by Leanne Davis
“So he won’t mind if I show you around some more?”
“Show me? What exactly?” I give him a little smile.
“Oh… I could think of a few things. My apartment… my bedroom… gorgeous stuff. A must-see on any itinerary.”
I shove his arm. “I can just imagine the parade of tramps in there, frat boy. No thanks.”
He takes my hand, and I play-shove him. He grips my fingers as his thumb glides over my knuckles. I miss the intense reaction that I had when Wyatt touched my face, but I still flirt and smile because I am generally at ease with Hans. He’s not a gangster or a criminal as far as I can see. He’s attending college for God’s sake. That’s certainly a first for me in flirting. “Okay, how about ice cream from the best homemade ice cream shop ever? One that only the locals know about.”
For his quick save, I let him keep holding my hand. “Can we walk there?”
“We can.”
We start across the grass until we hit the sidewalk and leave the campus, going the opposite direction from Wyatt. Still holding hands, we saunter, flirt, and chatter about subjects of little or no importance. It’s quite pleasant and such a far cry from being with Bobby, so I seize it. We sit down to eat the promised homemade ice cream. I order wild huckleberry that tastes like I picked the berries that morning and mashed them into some fresh cream. The flavor thrills my tongue and when I lick the cone suggestively, Hans watches me and smiles as he glances away.
We fall into more ordinary, getting-to-know-you kind of conversation. He was out in the gazebo at the party when I first approached him. He remained quiet before I started prattling on with some inane comments. After a few minutes, he engaged with me. When he did, he seemed pleasant. Distant at first, but he started to warm up when I gave him a taste of my super charm. I can really turn it on. And off. Again, it was a skill I polished from all the years of making my life work under adverse conditions. Hans warmed up to me before Wyatt found me and insisted we go. Now, Hans seems far more enthralled with me than I am with him.
I have to remind myself that I always went for the assholes, never for the Wesleys. Maybe he’s a Wesley. That might account for my creeping desire to chat some more and eat ice cream with him. Dare I think it might be interesting to kiss him? I don’t know yet.
Nothing will change unless I change it. I chant that motto in my brain as my breezy, easy afternoon with Hans continues. Another Rachelism. Rachelisms make so much sense because they apply to so many situations. Learning from Rachel, I pause and question my motives and desires with regard to Hans. Maybe I should try something new and different with a new and different guy. I never knew a college guy before. Wyatt, Hans, and Kevin, along with the few others I met at the parties, are the only college men I know.
We wander for a long while before we stop walking near Wyatt’s apartment. “Well, this is where I must leave you. Want to come up for a while? Say hey to Wyatt?”
“Uh, no. We’re not really friends. Didn’t he mention that?”
“No. He didn’t say anything one way or the other about you.”
He nods repeatedly, and I can only wonder what the serious look that crosses his face means. “Will you come back? To campus, I mean.”
“Sure.” I have no idea if I will.
“Will you be sure to let me know?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Can I call you?”
“You can text me.”
He smiles. I smile. It is something new and different. Something could change because I changed something. Right?
Chapter 8
WYATT
I am enjoying the evening. I finish my paper by the time Jacey walks back in. She’s smiling, obviously having spent a good day exploring and wandering around. She mentioned visiting the Silver Spoon, where they have the best ice cream. We sit in the living room with Kevin and later on, Kayden comes home. After the usual introductions, it’s pretty low-key. I’m glad to see Jacey fits in well. She’s funny and doesn’t offend easily, so none of our racy jokes bother her. She even adds a few of her own. She seems to enjoy us, too, if all the laughing is any indication. Watching Kevin play on the Xbox, it doesn’t take long before Jacey convinces him to show her how to play. Kevin has never interrupted a game to show someone else how to play before. I don’t think Jacey realizes how unusual this is. She’s pretty adorable when she plays the game. So expressive. Lots of grimaces, cries, yells, and laughs. She’s a kick to watch, and I enjoy experiencing the game through her reactions. She catches on far more quickly than I did and starts kicking ass in no time.
