by Sara Ney
I’m wearing jeans and a dirty sweatshirt for crying out loud.
Jack does not seem to care.
We seem to have enough in common that he’s drawn to me. Our love of comics and movies. Our love of breakfast food. He’s funny and makes me laugh, and it seems he’s amused by me, too.
He’s watching me as he noshes on his breakfast, in no rush to go anywhere.
I watch him back, picking apart my muffin.
Thirteen
Jack
“Are we officially sneaking around on your roommate?”
We’re sitting in the bed of my truck, parked at the end of a dead-end road, laying on our backs on a blanket, staring up at the stars. Don’t know how we ended up here but we’ve been together all day.
Talking.
Laughing.
Talking.
Beside me Eliza groans; it’s an unpleasant sound—one of many in her arsenal of noises. “Stop saying it like that! We’re not cheating.”
“But you feel guilty.”
I already know her well enough to know Eliza takes things to heart, feels them deeply, has empathy for her friends and other people. She’s kind and considerate and for the most part, she’s done her best to be mindful of Kaylee’s feelings.
Up until the part where she climbed into the bed of my truck.
Innocent business as it were, no hanky panky involved, more’s the pity.
“Of course I feel guilty—Kaylee likes you.”
That makes me snort good and loud through my nose.
“Likes me? I hate to be the one to break it to you, Eliza, but Kaylee doesn’t like anyone but herself. She only fancies a crush on me.” I warm to the topic, stringing my theory together in short sentences. “Doesn’t know a damn thing about me except my name. Doesn’t have the foggiest about where I’m from. Oh. And that she wants my father to die so my brother can become an earl.” I roll my eyes heavenward, somewhat dramatically. “My father is not an earl by the way. Kaylee doesn’t bloody listen.”
“You really don’t have to tell me all this.”
Yes I do. “Your flatmate likes the idea of me and that is it.”
“The idea of you.” Her tone is dull and droll as if she thinks I’m being ridiculous. Somewhere in the distance an owl hoots. “It’s not for me to agree or disagree with that. It’s not my place to say what’s going on inside her head.”
“No, you’re too good of a mate to her.” Slyly, I glance over at her. “You know lads gossip, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
I readjust myself, arse sore from the hard, metal truck bed, even though we’ve layered and layered up blankets to sit on. Conveniently, my brother happened to have a stack stashed in the back seat and I can only wager he’s used them for watching cold weather sports outside, or shagging his wife on the cold, hard ground.
The world may never know what the purpose of them was but the Universe was smiling on me when I glanced into the back seat and discovered them.
“I mean—lads talk and I know for a fact Kaylee was snogging Bryce Waterfield at the fraternity party last night.”
Eliza doesn’t look surprised, but still asks, “What do you mean, snogging Bryce Waterfield?”
“You know, kissing a different bloke.”
“Are you sure?”
“Eliza, you cannot be that naïve. Your roommate isn’t sitting at home pining for me—she’s having fun being single and I am the last thing on her mind when she’s out with her friends. She only wants me when we’re in the same room.”
“What are you implying?” she asks slowly, rolling my direction and propping herself up on an elbow to face me, not wanting to miss a word of my answer.
“That you can’t let her dictate what you do with your personal life. She is not in love with me—why are you worried about what she thinks? She doesn’t control you.”
“I know, but…girl code.”
“What’s girl code?” My brows furrow, and I’m not even trying.
“Are you joking me right now? Do you not know what it is?”
“No I’m not joking you—I’m from London.” Some shite just does not translate and we didn’t exactly discuss Girl Code at the all-lads boarding schools I went to.
“It’s like bro code, but for females.”
I’m still not following the lingo.
“Bro code.” Eliza laughs. “Let me look it up, hold on a second.” Her mobile magically appears and illuminates the bed of the truck as she searches. “The bro code states: thou shalt not sleep with your bro’s ex-girlfriend. In addition, if a girl falls into the following criteria, she is off limits forever until the end of time: your friend’s ex-girlfriend, your bro called dibs on her, he’s in love with her, or it’s your bro’s sister.”
Finished, she looks up at me expectantly.
“Is that all it says?” I take the mobile from her hand so I can read the screen myself. Surely she’s making that shite up. “Bros before hoes—that one is universal.” I laugh. “Also, never drink the last beer, unless you have been granted specific permission.”
“Correct. And all this pertains to roommates and girlfriends, aka: girl code.”
I understand what she’s saying, I just do not care for how it pertains to this particular situation.
Not at all.
Fourteen
Eliza
How do I tell my roommates I’ve been spending time with Jack? How do I tell them we were at breakfast together and then took a drive? A drive that lasted long into the night.
Stargazing.
Talking.
Jack trying to convince me that what we’re doing isn’t wrong.
That being friends isn’t wrong. Yes, men and women can be friends but not when the woman is friends with Kaylee and she saw him first.
How do I tell them?
Correction: how do I tell Kaylee?
