Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  She seems to perk up a little, able to finish without me. My friends are going to miss me this semester. While changing out of my soaking wet pajamas, I can’t help thinking about the conversation Benton and I had last night. Cricket and my charmed sister Dinah would never believe me if I told them. People will miss me. Me.

  Only my dad and grandmother ever missed me, and they haven’t missed me in years now. I dress quickly in a pair of my favorite ripped and holey jeans, my Keep Calm and Keep Writing T-shirt, and a GHU writing department hoodie. Kelly, a little more alert now, stands at my bedroom door. After helping her back over to her room and into a pair of pajamas, she climbs into bed without a fight. Before taking off for the morning, I have to clean up her vomit trail. The sour smell burns my nose, and I place my hand over my mouth to keep me from vomiting. Somehow I manage to push through it, sealing up the last of the disgusting paper towels in a plastic grocery bag, then stuffing it into two more bags to keep the smell from seeping back around the kitchen before tossing it in the trashcan. Kelly’s snoring travels throughout the apartment. She snores while I clean up her puke. I’d find the situation bordering on prophetic if I wasn’t so completely grossed out at the moment. She’s your friend, Elly. I just have to keep reminding myself, she’s your friend.

  Since my services are no longer needed, coffee is definitely in order. I snatch up my well-worn copy of Jane Eyre, my all-time favorite book, and head out to The Brew, our favorite coffee shop just off campus. It only takes five minutes to get there from my place, but there’s not a parking space to save my life, and I have to sit double parked for the next twenty minutes before someone emerges caffeinated enough to face the day. A sneaky little Toyota pulled in about a minute ago, thought I wasn’t paying attention. It tries to steal the spot from me, but I’m a girl on a mission. Not smart to get between me and my coffee.

  How are all these bodies actually here so early? I expected a nice morning of quiet reading, not this—probably fifteen people in front of me waiting to order. The line moves so slowly I got to attend my youngest grandchild’s college graduation before actually reaching the counter. The crew, however, are on point doling out the pastries and caffeinated pick-me-ups, despite last night’s indulgences. Within a minute I have a hot mocha and a blueberry scone in hand and my book tucked up under my arm, trudging between the tables and chairs trying to snag an empty spot. There are no empty spots.

  The sad part is these tables aren’t even occupied by people. Maybe they used to be people, but today they’re more dead than alive, more zombie than living, breathing human, all heads resting against the tabletops, groaning out incoherencies. I walk over to the back wall and lean against it, setting my coffee cup on the trashcan.

  I kissed Benton Hayes last night. The thought hasn’t strayed far from my mind since it happened. He really was so good about it, trying not to make me feel more uncomfortable. But that kiss. That kiss tasted like the tropics and sex. I should’ve recognized his citrus scent. And his lips, I’ve dreamt about those for so long now. Well, I felt him down to my pretty painted toenails. Sometimes life could be as pleasant as a dog with worms—itchy and uncomfortable. Maybe it’s time to drag my life across the carpet to scratch that itch. What would Jane do? I flip to my bookmarked page. I know exactly what Jane would do; she’d run away.

  But I can’t up and leave in the middle of the school year. Jane, you’re letting me down. Someone who never lets me down, the hand vigorously waving at me as I scan once more for an empty seat, the hand attached to Collin. I give a quick nod, then pick my drink back up and head over to his table.

  “I did not expect this kind of turnout. Thanks for taking pity.”

  “Please, I would never pity the great Elly Dinninger. I’m humbled to be in your presence.”

  I laugh at him. “Okay.”

  “Toting Brontë again, I see.”

  “Always.”

  “You and that book.”

  “Me and that book. What can I say?”

  “Well, we think it’s cute, your little fixation with Jane.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah. Me and—”

  Benton comes walking—no, he doesn’t just walk, he saunters. Benton saunters up from the direction of the bathroom with his disheveled bedhead and no shame swagger. Benton Hayes, a sight to behold even after the biggest party night of the year. And of course I have to suppress the swoon. Me, swooning? It’s unheard of. I don’t swoon.

