Undaunted: Knights in Black Leather

by Ronnie Douglas

  Today was the day I’d be able to start trying to focus on something else enough to stop thinking about him. This was it, the first day of classes at Williamsville Community College, but I felt like a failure, like everything I’d dreamed and planned was now out of reach. Worse yet, I felt like a fraud, like I’d been playing at being smart and having it together when really I was just as messed up as my parents. As I parked the car, I steeled myself. Fake confidence in place, I started to walk from the lot toward the tiny campus.

  A few squat buildings were situated in a haphazard fashion in front of me. My first class of the day was on the other side of the road, and the footpath that led to it wound through an oversize pipe that had been used to create a tunnel from the lot to the buildings. The tunnel itself was decorated with graffiti and littered with refuse and cigarette butts. My first class was in the not very originally titled East Building, which reminded me of any number of corporate offices. It didn’t scream “center of academic enlightenment” in any conceivable way. I paused and stared at it, not ready to enter but not seeing any other choices. This was where I was—not Reed, but at a small, ugly campus.

  “Are you lost?”

  I turned and saw motorcycle boots. Embarrassingly, those boots were enough to excite me. I lifted my gaze to the speaker, still hoping to see Zion despite my repeated self-lectures on the topic, but it wasn’t him. His cousin Noah was standing with a motorcycle helmet in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

  He stopped and waved the hand with the cigarette in front of my face. “Can you hear me, Aubrey?”

  My heart stuttered. Noah looked more dangerous than angelic now that I was sober. It immediately made me wonder what I’d think if I saw Zion. In my memory, they’d both been softer somehow, but the man in front of me was a little intimidating. Would Zion be too?

  Despite my twinge of nerves, I glanced at the cigarette in Noah’s hand and said, “That’s disgusting.”

  “Sorry.” He lifted it to his lips, took a long drag, and then dropped it to the ground. “It is Aubrey, right? My cousin said you were Mrs. Evans’ granddaughter.”

  “I am.”

  “Will you tell her I said hello?” Noah asked, sounding almost sheepish and suddenly a lot less intimidating. “I wouldn’t have passed English without her encouragement. I’m good with numbers, but books aren’t my thing.”

  “I’ll tell her.” I looked at him and tried to reconcile the images of biker and teacher’s pet. It wasn’t working for me. Admittedly, my grandmother had a weakness for troublemakers—and apparently for bikers. She was a fierce woman, even in her sixties, but she was also devoted to her students. I could certainly picture her being a favorite with someone like Noah.

  “Sorry. You do remember me, don’t you? Noah,” he reminded me, as if I’d honestly be able to forget someone that sin-pretty. “You were a bit drunk.”

  My face flamed at the memory and I explained, “I don’t usually drink, and . . . I really don’t drink or say the things I think I said to you and Zion.”

  Noah smiled again before he said, “I didn’t mind. No one’s ever called me an angel before.”

  I refused to let myself get any more embarrassed. I was here for at least the semester, probably more. From the looks of it, Noah was a student here too. I couldn’t be embarrassed every time I saw him. That meant putting my one stupid night behind me. I’d been drunk a total of twice in my life. Even if he didn’t know I was telling the truth about not being like that, I did.

  Noah motioned for me to move, and once we started walking again, he prompted, “So you’re . . .”

  “Attending Williamsville,” I said, but quickly added, “but only temporarily. I’m headed back to Reed, back to Oregon, as soon as I can.”

  “Let me show you around,” Noah offered. “Give you the locals’ tour.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I hedged, feeling oddly guilty at the mere idea of going anywhere with Noah. It’s not that I really thought I’d see Zion again, but it seemed . . . almost unfaithful to get on someone else’s motorcycle.

  Before I could come up with anything to say that wasn’t either rude or idiotic sounding, Noah opened the door to the East Building and said, “If you want a ride home or wherever, I’ll be done after this class. My bike’s usually the only Harley in the lot.”

