Authors: Autumn Doughton
“Aimee,” I say and take the small, pale hand she holds out to me. She has an awfully strong grip for someone so tiny.
Jodi grins—it stretches across her face like water over dried up sand and exposes a small gap between her two front teeth. “I know your name. Not only are you Mara’s little sister, but we have two classes together.”
“We do?”
Jodi laughs—it’s light and airy and reminds me of another girl’s laugh. “Yeah. Are you a Library Sciences major? Because you sure don’t look like one.”
I glance down at my khaki colored shorts and plain white tank top. If I don’t look like librarian material, then Jodi certainly doesn’t. With that nose stud and the mesh top and loose linen skirt she’s got on today, I think she’d look more at home in front of a pottery wheel than sitting next to me waiting for a lecture on archival access to start.
“Um, I don’t know yet. Technically I’m undecided but it’s a definite possibility. Or maybe English.” I give myself a little shake. “I’m a bibliophile.”
“Ditto.” Jodi lowers her pointy chin to her chest. “Look,” she says firmly, “I have a bit of what you might call ‘the sight,’ and it’s been pretty clear to me since the recruitment fair that you and I are going to wind up as friends so I think that we should both just go with it.”
The sight?
I’m not really sure what to say to that. I can’t tell if this girl is crazy, or on something, or being serious. Whichever way, I’m intrigued. I place my elbow on the armrest of my chair and lean back. “Okaaay…”
That’s all the encouragement that Jodi needs to be off. She tells me about her loser ex-boyfriend that showed up at her apartment last night and professed his undying love for her, and her straight-laced mother, who Jodi calls
confounding
, and the yeast infection that she had over the summer, and her thoughts on whether or not cats should be declawed.
Jodi is a sophomore. She’s also a Sagittarius who likes reptiles and thinks that Facebook is a tool of social destruction devised by Satan. She tells me that she’s only a member of Mara’s sorority because she’s a legacy and her mom made it clear that it was either join up or face the wrath of a thousand angry gods.
“They keep me around because of the legacy thing, b
ut I don’t participate unless I’m forced. I only went to the fair last week to freak the rest of the girls out.” She laughs. “You should have seen the horrified looks that they gave my clothes when I showed up at their precious glitter table. Priceless.”
By the time the class is over, my head is spinning and I feel slightly out of breath. Jodi is bobbing two steps behind me in the hall—still talking and seemingly unaware just how out of practice I am at this whole “friendship” thing.
“Okay, I added myself to your contacts so you’ve got my number now.” She hands me back my phone. “I’ll look into the tickets for that concert on Saturday and I’ll let you know. Do you want to get food first?”
I don’t even remember agreeing to go to a concert with her, but my coherent brain function is almost zilch at this point so I just nod my head.
“Great.
Chinese isn’t really my favorite but there is a place nearby. This one time I ate like eight egg rolls in one sitting and got so sick. Ugh. You don’t want the details. Just imagine Hiroshima contained in this stomach.” She waves her hand dramatically over her midsection. “Anyway, last weekend I discovered this
amaaahzing
little Indian place off of Connell Street if you’re up for it. They have a vegetable pakora that is like—no joke—to die for.”
“Um. That sounds great.” The truth is that I have no idea what pakora is.
“My next class is this way,” Jodi says, gesturing over her shoulder and taking a step in the opposite direction. “Just remember to text me when you get to the bar tonight.”
I frown and call after her. “Wait! What’s tonight?”
Jodi stops and turns back to me. “Remember that party I told you about?” She blinks and waves her hands dismissively. “I know, I know! It sounds like it’s going to be some horrible thing with a bunch of jerk-off athletes, but I went last year and I swear that it was a ton of fun. You’ll like it. We’ll dance!”
“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to mentally backtrack through our conversation.
Dance
? “I missed that earlier. Where is this party?”
“It’s at a little place called Dirty Ernie’s. Just look up the address and meet me there around ten.” She rocks back on her heels and spins away, calling back in a sing-songy voice, “And text me!”
***
I’m not going. Not a chance.
The only thing I have in mind for tonight is changing into a stretchy pair of yoga pants, eating a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner, and spending at least four solid hours vegged out on the couch watching bad reality TV. I figure that I’ll text Jodi in a little while and explain that something came up. Since she has
the sight
, she probably already knows that I’m going to back out.
When I walk in the townhouse, Mara is on the phone. The guilty shadows under her brow and the way she jumps when I close the front door give her away immediately.
I roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at her. This is our sister-speak for:
I know that you’re talking about me.
“Mom,” she mouths as she hands over her cell phone.
To prepare myself, I close my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose three times. It’s a technique my therapist suggested utilizing in stressful situations.
Feeling slightly calmed, I bring the phone to my ear and clear my throat. Before I’ve even managed to get out a greeting, my mother is already launching into her standard
I’m worried about you
spiel. This is what she’s like. I swear that every time we talk, my hackles go up and I start pacing and gnawing on my bottom lip.
“No, that’s not true,” I say, thrusting my hand in my hair and shooting Mara an I’m-going-to-kill-you look. At least she has the decency to stare at the floor in shame because it’s clear that she’s been reporting every single detail of my unsociable activity to our mother. “I’m doing fine and
no
I don’t need you to make an appointment for me.” I pluck at the bottom of my tank top and take a deep breath. “I’m actually going out with a friend tonight. Believe it or not, she’s one of Mara’s sorority sisters…”
That’s how I wind up sitting in the passenger seat of Mara’s car in a pair of tight jeans and more make-up than I’ve worn in over a year.
