The front door opens, and before I turn around, a familiar male voice booms, “Better not be puttin’ your grimy paws on my lady!”
I laugh and raise my hands in mock defense. “Yes, sir!” Slowly, I turn around, and my uncle Johnny, my dad’s brother, strides over and pulls me in for a quick hug before backing away to survey me.
“Boy, you just keep growin’ taller every time I see you.”
I laugh. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen me.”
He grimaces with an apologetic expression. “Yeah, I know.” He shakes his head, gazing at the car. “Once things took off, it seems like I’ve hardly had time to breathe.”
My uncle started a custom body shop outside Atlanta. I don’t think anyone expected his business to achieve success as fast as it did, but after he toyed with his own ’68 Corvette and revamped the entire look, making it sleeker with all the custom work, word of mouth spread about Custom Motorwerks. He travels to overseas car shows to show and, often, sell his “projects,” as he calls them.
We both study the Chevelle for a beat. “Jay told me you did some work on your truck.” He turns his attention to it, and I suddenly feel embarrassed.
“I, uh, haven’t done any major work on it.”
He steps up and runs a hand over the front fender, then surveys the rest of the modifications on the body work before his gaze flicks to me. “You do all this yourself?”
I run a hand over my hair nervously. “Yes, sir.” Then I rush to tack on, “But I had some help from my girlfriend’s dad.”
His eyes trace over the vehicle. “Nice.” He straightens. “You know, you could always shadow me in my shop if you want some hands-on experience. Apprenticeships are hard to come by, but judgin’ from this,”—he tips his head to my truck—“you’ve got potential.”
I nod in thanks. “I appreciate it, but I’m headin’ to Auburn.”
He studies me for a moment, and I wonder if he knows just how much I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life.
Dad suggested I major in business, but I think he wants me to be the first college graduate of the family more than anything. I can’t fault him for wanting more for me. It just sucks not having a real clue about things.
“Well, if you change your mind, you know how to reach out.” He winks. His eyes crinkle at the corners, so similar to my dad when he smiles.
Which is more rare these days, unfortunately.
Uncle Johnny claps a hand on my shoulder. “Now, tell me all about this girlfriend of yours. Your dad said sh—”
“Hollis! You’ll never believe this!” Magnolia rushes around from the backyard to my driveway. “I found—” When she notices that I’m not alone, she comes to such a comically abrupt stop that I can’t restrain a laugh.
Her mouth forms an O. Immediately, I watch the transformation from my Magnolia into the prim and proper one her mother had a hand in creating.
She straightens and smooths down her simple sundress. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt like that.”
Before she can excuse herself, my uncle pipes up with, “You must be the girl I’ve heard all about.”
My head whips around, and I part my lips to correct him, to tell him she’s not my girlfriend, but Magnolia beats me to it. She approaches us, coming to a stop a few steps away on the driveway.
“Oh, no, I’m sure that’s not correct.”
Phew. That was close.
She smiles sweetly. “Unless you’ve heard only delightful things about me, of course.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Well,” my uncle starts, eating right out of her sweet, Southern hand, “I heard his girlfriend was a pretty little thing who spent nearly all her time helpin’ him with this truck of his.”
The instant it dawns on Magnolia, it’s so obvious it’d be hilarious if this were any other situation. But I don’t want to embarrass her any more than she is. I jump in with, “This is Magnolia, Uncle Johnny. She lives in the house behind us.”
“Magnolia,” he repeats, clearly having been told about her by Dad. “Yes, I’ve heard about y’all bein’ joined at the hip.”
She relaxes minimally, but her polite smile looks a little brittle around the edges. “Yes, sir. Hollis and I have been best friends since we were eight.”
“When you forced me into it,” I mutter good-naturedly with a smug grin.
“Oh, you!” She swats at me, and I laugh before telling my uncle how she’d introduced herself that day.
