The Girl I Was Before

by Ginger Scott

  “So, we’re painting it back? That’s easy,” Eli says, rolling up his sleeves. Bless his little heart; he’s eager to get started.

  “Not exactly. We’re moving their stuff down the hall, and putting the boys’ stuff…in here,” I say, stepping over to my sister’s bed. I start folding her blankets into my arms, and when I turn around, all three guys are staring at me, their mouths parted, their foreheads showing their confusion. “Just start grabbing crap and help me. We have two hours.”

  Amazingly, they don’t protest, after an hour and a half of sweating and lifting more than I think I ever have, we have successfully relocated everyone’s belongings. I lock up both rooms, and direct the boys downstairs. We stop at the mailbox area, and I sweet-talk the very shy guy working the front desk into putting both sets of keys in Cass’s mailbox. By the time I turn around, Eli and Casey have left. It’s just Houston, me, and my giant suitcase and travel bag—and a landfill-sized feeling of awkward.

  Houston pushes his hands in his pockets. His jeans are dark; they’re the kind I would think a guy would wear going out to a club, not when moving furniture around a chick’s dorm room. I kind of think he dressed up, a little, for me. He’s staring down at his feet, and I watch as his mouth opens and closes twice, each time with a breath, about to speak. Finally, he just settles on smiling and looking up at me.

  “I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” I say, looping my hand through the strap to pull my bag along behind me. My things are heavy, and going to the Delta House is really the last thing I want to do. But I’m not asking Houston for any more favors.

  “Here, let me,” he says, reading my mind. He grabs the heaviest bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder. I take the opportunity to study his tattoo when he does—it’s a cross, with the letters M and B. I’m guessing the M is for his father’s name, because I’m sure I know who the B is.

  “Thanks,” I say, pulling my roller bag behind us. We step through the main doors and out to the walkway. It’s a good ten-minute walk from here to the Delta House, so when Houston turns toward the parking lot, I sigh with relief. I’m glad he brought his car—no matter how shitty and old it is.

  Houston puts my things in the trunk, then opens my door for me. I’m prepared for the seatbelt this time. What I’m not prepared for is the familiar smell of being in a small space that is permeated with Houston—his cologne—I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

  I…like it.

  Shit.

  We drive the two blocks to the Delta House, the radio filling the awkward void for two minutes. Houston pulls up to the curb, and I sigh, relieved I don’t see anyone else’s car parked along the road. Chandra has a white Acura. Her license plate says W1N3R. She tells everyone it’s the only combination left she could get for winner. But I don’t know, it reads whiner in my head. I keep searching for the whiner car, not satisfied that I don’t see it. She could still be here.

  “Hey, you wanna just stay tonight?” Houston’s question bursts through the silence, and it makes me start to sweat instantly. He’s leaning to the side in his seat, his head resting on the back, his hair a little disheveled from the move. He’s adorable. I can’t deny that. And yeah, I want to stay, because I don’t want to be here! But if I stay with you, it’s going to look like I want to stay with you, when in reality I just want to hide, and you’re giving me shelter.

  No matter how adorable you are.

  “It’s…it’s okay. It’s just one night. But if you can, maybe you can help me move in the morning? I’m kind of done with this place,” I admit. I haven’t told Houston why I’m leaving, but when we talked over break, I did let it slip that some of the girls I counted on as friends turned out to be ruthless bitches.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind. And Leah is excited about having a sister. Oh, yeah…by the way, she says you’re going to be blood sisters,” he says, the right side of his lip lifting, doing that dimple thing. I’m not sure what’s making my heartbeat race—the look on his face or the thought of Leah liking me.

  For a few long seconds, I stare at him and consider his offer. My night can take two paths, one in a place I hate, and the other in a place I…

  “I’ll be fine, really. See you at eight?” I make my voice sound definitive so he doesn’t try again. If he asks me once more, I’ll go with him. And for some reason, I feel like going with him now will make me notice those other things about him more. And Houston is a whole different life—one that I don’t want.

