Better Than Me

Better Than Me: 

A Novel

Emme Burton

Copyright: 
2013

Better Than Me

Emme Burton

Copyright 2013

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.  If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated.  Please delete and support the author by purchasing the e-book from one of its many distributors. 

Disclaimer:  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.  The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Editor:  Sharon Korn

Cover Design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers

Dedication

To BC, Thing 1, Thing 2 and the Wookie Dog.  I love my life in the HOB (House of Boys).  Thanks for putting up with the crazy lady you live with.

Better Than Me Playlist

Songs to listen to
while reading Biz’s story

Brave-Sara Bareilles

Seven Nation Army-White Stripes

Sweet Child of Mine-Guns and Roses

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go-Wham

Sorry-Buckcherry

Breath-Breaking Benjamin

Get Lucky-Daft Punk

I Really Wanna Love Somebody-Maroon 5

Better Than Me-Hinder

More Than Words-Extreme

Dear Agony-Breaking Benjamin

I Miss You-Blink 182

I Knew I Loved You-Savage Garden

Legohouse-Ed Sheeran

Kiss me-Ed Sheeran

Just the Way You A
re-Bruno Mars

Marry You-Bruno Mars

Thing for You-Hinder

Still Into You-Paramore

Table of Contents

Chapter 1:  NOW-September

Chapter 2:  THEN-September

Chapter 3:  NOW-Still September

Chapter 4:  THEN-Spring Semester

Chapter 5:  NOW-September/October

Chapter 6:  NOW-Still October

Chapter 7:  NOW-October into November

Chapter 8:  NOW, about THEN

Chapter 9:  THEN-Last Summer

Chapter 10:  NOW-Halloween

Chapter 11:  NOW-November

Chapter 12:  NOW-November/December

Chapter 13:  NOW-December

Chapter 14:  NOW-Winter Break

Chapter 15:  THEN-Last Summer

Chapter 16:  NOW-January

Chapter 17:  NOW-After the Break-up

Chapter 18:  NOW-Hiding out

Chapter 19:  NOW-Still in Hiding

Chapter 20:  NOW-Coming Out

Chapter 21:  NOW-The Storm

Bonus Chapters:

Charlie Boxwood

Davis:  Five Years Later

I Can Do This.  I can . . .
SO.  Totally.  Do This. 

This is my
mantra.  Has been for a couple of months now.

If I just keep repeating it, I’ll be fine.  If I just keep repeating it, I can push the panic down.  If I just keep repeating it, none of last year will matter.  If I just keep repeating it, it will be true.  But really, it’s not.

I said it to myself, once, a little more than two months ago at the suggestion of my counselor.  It worked for about 5 minutes.  After lots of repetition, now the words just spontaneously show up in my head, whenever my thoughts fly in the wrong direction.  That’s pretty often.

I am sweating.  I hate sweating.  I am lugging boxes and suitcases up flights o
f stairs, because the ancient Disco elevator in my ancient dorm, Lawrence Hall, isn’t working.  It’s been called the disco elevator by all the residents of Lawrence for as long as I’ve been here and probably long before that. It’s because the carpet that covers not just the floor, but the ceiling and walls, is a psychedelic “Pucci-esque” print in reds and oranges and purples from about 1978.  The elevator is probably as old as the building—1928.  It has a sliding door that is not automatic and an inner gate door that you have to wrench open.   On any given day, the elevator can get stuck between the floors for a few minutes or a few hours—without anyone ever pushing the emergency button—hence the aforementioned “not working.”

It’
s my last year of college . . . Fortunately, I made it back.  By some miracle, I am still a Resident Assistant (RA), and luckily, I have been assigned to a new dorm.  Sure, it’s the ancient dorm, not the modern one I was in for the past three years.  I am hoping for a fresh start, clean slate to this year.  I live in the dorms because it’s the only way I can afford to be at Weldon University.  Weldon is a smallish, midwestern university in a suburb of a metropolitan city.  It has a reputation as a liberal arts college with a strong emphasis in fine and performing arts.  I have a scholarship, a grant and assistance from my parents for my education and books, but I have to cover room and board.  So I live in the dorms and supervise my peers.  I know I am fortunate to have this job.  I am a responsible person . . . aren’t I?  Sometimes being the responsible one, the normal one is . . . I am still trying to figure out what exactly went wrong last year
.  So . . . I can do this.  I can totally do this. 

