The Fall of January Cooper

by Audrey Bell

  I wasn’t supposed to be living alone. I was supposed to be living in the dorms with Katelyn. She was supposed to be my best friend, but she turned out to be a massive liar and a conniving bitch and a betrayer extraordinaire. Just after I’d agreed to live with her our senior year, I came home early to find her in my extra-long twin bed blowing my boyfriend at the time, Schuyler Cross.

  Those two creeps—Schuyler and Katelyn—had driven me straight out of campus housing and into the arms of Tyler Snow who I met the next weekend at a charity barbeque that my mother gave me an alligator Chanel handbag to attend.

  I thought I’d hate Tyler. At first, I sort of did. He had worn a cowboy hat—to brunch in Boston—which I found ridiculous, but then he cocked his head knowingly when he caught me staring at it, in disgust, and flicked the brim: “Marketing,” he said. And I knew he was making fun of himself and as soon as I knew he was making fun of himself, I liked him.

  He also spoke in a Texas drawl, had a Longhorns tattoo on his back, and wore the most terrible clothes I've ever seen. He told stories that involved pickup trucks and dirt roads and wrestling alligators and Jesus Christ, King of America.

  My parents hated him right away.

  I loved that about him.

  But, it didn’t matter now.

  Because Tyler had joined Katelyn and Schuyler on the list of scummy life-ruiners I’d loved. Like all athletes who got arrested, he apparently had a library of dick pics that he’d sent to various strippers that had since hit the internet. And like all the stupid girlfriends of wildly fucked up athletes, I was the only one who was shocked by this.

  I decided that senior year was going to be the year I got smart. I was going to find a trusty, reliable best friend named either Charlotte or Samantha and a boyfriend with a normal name like David or Paul or Michael and maybe glasses.

  We were going to get engaged. We’d get married at my parents’ house, go on a honeymoon in Paris and then Fiji.

  We’d buy a house in Beacon Hill, he’d go to business school, and I’d open an artisanal cupcake shop or start a tasteful lingerie line. We’d have gorgeous twins, Luke and Lily, and I’d wear a lot of Lululemon and ride my horses after yoga every day.

  I mean, that was the plan. Obviously, Tyler was a huge deviation from it. Plus, January Snow was truly an imbecilic name. I could not go through life like that. And my father probably had been right. He probably would name one of his children Chevrolet. Or Truck.

  I should’ve said no to everything he suggested on those grounds alone.

  I got bored in Boston quickly. Three days after I'd moved in, I'd gone shopping everywhere I wanted to, and couldn't think of anything else to do before school started.

  So I texted my friend, Clarissa, who was definitely not new best friend material, but after the imbroglio with Katelyn and Olivia’s decision to “really focus on the LSAT,” she was option number one for girl talk. “Come to my apartment. My engagement is over and I’m bored," I told her.

  Then I lay down on my pink chaise lounge and played Candy Crush and waited for her to arrive.

  “Oh my god, January. Baby. I have been so worried about you.”

  She sat down on the chaise lounge and pouted at me like I was a puppy she just picked up from the pound.

  “I cannot believe that Tyler was with all of those girls. Oh my god, you must feel so stupid! But you really shouldn’t.”

  “I actually don’t feel stupid at all,” I said. I smiled at Clarissa. “So you really shouldn’t worry.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Most girls would. I’m glad you don’t, though. It’s good you have the confidence not to be embarrassed. I’d feel so awful if I was in your position.”

  “Well, good thing you aren’t, then,” I said with a smile.

  She could be such a bitch sometimes. Really. What was her problem? Now I wanted a drink.

  But a drink was a distraction on the path to Paul or John or whomever the fuck and the artisanal cupcake shop. “Do you know if this school has any cooking classes?”

  Clarissa nodded. “Yeah, chemistry.”

  “What?”

  “Chemistry is like cooking.”

  “I’m not talking about meth, okay? I’m talking about cupcakes and muffins.”

  “Yeah, this school doesn’t have any of those. Although, they teach you how to bake chocolate chip cookies in Intro to Chem. Or, maybe you read an article about it.”

