Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance

by Smartypants Romance

  So on Saturday I would wake up and feel . . . whatever, but I wouldn’t stop. I would keep going and I wouldn’t fall apart the way I would if I were at home.

  My sister sighed resignedly then let the topic die before we ended our otherwise pleasant call. But I didn’t buy it for a second; she was going to pester me about this again. Dolly might retreat for a moment, but she never conceded defeat.

  I hardly saw James and Odie during that first week. James had two early classes so breakfast was out. Odie had a late lab class on Wednesdays and, much to her dismay, Fridays.

  We were finally able to connect for lunch on Thursday, and afterward we decided to head to the bookstore to pick up our books.

  We were not prepared. We weren’t prepared at all.

  A line longer than the Great Wall of China, twisted, snaked, bunched, and curled almost back to where we entered. It was overflowing with students.

  “I guess we should’ve come before lunch. This is insanity,” Odie said, bewildered.

  A guy turned around to respond to her, saw James, did a double take, and then rapidly shook his head like a cartoon character.

  James smiled wryly and looked away pretending not to notice his reaction to her. I didn’t know how she managed; being stunning had to be kinda exhausting. To the guy’s credit, he didn’t hit on her. Instead, he stammered to Odie, still clearly unsettled by James, “Th-th-this is nothing. Earlier was worse.”

  “Worse,” I said perplexed. “How is that even possible?”

  “We’re standing inside the building,” he responded.

  Over the next forty-five minutes we learned that some students were there trying to sell back their books from the previous semester while others, like us, were there to buy them for the current semester.

  We had a lot of questions. And maybe it was because they were bored standing in line too, or perhaps it was a little schadenfreude whereby they were intensely amused by our growing distress, but either way, the upperclassmen answered our questions.

  “Okay, so you said the best way to get books in the future is to get the book from a person that’s already taken the class. But you also said that books change from semester to semester. How will I know before the next semester starts if the book I got is still usable?”

  “You won’t.”

  Odie’s face bunched in confusion as she mulled this over.

  “My professors have given me a lot of reading, due this week, but I didn’t have the class until today and I didn’t get the syllabus before now, so I’m already behind on my reading. I’d like to avoid repeating this predicament in the future. Is there any way to know which books I need before the semester starts?”

  That from James, who’d been assigned volume one of War and Peace in addition to her regular textbook reading for her English 202 class. James was majoring in English and had tested out of most of the 100 level English classes. Her reading schedule was already more rigorous than almost everyone else’s.

  “No,” one of the girls that stood around us replied. “Good luck though.”

  James made a small groan of distress.

  I asked, “So does the bookstore order at least one book for everyone that’s enrolled in a class? And will your professor give you an extension if you can’t get a book for a class?” I’d noticed some of the shelves looked bare the closer we got to the entryway.

  Resounding laughter from all around was the only response I received.

  “So what are you supposed to do to make sure that you get your books?” James said so shrilly over the laughter, I turned to make sure she hadn’t been replaced by a teakettle.

  A smattering of responses cut through the din all of which equated to, “Buy your books at the first possible moment, hope it isn’t on back order, or wait for it to come back in stock. And when it’s back in stock, run the whole gauntlet again while praying the bookstore gods decide to bestow their grace upon you. Or drop the class.”

  Odie started biting her lip, a telltale sign she was worried, and it was no wonder—getting books should not have been this hard.

  When the clerk that was monitoring how many students were in the store finally waved us in, we wiggled our way across the threshold.

  In the home economics section, there were two, count them two, copies of Introduction to Modern Textiles left lying in a broken carton when I reached it. I grabbed mine happily and then almost dropped it again when I saw the pink sticker on the spine.

  Thirty-five dollars?

  That couldn’t be right. Maybe they misplaced the decimal and the book was three dollars and fifty cents.

  I glanced to my right and saw Odie pluck a book from a shelf and then stare at the price, equally confused. She looked over at me, and mouthed, “fifty-six dollars?”

  I held my book tighter; there was a girl in a pink peplum ruffled dress that was eyeing it like it was gold bullion. And for the price they expected us to pay for these damned books they may as well have been actual gold. Knowledge was priceless, but this was a bit ridiculous.

  A half hour and $116 later, I’d obtained four of my books and found out the rest were on back order. I needed a nap and a summer vacation.

  Odie trailed into the lobby a few minutes later, and James came out nearly twenty minutes later holding only a used copy of War and Peace.

  “Jamesy, I can’t believe they only had one of your books.”

  Her attention snapped to Odie and me like she’d just realized we were there. She smiled, looking rattled. “I know. Unbelievable, right?”

  Odie stared at her sympathetically. “I didn’t get my bio lab book. The lady said it’s back ordered till next week. I guess I’ll just have to . . . I don’t know. Hopefully, my lab partner got one and I can just use hers. Did they say when your books will be in?”

  “I . . . uhh, forgot to check,” James said distractedly. “I’ll come back when it’s less crowded to see when they’ll be available.”

  “What are you going to do until then, Jamesy?” she prodded gently.

