by Geneva Lee
10
Adair
The Past
The perk of not starting classes again until next term is that no one seems to notice I’ve gone into hiding. At least, not at first. Following my disastrous birthday party, I found myself more than happy to avoid the Valmont campus, along with my friends. My dad’s been in and out of town on business or busy with the latest personal trainer that assures him he’ll walk again someday. Malcolm is busy with his campaign and wedding plans. The only person to show any interest in me is Felix, but now he has stopped making cookies every time I show up. Apparently, this is one heartbreak chocolate chips can’t cure.
Maybe because—despite everything—I won’t let myself fall to pieces. After the way Sterling treated me, I just couldn’t let myself fall apart again. I thought he was different, and the fact he was a grade-A asshole and I failed to notice it falls squarely on my shoulders. Even if he misunderstood what he overheard—and he did—I’m not about to let him treat me like that, drunk or not. In fact, in my experience, a person shows you who they truly are when they’ve been drinking. I have a lifetime of memories to back that up.
I’m on my second binge of The Vampire Diaries when Poppy bursts into my room with Kai. My first sign that she’s up to something is her sly smile and the tight black jumpsuit she’s wearing. Normally, I wouldn’t put the words sexy and jumpsuit together, but this one dips low in the front, showcasing the swell of her cleavage, and hugs her rear so tightly she almost looks like she has an ass. Her shiny, dark hair bounces around her shoulders, setting off her ruby lips. Kai looks more casual but equally cool in a pair of black jeans and a slim-fitted button down, sleeves rolled up. His hair is combed strongly to one side, a swatch of jet black.
I pause the television. “Why do I feel like I’m on a reality TV fashion intervention?”
“Because you are,” Kai says with a grin.
At least I’m not hallucinating.
“You cannot stay in bed forever.” Poppy wastes no time. She marches to the window and pushes open the drapes I’ve refused to open all week.
Twilight streams into the room, and I wince, grabbing a pillow to block it.
“I think she might be a vampire now,” Kai says. “It’s practically dark out and she can’t handle any sun.”
I reach for another pillow and toss it at him, missing entirely. Despite my objections, it feels good to see them. Trust Poppy to know exactly when to force me to come out from my shell.
“We’re going to a party tonight,” Poppy says, throwing open my closet doors and walking inside it.
I scoot out of bed. I can’t trust her in there alone. Who knows what she’ll come up with. Kai follows me inside and whistles.
“This isn’t a closet. It’s Versailles,” he says.
“The MacLaines don’t do anything half-way,” I say flatly. Whoever built my walk-in had a flair for the dramatic. I suspect my mother had something to do with the way it turned out.
She’d been so excited to have a little girl that she went a little overboard with decorating, the closet being no exception. The ten-foot ceilings and two hundred square feet would have been over-the-top by any standards, but—whether due to hormones or excitement—she hadn’t stopped there. Carved moldings decorate the in-set shelves, covered lightly with gold leaf. The shelves themselves are a warm ivory. The far wall boasts a floor-to-ceiling antique, Rococo mirror, flanked by carefully buttressed shelves for shoes. In the center of the massive space was a large, marble-topped island with a fresh bouquet of magnolias in a towering crystal vase, delivered daily by one of the maids. The island itself houses drawers and drawers of jewelry, some of it family heirlooms, the rest cheap stuff I picked up at the mall. For as long as I can remember, mom had kept the whole closet stocked with clothing, adding to it each season and sending away old pieces. Standing here now, I realize that she’ll never sneak in a new dress from her latest shopping trip. I’ll never open a drawer to discover a new pair of earrings with a note from her that she couldn’t help herself. I never cared much about dressing up, mostly because she made it so easy. Now, everything in here is a reminder of her—of what I’ve lost.
“Can’t I just wear jeans?” I ask in a flat tone.
“When you have all of this?” Kai holds up a sequined mini-dress that shimmers like champagne in the light. “Does it suit me?”
“It’s yours.”
“Jeans?” Poppy repeats theatrically, like she has never heard the word before.
“Lots of people wear jeans to parties,” I tell her.
The look on her face says that might be true, but not in this zip code. She bites her lip as if considering how far to push me on it. Finally, she shoves the hangers she’s rifling through back together. Trudging across the closet, she pulls out a pair of dark denim jeans so skinny I’ll have to wear them inside my skin.
“Here.” She tugs them off the hanger and tosses them to me. Then she moves to another rack, flipping through the hangers until she finds a boxy, white blazer. “And this.”
Kai moves next to me and we watch her work her magic.
“She’s really in her element,” he says. “It’s like watching one of those wildlife shows on the Discovery channel.”
“The female predator moves in for the kill,” I narrate as she digs into a drawer.
“Aha!” she says triumphantly, ignoring us entirely. “The final piece.”
“And pounces,” Kai adds to my narration.
“What are you two on about?” she asks, spinning to hold up a delicate black bralette.
“What are you on about?” I stare at it, trying to figure out how all of the pieces go together.
She lays the blazer on the marble counter, tucking the bralette under it. “Sexy but comfortable.”
