Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance

by Smartypants Romance

  She eyed me for a long minute before shaking her head and smiling ruefully. “That’s a conversation for another day. Right now, I need your first-aid kit and you need to run down the hall and grab a glass of water to take some aspirin. Then you need to get back in bed and sleep off this hangover until Odie and I come back with some pastries from the cafeteria.”

  Chastened and chastised, I did as she instructed.

  James drew the curtains and before she left said, “Oh, and for the record, of course you didn’t do anything that you’d regret last night. Trevor never even got near you. Your friends were by your side and we would never allow that.”

  She flicked off the light and exited.

  I slept most of the day and it was dreamless and untroubled. Probably because I felt exhausted. James and Odie woke me with time enough to shower and then head to dinner.

  I held my breath as we walked through the cafeteria doors and breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed Trevor and his friends where nowhere to be seen.

  In fact, the cafeteria was fairly empty. A glance down at my mother’s gold watch on my arm told me it was 6:48.

  A nagging suspicion began to claw at me, but I was hungry. Starving, in fact, and I wanted to eat every single thing. However, James and Odie warned me that I should start slow and simple and not eat too much or it would make me sick.

  The temporary euphoric feeling of last night was so far in my rearview mirror, I couldn’t see why I’d thought drinking was a good idea. The after-effects were awful.

  We got through our meal and made it back to the dorms before the other shoe dropped. We entered the lobby of Jubilee and it was like a record skipped. All the girls in the seating area immediately lowered their voices.

  I sighed as it clicked as to why we were eating so late; James and Odie and I never went to the cafeteria that late. I’d chalked it up to them generously letting me sleep my hangover off, but I now realized they knew the later we went the emptier it would be and the less likely we’d run into whispers.

  Notoriety and Gossip, you bitter hags, how I have not missed you, my old friends.

  Back in my room I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. “James, talk.”

  James, the chatterbox incarnate, floundered as she tried to figure out a place to start, so I knew the rumors were bad.

  Finally, I opened my eyes and put her out of her misery. “Whatever the rumors are, James, just spit it out. This waiting is killing me.”

  I was delivered from my curiosity by Odie. “Well the good news is that most of the upperclassmen aren’t paying this any attention. Lucy says she hasn’t heard a blip.”

  I nodded. College was larger than high school so it made sense that rumors would take longer to spread. And also, not all the upperclassmen were even back yet. And most importantly, they probably had lives and just didn’t care.

  “But amongst the girls in this dorm you’ve been branded as . . . a hussy,” James said the word lowly and shamefully.

  But I laughed. Big peals of laughter that had Odie and James looking at each other like I was a nut.

  A hussy? Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Whew! I’d needed that. I’d thought the rumors would be closer to the mark. That I was an idiot. Or a naive country bumpkin.

  My friends continued to look at me strangely, like they thought I’d gone a step further and became a cracked nut.

  I took a big gulp of air, breathing fully for the first time that day and ignoring the way my heart twinged. I would not think about him. I would not.

  “Let me guess. I used my feminine wiles to try to steal Elodie’s boyfriend?” I twisted my lips and raised my eyebrows expectantly.

  James looked stunned. I took that as confirmation that I was correct.

  “Gossip is predictable, James.”

  I sighed. So very predictable. Of course I’d get blamed for Trevor’s bad behavior. Women usually were.

  On the bright side, at least there was no way this would get back to my father and Dolly since I was using a fake name. I didn’t have to worry about them calling or driving up here like a couple of dueling white knights trying to save the day. Lord, Dolly and my father showing up would be the second worst thing that could happen to me this week.

  Besides, if the rumors were just some bored freshman girls gossiping about me in their dorm rooms, then it would probably blow over in a few days.

  Or the rumor might grow wings and fly through campus. You never knew with rumors.

  I decided I didn’t care either way.

  I’d thought I’d feel . . . I don’t know, upset. Or maybe compelled to set the narrative straight—that was why I’d asked James to begin with. But I didn’t feel any of that. Maybe because the narrative they came up with was so unoriginal. Or maybe it was because folks had been talking about me my entire life that another week or two—hell, another month or two—wouldn’t kill me. It would make life uncomfortable and irritating, but it wouldn’t kill me.

  It would make it so that some people who didn’t even know me wouldn’t want to socialize with me, but it would not kill me.

  And eventually something shinier would come along and the wagging tongues would all move on.

  This too shall pass, Daisy.

  “Daisy, how are you taking this so well? They’re saying that you slept with him to try to get—” I held up my hand.

  “James, I can’t care.”

  I meant it literally. From the depths of my battered spirit which still felt exhausted, either from the alcohol or from the events of the night before or both. With my whole heart I could not find it in me to care what those girls thought of me.

  I would not give it my time. I could not. I had two majors to focus on. If I went down the path of trying to refute every dumb thing that was said about me I would never have time for class.

  I’d dated—well not dated, but I had been taken with a guy—and I got burned. End of story.

  And all those girls that were blaming his behavior on me?

