by S. E. Law
“Definitely not,” my dad says, pulling a face at that information. “I’ll leave that to you. But let me know if you need anything.”
He leaves, and I rub at a suddenly tense muscle between my shoulders. Rick still has no idea that I’ve spent so many nights this summer with his best friend. I would probably be disowned if he found out.
At least he’s not likely to find out now that it’s over…
I can’t help it: I allow myself to cry for just a minute, permitting a few silent tears to roll down my face. I grab Annabelle back out of the box and clutch her to my chest, trying to find a modicum of comfort in these soon-to-be unknown circumstances.
I’ve always known that I had a crush on Christopher. But I never expected to fall in love with him.
It’s not just the physical intimacy. It’s the way he looks at me while we’re in bed together, as if he’s never seen someone so beautiful. It’s the way he simultaneously is always in charge and also makes me feel like his equal, not just his friend’s kid. It’s the way he watches my dumb movies, laughs at my dumb jokes, and holds my hand while we’re just sitting on the couch together. All of these things and so many more combine to make Christopher the man of my dreams.
I gingerly place Annabelle back in the box, wiping my tears away with my sleeve. I don’t have time to mourn. My new life is beginning, and I need to face it bravely. For my dad’s sake, if not my own.
Grabbing my phone, I turn up some feel-good music, trying to elevate my mood along with it. I continue slowly packing up the remaining odds and ends, willing my thoughts into silence. Despite my efforts, my inner monologue periodically pipes up. Christopher loves this top. Christopher likes this painting. Christopher read this book, too.
“Shut up, brain,” I mutter to myself, stuffing some papers on my desk into a folder. I open the top drawer to empty its contents and stop cold.
I wrote the letter a few days ago, put it in an unsealed envelope, and forgot about it. Now, I withdraw it from the drawer with trembling fingers. Swallowing hard, I remove the letter from the envelope and read the first few lines before I can stop myself.
Dear Christopher, it reads. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you this in person, and texting or emailing felt too impersonal. I just had to let you know that over the course of the summer, I have fallen deeply, unmistakably in love with you. I…
I hurriedly stuff it back into the envelope, confident that if I read anymore, I’d get tear stains on the paper. I take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, to steady myself. This letter may be the most important thing I’ve ever written, or the stupidest. I can’t decide which.
All I know is that I have to send it, no matter the consequences.
I place the envelope in a folder and carefully pack it away. I can’t send it now and risk my dad seeing it in the mailbox. It’ll be safer to send as soon as I get to school.
I will myself to continue packing, but my mind remains firmly on the letter. What will Christopher’s reaction be? There are several different possible outcomes, I muse as I fold sweaters and push them into a box. He could be delighted and confess his mutual feelings for me. He could feel sorry for me, still regarding me only as a summer fling, his friend’s bratty daughter who needed babysitting while her dad was at work. He could be embarrassed for me because I developed these feelings for someone who doesn’t return them. Maybe he would even be angry, for some reason--maybe because I’d be betraying my father even further. Or he could completely ignore the letter, and I’d never know his emotions.
I press my hands to my stomach, feeling suddenly queasy. Am I being an idiot, a little girl who still believes in fairytales and happily-ever-afters? Could Christopher and I even have a chance at a real future together?
“You ready to go, Bails?” my dad asks, startling me from my thoughts.
I look around my bare room as if seeing it for the first time. Sorrow fills my heart but then I take a deep breath.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I guess so.”
“So, kiddo,” my dad asks jovially. “You excited for your new adventure?”
I roll down the passenger side window and stick my arm out of the car, allowing the warm breeze to cascade through my splayed fingers.
“Yeah,” I say absently. My mind is still on the letter, which I plan to send as soon as I get to my dorm.
My dad, driving a car packed to the brim with my belongings, smiles at me, and I will myself to smile back. His happiness radiates from him like sunlight. I know how proud of me he is for going off to college. Would he still be proud if he knew what I’d been doing the past several months--if he knew who was occupying my every thought?
