Slammed (4 page)

“It was just Dad and I.”

“Lucky. Trust me, that shit will scar you for life. I mean, look at me.”

“You seem pretty normal.”

She takes a second to turn and laugh at this. “
You
, Miss Hymen Intact, are normal. I mean, hell, your grades are perfect, even three weeks into semester. You study, you dress like a nun, and you’re a virgin. You’re more than normal. You’re…” she can’t seem to find the appropriate word.

“Yes, yes, I’m dull, I’m boring. That’s what you want to say, right?” I smell something funky in the air. Smells like grass.

She smiles, green lips bent up wickedly. “Prove to me you’re not.” She looks around and settles her gaze on a guy in a Panthers jacket pouring drinks. “Him.”

“I think that’s the basketball captain.”

“Who cares? You’re going to go up to him and ask for a drink. You’re going to flirt.”

“I don’t know how to flirt.”

“Just touch him, anywhere. He’ll get the idea.”

“Really?”

“
Really.
” She takes hold of me and sends me in the direction of Basketball Guy with a little pat on the butt. I look back to her, distressed, but she’s clearly finding this all amusing.

I straighten myself up, lock onto my target. Amber has good taste. He’s cute, built… a real stand-up boy Dad would approve of.

“Hey,” I begin, already jittery.

He looks up from the drink he’s pouring, eyes moving from the hem of my dress to my cleavage and finally settling on my face. “Hey. Do I know you?”

I shake my head.

“I should.” He extends his hand out. “Charleston.”

I take it, surprised by the power in his grip. “Lucy Middleton.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy Middleton. Can I fix you up with a drink?”

“Sure, but nothing alcoholic, please.” As I say it I see another guy in a Panthers jacket turn from his conversation on the other side of the kitchen bench. The two exchange a strange glance before Charleston focuses on me again. “No problem, Lucy.”

He reaches behind himself and pours something out I can’t quite see. I’m trying to get a good look when I notice Amber waving at me surrounded by her friends.

Fudge nugget.
She’s brought the whole gang to watch me mess this up. She’s trying to say something.

‘What?’ I mime.

“Touch him!” she’s saying.

I stiffen a little. I don’t know whether I can do it. If it wasn’t so damn loud in here. If I could just collect my thoughts. And then I spot him.

He’s standing against a wall in the next room, a beer in his hand. If it wasn’t for the sudden strobe lighting I would have missed him completely. But the really weird thing? Nate Compton, King Snickerdoodle, isn’t talking to anyone. He isn’t even paying attention to the party. Nope, he’s just staring right at me.

“Here you go.” I snap back to Charleston, swinging to see if Nate’s still looking, but he’s gone, a blank wall where he was only seconds ago.

I take the drink from Charleston without even thinking, the cliché party cup heavy in my hand. Charleston lifts it up to my lips. “Drink, drink.”

I take a sip. It tastes odd, soapy. “Fruity,” I announce.

He’s forced against me as someone tries to squeeze past. “My secret recipe.”

Now! Now!
My head screams. I lift my hand up and place it on his arm. His eyes go there immediately. It feels so cheesy, so rehearsed and awkward, but when he looks back to me I know instantly it’s worked like the mystical sugar-coated charm Amber made it out to be.
That was easy.

“You want to dance?”

I turn. Amber and company are furiously nodding their heads ‘Yes! Yes!’

“Okay.”

Charleston takes me by the hand and guides us through the crowd. I take another sip of the punch, the colors and lighting really over the top. I can’t help but notice the way people separate for this guy, the looks other girls give me as he draws me to him on the dancefloor. He lifts my drink up to my lips again and I take in as much as I can before leaning back, drops spilling from my mouth to the floor. “Hey!”

“Just trying to make sure you’re well hydrated.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m quite the dancer, that’s why.”

I wink, really settling into this flirting thing. “Show me what you’ve got.”

It’s not much. In fact, he’s terrible, but I think that’s the whole idea. People applaud and Charleston holds me against him. His jacket is warm against my chest, his hands strong as they fix me upright. I’m starting to picture myself with him, perhaps even waking up in the morning in that jacket…

The voice of reason makes itself known.
Lucy!
It cries.
What on god’s green are you doing?”

