by Claire Adams
Jess raised an eyebrow.
“So let me get this straight: the cute QB who you told me is now apparently great in bed, who proclaimed his love for you in front of half of the student body, just brushed you off?”
I shook my head.
“Not…exactly.” I looked down at my lap and picked at lint balls on the blanket I’d spread over myself, twisting my lips into a grimace. “See, I’m…I’m the one who’s not seeing him. Not the other way around.”
“What? Why the hell not? He didn’t like, try and do something gross, did he?”
I shook my head, my cheeks burning. I sighed, deciding that I would have to tell Jess the whole story; I owed it to her.
“So after Zack and I had sex…when I got back from classes, there was this guy hanging out outside of our dorm.” Jess’ eyes widened. “It was one of Zack’s teammates—one of the tackles, I guess. I don’t know if he was offense or defense. But he told me I shouldn’t hang out with Zack anymore, or have anything to do with him.” I rolled my eyes.
“What an asshole! Did he tell you why?”
I shook my head. “No, just said that even though we didn’t really know each other, he’d consider it a personal favor. I don’t know what he was thinking.” I scrubbed at my face with my hands. “Anyway, I told him to get the hell out of the dorm before I called one of the RAs. He left but it got me to thinking—I was really kind of letting things go too fast with Zack anyway.”
“Well, I mean, a date and sex twice—that’s not really that fast.”
“But we have history,” I insisted. “I was already…I mean, look: I wasn’t like, planning our wedding or anything, but he was already starting to be a distraction, and I guess I sort of figured that I was a distraction for him too—otherwise why would one of his teammates hang out like a creeper at my door to ask me not to have anything to do with him?”
Jess shrugged. “Maybe the guy knows there’s a case of herpes raging through the locker room and doesn’t want you to get it.”
I rolled my eyes. “It wouldn’t be a favor to him, then, would it? He’d be doing me a favor.” Jess shrugged and nodded, conceding the point. “Anyway, I decided to sort of put Zack and me on hold for a bit.”
“Ah, so that’s why he was in here the other day looking for you. I just sort of figured he was really horny and you weren’t in any of your usual haunts.”
I rolled my eyes. “I kind of…didn’t tell him, exactly.” I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment at how poorly I’d handled the situation. “I answered the first text he sent me saying that I was busy and couldn’t hang out but after that I just sort of…didn’t answer.”
Jess sucked her teeth, grimacing. “I know you’re not exactly one for confrontation, Evie,” she said, her voice sounding only slightly disapproving, “But man, that’s not the way to go. You should have just said ‘Zack, I think we should take a break.’ Or something.”
“But he’d want to know why and I’d be kind of a bitch to tell him one of his teammates came to try and talk me out of having anything to do with him, right?”
“Well yeah, but it’s more of a bitchy move to just ignore the poor guy.” She made a face, thinking for a moment. Her eyes went wide. “Oh, shit—you had to cover the game and interview the coach! How did that go?”
I bit my bottom lip, remembering all too well how it had gone. “He saw me coming onto the field to do the post-game interview and came over, asking if I needed a quote from him.” My cheeks burned as I remembered the way he’d called out that he wouldn’t even make me go on another date with him for it. “I just sort of…ignored him and went right to the coach.” I twisted my lips, feeling ashamed of myself. “I’m kind of a bitch, aren’t I?”
Jess laughed. “If you really were a bitch, you wouldn’t be asking that question like it’s the worst thing you could be.” She went into the mini fridge that we kept in the common area and took out a bottle of water for each of us. “Okay, so this dude shows up and tries to convince you to stop seeing Zack. You tell him to go to hell, but when you think about it you decide it’s probably a good idea after all.” I nodded. “So when Zack tries to hook up, you basically put him on ice, because it’s too hard to explain everything that’s going on.”
“Basically, yeah. I probably should have asked you for advice first, huh?”
“Yeah. Live and learn. So Zack gets all worked up and then gives up because, of course he does…and then at the game he nearly blows it.”
