The Truths about Dating and Mating

by Jaycee DeLorenzo

  Chelsea shook her head. “But why her? You hardly know each other. You lived together for what, like three weeks, three years ago? Yet every time you two come within a fifty-foot radius, you both come out with your guns blazing.”

  “I’m sorry, was there a question in there?”

  “Yes. Why? Why all the animosity?”

  I exhaled noisily, coming to a stop just a few feet before the student activities board. “Mallory blames me for almost jeopardizing her chance of getting into Zeta.”

  Chelsea’s face twisted in confusion. “How’d you do that?”

  “It wasn’t intentional. She blew off some rush activity, telling the Zetas she had a cold, when she was really hooking up with some guy. She didn’t share this with me, of course, so when one of the Zetas called to check on her, I told her where Mallory was. I mean, how was I supposed to know?”

  A sympathetic smile appeared on Chelsea’s face. “Okay, that explains why she hates you, but why do you hate her?”

  “Well, the following day they threatened to cut her from the pledge list. She came home that afternoon and laid into me, saying I did it on purpose, that I didn’t want her to get in because I was jealous. I apologized and told her it was an honest mistake, and I would have covered for her if she’d only told me, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept ranting and making all these absurd accusations, and then she grabbed the crystal music box Nonni Rossini gave me when my dad left, and threw it at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces.”

  “Oh, no!” Chelsea covered her mouth.

  I shook as a fresh wave of scalding fury washed over me. Nonni Rossini had taken me and my mom in when my father abandoned us, denouncing her youngest son as a worthless ne’er-do-well. She’d taken care of me while my mom struggled to get her high school equivalent, and then went on to nursing school. The two women had butted heads constantly, mostly over the best way to raise me, but there had never been a dearth of love between them. Mom often confided to me how grateful she was for her mother-in-law’s help; how we probably would have ended up on the streets if not for her. Her death four years before had come as a crushing blow to us both. We’d always joked the old broad would live forever.

  I swallowed back my rising tears. “She knew how much that music box meant to me – I told her during one of our few civil conversations - and she did it anyway.”

  “What a nasty, horrible thing to do! I hope you filed a complaint with the Student Housing Disciplinary Committee.”

  “Why bother? All they would have done is forced her to reimburse me the fifty dollars the box cost, and the music box was irreplaceable.” I took a deep breath and counted to three, reining in the residual fury and pain. “I was so upset I stayed the weekend with Ian. When I came back, she had moved into the sorority house. I heard later that her daddy put in a call and offered to fund their Homecoming festivities if they’d forgive her transgression. And that’s it. Thus concludes the riveting tale of the infinite rancor between Mallory Lloyd and Ivy Rossini.”

  Chelsea patted my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. But I still think you should have filed some sort of complaint.” She truly believed in resolving matters through the system. As if some committee’s judgment could be a balm to my heartache.

  We exited the union and rounded the building, walking into the open field of the campus mall, often called The Greens. It was a silly nickname, really, because the grass was always more of a sad brown color, but the students had been calling it The Greens long before I’d come to Riordan, and would continue to call it that long after I was gone.

  I perched my tortoiseshell sunglasses on my nose, and nodded north, where SHAZ-Fest looked to be in full swing. “Well, this is my stop. There are condoms to be handed out and plastic penises to practice putting them on.”

  Chelsea shook her head, as if knowing that saying anything would be pointless. She’d be right, too. “Well, good luck with your presentation.”

  “And good luck with your speech. I know you’re going to do great.” I gave her a hug and a big, encouraging smile.

  Chelsea trotted off to catch the Razor Tran, which would take her to the south end of campus where the Winter Queen speeches were being given. I, on the other hand, headed to the north end of The Greens, walking through various groups of students settled down in the grass and toward the three big tents set up at the end. Checking the time on my phone, I saw that I still had a half-hour before time to present. I decided to settle down on the grass and enjoy my breakfast in the warm sunshine.

