by Ivy Jordan
“I don’t need you doing that, Ava. I’m fine, really.”
“You’re still getting food boxes; we both know you are. Mom, Chelsea’s a growing girl. She can’t survive on canned sweet potatoes and diner burgers. She needs real food and decent clothes. You can have that if I start sending money home.”
“But you’ve got your own life to worry about. I don’t need you sending me all your money. You’re just getting started, and you’re going to school. You need that money more than any of us. I don’t want you to have to struggle.”
“I’m not struggling. I’m making more than enough to pay for myself.”
“You need to save what you have,” my mom insisted.
“Not while Chelsea’s surviving off of diner food. Look, we both know that you and Chelsea need the money. Don’t refuse it. That would just be dumb. I’m sending you something at the end of next week.”
“How are your grades, Ava?”
“It’s hard work, but I’m making it.”
“And you’re going to keep it up, aren’t you?” my mom asked.
“I am. You know me. I’m going to follow this through till the end.”
“I have no doubt,” she said.
“I’m sending you the money,” I insisted, “and you’re going to take it. I’m not going to let you two suffer.”
“Thank you, Ava. I don’t need the money, but I suppose I will take it.”
“You don’t have a choice,” I said. “I have to go, I’m sorry. I’ve got so much work to do.”
“Take care,” my mom thanked me again and left me to my calculus. I couldn’t focus on the books, so I put it away and got up. I had to get out of bed sometime. I showered and found myself something to wear. When I was done, I was feeling rejuvenated, so I went back to my calculus.
I spent too much time showering. I should’ve been studying. I was going to get behind if I wasn’t careful, but I still couldn’t concentrate. The numbers scrambled together on the page, and I couldn’t read them. I set my book down, turned off the light, and laid down. Maybe sleep would help.
My phone was vibrating again. I didn’t want to answer it. I just wanted to sleep, and maybe get some work done tonight. It just kept ringing over and over again. Finally, I picked it up. “Hello?”
“I’m outside.” It was Nicole.
“What do you mean you’re outside?”
“I’m getting worried about you. You’re shutting yourself in so I’m kidnapping you so you can take me to lunch.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just let me in, and start getting ready.” I opened my front door and she was standing outside.
“Get in here. Don’t just show up at my house.”
“You weren’t at the library,” she walked in, “so I started to worry.”
I closed the door behind her. “Well, I’m not going.”
“Oh, yes you are. You haven’t been out of the house all weekend. Admit it.”
“I will not.” I stomped into my room and sat back down on my bed, where I belonged.
Nicole followed me in. “So it’s true. You’ve been here this whole time.”
“What kind of food are you making me buy you?”
“I don’t know,” she sat down at the foot of the bed. “What should we get?”
“I don’t know. This home invasion was your idea. I was happy here.” She stroked her chin. “If you don’t know what we’re getting, then forget about it.”
“Noodle House.”
The prospect of thick noodles and broth sounded appetizing. “Alright, but you have to get out of my room. Now. I’m changing.”
The Noodle House was a hidden masterpiece sitting in a remote corner of downtown. There was a neon sign with a flickering bowl of noodles above the door. The steam lines above the bowl had burnt out. It looked like somebody had renovated a studio apartment. They added a divider between the kitchen and lobby, where they kept two salvaged booths and an old school table covered with a white cloth.
We didn’t go there because we liked the way the place looked. We ate there because it was authentic Asian folk food. They used herbs like lemongrass and sweet basil, along with spices like anise and jasmine to create homemade broths. I could smell the herbs steaming when we walked inside and took a booth in the back.
The best part about the broth was the meat. They cooked the beef in the broth, so the juices flowed through. The chicken was shredded and drenched in spices. The shrimp was minced in a chili sauce. When the soup came, there were red globs of chili oil floating on the surface.
“I don’t know how you eat that spicy stuff,” Nicole said. She always got the chicken.
“It’s amazing, but I can’t be doing this very much, you know.”
Nicole slurped up a noodle. “Why not?”
“If you must know, I’m picking up some extra hours at the tutoring center.”
“For what?” Nicole said.
“I’m sending money home to my mother.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And I don’t want to talk about it. It’s my business, understand?”
“Of course. It’s family. Just don’t work yourself to the bone. You can’t save the world.”
“I certainly don’t plan on trying,” I said, then took a spoonful of broth.
“The game on Friday night was amazing. They do this thing where they move the cameras up close to Channing, like when he has his helmet off and he’s on the sidelines, stuff like that.”
“Really?”
“It’s promotion. They’re selling their star quarterback. He has a chance at the NFL, you know.”
“It’s probably a long shot.”
“You don’t get it. He’s pushing the school straight through to the finals. He’ll be the quarterback of the winning team. Everyone will know who he is.”