But the more we dance, the more warm and lightheaded I feel, the lights starting to swim and shimmer a little, everything put into a sudden lean. I must be
really
tired.

Between songs he whispers in my ear. “What do you say we find somewhere quiet?”

“To talk?”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

I nod, not really feeling up to coming up with an excuse to say no. I just want to sleep.
Maybe he’ll have a bed up there.

Things are really starting to sway as he pushes me up the stairs, even high-fiving one of his friends on the way. It all seems to happen in my periphery. I don’t even feel like this is my body any more.

The punch,
I think, but the thought is lost in a current of sleepiness.

I realize we’re in a bedroom, posters of half-naked girls on the wall, a basketball on the bed he manages to sweep away with one hand.

I sit on the bed but end up lying down instead, the pillow feeling amazing under my sudden bowling ball of a head.

For a moment I wonder where Amber and her friends are, if they’re looking for me, but the sleep takes hold again.

“Can we talk?” I mutter, the syllables loose and slippery.

Charleston’s already got his jacket off. He’s searching in his drawers for something, not even bothering to reply to me.

How rude!
My internal commentator announces.

I say his name again, but it doesn’t come out right. My tongue feels really heavy, my mouth full of cotton. I know I should be panicking about this, but I feel calm. I feel like everything is just as it should be.

Charleston turns with a foil wrapper in his hand. He goes to tear it but stops, tossing it into the floor.

I try to sit up. “Hey, what are-” but I lose my train of thought and slump back onto the pillow, the need to sleep simply too strong.

Deep down I know I should be moving, that something is not right, but all I can do is sleep, just… rest.

NATE

I knew she was headed for trouble as soon as I saw her walk into that room. Her friend Avril didn’t look the responsible type, and Charleston, that slimy fuck. He’s going to get what’s coming to him—on the court or off. I don’t really care. He can bring his entire bandwagon of ass-lickers if he likes. I’ll take them all.

But seeing her lying here now, morning light turning her cheek to porcelain, so at peace, so calm… This is something I could get used to. But I can’t. I know who this girl is that makes my breath catch, who causes me to daydream in class with the thought of her goldilocks hair and button nose. I know exactly who she is, which is why we can never be together.

She starts to stir, her eyelids parting and those perfect forest-after-rain eyes revealed. She tries to take things in, but I can see her sensing something is wrong. I can almost read what’s running through her head:

These are not my sheets.

These are not my clothes.

This is not my room.

Oh god.

She lifts her head. It flops around like it’s full of marbles. She struggles to focus, her eyes finally finding me standing in the doorway. She looks closer and it hits her.

I’m almost naked, not that it was planned. I’ve got one arm pressed up against the doorframe. I watch her eyes shift from the smattering of dark hair in my armpit to the inky black of my tattoos, down to my chest, lower and then rise.

It’s adorable. She looks like a lost kitten all cuddled up in my sheets. She looked even better without them…

“Look who decided to join the living,” I begin.

She throws off the sheets, but all she’s wearing is an oversized Manning University tee—
my
tee. She presses it down between her legs, suddenly realizing she’s missing her underwear, her bra.

Her voice is scratchy when she speaks, each word falling from her mouth with the enunciation of a drunkard. “Did we?”

I laugh. “We did not.”

Her face is burning up with embarrassment. She wraps her arms around herself, but the image of her nipples hard against the cotton is seared into my memory. “Then what am I doing here?”

I approach, take a seat on the edge of the bed. I’m wearing tight black jocks, quite sure the bulge of my package couldn’t be any clearer. She averts her eyes, but I’ve already caught her.

How about this?
I spread my legs and lean back so my chest turns into corrugated steel. “Someone spiked your drink at the party.”

“The party?”

“Sig Nu. You don’t remember?”

She holds her head. “Sort of.”

“I followed you upstairs, saw that douchebag Charleston on top of you, and knew you were in trouble.”

She looks blank, probably didn’t even think about what she was drinking, that it could have been tampered with. No, I’m sure everyone in her Polly Pocket world is a respectable citizen. Crime doesn’t exist there.

Her expression turns to concern. “What do you mean he was on top of me?”

“You were naked, unconscious as far as I could tell. He was straddling you, taking off his belt. Pretty clear what was going to happen.”

