The Firsts Series Box Set

by M. J. Fields

  After Lexington was in bed, Brody called me into the living room. When I walked in, he hit the remote and the TV lit up.

  He patted the couch next to him. “Come sit and watch this with me?”

  Wicked began, and I was whisked away to a memory of the very first time Mom, Brody, and I had gone to see a show on Broadway. I got swept up in it, no longer sulking, but enjoying the music and the moment.

  Lying in bed that night, there was a knock at the door before it was opened.

  Brody walked in and stood against the doorframe. “Remember I was worried about going to the show that night?”

  “Yep, so we got you a disguise.” I smiled, remembering how silly he looked.

  “Remember how when we left the show, I didn’t care who saw me?”

  I nodded.

  “That show taught me some things.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “There is no reason to hide. It’s okay to be different.”

  I sat up as he walked over. “What else?”

  Sitting down, he smiled. “Stand up for what you believe in.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t be a bully, but speak your mind. You could end up being the reason a person’s character changes.”

  “And?” I asked, wanting more.

  “How about you tell me something you learned?” he asked, lying down.

  Flopping back, I pondered the thought. “Be strong.”

  He nodded.

  “Fight for what’s in your heart.”

  He smiled and nodded again. “Music is in your heart, London.”

  Feeling better, I smile and nodded.

  “You think you could get some sleep now?” he asked before giving me a peck on the cheek.

  “Yeah, Dad, I think I can.”

  He walked to the door, and it was then I saw Mom standing in the doorway.

  She smiled as she walked toward me. Bending down, she kissed my cheek and whispered, “Love you more, London.”

  “Love you more, Mom.” I yawned away all the worry.

  At the door, she turned back and smiled. “Defy gravity, London.”

  I nodded and smiled, and then she turned off the light.

  “Never let them bring me down,” I whispered before I fell asleep.

  I have no idea how time can move so slow, but it does. I find myself walking out into the eighth floor’s common room and pacing between it and the door to the quad.

  When the door opens, I stop pacing, shake off all anxiety, and smile as I wait for the person behind an incredibly tall stack of boxes to show their face.

  “Oh, hell,” I hear a man’s voice as the boxes start to tip.

  I hurry toward him and bend down to help.

  “Oh, I’ve got this,” he says, standing up. His head collides with my eye, and I fall back, right on my butt. “Oh, hell.”

  Covering my eye that is seriously throbbing, I snicker.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  I look up. He’s tall and thin; with blond, wavy hair; very soft, kind brown eyes; and a genuine smile.

  “I’m fine,” I say, accepting his hand as he pulls me up.

  “Let me have a look.” He tilts my chin up to get a better look. “Son of a gun, that’s gonna bruise.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, stepping back. “Let’s get this all picked up.”

  “But—”

  “You better let me help,” I interrupt him with a chuckle. “Soon enough, this floor is going to be full, and all your things are going to be scattered around here like...” I pause and pick up a book, a vocal selection book, Wicked. “This was the first Broadway show I ever saw.”

  “I saw it here in Syracuse with my mother.” He smiles, and I notice his eyes dancing.

  “Are you first year musical theatre?” I ask, excited I have met my very first fellow freshman.

  He shakes his head. “Third year.”

  “But you’re in a freshman dorm?”

  He laughs. “I’m Fletcher Reeves, one of the RAs.”

  “No way.” I grin at him as I continue helping to fill the boxes that have spilled.

  “I’m supposed to be helpful, not hurtful.” He sounds a little upset.

  “I’m fine.”

  “What’s your name?” he asks, lifting the first box as he stands.

  “Elle Fields, resident of Lawrinson and first year musical theatre,” I say, lifting another.

  He smiles and nods toward the hall. “Well, Elle, remind me I owe you a favor...and an ice pack.”

  After setting the first two boxes in his tiny room, he sighs and looks at me. “We need to get this taken care of.”

  “We need to get the boxes put away first.”

  “You’re a sweet girl, Elle. I hope this place doesn’t change you,” he says, holding the door open for me as I walk out.

  “How will it change me?” I ask as we walk back to his things.

  “You seem a bit naïve.”

  I laugh, and he smiles.

  “That’s not a put down.”

  “Okay.” I squat down and gather more books.

  “City life changes a person, but not as much as being a little fish in a big pond.” I follow him as he continues, “Freshman year sucks. No on-stage time. You’re behind the scenes. Hard to get used to when you’re used to the spotlight.”

  “I don’t mind being out of the spotlight, trust me.” I laugh to myself at the depth of the truth in my statement. “I wanna learn every part of theatre.” And I wanna blend.

  Once everything is in his room, he grabs his keys from his pocket. “Go have a seat. I’m going to grab an ice pack from the first-aid closet.”

  Holding the ice pack on my eye, I listen to Fletcher tell me what to expect as a first year. Singing, dancing, acting, liberal arts requirements, and theatre history. He talks about how much he loved learning the history of some of his favorite shows. Then he talks about how hard it was being part of the technical side of the student and community shows in the area, the “job” part and not the fun part.

  When students begin to come in with their parents, he stands up. “Thanks for letting me chew your ear off, Elle.”