He chuckles. “Sounds like you’re a force to be reckoned with, young lady.” Then he turns to me. “You’re one lucky guy with two lovely ladies in your life.”
It catches me off guard only because I’ve never actually thought about it, but he’s right. I gaze down at Magnolia and nod.
“I reckon I am.”
Magnolia
AUBURN UNIVERSITY
Auburn, Alabama
FRESHMAN YEAR
Dallas broke up with me within the first week of classes, and I was surprised how easily I got over it. Sometimes, I miss him a little, but I reckon what I really miss most is having an actual boyfriend my parents approve of. It’s probably for the best that my courage fizzled out on me on prom night and I didn’t lose my virginity to him.
College life is a brand of insanity all its own. It’s a combination of overwhelming, fun, and stressful.
I lucked out when it came to dorms, though. My dorm is coed by floor, and Hollis is on the second while I’m on the third. Although our class schedules don’t coincide, I sometimes get to see Hollis in passing on the stairs. Once or twice, I’ve run into him at the library when I’d been studying for an exam.
He and Charlotte have continued dating, and he’s invited me to join them several times, whether it’s to a bar or a club, some campus event, or a football game, but I’ve declined. I’ve distanced myself a bit, letting them have their time together, because the last thing I want is to be a third wheel.
The worst part about declining their invitations to hang out is, it means I haven’t seen or had much time with my best friend in a while. And, boy, do I miss him. At least we still text.
It’s Friday, and I’m being held captive—along with my other classmates—by Professor Jenner in my American Foreign Policy class. He’s notorious for going off on tangents and droning on with stories from his experience working in DC. They never have anything anyone can glean from them and have nothing to do with the exams, so I find myself zoning out, wondering what’s on the menu in the dining hall since I’ll escape this class by one.
My phone lights up where I’d slid it partially beneath my binder. Carefully, even though Professor Jenner doesn’t notice since he’s so enthralled by his own storytelling, I slide it out to read the text.
Hollis: Whatever you do, do NOT eat the meatloaf for lunch.
Then he attaches a GIF from the movie Wedding Crashers with Will Ferrell hollering to his mother about meatloaf. A split second later, he sends another GIF with the famous basketball player Shaq, saying, “NO, NO, NO, DON’T DO IT!!!”
I quickly type a response, telling him to stop making me laugh since I’m in class.
Hollis: Are you coming to Azalea’s tonight? It’s Friday, after all. Need some downtime.
I’m already preparing to type no even though I’ve heard that bar is a fun place to go. Apparently, they have a bunch of rooms, some with pool tables, a karaoke room, one designated for live bands, and a large sports bar.
Hollis: If you give me some lame excuse one more time, I swear I’ll convince your roommate to let me in, and I’ll drag you out myself.
Hollis: Not kidding.
I worry my bottom lip and type.
Me: I just want you and Charlotte to have time together, that’s all.
There. That’s safe, right? Not rude or petulant sounding.
I hope.
Hollis starts typing, those three little dots dancing, and I flick my eyes up to my professor to make sure he hasn’t swit
ched gears. Sure enough, he’s now reminiscing about how he met the Clintons. When I focus back on my phone, I nearly jerk in my seat. Shock reverberates through me.
Hollis: We broke up.
Hollis: I thought you knew.
Whoa. Sweet mother of all that’s holy, I had no idea.
I start typing but then erase. Crap. I don’t know what to say. Is he heartbroken? Angry?
Hollis: It’s cool, Shortcake. Mutual agreement.
I snicker under my breath.
Me: Get out of my head. Mind reading is freaky.
He sends a GIF of someone laughing maniacally.
Hollis: Now, are you coming out with me or not?
I sigh inwardly. I guess it might be okay. One thing’s certain; it’ll be nice to hang out with him again.
Me: Okay.
Hollis: I’ll come scoop you up at seven.
It’s October, and our football team doesn’t have a game this weekend, so things aren’t quite as hectic around campus with hardcore tailgaters. The more subdued atmosphere of our dorm is indicative of that.
