She takes a sip and says it’s perfect. “Hey, do you care if I go home this weekend? I think I need to do some major shopping therapy with my mom.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell her, wiping off a nearby table. “I’m just studying anyway.”
“So…you haven’t heard from Jon yet?”
I shake my head.
It’s been almost a week since we visited Stella. We exchanged a few texts the next day, but that’s it. He wasn’t in class on Monday, and on Wednesday, he came late and left early. I don’t even know if he got his theme assignment finished.
Cassidy sits up straighter in her chair and a little of that fire comes back into her eyes. “Then come home with me. We can go shopping. Get our nails done. My mom and step-dad will take us out to dinner. We’ll go see a movie downtown. It’ll be fun.”
I exhale slowly. “Sounds fun, but I’ve got to work. And I’m too new to start switching shifts with anyone.”
“Damn.”
“Why don’t you stay here? We’ll rent something on Netflix, make popcorn. I’ll even eat pizza with non-dairy cheese without complaining.”
“Thanks, but I can’t subject you to that.” She doesn’t look quite as shell-shocked as she did when she came in, although her nose is still red and her eyelashes are damp. “I just want to get away from here and go home. Clear my head.”
Home. That’s the last place my head feels clear. “It’ll be good for you to get away.”
Cassidy frowns as if she’s trying to make sense of something. “It’s not even been a week since you last heard from him, right? Maybe he’ll still call or text.”
“And maybe not. That’s okay. It’s not like we were going out or anything.” I sound more pragmatic than I feel, because inside, I’m not feeling that great.
The connection I felt with him must not have been mutual, even though I could’ve sworn it was. Why would he have taken me out for breakfast and then invited me to Stella’s? Maybe I misread things. I shouldn’t have let myself think that there was something good starting between us.
My first impression of him was that he was trouble, so maybe it’s better this way. Disappointment now is much easier than disappointment later, when there’s more at stake.
I guess I should’ve listened to my own inner voice right from the start.
chapter twelve
Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love.
It will not lead you astray.
~Rumi
Ivy
I understand now why so many people in the Pacific Northwest get Seasonal Affective Disorder. With gray skies and the endless drizzle after the holidays, I think I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like. It would be one thing if it would rain really hard and then stop, but it doesn’t. It’s like someone left a faucet on and there’s a continual
drip drip drip.
Every. Single. Minute.
Every. Single. Day.
Maybe it would help if I could get a good night’s sleep, but insomnia has been keeping me up lately.
I’m sitting in my history class and the professor has just finished lecturing. I fold the desk on its hinge and gladly get up from the hard plastic seat. If they were molded to fit the contour of an actual person’s butt, it would help, but they aren’t, so they’re painful. I twist my spine and it cracks. These desks should come with a warning label.
“Wanna copy my notes?” A guy a few seats over is looking at me, eyebrows raised. He’s got short, sandy-brown hair, dark eyes, and is really good-looking. “The next class doesn’t come in for another fifteen minutes.”
“Your notes?” I’m not sure why he’s offering them to me. I’m slightly distracted by his perfect white teeth. He could be on a giant billboard ad for toothpaste. Or on the side of a bus.
“I figured you missed some of Jaminski’s PowerPoint slides.”
Ah. He saw me texting Deena during class. She’s got an audition for a voice-over part and is really excited. “Um, sure. That would be great.” That’s when I notice he’s got a cast all the way up to his thigh and he’s sitting in a wheelchair. I take his notebook and start copying down his notes.
As I’m doing that, a few other students stop to talk to him on their way out of the lecture hall. He seems to know a lot of people.
His handwriting is in all caps, precise, and very readable. “You must be a cartoonist or going into architecture,” I tell him.
“So you’ve noticed my anal attention to detail,” he teases. He’s got a slight drawl that only adds to his all-American good looks. “Good guess. I’m an engineering student.”
“That explains it, then.”
I flip the page and continue scribbling as fast as I can, marveling at the thoroughness of his notes. I’m pretty sure that even if I had been paying attention, mine wouldn’t be nearly as detailed.
“Here’s the real test of your anal-ness,” I say. A flush of warmth heats my face when I realize how dirty it sounds. I hope he’s not thinking I’m flirting with him. After things with Jon seemed to be going so well, then totally tanked, I’ve decided it’s best just to focus on school right now. My heart can’t take the rollercoaster ride of emotion, anyway.
The guy laughs and doesn’t seem to have taken it the wrong way. “What’s the test?”
“Do you hang your clothes up by color like my roommate does?”
“Jeans on the left, T-shirts in the middle, anything with long sleeves on the right.”
“You hang your T-shirts in the closet? Geez. She does that, too.”
“And you don’t?” he asks.
I can’t tell if he’s teasing or serious.
“Mine get shoved in a drawer,” I reply. “That is, if they make it out of the clean clothes laundry basket.”
He laughs. “I know mere mortals can’t be bothered, but those of us higher up in the food chain appreciate order and neatness.”
“Ha. That’s totally something she’d say, too.” I finish copying his notes and hand them back. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“So…are you a Trekkie?” I ask. “Or was it on sale?”
“Ah. The notebook.” He looks a little embarrassed. “My stepmom put it in my Christmas stocking. I couldn’t find a plain one when the quarter started, so I started using this and now I’m stuck. How about you?”
“A
Star Trek
fan?” I shake my head, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. “Not really. My roommate is, though. I just saw the last movie with her because Chris Pine is hot.”
“Sounds like I need to meet this roommate of yours,” he says. “I’m Zach, by the way, but my friends call me Touch.”
I narrow my eyes and look at him again. I know that name. “Touch Montgomery? The football player?”
“I hope there aren’t too many guys here with that nickname.”
