Smash into You

by Sherry Soule

  My eyes snapped open. I scrubbed at my skin until it became red and raw, trying to cleanse the horrible memories from my mind. I stood under the shower entirely too long, until my nerves eased. Turning off the steady stream, I dried off and put on my robe. For a second, I caught my reflection in the soap-scum-smeared bathroom mirror and froze. My blue eyes seem to have the depth and mystery of a closet so crammed with skeletons the door wouldn’t even close on them.

  Turning away, I rushed down the corridor, and found the bed on the other side of the dorm room empty. Vanessa must’ve taken off earlier to meet with her environmental club members. I hastily dressed, throwing on a denim skirt over pink leggings to cover the ruddy blotches on my skin and a floral top with an oversized American Apparel cardigan.

  My cellphone chimed on the desk and I stared at the screen, hesitating with my thumb over the “accept” button. After my mom died, my dad didn’t exactly devote much time or attention to me, so eventually I changed his ringtone on my cellphone to ‘Since You Been Gone.’

  I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, like ripping off a Band-Aid. So I hit the green key and said, “Hello, Dad.”

  “Hey, princess. How’re you settling into your new dorm?” he asked with false cheeriness.

  Now we play the ‘everything is fine’ game. That was me: happy, happy, happy. Daddy’s sane little girl.

  I plopped on my bed. “Fabulous.”

  “Things are getting better?”

  “Define better.”

  “Don’t start, Serena.” His tone lowered, sounding like the voice of doom. “You’re the one who screwed up—”

  “I know that! No need to keep rubbing my face in it.” Needing an outlet, I grabbed the stuffed bear on my bed and punched it.

  My dad blew out a breath. “Your therapist said that the only way to move past what happened and heal is to take control of your life again. After the incident, you locked yourself up in your room and brooded all summer. I thought transferring schools would help. Maybe I was wrong.”

  Knots formed in my stomach. It was astonishing how easily he pulled me back into the nightmare. Leaning against the pillows and hugging the stuffed bear, I tried to compose myself. Remember that I wasn’t there anymore. No longer locked away like a dirty secret. And I didn't want to talk with anymore psychologists.

  “No. I like it here. Honest. I don’t want to leave and no more therapy. Please, Dad.”

  “Then are you at least trying?” he asked gruffly. “Have you joined any clubs? Sports?”

  “Sports? Yuk. You know I’m athletically challenged. But if I went to Paris and studied art, I’m sure that—”

  “Not that nonsense again!” He sighed into the phone. “Being an artist is an expensive hobby—not a lucrative career. We agreed that you’d get a degree before I funded anymore fancy art classes.”

  My fingers tighten on the phone. “It’s not just a hobby to me, Dad.”

  “You’re avoiding the issue. I am not going to keep supporting you or your artistic pursuits unless I see some real changes in your attitude. Have you even made any friends yet?”

  I cleared my throat, pushing hair out of my face. “I just got here, Dad.”

  “I know that, but you can’t shut yourself off from the world anymore. You need to embrace life again.”

  I snorted. “I’m trying! Jeez, enough with the lecture.”

  “I only want to help.” He was quiet a moment before saying, “Just hear me out. What if I make you a deal? If you get more involved and make some friends—I mean really put some effort into starting over—then I’ll pay for art lessons in Paris over the summer.”

  My heart thumped. “Seriously?”

  “Only if you can prove to me that you’re actually trying. Get your grade-point average back up. Meet new people. Join a sorority like your mom did when she went to college there. If you can show me proof by the end of the school year, I’ll pay up. Deal?”

  My lips turned up at the corners. “Deal.”

  “Good. What’s your first goal?”

  “Um...pledge mom’s old sorority, I guess.”

  “Excellent. How’s everything else going?”

  I swallowed hard. No need to tell him how lonely I felt and have him cancel our new treaty.

  “Fabulous, Dad,” I lied.

  “That’s what I like to hear. And you’re going to stay away from the boys, right?”