As I
unpack my extra-long dorm sheets and comforter and make my almost-loft-style bed in my teeny-tiny RA room, which thankfully is single occupancy and has its own bathroom, I ruminate about all the things that went so askew last year.  Losing my sense of self, jeopardizing my RA job with seriously bad decisions and oh, yeah, falling in love with a complete jerk.  That was the big one that precipitated the “almost job loss” and … the other stuff.  Just thinking about it hurts and causes my eyes to well up.  What an idiot I was.  I am depending on people to be kind and have short memories and attention spans as I start this year.

Chapter 2: 
THEN-September-Junior Year

Landing the “Coolest RA Job on Earth” (I know, how oxymoronic), I was assigned as the RA on the all-male floor for my junior year.  After being the RA on the all-female floor sophomore year, I had no idea how I scored the guy’s floor.  I had a reputation for getting good grades and being responsible, as well as being fun.  I think the real reason I probably got it was because I was as close to a virgin as anyone knew of at Weldon.  While my freshman roommate had gone at it with her boyfriend whenever he came to visit and had been having sex since she was fourteen, I was a virgin until I was one month shy of my twentieth birthday, during my sophomore year.  It was a one-shot deal to get it over with, on a freezing cold waterbed while back home over winter break.  Marc, the guy, had been very popular in my high school.  He was still pretty cute.  And since I was partying and really just sort of looking to get rid of my virginity, he fit the bill.  So, yeah, I was as close to a virgin as was possible, since that was winter of sophomore year and it was fall of junior and I hadn’t pursued any action since that first time.  I think the Residence Director caught wind of my newly minted “nun” status and thought I wouldn’t get into too much trouble on the all guys floor.  She was… (pretty much)...right, at least for the first semester. 

I made
some good friends on my floor, Charlie and Smitty.  Charlie was hot in a skinny, young Johnny Depp way.  He had freaking awesome jet black rock star hair that always looked like he just rolled out of bed, he smoked too much and drove a cool shiny white ‘69 Impala.  He was always so laid back and unhurried.  Smitty, his roommate, was a photographer and pretty damn good at it.  By the end of his sophomore year, he’d already had a show that was well received.  As the critic of the group, he kept us apprised of all that was new, hip and artistically worthy of experiencing.  A girl that once dated Charlie told me, “Their room smells like sex and sweat socks.”  My room smelled like microwave popcorn. . . see? . . . almost virgin.  I wasn’t just friends with guys on the floor.  I also knew people from my classes and from hanging out in the Student Union.  My best friend was Jules, a transfer student from the Chicago area.  Her dad relocated here for work.  She had finished her freshman year, found out about Weldon’s programs and decided to move with her family to complete her degree.   Jules lived at home, but was at school all the time, especially after she met Charlie.  Kris and Mel were friends from sophomore year.  They had been roommates on the all girls floor.   Kris was studying stage management.  Mel, film studies.  I was surrounded by talent.

We all converged into to this amusing little group that challenged and cared for each other.  That fall, I
was on top of the world.  The only-girl-on-the-all-guy- floor status was working out great.  The guys were respectful.  They were great about not knocking on my door after midnight for toilet paper.  We had some great floor parties, with Charlie always in charge of the music.  Give that boy a theme and he would go crazy.  It was as if I suddenly had 24 brothers and they all loved to tease me.  School work had never been a problem for me during high school or the first two years of Weldon.  Junior year classes were a bit more challenging.  I spent more time reading and in the library than usual.  As a theatre major at Weldon, I am required to gain experience in all the different aspects of the field, not just acting.  Some semesters, I’d work in the scene shop, building sets.  Sometimes, I’d be on the lighting crew.  Even if acting is your focus, like mine, you’re not always cast in a role each semester.  That was fine by me.  I wasn’t even sure I was cut out for a career as an actress.  I enjoyed the behind-the-curtain production too.  So far, I’d had a small part in one play and in the spring musical sophomore year, but this year I was determined to get one particular part.  I wanted the second female lead in Picnic by William Inge.  I was meant for the role of Millie, the feisty little tomboy that falls for a guy that leads her on and leaves her.  He doesn’t return her affection.  Just uses her to get what he wants.  After studying and rehearsing for the audition all summer, I was beyond thrilled when I saw my name on the cast list. It was later ironic to me that I won that particular role.  But I am jumping ahead.