  Ugh. “Fine. I’m missing a science requirement or something anyways.” I sat up and sighed.

  “Oh, by the way,” I turned to look at her. Oh, by the way is how Clarissa would tell me she had murdered my family over the weekend. “I just thought you should know before anyone else tells you but Schuyler and Katelyn are dating.”

  “I think I’m going to make vodka tonics. Would you want one?” I asked.

  “Sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear about that.”

  “I already knew that and I’m glad they’re dating,” I said. I smiled. “They deserve each other.”

  Clarissa shook out her hair and smirked. “So, what happened with Tyler? I want the details.”

  I waved my hand at her. “Nothing happened. I mean, he’s on drugs and a loser. Like, can you believe I even allowed him to date me for that long?”

  “Yeah. You seemed like you really loved him. You must be totally heartbroken, January. I’m so sorry.”

  I glared at her for a second and she beamed.

  "I can't imagine what that must be like," she said. "Nobody has ever cheated on me before. They probably know I wouldn't stand for it."

  I needed to find that Charlotte or Samantha posthaste.

  Christian

  I guess I'd been holding out hope for something, because I got blackout drunk the night after Dr. Ferry told me there wasn't anything else they could do.

  I'd been so sure I had nothing left to lose.

  But I did.

  The last hope died hard and left me all the way across town, in the bedroom of a redhead I was sure I'd never seen before with a killer hangover.

  "Shit," I croaked, pushing back the covers so I wouldn't wake her up.

  I found my jeans on the floor by her dresser, and the white knit shirt I'd worn out to the bar next to her bed. I'd left my phone in my pants pocket, I realized, with a sigh of relief. But, I couldn’t find my wallet anymore.

  My leg was throbbing, badly, for no reason that I could remember. The redhead stirred.

  I looked around once more, trying to move silently. I crouched down and checked under her bed. Bingo. I reached underneath and picked up my wallet.

  Someone screeched in my ear.

  "ARE YOU TRYING TO ROB ME?"

  "For fuck's sake," I said. “No. I’m not trying to rob you.”

  The girl I had slept with was sitting up, ramrod straight, sheets pinned to her chest, mouth agape.

  "Well, then what are you doing underneath my bed?"

  "Looking for my wallet?" I held it up.

  "Oh. My. God," she said. "You're trying to sneak out of here."

  Well, obviously.

  "No, no," I said. "I just. I can't ever sleep in after I drink...ever. So, do you want to get breakfast or something?"

  "Why would I want to get breakfast?"

  "I don't know," I said, annoyed. "It's a thing that people do sometimes in the morning."

  "Where?"

  I looked at her incredulously. "Well, there's a 24 hour diner around..." I had no idea where I was, and I was pretty sure the diner around the corner from my apartment wasn't also around the corner from hers. "I'm sure we could find some place if you wanted."

  She rolled her eyes. "I have a boyfriend."

  What the fuck.

  "Okay, well that makes this a lot easier," I said. I smiled. "I'm gonna go. Good luck with the boyfriend."

  "It's an open relationship," she said haughtily. "See ya."

  "Right. Later."

  I called Patrick from her elevator, rubbing my forehead.
>
  He answered the phone laughing.

  "Don't do that in my ear," I said.

  "Ooh. You sound angry," he said.

  "Well, you’re cackling,” I said. “And I have a headache.”

  "How was she?"

  "I don't remember," I said, which was mostly honest. There were bruises on my neck which meant something...

  "She was hot. Dumb move, though, fucking Steve Gorachuck's girlfriend."

  "What?"

  "Oh, you didn't know that was Gorachuck's girl?"

  Gorachuck played defense for BC, our biggest rivals in hockey. The last time I'd played him, I'd scored three times and he'd elbowed me in the face when my helmet popped off behind the net.

  "You're fucking with me, right?"

  "I am not."

  "Well, they're in an open relationship."

  He started to laugh. "Not that he knows of."

  My head pounded as I stepped into the sunlight and my leg gnawed with pain. "Well, I got to figure out a way to get home. Thanks for letting me fuck Gorachuck's girlfriend. I'm sure that won't come back to bite me in the ass."

