3 Sides to a Circle

by Janna Watts

  “It would get used to it.” Libby starts to step back inside. “And do you want to be the smelly guy who never gets laid? Or the guy who has to lotion up once in a while for the ladies?”

  We all figure out the double meaning at the same time. Tomas grins, I burn up, and Libby laughs her loud, free laugh before rubbing my red cheeks.

  “Okay. A few more minutes. You ponder the state of your virginity.” She pokes Tomas on the arm.

  Oh. No.

  “Libby,” I hiss. “Don’t leave me—”

  “How did you know I was a virgin?” Tomas asks.

  “The smell, man, the smell…” She backs into the room.

  “Bet you’re not a virgin.” Tomas’s brows wag at me a few times.

  “Libby!” I yell, starting to feel a little frantic. There are not nearly enough people in these hallways to make me feel okay about standing near Tomas. “And none of your business,” I snap at Tomas. I’m not, but there’s no reason to give his imagination any more fuel. Not right now.

  “Just a few more minutes!” she hollers back.

  “I have class. I’ll see you two later!” I back away, not having any idea what time it is, or what my next class is, but needing away from Tomas, the smell and maybe some space from Libby’s crazy.

  As soon as I sit in my desk, I get a pang of guilt for not sticking around. But I feel a little better, because I did actually have a class. They’re moving poor Toby out of a really shitty situation with a roommate that makes me feel like I got a sweet deal. And I don’t hate Libby… It’s that I still don’t know what to do with her.

  Ten minutes into the lecture, short blond hair and startling blue eyes attached to a very nice body slip into the seat next to mine. Tall, but not too tall. Muscular, but not huge. His simple gray T-shirt pulls very nicely across his body. Everywhere Toby says “nerd” this guy says “cool”. Okay. That’s lame, but it’s all I can think as the faint smell of subtle, spicy cologne wafts my way. I’ve been here three weeks—how have I not noticed him?

  Our teacher is prattling on about the symbolism in The Grapes of Wrath, and I’m just counting the minutes until math, and maybe stealing a few glances sideways.

  I glance over at the blond guy again, and his eyes catch mine. He smiles an interested smile, one I’m used to seeing, but again it means nothing yet because he’s only reacting to what he sees, not what he knows.

  I stare at the teacher again, not wanting to enjoy smiles from some guy who is probably very much like the guys I dated in high school—cocky and a little too possessive. College is supposed to be about newness, and do-overs, and having a clean slate.

  “Miss Priest, do you have anything to add?” the teacher asks.

  “No, sir. Nothing to add,” I stammer, wondering why I was singled out.

  “We’re not in the military, Honor. Dr. Houseman is fine.”

  “Nothing to add, Dr. Houseman.” I swallow hard, praying he’s finished with me.

  “I like the color symbols he uses,” the blond says. “The yellows, greens, and reds come into play over and over.”

  The teacher nods, and I’m sort of stunned that a brain is attached to those very nice shoulders. And I want to hug him not just to feel his pecs, but to thank him for saving me.

  As I pack up after class, he reaches out his hand and I take it. No Libby here to trash this meeting. “Sawyer.”

  “Honor.” I shake my head as I slide my copy of The Grapes of Wrath into my bag.

  “Yeah. I know. Coffeehouse, during Future Freshman Days, remember?”

  Of course. First day of college. Shell-shocked from Libby. This was my barista. “I’m amazed you can keep up in here.” Oh God, I sound like I’m insulting him.

  “Yeah... I’m a painter, but books are a very close second.”

  “I didn’t mean…” I’m blushing. Again.

  He smiles. “Wanna walk with me?”

  “Sure.” It comes out before I think. Normally I say “no, thank you” and try to look busy because I’m never sure what to say, and for the guys I’ve dated up to this point, that didn’t matter. Here in college, it might matter. Though, I’m probably getting way ahead of myself in thinking that walking out together will lead to a date. But here I am, next to this guy because I immediately said yes.

