
Be careful, said the voice.
My pace had slowed to almost a halt as I stared at him through the gaps in the group. That was when my inner klutz beamed at the most inconvenient time. My feet fumbled over each other, sending the pop flying out of my possession, landing and rolling across the floor. The water bottle with the loose cap exploded like a Hawaiian volcano, sending liquid everywhere, turning the polished floor into slippery conditions for anyone who dared cross.
My knees, which took the brunt of the impact, dug into the ground, along with my elbows attempting to break the fall.
I stayed still. I hoped that if I got up slowly enough, no one would notice me. I opened my eyes and didn’t have such luck. Black leather shoes were in my line of vision. Hesitantly looking upwards, I saw a hand extended toward me. I was embarrassed more than a sideshow exhibit at the county fair and refused to take hold. I was capable of getting myself up unassisted—I was a powerful, strong, independent woman. I got my body in an upright position, still resting my knees on the floor as sharp, hammer-like pain shot through the caps. Placing a palm on the ground for leverage, I tried to get up onto my own two feet, but no such blessing arose. The hard imp
act had temporarily disabled me. Reluctantly, I reached for the extended hand, assisting me perpendicular to the ground. An electric surge raced in me. Without looking at him, my mind was already made up that I liked him—loved him, even. What the hell?
I looked directly at my human crutch. His eyes were even more seductive up close. Mr. Brunette stood before me as I continued clutching to his warm hand, noticing that mine fit perfectly in his muscular embrace.
“Um, thanks,” I stuttered.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
I shook my head, lying again and afraid of what my quivering mouth would say if I opened it.
“Here, you dropped this.” He handed over the dented but intact can.
“Thanks” was the only word I could blurt out.
It took several steps before my walking became almost normal again. Shaking off the impact, my knees quietly reminded me of my misfortune with each step, leaving Mr. Brunette behind.
When I returned to the library, I placed Mia’s can in front of her. She inspected the large dent on the rim.
“Ah, thanks?” she said.
“About that. You might want to refrain from opening it for a while,” I mentioned.
“Because…?” A puzzled look came over her delicate face.
“Just trust me on this one.”
I sat slowly, taking extra caution to any additional aching body parts that could arise unexpectedly. Mia noticed the limited movement.
“Are you okay?” she asked me.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You sure?” She honestly sounded quite concerned.
“I’m fine, okay,” I said with an attitude that I hoped would cease any further inquiry from the day's peanut gallery.
Being the centre of attention made me feel like I was being suffocated by pillows smothered with lilac—uncomfortable but attempting to ease the effect by covering it up with something pleasurable. I would have loved to storm home, but I was held captive by the fact that Mia was my ride—I was at the mercy of her Rio. Being hypothetically suffocated was more appealing to me than having to literally suffocate myself on the city bus.
The remaining strands of the study session were strangely silent. I didn’t mind. Staring at textbooks and notes started to drain me, and I was happy when Mia broke the apprehensive tension.
“I’m about ready to call it quits. Want to pack it in?” she asked.
“Sure thing,” I said, closing my textbook louder than anticipated, making the sound of a hand slapping against pool water.
Emily and Lucy followed suit in a much quieter manner.
My other classes were falling into place, so I felt comfortable enough to skip my evening reading of course material. I did, however, have a Principles of Marketing project due in lieu of a midterm exam, but I was well ahead of my scheduled timeline. Taking the night off from anything school related would be acceptable and well deserved in my eyes.
“Up for a movie tonight?” Mia pitched the idea while packing her bag. “This weather and all the studying has put me in the mood to go home, insert myself into fuzzy pyjamas and devour junk food.”
Usually I didn’t stay up late when I had class the following morning because I liked to sleep—a lot—but tomorrow's class didn’t start until 11:20 a.m. Quickly weighing out my mental list of pros and cons, I responded to Mia. “As long as we spend the evening with Tatum and Magic Mike.” My suggestion came out as more of a requirement than a recommendation.
Her face lit up. “Excellent,” she said in a Mr. Burns from The Simpsons voice. “If we are coherent by the end, we could do a double feature with XXL. We’ll detour to the grocery store on the way home and raid the snack aisle.”
Junk food and eye candy was exactly what I needed. “You had me at double feature.”
We left through the same doors we had arrived in that morning. Dusk had covered the parking lot, with lights shining off the side of the building illuminating the aged brick walls, and light posts in the parking lot dimly lighting the few remaining cars with a warm radiant glow.
A group had gathered around a silver SUV. My ears rang from the noise they were expelling, and I couldn’t help myself from looking. Their noise had the same effect as when dishes crash on the floor of a restaurant and everyone turns to observe who made the embarrassing production. It was a natural human reaction, and it took conscious effort not to look.