  He kept laughing. "Hey, you seemed into it, man."

  I hung up the phone. I had nine missed calls, seven from my dad, and two from Ness. I rubbed my eyes, trying to forget about them.

  I ended up walking the eight miles home. The pain felt exquisite. So dull, but so consuming. It felt like I was paying for something with every step. It felt right. Suffering felt right.

  When I reached my apartment, I eased up my stairs with a heavy limp, and collapsed, sweat-soaked and aching into my bed.

  I dreamt about drowning, again. When I woke up, with a start, my face was soaked. I thought it was sweat, until another cold drop splattered on my forehead and I shivered. The red lights on my clock glowed 3:01 AM.

  "What the fuck," I muttered. I wiped the water from my face, rolled over in bed, and snapped on the light.

  The cracked, soaked bedroom ceiling sagged.

  I stared up at it for a second. “Shit.”

  Water was dripping from more than one place in the ceiling. I reached for my phone to dial the landlord, and sidled carefully away from the soaked, menacing ceiling.

  When I'd moved in, my father told me flatly that he would bet the life of his firstborn child (me) that the building wasn't up to code.

  I'd laughed.

  "You wait," he said knowingly.

  And now my ceiling was waterlogged and apparently about to collapse on my head. I couldn't exactly call him and tell him he might have been onto something.

  I scrolled through my contacts for the phone number of the super, Donny Veracruza, who I'd only ever seen drinking out on the front stoop.

  “Who the fuck are you?"

  “I’m a tenant,” I said indignantly.

  “The hell do you want?”

  “My ceiling is leaking,” I said. “It’s Christian Cutlass. I’m in 6F,” I said. “Moved in two months ago? The ceiling is dripping. I think my upstairs neighbor’s bathroom might be flooded.”

  “You know what time it is?”

  “Yeah, I know, and it looks like the ceiling might collapse which would be on you so you might want to come take a look."

  “What the hell apartment are you in?” he asked.

  “6F,” I said.

  He groaned. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  He was smoking a cigarette, wearing one yellow sock, and a brown and red checked bathrobe when he came upstairs.

  “Ceiling looks fine to me,” he grumbled when I opened the door and he stepped into the kitchen.

  “It’s in here.”

  He reached the door of my bedroom, and stared up at the cracked plaster. "I bet the fucking bitch fell asleep in the bath again," he said darkly.

  "Oh," I said. "I thought it might be the pipes."

  He shook his head. "Nah. It's the bath. Or her toilet. She has the irritable bowel, you know.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “HEY, PATRICIA, YOUR TOILET OVERFLOW AGAIN?” he bellowed out.

  “Jesus Christ. Are you serious?”

  He cocked his ear and looked up at the ceiling. "She sleeps like a log." He reached for a hockey stick I'd left in the corner of my room and I stared at him dubiously as he reached up to tap the ceiling with it.

  "I don't think that's..."

  He knocked the ceiling twice and I cringed as it appeared to quiver. “Hey, PATRICIA!” he bellowed.

  "You really shouldn’t do that," I said. “I’m actually sure that’s—”

  He ignored me. He thrust the hockey stick hard into the ceiling, and I heard Patricia faintly shout back, just before the ceiling let out a tremendous crack and showered down chunks of plaster and cold water on top of our heads.

  “Huh. I’ve got a powerful core, you know? I always underestimate my own strength,” Donny said after a moment.

  I shook my head, like a mangy dog trying to get dry. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, man."

  "Don’t worry. Don’t worry. Relax, hombre, I can fix this.”

  I let out of a heaving sigh and wiped the water from my face. I’d have to call my parents.

  January

  The end of my engagement turned out to be the gossip event of the fall. People still wanted to discuss it the third week of school.

  "Everyone needs to get a life," I muttered when some peripheral wannabe at a lacrosse party asked me how I was doing. "I don't even know who you are," I told her, "And as long as it stays that way, I'll be fine."

  I couldn’t believe there hadn’t been a single freshman girl who’d slept with eight members of the baseball team or had sex in a public field yet. That was exactly what I needed for the Harvard community to get the trashy aftertaste of my failed engagement out of their mouths.

