by Leanne Davis
“You were not matched. You kept each other from being what you both wanted.”
“Yeah, perhaps.”
“I admire the way you treated her when I first got here. Even more so after you two broke up. I’ve never done that with a guy. She dumped you for another guy, who’s living in your house, and you’re still respectful. In fact, you even helped her continue to be with him.”
“She didn’t mean to stop loving me, and she certainly didn’t mean for the real love to be Wesley. Or arrange the timing. Sure, I respect her. She’s still my friend.”
“And then you brought Wesley home for her. He would have never come back without your effort. You gave her a future and her boyfriend. I think that says more about you as a man, than all your football scores and your flawless GPA.”
“Well, I doubt you’ve been around many decent men before, if only judging by your ex’s shitty behavior. I’m not actually like that, Jacey. I’m not what everyone thinks.”
It’s hard to hold back a smile of amusement at hearing his humble modesty. Another feather in his cap. His ceaseless integrity and goodness are all wrapped up in such a delicious, sexy package. He’s too much. Too good to be true. Way too much for me.
Turning forward, he crushes his empty cup in his fist, pinning his gaze at his feet. “I’m not what you think I am, Jacey.”
I snort. What possible faults could this man think he has? I could rattle off about sixty examples of genuine deplorable behavior, the kind I’ve received from loved ones, including my mother and her boyfriends and my foster parents and temporary guardians and case workers and friends from high school and even a teacher. Yeah, I know what bad behavior looks and feels like. I am personally acquainted with amoral people and sociopaths. I know child abusers, wife-beaters, and all the other predators. Whatever faults Wyatt claims to have, from my standing, they are laughable and harmless. Is he bossy? Or cranky in the morning? Whatever innocuous fault Wyatt thinks he has, I don’t believe him.
“I know bad. And you are the polar opposite.”
His elbows rest on his knees, and he turns his head to view me over his shoulder. “You are not bad, Jacey. Whatever sludge raised you and exposed you to, it’s not anything to do with you. I know crappy people, and I have little tolerance for them, no matter the reason, but I also know you aren’t.”
I finish my drink and set the cup beside me. “Thank you. But I didn’t leave my childhood unscathed. I’m sure I lack a lot of social skills. Never mind a general education. I could never go to a place of education like Dani. I lack the disposition and I’m—”
“You could learn whatever you want to learn. I know you could. You might not have everything you want now, but you could learn how to get there. It might take a little longer, but with the right work ethic and perseverance, you could get there. What do you have to lose? You’re young and healthy, and your whole life is in front of you. Don’t waste it by doing something menial. Or something you don’t want to do. You seem to like this place and what I’m talking about so you should imagine yourself attending school here and then figure out how to make that happen. Do you think I walked into the football stadium last night and just magically started making people react to me like that? No. Nope. It took years of work, starting with running and catching a ball. Practicing the same moves over and over again. It’s never too late, Jacey.”
I stare at him. Quiet. Thinking. Feeling. Wyatt is trying to energize me. He’s giving me a motivational speech and pushing me to do what he thinks I can do. No one ever cared enough to suggest career possibilities for me, let alone, encouraged me or pushed me toward a goal. “No one’s ever said I could do something like this before,” I whisper because it seems so profound to me.
He shakes his head. “I thought it was sad you’d never seen a college campus before. But no one ever showed you some of the opportunities out there? What you could choose to do? What is wrong with everyone in your life? Fuck those adults who failed you. Get me, Jacey? Fuck them. You have to figure out what you want first and then figure out how to make it happen.”
My heart flip-flops. It feels so high in my chest. I can’t explain my reaction to his words. Mostly because his speech is so urgent. The serious look on his face and the timbre in his tone make me believe in the possibility. I could become so much more than I ever dreamed. I could someday attend a university? I almost snort out loud again. But he’s so earnest. I can’t admit everything I failed to do. And I am nothing remotely like him. I could never even think about attending a college such as this. God. The only way I’ll see that kind of campus is when I visit him.
I bite my tongue. No need to rub in my loser status and how far apart we are academically.
“Come on, let’s finish the tour.” And we do. He patiently shows me each nook and cranny of the large stadium and practice area. We journey through different dorm areas and the different commons areas. He ends the tour by taking me into the library. I’ve never been in one since middle school when I had to check out a book each week. But it wasn’t anything like this.
I stare in awe. It rises up three stories and holds acres of books filled with trillions of words. A collection of knowledge and research, poetry and stories, history and science and other people’s thoughts. Things that I don’t know enough to ask about. My thoughts are ordinary, mostly centering on basic survival. Not the thoughts that come from reading books like this wonderful place houses. I see dozens of work tables and private studies. Students litter the area. It’s quiet as we walk through some of the aisles, and I gape at all the titles. There are so many books and authors. I’ll bet I’ve read barely half a dozen books in my entire life. I stop and flip one open. It’s a book of poetry by John Keats. I read one poem without a single word making sense to me. I might as well be reading a foreign language. As a familiar warmth spreads into my face with embarrassment, I’m glad Wyatt can’t read my thoughts. I flip the book shut.