  “Thanks for giving me the verbal tour,” I joke

  He stops and looks at me. I fear he may recognize me, although Mom and Brody have made sure I am not in any national news or tabloid stories for the past three years. However, there is nothing anyone can do about the high school and community shows I have been in. Then he smiles and shakes his head.

  “You’re an absolute doll, Elle.”

  “Well, thank you.” I smile back.

  I recognize Jamie. Brown hair, mocha skin, an average height, and wow, she has curves. Perfect freaking curves, I think to myself. She’s alone, which totally makes me deviate from my plan to stay out of the room and allow proper goodbyes with my roommate’s families.

  I jump up, trying to hold my excitement at bay, but I fail as my feet move quicker than my mind wants to allow to help her with her things.

  As the rest of the people in the elevator move past her, she laughs. “Well, pardon me.” Her southern accent is thick and adorable. She’s smiling, and I can’t help smiling, too.

  “Let me help you with that,” I tell her as she wobbles and one of the two bags she has draped across her starts to slip from her shoulder.

  “Elle?” she asks, though it sounds like she said Al.

  I smile as I nod.

  She hugs me, and I adore her already.

  Then she steps back. “Hope I didn’t offend. Was warned my southern hospitality may not be so welcomed up here in New York, where y’all don’t have the sun year-round to keep your hearts warm.” She starts to fall. “Oh, dog-gone it!”

  I grab for her, and we end up in a pile on the floor, laughing as the elevator door opens.

  I immediately recognize Lisa and Christy, who obviously notice us, too. Christy squeals and drops her things, then falls dramatically into us, yelling, “Cuddle puddle!”
>
  Lisa stands with her mouth covered, attempting not to laugh as she glances at her parents and tries to hide her amusement, before Christy grabs her hand and pulls her down with us.

  I hear a familiar laugh and look up and see Fletcher, our RA, looking down at us.

  “Elle, I’m going to make a note in your file of how easily you sweep people off their feet.”

  “When he fell from the ugly tree, he missed every dang twig on the darn thing,” Jamie giggles a whisper in my ear. “Dang near perfect.”

  Once inside our home for the next four months, we straighten up in no time as we all help each other put things in their place.

  When Lisa’s parents are leaving, I decide to leave the room, Jamie following along, then Christy comes out seconds behind us.

  “Giving them some time,” she says, catching up to us. “She’ll text when she’s done.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  Sitting in the main common room, we watch as families move their students in. It’s heartwarming seeing their interaction. Some even make me realize I did not in fact have it much differently than everyone else.

  After a few hours, we get to know each other pretty well. I have a little bit of a hard time keeping Elle, my SU self, and London’s, my real-life self, stories straight. It felt so wrong, but necessary. And honestly, at the heart of it all, nothing really was different. Well, except my name. I also changed my rock star stepdad into an accountant and said my stepbrother worked for him. And my half-sister, well, Lexi was still a pain in the butt, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Lisa is an only child, Christy is from a family of four, and Jamie is from a blended family of eight. Statistically speaking, as far as family types, race, and geography, we aren’t all that much alike.

  Personally, as individuals, we couldn’t be more alike. Less than a day in and we have already deemed ourselves sisters. We love music, dance, being someone else on stage, and the ability to bring that character to life while hiding ours. We have all seen Wicked, and agree that it pretty much summed up high school. We all dreamed of Broadway, although we agreed to keep that part to ourselves. As lowly freshman, we feared judgement and the crushing of our dreams.

  The other thing that made me hopeful that I may have found true friendship is that we all loved...love.

  Dinner at Sadler Hall is much the same. Everyone talks excitedly about the program and being on our own. FINALLY.

  I didn’t talk much, just observed, something I have done for as long as I can remember.

  When I rub my cheeks, Jamie looks at me, “You okay, Elle? You haven’t said much.”

  “My face hurts from smiling. I haven’t smiled this much since I did Legally Blonde my sophomore year,” I admit.

  Christy laughs. “I haven’t smiled this much in...forever.”

  “I think I’m gonna like it here,” Lisa says in a sing-song voice.

  “Annie,” we all blurt out, recognizing the song’s tune and the words to the musical, which oddly, we all have been in.

  She claps and nods.

  “Well, I’ll be dipped in pig dung,” Jamie gasps, her fork hitting her plate.

  We all follow her line of vision as a group of big—no, huge—guys walk in.

  When my eyes meet his, I instinctively roll them. His lip twitches like he may smile, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He rolls his eyes ever so slightly and keeps on walking.

  “That has to be The Missing Links,” Jamie whispers as they all walk by our table.

  “The what?” I laugh loudly and look at her as she scrolls through her phone.

  “Football god, Logan Li—” She stops talking and blushes immediately when she looks up at me, then scans over me.

  “Hey, Links, the freshies have already heard of you,” a voice from behind me says loudly.

  “And...?” Logan huffs.

  “Well, maybe we should get to know them.”

  I close my eyes and look down as a chair, the one next to me, squeaks across the floor.

  I don’t look up. I have no desire to cross paths with the football team.

  None.

