by Penny Reid
I finally shook myself out of my reticence.
He was just a boy. He was harmless. He had a girlfriend who was gorgeous and sociable. I would calibrate my smiles and interactions to friendship or acquaintance level. No big deal.
Armed with my altruistic pragmatism, I marched to Greg’s. His suite was on the opposite end of the hall from mine, thirty doors separating us. This realization made me feel better for some reason.
I was prepared to knock but the suite door was open: I heard Fern’s voice as I approached. I decided I’d poke my head around the corner, interrupt briefly, ask Fern to come find me when she was finished, and then leave.
I poked my head around the corner and, thankfully, found Fern facing the door. Greg’s back was to me. She looked up instantly and gave me a smile.
“Hey, Fiona. You’re out and about.”
“Yes, I don’t want to interrupt. Just real fast, when you’re finished can you give me a few minutes? I need your advice.”
Greg had turned in his seat, and I could feel his eyes on me; I glanced down at him and gave him a head nod and a tight smile of acknowledgement.
“What kind of advice?” he asked, his tone as dry as ever.
“Just girl stuff.” I waved his question away then turned my attention back to Fern. “So I’ll see you later?”
“Girl stuff? Sounds exciting.” Fern’s eyes widened, and she rubbed her hands together.
Meanwhile, Greg stood and pulled a chair over from the other side of the suite. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of him in boot cut jeans, bare feet, and a plain white T-shirt. He was so tall and lean and delicious. My preoccupation with his body was likely why, when he grabbed my wrist as he returned and placed me in the seat he’d just vacated, I didn’t object.
“I’m excellent with girl stuff,” he said, taking the new seat so that both he and Fern faced me, as though I were about to be interviewed. “Ask any girl, they’ll all tell you how good I am with the girl stuff.”
“I, uh…” I turned to stand, not sure what to do.
But then Fern placed her hand on my knee to stay my retreat, “No, he really is. He’s fantastic with the girl stuff. Just think of him as one of the girls.” Her eyes flickered to him, moving up and down his body. He returned this perusal with a sardonic eyebrow lift.
“Well,” she amended, “think of him as a girl in a man’s body. He’s got the brain of a woman.”
He nodded. “Yes. Shrewd. Calculating. Resilient. Ruthless.”
I found myself rolling my lips between my teeth to keep from beaming at him. It occurred to me that this would be good practice. Being around Greg and tempering my reactions to him would help me navigate similar situations in the future.
Greg leaned forward, his elbows on his knees—he looked too big for the chair—and with a desert-dry delivery, he said, “Just tell Aunty Gregina all about it.”
Both Fern and I laughed, and I shook my head, narrowing my eyes at him. Though his face was solemn, his dark eyes were warm and teasing. I imagined he had an unbeatable poker face.
“Fine, here’s the story,” I sighed, still giving him a suspicious glare—something I’d seen Fern do to her legion of boys who were just friends on a number of occasions—then moved my attention back to Fern. I was having trouble looking at him and forming complete sentences. He made me feel warm and disoriented. “You know Mark, from my art history class?”
Fern nodded at me, then supplied for Greg, “He’s taking Fiona out on a date on Valentine’s Day.”
Greg shifted in his seat. “He’s your boyfriend.”
I shook my head, allowing my attention to stray to him just for a second. “No, it’s our first date.”
“On Valentine’s Day.” His matter-of-fact tone held a hint of disbelief.
“That’s right, so the thing is-”
“You should cancel it. Only a nutter takes a girl out for the first date on Valentine’s Day. Or a pedophile.”
Fern hit him on the shoulder. “Greg!”
He rubbed his shoulder like she’d hurt him, “What? You want our darling Fiona to go on a date with a pedophile?”
“Mark is not a pedophile.” Her voice became squeaky because she was shouting.
“How do you know? Are you well acquainted with the local chapter of child molesters? Have them over for tea?”