Her surprising talent has Kevin and Kayden both cheering her on together. Grinning, she gets up and stretches. “Okay, boys, I’m off to bed. Gotta be in school tomorrow.” She glances my way with a smirk. My stomach jumps at the intimate look we exchange. What? Where did this come from?
I rise to my feet. “Let me change my clothes. Then my room’s all yours.”
I quickly throw on my sweats and a t-shirt, grabbing some clean clothes for tomorrow. I’ll crash on the couch tonight since Kayden is back. She starts through the door just as I am coming out. We stop, close and touching, while grinning at each other. “Oops.” She slinks all the way through, and I feel my heart swelling. Damn. I am having a serious physical reaction to her. Even the most subtle, imperceptive interaction takes on new meaning and intensity.
“Goodnight, Jacey.”
“Night, QB1,” she says without even glancing up to see my smile. I shut the door. I’m still smiling and relaxed. I like having her here. Yeah, I do. She’s easy to be around and somehow, her presence seems to de-stress me. I’m always thinking and worrying about every factor of my life. Thinking about the team, the plays, the required practices, my conditioning, and the workouts I should be doing, my school work and studying, which I should be doing more of. My brain rarely shuts off except when I’m around Jacey. It is easier to relax with her and forget my tunnel vision. Her life outlook is so much sharper, and she’s aware of “the bigger picture.” Her needs to survive only provide me with a small glimpse of what real stress means and what is really important. Her childhood and teenage years were spent worrying about getting enough food to eat and having a roof over her head. My stress and worry pale in comparison. I feel self-indulgent as I realize that my worries don’t involve life and death. Sure mine are important, but my survival doesn’t depend on the outcome.
The guys stay up late with the Xbox, so I crash in Kayden’s bed and wish him luck on the couch. I need my sleep. In the morning, I roll over to my phone alarm and quickly get into the shower. I decide to leave Jacey sleeping and grab her before my second class, which is two hours later. But when I come out of the shower, she’s already dressed and waiting on the couch. Her doughnuts are coming with us, too. She smiles when I glance at her. “I think I owe Kevin a package of doughnuts.”
“It won’t hurt him to skip a few.” I duck back inside to dress and grab my backpack, wallet, and keys. I don’t eat anything. I’ll grab a coffee on the way. “You didn’t have to get up for my first class.”
“I wanted to. Full experience. Remember? I’ve never done anything like this.” She’s excited. Her eyes are bright, and I can tell it’s not fake.
I sweep my arm towards the door and say, “Then let’s get to class.” The sun is rising, and the sky is a soft blue, typical of late summer. Temperatures are starting to get crisper in the morning and more fall-like.
Halfway to the Economics building, she says, “I started the book you checked out for me. I didn’t get very far, but I managed to follow it.”
“Book?” I’m blank for a moment. She’s so eager to talk about it, then I nearly smack my head. “Crime and Punishment? You started reading it?”
“We agreed that I should.”
“Yeah, no, that’s great. What do you think so far?”
“I don’t know. It’s very different so I can’t formulate a response until I know what’s happening—”
�
��That’s the thing, Jacey, you aren’t being graded or told to read it. You get to decide what you think about the story, and you can analyze it however you want. Maybe it’s better to know nothing about it beforehand. You have no prejudgment or bias. Your opinion isn’t tainted; it’s a gut reaction.”
“I can’t even be sure of what I read, let alone my opinion of it. It’s way over my head. But I did check into the author. Wow, what a sad life he had. I don’t know anything about living during the 1800s in Russia, but it sounds pretty brutal.”
“I think it was.” Who would have thought I’d be walking with Jacey Walker this morning to my Economics class while discussing the life of Fyodor Dostoevsky? You never know what life brings you. “He was one of the most popular writers even in his own time. In the same class, we also read Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. It was really long, and I didn’t like it as much. But you might enjoy it.”
