Stop!

by Alison G. Bailey

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I flipped through my mind, searching for a conversation starter.

  “I hope you don’t mind the curtains. My mom made them. I emailed you a few times over the summer, but…”

  “They’re fine,” she said, not looking up.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  I bit down on my lower lip, letting it pop on release. “My dad got us a fridge and stocked it with soda and stuff. You want something?”

  “Don’t worry.” Her tone was flat.

  “About what?”

  She closed the drawer and looked at me. “What you heard my mom say. I’m not a druggie.”

  “Okay.” My fingers twisted in the hem of my shirt.

  “Or a thief.”

  I nodded.

  “And I’m not a Jesus freak.”

  “I wasn’t thinking any of that stuff. I don’t know you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  If things didn’t lighten up between the two of us college life was going to be harder than I imagined. If I could joke with her, make her smile or laugh then we might have a shot at some semblance of a friendship.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Checking her phone, she answered, “Shoot.”

  “Are you planning on being a bitch for the entire year?”

  Her gaze shot up, meeting mine. Her expression remained blank as we stared each other down.

  “Not for the entire year.”

  “Good to know.”

  I sucked in my cheeks and Abigail pursed her lips, both of us attempting to keep a straight face. My resolve weakened when I saw one side of her mouth twitch until finally simultaneous laughter burst from both of us.

  Tilting her chin toward my side of the room, she said, “You went a little cray-cray with the college theme décor, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. But it’s not as bad as your Hello Kitty wardrobe.”

  “What can I say? My mom bought all that crap.”

  “You let your mom pick out your clothes?”

  “It’s better than listening to her bitch about my choices.”

  I knew mothers didn’t always agree with what their daughters wore. I guess a preacher’s kid had even more rules and regulations to adhere to. Mom and I never had the clothing issue because I never had the guts to wear anything remotely revealing. And now that my arms were scarred, I never went out in public without them being covered up.

  Abigail stored her bright pink suitcase in her closet, then grabbed a pair of long yellow and white striped pajama pants and a yellow tank top from her dresser.

  She turned to me before going into the bathroom. “Sorry, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  “My parents are kind of intense, which makes me tense whenever they’re around.”

  “It’s okay. I get it.”

  ONCE BOTH OF us changed into our pajamas, we spent some time swapping the basic information. Abigail didn’t offer much about herself, other than she was an only child, like me. Her dad was the pastor at a large affluent church back home in Georgia. Her mom was the typical pastor’s wife, filling her time serving the community. She claimed she never received my emails and was undecided on a major. When comparing schedules, we discovered our first class was together.

  After we had shared as much of ourselves as we were comfortable doing, we decided to relax. It took some prompting, but after I promised popcorn and a soda, Abigail was onboard with watching the Channing Tatum movie that got interrupted earlier when she made her grand entrance.

  Tossing another piece of popcorn in my mouth, I said, “This scene right here is when I got my mad crush on Channing. Say what you will, the guy can dance. His wife is a lucky lady.”

  I wonder if Risher can dance.

  I quickly shook the thought from my head.

  As the credits scrolled across the screen, I glanced over at Abigail, “How’d you like the movie?”

  She was sprawled across her bed fast asleep. How could any red-blooded girl sleep when Channing was near? I turned off the TV and grabbed my makeup case. I was waiting until the last possible moment to take it off. I knew I’d have to let her see me at some point. I just wasn’t ready to expose myself like that to someone I’d just met.

  Walking toward the bathroom, I stopped by Abigail’s nightstand to turn off her lamp. Looking down, I noticed two scars peeking out from her tank top, over each of her breasts. They reminded me of the one my grandmother had when they placed a catheter for her chemotherapy treatments. Gran’s scar was small compared to Abigail’s and she had only one. My gaze traveled up to her face. Her head was turned away from me. Her blond hair draped across the pillow. The bangs were pushed way back over her forehead and I could see the hint of what looked like a shaved head.

  “God will see you through any and all difficulties.”

  I remembered the last words Mrs. Daniels said to Abigail before she left.

  Various thoughts clicked through my mind.

  Abigail was thin.

  Abigail had scars like Gran’s.

  Abigail wore a wig.

  Abigail was too tired to watch Channing.

  Abigail had cancer.

  INTRODUCTION TO LINEAR Algebra started at 9 a.m. The class was a short ten-minute walk from the dorm, but I set my alarm two hours ahead in order to get up extra early. I wanted to be dressed and in full makeup before Abigail woke up. The idea of showing her my scars caused my nerves to go into overdrive. I wasn’t totally relaxed around others when my scars were covered up, but I could function without drawing much attention. Without the makeup or long sleeves, I became a different person, unable to focus on anything except hiding.

  A week after coming home from the hospital I somehow let Maggie talk me into going to grab a bite to eat at our favorite cafe, The Sandwich Shop. We had basically grown up going to the place. The staff knew us and knew what had happened to me. The skin graft was in the early stages of healing, so I had a protective bandage over it. No one said anything ugly or inappropriate, but within two minutes I felt the stares. As if I were having an allergic reaction, a prickling sensation crawled over my skin, my pulse sped up, and my throat closed. It was like being a caged animal. I didn’t want to ruin the time for Maggie, so I sweated it out. Thank god she knew me well and suggested we got our food to go. We never discussed it nor did she make me feel guilty for my reaction.

