James Games

by Rose, L. A.

  Mr. Sando could not be reached for comment. Our source indicates he has voluntarily withdrawn for the semester. “James showed a violent side none of us knew he had,” our source continued. “I don’t blame Damien for wanting to get the hell out.”

  “What the hell,” I yell. “This is all bullshit!”

  “I always encourage my students to have strong opinions, Ms. Arlett, but I do not know if ‘bullshit’ is the best word to describe Nietzsche’s work,” Professor Moore says sternly from the head of the classroom.

  “Right. Sorry. By bullshit I meant…the excrement of a primal animal, which is a metaphor for the ideas produced by the instinctive mechanisms in Nietzsche’s brain,” I bluster.

  James writes me a note. Not bad.

  I nearly tear through the paper in my effort to write back as quickly as possible. Who wrote that article?

  It was featured on a popular blog about the lives of celebrities who’ve fallen out of the public eye. They write about me from time to time. I wouldn’t worry about it.

  I scribble, Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being painted as the evil naked party seductress.

  I wouldn’t say that description is entirely inaccurate.

  I pause to smirk. Who’s this source they keep going on about?

  No idea. It doesn’t matter. If anyone bothers you about this article, let me know and I’ll handle it.

  I can fight my own battles. I feel stupid handing that one to him, knowing full well how badly I’d needed him to fight last night’s battle.

  I know. But something about you makes me want to fight those battles for you.

  I freeze. Does this count as flirting? It’s definitely not normal flirting. That’s knight-in-shining-armor, historical-romance-with-a-woman-in-a-corset-on-the-cover flirting. I don’t know what to write back, so I spend the rest of class listening intently but not taking in a single word that Professor Moore says.

  We leave class together. Glares follow us out of the classroom, out of the building, across the lawn, burning brighter than the hot California sun. James ignores them, and me…well, I’d like to glare right back, but something in me shies away from that.

  “I better go back to my dorm,” I finally say, faking a yawn in front of the turn that leads to my building.

  “You sure? I thought maybe we could grab lunch together.” He gives a disaffected shrug.

  James Reid just asked me to lunch. What’s more, James Reid is now looking at me sideways like a little boy who feels like he has to play it cool but who really, really wants to go to Disneyland. It’s surprisingly adorable, but there’s an exhaustion at my core and I’m pretty sure one more hate-filled stare will shatter me.

  “Thanks, but I’d pass out in a bowl of pasta. It’s definitely nap time.”

  “Fair enough. Here, anyway.”

  He’s handed me a piece of paper with a number on it.

  “I want you to call me if anyone bothers you.” His hand finds my wrist and grips it tightly, briefly. “I mean it. You wouldn’t be going through this if I weren’t…”

  His voice trails off, disgusted. I cut in. “Uh, no, wrong. You’re the one who’s getting screwed over because of me. I should apologize.”

  “I thought I told you to never apologize.”

  “Rules aren’t really my thing,” I say, but it doesn’t come out like it should. It’s weak. I force another yawn and back away. “I promise it doesn’t bother me. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  He nods once and we separate. My face burns all the way back to my dorm. Lying doesn’t suit me.

  That night, when Iris tries to get me to go to the dining hall with her, I decide it would probably be better just to order in pizza.

  And the next morning, when I have to go out and face class, I figure there’s nothing wrong with using up one of my free absences.

  And another.

  And then another.

  I become very attached to my bed. The bed is a great place, as it turns out. It’s soft, warm, and there’s no boys nearby trying to pin you down or girls looking at you like you’re made out of literal vomit. It’s even better when all the shades in the room are pulled down, because then you can spend hours in a haze, not close enough to sleep for nightmares and not close enough to consciousness to think.

  When I left for college, the world seemed like such a shining place. A playpen where I could do whatever I wanted, finally free. I was aggressive and fun and spontaneous and brave and I was the Fiona I’d always wanted to be, and there was nothing to be afraid of.

  It’s like I turned around and finally noticed the shadows. And the shadows are full of monsters.