  My chest hurt like my insides had curled into a tight ball of nervous energy.

  Nice way to pour salt into old wounds, Dad.

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

  “Just concentrate on your studies,” he said firmly. “This family can’t afford a scandal, young lady. If you feel like you can’t handle this transition then—no art school. No Paris. And it’s back into therapy Do you hear me?”

  I’ll just pick up my chastity belt when I swing by the convent this afternoon.

  “Loud and clear.”

  “I’d better go,” he said. “I have a meeting. Call me if you need anything, princess.”

  “Sure. Bye, Dad.”

  I hung up the phone and faintly smiled. At least I had something to look forward to now. A tingling sensation sprang to life in my chest. My dad would respect me again if I stuck it out here, and he’d agreed to support me while I lived in Paris and took art classes. All I had to do was get more involved in college life.

  Done. Deal.

  After dabbing concealer under my tired eyes, slipping my feet into Steve Madden ankle-boots, and grabbing my messenger bag, I rushed out the door.

  Walking to class, I couldn’t help feeling like I only pretended to be a normal college student in one of those entering-adulthood-drama type movies, with me starring as the loner just trying to fit in.

  It was a beautiful fall day with crisp air ruffling the leaves. Beneath the shade of the trees, two girls sat on a blanket and studied. Beaumont University had lush green areas and ponderosa pine-lined avenues.

  With my head down and my long, blonde hair shielding my face, I avoided eye contact. Beaumont’s orientation map became a sweaty, crumpled mass in my hand. Glancing up, I took in my surroundings. Was I supposed to go left or right?

  Unfolding the map, I scanned it and frowned. I needed to hook a left at the science building marked D.

  I was halfway across the quad when someone shouted, “Look out!”

  My head snapped up. I dropped my schedule and bag in a flash, grabbing the yellow Frisbee out of the air a split second before it smacked me in the face.

  “Nice reflexes, blondie.”

  Whoa! Campus hottie alert.

  A guy stepped in front of me. Not just any guy, but the same stranger I kept running into on campus. He slipped a sleek iPhone into his jean pocket, and bent over, picking up my schedule and bag. His hair fell across his forehead in a messy yet somehow totally deliberate way, a defiant strand landing right over one of his brown eyes. He wore a gray T-shirt that hugged a perfectly athletic frame. My senses went into overload when I inhaled the light citrus scent of his cologne. He was the type of hot guy that made women want to rip off his shirt and run their hands over all those rippling muscles.

  “You’re a new girl,” he said, like I was fresh meat. “Freshman?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Transferred from another school?” His husky, masculine voice made my skin quiver.

  I lifted my head and my gaze zeroed in on his full lips. “Yeah. Empire Beach University.”

  “Major?” He handed me my bag. “Wait. I know, undeclared.”

  Stop looking at his mouth.

  “Liberal arts.”

  His crooked grin widened. “Don’t tell me…you’re into drawing, sculpture, or something like photography, right?”

  “Actually, I—”

  “Hey, Prescott! Quit flirting and throw the Frisbee back!” another guy yelled.

  Before I only sensed the other guys waiting in the background. Now Prescott held his hand out f
or the Frisbee and I glanced over at his three friends, all sweaty and irritated, standing twenty yards away.

  “You do know this is the sixth fairway of the Frisbee course?” Prescott said.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Oops.”

  Rather than handing the Frisbee over, I turned and threw it to the guy furthest from me. The spinning disc fell right into his hands. One of the guys—a tall, broad boy who had arrogance written all over him—threw me an appreciative glance before continuing the game.

  “Serena DuPont. Sophomore,” Prescott said.

  My heart skipped an alarming number of beats. “How did you know that?” I demanded.

  He glanced up from my schedule. “It says so right here.”

  I reached to grab it, but he turned away, holding the schedule over his head. I wracked my brain trying to recall if there was anything regarding my past on there. Did it say why I’d transferred to Beaumont?

  “Give it to me,” I said.