  One upside about Abigail was that she didn’t make a lot of eye contact. Last night she glanced in my direction a few times while we were talking, but for the most part her gaze moved around the room or focused on her phone. Her avoidance was probably a combination of being in a new environment with a stranger and also having her own secret that would be hard to conceal for much longer. I figured she must be better now otherwise it seemed a bit chancy to be so far away from her parents. I didn’t plan to let on that I knew about the wig or the scars on her chest. I’d be patient and let her tell me when she was ready. I understood better than most how embarrassing questions from strangers could be. I wasn’t ready to reveal all, so I didn’t expect her to either.

  I drifted in and out of sleep most of the night with the majority of my time spent staring up at the ceiling. My thoughts bounced from Abigail and her illness, to classes, to reminding myself to call Maggie tomorrow, to my parents, to wondering if I’d see Risher again. That boy made quite an impression on me in a short amount of time. I found myself daydreaming about him off and on throughout the day and night.

  Last night, at one point during the movie, I caught myself replacing Channing with Risher. I spent less than two minutes with the guy and now the corners of my mouth automatically curled up each time I thought about him. I needed to get a hold of myself. It occurred to me that my memory of the encounter may have been better than the actual encounter. The time was brief and I was flustered from the surroundings. As the day went on, I had pictured his eyes greener, his muscles more bulging, and his smile swe
eter. He probably just had something in his eye and wasn’t even winking at me. I decided the best remedy for this Risher obsession was to find him tomorrow and take a good long look at reality. I didn’t need to talk with him. I just needed to see for myself that he wasn’t the hottest and sweetest boy I’d ever met.

  I startled awake ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off. Realizing there was no point in attempting any more sleep, I threw back my comforter, dragged myself out of bed, and turned off the alarm. Gathering up my makeup case, I walked toward the bathroom. Passing Abigail’s bed, I was shocked to find it empty. There was no light on in the bathroom, so she wasn’t in there. I knew classes started at 8 a.m., but I could have sworn she said her first one was Algebra with me.

  How did she leave without me knowing?

  I took extra time putting on my makeup, making sure the foundation blended seamlessly into areas of normal skin. I dressed in a pair of olive green cotton pants and a cream colored sleeveless shirt with a lace overlay. The lace was pretty intricate and hid the scars on my arms well. I slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for a quick breakfast, forgoing the cafeteria for a little longer. After stepping into my animal print flats, I grabbed my backpack and headed out to my new life.

  Leaving the dorm, I concentrated on keeping my breaths steady as my heart pounded against my chest. My gaze darted up and down, trying to find a happy medium. I didn’t want to draw attention by making direct eye contact, but I also didn’t want to ram into anyone like I had with Risher. With the hustle of students getting to their classes, everyone seemed to be in their own little worlds. I wasn’t feeling any stares. My nerves settled the closer I got to Johnson Hall where my class was being held, until it dawned on me. I’d be in a crowded room, sitting side-by-side with a person to my right and one to my left. They’d be a foot away at the most.

  Close to the left side of my face.

  My grip tightened around the strap of my backpack as I walked toward the class. Beads of sweat popped up along my forehead. Coming here was a mistake. I should have stayed home and taken online courses. I swallowed several lumps that were lodged in my throat, while willing my legs to turn and move in the opposite direction. They ignored me. The door to the classroom got closer. I watched as student after student piled into the room until I became part of the mix. Seats were being grabbed up quickly. It was like everyone else already knew where they belonged.

  I scanned the room, praying I’d spot Abigail right away. She couldn’t be that hard to find with the shiny blond highlights and all the pink. I didn’t see her. There were too many people. Plus, I was teetering on the edge of my first official anxiety attack, making it hard to concentrate enough to distinguish individual faces. On the second pass around the room, my gaze zeroed in on an empty desk, at the end of the last row in back of the class. There’d be a person to my right and one in front of me, but no one behind me, and more important, no one to my left. I moved quickly before anyone else could claim the spot.

  Once seated, I dug in my backpack for a pen and notebook. I wanted it to look like I was preoccupied with other things until class started. That way I wouldn’t have to look at or talk to anyone. As I was scribbling a fake to do list, my desk jostled as someone slid into the seat in front of me. I relaxed a little when I glanced up and saw the size of the guy. He was huge and hid me perfectly from most of the class. No doubt he was a football player. I was just about to go back to my fake list when a rush of air skimmed over my right cheek.

  Out the corner of my eye, I saw an arm covered with a dark sleeve. A pair of hands fidgeted on the desk beside me. The right hand held a pen between its thumb and index finger, tapping in midair while the left hand rested flat on top of the desk. My gaze traveled farther up to the figure wearing a black lightweight hoodie, sitting slouched down in the seat. He had the hood pulled up over his head, blocking most of his face. The only parts I could see were the tip of his nose and chin. He didn’t acknowledge anyone or look over at me. Abruptly, he shifted, causing my gaze to shoot forward and land on Risher walking into class.

