She reads me a riot act and tells me that I’m too lazy to do the right thing, that I’ve traded integrity for popularity and “seeming” (as she puts it in her off-kilter English). She’s got balls, that’s for sure. I have a moment’s unease: is she talking about the cheating or about the Clusterfuck? What should I have done that night? The next morning? I’m still not sure.
I sigh as I look around the room. Integrity? What does that even mean? To acquire it she proposes Operation Man Up, in which every day I have to resist being phony and avoid “hiding behind my frat brothers.” (Okay, that stings.) I have to work on “doing the right thing” and being “genuine” (her words). She’s not here to yell at so I chuckle and everyone in the meeting turns to look at me. I excuse myself and run up to my room to create her program. Consider the gauntlet thrown!
I spend the evening outlining a five-step Mean Girls Anonymous program for her in which every day she must wrestle her inner Bitch to the ground and start being Nice. I suspect she may not have done the bullying she was accused of doing, but I figure she’s got plenty of meanness to spare so the program will still work.
Step 1: Smiles and eye contact. No more scary-ass scowls. No more staring through people.
Step 2: Pay a compliment. And mean it.
Step 3: Make (and keep!) an actual friend.
Step 4: Help someone. Anyone.
Step 5: Find a boyfriend (preferably thick-skinned). (This is a stretch goal.)
There! I smack on a super-smooth paragraph about the social value of goodwill and click send. I’m pleased with myself. Order has been restored in the universe.
Or so I say. But still I’m uneasy. I’ve hardly spoken to Annika since the Clusterfuck and seeing her, talking to her has roused all sorts of inconvenient feelings and one distinctly inconvenient memory: Annika lounging on my bed, her long hair spread over my pillows and more silvery than golden. I feel a twinge of regret and I don’t like it. I wonder if I can help her and I wonder why I want to.
It’s this nagging feeling that sends me over to Delta Nu, our sister sorority, looking for Valerie. I get a chorus of chipper greetings and waved upstairs, where I bang on Val’s door.
“Hey!” She squeals and launches herself at me, a tiny brunette ball of fluff.
“Hey,” I repeat, disentangling myself from her body. It doesn’t keep her from smacking a kiss on my cheek though. I refrain from wiping my face.
“What’s up?” She bounces back into her room, dragging me with her.
“Er—“
I’m not sure where to start so I look around her room, though I’ve seen it many times. Maybe a few too many. There are framed family photos taken at our country club, snapshots of her trips to the Caribbean with bikini-clad friends, a few blue ribbons from equestrian events. Everything about her room says she’s on track. This is my world, I remind myself.
Val plops onto her bed and pats the space beside her. I ignore the invitation and lean back against the door instead. She pouts and I realize I have to get in and out of here fast. Which I may also have done a few too many times.
I explain to Val that I have to take this pilot intervention course for my role in the Org Chem final snafu and that, lo and behold! Annika is in it with me for some infraction of her own.
Val stiffens. “Well, isn’t that special!” She stands and moves closer, leaning in so I get a good view of her cleavage, which is admittedly impressive.
“That was not the point at all!” She puts her palm on my cheek. “Poor you! Suffering through a class with that bitch! Want me to make you feel better?” she coos.
I’m up against a door so there’s no way to move further away. Instead I push at her shoulders till she’s an arm’s length off me. My arm’s length, not hers.
“How did that happen, Val?” I keep my voice mild.
“I never liked that bitch after what she did to you last year! No one likes her, Matt! She should go back to where she came from already-- but here she is again this year! Back!” She spits out the word, then flounces away from me in a huff.
“What did you do?” I’m quite impressed by my calm.
“Oh, I reported her bad behavior!”
“That you made up,” I prompt.
“Well, me and Carly and Rani….” She looks uncertain now.
“And last year…?” I leave that hanging because now I don’t want to prompt. I want to figure out how the Clusterfuck got so out of control.