  “No.”

  Oh, my god. Was he twelve?

  I clenched my teeth. “I want my schedule back. Now.”

  He scanned it again. “Hmmm...ambitious. I’ve never dated an artsy girl before.”

  “Whatever. I bet you’re not very supportive of the arts,” I replied, one hand resting on my hip.

  “Oh—I am,” he said, sliding a glance in my direction and the smile inched wider. “Especially when beautiful and smart women like you are involved.”

  My cheeks and neck burned. Not only because I’d just met possibly the sexiest guy on campus, but because everyone who passed by was staring at us. Especially the female students. Still, it felt nice to chat with a normal guy. One who didn’t give off a psycho-creeper-from-hell vibe.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure even a knuckle dragger like you knows that line doesn’t work on the smart girls like me.”

  He didn’t even have the decency to act insulted. He had that air about him that said he knew who he was and didn’t care what anyone else thought of him. I envied that.

  “I’m hurt,” he said with a shrug. “I was being sincere.”

  I snatched my schedule out of his hands, then stuffed it into my bag. His nearness threw me off my game. All that perfection and gorgeousness was like taking a hit of some exotic drug.

  “Sure you were,” I said. “Well, if I’m the artsy type, then I’ve got you pegged, too.”

  He folded his arms. “Do tell.”

  “You’re obviously the campus player who doesn’t take anything seriously. But if you’re looking for a new conquest—it won’t be me.”

  Several strands of hair fell over his forehead and he brushed them out of his eyes. “So you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

  “Yup. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Hold up. I’d like to start over, please. I’m Colton Prescott,” he said, offering his hand. The silver ring pierced in his left eyebrow gleamed in the sunlight. “My friends call me Cole.”

  Cole. The tall, dark, and full of toe-curling, swoon-worthy goodness had a real name.

  I eyed him with uncertainly before I slipped my hand into his. His palm felt incredibly warm and the firm assuredness of his grip sent a rush of anticipation right through me.

  Cole’s cellphone rang and he pulled away, sliding it out of his pocket. “I have to take this. It was a pleasure to meet you, Serena.”

  “You too, Cole.”

  “Prescott speaking,” he said into the phone. Cole strolled off with his head held high as if he owned the place.

  I hurried off toward what I prayed was the direction of my class. Of course, now I had one more thing to obsess about—Cole Prescott. It was bad enough that I was trying to start over. Studies. Art. Joining a sorority. Going to Paris. Those goals had to remain my focus.

  Handsome distractions like Cole had already cost me too much.

  LONELY GIRL

  That night each floor had its own lame get-to-know-you party in the common room. I used to be great at social functions. But I dreaded this one—although I knew I should go. If I wanted a new start, I would have to go against my natural instinct, which meant attending parties again and being friendlier. I checked my emails while Vanessa babbled incessantly and took gulps from her Rockstar drink.

  “…so when we finally got to the fourth season of our Doctor Who marathon last weekend, Levi spilled popcorn all down my dress! I was so mad that I had to miss half of this awesome episode where they…”

  I’m seriously going to need that duct tape.

  Sitting on my bed with my laptop resting on my thighs, I tried to tune her out as my thoughts drifted back to Colton Prescott. Cole. Did every pretty girl on campus get to call him Cole? I reminded myself that I wasn’t seeking any romantic connections with the opposite sex. Relationships meant feelings, and those made people like me do really stupid things.

  Vanessa turned to me, pausing with the can close to her lips. “You know, you never said why you transferred schools your sophomore year.”

  Hmmm, what should I tell her? The truth or…

  I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Well, I’m not sure I should say anything.”

  “Did something happen at your last school?”

  Ah, she was intuitive. I’d have to keep my guard up around her.

  “Sort of…”

  Vanessa placed the can on her nightstand and plopped down on her bed to face me. She crossed her heart and said, “You can trust me. I’m awesome at keeping secrets! Once a friend told me that while she was interning at this—”

  “If you swear never to tell another living soul.” I set my laptop aside and leaned forward.

