The Opposite of Nothing

by Slade, Shari

  She scrunched her face up into a grimace, clamping her eyes shut and crinkling her nose.

  “You’re being a girl again.” He was teasing, but it worked like clipping the green wire when he’d meant to clip the blue. She gave a little shudder, dropped his hand, and then, more terrifying than any horror movie he’d ever seen, tears. Not ugly, gasping sobs, just a shiny trickle from the corner of her eye.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head and covered her face, forcing out a few ragged breaths. He didn’t know how to fix this mess. He wasn’t even sure how he’d made it. If he’d made it. He knelt beside the bed and drew her hand away from her face. “Tell me what to do. Cartwheels? Armpit farts? Hamlet’s monologue in Pig Latin? I’ll do it. Ootay ebay—”

  “Stop. Don’t look at me. I’m all snotty.” But her mouth had already quirked into a wobbly smile and she was pushing herself upright. His stomach unclenched.

  “You’re not.” He leaned in and smoothed over the tear trails with his thumbs, capturing her face in his hands. “You’re just a little damp around the edges.”

  She tilted her face into his touch and he reacted on reflex. Like breathing. He closed what distance still remained. A feather-light brush of lips at first, then deeper. So soft. He darted his tongue against the seam, parting her lips, tasting salty sweetness. He slid his fingers into her hair, loosening her ponytail, and pulled her even closer. Callie made a strangled sound in her throat, shocking him back to reality. He scrambled back.

  “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay.” It came out muffled. She had her hand over her mouth, probably to protect herself from further assault.

  “No. It isn’t. You’re my friend. And you have a boyfriend, even if he is being an ass. And I’m—I don’t even know. I just wanted you to feel better, and I reacted. It was an accident.”

  “It. Is. Okay. I swear. But if you don’t stop apologizing, I’m going to get a complex.”

  She didn’t look completely okay. She looked pale and rumpled and frightened with her fingers still splayed over her lips. And a little like someone had mauled her. Which was what he’d done.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She flinched at his reflexive apology. He just kept making things worse.

  “I’m tired. I don’t think we’re going to get any more studying in tonight.”

  “No, you’re right. I’ll go.”

  He stuffed his notes into his backpack. The closing zipper was impossibly loud, despite the movie still screeching on the chair. He forced himself to look back, to make sure she wasn’t rocking herself in a corner. She flashed a say cheese smile, all effort no emotion, and waved him out the door.

  He lingered in the hallway. What was Callie hiding? Not one fucking thing made sense anymore. The universe was pounding him into the ground. He grabbed for the door handle but pulled back like it might burn him. Thumping his fist against the wall, he pushed off into the night. It was like kicking off from the pool wall at the city rec center when he was a kid, eyes shut tight against the chlorine, rocketing forward in a straight line.

  Aaron was the one who’d taken him to the rec, taught him to cup his hands on the stroke, turn his head to breathe. He would fling him into the deep end and follow behind. Their bare chests had heaved with laughter as he’d tried to dunk his big brother. Eventually, Aaron had always let him, his body going limp as Tayber shoved down on the top of his head.

  He pushed his fists against his eyes, against the burn behind his eyelids, like he’d spent the day underwater. Fucking chemicals.

  * * *

  She quavered in the center of the apartment, bereft and detached. She recognized her rug and her lamp and the silly stuffed chicken she’d won at first year carnival but didn’t understand how any of it could still exist in a world where she was such a cataclysmic failure. A giant black hole should have swallowed everything up. She tapped her fingers against her lips in a vain attempt to recreate the delicious shock of his tongue. She’d been so damn close to having exactly what she wanted that she could literally taste him. His mouth was warm and sweet, like Fireballs or Red Hots. And she’d blown it. So overcome by the incongruity of a wish fulfilled that she’d frozen. A terrible, choking laugh bubbled to the surface.

  “I need a do-over.”

  She grabbed her stuffed chicken and crushed it against her chest before curling into a ball on the futon. She slept, fitfully, for a few hours. One dream barreled after another. Her teeth fell out. She stepped into an elevator and fell down the bottomless shaft. Every radio she touched only played static. She woke gasping and sweaty, mouth dry from an endless, silent scream.