  The real world, as it turns out, is not quite so pretty and new.

  At first, Iris makes Iris-jokes about how the doom and gloom really suits her better, how we should start a retro emo band. Then she starts trying to haul me out of bed, enlisting Mags to help her, but I fake an illness and my throat actually starts to get sore from all the pretend coughing.

  James texts me a few times, mostly to ask how I am, and I respond with a smiley face and leave it at that.

  Things continue like this for a while. I miss one party. Then two.

  “Brooklyn asked after you,” Iris says eventually, crouched at the edge of my bed. “She says it’s okay if you want to drop out of Phi Delta Chi.”

  “Why?” I sit up for the first time in what feels like a week. “Does she want me to?”

  “No, she says it just seems like you’re not too interested anymore. You haven’t been coming to the events.” She chews her bottom lip. “Fiona, let’s be real. You’re not sick anymore. Colds don’t last three weeks. I’m not a therapist and I don’t know how to handle this, but if you need me to find you one, I will.”

  “I’m fine,” I say lamely. “I’ve just been laying low, waiting out the rumors. I’m not good at ignoring them like James does.”

  “James asked after you too. Three girls near me practically passed out at the fact that he was talking to me.” She hesitates. “He seemed really concerned.”

  This brings a flood of emotions that are entirely unnecessary. I bury my head under my pillow to suffocate them. “He doesn’t deserve to be put through this because of me.”

  “Because of you?” Iris yanks my pillow away. “It wasn’t too long ago that you were bragging about how much you didn’t like him. Suddenly you’re a martyr for him? This is not like you.”

  I want to tell her I don’t know how to find room for the old me beside this new fear, but I can’t explain it.

  She says a few more things, makes some sort of determined declaration before sweeping off, but I’ve tuned her out again. She’s right. I’m not Fiona anymore. And if that girl was so weak she could be shattered by one bad night, there wasn’t much to value about her to begin with.

  Fifteen minutes later, the light in my room switches on. It bleeds through my pillow and around the edges of my eyelids. “Iris, I told you…”

  “You’re not naked, are you?”

  It’s a male voice.

  “No…?”

  “Good,” James Reid says, and yanks the covers right off me.

  I shriek and yank my knees up to my chest. I’m sure I should be worrying about my matted hair, my unwashed face, my lack of makeup and my poodle pajamas, but let’s be honest, I probably still look amazing.

  “Come with me,” he says.

  I glower up at him like a garbage troll. “Did Iris put you up to this?”

  “She gave me the key on her way to class.” He tosses my blanket across the room as I make a grab for it. “Get up. Now.”

  “Just because you had sex with me and beat up someone for me does not mean you get to give me orders.”

  “Yes, it does. You know why? Because this isn’t you,” he says, and I roll over to look at him. “I know I’m not your friend. I know I should have no right to say anything about you. But from the moment I met you, I knew exactly who you were, because you make it so da
mn obvious.”

  “Who am I, then?” I challenge him, but I’m also kind of curious.

  “You’re obnoxious and exhibitionist. You’re pushy and aggressive and you thrive on conflict. You’re arrogant and vain and you never lie, you never hide, you’re made for confrontation. That’s why this hiding away is not going to solve your problems. You’re going to solve your problems the way Fiona Arlett is supposed to.”

  Should I be flattered or offended? I should be the latter, but I’m veering toward the former. “And how’s that?”

  “By making a big fucking scene,” he says, and drags me up out of bed.

  I pull free. “I can’t go out there. I’m sick of everyone staring at me.”

  He folds his arms. “You didn’t care about staring when I met you.”

  “That was before I knew there were people who wanted to hurt me!”

  It pops out of me like a bad tooth. Tears swell up and I rub my eyes hard. “Sorry. Just add pathetic to that list of characteristics.”

  He swears. Then I’m in his arms, and he’s hugging me so briefly and tightly that I may have imagined it. He lets go fast, like he’s afraid of holding on too long. “Pathetic isn’t even in your dictionary. Get dressed. I’ll be outside the door.”

