Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  I wrenched my gaze away. Bo was the poster child for every disaster that female singers warbled about. He’d break your heart and do it smiling. Worse, he’d make you think you were better off for having your heart broken because it was done in by him.

  “Why are you even here? Aren’t you a senior?” I said, anger at myself making me sound peevish. At least I kept my voice low enough to avoid getting us in trouble. The professor was on the other end of the stage, making sure everyone in the room was sufficiently depressed with their dim prospects for survival.

  “No, I’m a junior college transfer and I’ll be a junior forever unless I get my science prerequisite out of the way,” Bo said, unperturbed. His reportedly quick trigger was apparently not set off by snippy girls. “Why are you here? You seem like a responsible person who would’ve taken her science elective in her first year.”

  His gaze swept me like a scanning machine and I felt so thoroughly examined I wondered if he was planning to make a 3D model of me later. Probably wishful thinking, but it didn’t stop a thrill from shooting up my spine at the thought of Bo pulling up a mental picture of me during a private moment.

  “How do you know I’m not a first year?” I whispered.

  He looked at me disbelievingly. “Because you were a sophomore when you sat behind me last semester in advanced economic theory, AnnMarie West.” He emphasized my name. It was my turn to be disbelieving. I could not believe that he knew both my name and that I sat behind him in class last semester.

  I didn’t have a chance to respond because the professor had strolled back to our side of the auditorium and was instructing us on how to sign up for a lab partner.

  “The TA will hand out sign-up sheets. If you know someone and have arranged to be their lab partner, please indicate that on the sheets. If you don’t have one, one will be assigned for you at the end of the day, randomly. Thirty-five percent of your grade will depend on your lab work. Choose your partner wisely.”

  My heart sank into my feet. With Ellie in geology, I would be assigned to some random freshman. It could be some guy who would think he could make obscene passes at me because I was that girl, or a girl who thought I’d try to steal her man. This was part of the reason I’d put off my science requirement.

  The teacher’s assistant handed Bo, who was sitting at the end of our table, a sheet and he scribbled his name and another. I wondered who he was partnering with and why he wasn’t sitting next to that person. I didn’t know what to write down, given that I avoided all the other students and knew only a few names, none of whom were sitting in this room. But Bo didn’t hand me the sheet when he was done. Instead, he leaned past me and laid it on the far side of the empty table, where another student grabbed it and started writing.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to reach for the paper, but Bo covered my hand and jerked his chin at the first-year to go ahead.

  I rounded on Bo. “I didn’t get to write my name down.”

  “You don’t have to,” Bo said, still holding my hand in his. His large hand made me feel tiny and fragile and, briefly, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of being protected, like Bo was the shell of my frail turtle body. I shook it off and reminded myself I had my own protective casing called self-reliance. I tugged gently, but he refused to let me go. “We’re going to be lab partners.”

  “We? As in you and I?”

  “That would be the correct composition of individuals making up the ‘we’ in my sentence.”

  “But…” I wasn’t sure whether I was secretly indignant or relieved.

  “You don’t want to be stuck with a first-year. You’re smart, given that you were in advanced theory last semester. You’ll be a good lab partner.”

  “But are you a good lab partner for me? You’re taking a first-year elective in your third year. You were in advanced economic theory with me, a sophomore.”

  Bo laughed but then grew serious. “Fair enough. Yes. I have good grades, and I never let a teammate down.”

  A tremor shot through me at Bo’s words. I didn’t have many people on my team, and this guy, this much-wanted guy, was suggesting he was going to stand beside me? It’s for the class, I cautioned myself. But the part that crushed on Bo all last semester? That small, secret part was whispering things I knew I should not allow myself to believe. Like that Bo wanted to be on my team.

  I looked down at my hand, still engulfed in Bo’s, and knew that want was winning the battle against fear.

