Dallas (Time for Tammy #1) (2 page)

The whistle blew and we were off. I could barely force my legs to strut across the path as the one hundred-some students of Alpha complex cheered us on. Eric draped his arm over my shoulders to help coordinate our movement, which caused me to trip over a patch of grass and nearly fall over. Eric tightened his arm around me in response.

I didn’t know which was sadder: the fact that it was my first day of college and having someone put his arm around me was the furthest I’d ever gone with a guy—
did an arm-around count as a ‘base’?
Or the fact that these thoughts crowding my head lead to me stumble, again. Even Eric couldn’t right me this time and we ended up falling in the dirt. Not on our asses, as Eric had joked, but it was just as well. The jocks from Delta complex won, of course, but even the hippies from Kappa beat us. Eric was a good sport about it, though. After Cornrows untied our bandana, he helped me off of the ground and then told me, “See you around, Tammy.”

I guess that meant the Fun Olympics weren’t so bad after all.
Not only did I finally meet someone new, but I had found my first college crush to boot.

That night our complex held a dance in yet another attempt to get freshmen to mingle. My one roommate was going out with her parents, and I wasn’t sure where the other one had gone, so I got dressed in my room alone. All of the rooms Eckhart College—the small liberal arts school I had chosen for its marine biology program—were essentially the same: beige cinderblock squares. They were only slightly larger than what you find on the university campus my twin sister was attending but at least the new maroon carpeting and wooden furniture kept them from feeling too mental hospital-ish. The dorms themselves were glass-fronted, two-floored buildings. Each floor’s hallways wrapped around nine rooms. My room was the middle of one hallway, conveniently across from the centrally-located bathroom.

I jumped down from my top bunk, avoiding the blue flowered quilt spread carefully on Linda’s bed directly below mine. I hesitated and then pulled my fish-printed bedspread over my purple sheets so that my bed appeared somewhat neat. I walked to the stereo system, ducking beneath LaVerne’s yellow-flowered duvet cover. The stereo, along with other necessities—the fridge, microwave, and TV—were located under LaVerne’s vaulted bunk. I picked up a couple of stray yellow throw pillows and placed them back on LaVerne’s bed before sliding my only CD—Madonna’s Immaculate Collection, because, let’s be honest, it’s really the only CD worth having—into LaVerne’s sound system. I tried to psyche myself up. My old self—“Tamara” from Small Town Michigan—would have forgone the party for intellectual conversation over coffee and pie, much to the chagrin of my sister Corrie. But my wanna-be new personality was forcing “Tammy” to take stock of her closet. I had left all of my plaid shirts and cardigans at home and spent the summer working in my dad’s office in order to afford sundresses and tank-tops. The party was called “Alpha Tropics,” but I didn’t really have any Hawaiian shirts or dresses, so I put on a pair of jean shorts and a knitted tank-top. I went over to my mirror and frowned. The shorts were acceptable, but my arms looked flabby and pale.
I suppose answering phones and filing papers weren’t exactly the key to a good tan.
I settled on inserting a white T-shirt underneath the tank-top.

I chose to put my make-up on in my room rather than the all-together-too-bright lights of the bathroom as those fluorescents could be a harsh blow to the ego. Make-up applied, I moved on to my hair, the feature that had always been the bane of my existence. Corrie and I were fraternal twins—she was blessed with my mother’s straight, shiny light brown hair that naturally took on blonde highlights in the summer. I must have gotten hair from someone on my dad’s side: dark brown and mostly curly, although there were a few pieces, notably by my ears, that refused to do anything but hang limp. I tackled them now with a curling iron. The bottom of my shoulder-length hair responded nicely, but the humidity was causing the top of it to bloat outward. The newly curled tresses were landing every which way no matter how many times I tried to smooth them down. I thought about putting my hair up, but wearing a ponytail for too long caused me to get migraines.
I guess having ‘Big Hair,’ is just another thing I’ll have to get used to
. I switched off the curling iron and sat on my bed, gazing around the room.

I was lucky (unlucky?) to have a triple dorm room, which—I found out later—was only slightly wider than a double, and not half-again as big the way you’d think it would be to accommodate three people. My roommates were both out. I had spoken to them briefly over the summer as we planned on what each would contribute to the room. LaVerne had called even before the letter with my dorm information arrived. We didn’t exchange the niceties you would think future roommates and best friends would: what’s your hometown like, how big was your graduating class, which friends are you most afraid to leave, etc.