  She padded barefoot to the fridge and grabbed a soda. Caffeine and sugar were exactly what she needed. No rest for the wicked, I guess. A do-over wouldn’t help anyway. He didn’t want to kiss her—that had been pity. A song she’d heard recently tickled at the back of her brain. She’d tweak a playlist for her next show.

  Blip.

  Tayber.

  Or a message from a professor. Possibly Viagra spam.

  Tay: I’m an asshole.

  Only the most heart-crushing asshole on the planet. Wanting to know why he thought he was an asshole, what he felt about what had almost happened between them, she swallowed the hard knot of panic that always grew in her throat whenever she started down this path and let her fingers hover over the keys. She couldn’t resist. Couldn’t even pretend to resist.

  Sasha: No you aren’t. Well, maybe. What did you do?

  Tay: Took advantage of someone I care about.

  He didn’t take enough advantage. Talking to him about herself was almost as painful as the long moments she’d spent stretched out behind him while the movie played, watching the back of his head instead of the tiny screen. She’d restrained herself then.

  Sasha: How?

  Tay: Kissed someone I shouldn’t have kissed.

  Tay: Shit, I shouldn’t talk to you about kissing other girls.

  Tay: I AM an asshole.

  His concern for her feelings, for Sasha’s feelings, acid-etched guilt into her dirty soul.

  Sasha: It’s cool. You can talk to me about anything.

  Tay: Good.

  The wrongness welled up, a boil she refused to lance. She had to do this. Had to know. And pretending was the only way. The pained expression on his face when he’d realized who he was kissing, like he’d made some horrible mistake, she couldn’t see that again. And he’d wear it if she asked him. Sasha, on the other hand, could ask him anything.

  Sasha: Why did you kiss her?

  Tay: I don’t know.

  Liar.

  Sasha: You just fell on her lips?

  Tay: No

  Sasha: She was convenient?

  She gnawed the ragged cuticle at the corner of her thumb. Waiting, waiting, waiting for confirmation. She knew it. He’d felt an urge that had nothing to do with her. She was simply the collateral damage of his indiscriminate libido.

  Tay: No. She was hurting. I wanted to fix it, and it just happened.

  A rush of breath escaped her lips, as if his words had jumped off the screen and pelted her in the chest.

  Sasha: Doesn’t sound like you took advantage of her to me.

  Tay: She’s my friend. It was wrong.

  Sasha: You shouldn’t be friends with the people you kiss?

  Tay: Usually I’m not.

  A mental slide show looped endlessly in her head, Tayber’s greatest kissing hits. The blonde up against the jukebox at The Brick, one hand splayed on her waist, the other cupping the back of her head, his leg wedged between her thighs. The redhead straddling his lap in the quad, his face buried in her neck. Jesus.

  Sasha: How was it? The kiss?

  When she read his answer, it was like he’d rung a bell inside her body.

  Tay: Right before I realized I shouldn’t be doing it, it was amazing.

  * * *

  “This is CJ Evans with Random
Nonsense on WCCC, The Cube, bringing you some gorgeous girl rock. And I don’t just mean pretty girls. Or even rock, in the traditional sense. I’m talking about capital M music. Lush vocals, arrangements that will drown you, and lyrics that heal while they hurt. Right now, I’m gonna let Ellie Goulding fill up the whole of our souls.”

  Jessa flashed an exaggerated eye-roll, exposing so much white it had to hurt, and pulled her headphones down around her neck. “This Love Will Be Your Downfall? Really?”

  “It’s a great track.”

  Jessa wrinkled her nose. Her dreads were knotted on top of her head, poking in every direction as she shook it. “It’s pablum, and you know it.”

  “You’d rather I play some crunchy Ani D.?”

  “Better. But you don’t need to wallow in that either. An infusion of classic Riot Grrl might do you some good.”