She blushes harder knowing I’ve seen her naked.

I keep going. “I came in and decked that motherfucker, laid him right out. His Sigma bros were coming, so I didn’t have time to get your clothes, sorry. I wrapped you up in the blanket and got you the hell out of there. You really don’t remember any of this?”

She shakes her head, her hair in disarray but all the hotter for it. “No. Did you report it?”

I look to the roof. How can someone be this naïve? “To who? Campus police? You don’t want to do that. Besides, don’t you think you’ve already had your share of attention?”

“That wasn’t my fault! If you could actually throw a decent pass…”

“Not my problem the other losers on my team can’t keep up, or that you’re blind.”

She stands up, physically shaking. Her legs look like they’re made of Jello. “Thanks for your help, but I’m leaving.”

“In that?”

She looks down at the shirt. It barely covers her pubic region. “Don’t you have jeans, sweats?”

“This isn’t Rodeo Drive.” But I cannot handle the way she’s looking at me. I don’t know why, but I want to be her knight in shining armor. I want to do anything to make her happy. “Fine.” I stand and make my way over to a set of drawers spilling out clothes. I toss her a pair of sweatpants, my favorites.

“Turn around,” she says.

I nod and face the wall. In the corner of the cupboard mirror I can see my own reflection… and her. She’s staring at the eagle on my back, eyes shifting to the portrait of the little girl in the window on my bicep.
There’ll be time enough for that later.

She pulls on the sweats and I have to stifle laughter. They’re hilariously too big, but it’s early. She’s probably counting on the fact campus grounds will be quiet for her walk of shame/fashion faux pas.

She looks a little pissed, probably thinking about how she’s going to teach that guy a lesson, that naughty captain. What’s she going to do? I wonder. Lecture him to death?

I turn and glance at the bed. “You don’t have to go, you know.”

It takes her a while to get it, but when she does her reaction is visceral. “Ew.”

I shrug. “Door’s always open.”

She starts walking past me, but I catch her arm. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” and with that she’s gone.

*

“You alright there, son? Been poking and prodding at that poor pea for the last ten minutes.” I’ve done barely anything since she left.
Not even a fucking thank you.

“Sorry, Coach.” I should be thankful for the room and meals. The Dean sorted it out. Didn’t want me living in a dorm, not with my history. He’s going out of his way to please me. Sad fact is, I’m letting him.

Good. He’s got a lot of making up to do.

Coach Smith isn’t so bad. Can’t cook a steak to save his life, but he’s amicable enough, strict. Reminds me a lot of my last babysitter

He puts down his fork. “Something on your mind, son?”

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you agree to take me in?”

“Because you’re a hell of a player. Bit rough around the edges, mind you.”

“That’s it?”

“The new dean and I go way back. He used to play for the Panthers, you know, back in ’77. Married a girl from Gamma Phi, but she passed, god, must be twenty years ago.”

“That so?”

“Could smell a rebound from the locker rooms, he could. Still holds the college record.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Cockiness will only get you so far, Compton. You’re solid, like I said, maybe even one of the best, but your attitude needs work… and your grades.”

“The semester’s only just started.”

“And word is you’re well behind. You know you have to maintain a 3.0 average, right?”

“What do you propose I do about it?”

“I’ve already spoken to the Dean.”

“And?”

“He has a plan, a plan I think you’re going to love.”

I stab the pea, holding it up to the light. “Can’t wait.”

*

The Dean’s office is plush, the kind of place I’d imagine Sherlock Holmes hanging out in, a cigar club perhaps. “Nice digs.”

The Dean motions to a studded leather chair. “Welcome, Nate. Sit, please.”

Chair’s way too small. Feels like a torture device.

The Dean smiles. “I understand you’re having a few issues with the learning material.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me James, please.”

I nod.

He stands and moves in front of his desk, seating himself casually on the edge the way they all do when they’re about to drop a bombshell.

Why did you assault your foster parent?

What did he do to you?

We’ve found you a new home.

“I believe I’ve come up with a solution,” he starts.

I lift an eyebrow, sit a little deeper in the chair.

He continues to smile. “I’ve found you a tutor.”

That
is
a surprise. “A tutor?”

His smile widens even further. “I think you’re really going to like her.”