“Oh come on, that can’t be my fault. There were a whole bunch of mistakes and things that happened, and that other team was just looking for an opportunity to score on us.”
Jess shrugged. “Well yeah, but where did the mistakes come from? Like was it the whole team, or was it Zack?”
I thought about what I had seen in the course of the game. The team itself had been disorganized, confused—Zack wasn’t where he was supposed to be, he was slow, and he didn’t get the ball where it needed to be at the right moment.
“It was…okay, so it was mostly Zack.” I sighed. “But come on, that can’t be my fault. Zack was probably feeling the pressure.”
“You tell me: when he played in high school, was he the kind of guy to crack under pressure?” I picked at the blanket, not wanting to admit what was apparently already clear to Jess.
“No,” I said reluctantly. “He lives for pressure. He thrives on it. At least he did in high school.” Jess smiled slowly.
“I don’t know why you’re so down about it. The verdict is clear: Zack plays better when you’re in the picture. Without you he’s all distracted and stupid.”
“He’s pretty stupid, generally,” I said, smiling in spite of myself.
Jess laughed. “Well yeah, but you saw how he played. It’s obvious he can’t function properly without you.”
I rolled my eyes even though I was still smiling, my cheeks warm at the thought of Zack being unable to function properly without me. But then my pleasure at the thought came crashing down.
“If that’s true,” I said slowly, feeling guilt tugging at my stomach, “then I’ve totally screwed him up.”
Jess shrugged. “Well, so then fix it. Shouldn’t be hard.”
I groaned, rolling my eyes. “How am I supposed to fix it? Run up to him and make out with him in the quad?”
Jess laughed. “Well that’s one way. But probably you should at least explain to him what’s going on, give him a chance to understand why you acted the way you did.”
“What if he hates me?”
“I mean, if he hates you it’s because of what you already did—not much you can do about that.” I had to acknowledge that that was true. “You know you’re going to be miserable until you go back to him and at least try to explain things.”
I looked at my history textbook. “You’re right. I’ll do it tomorrow.” Jess giggled, taking her bottle of water with her back into her room.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next night, I made the trek across campus to see Zack. I knew the frat was throwing a party—there were fliers for it all over campus—but I wasn’t there to get drunk. It was just a question of not having the opportunity until evening to actually talk; my schedule was too packed. It was already dark when I left the dorms; Jess had detained me in my room until she was completely satisfied with how I looked to confront Zack and tell him what was on my mind.
“You can’t just go over there looking like you just left the library,” Jess told me when I announced I was going to go find Zack.
“Why not? I did just leave the library.”
Jess groaned and dragged me to my bedroom, sitting me down on the bed as she rummaged through my closet.
“You need to look like you’re on point, girl,” Jess said, picking up and putting back hangers, flipping through the different dresses, skirts, shirts, and everything else in my closet.
“If Zack doesn’t want to listen to what I have to say then wearing something different isn’t going to change th
at.”
“First of all,” Jess said, turning to face me with her arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t know that for sure. Looking sexy could very well tip the balance. Second of all, you’re going to be seeing a bunch of his frat brothers too—you don’t want them to give you the run-around, do you?”
“They’re not going to treat me any differently based on how I’m dressed, Jess.”
Jess sighed. “Okay. Say Zack has given up on you and told his frat brothers he doesn’t want to talk to you. You show up looking like you’ve been under a pile of books all afternoon, you’re nothing more than a mousey freshman. Easy to run interference on. Roll up looking so hot you might burn them and they won’t have any blood flowing to their brains to think of lying to you.” I tried to come up with an argument against that, but I couldn’t.
So Jess picked out a skintight pencil skirt for me to wear, and as soon as it was on, she inched up the hem a little bit to show more of my legs. “It’s cold outside!” I protested, trying to tug the fabric back down. Jess swatted my hand away.