She nods. “Oddly enough, after the first page of Crime and Punishment, I felt like… I don’t know, like I clicked with it. Like I got it. But what if I didn’t read it correctly?”
“I’m sure you did. What clicked in your mind?”
“Being overburdened with worries of poverty and scarcity, it’s hard to make casual conversation with anyone. He doesn’t want to see his landlady for that exact reason, or at least, that’s what I think.”
“Yes. There. You just analyzed Russian literature. See? It’s not so hard, is it?”
She scoffed. “I know it’s way harder than you say, but did I get that right?”
“I read it that way.” She nods and ducks her head down, her thoughts still wrapped up in her mind. I’m careful to keep my face neutral although I want to smile. I’m not laughing at her or finding her amusing. No, what I feel is more tragic. She thinks she’s stupid and that she can’t read a paragraph correctly or properly interpret it? She wonders if what she feels after reading it is what she is supposed to feel. She has no confidence that she can relate to it. However, in my opinion, she does get it. I think she’s heartbreakingly sweet with her honest surprise over it, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to grab her hand and squeeze it.
She sits next to me. It’s a medium-sized class so no one notices her presence there. We sit through the professor’s lecture. She’s quietly intent, glancing around often and even mimicking the others in studying. She rarely fidgets and only moves when she thinks she should. I want to reach over, take her hand and give her permission to relax. No one cares that she is there. No one even notices. There is no prescribed way she should act or behave. Being quiet and not disturbing the professor’s lecture is all that’s required. Some students are half asleep with their heads on their desks. Others are zoned out, or fidgeting with their phones, or scribbling on paper or doing anything but listening attentively. Not Jacey. Sitting bolt upright in her chair, her gaze riveted on the professor, she is visibly absorbing his words while observing everyone else in the classroom.
She attends all my classes with me. All three. She’s just as devoted to learning in each one. With eyes as big as saucers, she could have been at an amazing Broadway show or a rock concert for the very first time. I never expected so much reverence and respect from her. Knowing her history, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she criticized my lifestyle, but she seems to find it fascinating. I think she likes seeing a way of life she never dreamed existed and feels intrigued to be a part of.
Finally, it’s time I take her home. “You sure you want to drive that far? I could take the bus, you know,” she says.
“It’s no big deal. Mom will just make sure to cook a huge dinner, so it’s a win-win.”
She nods with a smile. As we drive home, she continues asking questions about my classes, my favorite professors, my toughest schedules, the various degrees one can earn, and on and on. Things I’ve never thought about or felt the need to articulate. No one ever asked me so many details about what I study, the degree I’m earning, or how I managed to get student housing. Everything is so new to her. It’s kind of sad but also fascinating when I imagine the level of her curiosity. It’s extraordinary.
At some point, she grimaces. “I’m probably driving you nuts.”
“No. It’s fine. Anything you want to ask me. Actually, I’m enjoying it. It makes me suddenly appreciate what I have, and I’ve never done that. You make me realize how lucky I am to be there, doing what I’m doing.”
“I love the city and the neighborhood and the campus. Oh. But the commons in front of the library is by far my favorite. That’s a place I’d go just to unwind. Feel my Zen.”
“Feel my Zen? Can’t say I’ve ever once done that anywhere.”
Her head shakes, sending her braids flying. “Oh, Lord, me neither. Where and when in my life could I ever have done that? I considered myself lucky for all the nights I got to sleep in the same bed. Zen teaches you how to relax and be at one with the universe and meditate. That campus just felt like the first place I could do something like that.”
When Jacey asked to see my school, I assumed she wanted to see the football game and party afterwards, hence what we did the first couple of nights. But no. She actually wanted to see the library and the Political Science building’s unique architecture. I don’t think she had any idea she wanted to see it or that it would excite and intrigue her like nothing else ever has. It’s hard not to compare my own experience at school under a much brighter, shinier light of pure luck and undying gratitude.