  I have no idea what he’s planning, but it turns out that James is a hard guy to turn down when he’s all fired up. I pull on a sundress and let him whisk me away down the hallway.

  “What are we doing?” I ask as he guides me outside. The sunlight hits me like a truck and I flinch like some underground mole. I’m surprised at how much time has passed. A few of the windows have bat and witch cutouts, and there are pumpkins by the door of the dining hall. Right. It’s nearly Halloween.

  “You won’t come out of your room because everyone hates you, right? And everyone hates you because they think there’s something between us, right?” His grip is firm on my wrist. He brings me to the green lawn where lots of students eat lunch or study after classes. It’s nearly one o’ clock, so practically the whole campus is out here, lounging in the sun even though it’s October and the rest of the world is wearing sweaters. Goddamn California.

  “I guess,” I say slowly.

  “So we’re going to disabuse them of that notion,” he says in what I’m starting to realize is a weird wordy pet phrase. We walk together to the center of the lawn. I’d been hoping that my stint as a hermit would have given the rumors some time to blow over, but James is a literal magnet for the female gaze, and once everyone sees me standing next to him, the whispers start. One guy says something to his pack of stoned bros and they all laugh. I’m sweating. What if they know Damien? What if they want to get back at me?

  “I can’t believe I was assigned to partner on Moore’s Philosophy project with the stupidest person in class.”

  At first I don’t recognize the voice. It’s harsh, so far from the cool, quiet tone I’m used to that I know it can’t be coming from James. But it is.

  But then he jerks his chin at me. He wants me to play along. And I realize what his plan is.

  “It’s not like I wanted to,” I say, a little hesitantly but getting louder as more people look at us. “I’d much rather have a partner who spent as much effort on our project as he did making sure his hair looks perfect every morning.”

  “My hair is naturally perfect,” he scoffs at me, but his eyes are smiling.

  “That’s not what the trucker who drops off ten industrial-size bottles of hair gel at your apartment every morning says.”

  Everyone within hearing distance is now staring directly at us, and a few people are coming over to see what the fuss is. Most everyone is wide-eyed, though I did get a few laughs with my hair gel comment. This isn’t the way that a manipulative seductress and a boy wrapped around her little finger are supposed to act.

  “I nearly threw up when Moore assigned that private project to just the two of us, since we were falling behind,” he snarls.

  “Well, I’ve regretted every second I was forced to talk to you because of it, like when we had to leave that party early to go to the library together and work!” I yell, taking a chance.

  “Yeah, and I was in such a bad mood about it that I got into that completely unrelated fight with Damien!” he shouts.

  What we’re saying is idiotic, so obviously staged that it shouldn’t work, except for the fact that James hasn’t lost his acting chops. Not even a little bit. His jaw is set, his muscles tense. If I hadn’t already seen what his real anger looks like, I’d be completely fooled. For the first time, I really wonder what happened to make him drop the career he was so obviously meant for.

  I advance on him, feeling less tiny by the second. “Moore’s an idiot for thinking we could work together. We’re complete opposites!”

  “And I find you physically repulsive,” he says, with such a straight face that I nearly bite off the tip of my tongue trying not to laugh.

  “Your eyes are the exact color of the stuff I clean my toilet bowl with,” I retort.

  “You…smell bad,” he attempts. We have a full-on audience now, and for the first time since Damien, people are staring at me for the reason they always have—because I wanted them to. It feels good. I grin, roll my shoulders and toss my hair back.

  “Wait, you can smell? I didn’t realize you had a nose. You’re so tall that I always figured that thing on your face was poop dribbling down from the birds who nest in your hair.”

  I get a chorus of ‘oooh’s at that one. James narrows his eyes and touches his flawless nose. “Oh yeah? Well, your hair is—long.”

  “Speaking of hair, which surfer dude from a nineties movie did you murder and scalp for that style?”

