by Unknown
“You work here?”
“One of his many jobs. I told you I could get free food,” Kara said with a grin.
Preston slipped a pen behind his ear and pressed his palms into the table as he leaned forward. “Until classes start on Monday. I worked here during the summer so I could stay local. My parents refused to cover me if I wasn’t taking classes. Something about responsibility.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I grumbled. “I’ll probably have to find a part-time job at some point. I’ll be lucky if I can buy peanut butter and tuna on the allowance my parents gave me.”
“Well, I can give you a rec if you want to apply here. The staff’s cool and the owner stays out of your business.”
I glanced back up, and immediately felt my cheeks flush. Why was he having this effect on me? “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
He pulled out a tablet from his back pocket and the pen from behind his ear to take our order. Kara ordered us each pulled pork sandwiches and a dozen of the cheddar biscuits, and then before Preston left he eyed my shirt. “Nice UPF. I own a thousand myself. Hate the feel of sunscreen when I’m on the water.”
“What’s a UPF?” Kara asked, but Preston had already left to put in our order. She focused back on me, her eyebrows raised in question.
“Oh, it’s the shirt. It has sun protection. That’s all.” I glanced away, suddenly embarrassed. I didn’t want to draw attention to the shirt. Or why I was wearing it. “So, I didn’t even ask you what your major was.”
Kara’s face lit up. “Psychology. I want to be a clinical psychologist.”
“That’s awesome. Do you have to do internships and stuff, then?”
Her eyebrows drew together. “I don’t really know, honestly. I have a crazy workload this semester. I’ll be lucky to survive my classes, forget adding an internship to the mix. Maybe I could work it in next summer. Anyway, what about you?”
I opened my mouth to say law, something I had said so often over the last two years, it had become programmed. An auto-response. I shook my head, clearing the thought. “English. I plan to specialize in Comparative Literature. I want to be a professor some day.”
Preston came back with a basket full of tiny muffin-like rolls. “Famous cheddar biscuits?” I asked, eyeing them.
“The best.” He slid in beside Kara. “Care if I join ya’ll? My shift just ended.” He looked from her to me.
“What, no Alexis?” Kara asked, elbowing him in the side.
Preston leaned back in the booth and glanced over his shoulder. “Nah. I told you. That was a summer thing. Summer’s over.”
Kara rolled her eyes. “Is this the stupid three-month rule or are you dating girls by season now?”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not dating any of them. I’m hanging out with them.”
“So they’re friends?” she pressed, and I could tell this was becoming a hot-button topic for them. Clearly she didn’t agree with how he handled girls, and I didn’t blame her. I’d known plenty of guys like him before and was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my mouth shut on just what I thought of said guys.
Preston sighed. “Why are we talking about this?”
Kara’s expression softened. “Because I want you to be happy. I want you to settle down and—”
“Right, because that worked out so well the last time.” The look Preston gave her sent chills down my spine. I looked away, wishing I could disappear so they could hash out whatever the tension was between them.
Kara cleared her throat. “Just stop introducing them to me, then. I’m tired of fielding calls for you on my cell. It’s bullshit.”
“Fine. No more introductions. Can we please talk about something else now? Like Small Town here and why she’s looking at me like I’ve murdered a puppy.” The anger on his face disappeared, and he flashed me a mocking grin. The same mocking grin he’d shown off that morning. Clearly, it was his trademark smirk. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.
“It’s Olivia, Mr. Smooth. And not that it’s any of my business, but I agree with Kara.”
Kara crossed her arms and grinned, and just like that, all the tension from before was gone. “See, I knew I liked you already.”
Preston leaned forward, holding my gaze. “Is that right? And what exactly are you agreeing with Kara on? You should know that she’s two shades past crazy. Medication and all. I’d think twice before agreeing with her on anything if I were you.”
I adjusted in my seat at the mention of medication. And crazy.
Kara smacked his arm. “B-Complex doesn’t count as medication, you asshole.”
“It’s a mood enhancer.” He raised his eyebrows. “You tell me. Sounds medication-ish to me.”
I laughed, relieved the conversation didn’t delve into actual medication . . . or reasons to be on it. “So what? You’re anti-vitamin now, too?”
“What do you mean, ‘too’?”
I shrugged. “Well, the girl thing. Clearly you’re one of those. Which is fine, but I agree with Kara. If you’re going to do it, don’t rope Kara in. Nothing is more annoying than an obsessive girl. God, I would die if I had to deal with that crap all the time.”
“I know, right?” Kara said.
“Wait a second,” Preston said. “Since when is it a problem to hang out with someone? I’m not making a marriage proposal every time I go out.”
“Of course, but you shouldn’t screw them if you just plan to ditch.” The words were out before I could register what I’d said, and then all I could do was close my eyes in complete and utter humiliation. “I didn’t mean— It isn’t—” Oh. My. God.
Preston leaned back and draped his arm around the back of the booth behind Kara. “I see. So you’ve got me pegged, huh, Small Town?”
“No. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine. Really. Look, you two enjoy your lunch. I’m sure there are some girls around campus I need to go corrupt.” He squeezed Kara’s shoulder, before heading for the door.
