Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  Some guys felt their reputation was enhanced by bragging about the number of women they slept with. You could always divide that number by about ten to get to the accurate one. It also never made much sense to me to brag about sleeping with a girl deemed easy. Where was the challenge if the girl would sleep with anyone? The sex conquest currency was irrational.

  “So Typhoid Mary is your lab partner? Dude, you’re going to see so much action this semester.” Mike smiled at me as if we were sharing some kind of great joke.

  “I’m not even on the lacrosse team,” I said.

  “I don’t think you have to be on the lacrosse team,” Mike reassured me.

  “This girl not play your game?” Mike’s gossip wasn’t usually so barbed.

  “I tried her out, but she’s too stuck up for me. I’m not an athlete, I guess,” he admitted. “But you shouldn’t have a problem getting into her pants.”

  “Why’d you want to hook up with a girl who’s got the Health Clinic on speed dial?”

  Mike cocked his head. “Wow, I really dodged a bullet there.”

  Irrational. Bug fucking nuts. Nothing I was saying was getting through, so I gave up. “You see her around the library much?”

  “Not really. She hangs out with another chick, tiny girl, braids, and some theater people. They don’t come into the library much. I probably should have reserved my game for after class or at the commons.”

  I tilted my head back and exhaled heavily. No, dickhead, she would have turned you down no matter what. That girl could smell rotten from a mile away after being exposed to so much of it, which was probably why she never talked to me in class last semester. But there was no educating Mike. She’d turned him down, so her bad reputation was fair game. He’d probably console himself with the thought that he was lucky to have gotten turned down by a skank. “Thanks for the info, man,” I said.

  “No problem, Bo,” Mike said cheerfully, totally unaware I wanted to drag him over the counter and beat him bloody.

  “Grace and Noah around?” I needed to move on from Mike and this topic.

  “Ah, yeah, in the stacks.” Mike pointed to the center of the library, which held old and uncirculated books. It was a dank, dusty, low-lit place with rows of metal shelves. Perfect for on-campus making out.

  I’d used it a few times since Noah showed me where he and Grace “studied.” I always made a big show of banging on the shelves when I entered. I was pretty sure Grace and Noah did very little studying in there. Every time I’d seen them in their nook they were disheveled, and Grace’s lips looked like they’d been chewed on by a big, bad dog.

  It was fun breaking up their nookie time.

  AM

  A PAPER WAS WAVING FROM my car window when I got to my apartment building, which was situated a block off the eastern end of campus. The scrap looked like a pinned butterfly with two edges fluttering in the wind on either side of the windshield wiper. It could have been a flyer, an invitation to see a band downtown, or a coupon. It could have been anything innocuous or innocent, but I knew it wasn’t.

  Dread was a cold feeling. It swept over a body like a blanket of ice and immobilized you. I forced my hand up to the windshield and pulled it off. I already knew what it would say, or at least some variation.

  Saw your “dad” over break. Does he know what a slut you are?

  I crumpled the note in my gloved fist, thinking that if Clay Howard III was standing in front of me right now I’d have no problem driving a pen directly into his eye—no matter what Bo Randolph said I was or wasn’t capable of. I wanted to throw the page away but didn’t. Instead, I carried it upstairs to put it with the other notes from Clay. I wasn’t sure why I kept them, other than to remind myself that staying off Clay Howard III’s radar and off Central’s campus was the best thing I could do for the next two years.

  And that I didn’t date Central College guys. Ever. Not even ones that looked like Bo Randolph.

  That was one of my immutable life rules, along with no wearing of white pants during that time of the month and no reading Stephen King before going to sleep.

  “I have terrible news,” Ellie announced as she walked into the apartment. I was making us sandwiches and soup, the meal of poor college students and old ladies, the note tucked safely away in my drawer.

  “Mayo?” I held up the jar and Ellie nodded. She pulled out a bar stool and propped her elbows on the counter to watch my culinary efforts. I gestured with my mayo-laden knife for her to respond. “What’s the drama?” I piled meat, lettuce, and tomato between the bread slices.