  It was how they’d bridged the gap from wary strangers to sort of friends. Dancing on the tiny isthmus of their barely overlapping eclectic tastes, sparring over music choices, debating the merits of indie cred over slick, corporate packaging until Jessa had caved with a huff, “Fine. It doesn’t have to be indie to be cool, but it sure helps.”

  Callie ignored the impatient click of Jessa’s tongue stud and braced for the inevitable backlash as she queued up her next selection, a local band’s punk cover of Fiona Apple’s Criminal. She held her hand up in protest as soon as the intro hit the sweet spot where Jessa would realize exactly what song she’d chosen. “Don’t.”

  “Oh hell no. I hope this streak of what-have-I-done music isn’t about last Friday night because you shouldn’t even worry—”

  “No, that’s not it at all.”

  “I’m sorry things got so intense. I thought we were having a good time, but Tim was being an ass. I told him I’d eat his balls for breakfast if he ever got that aggressive again. And what was with Tayber dragging you out caveman-style? You two hooking up?” Jessa’s voice was all curiosity and zero venom, but Callie’s palms still prickled, slick with sweat.

  “God, no.”

  “Don’t hold back on my account. We enjoyed a hot minute, but it was only a diversion. I never even let him past second base.” She spun in her chair, a tornado of mischief, an un-bottled genie. After almost two years, she was finally wearing down Callie’s reserves. She hadn’t understood at first that Jessa always meant what she said. For all her counter-culture trappings, she completely lacked artifice. The idea that Jessa and Tayber had diverted each other made her belly flip in an altogether unpleasant way. It wasn’t wrong. It was just so empty.

  Callie turned back to her laptop and cross-faded Criminal into an alt-country torch song that made her break out in gooseflesh every time she heard it. Random Nonsense was really living up to its name today. She shivered with the opening notes, her throat tight with longing and maybe hope. “So it meant nothing?”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing, exactly. But it wasn’t important. It was about feeling good, not about feelings.” Jessa’s mouth opened wide with surprise, like she’d solved a million-dollar puzzle. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

  “I do not.” Callie touched her cheek. Her face flamed hot with shame. She considered crawling under the soundboard. Her pulse sped up in terror of what would happen next. There would be mocking and ostracizing and—

  “Oh. My. God. You so do. You’re blushing purple.”

  Shit. Hurt and anger warred with fear. How could she be so stupid? Thinking she finally had a friend she could open up to, just a little. “Please don’t say anything.”

  Jessa’s smile faltered and slipped back into place. She pressed her thumb to her forefinger and drew them across her lips. “Zipped.” She wheeled herself closer and squeezed Callie’s knee. “And you have to know by now I would never do that to you.”

  The ache wrapping around her chest, crushing her lungs, slowly uncoiled. “I do. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Be happy. This is exciting. Go get ’em, tigress.” She squeezed Callie’s knee again.

  If only it were that easy for her.

  “Have we met? I can’t go get him. I’m, well, me. And he wouldn’t—”

  “He is obviously into you. I’ve never seen him play savior for anyone else.”

  “I may have gotten in my own way.”

  “Then fix it. Boys are easy. Just tell him what you want.”

  Chapter Five

  The Student Union was a collection of ratty couches and a few metal cabinets filled with ancient board games, clustered in a glorified alcove. Callie scanned for Tayber. He always crashed here between classes on Mondays, too lazy to trudge across campus to his dorm.

  She tripped on a wiffle ball and forced herself to stumble across the open space, drawn and repelled in equal measure. He was sprawled on a rust-colored sofa, his enormous, sneakered feet dangling over the worn arm. He had a notebook tented over his face, and his chest rose and fell with hypnotic regularity. Napping. In public. On purpose. She couldn’t even fathom such a risk. Actually, she could. Memories of a horrific eighth grade field trip to the Air and Space Museum threatened to pull her under.

  She’d walked every inch of the museum, twice, doing the scavenger hunt designed for teams all by herself. She’d been so tired by the time they boarded the bus home, she could barely drag herself to the one empty seat near the middle. When Quinn O’Neil sat beside her and smiled, she’d nearly collapsed from shock. She’d thought maybe it was an overture of friendship, that she’d served her time in purgatory, proved she could take whatever punishment they could dish out, and her sentence would be lifted. She’d thought wrong.

