ANDREA WALSH IS A WHORE!!!
My heart stops, my mouth goes dry, my fingers slack as the paintbrush falls to the floor.
Maybe it won’t be fine.
Despite the fact that the majority of the names in here are women’s names, it’s never really been about the women, it’s been about the guys. The names are just the equivalent of a slash of ink in a tally, a way of keeping count. But this is an entirely different type of slash. Something sickening and glaring and awful that throws everything out of whack and into sharp contrast at the same time.
“Kellan?” comes a loud whisper.
My eyes widen in horror at the sound of Andi’s voice.
“Hey, Crosbie,” I hear her say as she spots him. There’s the faint creak of the door swinging shut behind her, then her footsteps approaching.
“Stop her!” I hiss at Dane, shoving him out of the stall and crouching to grab my paintbrush and plunge it into the paint, desperate to get the slur covered before Andi sees it. She’ll know I didn’t write it, but she’ll also know that if not for me, it never would have happened.
I hear raised voices as Choo tries to offer her free torches, but Andi’s not an idiot. Before I can get any paint on the wall the door bounces open and she’s stepping through asking “What’s going—” before breaking off abruptly, her mouth a perfect O of surprise as she reads the writing on the wall.
The next moments are the longest ones in history. No one breathes. No one moves. No one speaks. She stares at the writing and I stare at her and over her shoulder Crosbie, Dane and Choo stare too.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. “I didn’t...”
“I know you didn’t,” she says eventually.
I clear my throat. “I mean, I wanted to come here and paint the list to show you that all that stuff was in the past and you’re in the present. I didn’t know this had been added.”
She rolls her lips together, then meets my eye. I’m expecting her to look angry or devastated or embarrassed, but she looks calm. “I knew,” she says.
I blink. “What?”
“I heard about it a week ago.”
My mouth moves but it takes a second for the words to come out. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“Like what? Like, I’m not a whore?”
“Like—”
“Like, these lists are a stupid and outdated tradition and only idiots put any stock in them?”
“Well—”
“Like I don’t need some list to tell me if I’m good enough or not? To tell me if I’m a whore or a stud or a bitch or an asshole?”
“Does it say that somewhere?”
“It says that everywhere, Kellan. I didn’t tell you about this because you’d care more than me. You care too much about these walls as it is, and I didn’t want to give them anymore credit than they deserved.”
“But it’s not true. You’re not—” I can’t finish the sentence.
“I already know that. The difference between you and me is I don’t care who knows and who doesn’t. I know, and that’s what matters.”
I finally manage to take a full breath. “I’m still going to paint it.”
She shrugs. “By all means.”
No one speaks as I methodically paint over the whole list, leaving a large pale blue gap on the wall.
“There,” I say, stepping back to admire the view. “That’s better.”
Dane sighs. “Move, then. I guess I have to paint mine.”
“Yours has like, two names on it,” Choo points out.
“That’s twice as many as you. And you made that one up.”
“Did not.”
We swap places, listening to them bicker as they paint over their own lists.
When they’re done we stare at our handiwork, which mostly looks like someone did a poor job patching up the walls. But Andi’s right—it’s not about what anyone else thinks. It’s about what I think. And I think this is a big improvement.
“All right,” I say, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Fresh start.”
“What about the other bathroom?” Choo asks. Even from here we can hear the voices outside and there’s no way the four of us are going to convince anyone we’re maintenance.
“I’ll do it,” Andi says. She takes a brush, dips it in the paint, and leaves.
“Dude,” Crosbie whispers when she’s gone. “Is this for real or is she going to kill you later?”
“Fifty-fifty,” I admit.
“Whatever happens,” Dane says. “This was a good idea.”
I look at him in surprise. “What about your dad?”
“It’s not like he’s a fan of the lists,” he replies. “But Andi made a good point. It’s not about what anyone else thinks. I like it better this way. It’s not like I could get a job at this school if I had a sex list.”
“You want to work here? I thought you wanted to play ball.”
“Nah. I love playing, but I want to be a professor one day.”
“I had no idea,” Choo says, looking dumbfounded.
“What about you?” Crosbie asks him. “Do you want to play basketball?”
“Of course. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“That’s smart,” Dane says. “You’re not good at anything else.”
Choo ignores him. “Although, if we’re confessing things...”
We look at him expectantly.
“My name’s not really Choo. I was just really into trains when I was little. I said choo-choo a lot, picked up the nickname, and it stuck. People bought into it, because, well, I’m tall.”
Dane gapes at him. “So what’s your name?”
“Gary.”
“What?”
“Now you know, professor.”
I look at Crosbie. “Is your name really Crosbie?”
The door swings open and Andi steps through. “It’s done,” she says. “Or undone, depending on how you look at it.”
She rinses the brush in the sink and we pack up our materials, peek into the hallway, and file back out to the elevator.
Crosbie’s phone buzzes on the ride down. Before he says it’s Nora, I know it is. And for once I don’t feel jealous or resentful. I get it.