“I was thinking t-shirt,” I mumble. She shoots me a look that tells me I better not push my luck.
Rolling my eyes, I strip off my satin pajama shorts and wriggle into the jeans. I forgot how tight they are. They come up high on my waist, covering my belly button, which is a blessing given that I’m not allowed an actual shirt. Poppy tosses me the bralette, and I put it on, thankful to discover it’s not sheer enough to show my nipples. Finally, I slip into the white blazer.
“So?” I turn for their inspection.
“You look amazing,” Kai says.
“Seriously.” Poppy takes me by the shoulders and guides me to the mirror. She bunches my hair up on top of my head, lets it fall down, then repeats the process. “I can’t decide.”
“Up,” Kai says.
I feel like a paper doll being dressed up by two gleeful children, but I can’t deny that I actually look pretty cool. It’s not something I would have come up with on my own. Poppy piles my copper hair on top of my head while Kai offers critical analysis.
“Can I wear sneakers?” I ask as Poppy holds up a pair of thin hoop earrings.
Neither of them answer, which is a response in itself.
Twenty minutes later, after I talk them down from a pair of gorgeous—but impossible to walk in—Louboutins, opting instead for ankle booties with a stacked platform heel, we head out through the kitchen.
“Going out?” Felix asks, coming around the corner.
Poppy and I both jump, earning a laugh from Kai. “You scared me!”
“I’m not the one creeping through the house like a burglar,” Felix says dryly. He busies himself with a notepad. “Will you be home late?”
“Um…” I’m not sure how to answer that. It’s not like my dad will notice or care that I’m gone. We only went through the back so we could take the Mercedes without him noticing—something he will care about. “Don’t know.”
Felix glances up from his notes and studies the three of us for a moment. Then he sighs. “I’ll make cookies.”
* * *
The party is off campus, which is a nice change because I’d gladly never set foot in another fraternity. The house sits a few blocks from the quad in a neighborhood
of homes mostly occupied by groups of upperclassmen looking to get away from campus restrictions. It’s your typical fixer-upper converted into a rental unit. A hundred years ago, it was probably a stately home for a professor and his family. Now it’s mostly barren, which leaves plenty of room for students to cram into it. Tye dye tapestries hang on the walls, and the furniture looks like it was bought secondhand decades ago. But there’s a keg in the living room and the night is fairly warm for November, so the party has spilled outside into the back yard.
“Want a beer?” Poppy asks as we weave our way inside.
I shake my head and hold up the keys. “I’m driving.”
“We can walk to campus,” she calls over the crowd. “You can crash in my room or…”
“Or what?”
“I’m sure Sterling would let you sleep at his place,” she says meaningfully.
I’ve been waiting for this. I’d been purposefully vague about what went down with Sterling and me the night of my party, saying we had a fight. Poppy hadn’t pushed me for answers, and part of me was beginning to hope she might let it go, especially once I agreed to return to the land of the living. No such luck.
“Sterling Ford’s bed is the last place you’ll find me,” I yell back, adding, “Ever!”
“Got it,” a harsh voice growls behind me. Poppy’s eyes widen in response. She looks to Kai, and then they both look at me, mouths open.
This can’t be happening. Again. What is it they say about repeating past mistakes? I guess where Sterling is concerned, I’ll never learn.
“I’ll find you in a minute,” I promise my friends. Gathering up my shredded dignity, I put on my gameface, and turn to glare at him. My knees weaken immediately, my body betraying me, but I lock them and do my best to avoid his piercing blue eyes. “You might as well know, since you couldn’t be bothered to end things face to face.”
“I think I did.” He smirks, lifting a bottle to his lips and taking a swig.
“Wait! Are you drinking again?”
“Never stopped,” he says sloppily. “Turns out that booze is nearly as easy to score on this campus as ass, if you know the right people. Guess I was wasting my time before.”
I recoil like he stabbed me in the stomach.
“You’re a dick,” I hiss at him.
He leans closer, and I smell stale beer and the sharp tang of old liquor on his breath. Up close I realize he hasn’t shaved for a few days and his shirt is a wrinkled mess. “There you go thinking about my dick again. I know I told you no before, but if you ask nicely, I might just give you a free pass tonight, Lucky.”
“Don’t call me that.” The nickname that was once endearing now feels like a ploy at best—a slap in the face at worst. “And find someone else that will put up with your shit.”
“I always do,” he slurs. “Every single night.”
I storm away, pushing through the crowd. I need to put as much distance between us as possible before the tears come. There is no way I’m crying over him in front of him. He doesn’t deserve it. I hear Poppy call to me, but I keep going until I reach the back door. Outside, I suck in a long, steadying breath.
“Adair!”
I look up to see Cyrus standing with some guys. He says something to them and heads toward me.
“Hey,” I say weakly.
“You okay?” He puts a hand on my shoulder, his eyes squinting with concern.
“Fine. I just ran into your roommate.”
Cyrus frowns, glancing behind me. “He’s a bit of a mess.”
“He’s a dick,” I say. “I can’t believe you put up with it.”
“I stopped sleeping in the room,” Cyrus says.