Instead, LaVerne went on to more or less assign me to bring the TV while she would supply the fridge and stereo, and then went on to say that Linda would bring the VCR.

“Who?” I asked.

“Linda. Our other roommate.” And that was how she broke the news that there would a third girl sharing our room.

A week later, I finally received the letter confirming that I indeed had two roommates: LaVerne Van Arden from New Haven, Connecticut and Linda Kingsley from St. Paul, Minnesota. Two weeks before I left for Florida, I finally worked up the courage to call Linda.

“Hello?” the woman who answered the phone had a heavy Fargo-esque accent.

“Is Linda there?”

“May I tell her who is calling?”

“This is Tamara…”

“Oh,” the simple word brought to mind Minnesotans in heavy down coats with faux fur hoodies over their heads. “You’re Linda’s other roommate. Aren’t you
so
excited for college?”

“Yes ma’am. I am.” I said hesitantly. I was prepared to speak to Linda about whether her VCR would support my Magnavox TV hook-up, not to have a moving-into-college-psyching-up talk with whom I presumed was her mother. After a few other niceties, Linda was finally put on the phone. Her hesitant tone did not imply she was, to put in the words of her mother, “so excited for college,” but she did confirm the VCR would be compatible with my TV.

“So, I guess I’ll see you on move-in day,” I told her as a way of signing-off.

“All-righty then!” Linda replied.

Exactly at seven I headed out of my dorm. The sun still shined as bright then as it did during midday, and my body had to adjust to coming from the air conditioned dorm to the outside heat. I glanced around the courtyard. The four dorms of the complex were arranged in a sort-of deformed diamond with a lounge and computer lab in the middle. There were seven such communes—an ample metaphor considering the buildings themselves were 60’s relics—on campus. Each was named after a letter in the Greek Alphabet, and each had its own stereotype, possibly to make up for Eckhart’s long ago dismissal of sororities and fraternities. Throughout the twenty-eight dorms, two were declared to be “Substance Free,” meaning alcohol and drugs were specifically banned from these dorms. Our dorm, Gandhi, was one of them. That, combined with the fact that Gandhi was also one of the few single-sex ones, contributed to the dubious nickname “The Virgin Vault.” The other dorm on our side of the computer lab also happened to be girls only, which meant the girl-to-guy ratio was much higher in Alpha than in other places on campus.

Only a handful of people milled about in the courtyard in front of the computer lab. Since I didn’t recognize any of them, I trudged back to my dorm room.

“Now what?” I asked myself. My TV hadn’t been hooked up yet, and LaVerne hadn’t instructed either of us to bring a computer. I lost myself in a book for another hour before I started to hear the sounds of a party becoming full-swing. I debated avoiding the party altogether and staying in to read all night. As I picked up my book, I could hear my twin sister’s voice calling me lame. “You’re like, the Queen of the Nerds,” Corrie would tell me if she were here, watching me grasp the novel in my hand as I slipped off my shoes. I remembered my resolve to not put up the same walls I had erected in high school after Corrie and Kellen started dating. I put the book back on my desk and slid the straps of my sandals back over my ankles as I steeled myself to go back out and try to meet new people.

The glass front of the dorm confirmed there were quite a few more people out there than last time. I pushed open the heavy outside door and walked out. I could feel my face heat up and had to fight my instincts to run back inside before the door shut behind me. It must have been my imagination, but it felt like everyone outside was staring at me, sizing me up, like there was a giant sign pointed at me declaring I didn’t know anyone.

I headed to the refreshment table in order to have a purpose for being outside. Biting into a stale brownie, I glanced around the court. The unfamiliar landscape was dotted with unfamiliar bodies. Most of the guys in my small town Michigan high school wore plaid shirts with hoodies and Vans or Converse low-tops. The guys surrounding me now were outfitted in T’s with the sleeves cut out and sandals with the logo REEF printed across the straps. Instead of ball caps they wore flat hats with wide brims, the kind fishermen wore to keep the sun off their necks. They had strange accents and called pop “soda.” The girls wore sundresses or tops similar to mine, but without the T-shirt underneath—which was probably a good idea as I could now feel the sweat pool underneath my arms. Most of the girls had also figured out how to combat the humidity as their long smooth locks tumbled gracefully over the shoulders without a hint of frizz. Either that or they possessed tamer hair than me.