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do?” Rick asks.
Cry. Send the letter. Cry some more.
“Probably just unpack,” I say, watching out the window as other cars merge onto the highway. “Maybe take a nap.”
“I hope your bed is comfortable,” my dad says. “Those twin-extra-longs can be pretty unforgiving.”
“Great,” I murmur.
“You okay, kiddo?” my dad asks. Rick reaches over to grab my hand, and I let him, promising myself that I won’t start to cry.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, and myself. “Just a little nervous. That’s all.”
“You have nothing to be worried about. You’re a smart, kind, and capable young woman. I’m sure you’ll do well in your classes and make lots of friends right away. Who knows?” my dad says, his tone suddenly sly. “Maybe you’ll even find a boyfriend.”
I wince as invisibly as possible and pull my hand away, but not before giving his a squeeze.
“That’s your nightmare, isn’t it?” I say.
“I just want you to be happy, that’s all,” my dad says, smiling at me. “And I hate to say it, honey, but no boyfriend of yours can be worse than that Donnie kid.”
I laugh, harder than I expect to, and genuinely return my dad’s smile.
“Hey, he wasn’t that bad,” I protest, and when my dad snorts in disbelief, I laugh even harder. Somehow, Rick always knows what to say to get me out of a funk.
But the cloud over my head keeps drizzling, and soon I’m staring out the window again with my arms wrapped around myself. We’ll be arriving at my new home any minute now. I wonder what Christopher is doing right now. I wonder if he misses me. I wonder if he cares.
“What are you going to do when you go home without me?” I ask my dad to distract myself.
“Oh, you know. I’ll sit in your room and miss you,” he says, and nudges me playfully in the side. “Nah, Chris is coming over later with a bottle of whiskey. I think we’re both going to miss you being around.”
My heart somehow leaps and sinks simultaneously, and as we pull into the circular driveway in front of my dorm, I press my fist to my mouth to keep myself from saying anything.
If only my dad knew.
One good thing happens though. As we pull up in front of the dorm, my friend Kara happens to arrive at exactly the same time. She bounces over, all bright and bubbly, before skidding to a halt when she sees my dad.
“Hi, Bailey,” she says. “Hi Mr. Prescott.”
My dad, who is usually a friendly guy, says hi but then looks away with harsh streaks on his cheekbones. I look at him, perplexed. Usually, Rick is an outgoing, gregarious person. He has to be because he works with people as part of his job. As an ER doctor, he says that maintaining a positive demeanor is almost more important than any medical advice he gives.
“Are you ready to start college?” my friend asks. Kara is as beautiful as ever, with her long blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. She’s wearing short-shorts and a tiny t-shirt, which highlight her perfect figure.
“Yeah, I am,” I say, even if I’m lying through my teeth. “Thanks for dropping me off, Dad,” I say. “I’m going to go with Kara to get the keys to my new dorm room. Are you going to wait here?”
My father nods, and for the second time, I
notice a darkened flush across his cheekbones.
“Sure,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against our car. “I’ll be right here.”
Kara and I turn to go, to look for the housing office. As we begin walking, I notice that Kara’s looking a little flushed too. Her cheeks are pink and there’s a sparkle to her eye.
“Is it hot today?” I ask.
She shoots me a look.
“No. Why?”
I shrug.
“Well, you just look a little overheated. My dad back there did too.”
She brightens.
“Oh, he did?”
I nod.
“Yeah, but maybe it’s my imagination,” I add morosely. “Everything’s changing so fast that maybe I’m just imagining things. I don’t know.”
But Kara looks happy, and a secret smile creeps across her face.
“He did, huh?” she asks herself. “That’s nice to know.”
I stare at her.
“Are you okay?”
That snaps Kara back to the present, and she straightens with a laugh, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder.
“Ignore me,” she says. “I’m just as confused about the college thing as you. I swore to myself I was going to leave my stuffed animals at home, but instead I brought all three: Mr. Beetle, Jemima Puddleduck, and Rufus will be rooming with us this year.”
