Authors: Hazel Kelly
Chapter 34: Shane
She
was glowing when she walked out of the gym swinging her little drawstring bag.
"Well
if it isn't Sporty Spice," I said, checking out her toned legs before she
got too close.
"And
if it isn't that one boyband member who can't dance."
I
laughed. "I can dance."
"My
bad," she said. "Did I confuse you with the one who can't sing?"
"Does
it matter if I can make you sing?"
She
narrowed her eyes at me. "I'd like to see you try."
"I
know you would," I said, stepping off the sidewalk to cross the street.
"But let's eat first."
We
took the shortcut across the quad to Mama
Cita's
like
we had a hundred times, but this time was different. This time there was a
distracting mutual attraction that made our fleeting moments of eye contact
nerve wracking.
We
were about to walk through the doors when she stopped so abruptly in front of
me, I nearly ran her over in my urgent quest to follow the cooked bacon smell.
"What?"
I asked, staring down at her twisted face.
"I
forgot my wallet," she said. "I deliberately didn't bring it to the
gym so I wouldn't be compelled to do this exact thing so-"
"I
can spot you."
"I
know, but I don't want you to think I'm that girl who pretends to reach for her
wallet at the end of the meal but who really has no intention of paying her
way."
"I
don't think you're that girl."
She
exhaled, her chest falling an inch.
"And
I can think of lots of ways you can pay me back so don't even worry about
it."
She
poked a finger into my right pec. "No."
"No,
what?"
"Just
no," she said, a mock glare in her eyes.
I
followed her to the corner table she always went for.
"What
is it about this table that you like so much?" I asked.
She
shrugged. "It's my table," she said, sitting down. "It's a good
distance from the bathroom. I can face everyone or face no one if I want. Plus,
it's close to the pie display so I can feast my eyes."
"But
you never get the pie."
"Sure
I do."
I
furrowed my brow. "Which is your favorite?"
"Would
top seven be sufficient?"
"Okay,"
I said. "I believe you."
She
opened her menu and leaned back in her chair as the chorus of cutlery on plates
and weekend joviality swirled around us.
I
watched her focused concentration. It was the same every time. She read each
item as carefully as if she might be quizzed on it later and then- without
fail- ordered the exact same thing she always did.
I
found it amusing that she believed she had an open mind every time when her
mind was obviously made up before she ever even walked through the doors.
"So
what are you thinking?" I asked, playing along.
"
Mmm
." Her eyes bounced around the menu. "I'm torn
between the Supreme
Omelette
and the Chocolate Chip
Pancakes."
"Two
good choices."
"Either
way, we'll get a large cheesy hash to share."
"Of
course," I said, watching her scrunch her face in deliberation. "And
for what it’s worth, I think you should go for the
omelette
."
She
raised her eyes at me. "Yeah?"
"The
protein will be good for you after your workout."
"That's
what I was thinking," she said, nodding for a moment before closing her
menu. "The Supreme it is."
It
took everything I had not to laugh.
"What?"
She fixed her brown eyes on me.
"Nothing."
"Why
are you making that face at me?"
I
craned my neck back. "What face? I wasn't making any face."
"Yes
you were," she said. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like
what?"
"Like
I'm adorable or something." She poured some water into her glass and then
mine, the half melted ice cubes causing her to splash all over the table.
"It's freaking me out."
"I'm
sorry. How should I look at you?"
"Normally."
I
shook my head. "I don't know what that means."
"Please
don't make this weird, Shane. It's already hard enough making eye contact with
you after-"
I
raised my eyebrows. "After what?"
"After
what happened."
One
corner of my mouth curled up. "Is that because you'd rather be eyeing
something else or-"
"What
can I get you folks?" A middle aged woman with an apron cutting her
stomach in two appeared at the table.
"One
Supreme
Omelette
, a large order of cheesy hash to
share, and I'll take the Meat Lover's
Omelette
,"
I said.
"And
to drink?" the woman's eyes flitted up for half a second while she
scribbled on her notepad.
"Two
glasses of orange juice, please," I said, smiling as she turned on her
heels.
Andi
cocked her head. "You're ordering for me now?"
I
groaned. "I order for you all the time. It's not like I didn't get what
you wanted."
"I
know, but-"
"Just
stop," I said. “Seriously."
"Stop
what?"