  After sliding my sandals off and crossing my legs at the ankles, I opened the brown bag containing my scone and peered inside. “Hello, my precious,” I purred, pulling it out and taking a big bite. Shivers of delight swelled through my body as the sugar crystals dissolved on my tongue. Growing up, my mom rarely allowed me to eat refined sugars, or anything else she considered toxic. Now that I lived on my own, I relished every sugar-laden piece of “junk” as if it was my first.

  Sure, the calories made themselves known in my bottom half, but a pear-shaped figure was my genetic lot in life. After killing myself in the Rec center freshman year with no results, I’d come to accept that I’d never be a skinny-Minnie like Chelsea, just like I knew I’d never be a stunning beauty like Amery – my nose was too round, my mouth far too wide, my hair a little over processed and dry from too many rounds of hair coloring. I was cute, sure, but mine wasn’t a face that would be launching any ships. The only thing I had on both girls was large breasts, but the twins were more of a burden than anything else. They always attracted the wrong kind of attention.

  “Hey, Ivy. Loved the show last night.”

  My face flew up to find Allison McKenzie, a fellow Sociology major, approaching with two male companions. Covering my mouth with my hand, I stuck my finger up to request a moment so I could swallow. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh, this is my new boyfriend, James.” Allison’s heart-shaped face brightened as she squeezed the arm of the tall and muscular redhead beside her. “And this is Graydon,” she added, motioning toward the dark-haired guy next to James. “Guys, this is Ivy, the genius behind The Truths about Dating and Mating.”

  I shook my head, trying not to blush. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would,” Graydon said. I detected a bit of charming southern twang in his voice. “No need for modesty, baby. Your show kicks ass; own it.”

  Baby?

  I turned my gaze on him. He was tall, lean, and sported a hipster/rocker look: tight, faded blue jeans, a plain white undershirt, a wool beanie over his messy brown hair, and a pair of Wayfarer glasses on the bridge of his nose. Behind those glasses, he had a kind of Jared Leto-thing going on around the eyes – wide baby blues framed by dark, thick lashes – and even had sweet little lips like the 30 Seconds to Mars frontman. Add that to the self-confidence he oozed like sap from a tree, and I bet he had no trouble attracting females… and “trouble” was the operative word there. It was practically silkscreened across his T-shirt.

  The raking gaze he gave me caused my guard to go straight up. He scratched the whiskers on his chin, then pointed at me. “What have you got on tap for Friday night?”

  The boy worked fast. I lowered my sunglasses and gave him a cautious, narrow-eyed look. “That depends.”

  Graydon pulled a neon pink flyer from the back pocket of his worn jeans and crouched down before me. “Check it. We have this party going on down at the old firehouse: four kegs, good tunes, a whole lot of people, and, if the gods are smiling down on me, you’ll be among them.” He winked and gave me a dazzling grin.

  I knew the building. I also knew this was not a legally-sanctioned event, which meant it would be full of underage kids and probably broken up by the cops before midnight. I’d outgrown that scene after turning twenty-one the past July. “Ooh, cheap beer, packed bodies, and more drugs than a Tijuana pharmacy. Where do I sign up?”

  “You forgot questionable electrical wiring and layers of dust older t
han the both of us combined.” Graydon waved the flyer beneath my nose, his eyes dancing. “Come on, you know you wanna.”

  Charmed in spite of myself, I snatched the flyer from his fingers. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  He feigned a heavy sigh. “It’s a curse. So, you’ll come?”

  I shrugged, not about to commit to anything. “We’ll see.”

  Graydon pointed at me again. “I’m gonna keep my eye out for you, dollface.”

  Trouble and a shameless flirt, to boot.

  Graydon’s gaze drifted over my shoulder and I saw the smile fade from his eyes.

  I didn’t have to guess to know what he was seeing. All the warning signs were there: brows creased with unease, face siphoned of color, a pinched look around the corners of the mouth…

  “Come on, dude.” Troy tapped Graydon’s arm with the back of his hand. “Let’s go.”