With that, I giggle too.
“That’s okay, I brought a couple of my childhood toys as well,” I admit. “But we’re in this together, right?”
Kara turns and smiles at me.
“Of course. I have your back, Bailey. The same way I know you have mine.”
At that moment, we locate the housing office and open the door to step inside. But my thoughts churn: if Kara knew what I was really doing this summer, not to mention whom I was doing it with, would she still want to be my friend?
9
Bailey
I’m sinking into sleep when my phone rings.
“Bails!” Kara sings into my unprepared eardrum. “We’re going out tonight! I’ll be at your room in thirty seconds!”
It turns out that Kara and I aren’t roommates. I thought we were slated to live together, but instead, there was a snafu at the housing office and we were both paired with other girls.
“Oh, no, not tonight,” I groan, holding the phone away from my ear.
“Yes, tonight!” she cajoles gently. “I know you’re sad, but you’ve been sad for a long time now. It’s time to get out of your funk right now!”
I heave a sigh, rubbing my closed eyelids. Kara doesn’t know the full truth of my situation. I told her that I had a summer romance, but stretched the tale by saying it was a guy from out of town. She has no idea that the true object of my affection is Chris. Still, what she does know--what I know most painfully of all--is that I sent my letter proclaiming my love…
… and heard nothing back.
Nothing. Not a word. Not even a “Sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.” I checked my mail every single day for weeks, hoping against hope that something from Christopher arrived for me. I spoke to my dad on the phone, praying that maybe he would say something about his friend that would shed some light on this situation. Nothing. I received no answers, only hurt.
Since then, I’ve existed in a fog. I go to my classes and turn in my homework on time. Other than that, I don’t do much besides take several naps a day, hoping to escape my reality. Sometimes I completely break down in the shower, sobbing into my hands as tears and water rivulet down my face. I’ve never experienced pain like this. Even my parents’ divorce didn’t hit me this hard.
“Kara,” I say finally, forcing myself to come back to the present moment. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling well enough to be social. You should go with Melanie.” Melanie is her roommate and is always ready to party.
“Oh, Melanie’s coming, don’t worry. But I specifically want you! And, spoiler alert…”
I hear a sharp series of knocks on my dorm room door.
“...I’m already here.”
“Damn it, Kara,” I moan halfheartedly, but she’s already hung up. I could be upset at my friend’s persistence, but I know she means it out of love, and probably out of concern as well. In all our years of friendship, I’ve never been this depressed, nor this out of touch with reality. If she were behaving the way I’ve been, I’d be worried, too. I’m just unsure if a college party is the kind of cure I need.
“Bails!” Kara yells from beyond my locked door. “I know you’re inside!”
I slowly climb out of bed, observing the mess that clutters my half of the dorm room. My roommate is obsessively tidy and doesn’t spend much time in our room--I’m sure she disapproves of my lethargy. As I pass the mirror, I recoil, barely recognizing myself. My hair has been an unruly nest of curls for days. I’m still wearing the same pajamas I’ve worn for nearly a week. Great grey-blue bags sag under my eyes, which are dull and bloodshot from crying.
“Kara,” I say as I open my door, “I really don’t think I can do this.”
My best friend recoils at the sight of me. She, of course, looks perfect--blonde hair curling gently past her shoulders, makeup expertly applied to accentuate the blue of her eyes, outfit trendy and revealing enough to entice any collegiate male. She’s armed with a curling iron and her entire makeup kit. The woman means business.
“You look awful,” she says lovingly, and pulls me into her embrace. I lean my head on her shoulder, suddenly glad for her very perfumed presence. Then, I remember her mission, and draw away from her arms.
“Can’t we just stay in?” I plead. “We can go to the kitchen and bake cookies and watch a terrible movie, instead of being surrounded by the drunken masses.”
