“I’m sure,” I said, glancing at my moms. Beth looked calm and serene, like she always did. Charlotte looked pleased and embarrassed at the same time, which was how I felt.
I looked back at Sam’s mother. “Is Sam here?” I asked, not sure what I wanted the answer to be.
Theresa nodded. “Yes, we came together.”
Beth spoke up then. “He seemed restless out here with us, so I sent him up to your room. Why don’t you go find him?”
My room? Sam Payne was in my room?
I couldn’t run while Theresa and my moms were watching, but I didn’t dawdle. And once I was inside the house I took the stairs two at a time.
I’d told my moms it was fine to send friends up to my room, so I couldn’t really blame them for doing it this time. I’d never told them the state of things between me and Sam or the fact that we were anything but friends. And considering I’d been willing to turn down a four-year scholarship to benefit him, it wasn’t surprising they assumed we were friends.
But I didn’t want Sam in my room. It was a mess, for one thing—laundry everywhere, the bed unmade, and at least one empty pizza box on the floor. For another, it was my room. It was private. I didn’t mind friends in there, obviously, but I hated the idea that Sam was getting any kind of a glimpse into my world—especially since I’d never gotten a glimpse into his.
My room was on the third floor, so I was out of breath by the time I skidded to a stop in the doorway.
Sam was over by my bureau. When he heard me, he spun around and stared.
We held that tableau for several seconds. Sam’s face was red, but I didn’t know why. Was he embarrassed? Angry? What?
As for what I was feeling, it was impossible to say. My heart was thundering against my ribs, my breath was coming hard and fast, and my armpits were prickling with sweat and adrenaline.
“I saw your mom downstairs,” I said finally.
His jaw got tight. “It was her idea to come over here. She said I had to come, too.”
“Oh,” I said, mortified. So his mother had made him come. Like we were six-year-olds and he was being ordered to thank me for something.
We stood there for another moment. I could see Sam’s face getting redder, and I knew mine was, too.
Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well, say it,” I snapped.
He scowled at me. “Say what?”
“Thank you. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Or why your mom brought you, anyway.”
His hands were in his pockets, but I could tell they were clenched into fists.
“My mom’s not up here,” he said, sounding as mad as I’d ever heard him. “So I can tell you what I really think about that stunt you pulled.”
I stared at him. Maybe it was too much to expect that Sam Payne would actually thank me for something, but this was too much.
“What do you mean, stunt? What are you—”
He took a step toward me. “If you had the brains of a paramecium, you would have figured it out when you came out ahead of me in the calculus final. Didn’t that surprise you? You know I’m better than you in math.”
I did know it, but I would rather have died than admit it. “What are you saying? That you came in second on purpose?”
He took another step. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Don’t you get it? If I didn’t have that stupid scholarship I could stay home next year. But now my mom says I have to go to Hart. She won’t let me defer. And that means she’s going to be on her own with my sister to take care of. I won’t be there to help out.”
In all the scenarios I’d thought of, it had never occurred to me that Sam might not want to go to college next year.
“But… if you want to stay home that much… why won’t your mom let you?”
“Because she doesn’t think she needs me, and because my dad wanted me to go to college right away. She was making herself sick trying to figure out a way to make it happen, and I finally had her convinced that waiting a year isn’t the worst thing in the world.” His scowl got deeper. “And then you had to come along and ruin everything. You turned down that scholarship like some kind of martyr, and my mom made me take it. She was so happy I couldn’t say no.”
I hadn’t done what I did hoping I’d get thanked for it. The truth was, if I could have done it without Sam knowing about it, I would have.
I hadn’t been looking for gratitude. But hearing Sam now, and seeing his face, made me realize that I hadn’t counted on him throwing it back in my face, either.
“Hart’s only two hours away from here. You’ll be able to get home a lot. You can—”
“It’s not the same thing as living at home.”
He turned away and went over to the big bay window, and I stood in my doorway looking at his back.
A minute went by. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for you,” I said.
He didn’t turn around. His broad shoulders went up in a shrug and then down. “Yeah, well, you did. So if you’re expecting a thank-you card or a fruit basket or something—”
That stung. “Believe me, I don’t. I don’t expect anything from you, Sam. I know how you feel about me.”
He turned around at that. “I know how you feel about me, too.”
There was a moment of silence. Neither one of us seemed to have anything else to say.
After a while, Sam took in a lungful of air and let it out again. “Are you still going to Hart?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s a big school. With luck we won’t run into each other.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “I guess I’ve been up here long enough to convince my mom I showered you with gratitude or whatever.”
“Or whatever.”
He brushed past me on his way out of my room, and in spite of everything, my heart sped up when his arm touched mine. Had he put some kind of mojo on me when we were thirteen? Was my body always going to feel excited when he was near even when my mind wanted never to see him again?
I just stood there and watched him go. But when he reached the head of the staircase, he hesitated.
“I’m really pissed at you and I hope I don’t see you after graduation. But… good luck next year.”