She laughs a little nervously. “You know what happened! Though you could have told me yourself. I had to hear about it from Geoff and Les.”
“How?” I scoff. “They wouldn’t have known if she was a virgin.”
Her glance is sly again. “Well, of course we assumed. She’s so…awkward.” Her nose wrinkles. “And obviously she wasn’t any good because you dumped her. And no one else picked her up.” She purses her mouth. “I don’t think she’s really that pretty. People exaggerate so much.”
Reeling, I nod and turn to go, but she runs to me and pulls on my arm again. “I’m so sorry she ended up in the same class as you, Matt! I had no idea you’d get stuck with her again! I get why you’d be mad about that, but I just wanted to give her a little push so she’d go home where she belongs! You know, maybe they’d yank her visa if she got in trouble or something….”
I’m having a hard time seeing my own world reflected back at me like this. The casual lying and vindictiveness.
“No, I don’t think she belongs here,” I agree and turn to leave again. “She’s different.”
I level one more look at Valerie that I hope communicates that we-are-never-going-to-hook-up-ever-again-and-you-should-stay-out-of-my-line-of-vision.
I think she got the message.
Luckily this class only meets once a week because I need to straighten out my head. My world is fraying at the edges. How did life get so complicated? But no one is better than me at pretending (believing!) everything’s good, so by the time class rolls around I have some of my usual poise back.
“Good morning, asshole,” Annika grumbles when I plop down next to her at our next class. She eyes me warily over the edge of her take-out coffee cup.
“Smile at me and I’ll check off Step 1 on your daily progress report.” I flourish a piece of paper at her and she grabs at it.
“Let me see that!” she says through gritted teeth. “Why can’t I keep track for myself?”
“Because I don’t trust you,” I say sweetly. “And Marjorie wants us accountable to each other. Every advance in your program will have to be verified and validated by yours truly.”
“Well, I don’t trust you either! So I’ll have to verify and validate your progress as well. Ha!”
I grin while she rips a piece of paper out of her notebook and starts diagramming a chart for me too. I cross my arms, lean back, and watch her work intently.
“It’s a mutual non-destruction treaty,” she mutters to herself. I laugh and she glances sideways at me. I think I see one side of her mouth quirk up.
“That does not count as your smile for the day. I mean both sides of your mouth, with teeth.”
She turns her face toward me and her mouth is fixed in a strained grimace. And still she looks beautiful. Crazy beautiful, but beautiful.
“Not even! Try harder!”
“Hush!” she says, elbowing me hard. “Marjorie’s talking! Be quiet, jackass!”
I’m enjoying this too much so I turn my attention away reluctantly and scoot my chair closer to her so it’s clear we’re partnered. Marjorie has us go around the room reporting on our plans and I’m interested in what everyone else has come up with. Kyle’s partner Lani is using dictation to get around his writer’s block. Two girls are using improv techniques to role-play different behaviors. This class might be kind of cool actually. Marjorie gives us the rest of the class time to work on our plans.
I tug on Annika’s hair and lean in to whisper. “We’ve got the best programs. Hands down.”
; She pulls her hair free and scowls at me. “Competitive much?”
I point at her expression. “Watch it! You’re going to get demerits for every scowl, Missy!”
“Don’t call me Missy, asshole!”
I take my piece of paper and make several checkmarks and notes. I’m having a grand time. She cranes her neck to see what I’m writing.
“I’m adding a Step 1.5,” I explain. “No name-calling. And I’m giving you three demerits for the bitchy looks you’ve given me so far and one per insult… so you’re already down five points today.” I shake my head. “You can do better than that, Missy!”
She pauses and I expect another blistering comeback, but she surprises me. Again. She takes a moment as if to collect herself and then turns to me with a kick-ass, blinding smile that lights up her already too-lovely face and blows me away. Those pink lips part and her eyes are actually warm. She even produces dimples!
I blink in confusion. Holy shit! She bats her eyelashes and murmurs, “Better?”
