Bend Me, Break Me

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “You’ve got it bad, my friend,” he said, finishing his soda and waving to our server for another.

  “I don’t have anything. I just want to talk to her. Maybe be friends. She looks lonely.” Ingrid wasn’t lonely. Or I didn’t think she was. She chose to be alone, which was going to be far more difficult than lonely to overcome.

  “So how about bringing her a tea next class. You don’t say anything. Just hand it to her and walk away. You have to make her want to come to you. Going after her over and over is only going to push her further away.” I nodded, because it all made sense. Talking hadn’t worked well for me so far. Maybe it was time for actions instead of words.

  I was so angry after the incident in the coffee shop that I stormed around my room for nearly an hour. Stormed isn’t quite the right word, because my room was so small that you could only take a few steps in any direction.

  The hot feeling boiled inside me and made my head feel like it was going to burst. I just wanted to make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop.

  I threw myself on my bed and was shocked to find there were tears on my pillow. I hadn’t cried in a long time. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time.

  How was it that this stupid boy had brought tears to my eyes? How dare he?

  I sat up and wiped my face. I had two options. I could either ignore him and keep taking the class, or I could email the professor and drop it. There was still time for me to do that without it penalizing my GPA. As if I cared about that, anyway.

  I wanted to drop the class. That would be the easiest thing to do, but my anger stopped me. I’d asked him to leave me alone and he was going to do that. Or face the consequences.

  I was so early to class on Wednesday that I was one of the first students seated. I sat in the upper left corner of the lecture hall, which had views of all of the doorways and aisles.

  He was late. He was late, or he wasn’t coming. Just a minute before class started, he finally showed up, his face flushed and his hair blown back from his face, as if he’d been rushing. There was a disposable coffee cup in his hand. I put my head down and tried to sink in my seat.

  Of course, he found me anyway, in the sea of nearly a hundred students. As if I was a beacon that he followed.

  He made his way over to my seat and held out the cup. I looked up at him in surprise. Before I could do or say anything, he set the cup on my desk and walked back down the steps to another seat near the front.

  “Let’s get started,” the professor said, picking up his chalk.

  The cup contained green tea again. I was apprehensive about drinking it, but then it smelled so good. I should have thrown it away, since taking and drinking it was probably a signal to him that he could continue to bother me. I’d lashed out at him yesterday and it hadn’t deterred him. I decided to try something different if he came up to me today.

  He didn’t. The moment class ended, he was up, taking the stairs two at a time, and out the door without another look at me.

  I sat there, shocked.

  Coen LaCour was messing with my mind.

  I finished my tea and went to my next two classes in a bit of a confused haze. We’d started working on Frankenstein in English, which I was thrilled about. It was appropriate, given that Halloween was coming up.

  But even that couldn’t force my mind to focus on anything but Coen LaCour.

  Even when I was back in my room and working on a new poem, he was there in my thoughts and he started to spill out into the ink of my pen.

  The way you said my name.

  The line repeated over and over in my head. I refused to clutter up my notebook with something so ridiculous, so I closed my notebook and went back to re-reading Frankenstein.

  On Friday, he was there again with tea, but this time he stood in the doorway for me. Without a word, he handed me the cup and walked into the room without another word.

  It was the same the next week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Three cups of tea with no words. Not even a smile. I thought about walking by him. I thought about throwing them in his face. I thought about screaming at him. I thought about doing a hundred other things.

  But I took them. Every time.

  He changed things up on me the following Monday. I took the tea, as usual, but then he also pushed a box into my other hand. I opened my mouth to ask him what was going on, but he folded my fingers around the box and then he was off again.

  Hoping it wasn’t a bomb, I took the tea and mystery box to my seat. No one was watching me and the chatter was loud enough to cover the crinkle of me unwrapping the box.

  When I got it unwrapped, I opened it to make sure what was in it was what it said on the outside.

  A Slinky. A silver Slinky. The kind of toy you could find at a shop that sold vintage things. You didn’t see many of them anymore.

  A Slinky. Why had he given me a Slinky? Such an odd present. I didn’t know what to make of it, which was perhaps part of his plan. I shifted it from hand to hand and then put it in my bag without looking up to see if he’d watched me open it.

  On Wednesday, there was another tea and another present. This time, it was a small Etch A Sketch. Once again, I didn’t know what to think. It was just so… strange. I put it on my desk when I got back to my dorm, right next to the Slinky. On Friday, a Rubik’s Cube was added to the collection.

  The following Monday, I had to say something. He had another present.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked when he tried to hand me the box and the cup of tea.

  I thought he was just going to set them both down and walk away, but he finally answered.

  “Because I want us to be friends.” My mouth totally dropped open. Of all the things he could have said, I didn’t expect that. At all.

  “You want to be my friend?” I asked, needing clarification.

  “Yes. I do. So that’s it.”

  No, that wasn’t it. Coen LaCour had me completely flummoxed.

  “But why?” I asked, still not taking the items. If we didn’t get a move on, we were both going to be late.