I sipped my punch as I debated whether or not to join one of the clusters of co-eds scattered throughout the complex.
But if I joined them, what would be my opening line
? I was contemplating, “What state are you from?” when I spotted a familiar face. Eric! He stood next to a guy who was a blonder, frecklier version of himself. Eric lurched forward in recognition while his companion ogled a girl in a short skirt and platform sandals. I rubbed my thumb across my lower lip as Eric approached.
How was it my lips were always dry despite 100% humidity?

“Hey, don’t I know you?” Eric slurred as he got within earshot.

“We met this morning.”

“Yeah.” He raised his arm toward me as his body leaned backward. “You’re...” He did his best to right himself. “What’s your name again? ”

“You don’t remember?”

Eric wrinkled his face. “It’s Pam isn’t it?”

“Tammy.”

“Well, Tammy,” Eric said as his buddy gestured to him, “we’re going to get another drink. Do you want to come?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

“Whatever,” he replied. His companion managed to grab Eric before he teetered over.

They headed back to Prasch, the first dorm on the other side of the computer lab from Alpha. I must have sighed audibly as I watched Eric stagger up the steps because the red-haired girl standing next to me turned her head to see what I was staring at.

“He’s cute,” she offered.

“Yeah, but he’s wasted.”

She flopped down into a nearby chair. “You drink?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I mean, not right now. I’m trying a new beginning. You know?”

Only too well.
I sank into the chair across from the girl, grateful to have someone to talk to.

“It seems like everyone around here drinks,” she continued.

I shrugged. Truth be told, I had never touched a drop of alcohol in my life.

We watched the crowd in silence. Now that the girl had pointed it out, I could see a lot of my new schoolmates did indeed look drunk as they moshed to the band playing over the loudspeakers. They also looked like they were having a better time than I was. I had exhausted my supply of nerves working up the courage to speak to Eric and now I just felt like going back to my room and going to sleep. A few couples had formed, and one duo was making out in a darkened corner of the courtyard. I could feel the gap between myself and my new peers widen. I had never even kissed a guy, let alone found myself swapping spit with someone at a party. I tried not to let out another sigh as I realized, despite the fact that I had practically moved across the country and was determined to start fresh, I was still the same person inside.

“Hey. See the power cord over there?” the girl said abruptly. “Dare me to pull it out?”

I looked over to where she was pointing. “That’s the stereo cord. You’d stop the music if you pulled it out,” I told her in my best Nerd Queen voice.

“So?”

“So why would you want to do that? ”

The girl shook her head in annoyance, and then, having given me up as a coward and as likely to pull out the stereo cord as she was to go out and mingle, left me at the table.

Like high school, like college.

Chapter 2: Don't You AIM?

T
he next day was the first full day of classes. I had three that morning. “Western Heritage” was a required course for all freshmen. Eckhart’s 300 or so incoming freshmen were split between twelve professors, making each class size relatively small—which was one of the college’s biggest selling points, besides the weather and ocean-front views. No one from my dorm was in my Heritage class, but I recognized one or two from my complex. The professor seemed nice enough.

In contrast to my Heritage professor—who was still in possession of most of his hair and told us all to call him “Alan,”—the professor for my marine invertebrate lab requirement had to have been at least eighty and looked to be a marine invertebrate himself. “Look around at your peers,” he commanded us from behind the lectern.

I glanced around the nearly-f lecture hall. There had to be almost seventy of us.
So much for small class sizes.

“You are all here because this class acts as an intro to marine biology. However, most of you will not be graduating as marine biology majors. The majority of the people sitting in this room will not be continuing on in that tract after next year.” The professor stepped down from the dais to come closer to the edge of the stage. “In fact, most of you will be dropping this class before the end of the semester. Some of you will drop it by the end of today.” From my vantage point in the back of the room, it seemed he was not much taller than the podium behind him. “So… let’s weed out the easy ones. How many of you are here to be dolphin trainers?”