  “There’s a very cute freshman who could be my lab partner.” She groaned and put her head on top of the counter.

  Ellie was a math major and smarter than 99 percent of the students at Central, including me, but she looked like a cheerleader, her dark, coarse hair pulled up into two low ponytails. She also had the habit of sleeping with her study partners. Her last boyfriend, Tim, was our economics tutor. We had set up the tutoring session, not because we were failing, but because we wanted to get As. Unfortunately, after their sex life petered out around midterms, Ellie lost interest, and I ended up attending the remaining awkward sessions trying to duck Tim’s inquiries about the missing part of our once merry triad.

  “So don’t sleep with him.” I plated our sandwiches and poured the microwaved cans of soup into bowls Ellie and I’d picked up at a garage sale. Our apartment was filled with secondhand goods. Ellie was a scholarship student and while my tuition, books, and this apartment were paid for by my father, neither of our families could afford to furnish the apartment in anything but castoffs and hand-me-downs.

  “You say that like you haven’t known me since I played with Barbies.” Ellie’s voice was muffled since she was currently speaking into the counter, but I could still make out her lame protest.

  I shoved the bowl and plate into her head. “Will I like him?”

  Ellie had pretty good taste in guys. Most of the ones she’d dated since freshman year had been nice, but she’d never stuck with one longer than a semester. I doubted this latest one would last past finals. Ellie’s attention span was too short.

  “Yes, he’s adorable. I wanted to shove him into my pocket and bring him home,” Ellie lamented.

  “Good thing you didn’t. Our lease only allows for two occupants.”

  Before Ellie could continue, our apartment door opened and our neighbor waltzed in, looking amazing, as always. Sasha had lightly bronzed skin and high cheekbones, a gift from her Native American grandmother, and they gave her face an elegant and almost regal look. I’m pretty sure the straight male guys on campus held a wake the day it got around that Sasha liked girls.

  Sasha and I had bonded immediately over a late-night talk shortly after Ellie and I’d moved in. She’d asked me why she never saw me around campus, and after some prodding, I shared my story with her.

  “It’s either the Garden or house parties. Seems like most guys here still think that saying you’re a lesbian is just a flirtatious challenge,” she’d agreed.

  There was no judgment or pity from Sasha, only understanding.

  “I’ll take what you’re having,” Sasha announced. I handed her the second bowl of soup and dug in the cabinet for another can. “How’s your mom?”

  “Okay. Roger and I pretended we didn’t hate each other for the three days we spent together, but other than that it was good.” I made a face. Roger was my mother’s lover and, unfortunately, my father, but I’ve never called him Dad and he hasn’t ever invited it. Clay’s father was a friend of Roger’s and knew all about my family’s dirty business. “I can’t wait until I’m out of here and my mom can live with me and not depend on Roger.”

  “Is she thinking about leaving him finally?” Ellie asked.

  I thought back to the note Clay had left for me. “No, but she really doesn’t have any options, given that she doesn’t work and Roger completely supports her. When I’m done with college, she’ll be able to live with me.
” Not wanting to discuss it further, I turned to Sasha. “How was your break?”

  “Good. Had to take a vacation from Victoria. She is so needy. You two are lucky not to be lesbians.” Sasha pointed at us one at a time with her spoon to punctuate her point.

  “Eh, men are just as hormonal.” Ellie sniffed. She’d had her own share of relationship drama. Tim hadn’t taken their breakup well, and Ellie had had to turn off her phone for two weeks after she’d stopped attending tutoring sessions with me.

  “She texted me about ten times on New Year’s Eve, wanting to know if I was going to kiss someone,” Sasha complained.

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  I quirked a brow at her. Sasha just shrugged. “It was New Year’s Eve, and it was just a little tongue and lip action. Nothing below the belt.”

  “Why are you with her if she’s too hormonal for you?” Ellie asked.

  “Have you seen Victoria?”