  I glanced back to see Ian was still a good fifteen yards away, but bearing down fast with venom in his eyes. His reputation preceded him. If these guys knew even half the truth, they probably wouldn’t be so anxious.

  Graydon jumped to his feet. “But, yeah, so think about the party,” he said to me, all former traces of his slick charm gone.

  Allison smiled. “See you in class, Ivy.”

  I waved. “Bye.”

  They were leaving just as Ian reached us. Graydon’s eyes shifted to Ian. “Hollister,” he said in acknowledgement as he walked by.

  “Billings.” Ian’s voice was hard and full of suspicion. His steely eyes bored into Graydon’s retreating back until Graydon made it to the brick walkway bordering The Greens. He then turned his head and smirked down at me. “Was it something I did?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Ian had been in a fight sophomore year of high school that ended with senior Tim Ryan in the hospital. No one cared to remember that it had been a congenital heart defect that caused Tim to collapse at that precise moment. It didn’t make a juicy enough story.

  The truth was far less dramatic. A Friday afternoon football team’s charge from the locker room had caused Ian and Tim to collide. Tim shoved Ian for having the audacity to get in his way. Any other day Ian would have ducked his head and moved on, but his stepdad had been on a particularly mean streak that week, and Ian’s tolerance for being pushed around was at an all-time low. Ian shoved Tim back and received a punch for his efforts. So, Ian clocked him - a good hard strike, but nothing really powerful enough to knock him down. Still, Tim had dropped like a two ton stone. Someone called 911 and he was rushed to the hospital, where the heart defect was discovered, and the emergency surgery that saved his life was performed.

  Ian was suspended for a week. By the time he came back to school, the story had been so grossly exaggerated that it no longer resembled the actual event. Rumor said that he had beaten Tim to a bloody pulp, that he had stabbed him with his blade, and – my personal favorite - that he’d been the one to rush Tim, because he’d heard the dick smacked his cheerleader girlfriend.

  Ian’s reputation was made. Tim ruled by intimidation and fear, throwing his weight around and tormenting the weak. The guys at school congratulated Ian for “standing up to that jackass,” and began giving him a wide berth.

  As for the ladies… Well, with the victor comes the spoils. He was considered some kind of white knight for defending poor Avery Tilney’s honor. The fact that he had never said so much as two words to Avery in his life hadn’t mattered. Overnight, he’d gone from “trailer-trash loser” to “sexy bad boy” that every girl, including the illustrious Miss Tilney herself, wanted a piece of.

  Ian had never done anything to perpetuate the rumors, but he hadn’t tried to dispel them, either. It kept idiots like Tim from messing with him. Plus, I knew he liked the small slice of power that it gave him, and I wasn’t about to deny him that, especially when he was so powerless in every other area of his life.

  “You know,” I said, tilting my head to soak up the sun’s warm rays, “someday, one of these guys is going to call your bluff, and you’re going to have to put up or shut up.”

  He made a scoffing noise, then nodded his head after Graydon. “What did that assclown want?”

  I snickered at his intentional use of the word. “Down boy. He was just handing out invites to a party.” I waved the flyer in my hand as proof. No need to mention the flirting. I wasn’t interested in the guy.

  Ian snatched the flyer up and gave it a cursory inspection before crumpling it in his fist and tossing it to the ground.

  I pulled my sunglasses down and shot him an annoyed look. “Um, hello, I believe that was mine.”

  “What’s the big deal? It’s not like you’re going.”

  I bristled. That sounded awfully close to a command. “I’m not?”

  “No. Why would you want to?”

  I didn’t want to. Or I hadn’t until Ian’s inner-caveman made an appearance. “I wasn’t planning on it, but now….”

  Ian sighed. “Come on, Ivy, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not telling you what to do.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Sure the hell sounded like it to me.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m just strongly advising you not to go.”

  “Noted.” I reached for the crumpled flyer and put it into my bag. There wasn’t a thing on this green earth that would stop me from going, now. Ian had to be reminded that decisions like that weren’t his to make. Plus, it was good for him to hear the word ‘no’ once in a while; Lord knew it wasn’t something he heard often enough.