  Then he turned right and vanished down an overcrowded hallway, leaving me alone in a sea of strangers.

  I stared after him. Williamsville was a peculiar place. I’d gone most of my life without being asked out, and in the past two weeks, I’d had Quincy invite me to drink with him, Zion defend me from the consequences of that decision, and Noah ask to show me around town. It was flattering, but only one of the three truly interested me so far. Quincy didn’t tempt me. Sure, he was cute, but our brief hookup had been an exceedingly bad idea. Noah was tempting, sexy, and charming, but . . . he wasn’t the biker I thought about every day lately.

  I realized then that Noah had said his was usually the only Harley . . . So that probably meant Zion wasn’t a student here. I wondered what he did, where he worked—and if Noah would tell him that I was a student here. I shouldn’t wonder, though.

  Resolutely, I pushed thoughts of Zion out of my mind and went to find my classroom. This was precisely why I didn’t date: a five-minute conversation in which Zion wasn’t even overtly mentioned, and I was already distracted.

  ONCE I FOUND the right classroom, I fixed my confident expression in place, took a deep breath, and went inside. It wasn’t like I’d had all that many great friends at Reed, but I’d lived in the dorms on campus. It was like its own small town. After a few days, I knew people, and after two years there, I’d felt like I belonged. Before that, I’d been at the same high school for four years, and everyone knew me. Here, I was new and alone. I felt utterly lost.

  I’d lived in a couple places before moving to Portland to attend Reed, but Portland was the sort of place that made sense. It had a giant independent bookstore that took up a full city block, thrift stores everywhere, and a vibrant music scene. The weather was gray drudge too often, but that just gave me an excuse for buying cool boots and jackets. It worked.

  Williamsville was nothing like that. Sure, there were a couple of bookstores, and a few thrift stores, but both the music and the boots were more country than city. It was a foreign land in so many ways.

  The instructor arrived, greeted a couple of students by name, and launched into an introductory lecture that seemed to focus more on rules than anything else. It wasn’t particularly encouraging. I tried to remind myself that this was a gen ed course—I’d only registered for classes that I could transfer to fulfill requirements elsewhere—but even those classes were awesome at Reed. College wasn’t supposed to be about the requirements; it was supposed to be about learning—and about the experience.

  “Are you okay?” whispered a girl next to me in a Rosie the Riveter T-shirt.

  I glanced around to see whom she was talking to.

  “Yep. I mean you,” the girl confirmed. “You look like you’re going to puke or something.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

  The girl shrugged and turned her attention to the front of the room, where the importance of punctuality was being stressed.

  I glanced down at the course syllabus for one of the two courses I was taking and read, HISTORY 215, SURVEY OF EUROPEAN HISTORY. It was a class that would transfer to fulfill a gen ed requirement, and the class size wasn’t impossible like it would be if I went to the state university, but I wasn’t going to be ending up anywhere else until I sorted out my finances. I focused my attention on the instructor, who was called Mr. Gamble, according to the handout on the desk.

  By the time class was over, I was beyond convinced that I could handle these couple of courses and a full-time job. My only requirement for my off hours was the little bit of studying I had and to be home when I could so Grandma Maureen wasn’t left alone as much. She was a toug
h woman, but the crime in her area was stressful for her. I wanted to be there for her and not be a burden on her.

  “You looked like you were plotting Gamble’s death,” said the girl in the Rosie shirt as I was gathering my things at the end of class.

  “He’s different from the sort of professors I’ve had before,” I offered as diplomatically as I could.

  “So they didn’t suck?”

  Surprised, I laughed at her blunt assessment. “No. They really didn’t.”

  “He’s a tool,” she said. “I wouldn’t take any of his classes by choice, but I need this one, and he’s the only one teaching it. I’m Ellen, by the way.”

  “Aubrey.” I held out my hand.

  After a moment, Ellen grasped my fingers and shook. “I feel like I’m in a job interview all of a sudden.”

  I stiffened for a moment, unsure whether or not I felt insulted.

  “Relax.”