  I panic as I wonder if maybe Libby’s bleeding off on me. And at the same time, I know that no matter how hard I try, I couldn’t be as open as she is.

  “So, you’re not a lit girl. What kind of girl are you?” As he turns a bit to see me, I notice a few splatters of paint on the sleeve of his jacket, which is sort of endearing since the rest of him looks so perfect.

  “Math. I’m here for design, but I’m trying to be well-rounded.” I roll my eyes. I sound like I’m giving a college interview.

  “Sounds like a parental thing.” He chuckles as he holds open the door for me.

  “Yes, it is. They wanted me to stay in the city, and I…” Am about to get way too personal.

  “Wanted to be somewhere else?” He raises a brow.

  “Yeah.” That’s the easiest explanation anyway.

  “And you got Libby.” He grins wider.

  “What? How do you know her?”

  “I work at Joe’s Coffee, remember?” His brows go up. “We all know her.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “I don’t do coffee.”

  “You do tea.”

  I stop. “How do you remember that?”

  He lets out a breath as if he’s deciding whether or not he wants to answer. “I notice people I’d like to paint.”

  My cheeks flush. “That was a really bad line, Sawyer.” And sort of tainted our meeting in a way he might not understand. The moment I’m in front of a camera or being watched like he’s watching me now, I become an object instead of a person. I’ve done too much modeling to feel any other way about his comment.

  “Not a line.” He shakes his head, but still looks at me too closely. “I guess that came out weird. I’m sorry. Maybe we could get together sometime?”

  But the way he’s sort of looking at me, and the way Libby would be in the middle and the way that Toby blushed at all of the same times I did, makes me take a step back. “Yeah, maybe. See you around.”

  I clutch my bag more tightly and head back to the dorm, wondering if that’s where I want to be or not. I’m also hating myself a little for walking away from him because Sawyer’s probably pretty nice, and I’m sure I just ruined any random chance I could have had with him because I seize up at the worst times.

  My laptop rests on my lap as I scroll through the stupid listserv that I’m supposed to be “contributing” to as part of my grade in American History. Ridiculous.

  “Why did you hang this if you weren’t going to put up pictures of all the friends you have scattered across America doing cool things?” Libby’s head rests off to the side as she stares at the few things I do have pinned on my corkboard.

  I open my mouth to blow off her question, but Libby can smell a blow-off a mile away. “I don’t have a lot of close friends. My dad was military. We moved a lot. When you’re shy, and people find out you…” model. Only I caught myself in time. “Well, that my dad was military, they treated me different.” Lie. It was because of the modeling. “They assumed I was stuck up instead of just quiet.”

  “But you dated, yes?” Libby’s brows wag.

  “Yep.” I finally think of a comment to make about the Spanish-American war on my listserv when Libby interrupts again.

  “Hot guys?”

  “Cocky jocks. And the girls in their circle were ready to claw my eyes out to get to them—hence the lack of goofy girl friend pictures on my board.” I sigh, hoping our conversation is over.

  My fingers hover over the keyboard.

  “So, you’ve had sex then?” she asks.

  “Should I set down my computer so we can play twenty questions?” I ask, trying to shove away the irritation but not doing a great job.

  “Nah. My life is
boring.” She grins, and her stupid smile disarms me almost immediately.

  “Where was your life?” And I’m wondering how deep in my paperwork I’d have to get to find my dorm room letter to get more information on her.

  “What?” she asks, but we both know she heard me.

  “Your family? Your mom? Dad? Siblings?” In the few weeks I’ve known her, I don’t know anything about her.

  “Oh…” she trails off as she turns back to my board, tracing the map with her fingers.

  Just as I’m about to press her, my phone rings.

  “Ugh. It’s my mom again.” I sigh. Mom will be wanting to go over all the possible jobs I could come home for, and then I’ll get the talk about what on earth am I doing in Ohio when I could be living at home and closer to the action, or how she’ll help however she can if I want to go to New York to do some more “real” modeling that I don’t know if I have the guts to try.