“What was one of the Russian literature books you liked?” I blink when I realize that I asked Wyatt out loud. Why? What do I need to know that for?
But maybe Wyatt’s point is: why not know the answer?
He nods as he swings around, and I follow him until he stops. “Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. It tracks this guy’s descent into near madness after he tries to justify murdering someone. I don’t know why, but there was something so disturbing and compelling about it. It just stuck with me. Why? You want to try reading it?”
“I probably can’t. Is it anything like Shakespeare? I tried to read Julius Caesar in high school after it was assigned, but I couldn’t understand two sentences, so I cheated.”
He grins. “I get that. Shakespeare is a lot harder with the old English. I didn’t like it either until I had an English teacher who loved him and explained his works to me. No, I didn’t find the Russian book too hard to read. I think you could easily follow it.”
“Why should I?”
“I used to think that, too, until strange stories captured my curiosity, things I didn’t even know I was curious about. I don’t know, I thought why not try it? When has the acquisition of more knowledge ever hurt you? We could discuss it afterwards and see what we thought about as we read it. Makes for new conversation.”
“No one I know talks about Russian literature for no reason.”
He grins. “The people you grew up with were kinda shitty people. So maybe it’s time to be different. And maybe there is no point in learning except to challenge your brain.” He begins scanning the spines of some books and pulls one out and hands it to me. “I’ll check it out for you. Try it. Can’t hurt, right? All I’ve heard to date about your life is the shit that could hurt you. This definitely won’t.”
“Be different, achieve different results.” I mutter another inner motto I like to repeat. Yes, another Rachelism. My longer conversations with Rachel explained those sayings and how they worked in my life, but the short snippets were easier for me to repeat to myself. They worked
as a reminder to be different and make better choices.
“Wise. Yeah. That’s probably exactly it.” Wyatt beams at me as he turns and then goes to check out the book I doubt I’ll ever read and understand.
We walk out the entrance we first came through hours ago. Our entire day was spent on campus, just wandering around and talking. We discussed nothing of drastic importance, but it seems important now. He tells me a lot of stories about the different classes he took, the professors that demanded the impossible, and other students who were ridiculous or humorous. He described an entire subculture I knew nothing of. I was listening intently because I never experienced anything like it and had nothing to add. I did ask endless questions, and true to form, Wyatt answered them all. We returned to his apartment as the sun was setting. Kevin was already there, and he gave me a warm smile when we walked in. He was busy with his Xbox and talking on the headphones to whomever he was playing with. He started screaming at one point and then laughing. All in good fun, I suppose. Wyatt and I exchanged amused looks. “He’s addicted. He’ll play for ten or twelve hours if nothing else is going on.”
“Wow. That’s so lost on me.”
“You don’t have to go back now, do you? You could just stay on. Why don’t you consider staying until Monday and going to classes with me? You could see firsthand what I told you about. I think you’d like it.”
A thrill shoots down my entire body as if I touched a live wire. Yeah. Yes. I definitely want to stay. I’m surprised and thrilled he asked me to stay another night.
Then I remind myself not to be so shocked. He’s Wyatt Kincaid, QB1 of the whole damn college. Known and adored by crowded stadiums. He also goes to school and has a 4.0 GPA. He easily fills all the leadership positions and is everything shining and wonderful that a person our age could possibly be. I’m the exact opposite, messed up and troubled, the most I could hope for is average. I’d also like to find a guy who doesn’t abuse me. The contrast in our search for the people we choose to have in our lives is startling.
“Sure. If you guys don’t mind.”
“Yeah, I don’t think our third roommate will be back tonight. He found a new girl, and they’ve been spending all their time together. So his bedroom is available. No worries.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling slightly relieved not to be in a position that I’d have to consider having sex. I’m also a bit disheartened to realize Wyatt only views me as a friend. I don’t know if I want to change his view yet, but I’d like to know the possibility is out there.
We order pizza. Kevin interrupts his gaming to munch on it and share a conversation with us. He’s also funny and sweet. The camaraderie that exists between Wyatt and him is undeniable. Wyatt glances at his phone. “Evans is having a few people over. You guys want to go?”
I have no opinion on the matter but after Kevin grumbles a yes, we walk the few blocks to drop by. I feel very safe as I walk between the two huge guys and instantly relax, knowing no one would dare mess with us. Maybe twenty people have gathered at this guy’s apartment, just a few streets from Wyatt’s building. They’re mostly football team guys and a few girls who are either dating them or intending to. I watch the students filtering in and out. One group is analyzing the plays from reruns someone shot of the past games. I see mostly Wyatt on the screen. Yells, hollers, cheers, laughter, and shoulder smacks fill the confined space. They are having a blast together, that’s for sure, and I am impressed at how incredibly popular Wyatt is. He’s still very much aware of me and checks on me regularly. I sit near him, and he leans closer to explain the plays we’re watching and how they fit into the bigger picture of the game. I learn the endless rules and regulations. There’s no way I can remember them all. I find it interesting and fun as well as entertaining as I listen to their endless banter and lively conversations. Drinking beer and other forms of alcohol, they pass a joint of weed around, but Wyatt hardly partakes in any of it. Just like last night.