It wasn’t an apology. His voice didn’t even sound particularly friendly. But for some reason, tears sprang to my eyes.
“Good luck to you, too,” I said gruffly. “Even though I hope I don’t see you either.”
He didn’t smile, exactly. But his expression lightened a little, as if some of his anger was fading. He nodded at me, and then he headed downstairs.
I went over to the bay window. In a minute the front door opened and Sam and his mom came out. Theresa was chatting with Beth and Charlotte, who walked with them down the front steps and then waited while they got in their car.
I watched them drive away. Then I turned around and looked at my room through Sam’s eyes—or what I imagined his eyes might see.
It was just as messy as I’d feared. Books and clothes everywhere, and—
Oh, God.
He’d been standing over near the bureau, and two of the drawers were standing open. This was actually on purpose, since my cat Basil liked to sleep in bureau drawers.
I usually left the bottom one and the top one open, and Basil alternated between them. The bottom one looked perfectly respectable, being full of sweaters I’d stopped wearing once the weather turned warm.
But the top one was my underwear drawer.
Sam Payne had been standing a foot away from an open drawer full of my bras and panties.
I swooped over to it.
Okay, it was pretty bad. Lingerie as far as the eye could see. White, ivory, pink, lavender; some cotton, some satin, some with lace edgings.
The one good thing was that my period underwear—the older pairs with faint stains I could never entirely get rid of—were at the bottom of the drawer and out of sight.
But it’s safe to say that if your period panties n
ot being on display is the best that can be said about a situation, the situation pretty much sucks.
It looked like a case for wishful thinking. I was going to have to force myself to believe that Sam, distracted by his extremely bad mood, hadn’t noticed that open drawer.
I turned away from the bureau, took three quick steps, and dove onto my bed in a flying leap. I buried my face in my pillow and tried not to imagine Sam looking at my underwear.
Every interaction I’d ever had with him had been confusing, humiliating, frustrating, or infuriating. Now I’d hit my limit.
But all I had to do was get through the rest of senior year. Like Sam had said, Hart University was a big place. Once we’d put high school behind us we’d never have to see each other again.
Chapter Three
It wasn’t until three months later, when I was packing for my college move, that I noticed the missing pair of panties.
They’d come from a pack of three: white cotton bikinis with pink, purple, and blue polka dots. The pair with the purple polka dots was gone.
I hadn’t thought they were missing over the summer because I’m pretty haphazard about clothes and I figured they were under the bed or in one of my many laundry piles. But in the days leading up to my big move I’d gotten completely obsessive, and I’d cleaned my room to within an inch of its life. At one point in the process I washed every piece of clothing I owned and laid it all out on my bed.
My purple polka dot panties weren’t there.
It bugged me because they were fairly new, really comfortable, and flattering. I’d gotten the three-pack on sale for practically nothing, and they were my favorites.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen this particular pair all summer. The pink and blue ones, yes, but not the purple ones. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen them since…
No.
Oh, no.
I looked down at my collection of underwear, nineteen pairs all accounted for. The ones with the purple polka dots would have made an even twenty.
I thought about it for a minute. Then I decided that anything, including the possibility that they’d been sucked through a wormhole into another dimension, was more likely than the possibility that Sam Payne had absconded with a pair of my panties that time he was in my room.
I put the problem out of my mind. I was going to college and I had more important things to worry about.
Since I wasn’t crossing the country like my friend Melinda, I didn’t, in theory, have to bring everything with me my first day. I could come back any weekend and get more stuff. But psychologically, I had decided that I shouldn’t come home at all for the first month.
I’d never been away from both of my parents for more than a weekend, not even to summer camp. They tried to send me once but I’d cried myself sick and they had to pick me up after only one day. I knew I’d be homesick at Hart, so I’d decided that the best way to deal with it would be going cold turkey. That meant packing everything I’d need for the first several weeks.
The morning of my departure I had filled every duffel bag and suitcase in the house with my clothes, and every box I could find with my books. Beth and Charlotte helped me carry it all out to Beth’s car, which had the most trunk space, and then the three of us stood there in the driveway not saying anything for a minute.
Charlotte was crying, which was why she was staying home. After we got the car loaded up it was clear that there’d only be room for two people, and all three of us had agreed that since Charlotte would be a blubbering mess and could only bring humiliation upon our family, Beth would be the best person to drive me to school.
“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said, wiping the tears away with the wad of Kleenex she’d carried out with her. “I’m trying to stop.”
“I know,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. She was three inches shorter than me but it still felt like she was taller—like if we went back inside the house and sat down on the couch I could crawl into her lap and never have to leave.
Once Beth and I were on the road, I was quiet for a long time. Finally, after we were almost halfway there, I spoke.
“So I had this dream last night and it freaked me out.”
Beth glanced over at me. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Yes. But would you be listening as a psychologist or as my mom?”
“Whichever you want. I could even try for both.”
“Okay, both.” I hesitated. “I dreamt that I killed you guys. By strangling you. With the paper chain I made for Christmas ten years ago, which you wouldn’t think would be sturdy enough to strangle someone with.” I looked at her. “So are you scared to be alone with me in this car, or what?”