Feeling so confident at having so much of my life working in the direction I dreamed, I wasn’t actively looking to become involved in a relationship.  I just didn’t need it.  Afte
r all, I had the attention of 24 boys without all the boyfriend hassles.  Worked for me.

Chapt
er 3: NOW-Still September

I have been back at school a week.  I haven’t had to repeat my mantra in days.  I know why.  It’s because I am not coming up against anything that brings back memories or makes me think people are looking at or talking about me.  This past week has been Freshman orientation, and since I live in an upperclassmen dorm (you’d think we’d get the newer ones, but no—ancient Lawrence Hall has more single rooms, so it’s for sophomores and above), I have basically been all alone on my floor for the week.  The freshman, live in Merten Hall, along with some transfers and people that can’t afford or don’t want singles.  On Sunday, the upperclassmen arrive, as do most of my friends.  Some of them have chosen to live off campus, like Kris and Mel.  Smitty’s family lives in town so he moved back in to his old bedroom to save money.  Charlie is in a single on my floor, so I am his RA again.  Hurray!  I’ll only be down knocking on his door every three minutes for him to turn down his music.  Whether he’s listening to it or making it, it’s always loud.  Good, but loud.  That rock star hair he has?  Well, fits him.  He is a music major—

v
ocal and guitar.  He has an amazing, distinctive voice with a huge range and can sing opera, but is a rock singer at heart.   He is scarily smart, in a non-traditional way.  We were in a Psych class together last year and his observations and perceptions were so far from my way of thinking, I learned as much from him as from the professor.  I think Charlie has insight into people that is untapped. 

Jules is still living at home, m
ost of the time.  She got to know Charlie at the end of last year while hanging out with me in the dorms.  She texted me this summer to say she and Charlie wound up in a class together.  Charlie had flunked something the year before and Jules was playing catch up from her transfer.  They started talking after the first class and by the time fall session came around they were attached at the hip.  Figuratively.   And many nights, literally.  I had the feeling Jules was going to often tell her parents she was “spending the night” with me when really she’d be down the hall with Charlie.

I’m
psyched and more than a little anxious to see my friends.  Would I seem different after my summer?  Charlie and Jules stopped by my room on Sunday to catch up after they had moved, but I wouldn’t see any of my other friends until Monday at lunch in the cafeteria.  I thought I saw a few people looking at me as I walked through the dorm and checked on students’ progress moving in, answering questions and giving directions.  If I thought they were looking at me, were they wondering about the incident in the cafeteria that happened the day school was out last spring.  Maybe they were, but I just chanted my mantra and tried to ignore.  I WAS NOT going to cry over it anymore.  I was just NEVER going to make that mistake again.

Every one of my friends i
s at “our” table.  Even though they lived off campus, Smitty, Mel, Kris and Jules are already here. 

  In the cafeteria, most of the tables are lined up running east-west, perpendicular to a long row of windows.  Only our table runs the other way— parallel to the windows.  It’s like a head table at a wedding reception.  We have the best view of the whole cafeteria and what’s going on outside.  It’s not that we are uber popular.  We really aren’t.  We just sort of congregated there last year as our group of friends evolved over time.  It became our meeting place for meals.  Not breakfast, of course.  Those that eat breakfast at all do it at the coffee stand that is just outside the cafeteria.  Sunday, however is a different story.  The cafeteria serves a huge brunch from 10 am to 2 pm.  Even faculty, their families and off-campus students come for it.  It’s something special about Weldon.

Af
ter grabbing my lunch, I plop down next to Jules.  “Hi.  Hey, where’s Charlie?”

“He’s coming…he was stopping to pick something up
, “she says with a grin.