  “Dinninger,” he greets me. “You’re looking well this morning.”

  “I didn’t drink, so…I’m surprised to say the same about you.”

  He is about to reply, I can see the words poised on the tip of his open mouth, until Dr. Branagh, one of my former professors, walks by us. She raps her knuckles on the tabletop to get our attention, and he turns his head.

  “Mr. Pratt, Ms. Dinninger, good to see you. I hope you’ve been keeping up on your writing over the holiday,” she says to me and Collin.

  “Always,” I nod and say back to her.

  “Mr. Hayes, I need to see you at the beginning of next week, so please have your portfolio ready.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She smiles at him bright and proud, not like a professor with a star student but like a woman in love, which I can’t even begin to consider without throwing up in my mouth a little. Because she’s beautiful, worldly, and sophisticated. I like men and I’d sleep with her, which doesn’t leave much chance for girls like me with a guy like Benton. I suppose, good for him though.

  “You have a rare talent, Mr. Hayes.” Dr. Branagh keeps her attention totally fixed on him as if Collin and I had suddenly disappeared from the table. “Use it wisely.”

  Yup. “Rare talent” is definitely a euphemism.

  I actively watch her walk away, wishing like mad that some of her something-ness would rub off on me. Maybe I could soak it in through osmosis. Benton takes a long sip from his coffee and asks, “So, Dinninger.” My eyes dart from her retreating form to meet his pure ocean depths. “Do you know the difference between medium and rare?”

  I shake my head. “Uh, no.”

  His brilliant smile lights up the room again, the poster child for the American Orthodontic Association. “Medium is six inches and rare is eight.”

  And that would be it. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Or, perhaps in his case, a wiener—I so did not just go there—even though apparently just about every other woman on campus, including the professors, has. But what do I expect from my “curves” but a front row ticket to the no-go show?

  It sucks crushing on someone who would never crush you back. And the worst part? We’re friends. Honest to goodness friends, which means I can’t just avoid him, despite how badly I might want to some days. Like when I know he’s been out with a particular girl. Rejection stinks. It’s what I get for setting my sights so high. Still, I’d rather get shot down by Benton than some pimply-faced Pokémon trainer who thinks his online mastery makes him a better catch than me.

  Well, I refuse to let some hypothetical Pokémon trainer or Benton win the day. I suck in a breath and smile big. “Rare is like an honest politician. Only exists in theory.”

  Collin spits out his drink, coughing and choking. “Ouch.”

  “My self-esteem called. It wants my manhood back.”

  “I think I saw it chasing after Dr. Branagh.”

  “Elly.” Collin reaches over the table, pulling my hand into his. “I like this side of you. Where has she been hiding?”

  “Not hiding. She’s been in a game of Double Dutch, waiting for her chance to jump in.”

  “If you were a guy, I’d kiss you, I think.”

  “You can always pretend, Collin.”

  “Did you hear that, Ben? Our little Elly wants me to kiss her.”

  “It’s a challenge,” I tell him.

  “He’s not all that.” Benton twists his coffee cup in his hands, not making eye contact with me or Col.

  “Speak f
or yourself.” Collin takes a humorously indignant tone with Benton. “I am all that and a bag of chips.”

  “Um, yeah. 1993 called. It wants its saying back.” I laugh, glaring them both down.

  “You can’t use that,” Ben says, playfully slapping his hands down on the table in front of him in protest.

  “I used it better. Deal with it.” It’s these playful moments that are my favorite. I get the Benton and Collin that nobody else save maybe Errol and Sabrina ever gets to see. Not even Kelly, or Garret and Zena. Maybe they get more than the populous at large, but not what I get. Which would be how this damn crush of mine always seems to intensify.