  “Dude, what the fuck? I was gonna sit by her,” the guy who announced to all of Sadler and is now alerting those who may have missed the fact that our little, happy, non-drama, drama club may possibly be interested in the jocks.

  “You fans?”

  I know that smug, cocky, arrogant voice. It’s Logan.

  I look up at him, needing to get the first words in. Otherwise, Jamie may say something in that southern, sticky sweet voice that makes them think it’s okay to join us.

  It’s not.

  His lip twitches again, and now those Caribbean blues twinkle, catching me off guard...momentarily.

  “Can we help you?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  He shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Dear God,” Jamie whispers. I hear it. So does he.

  He bites the corner of his big, fat lip to stop from smiling.

  “Heard you were a fan,” he says, rolling his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, and sighing. “Just thought I’d stop and say hey.” He looks back at me and leans in a bit too close. “Hey.”

  God, he smells delicious, like leather and fresh-cut grass.

  “Hey,” I want to say, because that’s the Logan who makes me dizzy.

  I inhale a little deeper and it hits my nose, that scent of whatever cologne it is he wears when he’s being “social.” Like the inside of the Hollister store. As good as it smells on anyone else in the freaking world, though, it’s off putting on Logan. That scent brings back memories, like store-bought memories, like Logan’s dates memories, and their store-bought parts.

  “Okay, you’ve said it. Now, don’t you need to go eat a side of beef or something?” I look away.

  “Excuse me?” Logan huffs.

  “To keep up that...size. You know, feed the muscles, starve the brain.”

  All three of my new friends laugh.

  “Well, damn.”

  I look up as the voice that was beside me sits.

  “This one’s got jokes. I like them feisty.”

  “Fine line between feisty and bitchy, Mitch.” Logan tries to keep his annoyance at bay.

  “Well, I can play whichever role is necessary,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “And she’s into role-play.” Mitch wags his eyebrows at me.

  My mouth drops open.

  “I’m all for freshy friends, but I have no desire to play in the kiddy pool,” Logan says, and Mitch laughs.

  “I run an equal opportunity pool myself,” Mitch retorts.

  “Wow, you two are lame.” I push back my chair and stand.

  “Are you leaving?” Christy asks.

  “Going to use the bathroom. Suddenly, I feel nauseous.”

  Jocks

  London

  I walk out of the dining room and down the hall, looking for the bathroom, one I don’t even know where it is. I look up to see the signs pointing back to the dining hall, and underneath is another sign that says restrooms, pointing in the same direction.

  I palm my face and lean against the wall behind me, digging for my phone with the other hand in my bag.

  I need this to stop already. I need him to go away.

  “London, is everything okay?” Mom answers in near panic state.

  “No,” I growl. “Logan, he’s here.”

  “Yes, he attends—”

  “No, Mom. Like, he’s eating dinner in my dining hall. He’s going to ruin everything.”

  “Well, just keep with your group and pretend—”

  “He sat with us. The idiot sat with us.”

  “London, that’s not nice to say about a friend,” Mom whispers.

  She doesn’t get it. He’s not a damn friend. He’s...Logan.

  “Can you please call Tessa and ask her to call him and tell him to piss off?” I plead.

  “London!” Mom gasps.

&nbs
p; “Well, jeepers, Mom—”

  “Elle.” I look up at the sound of his voice to see him shaking his head. “Call Tessa? Really? Is that how this is gonna be?”

  “Is that Logan?” Mom asks.

  “Oh yeah, sure is. Now he’s hunting me down and—”

  He snatches the phone from my hand, and I am rendered speechless.

  “Hi, Emma,” he sighs.

  I have no idea what she’s saying, but he smiles.

  “I can assure you that I can keep the kid’s secret.” He chuckles.

  I want to slug him. Kid? KID!

  He fights that smug grin again, and then turns his back on me. Now I want to kick him in his big, old butt.

  “We’ve been dining at Sadler since freshman year. Carla, the woman who runs the dining hall loves football and hooks us up. There will be no questions asked, unless Elle”—he pauses and turns around, staring down at me—“keeps acting like she is.” He chuckles. Chuckles! Like he...has some sort of charm and is not the most annoying boy in the world. “I’ll tell her to give you a call before she goes to sleep.”

  I narrow my eyes at him and hold out my hand. He again turns his back to me.

  “Of course. Goodnight, Emma.”

  When he turns around, his eyebrow is sitting high on his forehead. He looks at me like I’m a petulant child.

  “Give me my damn phone,” I snarl.

  “Watch it, kiddo,” he says, handing it back to me then starts to walk away.

  “Hey,” I hiss, and he looks over his big, wide, stupid shoulder. “I’m not a freaking kid.”

  “Yeah, I remember. You apparently have boobs and get your period.”

  I feel my face flush.

  “All woman,” he says on a laugh.

  “You son of—”

  “Yeah, she’s a bitch.” He shrugs. “But this hasn’t a damn thing to do with her, or with home. This has everything to do with your little charade and fucking it up.”

  “You’re the one—”

  “I didn’t do a damn thing, Elle. You’re in there, showing your ass and being rude to one of the golden boys—”

  “You smug—”

  “You wanna blend? Lose the attitude and show some gratitude.”