  Chapter Two

  BO

  ANNMARIE WEST. I’D SAT IN front of her for an entire semester and chick didn’t say two words to me. She didn’t say two words to anyone, though, if I recalled correctly, other than to her friend who sat next to her. Her friend called her AM, like the radio or the time. My first glance at AM last fall made me think that she’d look good in the morning with her hair spread out on my pillow and her long legs wrapped around my waist. AM’s hair looked like the color of a melted Hershey’s kiss, and, sitting close to her, I realized it smelled just about as good. Not chocolatey, though, but like a hard candy. Maybe lemon. It made me want to lick her neck to see how she’d taste.

  I had winked at her once, to test out the temperature, but received a frightened glare in return. Or maybe it was a frozen look. Either way, it wasn’t an encouraging response. I wasn’t going to pursue someone who was afraid of me.

  Over the course of the semester, though, her frightened look faded and sometimes I thought I caught a glimpse of interest. But if I’d smiled at her, she’d recoil. Frustrated, I gave up and went for the easier hookups.

  But now she was in biology with me. What were the chances? It was like fate had dropped her in my lap and instinct told me I shouldn’t allow this chance to go by unwasted.

  The female population had always been attentive to me, from old ladies to little babies and every age in between. The Randolph men were born with something that drew women in. Maybe “lured” was the better word, because we Randolphs rarely ended up being good for women. I tried to reduce the wreckage by limiting myself to women who were interested in short-term encounters. It meant that my liaisons were shallow, but no one got hurt. I should just leave AnnMarie alone. And I would’ve if she’d looked scared again, but fear wasn’t evident in any of her responses. Instead, she looked at me like I was a tasty treat and talked back like we were equals. I’m delicious, AnnMarie, take a bite.

  Still juiced after a lackluster workout, I found myself pushing at her limits. It was the college version of dipping her pigtails into the inkwell or pushing her off the swing in hopes she’d chase me back.

  AM spent this class, like the economics class of last semester, looking intently at the teacher, disregarding the TA’s attempts to catch her attention, and typing studiously into her laptop. I doodled on my paper and watched her the entire time. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, switching quickly between her IM chat screen and a note-taking application. There was a tiny muscle in her biceps that flexed when she clenched her fingers to release the tension built up through typing and from holding her body rigidly away from mine. I’d have offered to rub her tension away, but based on our earlier interaction, I guessed the offer wouldn’t be welcome.

  I could hear the professor droning in the background but preferred reading AnnMarie’s recitation of the lecture.

  Global disasters. Too far from anything interesting to die. Cells, molecules, plants. Disgusting lab things with THAT guy.

  I know you’re watching me type but I’m not sharing my notes with you.

  I snorted out loud. She had my number. And then I realized that the ball in the pit of my stomach that I hadn’t managed to work out this morning had dissolved. While watching AnnMarie, from sparring with her, even a little, I’d somehow, miraculously, calmed down. I closed my eyes and envisioned my failed fights this morning. Nope, still felt good.

  At the end of class, AnnMarie pulled her phone out of her bag and set it on the table while she packed up her laptop and pen. Her p
hone lay forlornly on the side of the table, as if were waiting for me, so I seized the opportunity that had presented itself. Pressing the home button and accessing the dial pad, I entered my phone number and pressed send.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, grabbing the phone out of my hands.

  “You know, you should really use a passcode on your phone,” I chastised. “Anyone could use it.”

  She looked at the screen. “What did you do?” Her voice rose, nearing the screechy, dog whistle octave.

  “As your lab partner, I think we should exchange phone numbers.” I looked as placid and nonthreatening as possible, angling my body toward her but pulling my hands out of her space. She might bite my fingers off if they were too close to her mouth. I didn’t mind taking chances, but I wasn’t stupid. I also knew I needed to spend more time with her. If a man in a desert finds a pool of water, he doesn’t leave until he’s lapped that fucker dry.

  “You could have asked me first,” she bit out.