  He meets me behind the car, and when I reach for my bag, our hands touch. He doesn’t move, and my fingers clutch around his on the bag’s handle. It’s a touch that’s somewhere between a standoff and fire.

  “I can get it,” I say, my voice sounding a little bossier than I mean. “Really, thank you, but…”

  “Paige,” he says, his head doing that tilt thing, and…yeah…there’s the dimple. “I’d be a real asshole to just drop you off and not help you carry your things. Just let me not be an asshole, okay?”

  I let my muscles relax and smile as I let go of my grip over his hand. When he turns, I flex my fingers, trying to rid them of the feel of his hand in mine. It wasn’t even a handholding kind of touch. But still.

  Once I open the door, I drop my bag and reach for the one Houston’s holding, pulling it inside with me. When he steps toward me, wanting to enter, I place my palm on his chest. I can’t have him come in here with me. That will make me look desperate. And maybe there’s a part of me that wants to keep my Houston-world pure, untainted from this place.

  “I appreciate it, but there are some people here I just want to deal with and move on. I can’t put it off,” I say, glancing up at him. He’s close enough he has to look down to see into my eyes, and the moment our gaze locks my heart starts to pick up its rhythm again. He looks like he wants to argue with me, like he has more to say, and we stare at each other for what feels like minutes, even though I’m sure it’s only a second or two. It’s long enough for me to imagine his hand coming up to lift my chin, and the moment I do that, I shake my head and take a step away.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, waiting as he holds a few fingers up for a polite wave. He turns and walks down the front steps back to his car. I close the door when he opens his, not wanting him to see me watch him leave. But I want to watch him leave. I settle for listening to his engine start and fade instead.

  The warmth from being near him evaporates as soon as I turn around and face the dark emptiness of the sorority house. Only a handful of the girls are back, but the ones who are—they hate me.

  And I hate them.

  I drag my bags up the steps, letting them scratch and scuff along the way. What do I care? Once I get to my room, I take a deep breath and push my key in, knowing my key—it’s a farce. There isn’t anything that can keep everyone out. My bed is packed up, the blankets and pillows all stacked in the center. The clothes I left behind in the drawers and closet are all piled in a basket at the foot of the bed. And the makeup and perfume I decided not to bring—it’s gone, most of it cracked and spilled in the metal trashcan at the edge of my vanity. I’m not surprised, but this act—it’s still a slap in my face.

  There’s a note in the middle of my mirror, and I hesitate to read it. Reading it gives it power. I walk past it and sit at the edge of my bed to survey the details, wondering what else they’ve done that I’m not seeing. My saved belongings are protected in my bags by the door. I hear someone down the hall giggle, and I hear a door close. The Delta House is old—historic. And the hardware sounds as such. I used to hate the noises—the creaking and the pops. But I adore them now—the way they expose the rats.

  Standing, I walk to my mirror and pull the purple sticky note from the glass.

  We gave you a head start.

  I crumple the paper and throw it in the trash bin along with my cosmetics. I turn back to the bed and slide the pile of pillows and blankets to the floor, pulling one comforter out of the pile to sleep on, an
d another to sleep under. I bundle my hair in a bun and slip into a pair of sweatpants and my sister’s old soccer T-shirt. She gave it to me when I needed something to work out in over the break, and I kept it. It’s nothing like I normally wear—plain, red, with a giant logo on the front and her number on the back. There’s a hole at the bottom, and I loop my thumb through it to stretch the shirt out so I can take my reflection in. At a quick glance, I look like Cass in this.

  With one more check on my lock, I pull my bags closer to my bed. If anyone tries to fuck with me tonight, I’m going to hear them. And maybe, wearing Cass’s shirt will give me Cass’s strength. I slip my phone from my purse, and set the alarm. Then, I shoot one last text to Houston:

  Make it 7.

  I keep the phone clutched in my hand, and when it buzzes minutes later, I smile, knowing it’s from him. I tilt it just enough to read his response:

  OK

  It’s short, and there’s no pretense to it. It’s what I want. But yet, I’m also disappointed that there isn’t more to his message, that he isn’t asking me if I want him to come back, if I haven’t changed my mind about staying tonight. I laugh silently to myself at how unfair I’m being.