I shake my head to clear it, but she must think I’m disagreeing because the furrows start appearing on her brow again.
“No, no,” I say hastily. “That’s good. It’s all good.” I gather my scattered wits and clear my throat. “I’d give that…a 6? Since it’s still early in the competition.” I try one of my more charming expressions on her. One that usually gets me my way.
Annika looks serious and I suddenly wish I hadn’t teased her. “Don’t bullshit me,” she says and she’s being neither playful nor taunting. She’s just direct. I already know some of her meanness is self-protection but now I wonder how much of it is just plain speaking—and maybe borne of cultural differences or something. Her directness is actually kind of refreshing, I admit grudgingly. Especially in a girl.
“Okay,” I concede. “That smile puts you back in the black for today.”
She smiles at me again, more softly this time. “Okay. And I’ll give you credit for dropping your bullshit. For once.”
I smile too and for a few seconds we’re good. We’re in sync and it’s nice. We lock eyes as if afraid that looking away will break the spell.
Then suddenly Annika leans across her desk and socks me in the arm. “Ow! What the fuck, Annika!” I grab her hand so she can’t hit me again and glower at her.
“Why would you set Valerie on me?” She wails, sounding hurt.
“You don’t really think I had anything to do with that, do you?” I hiss, because my feelings are hurt too. And my arm. “I mean, that night was a clusterfuck but from what I remember I never lied to you, right?”
I’m fishing now and nervous as hell. Sure, we’ve run into each other a few times in the year since the Clusterfuck but it always starts with frigid looks and ends with the silent treatment. We haven’t had an actual conversation in over a year, and I never had the guts to ask her flat out what happened that night. When I tried to apologize she shut me down fast and then everything spun out from there. I hold her soft hand tightly while I wait with dread for her answer.
“From what you remember?” She repeats slowly. I duck my head because, really, it’s embarrassing. The Clusterfuck was humiliating from start to finish.
“Well…I must have been drunker than I thought. And later I realized I was still on the allergy meds I take through the soccer season. Not a good combination.”
“Meaning?” Annika looks pale and her voice is barely a whisper.
“I remember talking downstairs. I remember doing vodka shots upstairs….” I hesitate, still looking for clues, but she gives nothing away. “I don’t really remember what happened after that,” I admit finally, watching her. But I don’t have to look too hard. Her expression is pure horror and I grow alarmed.
“You don’t remember it,” she repeats, standing up with a jerk and yanking her hand out of mine.
“Annika—”
I reach for her because she’s scaring me. Yeah, I didn’t remember but I always assumed nothing happened. I mean, I’m not a total asshole. Right? I don’t know what to say because she’s stumbling backward away from me and I thought nothing about that night could get any worse.
Clearly I was wrong.
4
Annika
He doesn’t remember. It’s such a shock that I can’t even process what it means at first. It’s not til I get back to my room after dinner that I flop onto my bed and think this through. Reluctantly I review how the shit hit the table. And cringe. If Matt woke up in bed next to me, with no idea what happened, what would he do?
I sigh. Now that I know him a little better I get it. He’d say nothing. He’d do nothing, just like he did with the cheating scandal. He was an idiot, not a lying asshole. He takes the easy path. And I always take the hard one. What a pair we are! Matt used the English word for situations like this where everything that could go wrong does, but I can’t remember it.
Before I can think about it any more my phone beeps.
We have to talk.
I snort. He’s clearly not taking the easy path now. But it’s already 10 p.m. and I resist.
Now?? I’m pretty busy.
He writes back instantly.
NOW!
It’s been a year already. Can’t it wait another day?
I know I sound whiny, but I’m stalling.
Coffeehouse. 15.
OMG! This guy is going to be the death of me.
30, I type back, and I have to admit it’s sort of fun to needle him.
15!!!!
We fight via text for fifteen more minutes while I’m getting ready and then I head out.