"Looking
for things to freak out about. Everything is fine. Nothing has changed-"
"Everything
has changed."
“No
it hasn't. It's in your head."
She
crossed her arms. "How have things not changed?"
I
sighed. "Because you're still my favorite person in the world- besides
Izzy, obviously."
She
pursed her lips.
"So
don't be weird just because last night was the best night of your life and you
don't know how to handle it."
"You
don't know that."
"Well,
it was the best night of mine anyway."
She
swallowed. "Really?"
"Of
course." I took a sip of water. "To be honest, the only thing I feel
bad or weird about right now is the fact that I ever shared you with anyone
else."
She
cast her eyes down and her glowing cheeks flushed. "Don't be," she
said, lifting her eyes back to mine. "Because if you hadn't, I wouldn't
understand how good last night was."
I
smiled. "I knew it. You're fucking in love with me."
"Don't
flatter yourself."
"Fine.
As long as you agree that there’s no reason to stop enjoying each other's
company just because we allowed ourselves to enjoy it a little more than
usual."
"I
suppose not," she said. "But don't pretend last night doesn't change
things."
I
shrugged. "So what if it does? I thought David Bowie was your idol."
"So?"
"So
he was the ultimate chameleon, the poster boy who made change cool."
Her
eyes lit up. "Are you suggesting that Bowie would think it was a great
idea for us to fool around?"
"Are
you kidding?" I asked. "He would be like, ‘Good for those kooks! So
glad they embraced the
ch
-
ch
-
ch
-
ch
-change-’"
"
Shh
! You've made your point.”
"Good,"
I said. "In that case, have you decided yet?"
She
pushed some half dried hair out of her face and leaned an ear towards me.
"Decided what?"
I
smiled. "How you're going to pay me back for breakfast?"
I
folded my arms and leaned against the frame of Steph's open door.
She
was studying a pack of notecards, absorbed in a way I'd never been in anything.
Well, almost anything.
And
I admired her for it. Not for her devotion to keeping index card companies in
business, but for her commitment to achieving her goals.
I
liked to think I would’ve been just as devoted if I had a calling.
Unfortunately, nothing had grabbed me as intensely as to warrant that kind of
time and attention.
"You
just going to stand there watching me or what?" she asked, keeping her
eyes on the cards.
"Yeah,"
I said. "Until I'm done stewing in my pit of jealousy. Then I'm going to
offer to make you some tea."
"Jealousy?"
she asked, checking the back of the card at hand and looking over her shoulder
at me. "Why jealousy?"
"Oh
you know. The usual. Knowing what you want to do with your life."
"Trust
me," she said, laying the stack on her desk between two other perfectly
aligned stacks. "Knowing what you want to do with your life is totally
overrated."
I
laughed. "Yeah, people are always telling me they wish they had my
complete lack of direction."
She
slung an elbow over the back of her chair. "I wouldn't worry about it. The
important thing is that your grades are good and you have options."
"A
lot of options I'm not particularly drawn to."
"It's
okay to not know the future."
"I
know. I just feel like I was sold something different,
ya
know? Like I thought I would know what I wanted by the time I had to declare a
major- at the latest. And instead, I feel increasingly less certain about what
I'm going to do when I graduate all the time."
She
smiled. "Too much time in the psych department would make anyone overthink
things."
"So
it's not me?"
She
shook her head. "No. Your problem is a good one."
"And
what exactly is my problem, Dr. Stone?"
She
smiled. "You're interested in too many things."
"It
doesn't sound like a curse when you say it like that."
"It's
not," she said. "Besides, I know what you're going to do after you
graduate."
"Oh?
What's that?"
"Shane
Jennings."
I
let my head fall against the doorframe. "I don’t think I can put that on
my resume."
"Which
is a shame, really, considering it's about the best experience a girl could
hope for."
I
smiled. "Is that your prescription for what ails me, then?"
She
nodded. "Along with a few Hail
Marys
."
I
leaned away from the door. "So how about that tea break since you haven't
emerged from your room in twenty four hours?"
"Got
anything stronger?"
"Will
French press do?"
"Oh
god yes," she said, rising to her feet.
I
decided not to call her attention to her lazy use of God’s name, but I made a
mental note that she must’ve been totally exhausted. "How black do you
want it?" I asked, walking into the kitchen.
"What
are my choices?" she asked, groaning as she plopped on the couch.