  “Why does anyone do anything? Do I need a reason?” he asked.

  “Why me?”

  “Why anyone?” He still wouldn’t answer my question. I was starting to get angry again.

  “Fine. Fine. You can go ahead and be my friend.” He obviously enjoyed the chase. By denying him, I’d only been prolonging it. Maybe if I gave him what he wanted, he’d realize that he didn’t want to be my friend after all.

  “Really?” he said and the hope on his face plucked a string somewhere deep inside of me. I didn’t like that feeling, but I’d be rid of him soon enough.

  “Whatever,” I said, taking the tea and present from him and walking into the room. He was right behind me and when I sat down, he sat next to me.

  “Friends sit next to each other in class,” he pointed out. He was right, so there was nothing I could say about it.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Coen gestured toward the present. I didn’t want to open it with him sitting right there. That was far too invasive.

  “Later,” I said, putting it in my bag and getting out my notebook and purple pen.

  “Okay,” he said and I hoped that would be the last thing he would say to me for the rest of class.

  No such luck.

  Five minutes later, he asked if he could borrow a pen. I almost smiled when I thought about him using one of my purple pens to take notes. Sure, he could borrow one of my pens.

  I handed it over to him, expecting him to give it back and ask me for another. He didn’t. He uncapped it and started taking notes, just like me. Soon, his paper was filled with purple writing. Just like mine.

  Class ended and he turned to me, holding the pen out.

  “Thanks.”

  I wanted to say something nasty, but I didn’t.

  “You can keep it. Might need it later,” I said and he looked down at it before slipping it in his bag.

  “Thanks. Again.” H
is face went a little red and I could feel myself blushing as well. I wasn’t used to interacting with people like this anymore.

  I packed up my bag and he stood aside to let me walk into the aisle ahead of him.

  “Friends walk each other to their next class,” he said as we exited the classroom.

  “Don’t you have class too?” I asked.

  “Yes, but it’s not for about twenty minutes. So I have time.” A brief smile flashed on his face and for a fraction of a second, I could see the tiny chip in his tooth. I couldn’t stop staring at that little imperfection. One small flaw. I was sure there were others, but I couldn’t see them. Little did he know, I was one giant flaw, barely held together with pain and regret.

  “Oh,” I said, turning in the direction of my calculus class. The walk from economics only took five minutes and I struggled with what to say for every second of that time.

  “So, what class do you have?” he asked. I wished I could explain to him just how difficult this was going to be for him, to try to be my friend.

  “Calculus,” I said. His legs were longer than mine, and he had to keep adjusting his stride so he didn’t walk too far in front of me.

  “You like math?” I shook my head.

  “Okay, you don’t like math. So what do you like?” I used to know. I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “English. I guess.” That seemed like a safe answer.

  “So you like to read.” He didn’t phrase it as a question.

  “Sure,” I said. Coen nodded as if he was satisfied with the information.

  “What’s your favorite book?” I thought about rolling my eyes, but he was trying so hard. I couldn’t be too mean to him.

  “That’s not an easy question to answer,” I said as we reached the door of the math building.

  “This is me,” I said, pointing at the door. His face fell, as if he was disappointed that we couldn’t continue our riveting conversation.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I guess I’ll see you on Wednesday.” His shoulders hunched and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Okay. Yeah. Bye.” I didn’t wave, but I could feel him watching me as I walked in and shut the door between us.

  So that wasn’t terrible. We talked. I added the fact that she liked books to the catalogue of things I already knew about her. I hadn’t been able to figure that out from her Facebook page. That was nice, to know something new.

  Her voice was stilted when she talked to me, as if making small talk was hard for her. Well, I hadn’t been the best at asking questions, so I couldn’t put her totally at fault for that. I’d have to look up some better questions to ask her next time.

  Next time. There was going to be a next time. I’d asked her if we could be friends and she hadn’t told me to go fuck myself. This was progress. Major progress. I had a grin on my face when I got back from class that night and Marty noticed it first thing.

  “You talk to her today?” he asked.

  “Yup. Sat next to her in class and walked her to her next one.”

  “Nice!” Marty held his fist out and I pounded it with mine.

  “Next thing you know, you’ll be meeting her parents and trying to figure out what to get her for Valentine’s Day.” My smile fell, but I ducked my head so Marty wouldn’t see.

  “Yeah, maybe.” My phone rang and I looked at the screen to see who it was before I answered. Mom.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?” She was still having a hard time with the fact that I’d moved so far away. We talked nearly every day and I had to assure her that I was eating well and sleeping and taking care of myself since she couldn’t be there to do it all for me.

  “I’m good. How are you?” She said she was doing well and that Todd said hello and Ike was in trouble at school. Again. So everything was pretty much the same as when I’d left.

  “Make sure you check your mail, because I sent you a little something.” I hadn’t even been here for an entire semester and I’d already gotten five care packages. My mom was the type who put little notes in my lunchbox every day, telling me to have a great day. She also volunteered for the PTA and to make cupcakes and anything else people needed. Part of me wondered if she did it to make up for the life she lived before she had me.