  “I like your jeans,” Quinn had said.

  Maybe Mom was right. Maybe a new outfit, still creased from the precision folding of a mall employee who’d bobbed to techno at the front of the store while she shopped, and a new attitude, had been exactly what she’d needed.

  “Thanks. I got them at—”

  “Oh, I know where you got them.”

  Of course she knew. She was Quinn Freaking O’Neil. Stores like that checked with people like her to decide what to sell in the first place. Quinn could wear a Hefty bag as a dress and everyone would call it couture.

  They’d sat in awkward silence after that, until exhaustion finally won. Callie had fallen asleep, dreaming of slumber parties and broken-heart necklaces and lunches that didn’t involve her sneaking Cheetos from the front pocket of her backpack when the librarian’s back was turned.

  She’d woken up—alone again—to a nightmare. The top of her thigh felt damp. She’d looked down to find confusing multi-colored blobs. What the...?

  While she slept, Quinn had decorated her jeans. Not with daises or hearts or even initials. She’d drawn the word LOSER in big bubble letters with magic marker. It was as if she’d been tagged by a graffiti artist.

  The worst part had been her own reaction. She hadn’t asked “Why did Quinn do it?” Because she could. Or “Why me?” Because of course. Her first thought had been, How could I be so dumb?

  Because hope had made her stupid. Hope always made her stupid.

  Too embarrassed to tell anyone what happened, she’d blocked her lap with her notebook and shuffled off the bus. Her mother had taken one look at the ruined pants and winced. “Why would you let someone do this to you, Callie?”

  Tayber’s mother probably never had to ask him questions like that. He didn’t let people hurt him. He was a Quinn. She’d known it from the very beginning. Whatever he did was cool by simple virtue of the fact that he’d done it. And he liked her.

  She arranged herself on the edge of the couch, careful to keep a safe distance between them, and cleared her throat. No response. She bounced a little, and he stirred.

  “I’m not seeing him anymore.”

  “Huh?” Tayber grabbed the notebook and dropped it on the floor beside him. His face was soft with sleep, the sharp edge of his jaw blurred with stubble she ached to touch.

  “I said I’m not seeing hi
m anymore. The guy. We broke up.”

  “Oh, that’s why you were upset.”

  “Not really.”

  “Come again?” He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes and scooched himself into a sitting position, bringing his leg into contact with her backside. She shifted, putting space between them again. She couldn’t do this if any part of him was touching her.

  “It wasn’t real. I thought it was, but it wasn’t. No big deal.”

  Bury a lie in the truth to really sell it. Her stomach rose up and she folded her hands in her lap in an attempt to quell it.

  “Hey.” The weight of his palm on her back startled her. He stroked soothing, disconcerting, circles between her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, Callie. What can I do?”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  That stung. All she did was lie. “I can’t do this here, in the middle of everything.”

  He stood. “I have a thing after class, but let’s catch up tonight. We’ll walk. Clear your head.”

  A thing? Maybe more like nothing. The thought of him hooking up with someone before he dropped by her place was gutting. “It’s still too cold to walk anywhere at night.”

  “I’ll keep you warm. I mean moving, so you stay warm. About seven o’clock? In front of your apartment?”

  He jogged backwards as he spoke. Grinning, so his dimples showed on cheeks that were maybe, possibly, just a little bit pink. Was Tayber blushing?

  * * *

  Suite 314 was the last door at the end of a long hallway. Tayber hadn’t taken any visual arts classes so the building was unfamiliar. Unnerving, too, but that probably had less to do with the location and more to do with what he was thinking about doing.

  He’d swung by earlier to inquire about the modeling job, and a paint-spattered student assistant had told him to come back at quarter to six. The guy had barely looked up from his canvas.

  The room was filled with students setting up easels and it smelled like a fresh box of pencils. His nose itched. He hadn’t expected a class to be in session.