by Audrey Bell
“Oh my god! Details!”
I made a face. “His name is Jack Diamond and he’s the vice-president of Lambda Pi. That frat that Justin wrote a piece on?”
David nodded, remembering. “Yeah, yeah. And?”
“So, basically, the Lambda Pi sophomores have been harassing Justin ever since it published. So, I went over there to find the president and see if he’d get everyone under control and he wasn’t there, but Jack was. It was so unbelievably awkward.”
“Oh my god. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah.” I shook my head. “Terrible.”
“What did he say? I mean, was he behind it?”
“No. I mean, he said he wasn’t behind anything. And that he’d take care of it.” I rolled my eyes. “But, who knows what that means?”
“I’m sorry, Hads.”
I waved away the apology. “Please. It’s Justin I’m worried about. And I’m not going to even think about kissing another boy until I have a job.” I exhaled.
David clucked. “That was just bad luck. You have to put yourself out there.”
“No. I don’t want a boyfriend,” I shook my head. “Long-term monogamy just doesn’t run in my family. I don’t need that kind of drama right now. I need a job.”
Chapter Ten
David and Justin hit it off right away. Justin was a hopeless cook, but an eager apprentice and he laughed every time David threw his hands up at his attempts to dice tomatoes or roll out dough or butter a pan.
David looked at Justin’s row of misshapen zucchini slices. “Is this supposed to be an abstract art project? I want nice, evenly sliced circles.”
Justin giggled.
I could tell he was disappointed when David left abruptly, as we were clearing dinner. “That’s my ride!” He planted a kiss on my cheek and gave Justin a loose hug and flounced out the door before Justin could ask where he was going.
“He’s a spaz,” I told Justin. I was pretty sure David would lose his interest in Ben Mitchell quickly. “You should come over next week, too. David cooks every Friday night. It’s his way of achieving mindfulness.”
Justin nodded. “I’d like that.”
David didn’t come home until the next morning, and when he did, he wore a big, foolish grin on his face that made me like Ben Mitchell a whole lot more. Anyone who could make David smile like that was okay by me.
Something else was different, too. Usually, David gushed with details about what he wore and what he said and what he liked and what he didn’t like. But David just hummed happily when I asked him if he had fun.
“Oh, it was wonderful,” he said simply.
“What did you do?”
“He’s really great, Hadley,” he smiled.
I grinned at him. “Details?”
“Everything was just…” he sighed.
“Well, if you’re speechless, it must have been pretty special,” I said. I bit into the granola bar I’d been forced to eat because David hadn’t been home to make breakfast. “Next time, have him sleep over, so I can get my pancakes,” I said selfishly.
His face fell slightly. “Oh, um—I know you’re not gossipy or anything, but I promised Ben I’d keep everything under wraps. So, don’t say anything to anyone.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Okay…”
“And, um, if you see him … Well, I told him I hadn’t told anyone. And then I realized, you know, that I already told you. So, if you see him, just pretend you don’t know him. Okay?”
I was about to nod my agreement, when I stopped myself. “Why doesn’t he want your friends to know? You’re out. That’s not a secret.”
“Obviously, but he’s still in the closet. And it’s a big deal. He’s on the football team. You know, it would be a huge amount of scrutiny and—”
“You can’t just tell him that your friends are trustworthy?”
“Hadley, could you please just not say anything?” he pleaded.
“I’m not going to say anything,” I said. “But you should be able to tell your friends. Just because he’s in the closet doesn’t mean you need to keep him a secret.”
David shrugged. “I’m okay with that. I like him.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
I nodded and returned my focus to the USA Today job application that a Northwestern professor had sent over to me. It wasn’t a perfect fit—not like the Times job in Cairo had been, but it would be a good experience—working at the Washington, D.C. Bureau, reporting on domestic politics.
I tried not to say something stupid or controlling, though I was sorely tempted to point out that Ben was asking him for a fairly significant sacrifice.
Chapter Eleven
I was buying my textbooks for class, muttering at the $130 list price on the new Arabic textbook, when my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number, but I did recognize the area code. 917. New York. It had to be my father responding to my request to transfer money for books. My mom responded more quickly to these things. But I liked to make my dad do it. He hardly had to do anything else for me and he could more than afford my books.
“Just in time, Dad,” I said.
“Actually, this is Jack.”
Note to self: New York is big. Sometimes people with 917 area codes are not your father. They are sometimes Jack Diamond.
“Sorry. I thought…I just called my dad and I didn’t…never mind. What’s going on?”
He was laughing. He needed to stop that.