“She just got out of class,” he tells us as we reach the main floor. “I’m going to go meet her.”
“Sure, see you.”
“I’ve got an early practice,” Choo says. “I should get going, too.”
“I’ll walk back with you,” Dane replies. “Gary.”
They leave and then it’s just the two of us.
“Why did I always think his name was Choo?” Andi whispers, looking mortified.
“It is Choo. And I’m sorry about that stuff, Andi.” We’re halfway through the strong of students on our way to the doors, but I stop anyway. “I know you said you didn’t care, but I do. If people didn’t know about us then none of this—”
She interrupts my rambling by grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down to kiss her. Or rather, be kissed by her. I’m too surprised to do much more than stand here and let her, but I’m not complaining. And I’m not thinking about the hundreds of students milling around, seeing this, seeing us. I’m not thinking about that list or what anyone might think about it or me or Andi. She didn’t tell me she was coming to Burnham because she didn’t want her experience to be defined by mine. Now she’s choosing this. Choosing me.
When we finally break apart, Andi’s lips are pink and soft and all I want is more. And not the generalized “more” of my first year at Burnham, where I wanted everything all the time just because I could have it. I want this very specific thing, and I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
chapter sixteen
The week ends with another three-day mock meet at Washington State, and by the time Crosbie and I stumble off the bus Sunday evening we’re exhausted and too hungry to contemplate fending for ourselves. We’d texted Nora and Andi half an hour earlier to see if they wan
ted to meet us at Marvin’s, and when I get there I’m surprised to see Nate and Marcela in the booth as well.
Everyone says hello as we slide onto the benches. Nate and Marcela sit opposite each other on the inside, and Andi and Nora make up the middle. Crosbie exaggeratedly clutches Nora and kisses her like he’s sending her off to war, and everyone laughs, though I know he’s not faking his enthusiasm. As tired as I am, I’d like to do that—and more—with Andi, but despite the kiss at the Student Union last week, I know she’s not one for public displays so I give her a formal nod. “Greetings.”
She rolls her eyes. “Good evening.”
I slip my hand under the table and find her thigh with one hand while I pick up a menu with the other and pretend to study it. “Have you ordered yet?”
“Five minutes ago,” she says, a very satisfying hitch in her voice as I move my hand higher.
“Hmm. I’m starving.”
“Anyway,” Marcela says, continuing a story from earlier. “Then she pulls out a ball of vegan turkey—a ball. It looked like putty. And she has like, half a cranberry—”
Nora’s cracking up. “And she kept asking for Perrier—”
“She was a nice woman!” Nate interjects defensively, and I know they’re talking about the date he brought to last year’s failed Chrisgiving dinner.
“And it was an excellent meal,” I pitch in, also defensively. And a bit stupidly, since that night is also when Crosbie learned that Nora and I had drunkenly hooked up the year prior and it sort of broke his heart.
“Superb gravy,” Nora says, trying to keep a straight face while giving a thumbs up.
I look between the girls, suddenly paranoid. “How long have you been here? Are you guys friends now? No. Andi. You can’t trust anything they say about me.”
“We haven’t said anything,” Marcela replies. “Andi’s been telling us stories about you.”
“You can’t trust anything Andi says. She lies all the time.”
Marcela sips her wine. “Is it true that Andi came to your sixth birthday party dressed as Spiderman and you got so upset you peed your pants?”
I gape at Andi. “How dare you!” To the others I add, “The invitation clearly said it was a Star Wars theme!”
Everyone laughs, none sympathetically, but I’m not really mad. I was totally over the incident by high school.
The server comes by to take our orders, and I get a clubhouse and a side salad. She leaves and Marcela frowns at me. “Salad? Really?”
I pat my flat stomach. “You think this six-pack maintains itself?”
“Is this like when actresses starve themselves the month before an awards show? Are you trying to fit into your tux?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about the Sports Banquet. It’s been in the calendar for such a long time that I kind of ignored it, and now it’s just two weeks away.
“Did you convince Choo to take you?” Crosbie asks.
“Of course I did. Mostly.”
He leans past Nora to look at Nate. “And you’re okay with this?”
Nate shrugs. “An evening celebrating a bunch of guys like Kellan? Yeah, I’m cool with missing it. If she wants to suffer, let her.”
“I want to suffer so bad,” Marcela says. “And I really want the free steak.”
Everybody laughs.
“Did you get find a dress yet?” she asks Nora.
Nora shakes her head. “Still looking.” She glances at Andi. “What are you wearing?”
I feel the muscles in Andi’s thigh tighten under my palm as she stiffens uncomfortably. She doesn’t have a dress because she hasn’t been invited. I’ve had nine hundred opportunities to ask her and I haven’t seized a single one.
“I’m not going,” she says slowly, and a painful silence descends on the table. One that quickly turns into an accusatory silence as everyone but Andi glares at me. She’s stirring the ice in her drink like she’s desperate for it to melt.
“It slipped my mind!” I protest. “I just forgot. Andi...do you want to go?”
She glares at me from the corner of her eye. “Let’s not talk about this.”
