Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?” Alex asks. “I could grab some pizza, and we could study in my room.”

  Jemma’s face is stricken with visible panic. “I…I had pizza last week. Too much tomato sauce gives me zits.”

  “Okay.” Alex seems to be finding his footing with this whole thing. “I’ll get something else. Tomorrow night at seven?”

  “Six,” I say. “She doesn't like to eat dinner any later than six.”

  Alex breathes a visible sigh of relief. “Six o’clock it is. I’ll swing by your room and escort you.”

  “She’ll be eagerly waiting,” I say when Jemma’s mouth produces no sound. “And look at that face. She’s thrilled about it.”

  If Alex notices that Jemma appears as if she’s mid-stroke, he doesn’t let on. “See you then.”

  Mr. Astronomy walks away with a definite spring in his step. But Jemma, who rounds on Violet and me, is not quite so happy. “What did you two rope me into?”

  “What we roped you into,” I say, “is a date.”

  “A date?” She says this like it’s a terminal disease. “No.”

  “Yes, Jemma.” Violet raises her voice over a new fire truck's arrival. “He likes you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he sought you out during a dangerous fire,” Violet says. “Our lives are at stake, we might lose all our earthly possessions, and what does Alex do? He seeks you out to talk.” Her eyes glaze over with bliss. “Yours could’ve been the last face he ever saw before the building suddenly burst into flames in a fiery explosion.”

  Jemma turns to me for a translation.

  “The dude digs you.”

  “But…but why?”

  I shrug. “I guess it’s all your charm.”

  Violet’s grin is pure innocence. “Sometimes, these things are not ours to question.”

  It’s late, I’m sleep deprived, and later I’ll blame that on why I dole out some Jemma compliments. “Why not, Jemma? You’re smart, you're cute, and maybe he’s yet to endure the full effect of your glowing personality.” I vaguely remember when Tate looked at me like Alex had gazed upon Jemma—a little dazed and lovesick. Now, Tate looks at me like I’m another one of his friends he has to fit into his schedule.

  “Let’s go back in!” A resident assistant yells over the crowd. “Everyone back inside!”

  As we near the lobby door, a handsome fireman walks past us carrying the charred remains of a small appliance beneath his arm. “Did anyone here microwave some popcorn tonight?” he calls.

  Comprehension dawns on me, and I slowly lift my hand. “I think I did.”

  “Yeah, well…” He shakes the microwave, and black dust shimmies out. “It’s done.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Great news. I’m not financially responsible for the microwave.” Fresh from a meeting with the R.A., I shut the door Tuesday evening and smile at my roomies. “There was very little damage, except for a giant burn ring on the counter, but nobody can confirm that wasn’t already there since that Formica was installed when George Washington held office.”

  “The college hasn’t been around nearly that long.” Jemma files out from the bathroom, sweeping her hair into a ponytail holder while Violet dogs her every step.

  “I could’ve sworn ‘must speak sarcasm’ was on my roommate request form.” I frown as Violet comes at Jemma with a makeup brush and a palette of eyeshadow. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping Jemma get ready for her date.”

  “It’s not a date,” Jemma says.

  “Uh-huh.” Violet makes another attempt at contact with Jemma’s face, but no luck. “I meant your tutoring appointment.”

  Jemma takes a large step back. “Katie, setting the microwave on fire is no joking matter. Word is, dorm video shows you nuked that popcorn for thirty minutes.”

  “I got distracted.” My brain doesn’t feel like my own these days. “I guess I added an extra zero to my popcorn cooking time.”

  Jemma dodges Violet’s missile-seeking hand. “You could’ve killed us.”

  “Carbs are gonna kill us all eventually anyway.” Reaching into the fridge, I grab a bottle of water. “On the bright side, you got a date out of it.”

  “It’s not a date! And Violet, I told you I don’t need your hair and makeup interference. I’m tutoring, not trying to be a Kardashian.”

  Violet drops her eyeshadow palette. “You can’t leave here without makeup.”

  “Why?” Jemma asks.

  “Because it highlights your features.”