  “Let me.” Libby hands out her hand. “I’m great with parents.”

  “I don’t think—”

  But she’s answered my phone before I can stop her.

  “This is Honor’s phone, roommate Libby speaking,” she answers in a cheery voice.

  “Yes… Well, she has a study group over right now, and I told her I’d field her calls so she didn’t get interrupted… Home next weekend…? That would be a shame… Well, there’s this big ‘to do’ at the campus center next weekend. They’ll be talking careers and student loan stuff, and everyone says it’s always the best way to meet fellow students who are driven like Honor. We were really looking forward to it, but I understand if you want her home… Oh, really…? You think she should stick around…?” Libby’s pause is longer this time and I’m holding my breath because I know Mom wants me to do a local swimsuit thing next weekend, and I really don’t want to be home right now.

  “And you have every right to be proud. Honor’s been such a great roommate, and I think we both really push each other to work harder… It was great to talk to you too, Mrs. Priest. I hope we meet sometime soon. Thank you so much, I’ll pass it on… Bye.”

  I sit sort of stunned as Libby hands me my phone with a smug look on her face. “Your mom is proud of you and definitely wants you to stick around next weekend, and she’s glad you’re taking your education so seriously.”

  “Wow.” I’m stunned. I can never say no to my mom and have her be happy about it. Ever. “Thanks.”

  “Now, let me help you with some bullshit thing to say that’ll score you some points with your professor on that stupid thing you’ve been staring at for the last hour.” Libby plops beside me, and instead of arguing, I slide my computer onto her lap and give her a sideways hug.

  “Thanks, Libby.”

  “Hey, friends, right?” She makes this wide-eyed, big-smiled, excited face like she’s five and just got her first sundae. “Maybe we can make goofy friend pictures for your board?”

  “Of course we’re friends.” And once the words are out, I sort of realize we are. Like, just this fast, the girl that makes me crazy is also making me sane.

  Chapter Four

  Toby

  “Toby. What’s wrong?” Mom answers the home phone, and I can tell she’s exasperated and out of breath like she had to race up six flights of stairs to answer.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not Sunday.” I’m supposed to call on Sunday, when everyone is home and no one has school or work and they all just got back from church. But Sunday feels like it’s too long away and mostly our phone calls get cut off by football talk anyway.

  “I know. I just felt like I wanted to talk to you,” I start. I miss my mom. My whole family actually. More than I thought I would when I decided to leave the state for school. So much here is different than at home, and I feel like my mom would get that. She’s lived in Nebraska most of her life, but she spent two summers in New York City in her early twenties.

  “I’m gonna put your brother on,” she says, and I can tell she’s got a million things on her mind.

  “No, that’s all right. I just called to say—”

  There’s screaming in the background and Mom tells me to hold on. I can hear her yelling at one of my sisters that she can’t wear a skirt that looks like a belt to school.

  “You’re busy,” I say when she gets back on.

  “I am. Why don’t you call on Sunday? We’ll talk then.”

  This morning, I woke up wanting to tell her about Libby and Honor. Wanting to describe the library to her. Wanting to tell her there’s a much bigger world outside of our hometown, and I’m just starting to figure it all out. Now, I’m not sure why I called.

  “Yeah. Okay. Tell everyone I say hi,” I mumble then hang up.

  I’ve been living across from Honor and Libby for three weeks now, and I still can’t figure either of them out. Which sort of sucks because at this point, they’re my closest friends and maybe one of them could be dating material, but I can’t even begin to fathom that because I’m normally too trapped in the cyclone that is Libby.

  “Toby!” Libby screams, pounding on my door until I stumble from my bed and pull it open.

  “What?”

  Christ, she’s adorable. She’s in a tank top with her bright orange bra straps showing and oversized jeans that have slipped down so I see the top of her…thong. Sweet Jesus, I now know Libby has a thong.

  She looks me over. “Fuck. I thought I’d finally caught you masturbating. I can’t tell you how many different times I’ve tried. What the hell, dude? Aren’t you starting to get frustrated?”