  We all fell silent. Victoria looked like she was a fembot from an Austin Powers movie, complete with the glorious afro, killer rack, retro seventies dresses, and high kneesocks. Sasha and Victoria were a striking couple, a sight that probably caused a few car accidents along College Avenue.

  “God, I wish I could pull off her look,” Ellie moaned.

  Sasha looked her over. “You’ve got cute nailed, but you’re too short for the afro.”

  “I know.” Ellie pulled the sides of her mouth down into a mock frown.

  “She tried it one night and it made her look like a chia pet. It was bad,” I revealed and then had to duck when Ellie threw a napkin at me.

  “I’m proud of my lustrous hair.” Ellie patted her head. “But yeah, it took an entire bottle of vitamin E to take my hair back to normal. Braids are simpler.”

  Sasha patted Ellie’s now-straightened locks. “I think this is a better look for you. But Victoria is really good with her—”

  The door banged open, and Sasha’s roommate rushed in. “Wait, you can’t tell lesbian sex stories without me,” Brian panted. I sighed and dug out another bowl.

  “You guys are going to owe us lunch tomorrow.” I shook a spoon at Brian. Brian’s family was pretty well off, so he could afford to take us all to lunch sometimes.

  “Fine.” He shrugged and pulled out the last stool at our counter. He looked reprovingly at Sasha. “I thought we made a deal. I pay the rent and you pay me in stories.”

  Brian, like Sasha, was a theater arts major. He declared he was straight, but we all had our doubts. I pegged him as bi-curious. He liked hearing stories about the boys far too much for a straight guy.

  “Victoria. Tongue. Needy.” Sasha summarized for him.

  “I’m going to need more details,” Brian said, picking up my sandwich and eating half of it in one gulp. He had a guy’s appetite, that’s for sure.

  “What’d you do over break, Brian?” I got the soup out of the microwave, poured it into the two bowls, and started to eat.

  “Skied. Tried to reclaim as much stuff from the little shit as I could.” Brian’s little brother was apparently enjoying Brian’s absence at college by taking everything of Brian’s—from his baseball card collection to his high-school girlfriend. Brian only cared about the card collection.

  I’d thought I wanted siblings until I heard horror stories from Brian and Sasha. It seems younger siblings were the very devil. My two older half-siblings didn’t mix with my mother and me, so I never got to be the annoying younger sister. And after me, my mother never made another of those mistakes again.

  “Catch me up. I had to stay late after class because I was busy sucking up to the TA,” Brian confessed.

  “Ellie has a cute freshman lab partner, Sasha’s tired of Victoria, and I sat next to Bo Randolph in biology.” I conveniently left out mention of the note.

  Three sighs of delight reverberated through the room at the mention of Bo’s name.

  “Bo looks like he’s sculpted from stone by some master and skin was stretched over the form. Unreal,” Sasha declared. “I’d love to see him in a life drawing class.”

  “The guns on that guy,” Brian concurred.

  “Where are all of you seeing him?” I asked, surprised at their distinct recall of Bo’s body.

  “I see him in the gym, lifting,” Brian said.

  “Yoga,” Sasha offered.

  “He does yoga?” My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “No, while I’m doing yoga, I see him working out. He’s like all muscle. Last semester’s yoga class at 5 P.M. was packed once word got out that he and his buddy Noah lifted weights there before dinner. It’s like a burlesque show. They start out with their shirts on and then slowly unveil the package as they get sweatier and sweatier,” Sasha explained. “Then, when they’re super hot and super sweaty, they’ll run their discarded shirts over their chests. Bo’s got this huge tattoo of a bird on his back and Noah’s got some tree up the side. It’s indecent and delicious and ovary-clenching good,” she concluded. “See the things you’re missing out on with your Central campus exile?”

  “I think my ovaries aren’t prepared for those kinds of scenes,” I replied dryly, but inwardly those private parts tightened at the visual of a nearly naked and sweaty Bo. Sasha regularly tried to entice me back onto campus, whereas Ellie was content to join me in my self-imposed exile. Unfortunately, being with me meant no lunch in the commons or the QC Café. No studying in the library. No hanging out at the campus Starbucks. And no group yoga classes where you tried to do downward-facing dog while still sneaking peaks at the jocks working out in the weight room next door.