  “Who says?”

  “My mom taught me that. When my sister and I each hit twelve years old, we got a whole arsenal of makeup and professional lessons.”

  Jemma looks completely disgusted. “When I was twelve, I got my first Schmidt-Cassegrain telescope and an internship at the Houston Planetarium.”

  “When I was twelve, I got my fifth piercing, spent two months with my mom in a women’s shelter, and stole quarters from pockets at laundromats so I could buy ramen noodles.” I rock back on my heels. “So, pretty much samesies.”

  Oh, my gosh. Why did I tell them that?

  “Well, my features don’t want to be highlighted,” Jemma says. “They prefer to stay subdued and understated.”

  “You have to wear makeup to meet Alex.” Violet looks to me for back up. “Right, Katie?”

  I twist the lid off my water. “Alex likes Jemma for Jemma, and that probably includes the total package of her bare face and rabid bear personality. I say she goes however she’s comfortable.”

  “He doesn’t like me.” Jemma nearly clotheslines Violet. “Don’t you come at me with that mascara!”

  Violet’s bottom lip pooches in a cute pout. “Don’t you want to be a little glam?”

  “I want to be liked for my mind.”

  “Yeah, sure, but this is a special occasion, and my mom—”

  “So, you wear makeup because you want to or because your mom tells you to?” Jemma has that look on her face like she’s gathering data to sort and cipher later.

  “I wear makeup because—”

  “What would your mom do if you met her for dinner without makeup?” Professor Jemma digs deeper.

  “She’d…she’d…” Violet twirls the stubby end of her braid. “She’d lose her mind. Probably make me go to the bathroom and not come out until I’d fixed my face.”

  Jemma grabs her boring, black backpack. “But what if you wanted to go au naturel?”

  “I’d do it when my mom wasn’t around.”

  “And remind me again why you’re in a sorority you don’t want to be in?”

  Violet’s lips clamp shut at Jemma’s question. “I want to be a Kappa Zeta Rho.”

  “You have a costume party that started fifteen minutes ago,” Jemma reminds her. “Yet you’re still here. With us.”

  “Because my help was needed,” Violet repeats. “Because you’re my friend.” Her finger loops the air, encompassing all of us. “We’re all friends. Right?”

  “Of course, we are. Whether Jemma accepts it or not.” I squeeze Violet in a quick side hug. “Jemma, if you don’t want to get gussied up for your date, I mean your tutoring sesh, then don’t. And Violet, if you want to keep Sephora in business, you go right ahead.”

  “Did you really stay in a women’s shelter and steal quarters?” Violet asks.

  That part had just trickled out, and I was hoping they’d let it go. These two aren’t looking at me in abject horror, but I swear I feel a bead of sweat at my temple. “Yes. I did.”

  Her face softens with sympathy. “You’ve had a rough life.”

  “Yeah, but now it’s good.” Sorta good. Okay, presently, good does not describe it, but in a general sense, my life is infinitely better.

  “Do you want to talk about your mom?”

  I dust off Violet’s question like lint on a sweater. “No. Would you like to talk about yours?”

  She smiles. “Nah. I’d rather
talk about Jemma’s wedding. Will you be the maid-of-honor, or will I?”

  Jemma gives Violet a little shove. “Stop it.”

  “Clearly, we’ll have to flip a coin,” I say. “But I call dibs on singing at the ceremony. Jemma, how do you feel about a heavy metal version of ‘Crazy in Love?’ ”

  “You guys should probably leave.” Jemma’s teeth are clenched so tightly, her lips hardly move.

  “And miss this?” I pull out my desk chair and sit. “No way.”

  “Fine.” Chin lifted, Jemma takes ten stiff steps to the door. “I’ll wait for Alex in the hall.”

  “Wow, now that’s some bold eagerness.” Violet claps her hands. “I like it.”

  Jemma doesn’t. In fact, she looks a little nauseous. “I’d rather you not be here when Alex arrives, okay? Let me do this on my own without an audience.”