“You sure you’re going to be okay by yourself until Jodi gets here?” Mara asks as she pulls the car into a small gravel lot at nine thirty. She’s dropping me off on her way to meet up with her sorority sisters. “You can always come out with me instead.”
My stomach feels knotty, but I take a deep breath and open the door. “No, I’m good.”
“Wait. You have some frizzies.” Mara reaches over and runs her fingers over the hair that I’ve braided and draped over my shoulder. “And would you remind Jodi that if she misses more than three chapter meetings she’s going to have a fine? She’s not off to a great start.”
“Will do.” I flash my sister a wobbly smile and step out of the car into the balmy, humid night. The heavy Florida air clings to my skin like a slick layer of lotion that never seems to dry.
Dirty Ernie’s is a small brick-faced building stuck between a hipster record store and an artsy coffee shop that I vow to check out later. I slip the strap of my purse over my head so that it crosses my chest and I sidle my way through a few clusters of people standing out on the sidewalk smoking. A big, brawny bouncer checks my ID at the door and encircles my wrist with a neon green wristband that lets everyone know I’m a lame underclassman.
Inside, the bar is pretty much the way that I feared it would be—crowded and loud. I’m standing on my tiptoes searching the sea of heads for one with blue streaks when I’m jostled from behind.
“Oh shit!” Some guy turns
his upper body to face me. He pulls his dark eyebrows together and grabs at my bare arm with rough, calloused fingers. “I didn’t see you standing there. Sorry.”
I shirk from his touch and move away, weaving in and out of bodies in search of Jodi. I pass through a set of glass doors that lead to an open-air back porch. It’s hot and sticky but there are wide-bladed fans positioned on tall posts bordering the space and the music and crowd are less intense so at least I can breathe properly. I send Jodi a quick text, find an empty seat near the end of the bar, and ask the bartender for a soda and an order of fries from the kitchen.
Pulling my wallet out of the zippered pocket of the purse draped across my chest, I sort through my cards until I find what I’m looking for. I’m just about to hand over my debit card when an unfamiliar hand reaches over my shoulder and pushes money across the smooth surface of the bar. “Put that away. It’s on me.”
I twist on the barstool and look up and into a set of almond-shaped dark brown eyes. It takes a startled moment to process that this is the guy that bumped into me over by the front door. He’s leaning into my space, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Before I can even work up to a protest, he places a finger firmly against my lips and slurs, “Let me at least get you the drink and the fries as an apology for almost knocking you over back there.”
I wrench away from his fingers. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“I know that you’re fine, baby.”
Who calls a girl he hasn’t even met “baby”?
The needle on my ick radar just redlined. The guy leans in and his breath is warm and moist against my cheek. He smells sour—like a putrid mixture of beer and cheese. I push myself away, shuddering and scraping my fingernails along the bar top.
“Uhhh… Really, I appreciate the gesture, but it isn’t necessary.”
The guy steps forward, managing to position his body even closer to mine. “Well, this might shock you, but buying that drink was just a way to meet you and hopefully convince you to get out on the dance floor with me.” He winks seductively. “I’m Brady, by the way.”
The majority of the female population would probably find Brady cute with his glinting brown eyes and flirty grin. He’s working a boyish, obviously-want-to-get-in-your-panties angle that I guess works on your average college girl, just not on me. I may be out of practice in the dating scene, but I still remember how to read a guy like him and I’m not about to be a part of the one-night stand waiting at the end of Brady’s night.
I look back toward the interior of the bar where I can see the outline of bodies grinding to the fast-paced club music hammering through the speakers. This place is not my scene. Not by a long shot. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested in dancing with you or anyone else tonight.” I say in a clipped tone that I hope is polite but still laced with a definite rejection. An uncomfortable knot is starting to form in the pit of my stomach.
“Okay, okay,” he says, glancing down at my chest with unguarded interest. “I can see that you’re a little firecracker and this is going to be fun. Now,” his index finger trails a slimy path down my arm, “if you aren’t interested in dancing with me, why don’t you tell me what you are interested in? That would be a good place to begin.”
Trying to ignore the sexual undercurrent rolling through his words and the jitter of anxiety pumping through my veins, I rigidly pivot my body. “I’m getting less and less interested in this conversation,
Brady
. Does that clarify things for you?”
“Hell,” Brady whines playfully as he fingers my braided hair. “You’re killing me here! At least tell me your name.”
I open my mouth, fully intending to shell out a fake name to get this guy to leave me alone, when a firm grip falls against the nape of my neck. I jump at the contact and the unexpected jolt of warmth that shoots down my back.
Cole
My right hand is balled in a fist. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Back off, man. I think that she already told you that she wasn’t interested. Now you’re just pushing your luck and my sense of magnanimity,” I say, stepping forward and squaring my shoulders defensively.
I know how to be threatening when the situation calls for it and this is a situation that calls for it. Brady should be down on his pathetic knees thanking God that I don’t have his ass pinned to the ground right now. I saw the scared look on Aimee’s face and I heard exactly what she said to him and now a rush of hot blood is surging through my whole body. Maybe it’s an overreaction, but I’m fucking furious.