As soon as he was out of sight, I covered my eyes with my hands and released a long breath. “God. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m so sorry.” I glanced up at Kara to see her picking at a biscuit.
“It’s all right,” she said. “But it’s not what you think. He’s a good guy. He just refuses to date anyone. He’s . . . There’s . . .” She drifted off and I could tell there was a story there. A story she wasn’t comfortable discussing.
I decided to change the subject, not wanting to push her away by being too critical of someone close to her. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
Her face dropped. “Yes. His name is Ethan. We’ve been going out for about six months. He went to the University of Georgia, and I came here. We’re trying to do the long-distance thing, but it’s hard. It’s only been a few days and I’m already . . .” Her eyes flickered to mine and then away; fresh tears were threatening to rain down from them. She wiped her cheek and smiled. “Enough guy talk. Let’s hit Urban Outfitters, then if we have time, the Market. I’ve been dying to go to the Market.”
I smiled over at her. “The Market sounds perfect.”
Chapter Three
Kara and I spent the next three hours popping into more shops along King’s Street and then perusing the handmade goods in the Market. Baskets. Jewelry. Jams. Soaps. It was amazing to see these people, their work, the pureness of it. I found myself studying them, wondering what their lives were like outside of the Market. Wondering if today’s sales determined whether they could pay their bills or eat. Some had an easiness to them that was just part of Charleston’s character, but others were more desperate, almost begging for us to buy their products.
My mother would hate it there. She would accuse the people of lacking civility, of being one step above street beggars. In truth, she hated the poor. She was just too much of a lady to admit it
.
So maybe it was to get back at her. Or maybe it was just because I felt more at home there than on King’s Street. But I ended up buying three times as much in the Market as I did in any of the other shops, and by the time we made it back to Liberty, I had a new purse, two woven baskets, and numerous earrings and necklaces, all handmade. I felt a sense of pride putting my money into those things instead of the shops on King’s that held no culture.
I hung up my new clothes in my wardrobe cabinet, which was still bare compared to Kara’s, and wiped down my face with a towel, eager for a shower.
“So, we’re going, right?” Kara asked as she put away the last of her new things.
I hesitated. Some guy downstairs had given us a flyer about a party in West Ashley tonight. Supposedly, it was an annual thing at an apartment building there. “Everyone will be there,” he had said. I had no idea who “everyone” included, but by the look on Kara’s face, I could tell she wanted us to go.
I fiddled with the flowy top I was trying to hang up, but it kept slipping off the hanger. “I don’t know . . .” I hadn’t been to a party since the one that created my scars, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. What if I broke down? What if I had flashbacks or something? I mean, that happened. People who suffered what I had suffered were irrevocably fucked up. That much I knew. But I had just now started growing close to Kara, and I hated to push away the only friend I had made so far.
“Come on. It’ll be a blast. I’ll see if Preston can drive us.”
My head snapped up. “Preston’s going?”
She grinned. “I’ll ask him if you’re in.”
I shrugged, faking indifference. “Whatever. We can go.”
“Yay! This is going to be so much fun. Now, what to wear?” She paused in front of her open wardrobe, then said, “I’m going to take a shower. I think better in the shower.”
I nodded, fighting the urge to laugh. Kara might be the only person in the world who needed to shower so she could think through her outfit.
As soon as I heard the bathroom door click, I pulled out my laptop and logged into my Gmail account. I typed “T” and [email protected] auto-populated in the “To” field. I stared at the name. I had experienced so much here already, and though a part of me was having a great time, another part felt . . . guilty. I began to type, unsure of what to say.
Dear Trisha,
I will never forget our tour of Columbia. You had asked where I would go to college if I could choose anywhere, be anything. The question was so odd because there was bare honestly in it. On the surface, we were supposed to be leaving our parents for our own paths, but instead I was following my father’s and you your mother’s. I remember the seriousness in your eyes and knew that you had about as much interest in Columbia as I did.
We walked in silence for several minutes and then out of the blue you said, “The College of Charleston. I’d go there.” I smiled at you because it was the very thing I was about to say. We both loved Charleston. Always had.
I moved in today and I should have been ecstatic, but all I could think about was how I was here, doing what we dreamt of doing, without you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Love,
Olive
P.S. I know you won’t reply. I know. But I had to write. I miss you.
Chapter Four
Nightfall at Liberty brought on a whole new world of noise. Most of the rooms were open, music blaring, and Kara insisted on stopping by every one of them.
By the time we reached our across-the-hall neighbors, Kara had drank two beers and downed several shots. Her voice, which was already high-pitched, now sounded like she was intentionally trying to mimic a five-year-old.
“I’m Olivia,” I said as they called for us to come in. They had already decorated the walls with various posters. Some of iconic cities, others of popular bands. It made Kara’s and my room look boring in comparison.
“I’m Sarah,” a tall red-haired girl replied. She had the distinct look of a soccer player—tall with a strong build. “And that’s Rena.” She pointed to the dark-skinned girl grabbing Kara a shot.