  No. I do it in the shower where I’m sure Libby won’t barge in. And I’ve suddenly got thong to add to my fantasy material. But I’m not about to mention this.

  “Did you want something real?”

  She pushes her way into my room and eyes it skeptically. I have one poster on the wall and the rest of my room is sort of guy-standard. Navy comforter. Plaid sheets. Two tall stacks of books in the corner. I’m not obsessively tidy, but I can’t concentrate in mess, especially after Tomas, so the room is relatively clean.

  “You need to add something to this room. It’s like the saddest room in the entire world. The books are cool, I guess. And I know you like them. But one poster. And it’s a Serenity poster, no less. Don’t you like any bands?”

  I shrug. “Of course. But not enough to hang them on my wall. That’s high school.”

  She nods. “Okay. That’s true. I’d never trust a guy with band posters on his wall. But if he had like Monet or Degas or something, I’d probably jump him two minutes after meeting him.”

  Noted and filed away for the future.

  I grab my wallet from my desk and shove it in my back pocket. When Libby drops by, it’s usually with a coffee intention. “I thought you weren’t into guys?”

  I’ve been pushing this for weeks. Ever since she first brought it up in front of the tatted guy at the coffeehouse. But so far, she’s evaded my questions or gave me a bunch of vague answers. Not that she needs to come out to me or anything if she is gay, but I’m really curious. And frankly, if she’s batting for the other side, I’d like to know before I figure out if I’m even gonna make a move.

  I’m sort of from a small town and pathetically, we didn’t have one gay person in our entire high school. I’m not against it or anything, I just thought one of the great things about going to college outside of Nebraska would be to actually expand my world, and if I’m not gonna date her, having a purple-haired lesbian as a friend is pretty world-expanding.

  “I’m on the continuum, Toby.”

  I’ve read Kinsey. This is a bullshit answer, and we both know it. Before I can probe further, she grabs my hand and drags me out of my dorm room. “Where are we going? Coffee?” I ask.

  “Yes, but I’m actually already juiced. Mom sent chocolate-covered espresso beans, and I just snarfed half a pound of them. But we need to hit the coffeehouse to save Honor.”

  I stop. Honor. The other source of my constan
t morning discomfort. Although, she’s more of a vague presence. Definitely still a mystery. “Save her from what?”

  “Fucking things up with the painter.”

  My legs propel me forward again. “Honor has a painter? Why didn’t I know about this?”

  Okay, so two things have happened since basically spending all my free time with these girls: I’ve started to get used to Libby’s frenetic ramblings, and I’ve started to get really invested in chick stuff that I never would’ve cared about before. Especially if it involves how these girls feel about guys. It’s been a huge education. Like even better than having sisters because Libby does not hold anything back. And she will answer any question I have unless it’s directly about her. Honor is mostly quiet, but even she’ll sometimes weigh in on stuff I want to know or don’t get about girls.

  Small high school pretty much meant all the same girls since elementary. On top of that, I sort of grew into myself really late, and by the time that I actually looked like more than an eighty-pound weakling, almost everyone had paired off. Nebraska is sort of hardwired for high school sweethearts to grow fat together.

  My town, in particular, isn’t exactly progressive when it comes to going to college and moving out. Almost sixty percent of my graduating class wasn’t even going to a real college. And most of the ones that were had plans to go to the state school about forty-five minutes from town. I was one of three people in my class of one hundred and seventy-five who left the state after high school.

  “Yes, Honor has a painter. She won’t tell you because I think she’s worried about hurting your feelings. You’re kind of into her and she hasn’t made up her mind about you, but she’s got this painter who keeps asking her out so…”

  “What do you mean I’m into Honor?” I’m not into Honor. Okay, I’m maybe into Honor, but I haven’t cracked the code on her yet. And I also have a maybe lesbian girl I’m into who wears a thong and is so completely honest with me that it takes my breath away.

  So yeah, I’m the asshole cliché of being stuck in a love triangle that only exists in my mind.