  Sasha just shook her head. “What’s your project for biology?” she asked.

  “Don’t know,” I admitted. “It hasn’t been shared yet.”

  “He must be rotating,” Brian said. “My bio project was determining which natural disaster would be most likely to result in the apocalypse here in the Midwest.”

  “See!” Ellie shouted. We all jumped at the sharp bark of her voice. “I told you this was all about death and weather. He probably has flying monkey costumes in his office, the sadist.”

  “Brian, were there any monkeys in your class course?” I asked.

  He rubbed his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “There was this one time when he mentioned that tornadoes were the result of monkey farts.”

  Ellie, Sasha, and I groaned, and Ellie responded by pushing Brian off the stool. I threw a paper towel at him.

  “How can you live with him?” I asked Sasha semi-seriously.

  “We don’t share a bathroom,” Sasha said.

  “And I pay the rent.” Brian looked piously into the distance.

  “There is that.” Sasha sighed.

  “Let’s talk about the most important topic of the semester,” I said. My audience perked up. “Where are we gonna spend spring break?”

  We argued raucously about the merits of going north to ski or south to the beach for the rest of the afternoon. And I tried hard to push all thoughts of Bo, Clay, and Roger to the very back recesses of my mind.

  Chapter Four

  AM

  WHEN MY PHONE ALERTED ME to a text message just before I was getting ready to go to bed, I figured it was my mother. Two weeks spent at home had made me ready to flee back to school. For my mother, time spent together at Christmas break only made her more melancholy when I departed. But the message wasn’t from my mother.

  I’m going to put this number to good use. Bo Randolph.

  What was he doing sending me a text message at nine on a Monday night? I debated deleting the message.

  “Bo Randolph just texted me,” I yelled down the hall to Ellie. She appeared like a witch at my door a second later, scaring me half to death.

  “My God, where were you?” I yelped.

  “Looking for my hoops.” Ellie held up large gold earrings. Just outside my bedroom door, our front hall held a mirror and dresser, courtesy of the thrift store, and it had become a
repository for all of our jewelry and half our makeup as we dumped things coming and going from the apartment. Most of the time it looked like the sale counter at the mall after the prom rush swept through.

  “Should I reply?”

  Ellie shrugged and pulled her pearl studs out of her ears. “What’d he say?”

  I read her the text.

  “He’s flirting. No guy texts at nine at night with just friendly intent.” Her eyes were bright with interest. I wondered what mine looked like. Probably full of stars.

  “Replying would be encouragement I don’t want to give.” If I told myself that I wasn’t interested enough times maybe I could make it true.

  “Why not?” she challenged.

  I ticked off the negatives. “He’s really good looking. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. He took advanced econ theory apparently just for the hell of it.” Because Clay Howard has a hard-on about me being on campus and is threatening me. I didn’t list the last one out loud.

  Ellie’s mouth hung open. “These are his bad attributes? Give me the phone. I’ll text him back!” She lunged for the phone, but I turned on my side and held it away from her. Ellie’s pixie-sized, and I’m like a horse compared to her. There was no contest.

  “Fine,” I huffed. Now that I’d told Ellie, I’d have to text Bo back or she’d take the phone from me somehow. Ellie didn’t make idle threats. She told you what she was going to do, and then she followed through.

  How? You going to send duck-faced selfies? I shot back.

  What? Came the immediate reply, like he had nothing better to do than send me texts.

  I searched the Internet and then selected an appropriate picture of three young girls making the V with their fingers pointing to their overly pronounced lips pursed and pressed into little fleshy duck bills.

  I now know why we’re sitting next to each other in bio. We need to find a cure for the disease those young ladies are suffering around their oral cavities before it spreads to others.

  An inadvertent huff of laughter escaped me, and Ellie demanded to see the reply, which I showed to her.