“You want one?” Rena asked. I shook my head. I wanted to tell Kara to slow down, but I barely knew her. I didn’t know her tolerance, and I didn’t want to come across as motherly.
“We’re heading to a party in West Ashley,” Kara said. “Want to come?”
Sarah’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Definitely! When are you leaving?”
Kara glanced down at her bare wrist. “Oh. I’m not sure. Olivia?”
I smiled. “Preston’s meeting us out front at ten-thirty.”
Sarah turned around to look at the large metal wall clock they had hung between their two desks and shrieked. “That’s in twenty minutes! But we’re so there. Meet you at the elevators in fifteen?”
She and Rena ushered us out of their room so they could get ready. Once back in ours, I grabbed a few bottles of water from our refrigerator and passed one over to Kara. “Here, drink. It’s going to be a thousand degrees at the party. You don’t want to get dehydrated.” I opened my own bottle, hoping she wouldn’t take the gesture as me trying to rein her in. She eyed the bottle and then me.
“You sound like Preston.” She reluctantly took the water and drank half of it before setting it on her desk. I studied her face, her demeanor, her responses. She was already at a level two.
Trisha and I used to assign levels to our drunkenness. Level one was a light buzz. You could still talk, walk, etc. Level two was a push toward sloppy. Your words were more slurred, and everything was suddenly funny. Level three was the point where your memory started to waver, and you could possibly do something embarrassing or something you might regret. We called this the danger zone. Level four we just called gone. All motor skills were gone, all sense of control gone. Everything—gone.
Kara was at a two and we hadn’t left the dorm yet. That didn’t bode well for the rest of the night.
“Okay, I need a beat to get ready,” she said. “What do you want to hear?”
I bit back a laugh as she tried to get her iPod into the slot on her dock station, and then suddenly the soundtrack to High School Musical blasted from her speakers. Her eyes rounded out in shock. “Oh my God.”
“Uh, Kara . . . what is that?”
She fumbled with the dial, trying to get it to turn off, her cheeks turning redder by the second. “Nothing, nothing. My little sister must have been playing with my iPod. It isn’t—”
I walked over and clicked the iPod to turn it off, a giant smile on my face. “You’re into Zac Efron, aren’t you?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous. He’s—no. I’m—no.”
I crossed my arms and smirked, causing Kara to toss her hands in the air. “Fine. Fine! But look at him! I can’t help it. He’s like this super hot, singing, dancing, delicious piece of awesomeness.” She covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. “I will so kill you if you tell anyone I said that.”
I walked over and clicked my own iPod on, surfing through the songs until I found Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball” and showed it to her. “As long as you promise not to tell anyone that I’m a closet Miley fan.”
We both burst out laughing, until Kara’s phone rang and Preston’s face filled the screen. “Crap!” She clicked the phone and blurted out in a rush, “Five minutes. We’ll be down in five minutes,” before hanging up and rushing to her wardrobe. “Crap! What am I going to wear?” She grabbed two dresses and tossed them on her bed, eyeing each as though she were making one of the toughest decisions of her life.
I had taken my clothes in with me when I showered so I wouldn’t have to risk getting undressed in front of Kara. I glanced at myself in the mirror above my dresser. I had on a new flowy black top Kara picked out for me. It was only three-quarter sleeve, but long enough to cover the scars on my left arm. I paire
d it with white shorts and some beaded sandals, giving me a slightly dressed-up vibe, though still relaxed.
Kara finally settled on a red dress and flashy heels, which I thought was a bit overdressed for some apartment party, until we reached the elevators and Rena and Sarah were dressed exactly the same way.
Rena eyed my outfit just as the elevator doors pinged open. “Is that what you’re wearing? Shorts? To a party?”
I stammered. “I . . .” The truth was, I didn’t have anything against dresses. I loved them—the way they made me feel beautiful and feminine. But I owned very few long-sleeve dresses, and the last thing I wanted to do was show off just what a freak I was when my skin was exposed.
“I think she looks perfect.”
My cheeks warmed as I glanced up to see Preston waiting inside the elevator, his hand on the door to keep it from closing. He had on a soft blue Polo shirt, loose over a pair of cargo shorts. The shirt set off the blue in his eyes, making him look like some outdoorsy model. Crisp, yet rugged. And entirely too hot. “Now can we hurry up, please? I’m in a handicap spot.” He motioned for us to get on the elevator.
Kara rushed in and kissed his cheek. “How mad are you? One to ten.”
He cocked his head, considering her. “Three, but it’ll shoot to an eleven if I get a ticket.”
“Hi, I’m Sarah,” Sarah said, interrupting Kara before she could respond.
“Preston.”
“So, are you two together or something?” she asked, waving her hand between Kara and Preston.
“No,” they both answered quickly. Too quickly. My eyes shot up to Preston and then Kara, but they refused to make eye contact. Hmm. That was odd.
Then Preston draped his arm around Kara and glanced over at Sarah. “Nah. Not since second grade. We were the hot couple in the sandbox, until she cheated on with me Issac Wilson and Blake Thomas and Sam Lewis and—”
“Careful. You’re making it sound like I was some fly seven-year-old.”
He winked at her. “Oh, you were fly, all right.”