Inside my room, though, I’m a hot mess. All because I cannot, for the life of me figure out what I should wear tonight.
“You have a hot date tonight or something?” Stephanie, my roommate, asks in her usual bored tone. I don’t take it personally, though. She has the same tone when she aces an exam after stress-eating peanut M&M’s from the Sam’s Club monster-sized bag.
My parents argued with me over this roommate arrangement. They’d insisted they could pay extra and get me a private suite, but I wanted the entire college experience—complete stranger of a roommate and everything.
Stephanie is my complete opposite. From Michigan, she’s totally comfortable in her own skin, doesn’t seem to care what others think of her, and she marches to her own drum. From her penchant for dying her hair colors only found in a rainbow and painting each of her nails a different color, she’s bold and so beautiful in the way she carries herself. I admire her, and well, I also envy her.
She’s also far more experienced when it comes to frequenting bars around campus. I admit, I told my parents I wanted the full college experience, but the truth is, I haven’t been brave enough to chase it.
“Not a date. Just goin’ out with a friend.” I continue surveying the contents of my small dorm closet. “Tryin’ to decide what’s appropriate to wear to Azalea’s tonight.” Then I quickly add, “I’ve never been there before.”
Silence greets my answer so I assume she’s done with our conversation. It isn’t until she suddenly appears at my side, startling me, that I realize she’s still listening.
“Okay, first of all, you have friends?” Her eyebrows nearly hit her forehead in shock. “Because I’ve never once seen you go out with anyone.”
I press my lips thin and squint at her. “Must you be so rude?” As soon as the words spill out, I cringe because I sound exactly like my mother.
She just takes it in stride. “All right…now, take the stick out of your ass and say that like a normal nineteen-year-old would.”
A laugh escapes me because she’s just so…different from anything or anyone I’ve ever met. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”
She weighs my response before grimacing. “Meh, I’ll let that sad attempt slide. Better, but it needs work. Now”—she levels me a serious look—“let’s talk about the fact that you’ve never been to Azalea’s before. How is this even possible?”
My tone is dry when I say, “I’m guessin’ you’ve been there before.”
The disbelief plastered on her face tells me the answer before she even answers. “I thought everyone had. It’s kind of a rite-of-passage thing.” She shrugs. “Everyone knows they serve alcohol as long as you’re at least nineteen and have a college ID.” With a dry laugh, she adds, “Guess they figure they’ve got to have some standards and all.”
I’m terrible at this whole college thing. Everyone says these are the best years of our lives, but I still feel like I’m a random leaf that’s landed atop a river flowing aimlessly downstream.
Guess it’s better than being plopped somewhere in the murky waters of Mobile Bay.
“Okay,” Stephanie starts. “You obviously need assistance so”—she reaches a hand into the extremely cramped array of hanging clothes to retrieve a hanger with my favorite pair of designer jeans draped over the rung—“wear these and”—she plucks another hanger with a cute silky blue top with a silver pattern and hardly any back to speak of that I’d purchased on a whim the day before I moved into the dorm—“this.”
Like a statue, I stand here holding the two hangers. “But the top has hardly any back to it.”
At her raised eyebrows silently saying, And your point is? I add, “It’s chilly tonight.” And it goes without saying that I don’t want to take a jacket to a bar and keep track of it the entire night.
As though I’m a child who needs guidance, Stephanie explains patiently, “When you go to a bar, hordes of people are there, so it’s warm—hot, even—and you won’t need a jacket. Plus”—one edge of her mouth tips up in a hint of a smirk—“when guys see skin, it activates their inner caveman buried under the whole frat boy façade.” She slows down her speech. “This is a good thing.”
I stare down at the hangers in my hand. “I don’t know about this.”
She lets out an exasperated sound. “We’re getting you laid tonight, girl. Just put it on.”
I sputter. “But I’m not tryin’ to get…” I trail off because…well, that word sounds so crass.