She was smiling. “It’s great that you had that dream, Rikki.”
“It’s great that I have deep-seated homicidal tendencies?”
She laughed. “That’s not what it means. Do you want my professional analysis?”
“Hit me.”
“Your subconscious is trying to help you work out your conflicts about leaving home.”
“By killing you off? That seems a little extreme.”
“It means you’re ready to separate from us, even if you don’t always feel like you are.”
“Huh.” I thought about it. “Okay, that’s kind of comforting.”
“Good.”
We drove a few minutes in silence. “You know,” I said after a while, “a few months ago all I could think about was Hart. I was so excited to go away to college. Now I just feel scared and like I don’t want to leave home.”
“Do the quote,” Beth suggested. “The John Donne one. That always cheers you up.”
I knew the quote she meant. “‘The university is a paradise. Rivers of knowledge are there, arts and sciences flow from thence.’”
“Pretend it’s five months ago and you just got your acceptance letter. What are you excited about?”
“Not feeling weird for wanting to learn. Meeting people from all over the country and the world. Taking classes with brilliant professors. Sitting on the grass in the quad and studying. Sitting in the hundred-year-old library and studying. Sitting in my dorm room and studying.”
“Well, then, there you are. That wouldn’t be my idea of excitement but I know it’s yours. And you’ll be doing all of that soon.”
I nodded. “You’re right. Okay. Thanks.”
A little while later we drove through the cast iron gates and onto the campus.
I’d seen it before, of course—on my prospective student tour, and my accepted student tour, and before that for a few public lectures and theater performances.
But this time was different. This time I was coming to stay.
Except for Bryn Mawr, Kenyon, and Princeton, Hart was the most beautiful college campus I’d ever seen. It was all Gothic Revival architecture with ivy-covered stone, slate roofs, and leaded glass windows. The grounds were beautiful too, with ancient oaks and maple trees, broad green lawns, and walled gardens that made me think of fairy tales and Narnia and Frances Hodgson Burnett.
It was a place for learning—voluntary learning. In high school everyone was forced to be there, and most of the students would rather have been somewhere else. But the students here came by choice.
“Mom! Look!”
Beth followed my glance to a couple sitting under a tree.
“I must have missed it. What were they doing?”
“The same thing they’re doing now. Reading.”
“And this is cause for excitement?”
“People reading in public? Yes, it is. Classes haven’t even started yet and people are outside reading.”
Beth smiled at me. “You know, I have a feeling you’re going to be very happy here.”
I hoped she was right.
* * *
After we parked in front of Bracton Hall—my new dorm—the two of us lugged everything up to my third-floor room. Beth hung around a little, hoping to meet my roommate, but when an hour
went by and she still hadn’t shown up we decided Beth might as well head out.
After the emotional goodbye at the house this one felt like an anticlimax, which is exactly why Beth had been chosen for this job. Once she drove away I sat down on a bench in front of the dorm to take it all in.
I was still a little nervous, but carrying all my boxes and bags upstairs had calmed me down a little. For one thing, as we’d passed all the other freshmen and parents doing the exact same thing we were, it had occurred to me that everyone else was new, too, and probably going through the same emotions I was. Also, seeing—and hearing—some of the other parents in action made me feel very lucky I had Beth with me. I would no doubt have many future opportunities to embarrass myself at Hart University but I’d escaped the parent drop-off humiliation curse, and for that I was grateful.
I was already in love with my dorm. Bracton was one of the oldest buildings on campus, and it made me think of Oxford and Cambridge and other hallowed halls of learning. I’d known from the first moment I’d seen it that I wanted to live there, and the fact that it was a dorm for students interested in the arts hadn’t stopped me from applying.
I was planning to major in history and I wasn’t particularly creative, but I loved being around creative people—Charlotte was an artist—and I’d always had a secret fantasy about falling in love with a poet… a handsome, sensitive, brooding romantic who’d write sonnets about me.
So I’d applied to live in Bracton, telling them about my childhood ballet classes (at which I’d totally sucked), my piano classes (at which I also sucked, although I’d stuck with them all the way through senior year), and the summer I’d spent with Charlotte at Canyon de Chelly in Arizona, learning the techniques of Navajo weaving.
I’d figured it was a long shot, but I ended up getting in.
Now, sitting out in front and watching all the new students arrive, I tried to spot my future boyfriend among them.
I wasn’t boy crazy or anything, but I was definitely interested in dating now that I was finally in college.
Not just dating, though. What I really wanted was to fall in love.
I’d dated in high school, but I’d never been in love. Once again, I was the last of my friends not to have an experience. But this one, I’d decided, I probably wouldn’t have until college. Statistically speaking, I’d have a much better chance of meeting someone I was compatible with when I was surrounded by thousands of students rather than hundreds, and especially when those thousands had been, to some extent, pre-selected to include people interested in higher education.
Rikki Page 3