Distinct facial features were close to impossible to determine with the dark sky clouding in on us. We approached closer, and that was when I noticed it was the same group that I had face-planted in front of earlier. Then it was him—again. It’s like I could not not encounter him. Mr. Brunette, flashing his flawless pearl smile.
I ducked behind Mia, trying to be discreet enough that she wouldn’t notice me falling behind her pace, but fast enough to hide from him. Still overcoming the embarrassing feet-over-head episode, my face brightened to a brilliant red like the clumsy waitress, wishing strongly no one else would notice me.
I was supposed to be invisible—I always had been invisible. Blending in with the crowd—never standing out from another. For some reason, the stars were not aligned in my horoscopic favour, and I stood out like a rapper at a country concert.
“What are you doing?” Mia asked in a shrieking tone.
“My shoelace is undone.” I lowered my body casually down to my feet.
“Your boots don’t have laces,” she said, not amused.
My mind drew only a blank canvas, unable to recover from the brush with no paint.
“Honestly, Scarlett. What has gotten into you today? You haven’t been yourself. Not only with me but with our other friends too.”
“I…” was all I could get in.
“And you cannot blame it on your period.” How did she know I was going to try that lame excuse? “I know your cycle, and it’s not this week.”
With our cycles being exactly seven days apart, there was no denying we knew when to take cover from one another, dodging the fierce dragon.
“It has to do with that guy from lecture hall, doesn’t it?” Mia said.
I only nodded a yes.
“Well, that explains the weirdness, but I am still trying to figure out the fake shoe tying. Please elaborate.”
Making sure Mia was blocking the view from him, I said, “Don’t look, but he is standing over there.”
She started to spin around.
“I said ‘don’t look’.” I grabbed hold of her shoulders, forcing her back toward me.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I want to see this mystery man. I don’t understand why you just don’t march right over there and talk to him. You could use some practice communicating with the opposite sex anyway.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” she said, trying to reassure me.
“No. It’s really not.”
Mia raised her flawless waxed eyebrows, waiting for the explanation.
“I tripped after getting drinks for us today.”
“You klutz,” Mia said, putting a couple puzzle pieces together. “I was wondering why you warned me about opening my pop and why you came back empty-handed. Still, I don’t see why that is preventing you from approaching him now.”
“Because my glorious faceplant was right in front of him and his friends.”
“Ha!” Mia couldn’t contain herself from letting out a loud laugh.
“Shh.” I placed a single finger over my mouth, shushing her. “I don't want them to look this way.”
“Fine,” she whispered in a mocking way. “You stay on this side of me and hopefully that will be enough to block his view.”
“Thank you.”
“I do need to teach you some boy-approach tactics one of these days.” She sighed.
“I’ll pass.”
“No, really, Scarlett. It’s a basic survival skill that every woman must obtain. Either to lure them in for a while, or my personal favourite: catch and release.” She nailed h
er analogy.
She abruptly stopped moving mid-stride, focusing on the group of people I was desperately trying to avoid.
“Keep walking. I’m trying to hide from them,” I reminded her.
She murmured, swallowing hard. I couldn’t clearly make out her words at first, but I heard her mumble under her breath, “What the fuck?”
* * *
Mia displayed obvious signs of distress and hardly said two words after leaving campus. It was now my turn to be the celebrity interviewer and try to get some details out of her. I decided it would be best to wait until we were fully settled in at home before bringing up what went down in the parking lot.
Home and in our pyjamas, with snacks in hand, beverages poured, and Magic Mike lined up ready to play, we situated ourselves for an evening of attractive, strip-dancing men.
Mia’s bed was a double versus my twin size mattress and more comfortable than our low-back couch, so the majority of movie nights were held in her room. Her retreat of a bedroom was larger than mine. I easily avoided any impending disagreements on who gets what room when we signed the lease. Her department store worth of clothes needed a rental of their own.
I stole three pillows off my bed and relocated them to Mia’s. Her double bed took up valuable real estate, with not one but three dressers to house the hoard of clothes—not forgetting the closet that also leaked outfits and shoes. It was topped off with a couple nightstands and a desk to finish off the stereotypical university student room. Minus away the extra dressers, change the bed size and add approximately one-eighth of Mia’s clothing collection, and it was the essence of mine.
We propped our pillows, creating the ultimate lazy girl bed. I set one pillow under my feet and the remaining two against the wall to support my back and head. Headboards cost unnecessary drained funds from bank accounts. Mia followed suit with the two pillows supporting her backside and placed her small, yellow-flower-print throw pillow against her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around it.
When the opening credits concluded, I started gently with Mia. “Thanks for trying to change the conversation in the cafe today.”
“Yeah, no worries.”
“I really did appreciate you diverting the attention.”