  He clucks his tongue while laughing under his breath, and shakes his head in defeat. “Okay, so how’s Kelly?”

  “It’s New Year’s.”

  “So that good, eh? You’re her roommate, not her babysitter, you know. It’s not fair you have to always give up the party because of her issues.”

  His lips moved. Fully formed words left his mouth, but that ridiculously adorable dimple shows up to taunt me again. And any coherent thought escapes me. Snappy comebacks travel from my brain to my mouth on a five second delay, which turns into a whole mess of awkward for the three of us, because we all know I’m staring at him.

  Benton takes another drink from his coffee, which appears to be my trigger to snap out of these trances his smirk or dimple or breathing tend to cause. Humph. I breathe out a dramatic breath. “I’ve shamed our profession.” I shrug. “What would Papa think?”

  It must have been my delivery. The Oscar usually goes to Kelly for best performance by a lead actress in life, but the three of us start cracking up, loudly. Too loudly for the hung over masses at the tables around us shooting death glares in our direction.

  As we try to settle ourselves down, Benton says, “Yes, well, good old Papa Hemmingway could’ve stood to be a bit more like you.” He looks right at me as he says it, sucking all the levity from the room by never breaking the intensity of his stare, almost daring me to challenge the sincerity of his statement, which makes me crush even harder. He’s a good friend, no doubt. Like he can just tell I need that reassurance.

  Collin, who I’ve forgotten is sitting here, surprises us both. “You two should quit eye-fucking and just do it for real already.”

  “Yeah, well…” Benton clears his throat. “My manhood is chasing after the professor, remember? Guess I better go track it down. Nice chatting with you both.” He sweeps his coffee cup from the table and bows to us before turning to leave.

  “Elly, darlin’,” Collin says after sipping from his cup. “I love you, but you are so clueless.”

  “About what?”

  “Life.”

  No truer words could have been spoken. My life for the most part has been a hot, stunted mess. You know how people have dreams for their future, goals they’ve set, a life path? Right here is as far as I’ve gotten. Grand Harbor University. Why? Because it’s in Michigan, and Michigan would be the last place I ever felt happy. And if I’m here, that means I’m not in California, anywhere near Cricket or Dinah or the old Elly I’ve been trying so hard to put behind me. I locked that Elly away the moment the now boarding sign flashed in the terminal at LAX.

  Even my friends don’t know how lucky they have it. Not that life gets taken for granted or anything, well, not by all of them. But none of them have been on my end, seen and lived the world the way I have.

  Chapter 5

  Ben

  What did I expect from seeing her today? I don’t know. Not that. Dr. Branagh couldn’t have come at a worse time. We were laughing, joking. We were the “us” that makes me crazy for her.

  I should probably sit down and write, but it’s not in me right now. I need to get rid of the antsyness and head for the gym instead of home.

  After six laps around the track, it’s not enough. I need to hit something, hard and repeatedly. I head over to the bags, and I don’t even bother with gloves this morning. Gloves won’t give me the satisfaction or release I’m looking for. I punch and kick until my mind goes blissfully numb, until my T-shirt is soaked with sweat, until someone grips the bag.

  “Whoa. Did the bag sleep with your sister?” Errol, always good for a laugh, doesn’t let me down today.

  “I don’t have a sister.”

  “Then he stole your woman?”

  Okay, that’s hitting too close to home. He knows I don’t have a woman. And he knows I want one. The exact one. “Where’s Bri? Shouldn’t you be servicing her or something?”

  “Giving her a rest. She needs to recoup from all the debaucherous things I did to her last night. Besides, she went to meet your—”

  “If you say my woman I will punch you in the dick so hard you’ll be pissing through your asshole.”

  “I was going to say your good friend, Elly. Someone’s touchy.”

  “We were at the Brew. Branagh showed up.”

  “Did she say something?”

  “Not explicitly. But Elly’s smart. It didn’t take much for her to piece it together.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her out? Like on a date. Collin and I were talking, and we think—”

  “You’ve been discussing me and Elly?”