Lilly isn’t going to care—she probably has no idea who Jack even is, so occupied with her own social life that she’s never noticed mine.
And we’ve been living together for two years.
Kaylee on the other hand?
Not so much.
She is in my business, up my butt, in my room, all the time.
Just so happens she’s hovering over me now, making plenty of noise, so I’ll hear her and wake up of my own accord without her having to jostle me awake as she usually does when she has news for me. Not the least bit subtle and dreadfully obnoxious.
“Have you seen this?” Kaylee shoves her cell in my face, eyes wide and a bit wild.
“What time is it?” She has no way of knowing I was out past midnight—out with Jack, laughing and talking and making out with him until the sun rose in the sky. Showing him my work, gushing about anime and ComicCon and movies.
“What difference does it make what time it is?” she asks snidely. “Look what’s posted on the campus Instagram.”
The screen of her phone is bright and blinding in my small room with its drawn shades, nearly pitch black.
“Get that out of my face. Give me a second, jeez,” I smart back, not in the mood for her attitude. “I’m blind.”
Takes a few seconds for my pupils to adjust.
Focus.
It’s a picture of Jack standing behind me, the moment he rose and came to my side of the table and leaned in to whisper in my ear. To brush his lips across my cheek. To mutter words that made the space between my legs wet.
My eyes finally adjust to the light and I’m able to read the post in front of me: KING OF CAMPUS SEEN SMOOCHING MYSTERY GIRL AT LORDS CAFÉ
Jack Dryden-Jones—our transfer from across the pond—and his mysterious love interest caught canoodling in an off-campus café #LondonCalling #TheBachelor #EligibleBachelor #UniversityofIL #StudentBody
Love interest?
Mysterious?
Who wrote this, my grandmother?
“Did you know he was seeing someone?” My roommate pulls her phone back when I’ve finished
reading the post.
“How would I know if he was seeing someone? I’m not his keeper.”
“I know, but you know him better than I do.” Instead of leaving the room, she sits at the foot of my bed. “Does he have a girlfriend, Eliza? You can tell me.”
I’m not entirely sure how to reply. Anything I say is going to lead to more questions, questions I don’t know the answers to and do not want to deal with at all.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
It’s honest.
“He isn’t texting me back.”
Yes, I know. I’ve seen firsthand the number of messages she’s bombarded him with and have the urge to lecture her about self-respect and not chasing a guy who has no interest.
Time and place, Eliza.
Time.
And.
Place.
“Kaylee,” I begin slowly, choosing my words. “If he isn’t texting you back, that’s probably your answer.”
“What do you mean?”
Oh lord. “I mean…” I roll to my side, tucking my hand beneath my chin and staring out the open door. Not looking at her or meeting her inquisitive, naïve gaze. “If he liked you, he would text you back. Even if he just considered you a friend.”
“So you think he has a girlfriend?”
This conversation is painful. How is she not taking the hint? How is it not obvious to her that he is not interested in her romantically or otherwise?
Stubborn.
Spoiled.
Persistent.
Which would be great if she were trying to win a bakeoff, or a contest, or anything else that required fortitude and a competitive edge—but this is a man’s heart she’s determined to win.
And he is determined not to let her because he’s already captured mine.
“To be safe, assume he’s dating someone.”
There. That should put an end to this discussion.
“Who?”
“How the heck would I know?”
“You’re friends with him,” she persists.
Little does she know…
I roll to my back then sit up, frustrated. “Kaylee, are you being serious right now? The guy isn’t texting you back—let it go.”
“I have to know!”
“Why? You barely know him and you don’t even like him—you’re making out with other people every time you leave the house.”
It’s too dark to see her expression, but I don’t miss the hair toss. “So? It’s not like we’re engaged.”
“I’m too tired for this.” I try to roll back to my side and ignore her presence at the side of my bed, but she’s making it impossible by looming over me.
“Why? Where were you last night?”
“With a friend. We went…stargazing.”
“Ugh.” She moves toward the door, losing interest—thank God. “You’re such a nerd.”
I’m a nerd because I went and sat in the bed of a truck with a cute boy, looked up at the stars, and had a romantic evening?
Yeah, okay.
“Gee, thanks.”
She lingers in the doorway, hand on the wood.
“You’ll tell me if he says anything, right?”
“There is nothing to tell,” I lie, unable to look her in the eye though the room isn’t dark enough for her to see my guilty expression.
I want to bury my face in the comfort of my fluffy pillow and groan, something I do when she finally walks out the door, leaving me in peace.
Leaving me with my own thoughts.
They stay with me throughout the entire day—through studying, dinner, and the movie I watch before climbing back into bed, sliding in with a sigh, heart heavy.
I am not the girl who lies to her friends.
I am not the girl who hides things.
Why did this happen?
This isn’t who I am!
It’s dark, but I’m not tired—my brain wouldn’t let me sleep even if I was ready—so I grapple for my phone and poke on my music app, choosing something mellow to listen to while I lie here. Resist the urge to go on social media and sleuth around as I usually do to kill time.