Jacey doesn’t seem to resent my luck and her unfair hardship. She doesn’t hold it against me or anyone else. She’s nice. And it’s genuine. I’m considered nice sometimes, but it’s usually because I’m polite and mannerly. I am first to admit that I judge other people from the standards I set for myself. I don’t generally accept people for who they are. I judge them by what class they occupy in life, unlike Jacey. She never compares her own circumstances to theirs.
“Jacey? Would you come to the game the weekend after next and stay with me again?”
She scoots towards me. “Could I?” she replies, and her eyes widen with excitement. “What about Kevin and Kayden?”
“They love you. Xbox heroine and all that you are. Plus, Kevin might actually be in love with you.”
She ducks her head and blushes with pleasure. Is she embarrassed? Touched? “We both love to eat doughnuts.”
“Come back again. I liked having you there. It was so much fun. We can discuss Dostoevsky some more.”
Her head nods. “No guy ever talked to me before like that. No one ever asked me to plan on participating in a literary discussion of a Russian classic. What if I have nothing to say about it?”
“Then we’ll not mention a word of it. No tests. It’s just for fun. You seemed intrigued, and I know you liked it. What was it you said?”
“New stuff in, new stuff out.”
“Yeah, that. What is that? I’ve heard you mumbling it before like you were chanting it.”
Her head whips around, and she’s stares hard at me. I glance her way and then back to the road. “You heard me?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“It’s… well, I had this counselor for two years who taught me a lot. She helped me wade through much of my childhood traumas and showed me how to dissect the factors of my poor choices. Then she’d suggest how I could do things differently. Kind of like role playing but the stuff we discussed actually happened to me. She broke it all down to these little sayings that she taught me to summarize our lessons. Things like Nothing healthy in, how can anything healthy come out?”
“What were you chanting the first morning you stayed with us? You were in the bathroom. I could hear you, but I wasn’t sure what you were doing.”
She presses her lips together. “Weren’t you already downstairs at that point?”
“I came back up for a sweatshirt, and I heard you talking to someone in the bathroom. I assumed you were on the phone, but it sounded like you said the same thing over and over.”
S
he groans and pulls her knees up as she hides her face. “Crap. Yeah. I was. I can’t believe you heard me. Did you think I was crazy?”
“Of course not. I thought you were pretty amazing to hold yourself upright on your own two feet and get away from a bad situation.”
She peeks to the side of her knees. “You did?”
“Yes. Now what was the—”
She interrupts. “Rachelism.”
“Rachelism? And that is?”
“Rachel Lesley was my counselor, and her snippets of advice are what I call Rachelisms.”
He nods. “I like it. “What Rachelism helped you get through that day?”
“Choose better because you deserve better.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s a good one. And I’m glad you see that now.”
“If I say it enough, I might. But I’m always working on it.”
Rachelisms. I store that away in my brain, and my heart softens towards her. I glance her way, but she’s staring out the window. Damn! This girl. So tough and strong, and soft and sweet. She’s shown me so much about my own life by sharing hers. Whoever Rachel is, I want to thank her for undoing some of the damaging ordeals that Jacey endured. Rachelisms. The same kind of advice my parents always told me is what Jacey recites to herself in order to remember and believe it. It twists my heart and makes me sad. I want to cuddle her in my arms and convince her that she’ll never be treated badly again.
After a few moments, she adds, “I was thinking about asking your mom if I could work at the café.”
“That’s what she’s been thinking, too. She even asked me about it last week. It’s a good plan. But you can still come to school and visit me. She won’t care.”
“I need to work and get my life going.”
“Jacey, you’ve never enjoyed much, from what I can tell. Come back to my school. Enjoy yourself. Be young. Be dumb at times, and have some fun when it can’t hurt you or anyone else. I think my parents would definitely approve of that remedy for you. Especially when ‘young’ and ‘fun’ now include the Russian classics.”