“You are so awful.” She shook her head, though she looked like she was valiantly fighting the urge to laugh.
“Perhaps you supply them with the candy for their vans.”
She lost her fight and burst out laughing, “Oh my God, you are awful. I can’t believe you’re making jokes about pedophiles.”
“I’m not. Do you see me laughing? I’m the one trying to keep my Fiona from tangling body bits with the local association of man-boy-love.”
He was awful. He was irreverent and offensive and abrasive, and, for some strange reason which should have alarmed me, I found him completely enchanting. Perhaps the shock value appealed to me because my entire life had been so sheltered. Or perhaps I was twisted and wrong in some way.
Whatever the reason, his appalling comedy routine, delivered with a dry superiority, made him even more attractive.
I was definitely twisted and wrong.
“Just…just,” Fern held up her hand in front of his face, “just shut it, and let Fiona ask her question.” Then she turned to me, “Please, continue.”
“Okay…” I glanced between the two of them. Greg appeared to be completely at ease and all things attentive and serious. However, I sensed mischief lay just below the surface.
“So, the question is about Jefferson.”
“Jefferson?” Fern and Greg asked at the same time, though he sounded a tad alarmed.
Fern gave Greg a quelling look and leaned forward an inch. “Who is Jefferson?”
“Jefferson is a guy in my P-Chem class.”
“P-Chem? Aren’t you a freshman?” Greg asked.
I nodded once, allowing myself to admire the shape of his lips and jaw as I answered, “Yes, but I took the AP exams for most of my prerequisites.”
“So your major is…?”
“Stop interrupting, Greg.” Fern rolled her eyes.
“It’s okay. My major is electrical engineering.”
His gaze narrowed as his eyes flickered over me again, as though seeing me for the first time. “What other classes are you taking?”
“Well, um…differential equations, P-chem, vector calculus, dynamics, and art history.”
He stared at me, his expression plainly betraying his surprise. I met his startled glare directly, waiting for him to make a comment. Instead he continued to study me in silence.
Fern drew my attention back to her by snapping her fingers. “Back to Jefferson from P-chem.”
“Oh, yes. Well, Jefferson has asked me out for coffee. My question is, is it wrong to go out for coffee with Jefferson if I’m going on a date with Mark?”
“I knew a Jefferson,” Greg mumbled, studying his fingernails. “He used to bugger animals, probably still does. I wonder if it’s the same Jefferson…”
Fern growled, her eyes slicing to him, then back to me. She gave me a small smile. “No, it’s not wrong at all. You and Mark aren’t established enough to be exclusive. Until you become exclusive with a person, you can date as many other guys as you like.”
“Just don’t have sex with any of them.” Greg’s words were anxious, drawing both mine and Fern’s attention.
His mouth was curved downward at the edges, and his eyes no longer appeared teasing. He cleared his throat, studied his hands, then lifted his gaze to Fern’s.
“Just until…until she’s exclusive with someone,” he explained.
Fern gave him an irritated flick of her wrist—I’d noticed she used her hands often in conversation—and turned back to me. “Don’t listen to him. Sex up as many boys as you like.”
I feigned a light chuckle. A girl in my art history study group did this ofte
n when she became uncomfortable, hoping to lighten a suddenly strained mood. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be sexing anyone up for a while.”
Fern’s smile was wistful, and her hazel eyes took on an almost motherly glint. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve never been kissed, have you?”
Everything went silent and time stood still.
My heart stuttered, skipped a beat; it was tripping on mortification and overwhelming embarrassment.
I had no idea what to do, how to react, how to behave. I’d never experienced or witnessed this type of situation before.
I kept thinking, Now he knows…now he knows I’ve never been kissed…now he thinks I’m a freak.
All I knew was that I wanted to fall into a black hole and disappear. An unpleasant hot and clammy sensation spread over my skin; I was sweating for no reason. I felt Greg’s eyes on me, and they were like two laser beams burning into my skull. My scalp itched.