“It’s not a guarantee that he’ll get signed,” I said.
“No, but it’s an opportunity. He’s already a big deal, Ava.”
“I’m not sure I buy it. You’re a groupie. You go to all the games and all the same parties. You just think people care about this kind of crap. Most of the students just want to get done with school and go. Football is a distraction.”
“You need something other than school to think about. Those books are going to melt your mind. Pretty soon, you won’t be able to go out in the sunlight.”
“This again? No more. “
“Fine,” Nicole shrugged and went back to her noodles.
“I’m out here with you. That’s enough recreation for the week.”
“And what about your biological needs?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You want me to spell it out?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not healthy to stay celibate.”
“Do you want me to walk away from the table?” I asked.
Nicole looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she leaned across the table and met my eyes. “Ava…”
I started to get up.
“Okay, okay,” she threw up her hands. “We won’t talk about it.”
“No, we won’t. I should’ve never have told you in the first place,” I hissed. “You are never, ever allowed to talk about that, you understand me?”
“It’s ju—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped.
“There are studies showing that it’s not healthy to…be a….”
“Don’t you finish that sentence,” I glared at her. “There is nothing wrong with abstinence.”
“It’s not abstinence. It’s forced isolation is what it is, and it’s not healthy. It causes stress, lady problems, and it turns you into a prude. You’ll be mean and hateful forever.”
“I’m not mean and hateful, just snappy.”
“It could get worse. You could start to get irate. You must know that this isn’t normal—to go without for so long.”
“I don’t care. I’m happy. Get over it.” I went back to my soup.
/>
“Bull, it’s getting to you. It has to be. Nobody can go without sex this long.”
I took a look around the restaurant. The server was leaning against the desk at the front of the office, staring at her phone. “I don’t want that lady to hear you; you got that?”
“Because you’re ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed,” I took a spoonful of broth. “I just haven’t found the right guy yet.”
“I say it’s better to get it over with first. You’ll be more experienced.”
“Nicole, I honestly don’t care about sex.” I took another spoonful. “Sex is just another distraction. It has nothing to do with the relationship, not for me. I want something with passion and chemistry. It’s a thousand times better if you wait.”
“I heard that if you wait too long to lose your virginity, you’ll turn into an asexual.”
“Don’t say that word.”
“What? Virginity?” she said it a little bit louder.
“Fine, if you want to get into this, we will. That study’s flawed. Think about it. They tested older adult virgins. Most of them were probably asexual already.”
“It’s not healthy.”
“Lots of people wait. It’s a personal choice.”
“The guys call you cobwebs.”
“I know. I don’t care.” I finished my soup and went straight back home to go study. The calculus book was waiting for me when I got home. I pressed through it, taking my time to make sure I understood every concept. I still didn’t fully understand it, but at least I knew I’d pass the test.
Chapter Eleven
Channing
Professor Sedway was a ball of wrinkles, with a poof of black baby hair on his head, and a pudgy stomach. He only wore white dress shirts, the kind with metal buttons and short sleeves. Most days his pits were stained, but today was particularly hot, so his entire shirt was drenched. I could see the front of his undershirt peeking through when he turned around and narrowed his eyes at us.
“The Protestant Reformation is one of the most important events in western civilization. It’s been integral in shaping the map of Europe and defining the course of world events. You need to understand it if you want to pass this class.”
Sedway had a way of meeting all our eyes individually when he talked. It was as if everything he was saying was life or death. It made everyone uncomfortable, so I sat I in the middle row because he always skipped us when he was looking around the room.
I never had to study very much for western civ. All he had us do was read the chapters and answer a series of quick questions. It was all open book. The only thing we had to do was look the answers up.
“I need your chapter four questions,” the teacher motioned around the room. We all started opening our bags and rustling through our papers. Some students were printing their assignments on the printer in the back corner of the room.
The rest of us started passing our papers down the rows of desks. The quiet period seemed to go on forever, while the students’ shoes squeaked against the tile. Somehow, all of our papers landed in the right place.
The teacher stood up to walk around the front of his desk. All of a sudden, the printer started and a guy in the front row shot up to bring his paper to the teacher. “What is this?” The teacher snatched it away before the student rushed back to his desk. “This isn’t Chicago style.” Sedway crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash.
“Can I get it in to you this afternoon?” the student asked.
“No, this is college, not grade school. You turn your assignments in when I ask for them, or else you don’t get credit. I hope I don’t have to remind any of you of the test in two days.”
My stomach jumped.
“And I’ll need your papers on the Holy Roman Empire on my desk when you walk in the door.”
The students started to shuffle out. I met Mike near the front door. “Did you study for your test?” I asked.
“I didn’t get much done. I didn’t even know we were supposed to be doing a paper on the Holy Roman Empire. What is that anyway?”