  It’s almost midnight.

  Seven hours.

  I can handle one night.

  I let my eyes drift shut, and soon my ears take in only the gentle hum of the heater. It lulls me to near sleep, and I start to forget why my arms are flexed and my fingers are gripping my phone so hard. And then I hear the creak down the hall and I remember.

  One night. But not a minute more.

  Chapter 8

  Houston

  I showed up at seven, and Paige was already packed and waiting for me. She doesn’t strike me as the wake-up-early kind of girl. She’s been yawning most of the morning while we load things into my car and then out of my car, upstairs, and to her new room.

  “Why don’t you rest for a while? I’m off today, and was just planning on taking Leah to the park. You can get settled in your room—maybe take a nap?” I suggest.

  Paige flops on her new bed, bouncing on it a few times, testing the softness. I can tell she’s disappointed, but she’s biting her lip, looking off to the side, like she’s searching for a way to show she’s grateful.

  “It’s a really crappy mattress, I know,” I say for her.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll get a mattress pad or something…” she says, standing and pushing down on it a few times. That mattress is probably two decades old. I’d switch mine with hers, but I’m pretty sure mine is even worse. The only one with a good mattress in this house is Leah, and hers is built for a child.

  Paige paces around the room, pulling out a few drawers and flipping the light on in her closet, getting familiar with her new surroundings. I was sort of surprised when her sister and that girl Rowe weren’t there to help us move her things this morning. I know she said their relationship was strained, but I also thought they were working on it. When I asked her about her sister, she flinched, and then begged me not to tell anyone she was living here. I get it; she’s hiding. But I also feel like she’s embarrassed to be here.

  “All right, well, we’ll be back early this afternoon. My mom is making dinner—you know, to welcome you? Hope that’s okay…” I’m holding her doorknob, my body halfway in and out of her room. I don’t want to leave.

  “That’s nice of her,” she says, her eyes coming up to mine, but retreating. She’s standing in the middle of her room, her fingers fidgeting in front of her body, and her teeth chewing at her lip so much I think she may actually bite through her own skin.

  “You’re welcome to join us—Leah and me—if you want…”

  “Yes,” she interjects. Her enthusiasm makes me smile, but I hide it with my hand. I don’t know why I like that she’s uncomfortable, but I do.

  “Okay, we’ll leave in an hour. Leah takes a while to wake up and get ready,” I say, pulling her door closed behind me.

  “I can relate,” she says just before the door shuts.

  Leah finishes her pancakes, using her sleeve to wipe the syrup from her mouth. My mom hates it when she does that, but she learned it from me, so I feel like I don’t have the right to correct her. If you want sugar on your arm kid, have at it!

  I pull her plate from the table and rinse it quickly at the sink, setting it in a rack to wash better later. We don’t have a dishwasher. There’s a spot for one, but we have a mini-fridge, filled with my mom’s jams and jellies, stuffed in there instead. She sells them at the store, too.

  When I turn back to the open kitchen, Leah is standing near the foot of the steps—her fingers fidgeting just as Paige’s were an hour ago—her lips tight and her breath held while she stretches up on her toes to see the top of the steps. She’s waiting for Paige, and she’s nervous.

  “Whatcha doing there, sport?” I ask, pulling her jacket from the small rack by the door. I hold the sleeves out for her, and she stuffs her arms inside the purple unicorn coat, leaving them stretched out to either side so I can zip it up. I kneel down in front of her and she pushes one hand on top of my head so she can see over me.

  “Is she up there?” she whispers. I smile as I look down at her shoes, stopping to fix the Velcro straps.

  “She’ll be right down. She’s coming to the park with us,” I say. Leah pushes on my head with both hands now, forcing my hair in my eyes. I reach around and lift her in my arms, picking her up in the air so she can see to the top of the steps more easily.

  “Is she coming now?” she asks.

  “Soon,” I say, blowing hard on her neck, my lips to her skin so it makes a noise. She bends into me and giggles.