  “Oh, I’ll figure it out. I just . . . I had no idea about all this—” She waved her hands around, signaling all we’d just endured. She frowned and looked even more disconcerted. “No one mentioned textbooks were so expensive. I don’t know, I just . . . no one told me about this part.” She sounded more distressed by the second.

  “It’s a racket!” Odie declared.

  I’d gleaned a few things about James in the time we’d spent together. She didn’t talk about her parents, but she mentioned that she came from “modest means”—her words. She also told me that she was the first person in her family to go to college, something I told her she should be immensely proud of even though she’d said it like it was something to be ashamed of. I also knew that when I’d gone to get my English 101 book for the whopping price of $45.82—the most insulting part had been the eighty-two cents—I’d noticed a stack of books for the 202 course sitting right there. It was entirely possible that James’s professors had assigned some books that weren’t part of the standard curriculum, but I suspected James only got one book not because there weren’t any there, but because she couldn’t afford them. And that made my heart clench. I wanted to usher her back into the bookstore, force her to pick out all her books, and put them on my account. But I also knew there was nothing James would like less than my help right now. She’d see it as pity and she’d see it as charity. This was nothing like the gift she gave me in private; this would happen in front of a whole host of folks. And if she was too embarrassed to tell us outright, then she’d be humiliated if I knew and made a big fuss about paying her way. I made a mental note to come up with a plan to try to get her books, even if I had to just anonymously buy them one at a time and leave them in her dorm room.

  James led the way out of the Spence and as soon as her back was to us Odie shot me a look that said, “What are we gonna do?” and I knew she’d figured it out too.

  I tapped my temple and raised my eyebrows so she’d know
I was thinking of a plan and she nodded.

  The work seemed to never stop, and toward the end of the week I was definitely feeling a bit like a guppy that was learning to swim, but I was managing. The remainder of the week was gauntlet free—well, not totally gauntlet free. The emotional one was still there.

  When I got home from my last class on Thursday, a note was on my door—Call Dolly.

  I’d just checked in three days ago. Dolly was being ridiculous. One step forward, one hundred steps back with her.

  I ignored the note and started my studying, which went slowly because thoughts of my scheduled meeting with Trevor tomorrow kept invading my mind. Both Odie and James offered to walk me to the library but I told them I’d be fine. I would have to face Trevor once a week, every week, for the rest of the semester. I might as well rip the Band-Aid off.

  Besides, in the very public library where everyone was required to remain quiet and calm, nothing too bad could happen. Plus, I had my plan. My plan that was rock solid. So rock solid I decided to start executing it that very moment. I pulled out a slip of paper and began jotting down my course updates. I was prepared. I would be fine.

  I am prepared, I’ll be fine. I am prepared . . .

  I was not prepared.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daisy

  I woke up Friday with a boulder of dread in the pit of my stomach. The feeling grew every hour I got closer to having to meet Trevor. I found myself regretting my bravery, wishing instead that I’d been a coward and accepted my friends’ offer to come with me.

  I have a plan . . . Yeah.

  I’d stopped telling myself that I was prepared, because not even my inner cheerleader was buying that lie anymore.

  I headed to my room after my last class ended at noon, and tried to study but when I read the line, “Textiles as they are today wouldn’t be possible without the advent of the cotton gin” as “Trevors today wouldn’t be possible without the Trevor of cotton gin,” I realized the effort was futile. I closed my book and took a nap.

  When my alarm went off at three thirty I saw that someone had slid a note under my door while I’d been asleep. I was tempted to throw it directly in the trash, thinking the Call Dolly messages had escalated to the next level of absurdity, but just before I tossed it I noticed my name written in pretty script across the folded square.

  Unfolding it, I took in the words “Meet me at Harris instead of the Library, same time.”

  I reread the note, sure I must have it wrong. Surely not even Trevor was that cruel.

  But isn’t he? a voice responded.

  Look at the way he chose to tell you he had a girlfriend.

  And then there was the timing of the note’s delivery. I didn’t have time to refuse to change the location even if I wanted to. And I sure as hell wanted to.

  And just like that, the pitcher of no feelings cracked. Feelings were seeping through the sieve.

  He wasn’t just content to humiliate me. No. I thought as I left my dorm and navigated down the drive in front, marching thunderously because I was feeling thunderous.

  Like I could strike and kill at any moment.

  He wanted to keep humiliating me.

  Making me walk through this crowd, forcing me relive that moment is an asshole move.

  Trevor Boone is an asshole.

  I kept my head low as I snaked through the beginnings of what would morph into the block party all the while fighting to keep my temper under control. It was a futile effort. By the time the Harris building and Trevor propped against the archway at the top of the stairs were in my sights, all the feelings I’d spent the week containing were so very near the surface.

  If I weren’t so mad I may have noticed how he looked tired, like the week had worn him down to a nub. I may have cared how his eyes looked earnest, imploring, and a little sad. I did take note, even in my anger, that he still looked incredibly handsome, a fact that only served as kindling to my fire.

  He saw me approaching and stood up straight, speaking while I was still on the sidewalk, “I thought we might meet here. There are less people, and besides, this building reminds me of you.”