  “It’s for your own good. Clearly kicking the crap out of an innocent punching bag isn’t helping.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “All the best things are. Now come on. I want lunch. I’ll even let you buy.”

  After a shower and clothing change, I shoot Col a text to let him know where we’re headed. I’m about to hit send when I tack on at the end:

  Please don’t tell Elly.

  I don’t know why, just that seeing her will completely undo all the good Errol and kickboxing have done for me.

  When we walk in, Collin pins me with one of those, ‘I’m sorry, you are so fucked’ looks of his, and I follow as his gaze shifts. She’s sitting at a table with Sabrina, so relaxed and laughing at something Bri said. I think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m not prepared. Not to face her so soon.

  Collin walks up. “Sorry. Errol texted Bri to let her know where he was going. She invited Elly.”

  “I think I just lost my appetite.”

  “Oh, man.” Errol comes to a stop at my side. “I’m sorry. I was just checking in. I didn’t know she’d show up here.”

  “It’s cool. But I think I’m just going to go head home.”

  “The fuck you say?” Both Errol and Collin grab an arm, dragging me further into the café. “You’re buying me lunch. Now get moving.”

  She looks up then, she looks up and smiles, giving a little wave just to me. Then she turns her head slightly, as if realizing she’d just snubbed Errol and waves to him too. But then she smiles back at me again. God, that smile. Of course Errol would see her stealthy move, nudging me in the ribs. I ignore him and head for the prettiest girl in the room.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the world,” I tell them. Both she and Bri laugh, and I can breathe again.

  Chapter 6

  Elle

  “It’s a brand new day.” This is the mantra getting me up and dressed, the first morning of the winter semester. It’s the mantra put on repeat during the drive from my apartment to the school. Inside the social science building and after repeating my ritual, I walk into my first class of the semester, staring down at my feet and generally trying to make my size-twelve self shrink from view as much as humanly possible.

  I’m not in a writing or lit class for the first time since entering GHU. I’ve never taken a class outside of Science East until now. But here’s where all my time will be spent, in the social science building, from now until May. Nobody knows me here, not one friendly face to wave me over to an empty seat taking some of the pressure off. Some people prefer the hide in the back of the classroom technique. That doesn’t work for me, because I still have to maneuver my way between the desks to get there. And forget about showing up late one day. Been
there too many times in high school, all the whispers and outright taunts at my expense. No thank you. This girl slips into the first and closest seat to the door. Even if it means being called on in class more than the students farther back, I’ll give the answers so long as I can be sitting down when I do it.

  So all my time and responsible planning have gotten me here—the fire pits of hell. A little more of my soul burns away as I take my place at the desk situated between four drab walls, where size-sixes sit to the front of me and size-sixes sit to the back. Although, looking around, there do seem to be a few beefcake jock boys in class, mostly taking up the back row, no doubt here because of all the size-sixes. Beautiful girls—1 Self-esteem—0. Well played, winter semester.

  All those size-sixes, as it turns out, are all Hilary, Kelsey, Britney, Ashley, Courtney, and Lindsey. If I randomly call out “Hilary,” at least three girls would look my way. No lie. And all of them work tiny yoga-panted butts and permanent bitch face, looking down their perfect noses at me as they smile those, ‘I’ll be polite to your face but talk about you like a straight up mug behind your back’ smiles. I’ve never been so ashamed to be a ‘y’ ever in my life. These are the girls Cricket pictured when she named me. Just like her. But I’m not like her, and I’m not like them, so my name should be just as different. Going forward, from this point on, Elly is dead. Elle, that’s what my dad used to call me.

  My racing pulse causes the smile I try to give back to all those Hilaries to falter. What was I thinking? My head pounds painfully behind my eyes, and it is only the first day. Pulling away from my comfort zone? Trying something new? Jesus! I miss Kendrick.