  Rising from my chair, I forego my idea to get snacks and make this an event. “What’s going on in that ever-running brain of yours?”

  “Nothing.”

  Jemma’s not the only one who can derive some hypotheses. “This is more than nerves.”

  “The hall is calling my name.” She gazes longingly in that direction. “I should go answer.”

  “Hold it right there.” I cross my arms and approach my subject of study. “We’ve already met Alex. We’ve already seen you two together. Why don’t you want us here when he arrives?”

  “Because.”

  “I’m gonna need you to use your big girl words.” Something is definitely up. “Spill it.”

  Jemma sighs so hard, her bangs do a back flop. “It’s silly.”

  I give her a bolstering smile. “Then I will definitely appreciate it.”

  “Okay, but I’m warning you—it’s dumb.” She chews a thumbnail as she plops into her chair. “Last year I had this roommate, Eva. She was nice. Acted like she was my friend. But she didn’t obey any of my rules.”

  “What a demon.”

  Jemma shoots me a look but continues. “I could occasionally overlook the rule disrespect because she let me hang out with her and her friends. We were both in the same Comp I class. And there was this guy named Saul. He started talking to me a lot, then texting, and next thing you know, we’re sorta dating.”

  “I don’t like where this is headed,” Violet says.

  “Yeah, you know how this ends.” Jemma spins herself in her chair. “The more Saul hung out with me in the dorm, the more he got to know Eva. To fast-forward a long and dramatic story, Eva stole my boyfriend. Saul and I broke up. Eva and I got into a huge fight. And I had to move to another dorm.”

  Oh, yikes. No wonder Jemma’s so anti-friend. “I can assure you, Violet and I are not interested in Alex. Nor would we steal him away.” I don’t think now’s the time to remind her she’d said it was just a study session.

  “The worst thing wasn’t losing a guy.” She draws a figure eight on the rug with her shoe. “The worst thing was I thought Eva and her friends were my friends. But they all quit talking to me.”

  “True friends would never do that,” Violet says.

  A knock at the door presses the pause button on our conversation.

  “You look great.” I hold up my hand and smile when Jemma gives me a hesitant, off-center high-five. “Teach him all you know, roomie.”

  “And have fun,” Violet adds.

  With another loud exhale, Jemma answers the door. “Hey, Alex. I’ll be right there.”

  The poor boy doesn’t even get to stick his head inside the room.

  Jemma stuffs her keys in her backpack. “I let you guys be here when he arrived. I didn’t say I’d let you talk to him.”

  I laugh as she leaves. Fair enough.

  Violet grabs a bag of chips from a shelf and grins. “I think we made progress with her today.”

  I turn and regard my meek friend. “Now. Let’s deal with you.”

  Her eyes go wide as cafeteria dinner plates. “What about me?”

  “Your costume party started fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I’ll…I’ll get there.”

  “Tonight?”

  Ignoring that, Violet rummages through her closet and pulls out a sparkly silver outfit. She throws it over her arm, tosses me a fake smile, then disappears into the bathroom.

  Half an hour later, a mermaid shuffles out. Violet swish-swashes across the floor, her legs captured in a tube of material. “Not a word about the seashell bra.”

  “I wasn’t gonna say anything about the seashells.” I draw closer to get a better look. “But now, the turtleneck beneath it is a different story.”

  Violet looks like The Little Mermaid: Polar Vortex Edition.

  She rights her lopsided red wig. “I should go.” She says this as one announcing a walk to the guillotine.

  “This stuff makes you miserable.”

  “I wouldn’t say miserable.” Swish-swish.

  “Pained, tortured, agonized, or slightly traumatized?”

  “I’d just rather be in the newspaper room working on my articles.”

  “Then go do it.”

  “I can’t.” She wrenches a jacket from the closet, even though it’s summertime hot outside. “I’m a Alison Carrington Newbury’s daughter, and this is what we do. It’s part of who we are. It’s important to embrace our past and its legacy.”

  I don’t agree. “Try to have fun.”

  “Are you hanging out with Tate tonight?”