  “I’m not much for relaxing lately,” I admitted with a small laugh. “New girl. Not where I want to be. Not impressed with the classes . . .”

  “Aside from being new, you just described everyone I know at WCC.” Ellen shoved the last of her things into what looked like a handmade bag. I glanced at her multi-fabric skirt and realized it was handmade too.

  “Come on,” Ellen said.

  I followed her for a minute before I said, “Not to be rude, but you don’t look like you belong here.”

  She laughed. “Born and bred, babe. You’ll find variety here just like in . . .” She looked at me expectantly.

  “Portland, Oregon,” I filled in as we headed out to the tiny quad.

  “So you’re a tree-hugging, pot-smoking Kurt Cobain lover?” She paused and gave me a once-over. My jeans and blouse certainly didn’t match that description.

  “Point taken,” I said, abashed. “For what it’s worth, I do like Nirvana, but I’m not so much with the pot.”

  “Stereotypes aren’t always entirely wrong,” Ellen said with a nod. “I, for example, am going to be a fashion designer despite being in Williamsville right now, but I like the blues, modern country like Jason Aldean, and classics like Reba.”

  For a moment, I almost admitted I had no idea who they were, but then I remembered a television show. “She was on a TV show, right? Reba?”

  Ellen laughed and patted my arm. “She was a singer first, babe. Hell of a voice, strong woman, and straight-up country.” She bumped her shoulder into mine and lowered her voice. “Don’t look now, but one of our local boys is looking at you like you’re the finest thing in town.”

  “Noah? We met briefly.”

  When she turned and met my gaze, her brow was raised. “Put a pin in that because we’ll be talking about it later.” She not-so-subtly steered me toward the tiny cafeteria. “I didn’t mean Noah Dash. I meant Quincy.”

  “Ugh.”

  “You know two of the resident troublemakers already?”

  Reluctantly, I nodded. “Noah’s cousin Zion sort of rescued me from Quincy after I’d had a little too much to drink. I don’t drink as a rule—”

  “And that’s the top three.”

  Before she could say anything else, we were interrupted by Quincy. He seemed less appealing after our drunken encounter, but even now, I had to admit that he was cute, in that small-town-farm-boy way. He wasn’t a farm boy, but he had that same sort of build that came from working outside. I remembered that before we’d gotten terribly drunk he had told me he worked for a contractor, which explained the muscles.

  “Aubrey,” he said. “I got it right that time, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “Good.” Quincy glanced at Ellen and nodded. Then he returned his attention to me. “I didn’t know you were a student here. Let me show you around.”

  I grabbed Ellen’s wrist when she started to walk away. She paused, but said nothing.

  “Thanks, but Ellen already offered.” I didn’t mention that Noah had too, or that spending time with the sheriff’s kid wasn’t on my to-do list.

  Quincy looked at Ellen and then back at me. “Then I’ll see you around. We can grab lunch or something.”

  I made a noncommittal noise. Saying I wasn’t ever going to be free for lunch with him sounded ruder than I wanted to be, even though it was true. I settled on saying, “Good luck in your classes, Quincy.”

  And then I walked away with Ellen.

  We hadn’t gone very far before she looked at me and laughed. “You looked absolutely mortified. I take it there was no love match there?”

  “None.” I glanced back to make sure Quincy wasn’t near enough to hear. “He’s not a bad guy, but he’s . . . not for me. We drank. We had sloppy kisses. He got pushy . . . and Zion showed up and punched him.”

  Ellen sat down on the grass but made a keep-going gesture with her hand, and I dropped to the ground next to her and filled her in on my brief adventure with cheap booze, bad choices, and fighting boys.

  Afterward, she looked at me and whistled. “I don’t know whether to envy or pity you. Killer is . . . trouble, but he doesn’t bother with competition. Dash and Quincy, on the other hand, hate one another. They compete on everything, always have, and you, Miss Portland, are liable to be the newest contest. That is, unless Killer woos you before they can.”