  “What are you doing here so early, anyway?” I asked after noting the time on my phone. “I thought your class didn’t end for another fifteen minutes.”

  “I overslept. I’ll have to get the notes from someone.”

  I groaned. “Some naïve girl who has a crush on you, you mean.”

  He sat down on my blanket and relaxed his head on my lap. “Don’t be jealous. I can’t help it if pretty little coeds find me irresistible.”

  I ruffled his hair. “Irritating is what they should find you.”

  Ian smacked my hand away and ran his fingers through his spikes. “Hands off the goods!”

  “And what do you mean, jealous?” I demanded. “If anything, I pity those poor girls. The way you take advantage of them is despicable.”

  He shrugged his strong shoulders in resignation. “Far be it from me to turn down a girl who’s offering.”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “Don’t I know it. But you still love me.” He set his tongue between his teeth, his eyebrows dancing.

  I shoved his shoulder, then deliberately leaned back, letting the sunshine hit him square in the face.

  “Hey!” Ian’s hands flew to his eyes. He peered up at me through the slits in his fingers. “Not nice.”

  I laughed and stuck my tongue out at him.

  “Ahem.”

  We looked up to find our close friend Casey Samuels standing behind us, holding a copy of the school’s newspaper, The Razorback Register. He touched a finger to his tongue, opened to one of the middle pages, and read: “‘Unfortunately,’ says Ivy, the yin to Ian’s yang, ‘we live in a society where sex is pushed into our faces, but we’re discouraged from talking about it. One is made to feel ashamed if they have thoughts that society deems ‘abnormal’ or ‘perverted.’ I, myself, grew up feeling abnormal because I would get aroused by seeing a woman’s naked body on a television screen. I knew I had a pretty strong predilection toward the opposite gender, so I was mortified by my physical response to the sight of a nude woman. It wasn’t until I took a class here at Riordan College that I learned I was responding to the sensuality of the female form, and it was perfectly normal. This is one of the main reasons I jumped at the opportunity to do ‘Truths;’ to provide a safe, anonymous forum where students could not only ask their own questions about sex and their physical urges, but to help others realize they are not so alone’.” Casey folded the paper and grin
ned down at me. “You do realize you have got to be one of the coolest girls in the world for that admission, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Why? Because I said I used to get turned on by seeing a woman naked? Please, everybody does.”

  “Yep, I get turned on by the sight of a naked woman all the time,” Ian agreed.

  I scowled and rolled him off my lap. “I was speaking of being aroused, or at least curious, about someone of the same sex.”

  Casey’s freckly nose wrinkled. “I never have.”

  Ian grinned wide. “I have. In fact, Samuels, I’ve often wondered what your sweet little ass would look like bent over my bed.”

  Casey looked like he had just sucked on a lemon. “Yeah… allow me to clear up the mystery. It’s flat, pasty, and firmly embossed with the words ‘Exit Only,’ thank you.”

  “That had to be a painful process.” I motioned to the paper as Casey joined us on the grass. “Can I see that?”

  Casey handed it over, and Ian scooted in closer to me so we could read it together. “I forgot this was coming out today,” Ian said.

  “Me, too.” I found the story on page three, under the headline of MARS AND VENUS DUKE IT OUT ON THE AIRWAVES. “Ugh, that’s a horrible picture! We were supposed to look serious. Instead we look like we’re ready to tag-team someone.” The photo the staff shutterbug had taken of us standing back-to-back looked like something you’d see on a wrestling commercial, or a tacky reality show.

  “Eh.” Ian shrugged and began reading. A minute later, he sneered. “Oh, that’s just great. Your quote took up half the article, while all I got was ‘In short, we’re no-nonsense advisors who are going to tell it like it is.’ What the hell? I talked to that asshole for twenty minutes.”

  I frowned. “It’s short, but you were very succinct.”

  “Succinct…I come out sounding like a monosyllabic asshole, while you come across as smart and fearless. Which I don’t disagree with, but still. ”