  I suddenly felt bad for them. Because if they blamed me for Trevor’s bad behavior then they’d blame themselves for the bad behavior of the men in their lives.

  “I just can’t care,” I repeated looking at my friends, letting them see the tired truth of my words.

  “I don’t want to hear about the rumors unless they’ll impact my physical well-being, my enrollment status, or my grades. Otherwise, let them talk, let them have their fun.” I repeated James’s wise words about Julian, “Those girls don’t deserve any more headspace than what’s absolutely required. So I won’t give them any.”

  James smirked at me in approval and gave me a curt nod.

  Odie picked that moment to inform us both that Lucy was on her way over with ice cream pops.

  My stomached grumbled in appreciation and anticipation. Dinner had been too light and unsatisfying.

  We ate the ice cream pops and we played spades well into the night. Odie and I kicked James and Lucy’s butts until James called reneging. After a good-natured scuffle, James was finally able to wrangle the cards from Odie’s hands and we all collapsed in a cloud of cards and laughter.

  Eventually, Odie and Lucy headed back to their respective rooms. James climbed in the bed across from mine.

  “Not going home tonight, Jamesy?” I asked, not wanting her to feel like she needed to mind me. She’d done enough. After all, she’d stayed with me last night already. In fact, both of my friends had done more than their share to take care of me.

  “This is home,” she said on a yawn.

  I shut off the light, climbed into bed, and let sleep claim me.

  Sunday evening after dinner I was finally able to convince my friends that I was well and truly all right. I gently pointed out to them that they had their own first day of classes to prepare for, and that I did not need a minder to sleep in the room with me. I was going to be absolutely fine.

  It was only a partial lie.

  I did and do love having my
friends around but it had begun to feel a bit suffocating. They seemed determined to keep me from falling into a slump, but I needed to think and I needed to brood a little and then think some more.

  And I loved them for it . . . but the thing was—

  I needed the slump.

  I needed to ruminate on how I had gotten here, and more importantly, what I could do to make sure I never ever ended up being so stupid over a boy again.

  I needed to work through all the feelings I had around Trevor and there were a lot of feelings. And then I would come up with a plan for what to do when I saw him next.

  Because I would see him again, every single week. I’d contemplated asking for a new mentor for about two seconds before I realized that I would rather drop out of school altogether than bring Dr. Gwinn into my personal drama.

  And if what Trevor told me about his affection for Dr. Gwinn were true, then he felt the same way.

  But was it? I found myself questioning just about everything I’d experienced with Trevor.

  Was brown really his favorite color? Was he really even my mentor or someone that had just wandered into Harris and decided to take advantage of an opportunity?

  No, Daisy. He’s really your mentor. Fate is exactly that kind to you.

  I decided to work through my emotions in chunks. Trying to do it all at once would likely lead to tears.

  I’d already dealt with the humiliation, so that left anger . . . and devastation. Enough hurt to bring an elephant down without a tranquilizer gun.

  So, anger it was! I thought of Trevor kissing me, holding my hand all the while—

  Nope!

  Turned out anger wasn’t safe either.

  None of your emotions are safe.

  Happiness wasn’t safe because happiness was kissing Trevor. Sadness wasn’t either, because sadness was watching Trevor kiss someone else. Trevor had tainted them all. He’d even tainted missing folks. Because the part of me that had believed the Trevor I knew was real still missed that person.

  Pathetic.

  This is why your friends didn’t want you to slump, Daisy.

  My emotions had gotten me into this mess, so I decided to use logic to get me out of it. The jar of no feelings was getting upgraded; I was going to make it pitcher sized, maybe even gallon sized. A gallon sized jar of no feelings sounded lovely right about now.

  I regrouped. Maybe working through all the feelings wasn’t the most important thing right now. I just needed to focus on getting through this week, on enjoying this week. After all, it would be my first week of college classes. Enjoyment was—I cut my mind off. Don’t think it, Daisy.

  I figuratively straightened my spine and decided as of that moment to put an embargo on ruminating on Trevor. Logically speaking I didn’t need to feel anything about him at all—all I needed to do was come up with a plan for seeing him next.

  And just like that the solution came to me.

  Trevor would get nothing from me. No reaction, no emotion, no conversation. I fleshed my plan out and turned it around in my mind looking for holes. I realized I needed to make an amendment: I’d likely have to speak to him some, but one-word answers or the shortest possible variation would do.

  I held on to my plan like a life preserver and finally drifted to sleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Daisy

  My first week of class went by mostly in a blur. Dr. Gwinn was right; it was going to be a lot of work. A lot of work.

  My teachers didn’t shirk from giving reading assignments or projects just because it was the first week. Each course syllabus has proven to be a lifeline. I grudgingly acknowledged that Trevor’s method of filling out my blocks of study time with chapter numbers was helpful. Additionally, he’d shown me a grid he kept with major milestones for each course, like the first exam or when term papers were due. I replicated it, color coding each class and it turned out to be a very, very effective way to track what I needed to study at any given time.