  “Killer?”

  “Sorry. Zion,” she clarified. “No one calls him that. Not since . . . I don’t know, middle school, maybe? His name is Killer now. Honestly, I’m not sure most people even remember his original name.”

  “Whatever his name is, it doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, not daring to admit that I had thought of him a lot since that night. As if it would help me remind myself, I said aloud, “I don’t date.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever,” I confirmed.

  “So you’re a . . .”

  “A what?” I knew the question, hated it, but I wasn’t going to dodge it.

  “A virgin?”

  “Nope.” I sat back and shook my head. “I handled that in high school. A bunch of us figured it was best to just pull the Band-Aid off. We got a few bottles of booze, picked partners, and got it out of the way before college.”

  Ellen’s mouth gaped open.

  I kept talking. “People make a big deal about it, and we decided not to let hormones get in the way of the schedule, so we all agreed to help one another out after prom.”

  “Like an orgy?” she whispered.

  “Noooo. Like we all got hotel rooms, like most couples, but we paired up with friends. It’s no big deal.” I shook my head. “It’s not a distraction now, and although it was pleasant, I don’t see any need to repeat it until I’m ready for a relationship.”

  Ellen stared at me, and I wondered if I’d been too honest too soon. I’d said as much to people at Reed, but they’d mostly nodded in agreement. Ellen wasn’t nodding. She echoed, “ ‘Pleasant’?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Now that I know the truth, I don’t think about wanting to do it the way I might if I didn’t know that it’s not that exciting.”

  I silently admitted that I was thinking about it lately, but that would fade. Zion was probably not that interesting in reality. I just had a fantasy image of him because of the way he’d rescued me.

  “Maybe you just need more practice, babe, because if you do it right, it’s a lot more than pleasant.” Ellen flashed me a wide grin. “And both Killer and Dash are known for doing it verrrry right.”

  My traitorous mind flashed back to flirting with Zion and then to Noah’s invitation for a ride home. Before I could shove all of those thoughts away again, I felt a flash of the sort of desire that served absolutely no purpose in my plan. I shook my head to chase away that thought before it could take hold.

  “Nope. I’m not interested. Like I said, I don’t date. I’ll have a serious relationship no sooner than grad school. Right now, I have to get a job, save some money, and transfer back to Reed. If I decide to go past my BA, I’ll need to get a fellowship or a
n assistantship to pay for grad school. Then after my master’s degree or maybe even my PhD, I can find a spouse. That gives me time to get settled in a relationship and probably a professorial career, so we can buy our starter house before we have our kids when I’m thirty-two or thirty-three.”

  Ellen stared at me in silence. Her mouth opened and closed. She still didn’t say anything, though. When I delivered that plan at Reed, people commented, either sharing their own projected trajectory or asking questions. Ellen did neither.

  I added, “I hit a snag when I had to leave Reed temporarily, but that’s reparable. Following The Plan will make everything manageable.”

  Finally, she spoke, saying only, “Damn. That’s . . . detailed.”

  “Thanks.” The Plan was reliable. Having things sorted out made decisions easier. Any time there was confusion about the right choice, it was easy to figure out. The right one was the one that supported The Plan.

  “So no boys, but you need a job?” Ellen opened a notebook, tore out a piece of paper, and scribbled down a number and address. “I can help with that. In the spirit of new friends or . . . maybe a little awe of your scary planning skills, here you go.” She held out the paper. “My cousin said that they’re hiring over at Wolves.”

  Wolves? What was with this town and wolves? I made a mental note to see if they were indigenous here or something. It didn’t match what I remembered, but I hadn’t spent much time pondering Tennessee.

  “What’s Wolves?” I asked, not taking the paper. As much as I needed to find a job, I couldn’t take one where I had no qualification—not that I had many marketable skills. I had two years of college, not exactly the stuff of high-paying wages.

  Instead of answering, Ellen waggled the paper at me. “They need a waitress or barmaid. Just tell them Bitty’s girl sent you over.”