When I get there I’m surprised to see he’s already there, already surrounded by friends, in fact. Instantly I realize we have a problem and hover near the door, wondering what to do now. We can’t talk here! There are too many people, I think with dismay. And, as usual, there are guys in the room checking me out, until I give them my patented Ice Goddess glare and they cower. Together Matt and I will get too much attention. Everyone knows our history and there will be more snickers and rumors and…I can’t deal with that again.
Over the head of some girl Matt’s eyes meet mine and I see a flicker of awareness. His brow furrows and we communicate wordlessly across the room. Then I turn and leave.
It’s February so I can hardly wait outside, but the library is next door so I stand just inside its entrance, pretending to rummage through my bag for my I.D. Within a few minutes Matt is next to me, with his I.D. in his hand. After we swipe in I follow him toward the study rooms, lagging behind for good measure. God, how ridiculous this is!
Downstairs he hustles us into one of the little rooms and shuts the door, dropping heavily into a chair.
“Sorry about that,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. It’s still a little damp, as if he showered recently.
And that’s not an image I need in my head because I do remember that night. Curling up against the smooth hard muscles of his arms and chest. The heat of his mouth. All that--clean, damp and wrapped in a towel? Danger!
I take a chair at an angle from his, keeping my distance.
He lifts his shoulders and sighs. He looks terrible, for a change. Wrung out and stressed.
“How was practice?” I ask, delaying too.
He meets my eyes and shrugs. “Quit stalling. Tell me. What happened?” He tenses as if waiting for a blow.
I wonder where to begin. I don’t know how much I want him to know. “I had no idea you didn’t know what happened. I couldn’t figure out why you were lying about it.”
“Lying about what??” His arms go up in frustration and his voice rises. And his anger sparks my anger again.
“About taking my virginity, asshole!” I’m trembling.
“I didn’t tell anyone that! We’ve been over this. Why would I do that? It makes me seem like a total player and I assumed nothing happened!” He scowls darkly at me. Then he pauses. “I wouldn’t do that,” he repeats more softly.
Warmth starts seep
ing into my veins again and I need to resist, resist, resist. This is why I went upstairs with him. Because he seemed so earnest, so trustworthy. I stay silent and his eyes fall.
“I thought you spread that rumor. Just to make me look bad. But neither of us had to say anything,” he says wearily. “Everyone else talked for us.” He rubs a big hand against his jaw, looking frustrated. He’s lost his usual cool facade but it makes him even more appealing somehow.
“Tell me,” he says again simply.
“Tell me what you remember and I’ll pick up where you leave off,” I counter. He gets up and walks around the small windowless room, making it feel even smaller. I’m intensely aware that we haven’t been alone together since That Night. I can see him trying to figure out how much to tell me too. He closes his eyes for a second, then opens them to fix on me.
“I saw you arrive at the party. You were wearing skinny jeans just like the ones you’re wearing now—and a dark blue sweater and your hair was loose. It was a Friday formal. Everyone else was dressed up. You were dressed down.” He pauses and glances away from me as if needing a break.
I nod, confirming all this. “Yes. I didn’t know about the formal. You were wearing dress pants, a white Oxford shirt, wing tips. If you had a jacket or tie once they were gone by the time I got there.”
His gaze is back and this feels very intense. Intimate.
He continues. “Of course, even then there were guys trailing you around, but you didn’t talk to them. You were polite, but I must have seen you quietly shrug off six guys. I was working the bar when I overheard the scene with Geoff. Then he left and you just stood there.” He breaks off again. “What did Geoff say?” he asks abruptly.
I inhale and look away myself. I force my voice to sound neutral. “He was an asshole. He a friend of yours?” I try to make the last part sound sweet and sarcastic, but I’m not sure it works.
Matt grinds his teeth. I’ve never seen him like this—all his smoothness ruffled up. Except that night. “A frat brother and president before me. And yeah, he’s an asshole.”
The Do-Over (Extra Credit Book 2) Page 3