I read over my essay one more time and decided it wasn’t going to get any better. Nobody else had turned in their test yet, and I didn’t want to be the first, so instead of rushing to the front of the room, I pulled out a piece of scratch paper and jotted down a few notes on a subject even more complex than fault lines and tectonic plates: Zach Hutchison.
Maybe I’m just crushing on Zach because he’s hot and it’s been way too long since I’ve gotten any action.
Could be. But there was more to him than that. He seemed...thoughtful. Cascade was too small to have fraternities, but most guys on campus acted like stereotypical frat boys anyway and did their best to treat women like pieces of meat. Zach seemed different. He spoke softly. He didn’t rake his eyes over other women while talking to me. He dressed well, at least in a
Mad Men
kind of way.
On the other hand, Evan had seemed like a nice guy too. I mean, in retrospect there were signs I missed. He called me “babe,” and when I tried to explain to him that this was
far
from my preferred pet name, he acted like I was joking. When we were hanging out his male friends, sometimes I’d say something and he’d give them a look, like,
Girls. Am I right?
But he also told me he loved me every day, and gave me flowers just because, and everything seemed okay until he gave me the ultimate fuck-you (or should I say the ultimate fuck-Ashley) on my birthday.
But this was all mental gymnastics. It was the physical ones that were giving me all sorts of feels. If I’d been wearing my swim timer in the study room and his START at the second Zach and I first kissed, it couldn’t have been more than three minutes, and no clothing came off, but it had made every cell in my body vibrate. I’d felt aroused in places I wasn’t used to, like the back of my neck. Even now, thinking back over it, I realized I had my legs crossed and was squeezing my thighs together. Whatever that was, in the library, I wanted more of it. Lots more.
Mercifully, the bell rang, and I went down from to submit my test. Zach fell in beside me and whispered, “Good morning.” I almost collapsed. Out in the hall, next to the vending machine, he asked me how the test went and said, “Want to discuss it over some caffeinated sludge? I’m trying to build up a tolerance for the stuff.”
I looked at my watch. “Sorry, I can’t, I need to get to my shift at the Shark. Meet up after?”
“I have class until 4:30, and then tonight I’m heading home for the weekend. Dinner?”
I hadn’t lied to Zach, exactly. I
did
have a shift to work, but it didn’t start for another hour. Instead, I read an out-of-date copy of
People
in the clinic waiting room and learned the names of all of Brangelina’s kids as of 2013. I forgot them as I got my cheek swabbed and peed in a cup, then crossed the lobby to the resource center proper, where my first appointment was with Shannon, a first-year with a common question.
“I have a crush on my professor,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t, but...I tried to ignore it, and it just keeps getting worse.”
“That’s really common,” I assured her. “There’s nothing wrong with having a crush, but acting on it can be serious. Have you flirted with him?”
“Her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry I assumed.” I pulled a brochure off the shelf. “This outlines school policy on sexual relationships between faculty and students, but as I’m sure you already know, it basically just says don’t do it.”
“I know that!” said Shannon. “I didn’t come here to be lectured.” She started to cry.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax. I was bringing my own stress into the counseling office, and that wasn’t fair. “Hey, it’s okay,” I said, handing her a tissue.
“I just want to know how to make this go away.”
“Shannon, I think everyone has had a crush on their professor at some point. I certainly have.” Ah, Professor Cheng, English comp. I wish I could have spent every lecture sitting on his lap.
“But I’ve never had a crush on a woman before!” She leaned against her hand, looking defeated.
“Oh, okay. Well, that’s normal, too.”
After I’d talked Shannon down, I went by the mailbox to see if I had any fat envelopes from Harvard. Nothing yet. It was only 3:30, so Zach was still in class, and I wasn’t in the mood for a swim. I thought about swinging by Sierra’s room, but if she was free, she was probably naked with Trevor. So I texted Jillian.
Me: How was the test?