  “I hate this building, because it reminds me of you too,” I spat.

  He rocked back on his heels like I’d slapped him as he looked down at me from the top of the stairs like he was king of the goddamned campus, and I’d just had it.

  “You made me walk over here, the same as last week so I could be reminded—” I heard my voice crack on the last word and was ashamed that I’d shown him any of my hurt because there was nothing he deserved less. He didn’t get to see me hurt. He didn’t get to know that I care. Cared. Trevor deserved nothing. Less than nothing.

  “Daisy, no! It wasn’t like that. I didn’t think about—”

  “Of course you didn’t. You’re great at not thinking about how things make me feel, aren’t you?”

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, already ready to have this over with.

  When I opened them, my movements were efficient. I slid my hand into my purse and tossed him the slip of paper.

  “That’s an update on all my coursework and when I anticipate having the assignments done. I’ll see you next week.”

  “Daisy, wait! Please!” He sounded so wounded that my steps stopped abruptly. My mind protested, keep walking, Daisy.

  My feet however, did not get the signal.

  I felt him draw closer, close enough that the hairs on the back of my neck stood. Close enough that his shadow eclipsed mine.

  And then common sense hit me like a ton of bricks. I took a deep breath and stepped away.

  He treated you like dirt and he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend that he’s still treating like dirt. Trevor Boone is an asshole. He has no business standing close to me.

  “Daisy, don’t go. Please. I am going crazy. This is killing me. Stay. Talk to me or don’t talk and just listen to me. Let me explain. Please, I’ve never felt like this. I—”

  “Felt like what? Guilty?” I snapped.

  “Yes. No. I mean, I do feel guilty but not for the reason you think,” he said. I saw in my periphery his head drop into his hands.

  “I miss you,” he blurted. He sounded so desperate, so sincere.

  And it was like a boot to my gut. I was angry at him for saying those words. Angrier still at myself for wanting to believe them when I knew they were lies. And I was angriest of all that it didn’t matter if it was the truth or a lie. He had a girlfriend.

  He didn’t get to miss me.

  He didn’t get to unload his guilt on me.

  He didn’t get to ask me to talk, to give him my words when he hadn’t even given me an apology.

  He doesn’t get anything.

  The fury I felt made me turn, face him head on, and say the only words large enough to suffice in the moment. Ugly words, words of anger and pain, words that I couldn’t take back once they were out.

  “I hate you.”

  Not waiting to see his response, I turned and marched off and I vowed to myself those would be the last words I’d ever say to Trevor Boone.

  He wanted my words? He would never get them.

  When I arrived back at my dorm the ever-present yellow sticker was affixed to it. I didn’t even glance at it. I crumpled the words Call Dolly and tossed them in the trash.

  Trevor

  I didn’t remember walking home but I must’ve because I was sitting at my kitchen table—physically. Mentally, I was still at the moment Daisy said those three little words. They’d felt like a physical kick to the face. My stomach twisted, I’d felt a wave of nausea, I’d started sweating, and my heart tried to jump out of my chest and follow Daisy.

  Three little words.

  So absolute. So final. So devastating.

  Definitely not the three little words I’d been wanting to hear. I’d have loved to have heard “I miss you.”

  I’d have settled for “Let’s talk, Trevor.”

  My first mistake, o
f course, had been changing the location. Well, my first mistake had been dragging Daisy into my mess, but aside from that I hadn’t considered that Daisy would see the parallel between when we were supposed to meet at Harris for our date last week and meeting to talk this week.

  Mistake after mistake.

  She’d been right. My only thought was finding a place where we could speak privately.

  All week I’d hoped and prayed that time would have given her the opportunity to cool off before we spoke. When I realized the library was too public for the conversation I wanted to have, I’d changed the location to the music building for the same reason I’d chosen it as the starting point for our first date.

  It reminded me of Daisy.

  I’d just wanted to . . . not plead my case, but explain as best I could what happened last week. I couldn’t tell her everything. And even if I could’ve told her everything it might not have made a difference, but I wanted to tell her as much of the truth as I could. I owed her that much.

  I wanted to apologize to her. Not for getting to know her, as selfish as it might have been; I wouldn’t ever regret getting to know Daisy.

  But I was sorrier than she’d ever know that I hurt her.

  Stupid, Trevor. You should’ve led with that.

  Maybe then she wouldn’t have said . . . Her words snaked through my mind and my stomach lurched as the sick feeling began to rise again. I couldn’t turn the memory off—Daisy looking at me with that same accusatory expression as she had last week, her eyes flat and hard. Daisy saying that she hated me.

  She hates me. She hates me.

  I had to figure out a way to make this right. This couldn’t be the end of it—couldn’t be the end of us.

  We’d only just started. We’d barely begun to be a we.

  I realized the folly of my plan to wait until graduation to pursue her properly.

  She won’t speak to you in a few months. She won’t want to know you in a few months. Daisy is the sun and everyone is drawn to the sun. Everyone needs light. Do you really think she’ll still be single at the end of the year?