“It’s not that cold and you’re walking there, right? Besides it’ll be warm enough in the frat house with everyone packed in.” I made a face but once more gave in. Jess went into her own closet and found a blouse that would fit me; it was a deep red, with a plunging neckline that showed off my cleavage, made of a flimsy, soft material. “Wear a jacket over it, but take the jacket off as soon as you get to the frat house,” she suggested.
Jess then went to work on my hair, pulling it back in a sexy loose bun with messy little distracting strands falling around my face.
By the time I was done, my makeup in place and a pair of low-heeled boots on my feet, I had to admit that I looked incredibly hot—but that I didn’t look as if I’d spent an hour on getting ready. I thought to myself that it probably wouldn’t make any difference at all—after all, if Zack had already moved on to someone else, no matter how hot I looked, he wouldn’t be interested. But it certainly helped to bolster my confidence as I walked along the different pathways that led from the dorms across the campus to frat row.
My toes were starting to hurt in the boots by the time I got to the frat house; even a block away I could hear the roar of music turned all the way up, and as I slipped my jacket off and draped it over my arm, following Jess’ advice, I could make out the fact that there were a ton of people scattered over the lawn, packed into the house—and probably still more in the back yard. I shook my head; at least some of the people partying it up had to have classes the next day—but they’d either be too hungover to make it, or they’d be utterly useless when they did get into class. I rolled my eyes at myself. Not everyone had my priorities, and not everyone was depending on scholarships and their own hard work to pay their way. If they wanted a raging hangover the next day, it was on them.
I approached the front door, moving through a throng of people who were milling around, stumbling and talking too loudly. It occurred to me that at the rate the party was raging, it would end up getting dispersed in next to no time. But that wasn’t my problem. I went to the front door and knocked on it—fully expecting to have to knock again. But there was someone who was apparently waiting for new arrivals; one of the pledges, wearing a toga that couldn’t possibly be warm enough for the weather outside, opened the door with a boozy grin.
“Good evening, and welcome to the party!”
He handed me a red Solo cup from a loaded-down table next to the door; I almost refused it—I wasn’t there to get drunk—but I decided I’d be able to move around a lot more freely if I had a cup in hand; I wouldn’t be as conspicuous.
“Maybe you can help me,” I said, trying a polite smile on the freshman in front of me. “I’m looking for Zack—any idea where he is?”
The guy shrugged, nearly losing the shoulder on his bed sheet toga. “No clue, hot stuff,” he said, the grin still on his face. “They have me manning the door—I don’t know where anyone is unless they’re right here.”
“Thanks anyway.” I edged away from the guy, taking a sip of the cup. It was punch; it wasn’t as good as the punch I’d had the previous party, but I figured that the people at the party were so intent on getting plastered that it wouldn’t much matter to them anyway. I wandered through the public rooms of the frat house, looking for any sign of Zack.
I grabbed one of the upperclassmen as he was walking through the living room. “Hey,” I said, keeping my polite smile plastered on my face. “I’m looking for Zack—is he around?”
“I don’t know; I saw him around earlier but I haven’t seen him in a minute. I’ll talk to you, though.”
My smile grew in my nervousness. “That’s okay—I just needed to talk to Zack about something. I think that girl over there is trying to get your attention though.” The guy looked in the direction I pointed out and saw a girl who was looking in our direction; he made a beeline to her.
I sipped my drink, trying not to go too fast. I went to the back yard and saw—to my amazement—a bunch of people cavorting in and around the pool; it was in the fifties outside but they seemed to be mostly comfortable. There was no sign of Zack, and I narrowly avoided getting pulled into the pool by an aggressive partier. I went back inside and into the kitchen. Someone tried to convince me to take another drink, but I waved my mostly-empty cup, smiling brightly and saying I was just pacing myself so I wouldn’t get sick.
I found another member of the frat dispersed amongst the crowd; he was someone I thought I’d seen with Zack at the dining hall at one point or another. “I’m looking for Zack,” I said; the guy looked like he was just this side of plastered, staring down the front of my shirt. I felt skeeved out, but I didn’t make a move to cover myself up—after all, this was what Jess had had in mind with the outfit I was wearing. “Have you seen him?”