  Another thing I’d learned was that there was no review period. I’d laughed at myself the way I’m sure Dr. Gwinn had scoffed when I’d assumed the first week would be determining what students already knew. Professors were way more focused on teaching new concepts than figuring out what we already knew.

  And even though the course work was a lot and I was barely seeing my friends, I loved it.

  I loved my Introduction to Textiles class and I loved my Introduction to Culinary Arts Class. I did not love biology and I absolutely loathed statistics.

  Here’s the thing: I loved math. Math was beautiful, and its beauty was in its simplicity and constancy.

  Statistics was not math.

  Its calculations were deceptively simple, but its applications? Complicated, clumsy, and situational. It was the awkward offspring of math and sociology that did not fit into either world.

  Statistics was messy.

  Nevertheless, I would need to figure out a way for it to make sense. I couldn’t afford to get behind in any class.

  Maybe I’d ask Dr. Gwinn . . .

  No, she’d wonder why I wasn’t asking my mentor. It would be a cold day in you-know-where before I asked Trevor to recommend a statistics tutor.

  Trevor.

  The other reason having a crammed schedule was great, aside from keeping me challenged, was that I barely had time to think about Trevor.

  Except at night. Nights were . . . hard.

  Because I thought of Trevor, no matter how hard I tried to push him out of my mind. I didn’t want to think of him, but I’d close my eyes, exhausted and ready to sleep, and without fail that dimple in his left cheek that only showed when he smiled would appear.

  Or I’d see those striking eyes and their strange, rich shade of brown. The worst was when I saw his whole face—lips curling in laughter or eyebrows raised high as I challenged him on a point. I missed him.

  No that wasn’t exactly right.

  I didn’t miss him.

  I missed the Trevor I’d spent time with, the one I thought I’d started to know. I couldn’t reconcile the guy who’d stomped on my heart last Friday with the Trevor who was so clever and kind all the times before. Mentally I knew they were the same, but my heart was having a lot harder time catching up.

  I hope, I hope, I hope, it would beat.

  Or maybe there’s a reason, maybe he can explain, it’d thump. And then my brain would have to explain the facts of life to my heart; the reason would not matter.

  Give up hope because it’s hopeless, it would lecture.

  I wasn’t sleeping well. But I hadn’t cried and I counted that as a win.

  At the end of my first full day of classes I finally called Dolly. The chat was mercifully brief and mostly pleasant. I gave her my student account number so she could wire my tuition payment. Her voice pitched up an octave when I’d given her the total amount owed. Then she’d quipped, “I had no idea Fisk had become so expensive.” I immediately came clean and told her that my tuition was high because I was carrying twenty-one credits and that I’d decided to double major.

  She was quiet for a very, very long beat and then surprised me by saying, “Well, Daisy, I admire your gumption. That’s a lot of work . . . if you feel like you’re drowning, make sure you raise a flag to your professors.”

  I’d been bracing myself for her reaction and her acceptance was a balm. My immediate instinct was to assure her that I’d be fine, that I had a wonderful mentor that would help me out, but the words turned to acid and died on my tongue.

  So instead of telling her that lie, I sang the praises of my advisor and told her that she’d gone through great lengths to make sure I was supported. And because hell was freezing over, I was suddenly overcome with a bit of wistfulness, missing my sister, wishing she were here and that I could tell her about Trevor. Wishing I could trust her fully—trust her to not just bulldoze her way through and to Dolly Trevor into submission. What would count as Trevor submitting? An apology, maybe?

  Yeah, an
apology would be real nice.

  But I digressed. Dolly didn’t second-guess my decision to double major and I was so happy that she trusted me in this at least. And so I said it apropos of nothing, cutting her off mid-sentence as she talked about a new pair of shoes she’d gotten. “Thank you, Dolly.”

  She paused for a second and then said, “Whatever can you be thanking me for? Is it being the world’s best big sister?”

  I rolled my eyes. Oh brother—or rather, oh sister.

  “Just, thanks . . . I know you do a lot for me. And I know this whole thing hasn’t been easy for you, me leaving home and all.”

  “Oh . . . I know you’re an adult now, Daisy, and that you have to do things your own way,” she said airily in the voice she used when she knows she should believe something but absolutely doesn’t.

  We moved on to the news from back home. Dolly filled me in on local gossip and the latest with the Mill. Listening to her tales, not only did I miss my sister, but for the first time since I’d been gone, I missed home.

  But Dolly was an emotional ninja. She could blindside you by stealthily sneaking all of your emotional pain points into the most innocuous of conversations. And just like that, my homesickness vanished when she suddenly asked me if I was coming home for the upcoming long weekend and offered to pick me up on Friday. I—artfully, might I add—sidestepped her question by telling her I had a lot of work (true) and that I’d have to think about it (untrue) because the unspoken subtext between us was that it wasn't just the long weekend, it was the weekend of my mother’s birthday.

  I was absolutely not going home.

  My mother hadn’t been too far from my thoughts—that’s why I’d been playing her favorite song—but it wasn’t the pit of despair that it had been last year.

  Dealing with it here would be difficult enough. Going home and being in that house with all those memories would undoubtedly be worse.