Kris and Mel fill me in about their new apartment.  It’s near campus, but not close enough to walk.  They only have one car, so they’re talking about how to coordinate their schedules.  Smitty’s family lives on the other side of town.  I have a feeling sleepovers could be happening in his case, too.  I just wonder who’ll take him in.  As I think about Smitty’s possibilities, I look toward the cafeteria doors and notice Charlie.  He isn’t alone. He’s with two guys I didn’t know.  They all stride up to our table with their trays.  It doesn’t escape me that every girl at the table stops to take in the view.  A couple of girls walking by greet the darker- haired guy with obvious interest and a touch on the arm.  I get the feeling they know him. 
Well
.  I move one seat down away from Jules to make room for Charlie, since he and Jules are a “thing” now.  Jules’ eyes light up at the sight of him.  It’s so nice to see my friend so happy.

“Hi, babe,” Charli
e murmurs warmly into her ear as he sits and gives her a quick peck.  One of the new guys looks sort of familiar and sits on the other side of me. 

“Hey”
he says. 
Cute guy, sort of...pretty.
   He has dark blonde hair with highlights, styled sort of Zach Efron as Link Larkin from
Hairspray
-ish.  You know, just the right amount of product.  Slightly tanned skin.  Dark brown eyes that smile along with his lips.  Charlie turns to me, puts his arm around the back of my chair and points to Cute Guy with his fork.  “Oh yeah, Biz , this is Jake.”

Cute G
uy continues the thought, “Jake Gianni” he says, and shakes my hand.  Firm, warm. 
Hmmm…a little formal, but okay.

I respond, “Biz Connelly. 
I think I’ve seen you around.  You play guitar, right? You played in the band at Springfest.” 

Jake replies with a bit of a smirk, “Yep, that’s right…guitar among other things.  I’ve seen you
before too.”   Excitedly interrupting before Jake can say more, Charlie tells me, “He’s playing in our band now.”

“You have a band?”
I ask with sincere interest.

Charlie and Jake go on to explain that they and a bassist named Simon started jamming over the summer.  They have been playing with a different drummer every few days, but are looking for a permanent one.  They also haven’t come up with a band name yet.  Throughout this conversation, I feel as if I am being stared at.  The other guy that arrived with Charlie hasn’t said a word and I haven’t really acknowledged him yet.   I look up and am immediately pinned down by a pair of emerald green eyes—unnaturally green.  Inhaling slightly, I feel a strange zap or buzz in my chest
.  What was that?
He is strikingly handsome, beautiful even.  He is sitting directly across from me and continues to look at me intently as the guys continue talking about the band.  I bob my head as I half listen. 
I really need to stop looking at him.

  Pulling my gaze away from those
green eyes, I scan the rest of him.  He’s got thick dark brown hair. It’s long.  Almost as long as mine.  Okay, that’s not saying much.  Mine is light red and cut in a severe asymmetric bob that stops just at my shoulders on the side, so a lot of guys have hair as long as mine.  He has light skin with a slight flush on the cheeks, and a bit of a five o’clock shadow, even though, it’s only noon.  I glance at his lips, full but not ridiculous, a little pout to them.   But what is really making me uneasy, squirmy even, are those eyes—so green surrounded by dark lashes.  Lashes so thick it looks like he is wearing “guyliner.”  I am almost tempted to ask him if he is wearing contacts.  And eyeliner. 

“Hey, I’m Davis.”  He gives me an up-nod and makes no move to shake my hand.  I wonder what it would feel like to shake his hand, if just loo
king at his eyes has me so distracted.  It’s as if he is looking right into me.
You can do this.  You can do this.  Wow, I didn’t realize I was that anxious, that I had to whip out the mantra.

“Hi.  Biz.  Biz Con---”
I don’t get to finish my name when Guyliner interrupts me, while gesturing at me with a pointing wave of his hand. 

“You’re that girl,” he says
, narrowing his eyes.

“What girl?” I ask. 
Oh God, does this guy already know all about me?  Great.
  

“The girl from the picture in Charlie’s room.   The one where you are on a country road and it looks like you’ve jumped on him and you
’re hugging him.” 

I know the picture he is talking about. 
Thank god, he knows me from the picture, not my reputation.

“That’s you?”  Jake pops
into the conversation. 

“Yes
, it is.”

“You’
re prettier than in the picture,” Jake says.