“As fun as that sounds,” she says, “I didn’t spend forty-five minutes doing my hair to stay in. C’mon, sweetie. Don’t you want to do something fun?”
Not really, I think. But Kara is so eager, and I’m half worried that she will bodily drag me out of the room if I don’t agree. “Fine,” I sigh. “But I won’t stay anywhere more than an hour.”
“We’ll see about that!” Kara crows in victory, and ushers me back into the room.
First, like the true friend she is, she helps me clean up, making my bed and throwing away days’ worth of trash and takeout containers. Then, Kara sits me down in front of the full-length mirror. I watch almost in awe as she gently untangles my hair, touching up a few strands with the curling iron until it’s restored to a voluminous, glossy mane of curls. Then, she turns me away from the mirror as she applies my makeup. I wince as she pokes me in the eye with the mascara wand, but otherwise, it’s a painless process.
When she turns me back round, I struggle to restrain a gasp. I don’t often wear heavy makeup because I’m terrible when it comes to cosmetics, but with Kara’s flawless touch, I could be a model. My brown eyes are smoked out with a heavy wing; my lips have been glossed into a pale pink pout. She even somehow sculpted my cheekbones and nose, highlighting and contouring me into an ethereal version of myself.
“Kara, you’re a genius!” I hug her and she squeezes me back tightly.
“I try,” she says with a gentle smile. “Now pick out something hot to wear and let’s go!”
Ten minutes later, in a short red dress and cute flats, I’m being led by the hand across our sprawling campus. Small crowds of giggling students stagger past, reeking of cheap wine and bottom-shelf booze. It’s a beautiful night; the moon is almost full, illuminating our way, and the air is still and warm. I breathe in the scent of wildflowers and remind myself that outside air is superior to the stale air conditioning of my room.
As we walk up the sidewalk to one of the frat houses, I suddenly go cold all over: I remember that this dress is one of Christopher’s favorites.
“Kara, I think I need to go home,” I say uneasily. I smooth invisible wrinkles from the dress, remembering Christopher slowly taking it off of me while pressing kisses onto m
y exposed skin as he went. I feel dizzy.
“Come on, Bails,” Kara encourages, holding both of my hands in hers. “You’ve made it this far. Don’t let some random summer romance ruin your life. You’re better than that.”
Christopher Maddox is definitely not a stupid boy, I think in protest, but suddenly I’m being pulled into the frat house, and I’m unable to think straight anymore.
I’ve never seen so much activity in such a chaotic space. Hoards of students I don’t recognize are clumped together, drinking, talking, laughing, and flirting. Music thumps from several huge speakers, reverberating throughout the entire house. Alcohol is everywhere: in cups, in kegs, sloshed onto the floor, and spilled on the furniture. I’m suddenly grateful for Christopher letting me drink wine with him; otherwise, I’d be completely unprepared.
Kara’s roommate Melanie yells an indiscernible greeting from the kitchen. We snake our way past several making-out couples to greet her. She’s talking to a tall guy with green eyes, and he smiles at me as we approach. Surprised, I blink at him but manage to return the gesture.
“So glad y’all made it here!” Melanie squeals, sloppily kissing both me and Kara on the cheek. Melanie is the quintessential southern belle, with the musical drawl to prove it. “This is Kevin,” she says, gesturing to the green-eyed boy next to her. “Kara, won’t you come with me to grab another drink?”
Just like that, they’re gone, and I realize abruptly that this has been a set-up.
Kevin and I eye each other awkwardly, and I try not to groan. Kara must have told Melanie that I’ve been sad about a failed relationship, and they’ve made it their personal mission to find me someone else. Kevin is cute enough, but I know nothing about him, and the thought of being interested in anyone besides Chris makes me ill. Still, I decide to be brave since I’m already here.
“Well, that was awkward,” I say, figuring that acknowledging the situation is better than ignoring it.
Thankfully, he laughs.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to say it.” Kevin grins at me; his smile is endearingly lopsided. I warm up to him the tiniest bit.