“It’s the Catholic state.” We walked into the hall and made our way back to the courtyard. “You’ve got to know when it was established, when it fell apart, how they lived—everything.”
“I get it,” I followed him into the hall.
“Are you going to pass?” I asked. “Have you been reading?”
“I’ve been trying.” Mike and I walked into the courtyard and sat down at our table.
“I’m not trying to lecture you,” I said. “We’ve both been dealing with enough. We don’t need to come down on each other.”
“I wish the coach would let up a little bit,” Mike said. “I’m so tired; it’s getting hard to think.”
“He’s not letting up,” I said.
“I know. I don’t think I can handle it. I’ve got my classes to worry about. I don’t need to be covered in sweat and hyperventilating all day.”
“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” I said. “You’re probably not eating right. Too much beer.”
“I just don’t think I can handle all these laps.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time. “I have to get to my tutoring session.”
“Alright.” Mike pulled out his textbook and opened it when I walked away.
We were both working hard. For the most part, all we had time for was football and studying. Mike and I still managed to eat at the diner and meet in between classes, but there was no real alone time. I couldn’t sit back and watch TV, or even surf the internet. We were too busy working.
Managing the game was no problem, but coming back to study was difficult. I’d pump myself up all day, and get back to the dorms too tired to do anything. I studied as much as I could, but sometimes I just fell asleep. The coach was working us too hard. It was as if he couldn’t help adding a little bit more pressure.
Some of the guys told him to ease off. They walked into his office unannounced and told him to go easy on us. He benched them all right away. He had a program to run. The coach had been using the same system for decades. He had every count, from push-ups to jumping jacks, memorized. It was all well planned out and calculated.
The stress was meant to amp us up to give it our all during the games. It worked. We were faster, stronger, and more organized than many of the other teams. Some schools treated college football like an elective, rather than the opportunity it was.
They put together a mess of stoners and meatheads and called it a team. They never practiced, never organized themselves. They were just a bunch of guys getting together to play football. They were the bottom end. We’d moved through those guys.
Now we were fighting the actual teams. They had their plays straight, quality players, and they knew how to play the game.
Teams like that could be tricky, so we were on our game. If we weren’t careful, we’d fall behind, so the coach kept us hustling. It was only going to get worse. He was going to start giving us an extra day of practice every week. He wouldn’t let up. He’d double the counts, and make us run twice as many laps. I wasn’t going to have time to breathe.
I made good time in getting to the tutoring center. When I walked inside, the light was already on in the study room, and Ava was sitting at the table waiting for me. Her head was down, and her hair was falling over a book she was reading.
She sprang up when I opened the door. “You scared me.”
“That’s for hitting me with the door.” I sat down across from her. She was reading a novel with a school book jacket.
“What is that?”
“Wha—oh? This?” She ducked down to put her book in her bag. It was sitting on the floor next to her chair.
“That’s not fair.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t do small talk.”
“But now I won’t be able to focus because I’ll be wondering what it is. You’re my tutor. You’re supposed to help me study.”
“Fine.�
� She pulled it out of her bag and lifted it up for me to see. It was called The Woman in White.
“What is it?”
“It’s a really old mystery novel.” She put it away in her bag. “What are you working on?”
“Western civ,” I opened my bag and pulled out my textbook. “I have to do a paper on the Holy Roman Empire. I know next to nothing about the place.”
Ava set the book aside and started to explain the basic facts to me. She showed me where the empire’s borders were, and some of its most famous rulers. Then she went on to talk about the empire’s influence over the rest of Europe.
I retained much of it, but I had to write down the dates, and some of the names. When I was done with my notes, we moved on to calculus. She wasn’t very good at describing the problems or the concepts, but she knew the definitions, and she had a good idea of the mechanics. I could glean the rest from what she told me.
“English has been a big problem for me.” I set aside my calculus notes.
“What unit are they on?”
“They’re talking about literary devices. They want us to memorize a list of millions of them and use them in our papers. It’s barbaric.”
“Well, they’re not hard to learn. Do you have the list he gave you?”
I pulled out my phone to open the file and turned it around so she could see. She leaned in closer to see it. Then she squinted her eyes.
I laughed.
“What?” She sat back.
“Well, something’s making you laugh.”
“It’s the way you squinted.”
“You think I squint funny?” she asked.
“No, it’s adorable, actually.”
She went pale, then bright red. She tried to play it off by staring at my book, but I could see. She wasn’t even reading anything in particular. I decided to give her a break.
“So that’s the list of terms we have to study.”
“It’s long, but it’s not hard. Try to come up with examples of every term, use them, and then you’ll remember them more easily.”
“God,” I ran my hands through my hair, “that’s way too much work.”
“It won’t take you too long. Some of those literary devices are really easy.”
“It’s just one more thing to do.”