My brain needs to shut off.
After several unsuccessful minutes, I give up. Toss back my comforter and rise, going to the desk and grabbing my sketch pad and a few pencils.
Hop back on the bed and flop to my stomach, arranging everything around me. Sketching won’t make me tired, but it will keep my mind busy.
The door flies open.
“Is it true? Is this you?”
My roommate is standing there, door pushed wide open, dark hallway framing her figure. Hands on her hips, she looks confrontational.
“Jesus, Kaylee, you scared the crap out of me.” My heart pounds, and not in a good way.
She flips on the overhead light and strolls in.
“Is. This. You.”
She is going to have to be more specific. “Is what me?”
I’m barely paying her any attention; this is the second time Kaylee has burst into my room within the same day, and I’m lying flat on my bed, on my stomach, sketchbook and papers fanned out in front of me—in the middle of working on my comic book. I haven’t touched my pencil and notepad in days, so preoccupied with Jack that I haven’t even thought twice about it.
I glance over my shoulder as Kaylee stands beside the bed, looking downright furious.
I doodle as she lingers.
“Would you look at me? This is serious.”
Exhaling a resigned breath, I flick my pencil so it rolls onto my paper and brace myself on my elbows.
“Is what me?”
“This. Is that your red hoodie?”
Oh, you mean the hoodie that’s inside my closet, in the laundry basket, waiting to be washed?
That red hoodie?
I blush, mouth opening.
Mouth closes.
I flounder like a guppy, never having done well with conflict, and since when does Kaylee get all up in someone’s face like this?
It’s so unlike her that I’m thrown off balance.
She’s not like this with me, anyway; other people I have no idea about since we don’t always hang in the same circles. She and Lilly have other friends they go out with, so I wouldn’t know what she acts like around them.
I only know how she’s been with me.
“It’s not what it looks like.” I sound like the worst kind of cliché—fumbling over my words, brain racing for a better explanation, none forthcoming. I try again. “We were just there talking. I was there, then he showed up, and we were just talking.”
Talking and kissing, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“He just showed up? How does he keep showing up to the Lords Café—it’s so random. Absolutely no one goes there but you.”
“I don’t know how he discovered it,” I tell her honestly. “Or why he shows up.”
The only explanation is that he returned to see me; the unspoken truth hangs between us in my tiny bedroom.
“How long have the two of you been hanging out behind my back?”
“Behind your back?”
“Yes—behind my back.” Her bare foot taps impatiently on the carpet.
“In all fairness, you weren’t going out with Jack.” I sound feeble and weak and she has every right to be pissed at me. “We weren’t hanging out behind your back, not intentionally. We bumped into each other a few times, which led to us sitting around and talking.”
“And doing whatever you were doing in this picture.”
It does look rather incriminating because it is. Very damning, his mouth near my ear. Despite the fact that my face isn’t showing, it is undeniably me, and he is undeniably canoodling my neck.
Jesus.
“Eating breakfast—I told you that. You know he goes in there, too. I can’t prevent him from liking their eggs and toast.” And scones and omelets and tea.
“No, but you can prevent him from kissing you in public.”
True.
I can.
Could have.
“You said…you said he didn’t have a girlfriend.”
Is she implying that I am his girlfriend? “No, I said you should assume he was dating someone—I never said anything about a girlfriend.”
“Whatever. Semantics. You sat there and lied to my face. How am I going to trust you?”
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. “Kaylee, come on.”
“No, you come on. You know I like him and you went behind my back and you were seeing him. Does he even know I like him?”
Of course he knows she likes him—she could not have made it any more clear with her barrage of messages. “You texted him dozens of times.”
Her eyes narrow. “How do you know how many times I texted him?”
“You told me.”
Plus, I saw the messages when he had my phone and I had his.
“No, I didn’t tell you shit. All I said was that he wasn’t texting me back.” Her mind works in overdrive. “Did you see my messages? Were you together when I was sending him notes?”
My lips part into a small O.
Kaylee’s nostrils flare and her chin tilts up. “You can’t stay here.”
It takes seconds…moments for me to register her words.
“What?”
“I said, you can’t—”
“I heard what you said, but you are not kicking me out.” I let out a laugh that sounds nervous and slightly maniacal.
Kicking me out.
Ha!
“I need space. I don’t trust you anymore.” Chin still up, she glances over and out the window to the pitch-black yard. Or perhaps she’s gazing at herself in the reflection—it’s hard to say with her.
“Are you seriously going to kick me out because of some guy? You know nothing about him!”
“It doesn’t matter—you went against girl code, and the first freaking rule of girl code is that you don’t steal someone’s boyfriend.”
Is now a bad time to point out that he was never her boyfriend?
“I have a lease.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll find someone. I’ve already spoken to my dad, and he will cover your portion of the rent until we get a subletter.”