Later, we leave and start heading back to their apartment. Kevin is sloshed and high but despite his massive bulk, he manages to stay on his feet and shuffle home.
“Do you stay sober most of the time?” I ask. Wyatt’s hand grabs mine just above my wrist to steady me. I give him a small smile of thanks. I’m a little buzzed but nothing like I was last night.
“Most of the time. I can’t keep up my routine and tight schedule if I lose an entire day being sick. Drinking just a few beers the night before practice makes me slower and less effective. So I never drink during the season. Occasionally, I let loose, but the buzz is not worth it to me.”
I fall into Wyatt’s bed later. I’m tired, but again I take note of the neatly tucked-in sheets of Wyatt’s made bed. Morning arrives with more of Kevin’s doughnuts. Wyatt is already dressed for running. He tilts his head at me. “You game this morning?”
Definitely not. But Wyatt’s sweet smile and the way he tilts his head, not to mention the hopeful gleam in his eye, instantly make me rise to my feet. I duck into his room briefly and return in my shorts and my pathetic excuse for running shoes, my canvas sneakers. We do a slow shuffling run until we reach the track on campus. It’s not long before his glorious, strong legs let loose and he speeds up, swallowing one lap after another as I stumble, jog, walk, run, skip, and do everything I can short of crawling to make it down the track. Eventually, after all his miles are in, he meets me where I’ve been sitting for several laps. I’ve been slowly trying to regain my breath and cool down. Yeah, I’m so out of shape.
We drink some refreshing water, and he teases me over my slow pace. We saunter back to the apartment, and I call dibs on the shower before Wyatt sweeps his hand towards the bathroom, saying, “Ladies first.”
When I come out, I find him at his desk, typing away on his laptop. He changed into a white t-shirt and dark basketball shorts. He glances up at me, then jumps to his feet. “Here, I’ll give you some privacy.”
I clutch the towel around me. Being one of theirs, it’s paper thin from too much washing. He glances sideways at me for a fleeting moment then scurries out.
It’s difficult not to smile when he leaves. He tried so hard not to look but the towel is threadbare and too small, so it just naturally draws the eye. I quickly slip on clean clothes, feeling glad I brought enough to last my whole time here. I call out to him that I’m finished dressing, and he comes in and sits back down.
“What are you working on?”
“Paper that’s due tomorrow. I’m checking it over one more time.”
“Don’t you ever procrastinate?”
“I try not to. Juggling so many things, if I don’t manage my time down to the last second, I’m liable to drop everything and fail everyone.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of pressure.”
He shrugs. “I suppose. But as we discussed earlier, after all the opportunities I’ve been given, I refuse to waste them.”
I’m the failure. I don’t even work and have no demands on my time. I also have nowhere to live, no family to belong to and few friends who stay in contact with me. It depresses me to realize how far Wyatt has come in his short life and how lost I am.
“I think I’ll walk around and do some more sightseeing. I love the area. That way you can finish your paper in private.”
I head out towards campus, and my phone dings with a text. I glance down and smile. It’s Hans from the other night. I reply with a hi. From there we start chatting until he asks what I’m doing. Walking on your campus actually. Enjoying the afternoon.
Which part of campus?
I glance around to answer. Not far from the library.
He doesn’t reply so I frown at the phone in my hand. After a good five minutes, I slip it back into my pocket. Sure. Okay. Whatever. He’s busy. I’m busy. I’m not, but he doesn’t have to know that. Besides, he and I have so little in common. I won’t see him again. How could I? What would we do? Or talk about? Or—
There he is. I blink as if that will make him disappear fr
om view. But no, there he is, still standing there and smiling at me. He’s wearing jeans and his blond hair is styled back from his forehead. His blue eyes appraise me and instantly warm up. He seems to like what he sees. His grin widens when our gazes meet, and my mouth gets a huge, goofy grin that I find irrepressible. Despite all the time and fun I’ve had with Wyatt, and countless honest conversations and intimate talks, in which I revealed the hardest truths about me, I’ve never grinned so easily or openly with him as I do with Hans. Wyatt’s intensity still keeps me at a distance and stops me from flirting with him. It often feels as if my tongue is frozen to the roof of my mouth so I can’t speak to him.
But with Hans? Both of us have big, toothy grins as we hasten our paces and walk right toward each other, locking our gazes. Stopping just short of smashing our heads together, I hold my smile and say, “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I can’t believe you came here.”
“I live close by. Besides, I couldn’t resist. Do you mind?”
“I thought you text-ditched me.”
“No. I text-surprised you.”
I chuckle, even if we are pretty lame with our flirting banter. “So what do you do on a Sunday for fun around here?”
“Where’s Wyatt?”
“Writing a paper. Studying. Being as fabulous as he always is.”
“And you’re still visiting?”
“Until tomorrow.”
“And you and he…” The words stretch out as his eyebrows rise to punctuate his implied question.
“Old family friends.” Wow, first I’d have to be in a family in order to have “family friends,” but there is no way I’m telling that to this stranger. My sordid, checkered, troubled history still shames and defines me. Yeah, no way, that is just not happening.