Crosbie and Nate wince sympathetically.
“It was an honest mistake. I swear. I’ve just been...preoccupied.”
“Stop talking,” she says through her teeth. “And move your hand.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I can feel a headache coming and it’s with a heavy heart that I take away my hand. I don’t know how it is that years one and two were effortless, but three months into this school year feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done. All of my future visions for what college would be like involved all the things my first year included: girls, parties, sports, friends. The gonnorhea was a mistake, but all the rest was awesome. At no point did I envision myself falling for Andi and having dinner with fucking Nate. I glower at him like this is somehow his fault.
And then, for some reason, he throws me a bone and changes the subject. Sure, he does it with an extremely boring story about a malfunctioning sanitizer at the coffee shop, but at least it takes the attention off me for a minute.
I study the busy bar, wondering how long Andi’s going to be mad. Crick and a couple of friends in matching Burnham jackets walk in with four pretty girls trailing behind. The girls wear short skirts and heels and have to be freezing in this miserable weather, and two years ago I never would have thought about any of that. That would have been me sliding into the corner booth, choosing the too-small seats so we’d have no choice but to be pressed up close to each other. It didn’t matter that we’d just met or we’d never meet again, I just wanted what I wanted in that moment, everything else be damned.
Crick looks over and catches my eye, then looks right past me to Andi. I see him nod and feel her return the gesture.
“Are you two still talking?” I ask, trying not to sound paranoid. Andi is the only girl I’ve ever been jealous about and it feels terrible.
She doesn’t answer, pretending to listen to Nate’s interminable story.
“Did he ask you to the banquet?”
Still nothing.
“Andi,” I say.
“Yes,” she says, and even though I asked the question I still nearly fall out of the booth in surprise at the answer.
“What? Yes?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So you’re going? With him? After—”
“No, you idiot. I said no.” She looks at me and I see why she’s been avoiding my stare. She said no because she was waiting for me to ask, just like she’s spent so many nights and months and years waiting for me. And she hates it. That she keeps waiting for words that never come.
“I’m sorry,” I say, keeping my voice low so I’m not overheard. “Honestly. There’s no one else I would rather go with. Please believe me. Please come with me.” The request is a little late, but it’s sincere.
There’s a thunk on the table and I look over to see Marcela has plunked her elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand to watch the show. “I hate you so much,” I tell her.
She smiles, all red lips and bleached hair and pure evil. She’s exactly what Nate deserves.
“Come outside,” I say to Andi.
“We just ordered.”
“We’ll come back.”
“It’s rain—”
I’m not going to beg with all these witnesses, so I slip out of the booth, grab our jackets, and tug Andi after me. She gripes the whole way through the bar and out the front door. Fortunately the rain has let up, though the street is dark and damp as I lead her around the corner out of sight of any unwanted audience members.
“Kellan.” She tries to pull her fingers out of mine but I hold tight. We’re almost there. “Kellan. What the—Why are we in an alley? Do you think I’m going to have sex with you right now?”
She looks totally disbelieving.
“No,” I say, because I wasn’t thinking about that at all. “But would you?
”
Her eyes narrow.
“This is where you ran,” I remind her before she can kick me. “The first night I saw you. In your chicken costume.”
She frowns at our surroundings. It’s just a dirty, dark alley, dimly lit by the glow of a nearby streetlamp, but I’m pretty sure it’s the right one.
“So?”
“So that night you said we were complicated, and you were right.”
“Obviously.”
“You said we were complicated instead of saying we were friends, but we’re both, Andi. And we’re more. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never—You know I’ve never been close to any girl that wasn’t you. You’re the only one that’s ever broken my heart. You’re the only one that could.”
“I know how that feels, Kellan.”
“I know. And—”
“You don’t know,” she interrupts. “Everyone else did, but you never had a clue. Do you know how much grief I got growing up? Everyone could see how I felt about you, but you never could. And every time you stomped on my heart you had no clue. When you took Missy Worthington to prom—it crushed me. Kissed Lacey at the baseball game? Devastating. I keep swearing to myself I’m not going to put myself in a position to do this again—”
“Andi, please—”
“But here I am. Admitting to table of your friends that you still have no clue about me.”
“Only Crosbie’s my friend, if you think about it. I mean, Nora’s okay, but I really hate Nate. And don’t get me started on Marcela.”
She doesn’t laugh, just blinks away tears. The sight of Andi crying even a tiny bit is terrifying. It’s just not a thing she does. “You have no idea what you have,” she says. “How lucky you are. They’re your friends and they’d do anything for you. Dane and Choo, too.”
“I—”
“And me, Kellan. Waiting around like an idiot for you to see what’s been in front of you your whole life. But you just keep looking for something better.”
“I have always seen you, Andi. Don’t confuse things. Maybe I didn’t always know what I was seeing—and maybe I didn’t always know how I felt about it—but I see you. I recognized you in a fucking chicken costume. I watched you flirting with Crick from inside a coffin.”
Undeclared (Burnham College #2) Page 23