I smile and try not to look at his cast. The running back suffered a horrible injury in the last game of the season, shortly before winter break, where his leg bent in a spot not designed for bending. I’m not sure if mentioning what happened would be tacky or not. I decide not to ask just yet. “How’d you get that nickname? Or do I want to know?”
He pushes his wheelchair into the aisle. “Back in high school, my coach said, if you can touch the ball, you’d better be able to catch it. And I usually did.”
“Makes perfect sense.” I glance at his cast again and decide it would be weird if I didn’t at least mention the elephant in the room. “Sorry about your leg. That must’ve hurt like shit.”
I remember where I was when it happened, too. Away games are shown on the Jumbotron in the stadium, but because it was raining so hard, we all stayed in the dorm and watched it downstairs in the TV room. If we beat UCLA, PSU was going to a bowl game. If not, then the season was over. Deena and I had been texting friendly barbs throughout the whole game.
We’re going to kick your ass.
You may want to check the scoreboard, babe. Or get some glasses. Or take math again. A bigger number means that we’re kicking yours.
When Touch got hurt, we all screamed and several of the girls burst out in tears.
Deena texted,
OMG Ivy. That’s awful!! Everyone down here hopes he’s okay.
We were glad when we heard it was just his leg. Those bones can heal. Heads and spines might not.
“Just for a split second,” Touch says, yanking me back into the conversation. “But then everything went numb when I passed out. I don’t remember anything about the ride to the hospital or the surgery until I woke up with my leg in this cast.”
Sounds familiar. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” I want to ask him about his chances to play again, but decide it’s too rude. I’m sure he gets asked that question a lot and is probably sick of it.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says, “Thanks. I’m hoping the rehab goes well and that I’ll be back next season.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”
He’s got a great smile, he’s really smart,
and
he’s really hot. Technically, he’s the kind of guy I should be attracted to, but for some reason, all I can think about is that he and Cassidy would make a really cute couple. After they’re done making out, they could organize each other’s closets.
As we exit the lecture hall, I’m hit with the smell of something delicious. Pizza maybe. My stomach growls. I immediately clamp my hand over it.
Then his growls, too. “Like a yawn, it’s catchy.”
I glance at the time on my phone. I’m meeting Cassidy for lunch in exactly ten minutes and the Commons is exactly eleven minutes away.
“Want to get a bite to eat? I’m having lunch with my roommate. If you don’t have class now—which I’m assuming you don’t since you’d be late, and being an overachiever, that would never happen—do you want to join us?”
He pushes the button for the automatic doors. They swing open and we head outside.
“I was supposed to meet some friends to study, but I haven’t heard back from any of them yet.” He grabs his phone. “Let me check.”
“Want me to push you down the ramp while you try to get ahold of them?” I ask.
“Okay. Thanks.”
The ramp juts off to the left, then zigzags back again. For some reason, I look up as I push the chair around the far bend.
And that’s when I see him. Next to the science building.
Dressed all in black, with his guitar slung behind him, Jon is climbing onto his motorcycle. Holy hell, he looks good. Too good. I wrench my gaze away. I hate to admit it even to myself, but I miss him. It’s been almost three weeks since I went to Stella’s with him. Has he been back to visit her? Would it be weird for me to follow up with her about the garage sale if Jon and I aren’t really friends? My heart feels suddenly heavy.
“They’re not texting me back,” Touch says, interrupting my thoughts. “Assholes. So I guess that means I’m free for lunch.”
“Yay for asshole friends. Want me to keep pushing you? We’re going clear over to the Commons.”
He puts his hands behind his head and pretends to be in a recliner. “Onward,” he says.
I laugh. God, this is exactly what Cassidy would be doing if she had a broken leg and was in a wheelchair. Grasping the handles, I start to push the chair again, and although I don’t mean to, my gaze slides in Jon’s direction.
My heart stutters. He’s looking at me. Us. Is he scowling?
He lowers his sunglasses, but before he can turn around and dismiss me, I turn first and beat him to it. I can almost feel his eyes boring into my back. It feels good to be walking away from him. Yes, I’m shallow that way.
“Cassidy loves sci-fi stuff too,” I tell Touch, trying to keep my mind off Jon. “But unlike you, she’s not afraid to admit it.”
Touch puts a hand to his heart. “I’m deeply hurt and offended by that assertion. Just don’t tell me she’s got your room plastered with
Lord of the Rings
posters, because that would be…weird, even for me.”
“No, nothing like that. Looking at her, you’d never guess she’s into that stuff, but if a movie’s got aliens, space ships, an otherworldly setting, magic, and/or monsters, she’s all over it. She did tell me once, though, that she had a picture of Captain Picard on her bedroom ceiling when she was, like, eight.”
Touch and I are late getting over to the Commons. The place is packed, so it takes us forever to get through the line. I text Cassidy to find out where she’s sitting.
Finally
, she texts back.
You can get me a refill on my pop. I can’t get up or I’ll lose the table.
My punishment for being late?
Except that I’m typing too fast and it autocorrects to
penis head.
Only after I press Send do I see my mistake.
I snort out a laugh. Touch glances over. He’s trying to reach the straws but the only ones left are in the back, behind the mustard packets. I grab one and hand it to him.
HAHAHAHA,
Cassidy texts back.
“Thanks,” he says. “I need longer arms.”
“No problem.”
With a tray on his lap, Touch follows me to where Cassidy is sitting at a table near the windows, her back to us.
“Hey Cassidy, this is—”
She holds up her empty glass, not bothering to turn around. Grabbing it from her, I clear my throat to get her attention. Let’s try this again. “Cassidy, this is Touch. Touch, this is my slightly anal roommate, Cassidy. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be right back.”