  “No. He has a study session and can’t break away.” Probably won’t see him until the formal.

  Violet kindly doesn’t comment on Tate’s perpetual absence. “See you later, then.” She closes the door, only to pop her head in again. “Oh, and Katie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you get the munchies, please avoid the popcorn.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three nights later, I step inside a fraternity house for the first time. It’s quite the sight to behold. The Upsilon Sigmas live in a three-story building with a cozy colonial front that hides how expansive the place actually is. It houses over a hundred guys, plus there are all these enormous rooms for fraternity business, like a gaming room, ballroom, and multiple living rooms.

  With his hand at my back, Tate leads me inside this giant ballroom. The guys have gone all out on jazzing this place up for the banquet. Or dance. Or whatever we’re calling this event. All I know is this shindig looks significantly larger than my high school prom. They’ve set up round tables adorned in white linens, gold plates, and crystal glasses. Candles flutter and flare in the center of each table, giving a romantic vibe to match the dimmed lighting. My dress feels too tight, and I long for stretchy pants, a comfy tee, and my favorite movie in the safety of my dorm. Taking in all the beautiful people in their tuxes and dresses, I haven’t felt this out of place since I first stepped foot at In Between High, wearing black lipstick and my favorite dog collar.

  I do not belong here.

  “You look like I’m taking you to a firing squad,” Tate whispers near my ear. “We’re here to have fun. Don’t get all anxious on me.”

  Do guys ever get social anxiety? Do they ever worry about losing five pounds or if their lipstick is on their teeth? Do they ever care that someone’s outfit looks better? Do they know what it’s like to be sized up in some girl’s barracuda eyes, to be evaluated and dismissed in the span of one hard stare? No, they do not.

  Attempting a serene smile, I lean into his side and link my arm through his. “Sure is a big space.” With lots of people.

  A deejay plays music in a far corner, and a large group dances nearby. Tate rarely dances, so I’m probably spared from that scene.

  “Tate!”

  I watch my boyfriend’s face light up as a girl in a stunning red dress approaches, arms held wide open to dole out hugs.

  “Riley!” He embraces her, then gives two of her friends high fives. “How’s it going, girls?”

  “I’m Katie.” I stick out my hand for Red Dress Girl to shake. “Ta
te’s girlfriend.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she says, and I swear her glossy smile slips. “Tate and I have been working on a charity project together. But you probably already know that.”

  “No. I didn’t.” I gift Tate with a teeth-barring smile. “How nice.”

  “Riley and the girls are Delta Zetas, our sister sorority.” Tate’s cheeks darken with pink. “We partner up through the year for socials and community work.”

  “Cool,” I say for lack of anything better to add.

  “We’re organizing a suitcase drive for local foster kids.” Riley’s voice is gentle and melodic, as delicate as her bone structure. “Such a needed thing, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I step closer to Tate’s side. “That’s what I hear.”

  “We’ve been working hard on donations,” Riley says. “We stayed up until almost midnight Tuesday calling local business owners. But it’s worth it. Right, Tate?”

  Tate’s arm beneath mine stiffens. “Right.”

  He told me he was studying Tuesday night. I’d had plans for us to hang out, but he’d cried off, saying he’d already arranged a study group for a biology exam.

  His hand presses firmly against my back. “I’m gonna get Katie and me something to drink. We’ll see you all later?” He pulls me away from their adoring smiles and fluttery goodbyes.

  Tate steers us toward a decorated table laden with food and a punch fountain. The bass of the music seems to grow louder and more pronounced. I want to hold my hand over my ears and shut it all out.

  “Is there something I can get you?” He picks up an ivory dessert plate.

  “Maybe the truth?”

  His sigh somehow holds more volume than the rap song currently playing. “I wasn’t completely honest about where I was Tuesday night.”

  “That part, I know.”

  “I’m not even sure why.”

  “Are you cheating on me?”

  “No.” Tate’s eyes hold mine, and for a moment it’s the old Tate, the friend who really saw me. Who knew me, who made me laugh, and who never let me down. “I promise you, I’m not.”