I don’t know quite how to respond to that so I reply, “I’m not sure but I think that might be an insult to me
, or maybe the photographer.”  I point down the table at Smitty. 

Smitty has been listening from the other end of the table and hollers down
, raising his hand and then pointing at himself in one smooth gesture, “That would be me, so watch what you say.” 

Jake mumbles
in embarrassment, “That didn’t come out right.  You look great in the picture, but even better in person.”  Fairly sure my face has blushed bright red, I think,
Thank you
, but I swallow instead and duck my head, nothing comes out. 
Jake is so friendly.  I’m so on guard, I forgot someone could be genuinely friendly. 

I hear a scraping sound as Davis pushes his chair back from the table and leans back in it.  As I pick my gaze up from the table and the embarrassment wanes, I think I hear Davis say under his breath
something that sounds like, “...both look great,” and then shoots a wide heart-bursting smile right at me.  He is even more attractive when he smiles.  Buzz.   Zap.  The weird feeling shoots all around my chest and even a bit lower.  Disturbingly attractive.  I duck my head a little again and turn my head back to Jake, while peeking at Davis out the corner of my eye
.  Whoa.  This is a lot for a girl who’s been in lockdown mode.
Davis stands up with his tray, then drops it a half inch, back on the table.  Everyone’s head turns to look at him.  Smirking, he sarcastically barks, “Sorry.”  He addresses the entire table.  Then just to me he says, “Gotta  go.”  I didn’t appreciate how physically imposing he was when he came in.  Probably six feet tall at least.  Wide shoulders.  For the first time, I take in his black t-shirt.  It’s tight across his broad chest, but what really grabs me is what it says.  It has a logo that looks like a parental warning from a video game or CD, which has a large M.  Okay, M for mature and then I read the warning part—“May contain: The Guy Your Mother WARNED You About.”  Okay, so he’s cocky.  Reading it and thinking about its meaning causes me to open my mouth slightly and inhale.  I make a concerted effort not to look lower, since I’ve obviously already been scanning his chest.  He spears me with a gleam in his green eyes and a quirky half smile? Grimace?  Turning to leave he tells me, “Have Fun.”

Have Fun?
What does that mean?  Davis appears to have already started to “have fun” before he even leaves the cafeteria.  The girls from before have flanked him, each putting an arm around his waist to walk out with him.  He whispers in one of the girl’s ears and then takes a quick glance back at me to shoot me another smirk. 
What?
  I shrug it off and turn my attention to Jake. 

In the few minutes before I have to run off to my first class of the semester, Advanced Shakespeare, I learn that Jake is a junior, a
music major like Charlie and really into Jazz.  I like some jazz.  We talk briefly about what I know about jazz and I quickly realize my knowledge and taste are limited.  Jake isn’t obnoxious or pretentious about it.  He just chuckles when I bring up the only references I have, Kenny G and Manhattan Transfer.  I earn a smidge of respect when I reveal I know that Birdland was written by John Coltrane.  Three years of Glee club in high school and a solo on the Manhattan Transfer version of that song left me with that morsel of jazz trivia.  I can feel my mood elevating as we talk.  This semester could be okay after all.  I look at my watch. I’ve got to move, and I don’t want to be late.  “Hey, it’s been fun talking to you but I’ve got to get to class.  See you around?”  Jake nods and gives me a warm smile.  He runs his fingers through the side of his hair where it is shorter. 

“Everyone,  It’s been great.  Be good,
and if you can’t be good, be careful,” I say upon standing, trying to channel the beginning-of-last-year’s Biz.  Most of my friends shake their heads and giggle.  Jake flat out laughs.  I turn, wave, and am on my way.

***

Walking out of Ad
vanced Shakespeare, I ponder the workload ahead of me.  Dr. Longworth, my Shakespeare professor, is known to be brilliant and tough and the syllabus proves it.  I am wrapped up in my head thinking about how I am going to balance my assignments in this class, my other two classes, Film Studies and Linguistics, my RA gig AND whatever assignment I get in the theatre, when a cold, skinny arm wraps around my waist and a little cheek lands on my shoulder.

“Whatcha doin?”  It’s Jules.  I wrap my arm around her waist and give her a squeeze as we walk
.