Jillian: ROCKS ARE HARD
Me: I know. Wanna get coffee?
Jillian: Meet you at Grounds Keeper?
Jillian stepped up to the counter in front of me and said, “Depth Charge with an extra shot, please.”
I laughed. “Let me guess. You’re from Seattle? Portland?”
“Ashland,” she said. “But I didn’t really drink coffee until I started here, and now I drink
all
the coffee.”
“So, can I ask you a woman-to-woman question?”
Jillian sat up straight. “Of course. What’s up?”
“It’s about Zach.”
She smiled. “You and him are...right?”
I shook my head. “I mean, maybe. I don’t know. That’s the question. I’m into him, and I think he’s into me, but...it’s complicated.”
Jillian pulled out the pencil that was holding her bun in place, reworked the bun, and reinserted the pencil. She had a studious look that made her seem immediately trustworthy. “Well, what’s so complicated?”
“I want to hook up with him. God, I want to so bad. But I’ve never hooked up with anyone before, really, and I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple, and the year’s going to be over in a few months, and we’re seniors, and....”
“Honestly, Brooke, I can’t believe you’re coming to me for advice,” said Jillian. “I’m a freshman who doesn’t know what she’s doing, and you’re so
together.
”
I snorted with laughter. “Jillian, I’m as together as Affleck and J.Lo. So what do you think?”
She pulled her pencil out of her hair again, leaving it in an unruly haystack, and tapped the eraser end on the table. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I know I’m young and naive and I’m supposed to believe in this love-conquers-all BS, but I had a serious boyfriend in high school, and when we broke up at the end of last year, it
sucked.
”
“So, what? You wish you never went out with anyone in high school because someday you were going to go to college? Should I wait until after grad school too?”
Jillian sighed. “I don’t know. But it sounds like your heart is saying one thing and your head is saying another, right?”
“I don’t know if I’d say it so poetically, but yeah. Also, I’m not sure if it’s my heart, exactly.” I gestured downward, and Jillian laughed.
“Sometimes your head is right. You can meet a great person but if the timing is off, it’s not going to work. Maybe if you want to hook up, you should hook up with someone you don’t care so much about.”
I nodded. “How did you get so smart, first-year?”
“I did lots of stupid shit in high school.”
That settled it. Little first-year Jillian was a smart cookie. At some point I wanted to get the full story on her high school fuck-ups. Maybe it would put the spectacular flameout of my relationship with Evan in perspective.
But probably not.
Anyway, it was time to take this Zach Hutchison problem, stuff it into a briefcase, and make it go away. Wait, that makes it sound like I was planning to murder him. While that would be convenient, Harvard tends to shy away from admitting convicted killers, unless their parents are
really
loaded. Which is an advantage I don’t have. No, Jillian was right. My body was telling me I needed sex. That was fine. Healthy, even. But it didn’t have to be with Mr. Complicated. I could wrangle some eager first-year back to my room, do him, and send him back out into the cold. People did it all the time. And then I could go to study group and sit next to Zach without feeling inconveniently tingly. All over.
It was a great plan, and I could get the trickiest part out of the way right now.
I strode across the quad toward the dining hall, chest out, backpack slung proudly over my shoulders. I breezed through the dinner line (the roast chicken didn’t look too unspeakable) and balanced my tray in both hands while looking around for Zach. There he was, in the corner near the frozen yogurt machine. He waved me over.
“Hi,” I said, and sat down across from him. This had to be done in a businesslike way. It wasn’t a breakup, obviously. Two people who have basically kissed once and have never been on a date—unless you count arguing about coffee drinks in the student union as a date—can’t break up. The fact that Zach was looking particularly edible tonight wasn’t going to help. The collar of his dress shirt was open two buttons, and I could see a wisp of chest hair. Instantly, my mind went back to that night at the pool, when he was standing so close to me that I could feel the heat radiating off his well-exercised body. (I edited Ashley’s presence out of the memory.)