  “Thanks, Mom. You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.” She sighed.

  “I know you are, but I’m your mother and you’ll always be my baby. Even if you’re forty-five and married. I’m still going to nag you to eat well and try to sneak into your house to clean it. I can’t even think about the state of your dorm room right now.” I laughed, because she would definitely be appalled. And then get out the bleach and gloves.

  We chatted a little bit more before Marty asked if I wanted to eat dinner, so I said I loved her and hung up.

  “Your mom sounds awesome. I wish mine would send me care packages. She was so glad to get me out of the house that I’m pretty sure she’s turned my room into a craft cave or something.” He smiled, but I could tell there was something else underneath.

  “You should invite her this weekend,” Chuck said that night as they all asked how my progress with Ingrid was going. They might not know her name, but Marty had filled them in on the details, even after I’d repeatedly asked him not to. Couldn’t do much about it now.

  “To the Rho party? I don’t think so.” Definitely not. Ingrid was jumpy just talking to me, so I was pretty sure the last place she would want to go would be a frat party.

  “Why not?” Marty said, his fork scraping across his plate and causing us all to cringe.

  “She’s just not a party kind of girl. Maybe at some point, but not now.” A rumble of disapproval went around the table at what girl I could possibly be into that wouldn’t want to have fun at a party.

  I didn’t feel the need to explain Ingrid to them. They would never understand, so it was useless to try. Fortunately, the topic changed and they forgot about me.

  On Wednesday, I waited outside the economics room with the usual cup of tea and a yo-yo, wrapped up in a box. The presents were dorky, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to remember me when we weren’t together.

  She approached me and I thought I almost saw a smile on her face. Almost. She didn’t smile often. Or laugh much. I think she stopped herself from doing it, which made me want to say something, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “After you,” I said when she’d taken the tea and the present from me. Every time she did, it felt like a victory.

  We sat down together and she looked like she wanted to say something to me, but stopped.

  She pulled out a pen and I knew it was going to be purple. She always used purple pens. I’d lied when I said I didn’t have a pen. I just needed an icebreaker. Now I needed another one. There were still a few minutes before class, so I had a chance to talk with her. I was going to be the one to get the ball rolling. I almost wished Marty was here to tell me what to say. Like Cyrano de Bergerac.

  “You do the reading?” I asked and then cringed. Next time, I was going to rehearse beforehand. I wasn’t good at off the cuff.

  She blinked at me a few times and then looked down at her notebook.

  “Uh, yeah.” Pulling words out of her was a struggle and a challenge, but I collected each one and saved them. They were little steps in the right direction.

  “I think I fell asleep on my book three times,” I said and I thought I almost caught a smile again, but her hair was in the way. She always wore it down now. It had been longer in her other pictures and almost always in a bun or a ponytail.

  “Yeah, me too. I signed up for classes late, so this was one of my only choices,” she said and I wanted to pump my fist in the air.

  “Yeah? What’s your major?” This was another fact that was missing from her Facebook page.

  “Undeclared right now.” I laughed.

  “Yeah, me too.” I had no idea what I wanted to do. I couldn’t see past the goal I had right now. I had to get there and
then… who knew?

  “Guess we both don’t know what we’re doing.” She granted me a look and I savored those beautiful eyes. Her attention snapped away when our professor picked up his chalk and called class to order.

  Progress. We were making progress.

  Coen was… persistent. He kept trying, even though I was awkward and strange and standoffish. It didn’t seem to bother him. I was sure he’d give up by now, but he was there, three days a week, even walking me to my next class after. Against my will (and better judgment), I started to look forward to seeing him. To seeing what he’d bring me. There was always a present and they were beginning to fill my dorm room. I couldn’t look anywhere without seeing one of his gifts.

  He’d moved from classic toys to board games, which were sometimes cumbersome to carry around, but I did it because what else was I going to do?

  I kept thinking that he was going to ask me out. Or at least ask me more personal questions. But he kept them fairly casual. About my classes and why I hadn’t chosen a major and whether or not I had a roommate and what TV shows I liked. I assumed he didn’t want to scare me off by asking deeper questions. I was more than fine with that.

  Still, it was strange that he didn’t seem to push for more.

  Until two weeks later.

  The previous Wednesday he’d given me a coloring book, so today it was colored pencils. I gave him one of my smiles. He deserved it in exchange for all the gifts. He would never know how much that smile cost me.

  “So, as much as I love sitting next to you in this class and walking you to calculus, I’d really like to maybe… have some coffee with you. Or not. Since it went so well last time.” His face went red and I couldn’t help but enjoy it.

  “Oh,” I said, wondering if he was asking me out, as in he wanted to go on a date, or if this was a friend thing. I’d been trying so hard to make sure he knew this was just a friend thing—and barely even that.

  “Sorry if that was too forward. I just thought I would ask. No pressure.” He turned away.