  “I swear!” She shifted on the bed, causing a row of stuffed animals to bump into one another.

  I couldn’t tell her the real reason. So I lied. Again.

  “My dad suspected that his friend who he worked with at the local power plant had been abducted by aliens, so he spent his weekends dissecting government conspiracies and dragging me across the country in search of the truth. He even claimed to have seen a UFO flying over this small town, Winter Haven, where he was sure these alien hybrids were living. It got so bad that I had to move away from all the extraterrestrial craziness.”

  What’s the matter with me? Why was I so afraid to tell anyone the truth?

  Thank the gods that I wasn’t related to Pinocchio or my nose would be ten feet long.

  She bounced on the bed like we were at a junior high sleepover. “Oh! Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “Because it’s embarrassing. And I wanted to move far enough away from the parental units to not be embarrassed by their irrational theories.” I shrugged. “And my dad just wants me to experience college life and meet the right kind of people,” I said. “In other words—criminal types, college dropouts, and psycho stalkers need not apply.”

  “That’s cool.” She stood and fixed her toppled stuffed cat, then spun around. “Are you coming to the meet-and-greet tonight?”

  “Maybe I’ll come by later.”

  She took another swing of her drink. “I get it. You want to make a grand entrance,” she teased.

  Not in the slightest.

  “Something like that,” I said.

  She shrugged on a black sweatshirt over her ‘Go Green or Go Home’ environmental T-shirt. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  The minute the door closed, I regretted bailing on her. I would never make new friends if I stayed holed up in my room. Still, I couldn’t seem to make myself leave the safety of these four walls. I leaned back against the stack of pillows lining my bed, settling into my self-inflicted banishment. I pulled a bright pink blanket tightly around myself and sighed.

  After months of antisocial behavior at my old college, I had become a social pariah. Incapable of relationship normalcy. And now I was a sorry excuse for a college coed. No matter how much I didn’t want to get too close to anyone here, there had to be something I could do
to change that. Maybe being Miss Secret-Identity-Gal wasn’t such a great plan, especially since I’d made that deal with my dad.

  But how was I supposed to make friends if I didn’t want anyone to know the truth? My friend deficiency would continue unless I made a real effort to transform myself into someone else. Someone without such a sordid past. And maybe someone who didn’t have to lie so much.

  Laughter seeped through the closed window and I stood, catching sight of my reflection in the glass, symmetrical features—plump lips, high cheekbones, tiny nose, cerulean eyes—and a head of long blonde hair.

  The window overlooked the courtyard and I sat on the sill, staring at the dark sky, while my breath fogged the glass. Girlish laughter rang out from the darkness below and my heart squeezed painfully.

  Leaning my temple against the cold glass, I muttered, “Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry…”

  This sucked. Was I really homesick? For what? For my effed up family? For the dingy walls of my old, tiny dorm room? For the constant rumors and stares?

  A tear squeezed from my eye, like a smack upside the head. I swiped it away. This was unacceptable. I was not a weakling. I made a choice to leave the past behind and that included any second thoughts on relocating.

  There was nothing left in SoCal for me now. I had to focus on starting over here and going to Paris. I stared into the darkness, at the lights in the windows of the other dorms. I belonged here. And I forced myself to believe it.

  Another giggle reached my ears. Leaning forward, I spotted Cole in the lamplight. A dark-haired girl had her arms wrapped around him and she kissed his neck. Both of his hands cupped her ass and he leaned her up against a tree. I shouldn’t be watching them grope each other, but I couldn’t look away. I leaned closer, my nose grazing the glass, and balancing perilously on the windowsill. Cole’s hand slipped to her waist, and my chest tightened. The girl squealed and grabbed his hand, then she led him out of sight.

  For a minute, I didn’t move. Only stared after them. My skin vibrated, my limbs twanged. What the hell was I doing? Wishing that girl was me instead? I inwardly groaned.