“Sorry,” he said. “This is serious. I should be serious. We had a meeting last night—the frat. Granted, not everyone’s back from break, but we told everyone to take everything down and let Justin be. They went back and deleted their comments from CampusRag.” He took a breath. “I want you to know how sorry I am. I want you both to know that—you and Justin. We’re not that cohesive of a group, so it’s hard to know what everyone is doing all the time, but we should’ve taken control of the situation from the beginning. I’m sorry we didn’t and I’m sorry Justin had to deal with that because we didn’t.”
As far as apologies went, it was pretty good. I was impressed. Most people never took responsibility for their actions and even fewer people took responsibility for the actions of others that they could’ve prevented.
I took a breath. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m grateful. Really. I know Justin will be.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he said.
I balanced another textbook on top of my stack. “I’m at the bookstore, so I should go, but seriously, thanks a lot, Jack.”
“Yeah, sure.” He was quiet.
“Well, I guess, I’ll see you around,” I said.
“Actually—before you go. Would you want to get dinner sometime? Or do I have to wait for your roommate to dare you again?”
I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so startled. “Um, what?”
He chuckled. “Dinner? Would you want to go to dinner sometime? Can I ask you out?”
“Ah, look, I’m at the bookstore.”
“Oh, I got it. I heard about that law. You can’t agree to go on a date with anyone when you’re at a bookstore.”
“I don’t think I’m available,” I managed to say.
He didn’t sound at all displeased. More than anything, he sounded amused. “Ever? You are never available for dinner? Wow.”
“Well, I just…I don’t know. I’m not really into dating people right now,” I said. Or ever, I added silently.
“Well, who said anything about a date? Maybe I just want to have dinner with you. Maybe I think you’d be a fantastic conversationalist.”
“I doubt that, somehow,” I said.
“Why?” I could hear him smiling.
“Because in our first conversation, I was drunk and made no sense.” I looked around to see if anyone was listening. “And in our second conversation, I yelled at you.”
“You didn’t yell. You spoke persuasively.”
“Well, it’s not a goo
d idea,” I said. “It just seems like things are rapidly devolving from not making sense to anger and then like, the third conversation we have could end terribly, you know?”
He laughed again.
“Stop laughing. I’m serious.”
“You’re scared that our third conversation will devolve? Into what? Silence? That would be awkward, but I bet we could survive it.”
“I really don’t have the time to date anyone right now,” I said. That sounded believable. It was certainly true.
“Aw, I’m not going to give up that easily,” he smiled. “You’re the one who started it. You shouldn’t have kissed me like that if you wanted to be left alone.”
“I—”
“I’m going to swing by,” he said adamantly. “We can hang out. That’s a good idea. No dinner. Anti-date date.”
“I mean, maybe.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing, but—”
“Great. I’ll swing by tonight.”
“No, I don’t think you understand. I said dinner wasn’t good for me.”
“I thought you said dating wasn’t good for you. We won’t have dinner. It’ll be a non-dinner, non-date hangout session.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“I just want to talk to you,” he said casually.
“Why?”
He laughed.
“What?”
“I think you’re fascinating,” he said, the same wry amusement coursing through his voice. “I’ll stop by tonight.” He hung up before I could say anything else.
Chapter Twelve
Truthfully, I had been curious as to whether Jack actually would stop by that night. And I was oddly anticipating it, even though I thought it was a terrible idea. My fingers drummed on the countertop. The responsible thing to do would be to tell him that this was insensible, that it could never work, and that I wasn’t the kind of girl who could handle dating a boy like him. Or any kind of boy at all.
But, eight came and went, and I gnawed on leftover chicken, getting ready for classes to begin. It looked like he wasn’t coming. I was about to change into my pajamas when there was a knock at the door. I froze, then strode purposefully to the door and opened it.
Whatever I had been thinking of saying went right out of my head when I saw him. “Hey,” he said. He wasn’t smiling, though his eyes were twinkling, and he bit his lip when he looked at me. When he was standing this close to me, I had to look up into his face, which made him seem both taller and more handsome.
“Hi,” I said, and then I remembered I was annoyed. “It’s almost nine.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have a curfew or something?”
“We have class tomorrow.”
He smiled. “Does that mean you turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”
I looked at him blankly.
“Vampire? Or, no, werewolf. Tonight’s supposed to be a full moon. Can I come in?” He walked into the apartment, not waiting for an answer, and looked around. “Nice place.”
“I didn’t say you could come in,” I said.
He smiled. “You’re funny.”
“That wasn’t a joke.”
“No, I mean, you’re funny. Like, you were super-hot in the parking lot and now you’re super-cold.” He glanced at me. “I’m talking in degrees of emotional warmth, not physical attractiveness. You’ve been consistently hot throughout, in terms of attractiveness.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
He chuckled. “Not really. Although, with most girls, you can say pretty much whatever you want if you conclude by saying they’re hot.”
“You must know some pretty dumb girls.”