"Will
Smith black or Denzel black," I said, filling the kettle.
"How
about Tyrese with no shirt on in the rain black?"
I
laughed. "I'll do my best."
"I
think I need to take a nap."
I
flicked the kettle on and spooned some coffee into the French press. "I
don't know," I said, coming around the corner. "I like the shit that
comes out of your mouth when you’re sleep deprived."
"Does
that mean you forgive me for eating your leftover cheesy hash last night?"
she asked, propping her head up on the back of the couch.
"I
didn't know you did that," I said, bending over the TV console and
searching through the junk drawer for some eye drops. "But if they helped
you push through the wee hours, then I'm glad I could help."
"Who
did you go to Mama's with?"
I
found the eye drops and tossed them beside her on the couch.
"Thanks,"
she said. "I guess they look as bad as they feel."
"This
is the most stoned you've ever looked for sure," I said, checking the
clock when I heard the kettle click off.
"It's
the most stoned I've ever felt," she said, leaning back to water her eyes.
I
sat on the arm of the couch. "Better?"
She
nodded. "So? It was Shane, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Was
it a date?"
"Who
the hell knows? I just ran into him."
She
raised her eyebrows. "Are you guys official yet or-"
"Yeah.
As in officially not labeling it."
"Oh,
okay." She popped the cap back on the eye drops. "Can I officially be
a bridesmaid, though?"
"It's
not that serious."
"How
dare you lie to me in my condition," she said, pointing a straight arm
towards the kitchen. "Go make coffee for your sins."
"I
don't think we even have that much coffee," I mumbled, returning to the
kitchen. I poured some hot water in the French press and checked the clock
again.
"Give
it at least five minutes so it's nice and
Tyresey
."
"Sure,"
I said.
"And
please explain how this isn't serious."
I
came back around the corner. "Nothing has even happened yet."
"Look,"
she said, waving a hand in the air. "I may be a sleep deprived virgin
obsessed with medical terminology and coloring books, but I am not an
idiot."
"I
wasn't implying-"
"I
know something happened at that barn dance."
My
lips fell apart.
"And
you don't have to tell me every last detail because I can't handle that kind of
excitement right now, but just tell me did you or didn't you do it?"
"Do
what?" I asked, sitting on the arm of the couch.
"It."
"No."
I shook my head. "Not yet."
She
clapped her hands together. "So you're going to?!"
"Maybe.
I don't know." I rubbed my face with my hands. "It's
complicated."
"I'm
not convinced," she said. "I mean, yeah, normally I think sex
complicates things, but in this case, I think it might simplify things."
I
dropped my head back. "How? How could it possibly?"
"Because
then you can stop making yourself crazy."
"I'm
not-"
"Yes
you are. All this tension and wondering and will he or won't he and does he
want to or am I just imagining it and- it's all too much."
I
scrunched my face.
"Just
fuck him already and find out."
I
raised my eyebrows. "Sorry?"
"At
least then you'll know if you guys are wasting your time or if you actually
have something that’s worth being this worked up over."
"And
what about Izzy?"
She
shrugged. "Worst case scenario, there's no future for you and Shane, and
you never speak of it again."
"That
is so not worst case scenario."
She
raised her eyebrows.
"What
if we sleep together and only one of us feels differently? Or what if Izzy
feels betrayed and freaks out? What if I lose them both?"
"You'll
still be able to put ‘I slept with Shane Jennings’ on your resume."
I
scoffed. "Oh, well, that's definitely worth the risk."
"Equally,
this could turn into Shane and Andi sitting in a tree, k-
i
-s-s-
i
-n-"
"Don't,"
I said, heading back to the kitchen. "Or Tyrese goes down the drain."
"You
wouldn't dare," she said. "Besides, I don't need to rhyme to make my
point."
"Which
is?" I asked, cocking a hip in the kitchen doorway.
"That
the wheels are in motion, and you’d be crazy to want to get off this ride."
I
stepped out of sight and exhaled. Could Steph be right? I'd been so worried
about what Shane might do next that the thought of him being my happily ever
after hadn't even occurred to me.
"Andi?"
"What?"
I asked, sliding the French press down as slowly as I could while trying not to
think about how it would feel to slide down Shane at the same torturous speed.
"Have
you seen Mike's Facebook page?"
I
froze. "No. Why?"
"He's
transferring."