  The bros snort and high-five each other. At the very least, the men on this campus are not opposed to seeing James Reid taken down a peg or two. The girls, meanwhile, punctuate everything I say with a series of very satisfying gasps.

  James opens his mouth, but I’m on a roll. I cut him off. “Oh, by the way, the Guinness World Records people called. They want to feature your ass as World’s Flattest Thing.”

  That one wasn’t even very good, but the bros hoot. The one who whispered that comment to the others is frowning at the grass. James is looking somewhat taken aback. Poor guy. I should end this before he starts having body image issues.

  “I hate you, James Reid.” I flip my hair. “And I would like to roundly continue having absolutely nothing to do with you.”

  “I was about to ask that myself, he retorts, but I’m already striding across the lawn to a smattering of applause.

  The minute I’m out of sight, I pull out my phone and text James: I’m sorry. I think you have a nice nose.

  He responds: Might need therapy now.

  No! I like your hair and your eyes too. And your ideas. You’re right. I need to face my problems.

  Him: Hopefully that helped a bit with the rumors about us.

  Me: I’m guessing it did. What now?

  Him: What now what?

  Me; Between us.

  Him: Pretend to keep hating each other, I guess.

  Me: But when nobody’s looking, how about we be friends?

  Him: It’s been a while since I’ve had one of those. Might be rusty.

  Me: It’s like riding a bike. You never forget.

  I press send and excuse my personal sense of decorum from the universe for a moment so I can hold my phone to my chest and giggle. The very next thing I do is text Iris.

  Find out what Phi Delta Chi is doing for parties this weekend. Fiona’s back, baby.

  ~11~

  “I used to do all the costumes for my high school’s drama department. This is so nostalgic,” says Mags excitedly as she glues another feather to my butt.

  Iris circles behind me, pointing critically. “You missed a spot.”

  Mags proceeds to slap a wad of feathers on a place that has never, and will never, need feathers. I wince. “Ow! If a bird tries to mate with me on the way to the party,
I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  “It’s sexiest Halloween costume contest,” Iris says, dropping back on her bed and observing me with way more satisfaction than necessary. “So the more feathers, the better. Feathers are a distinct antidote to sexiness.”

  “That doesn’t explain why the only chicken costume we could find in the women’s section of Amazon was ‘Sexy Fowl’,” Mags pipes, patting one of my crotch feathers into place.

  “That, Mags, is because the female body is commodified in such a way that even something as simple as a chicken Halloween costume cannot exist if not sexualized and ornamental,” says Iris archly. “Now glue more feathers to her tits.”

  “No! No more tit feathers.” I wave them away and stand up. It’s sort of like being encased in a feather mattress, if it were from Wal-Mart and the feathers were actually branches of poison ivy. I moan. “Oh God. Itchy. Itchy itchy itchy. Help me!”

  I lurch toward Iris, who retracts into the corner of the room. “Get away from me, you nasty chicken-looking zombie.”

  So much for her newfound Care Bear side. I reach for Mags, who shrieks and leaps away. I understand why when I glance in the mirror. I look like a first grade class project that the mom couldn’t be bothered to help out with.

  “You know what?” I squint at myself in the mirror. “I could still win. My natural sexiness shines through.”

  “Fiona, I’m glad your confidence is back, but that doesn’t mean it’s not annoying as hell sometimes.”

  We head out together—well, they head out and I waddle out. Iris is dressed as Elvira, her ample boobs attracting more than a few eyeballers on the way out the door. Mags is Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. We couldn’t get her to go for Sexy Dorothy, so she bought the biggest child’s size. With her petticoat and my feathered ass, we could form an army blockade.

  “Remember the rules we went over,” says Iris as we pile into Mags’s car. “No looking at James. No speaking to James, unless it sounds like you’re fighting. No flirting with James. No having sex with James. No going into any coat closets and no damaging the walls—”

  “All right,” I snap. Mags hasn’t heard all the details of my concert hookup, and she doesn’t need to. “I get it.”