“I do,” he said. “But, I know you now. That’s got to cancel at least two dumb girls out.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How do you know what it works like? Are you the police of dumb girl cancellation?”
“No, but it doesn’t work like that. Nobody gets to cancel anybody else out.”
“Maybe they do. Maybe every stupid person you know cancels out every smart person you know and every good person you know cancels out every evil person you know.”
“That’s right. That’s probably why everyone forgot about Jesus and Hitler, and just remembers their un-cancelled out contemporaries Average Jane and Average Joe,” I said.
He laughed. “I meant people I actually knew. Did you actually know Hitler? Maybe you are going to turn into a vampire at nine o’clock.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You want to do something. Not go on a date?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s…” I looked around my apartment. “Go do something.”
I grabbed my coat from my bedroom and came back into the living room. Jack was studying a photograph on the wall. It was a picture David had taken one early spring morning when we’d gone walking by the lake. My back was turned to David and you could only see part of my face.
“Cool picture. That’s you, right?”
I nodded. “David took that.”
“David?”
“Roommate.”
“Ah.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “The one who dared you to kiss a stranger?”
“Yes.”
“David sounds like the man. The last time I encouraged girls to make out with strangers like me, I almost got arrested.”
I smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“So, what exactly constitutes a not-date?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Isn’t this your idea?”
“You don’t know?” he laughed. “How the hell am I supposed to know if you don’t know?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Going for a drive or something.”
“A drive!” he laughed.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go for a drive.”
He followed me out of the apartment and down the stairwell to the parking lot.
I stole a look at Jack. He caught me staring and smiled back.
“So,” he said, as I got into his car. “Where do you want to drive to?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Around. I could use ice cream.”
He didn’t say anything about how cold it was or how far we were from Ben & Jerry’s or how it was probably too late to go anywhere. “I could do ice cream.”
There was a long awkwardly silent stretch of time, after which I demanded, “So, why did you want to talk to me anyways?”
“Why did you kiss me in the parking lot?” he asked playfully.
“I told you. David dared me.”
“Right. But then you said you chose me. Why?”
“I was drunk.”
He laughed. “You weren’t that drunk.”
“Was that your only question?” I asked. “Because, I can assure you that we have nothing in common. And I can also assure you that whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it with me.”
“You don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Not this.”
He stole a glance at me. “Okay, so, what is this?”
“It’s none of your business, really,” I said. I ran a hand through my hair.
“So, first you’re annoyed I only have one question, and now I’m not allowed to ask questions.”
“I’m not that uptight,” I said, although I was certainly acting like it. “You’re allowed to ask questions. Just not, okay, so what is this? Because I really don’t know.”
He laughed. “Fair enough.” He looked over at me. “Why don’t you ask me a question?”
“That’s okay.”
“Oh, come on. Surely, there’s something you want to know. You’re a reporter.”
There were plenty of questions I wanted to ask. But there were plenty of other things I could already tell from looking at him. Only half of being a good reporter was asking the right questions. The other half was noticing details, so you wouldn’t h
ave to ask them.
“Okay,” I said. “What’s your mother like?”
He looked over at me quickly. “Seriously?”
I shrugged. “You don’t have to answer it.” I turned my head and watched the road through the window.
“No, um…” he thought for a moment and cleared his throat. “She’s very warm. And….she worries a lot. She’s very sweet about it. She seems vulnerable. She worries so much about me that I start worrying about her.” He smiled, a little bit sadly.
“Are you an only child?” I asked.
“No. I have a brother. He’s older. You?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I’m an only child.”
“What’s that like?” he asked.
“Not as bad as they told you.”
“So, you’re not a lonely narcissist who can’t get along with anyone?”
“Oh, no, I’m definitely that,” I said. “I just don’t fear independence.”
He laughed. “I can tell.”
“What’s your brother like?”
“Perfect,” he said. “Totally, completely, un-fucking-believably perfect. It makes me nauseous. Really.” He grinned at me. “He never even beat me up. Perfect.”
I laughed. “You must hate his guts.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I don’t actually. Well, in high school a little bit. But not anymore.”
I smiled.
“He’s…serious. You’d like him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you seem kind of serious,” he said. “He’s a doctor for the Navy. He’s in Afghanistan now.” He rubbed his chin.
“God. How long as he been there?”
“Not too long,” he said. “He went to the Naval Academy and then to Harvard Medical School and now he’s a trauma doctor over there. I think it’s been about a year and a half now. He says it’s okay. He’s pretty safe, because he’s a doctor. He’s not that close to combat.” He smiled. “So, that’s what my mother is like. And my brother—as a bonus. What else you got?” he asked.
I tilted my head sideways. “What do you fear?”
He laughed. “You’re not holding back. Let me see. Eels. And jellyfish. Can’t stand ‘em. But I think I’m most scared of never figuring it out.”