My roommate’s lips quiver as she obviously tries to fight a smile. “Go ahead,” she drags out the words. Slowing her speech more, she says, “Laaaaid. Say it with me. Laaaaid.”
“Laid,” I manage to force out.
She lets out a huff so powerful it tousles her bangs. “That was weaksauce. Now, put on the clothes, wear those cute silver flip-flops, and put on that darker lipstick you have but never wear.”
I stare at her. “How do you know I have—”
She gives me a droll look. “Seriously? We’re roommates. You’re telling me you’ve never snooped through my stuff while I was gone?”
I rear back, mortified. “Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “I would never—”
She barks out a laugh and pats my cheek. “You’re just too precious. Now, get dressed. Wear the lipstick. Get laid.” Her features morph, resembling that of a stern teacher, and I tense. “But don’t bring him back here because I’ve got to study for this damn Intro to Religious Studies exam, and you know I can’t study in public.”
She told me about this when we first became roommates. Apparently, she does better on exams when she studies in her room versus at the library or a coffee shop and doesn’t feel like chancing that anytime soon.
Wide-eyed, I nod. “I promise not to bring anyone back.”
“Sweet. Good talk.” Then she returns to her side of the room and slides back into her desk chair to resume her studying.
By the time seven o’clock rolls around, I’m dressed in the Stephanie-approved outfit and wearing the darker lipstick she suggested. She gives me a quick thumbs-up in approval before turning back to her study material. The knock on the door is right on time.
I open the door to Hollis dressed in a pair of khakis and an untucked polo shirt. The shirt’s hem reaches the waistband of his pants, and on his feet are the nice pair of leather flip-flops I bought him for Christmas. When I drag my eyes back up his form, our gazes clash, and his eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Do I pass muster?”
I tip my head to the side with a smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Ready?”
I nod and turn to grab my little wristlet. As soon as I do, I hear a choked sound from behind me.
“Shortcake? Where in God’s creation is the rest of your shirt?”
“Whoa, dude. Hollis Barnes?” Stephanie calls out, leaning back in her desk chair. She narrows her eyes on him and throws up a hand. “Ho
ld up. You’re the friend she’s going out with tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She mutters something that sounds like, “All the ma’ams and sirs kill my damn soul,” before asking, “Are you prepared for the exam on Monday in Holt’s class?”
My eyes volley back and forth between the two of them. I had no idea they knew one another, let alone had a class together.
He gives her that quick wink that’s become so familiar. He’s probably the one guy on this earth who can pull off a wink and not have it come off as arrogant or sleazy. “I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be.”
She makes a sound of disgust. “I despise people who are naturally great test takers.”
“You’ll do fine,” he tells her. “Just don’t overdo it, or your brain will revolt.”
She mutters something and turns back. Hollis’ gaze flicks to me, his brows slanting together, a crease forming between them. “It’s a little chilly out there. Might want to change.”
Before I can part my lips to respond, Stephanie pipes up without even turning around. “She’s perfect as is, Barnes.”
He frowns. “I wasn’t tryin’ to imply—”
She exhales loudly and spins around. “Dude. She’s beautiful. You saying that she should change when she looks hot as hell is a little insulting.” Then she pins me with a look. “Don’t you dare change. You look so freaking perfect it makes me throw up a little in my mouth.” She spins back to her desk. “Now, please go so I can get some studying done.”
I press my lips thin, warring with indecision until I finally force myself to walk to the door. Saying goodbye to my roommate, Hollis and I walk down the stairs, talking like we normally would.
Conversation is easy, and I realize how much I’ve missed this. I shouldn’t have stayed away from him simply because of his relationship with Charlotte. Because of that, I’ve missed out on spending time with my best friend.
As we stroll on the sidewalk, I’m grateful Azalea’s isn’t but a block and a half away since there’s a slight chill in the air. I hesitate before finally asking, “What happened?”
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