“That’s right,” I said, swallowing thickly, nodding jerkily, forcing a smile. “Not yet.” In a fit of desperation, I decided to add self-deprecating cheerfulness as I gave them two thumbs up… Two incredibly awkward thumbs up. “But I have high hopes for Valentine’s Day.”
Instinct told me to run, to escape, so I did.
I stood suddenly, pushing the chair to the side to clear my path, and darted out of the room as I called, “Well, thanks for your advice; that’s what I needed.”
I fled back to my room, and I didn’t know why. Some sense of urgency spurred my steps; my throat was tight, and I felt like I was going to cry. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
I’d experienced embarrassment before, the frustration associated with failing in front of thousands of spectators and millions of TV viewers. As an Olympic contender I’d learned how to move past failure, put it out of my mind, focus on the next goal, the next competition. Obsessing about mistakes was counterproductive to success. I always learned from my mistakes. Then I moved on.
But this was different. This horrible feeling was due to an audience of one and wasn’t about failure or a mistake; it wasn’t about something I could control. There was nothing to analyze for future improvement. I felt irrationally embarrassed and melancholy and wretched, like I’d been kicked repeatedly.
Try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to feel grateful for this new experience.
***
Two days before Valentine’s Day, I came home to find Dara’s side of the room packed into suitcases. She explained that she was going to go home for a week. Things were getting too crazy with her and Hivan; she said she needed a break.
I helped Dara take her bags down to the car and gave her a hug before she departed, fresh tears in her blue eyes. She was a really nice girl, and I felt sad for her.
I wandered back to my suite but was stopped in the hall by a few girls on the floor.
“You’re Dara’s roommate, right?” a tall blonde asked, indicating with her head toward my room.
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“Is it true? Did she go home to have an abortion?”
I stared askance at this stranger, too shocked by the audacity of the question to process whether or not it might be true. “I- I don’t- I mean, no. I should say, not that-”
“Gail, don’t be such a bitch. It’s none of our business.” This comment came from a petite redhead.
“I just asked a question.” The one called Gail held her hands up as though defending herself. Now I recognized her; Fern had told me during our grand tour weeks ago that Gail was the floor gossip. She meant well but couldn’t help herself from getting into everyone’s business.
“It’s nothing like that,” the redhead continued, her expression stern. “Dara just needs a break from her prick boyfriend.”
“Did they break up?” Gail’s eyes became wide, searching.
“Do you ever stop?” The redhead shook her head at Gail’s antics, then turned to me. “I’m Maddie. I think we met before. Dara says you’re the sweetest.”
I smiled at Maddie and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m telling you, there is something going around, some kind of Valentine’s Day bad mojo. Everyone is breaking up.” Gail delivered this with squinted eyes, pursed lips, and a head nod for emphasis.
“Oh, yeah…” A blonde girl, approximately my height who’d been silent thus far, waved her hands in the air excitedly. (I remembered her name was Sarah or Silvia or something like that.) “That’s right! Did you all hear about Vanessa and Greg?”
I stilled, but my heart took off, my wide eyes betraying my avid interest, and the words were out of my mouth before I could catch them, “No, what happened?”
I knew I would dislike myself later for gossiping, but for now I indulged with the hunger of a voracious animal. My pulse doubled in the three seconds it took for her to share the news.
She glanced over both her shoulders then leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He broke up with her last week. She’s devastated.”
My heart soared then dipped, and I felt at once elated and miserable about my elation.
Since our last interaction, Greg and I had passed each other a few times in the hall. Usually he was with Vanessa, and the three of us would exchange polite greetings—though sometimes he would ask about my manifestos and beleaguer me with pointed glares. I would laugh good-naturedly and give a noncommittal shrug, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable each time.