  I set her down and walk to the living room to grab my own jacket and shoes. I lean against the sofa to put my shoes on and watch as Leah remains in the same spot, her hands back to wringing in front of her, her neck craning to see. Her eyes light up the second I hear the creaking sound of Paige’s door, and Leah flashes her eyes to me, frozen. She’s not sure if she should stand there or run. I step over to her so she doesn’t feel nervous, and she folds into my side, hiding her face on my leg, then peering out with her cheek firm against me.

  I don’t look at Paige until she’s almost completely down the steps, but Leah, she watches the entire time, her eyes widening, and her smile growing. When I look up, I see why.

  I’m pretty sure she’s done this on purpose. Paige is wearing a pink dress with matching shoes, and her hair is a perfect glow around her face. She’s holding a pink purse in her hands, and the closer she gets to Leah, the bigger my daughter’s smile becomes.

  “Hey, Leah. I’m Paige. We met once, at your dad’s work?” she says, kneeling down so she can look Leah in the eyes.

  “I remember,” Leah says, her voice soft. She’s swaying side-to-side, her teeth pinning her lips in a forever kind of smile.

  “Can I come to the park with you today?” Paige asks, peering up at me for approval. I give her a thumbs up.

  “Yes,” Leah says, her swaying picking up speed. I hold my hand against her side to calm her. She’s excited.

  I urge Leah toward the door, and Paige and I follow. Leah runs ahead, climbing into the backseat of my car and buckling herself quickly in her booster seat. Paige waits for me while I lock the front door, and I catch a glimpse of pink as she twists behind me. I think she wants me to notice her, to say something. I laugh once under my breath when I catch her hand on her purse as I turn. The woman even painted her nails pink.

  “Thanks,” I say, nodding my head toward her. “You have just replaced Santa Claus on the hierarchy of cool people in Leah’s life.”

  Paige beams, satisfied; she pulls the edge of her dress out a little, bending her knees in a curtsy. “What girl doesn’t want to be Barbie?” she smiles. I notice her soft lips—they are perfect, too. Her lips—that’s something I shouldn’t notice. Those aren’t part of the costume. Those are just…her. And I’ve been looking at them for too long; I look down quickly and begin
patting my pockets.

  “Damn, keys…” I say, and a second later I feel Paige tug on my thumb, where the key ring is linked. Yeah, that was lame. I shrug, signaling that I’m a dumb-ass, then I let her walk to the car in front of me, so I can watch without her catching me. I’m starting to think Leah isn’t the one who needs to get used to our new roommate—I am.

  We get to the park in minutes, and Leah warms up to Paige almost immediately, pulling her to the swings to push her, then dragging her to the slides to watch her race up and down. When she tries to talk Paige into helping her fill water cups to dump in the sand, Paige waves her hand in front of her face and says she’s getting a little warm and tired, and Leah lets her off the hook. She joins me on the bench while Leah runs from the drinking fountain to the sand and back again.

  “Hey, thanks for being her playmate today. That’s usually my gig, but she seemed pretty emphatic about you doing it today,” I say, glancing at her as she sits next to me. She lifts her arms and pulls her hair into a pile on top of her head, exposing her neck—I look at that too.

  She turns her head to the side to face me, and I adjust quickly, meeting her eyes. No, Paige…I wasn’t looking at your neck, or thinking about kissing it.

  “I was going to walk through campus later, find my classes. What time is your mom making dinner? I don’t want to be late,” she says.

  “We usually eat early, probably around five thirty,” I say.

  “That should work,” she says, looking forward, picking up her hair again, and I watch. Her fingers move slowly through her hair, wrapping strands around knuckles. It’s such a simple movement, but damn—it’s kind of sexy.

  “Stop it!” a voice yells. A voice. A voice! Leah’s voice! I get to my feet, out of my trance fast, and I storm into the sand, but Paige is already ahead of me, her pink shoes kicked off in the grass. I slow my step as Paige has her hand around a little boy’s wrist, a full cup of water in his hand, which is hovering above Leah.