“I’ve been thinking,” said Zach, which threw me, because those were the exact words I was going to start with. “I thought we studied pretty well for the first exam, but it was still hard.”
“Was that studying?”
“Well, we studied well most of the time. With chaperones present, at least.” Great. This wasn’t helping. “I think if we got together for an extra hour a week to do flash cards and review the handouts, we could really nail the next one.” He looked at me and smiled. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Zach, I can’t. I mean, I can study with you, but I can’t...when we kissed, that was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.”
He set down his fork. “Thanks a lot. And thank you for announcing in front of the whole dining hall that kissing me ruined your week.”
I lowered my voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”
“Brooke,
you
kissed
me
. You’ve explained to me over and over that you’re not available, and I’ve done nothing but respect that, until you made it very clear that you wanted to kiss me, and I would have been crazy to say no to that. But I told you, I don’t play games, and it seems like you’re playing some kind of game with yourself, and it’s not a lot of fun for me.” He paused and chewed a bite of salad. “The kissing part was fun, though.”
“You’re not listening to me,” I said. I jammed my fork into the piece of chicken. “There are like ten reasons we shouldn’t be together.”
“So you keep saying.” Zach stroked his beard. “Look, I’m from Cutlip, Washington. The way people date around here is usually just, ‘I like you. Wanna go out?’ I’m not into Seattle-style courtship any more than I’m into Seattle-style coffee.”
“Fine.” Zach was basically agreeing with me. So why was I so angry with him? I looked around the dining hall. Were people looking our way or was I just imagining it? “You don’t have to play this game any more, because we’re done.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, if that’s what you want.”
“It is!” I stood up, grabbed my tray, and turned my back on Zach Hutchison. I slammed the tray into the return and separated out my compostables with as much righteous anger as possible. I made it just in time: the tears didn’t start until I was out the door.
When I got back to the dorm, I grabbed my towel and headed across the hall to the bathroom. I took off my clothes and stood under the water, as hot as I could stand it.
I knew I’d done the right thing. I knew it. I just had to convince some stupid, lust-driven corner of my brain. So I turned the faucet until the water ran cold. Did cold showers even work? My nipples hardened up under the freezing spray, and I yelped. Soon, though, my skin adapted to the temperature, and I just stood there, cold and angry and confused and horny. Cold showers: debunked!
Well, I wasn’t sure what to do about angry and confused, but there were ways to deal with the first and last problems on the list. I turned the temperature back up until I felt less like an ice cube, then looked both ways before dashing across the hall in my towel. Plenty of women in my hall thought nothing of parading around in a towel or less. (No one had actually seen McKenzie go to class in a bra and panties, but it wouldn’t have surprised anyone, either.) I didn’t judge them for it, but I had a sense of modesty.
I locked my door, dropped the towel, and climbed into bed naked. The sheets were smooth and pleasantly cool against my skin. I ran my hands over my breasts, and when my nipples rose to attention again, I massaged them with my thumbs. Usually I masturbate in the dark, at bedtime, with my t-shirt and underwear on, so doing it completely naked, with the lights on, my hair still wet from the shower, felt deliciously naughty. I kept one hand on my boob and slid the other down to my pussy. God, I was wet.
I didn’t even try to convince myself that I wasn’t thinking about Zach. I shut my eyes and imagined walking in on him in the locker room at the pool, just as he slid his Speedo off. My fingers moved over my clit. This was going to be a fast one. I rolled over onto my stomach so I could grind against my hand, and imagined Zach grinding against me. I was into the final approach when someone knocked on the door. I stopped rubbing and held still, hoping they would go away, but the knock came again, louder. “Brooke, are you there? It’s Zach. You left your backpack at the dining hall.”
Shit! I couldn’t believe I’d done something so stupid. I needed that backpack. Tonight. I thought about asking him to leave it in the hall, but that seemed weird. So I sighed, yelled, “Just a minute!” and threw on a t-shirt and pajama bottoms.