  “I could have, but you’d have said no.” My reasoned responses were only making her angrier, but she was trying to fight it back. She had a lot of control. I admired that. I possessed little myself. It was one of the many shitty things I inherited from my dad. Maybe biology would teach me how to excise the bad genes from the good ones. I think that’s what they teach in the molecular biology section.

  “We can communicate via e-mail,” AnnMarie replied evenly. Her color was high, but she’d subdued the high notes in her voice.

  In just fifty minutes, I’d learned several important things about AM. She had cute, tiny, girl muscles; she took great notes; she smelled good; and she had a great deal of self-control. And in no way was she afraid of me.

  “Come on. No one uses e-mail but professors.” I nodded toward the front stage, which now held only an abandoned lectern and a desk. The good thing about us having this extended post-class discussion was that the aisles weren’t crowded and the TA had gotten fed up waiting for AnnMarie to break from the herd so he could inappropriately offer her private tutoring sessions.

  “You look like you’re going to blow up. It’s a good thing class is over,” I added. Something perverse inside me wanted to needle her some more just to see how good her self-control really was.

  Her eyebrows shot up, but instead of the expected high-pitched yelp, her voice got lower. “Oh my God,” she said in clipped, low tones. “It’s a good thing there are still people in here because, I swear, if we were alone, I would stab you through the eye with a pen.”

  “You know, a lot of people say that they’d do those things, but I’ve found few can actually follow through.” I tried for contemplative but could feel my facial muscles moving into a grin, and probably an unrepentant one at that, because the more she talked, the more interested I became. She was actually turning me on. I might have to sit in the chair for a few minutes before I could walk out.

  “Don’t test me,” she replied coolly, now completely in control, as if a moment ago she hadn’t threatened me with bodily harm. “You’re deliberately goading me, and I don’t understand why.”

  I didn’t think “because it turns me on” was a good response. She was right, though; I was deliberately goading her and I felt a tiny twinge of guilt at using her to make myself feel better. But it was so small that I squashed it without remorse.

  “Boundaries. Girls are always putting up boundaries.” I sighed dramatically.

  “I can’t believe you’re my lab partner. Would you just stand up and let me out.” She threw her backpack over her shoulder and gestured for me to move, but I couldn’t. I had a little wood in my pants and I needed her to be about fifteen degrees less cute in order for me to be able to obey her commands.

  “I’m feeling kind of hungry. Are you hungry?” I stalled for time.

  “You have got to be kidding. Do you dye your hair? Has too much peroxide use damaged your brain function?” She shook her head. I was blond, and unlike many a fair-haired lass I’d spent time with, mine was all natural.

  “So that’s a no? I couldn’t tell because I didn’t hear a no in those words.”

  “Yeah, that’s a no,” she hissed at me. Then she leapt onto the table like a puma, jumped down, and hustled out of the classroom. My eyes followed her jean-clad ass all the way up the stairs and out of the classroom.

  Pulling out my phone, I looked down at her number and tapped a button to add her as a contact. I thought I’d found a good way to spend my time before Thursday. Helping AnnMarie learn how to say “yes.”

  Chapter Three

  BO

  BY THE TIME I’D EXITED the classroom, AM was gone. I didn’t know much about her, but I knew one person who would.

  Noah’s girlfriend worked at the library, and the library was the source of all gossip and rumor at Central, primarily because the student supervisor, Mike Hanover, served as a kind of oral historian of Central College…if by historian you meant someone who traded in gossip and rumor.

  A certain amount of bullshit weighted Mike’s commentary, but he seemed to know a shitload about everyone and wasn’t shy about sharing it. I headed to the floor where Mike held court.

  My prey sat behind the circulation desk pretending to read a textbook. Mike owed me one since I’d orchestrated a little love connection between him and the object of his unrequited lust. Basically he’d just needed to nut up and ask the chick out. But he was too weak-kneed, and I’d had to act as the third-grade go-between. Now he owed me a favor. Noah thought the world ran on money, but Mal, another roommate, said it runs on favors. I didn’t need money, so I gathered favors. Mike owed me about ten for hooking him up with the love o’ his life.