“How could you sleep with a carousel of girls coming and going?” I tighten my jaw like I can bar the raw ache from working its way to the surface. Why did I let my friends talk me into coming here tonight?
“Girls?” he repeats, shaking his head. “More like a perpetual happy hour without the happy part. I only stop by to make sure he hasn’t died of alcohol poisoning.”
“He said…” I blink a couple of times trying to process this new information. “He’s just sitting there, drinking?”
“Like a fish,” Cyrus confirms. “You were probably smart to drop him when you did. At this rate, he won’t make it past his first semester. He’s got to be failing all his classes. I feel bad for him, though. I thought maybe going out would help him get it out of his system. I didn’t know you would be here.”
Suddenly, I’m on information overload. It’s not like it’s my fault that Sterling is pouring his life away one drink at a time, but I can’t deny that this all started the night of my birthday. And worse than all of that is the tiny, wicked glimmer of satisfaction I feel learning that he’s a mess without me. I’m sure it makes me a terrible person, but still not as bad as he is.
“Come meet the guys,” Cyrus says.
I’m grateful for the distraction. I need to take a break from all of this, get it off my mind, and just relax. For the last two weeks, I’ve been zoning out and rewatching old television shows—the kind of stories where the guy and the girl always make up in the end. Maybe it’s past time to admit that’s just a fantasy. Reality is much uglier, and there’s no script heading things toward a happy ending.
Cyrus introduces me to the guys, who turn out to belong mostly to Beta Psi, the fraternity he pledged earlier this fall. They all say hello and return to their discussions about the football team’s chances in their upcoming game.
One of them, tall with sandy brown hair, edges closer to me. Leaning down, he confesses, “I know nothing about football. Don’t tell them.”
“I grew up in the South. I know too much about football,” I say with a laugh.
“Is that my problem?” he asks. “I mean, we have football in Vermont, but it’s not like this.”
“Vermont, huh? A hockey town?” I ask.
“Now you’re really emasculating me,” he teases. “I thought when I came here I would never have to fake hockey talk again.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I assure him. “What are you into…?”
“Jeremy,” he reminds me.
“Sorry.” I glance at the ground, embarrassed to have forgotten his name already.
“That’s okay. You’d be a genius if you could keep all of us straight.” He tips his head toward the house. “Can I get you a drink?”
I think back to my earlier promise about being the designated driver and hesitate.
“It’s cool, if you don’t want to,” he says. “I just want to be hospitable.”
“Is this your place?” I ask.
“Yep. Me and a few guys decided the frat house was a bit too crowded. We can control parties a little easier here,” he confesses.
“I’d love to grab a drink,” I decide. I’ve learned my lesson about accepting drinks from anyone I don’t know, no matter how hospitable they are. But I’ve met Jeremy, and he knows Cyrus, who has been around since before I formed memories. Besides, I’ll watch him like a hawk.
We make it into the kitchen, and Jeremy butts in to the keg line to pour a beer from the tap. I watch him the whole time and grab it as soon as it’s out. This cup isn’t leaving my sight the rest of the night.
“Took that freshman orientation tip about watching your cup pretty seriously, huh?” he says with a laugh as we find a quiet spot by the door.
“Unfortunately, I learned that lesson the hard way,” I tell him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says instantly. “That was a stupid joke.”
“It’s okay. I was lucky.” I curse inwardly at my choice of words. “I had friends there and made it home safely.”
“But you learned your lesson.”
“Yep.” I take a drink, realizing that the lesson I’d forgotten was that beer tastes gross. I smile at him over the rim of my Solo cup. “So, not into sports.”
“I’m more of a thinker. I’m going into engineering.”
“Cool.”
I pray that this doesn’t trigger a conversation about engineering, because I know nothing about it and I’m interested even less.
“What are you majoring in?”
Well, that subject is nearly as bad. “Right now? Nothing. I took a semester off.”
“Right on.”
“I’m coming back in January, though,” I say quickly. “I think I’ll major in English.”
“Cool.”
I guess he doesn’t know much about my preferred field, either. We linger for a moment in awkward silence before a new song starts in the living room.
“Want to dance?” he asks, just as I spot Sterling’s brooding face behind him.
“Yes!” I abandon my beer on the counter and grab his hand.
I drag Jeremy toward the unofficial dance floor. So, it’s not my finest moment, but a girl can’t be held accountable when the guy who broke her heart is a few feet away, especially if said heart is still in pieces. Plus, Jeremy seems like a nice guy and I’m determined not to let Sterling’s presence ruin my night.
Jeremy suffers from the typical male problem of mistaking grinding for dancing, but since I want to make it clear I’m not waiting around on Sterling, it works out in the end. The crowded room is sticky from so many bodies being packed so tightly into the small space. After a few minutes, I feel Jeremy’s hands on my hips. I lean into it, letting my body take over. I lose track of the number of songs we dance to. At least Jeremy has stamina. His hands turn me around so my back is against his body. Then his arms wrap around my waist, holding me closer to him, and I realize that stamina isn’t the only thing he has—he’s also got an erection. I wiggle, trying to put a little distance between us. The message he’s sending is coming through loud and clear. It’s time to send a response.