The guy’s features screwed up into a caricature of deep thinking, his brow furrowing and his lips twisting in a grimace. “I know he was in the living room a while back—but I don’t know if he’s there anymore. Zack kinda moves around a lot.”
I nodded and thanked the guy, pulling away and heading towards the living room before he could think of who he was talking to—or decide to waylay me.
I wandered through all of the public areas of the frat house, even going upstairs to the den there to see if Zack was hanging out with some of the more elite guests. I watched someone get thrown into the pool for smoking inside the frat house, saw couples canoodling together on couches and any horizontal surface that would hold their weight. I remembered the fact that Zack and I had been making out right in public—just like so many of the couples here—and blushed. I tried my best to find Zack on my own, moving constantly until my feet started to ache. I started to despair of ever finding him; the frat was simply too packed, and there were too many places where Zack could be. It would be impossible to track him down if no one knew where he was.
Part of me even started to wonder if Zack was there at all. After all—those of his frat brothers who could remember seeing him had said that it had been a while. Zack could have gotten the party started, and then wandered off to another party at a sorority or another frat, or he could have even gone off campus. I realized I really didn’t know very much about his life, all things told; I had been shocked to find out that he apparently went to the Library regularly, after all. The music, pounding constantly in my ears, was starting to give me a headache—I couldn’t hear myself think, and if I had to ask many more people where Zack was, I was going to end up hoarse the next day from shouting. It was a stupid idea; I should have just called or texted him and asked him to meet me somewhere. That way, he could have told me outright if he never wanted to speak to me again.
I decided that I would ask one last person—someone at the frat—if they knew where Zack was, and if I couldn’t get an answer that made sense, I would call it a night and maybe go back to the dorms and send him an email. It was a cowardly way out of the situation, but at least it was something. I couldn�
�t deal with the drunk, lurching, loud mess of the party for much longer. I looked around and found someone who I thought I recognized from either the previous party or one of the times I had seen Zack around; he was wearing a toga, indicating he was a member of the frat, and he looked like an upperclassman—probably he was in the same year as Zack was.
“Hey! Excuse me!” I ducked and darted around the people between me and the frat brother. “Hey!” The guy stopped and I caught my breath, downing the last of the contents of my cup. “Hey, you know Zack, right?”
The guy looked me up and down with an undisguised leer on his face. “Yeah, I know him—he was in the same pledge group as me. You looking for him?” I nodded. “He’s up in his room. Punked out on the party early. Must be off his feed.”
I laughed, the alcohol beginning to fuzz my brain slightly. “Where’s his room? I just need to talk to him about something.”
The guy looked me up and down again. “Yeah, you might be able to get him to talk. He’s been moping these last few days. He’s on the third floor, last door on the right.”
I let the toga-clad brother give me a quick, sweaty hug—holding back my instinctive cringe. He was off in the direction of some other girls in the next instant, fortunately; I didn’t know what I would actually do to distract him if I’d had to.
I climbed the stairs, dodging around people who were heading down to the living room or to the second floor—or who were simply stalled out, too drunk to know where they were going. The last flight of stairs was much less crowded, and I raced up them, my heart pounding in my chest at the thought of seeing Zack. What if he didn’t even want to see me? I bit my lip, telling myself that surely he had enough feeling for me to at least hear me out. He had to.
It struck me as strange that the music was every bit as loud on the third floor as it was downstairs; I looked around as I walked through the hall of bedrooms, and noticed that speakers were mounted at the ends of the hallway—that made sense. I wondered if there were ever issues with sick brothers trying to get sleep in their rooms while a party raged downstairs; probably not, with a group like the one Zack belonged to. I walked the length of the hall, smiling slightly to myself as I spotted a few doors with neckties on them; as innocent as I was, I knew full well that particular sign and its meaning. I hurried to the end of the hall and looked at Zack’s door for a long moment. There was no necktie on his door knob; he wasn’t with anyone.