  “Michael Hanover, my man, what is up today?” I knocked fists with him. Some guys like a more complicated greeting, like two back slaps and a finger grip, but Mike was a one knock to the knuckles sort of guy. I’d tried a more detailed greet one time and the poor guy looked so confused I’d just pretended we were giving each other high fives.

  “Hey, Bo. No fights lately?”

  “Got one this Thursday at the Casino.”

  Looking like a kid whose toy was snatched from him, Mike moaned, “Nothing closer?” The Casino was a forty-five-minute drive from here. It didn’t seem all that far away to me, but Central kids liked to stick close to campus. Maybe they thought they’d turn into pumpkins or something.

  “Nah, I’m trying to be a good boy. Apparently Central admin doesn’t like it to be known that its students are engaging in brutality against others, even if it is mutually agreed-upon brutality.”

  Mike nodded his agreement, although I wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with Central admin’s uptight staff or agreeing we should be able to beat the shit out of each other without interference.

  “So, Mike, I have Bio 101 this semester.” I got straight to the point.

  “Dude, why?”

  “I wouldn’t reveal this to everyone, Mike, but I have a weak stomach,” I lied.

  Mike’s eyes grew huge, as if I’d shared some deep dark secret even though the untruth was obvious. If I had a weak stomach I’d have chosen geology as my science elective over biology. Mike traded in confidences like Mal and I gathered favors. Everyone had their own currency. For Mike, you had to share one to gain one and the easiest way to trade with Mike was to just make shit up so long as you didn’t care that the rest of the campus knew about it by the end of the day.

  “Are you asking me how to get out of Bio labs?” Mike asked, nearly breathless with this new gossip he’d broadcast to the next dozen people he came into contact with.

  “No, I don’t mind the labs. I want to know more about my lab partner.”

  Mike looked relieved. “That’s a good thing, man, because I couldn’t get you out of the lab. Who’s your lab partner?”

  “AnnMarie West.”

  At the sound of her name Mike’s eyebrows shot into his forehead. “Typhoid Mary?”

  “Typhoid Mary?” I repeated dumbly.

&
nbsp; “Yeah.” His eyes were bright with excitement and he leaned over the counter, motioning me closer. I tilted my head forward but didn’t move. I only got that close to another person if it was a woman and she was going to stick her tongue in my mouth. “You’re new, so you weren’t here last year when she slept with the entire lacrosse team. She gets around a lot. A lot.” Mike repeated the last part as if I hadn’t understood his insinuation the first time.

  I bit down on my tongue hard, hoping the pain would prevent me from punching Mike in his smug little mouth. Few girls ever banged an entire team. They usually slept with one or maybe three and that was enough for people to label her a groupie. Noah and I’d seen it happen in high school to a girl I’d slept with. We spent one night together, and the next day talk was she’d slept with the entire football team. Noah and I had tried to put out the fire the best we could, but the whispers persisted when we weren’t around. Pack attention didn’t shift until the girl transferred schools.

  I waited to hear the rest of the rumor, measure the extent of the damage for myself. At my encouragement Mike spilled the rest.

  “I heard she’s a recruiting perk. Like when they bring new recruits on campus, they get a visit from AnnMarie.” He wiggled his eyebrows so I understood “visit” was a euphemism for some type of sexual service. I guess Mike thought everyone was stuck in third grade, like him. “They call her Typhoid Mary because she slept around so much you could get a disease just standing next to her.”

  “I don’t think STIs work that way.”

  “Right,” Mike said, not understanding. “Um, but that’s her nickname.”

  “Seems like it would be a bad recruiting perk to have a new student come in contact with someone who’s so disease-infected.” I pointed out the obvious contradiction in his rumor but, like the handshake, it only confused him. Mike looked at me as if I’d asked him to find the square root of some four-digit number.