  But nobody seemed willing to step up to the plate.

  At any rate, I was not enjoying my senior year.

  Tyler had checked out of rehab and hadn’t bothered to call me to beg me to forgive him, which I had totally been looking forward to doing.

  My lunatic of a mother had accidentally sent me a vibrator and then tried to convince me it was a back massager.

  My father was in a terrible mood because his company was being audited, and he promised me he'd book a trip to Paris at Christmas and then decided it would be better if we just spent time together as a family at home.

  I mean, what? That would definitely not be better.

  Plus, Katelyn, my ex-best friend and the absolute skank of the century, who had slept with my ex-boyfriend, Schuyler, in my bed while we were roommates, had somehow weaseled her way into my English class, where she doodled ‘Mrs. Schuyler Cross’ all over her tacky neon green notebook in her heinous chicken scratch handwriting.

  I was horrified when she refused to drop the class. I asked her really nicely, too.

  “It’s nothing personal, January. It’s just a requirement.”

  “How is ruining my life not personal, Katelyn?” I asked. “You should do what's fair and drop the course. I know it's not a requirement."

  She didn’t drop the course, of course. She just sipped her Chai latte and sat in the front row and otherwise was a huge animal about the whole thing.

  And it might have been fine if it ended there, but it didn't. Without Katelyn, I was stuck with Clarissa. And Clarissa was aggravating.

  She only ever wanted to gossip about the people I was trying to forget existed: Katelyn, Schuyler, Tyler. I sometimes went to lunch with her with a nest of butterflies in my stomach, wondering what the hell she was getting out of trying to rattle me so much.

  I had assumed that after the fracas with Katelyn last semester, my new best friend would be Olivia, who at least was funny and fun to be around. She was definitely the most normal one of the bunch, after me.

  Clarissa, on the other hand, sucked the energy out of every single room she walked into. It was like getting punched in the face with exhaustion.

  But, Olivia had been “too
busy with law school applications” to talk to me. Or something. I think, like my mother, she was too embarrassed by the whole snafu with Tyler Snow to talk to me anymore.

  It made sense for her to be embarrassed. I was utterly humiliated.

  Practically, nobody at Harvard ever got engaged while they were there. I mean, nobody I knew had, aside from me. So when I told people I was getting married to Tyler Snow, it had been the gossip story of the year.

  And then, of course, when he’d been arrested and gone to rehab, it had been an even bigger story. Nobody likes gossip where someone ends up happy. There’s gotta be some miserable girl heartbroken and humiliated for a story to really spread.

  By the time Olivia finally "had cleared her schedule enough" to see me, it was almost October. I felt sort of neglected and generally pissy about the whole thing, especially when she was so blasé about seeing me, but I couldn't mask my enthusiasm that I finally had someone other than Clarissa to talk to.

  Liv was one of those girls you could just bitch to.

  “Thank God, you are done with this law school shit, Liv,” I said. “Clarissa has been driving me insane.”

  Olivia laughed. “Oh my god. She’s still talking to you?”

  “She’s still talking to me? I should be the one not talking to her.”

  Olivia shook her head and her chin-length bob moved in a smooth sweep with her head. “What? Are you kidding?"

  "No."

  I stared at her.

  "Wait, seriously? Why would she be mad at me?"

  "Clarissa is obsessed with NASCAR. She was so jealous of you and Tyler. And she was much closer with Katelyn than you and then you insisted on living with Katelyn. And now you’re not living with Katelyn and Clarissa is stuck with Leona.”

  “She can live with Katelyn if she wants.”

  “You made Katelyn a social pariah.”

  “She slept with my boyfriend!”

  “I know, I know. I’m not saying Clarissa isn’t awful and Katelyn didn’t deserve it. But like, it’s no surprise that Clarissa is kind of a bitch to you.”

  I exhaled heavily. “Well, why didn’t you tell me any of this until now?”

  Olivia smiled thinly. “I thought it was totally, completely, beyond obvious, to be perfectly honest."