Last week I saw him at a party. Now that I’d succumbed to Fern’s overtures and pressure to socialize, I’d gone to my very first party, and Greg was there. Upon seeing him, I promptly spun on my heel and maneuvered to a different room. I left shortly thereafter, unable to relax.
If I knew he was going to be part of a group gathering, I didn’t go.
If I saw him on campus, I walked the other way.
I’d spotted him at the gym several times and took an alternate route to my destination.
I was outright avoiding him. Our short exchanges had yielded the strongest attraction and connection I’d felt for another person, and it felt heavy with significance. Avoiding Greg felt like the smart thing to do if I wanted to find a connection with someone else.
As well, the thought of facing him again now that he knew I’d never even been kissed filled me with metric tons of dread.
“Oh my God, why? What happened?” Gail nearly squealed the question, grabbing the other blonde girl’s hand as though the news might make her lose her balance.
“I don’t know the particulars, only that Vanessa has been crying nonstop, and Greg was the one who broke up with her. I don’t think she saw it coming.”
“She’s gorgeous.” Maddie said this wistfully, her eyes losing focus. “If she can’t keep a boyfriend, then what hope do the rest of us have?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Maddie.” Gail scrunched her nose. “Maybe she didn’t know how to keep her man happy. Greg is…well, that’s a lot of man right there. Vanessa might be beautiful, but beauty fades. Greg knows that.”
The other blonde chimed in, “Yeah, she had her chance. They’ve been dating for over a year.”
I felt my eyebrows jump at the calculating look in their eyes. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who’d appreciated Greg from afar.
The absurdity of the situation hit me abruptly and I almost laughed out loud at myself. I’d received the news of Greg and Vanessa’s break up with the same greedy, hungry appetite as any girl who likes a boy with a girlfriend. In my fantasies, the fact that Greg no longer had a girlfriend might mean that I had a chance with him.
I looked around at the starry eyes of these three girls, all imagining the same fantasy, all physically beautiful in their own way, and I recognized that reality painted a very different picture. But more than that, I didn’t like what I saw: three lovely girls celebrating the heartbreak of a fellow female.
My competition days were long over. Besides, I’d never been a person who could feel joy at the sorrow of another
.
I chose to embrace the feelings of melancholy instead, that a nice girl like Vanessa had apparently had her heart broken.
I tsked. “I hope she’s okay. I’ve only met her a few times, but she seems really nice. Does she have someone to talk to?”
All three of them stared at me. After a brief moment each of them had the decency to look various shades of ashamed.
“Uh…yeah. Vanessa and her roommate are really tight. I’m sure Carly will help her deal.”
“That’s good.” I nodded, then repeated something Fern said often, “Girls need to stick together, support each other.”
Gail looked me up and down, like I was strange and she was suddenly uncomfortable.
“That’s right,” she said, then took a step back. “I have laundry to do. Come on, Maddie.”
Maddie gave me a shy grin, and the three girls disappeared down the hall.
I watched them go, then turned to my own suite and shut the door behind me. I was greeted by rare silence. It was Thursday. Fern was at class then would be gone until all hours as she had no classes on Fridays. Dara was gone, and stillness replaced the constant soundtrack of her breakups and makeups with Hivan.
For the first time in months, I had a quiet evening to myself.
I would not think about Greg.
I would not think about Greg.
I would not think about Greg…
I wished I could talk to my sister.
I decided to take a nap.
***
I was woken up by a knock on the door. My eyes were blurry, unfocused, as I squinted at my nightstand. When it finally came into view, my alarm clock told me it was just past 11:30 p.m. I sat up, rubbing my eyelids, and staggered to a standing position.
“Who is it?” I called, giving myself a moment to find my balance, my voice raspy with sleep.
“How is it possible that you’ve never been kissed?”
I sucked in a breath, suddenly quite awake, and I’m sure my heart stopped.
It was Greg’s voice, and he sounded…different. His accent was thicker, more pronounced, though his speech was slower.
“Fiona?” he called when I remained silent.