  The sight of him had every part of me tingling. I knew my memory of what he looked like would be different than the reality. He was so… so… so much hotter.

  Dammit!

  His hair was damp and tousled, I’m guessing from his morning shower. The scruff from yesterday was gone, replaced with a clean shaven face. He looked gorgeous either way. A pair of faded jeans was matched with a navy blue Chambers University T-shirt fitted close to his body. He laughed, playfully slapping the shoulder of the blond guy from yesterday. The guy looked annoyed. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was obvious they were just joking around like good friends did. I ducked down behind the wall sitting in front of me as Risher and his friend took the first two seats they saw together.

  I was relieved he didn’t notice me. I straightened, peeking over the giant shoulder to study Risher. He twisted his upper body, placing his arm on the back of the chair. As he talked to his friend, his fingers gripped the edge, causing the muscles in his arm to bulge. It was the arm, the same one that stole my breath. I was getting lost in the idea of having the arm wrapped around me, until I noticed pretty girl after pretty girl making a beeline to him to introduce themselves. Then some blonde sat next to him.

  Why is it always a blonde?

  She placed a hand on Risher’s shoulder to get his attention. When he turned, she smiled, said something, and then giggled. I couldn’t see his expression, but I didn’t think he was amused. His shoulders weren’t shaking like he was laughing. But when he turned toward the blonde, my heart sank. He was giving her the same sweet smile he had given me the day before. Sitting back, I pushed away the ridiculous reaction I was having. I knew there was no chance a guy like Risher, or any guy for that matter, would see me as a potential girlfriend. The parade of pretty girls and the blonde was just a harsh reminder that they’d be the ones going to football games and parties on Risher’s arm.

  The arm.

  And good for them. Good for them all.

  Throughout class, my focus was divided between what the professor was teaching and the bleach blonde who planted herself beside Risher. As the class went on she got bolder—leaning in closer, touching his bare arm. It might have been wishful thinking on my part, but I thought I saw his body tense each time she laid hands on him. Of course, Risher being turned off by blondie didn’t mean he would be turned on by me.

  Hollis! What the hell is wrong with you?

  I needed to refocus. It was too easy for me to fall into a fantasy about being with Risher. I was so out of my depth here and needed to be careful. I couldn’t misinterpret his politeness for interest. It was a lot easier to fantasy date famous guys. I was able to ignore if they were dating someone in real life. I simply wouldn’t read gossip magazines, watch entertainment shows, or look them up online. But there was no ignoring what was happening six rows ahead of me.

  When class ended, I held back, taking time to gather my things. I wanted to avoid as many people as possible, especially Risher. Gigantisaur in front of me had apparently fallen asleep because he jerked upright when hoodie boy bolted for the door. Once the crowd had thinned, I grabbed my bag and walked out. I hadn’t gotten two steps into the hall when I heard his voice.

  “Hey, Bumpy!”

  I froze.

  What did he just call me?

  Risher walked up alongside me. “I didn’t know you were in my class.”

  My throat tightened as I held back tears. I didn’t know this guy. His words and opinions shouldn’t mean anything to me, but they did. For some stupid reason it hurt more hearing the mean name from Risher than anything the kids had said to me in high school. This was for the best, though. Now that I saw his true colors, I wouldn’t be fantasizing about more between us.

  I didn’t look at him. I didn’t respond to him. I just walked away. My eyes were already stinging and I knew I needed to find the nearest bathroom soon. I would not cry
my first day of college. A tug on my elbow stopped me.

  “Hollis, wait up.”

  There are times when life presents you with turning-point opportunities. Some are huge events beyond your control that force you to change. Then there are other smaller events, the name calling and the hateful taunting, making fun of your differentness.

  Ugly.

  Scar Face.

  Monster.

  You’re too hideous looking to live.

  Bumpy.

  The cruelty shocks you into inaction, so you keep your mouth shut and move on. Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, the collective impact shatters your resolve and you explode. Today was that day.

  I whipped around toward Risher, not hiding my anger. “Why did you call me that?”

  That’s right, asshole. I’m calling you out on your assholery.

  “Call you what?”

  I swallowed hard and snapped, “Bumpy.”

  #crushover

  His eyebrows squeezed together as his mouth dropped open. A couple of grunts from the back of his throat escaped while he attempted to form a response.

  “Because you bumped into me yesterday.” There was panic in his tone.

  “It wasn’t because of my fa…” I trailed off.

  Running his hand through his dark hair, he said, “God, Hollis, I’m sorry. I was just kidding around.”

  The sorrow in his eyes coupled with his sincerity was all the evidence I needed to know he wasn’t like all the others.

  “I’d kick anyone’s ass who hurt you, including my own.”

  He took me by the arm and guided me to the side of the hall, away from the student traffic. “Has somebody been mean to you?”

  Shaking my head, I said, “No, no one has been mean to me. Why do you care?”

  “I can’t help myself.” And there was that sweet smile again.

  #crushsobackon

  “Plus, you’re my very first college friend,” he said.

  “What about the blond guy?”

  “Chuck? I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s not so much a friend as he is a constant pain in my ass.”