Authors: Julianna Keyes
I clear my throat. “It’s on my to-do
list.”
“You need
a hand with anything?”
A strange
tingling starts in my feet and shoots straight up my legs, converging between
my thighs.
There is something I could use a hand with, Crosbie…
And last
year, maybe I would have said those words. But this year? Nora Bora 2.0? Even
with a three-month sexual hiatus? She’s going to say no.
“If you
don’t mind.”
He slaps
his hands against his thighs. “I don’t mind. I like this sort of thing.”
I stomp
all over the strange warm feelings that are trying to bloom, like they’re a
patch of weeds that needs to be destroyed. It’s not easy, and maybe one or two
twisted tendrils remain, but I do a pretty decent job. Especially when Crosbie
takes off the button-up so he’s just in jeans and the wife beater, muscles
flexing as he grabs the box holding the pieces of my soon-to-be desk and lays
it on the floor.
“Do you
have a box cutter?”
“Sure. I
sleep with one under my pillow.”
It takes
him a second to realize I’m being sarcastic. “Jerk.” He makes a face at me.
“Kellan’s got a toolbox under the sink. Want to grab it?”
I come
back with the toolbox, then join Crosbie on the floor as he cuts open the box
and finds the instructions. To my surprise, he reads them. Or, rather, looks at
the pictures, since there are no words. In any case, he doesn’t try to pretend
he knows everything, like he’s a desk building master. Once he’s done with the
paper he sets it aside and starts assembling pieces, telling me what to hold,
what to look for, what to do. I should be annoyed, but I really didn’t want to
do this so I don’t mind at all. And after an entire summer of solitude, it’s
kind of nice to have someone to hang out with.
“What’d
you get up to last night?” he asks. He’s got his lips pursed around two screws
he’s holding in his mouth as he twists a third one into the wood.
“Not
much.” I concentrate on holding the boards at a ninety degree angle so my desk
isn’t tilted. “I just worked then went to bed.”
“On a
Friday?”
“I’m not
very exciting.”
He
glances at me. “I’m sure you’re very exciting, Nora.”
I laugh
and he smiles around the screws, fishing one out of his mouth and sliding it
into the next hole.
“How’d you do on your quiz?”
“What?
Oh, Bio? Aced it.”
“Good for
you.”
He shrugs
and moves onto the last screw. “You know what’s weird?”
This
whole situation?
“What’s weird?”
“I
fucking hate school.”
“You do?
I thought you wanted to teach.”
“Yeah. I
want to be a teacher. Stupid, right?”
“Not
really.”
“No? Why
not?”
“If it’s
what you want to do, I don’t see why it’s stupid.”
“Because
I hate school,” he repeats. “And I suck at it. Why do you think I have to study
for hours to learn what other people can learn in five minutes?”
I watch him assemble a drawer like he’s
buttering a piece of bread. There’s nothing stupid about him. “Because you know
how to work hard?” I offer. “There’s nothing wrong with trying.”
He’s
focused on his task, but I see his mouth quirk. “I guess you’d know.”
“What do
you mean?”
“I mean,
how you’re always at the library. You’ve got five classes and a job. You work
hard, too.”
I think
about last year, how I did just the opposite and landed myself in this
position. “Well, I have to.”
“Yeah?
Why?”
“To have
a good life. Isn’t that what everybody wants?”
“I guess
so.”
“You want
to have a bad life, Crosbie?”
Now he
grins. “Yeah, Nora. I want to have a terrible life.”
I laugh
and hand him the piece of wood he points to. “What do you want to teach?”
He blows
out a breath and begins work on the second drawer. “Maybe history.”
“I
thought you’d say Phys Ed.”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, I don’t know,
Crosbie. Just a guess.”
“Is it this?” he asks, flexing his biceps. And
though I do my very best to look unimpressed, a little frisson of sexual
awareness trips down my spine. He’s very…big.
“I have
no idea what you’re talking about.”
He laughs
and gestures for me to move aside so he can work on the other desk leg. “What
about you? What’s going to make your life so great?”
“I don’t
know. But a degree seems like the first step.”
“A degree
in what?”
“I’m
still undecided.”
“Really?
I’d think a girl who spent her whole summer at school would be working toward a
very specific goal.”
My goal
was to raise my average to a C+ from a D- and complete my two and a half months
of community service without attracting too much attention. “Just trying to
keep on top of things.”
“What’d
you do when the campus was so empty?”
I
swallow. I don’t want to lie, but I’m not ready for another person to know how
badly I messed up. “Just worked, mostly. Studied and worked. Went for…walks.”
Where I picked up trash along the highway.
“Alone?”
“There
were four people on my floor,” I say. Eight in my clean-up crew. “Two didn’t
speak English, and the other girl spent twenty hours a day practicing piano.
Her fingers actually bled.”
He
grimaces. “That’s gross.”
“Tell me
about the party.”
He
grunts. “You don’t want to know.”
“Why
not?” If I can’t actually attend parties, maybe I can live vicariously through
Crosbie. But even as I think the words, I find myself hoping he doesn’t tell me
about hooking up with strippers—or any other girls.
“You ever
been to a frat party, Nora?”
I avoid
his stare. He probably thinks I’m too timid, but I just find it hard to meet
his eye when I’m lying. “No.”
“Well,
stay far away. They can get pretty out of control.”
“But you
can handle it?”
Another
laugh. “I kind of love it. It makes all the other shit worth it. It’s the only
thing that comes easy to me.”
“Partying?”
“Yeah.”
I think
about last year. How I’d thrown myself headfirst into that world. How great it
had been. Until it wasn’t anymore.
“What do
you do for fun?” he asks. I realize he’s trying to be kind. To make my assumed
hobbies of knitting and star gazing sound interesting.
“Ghost
hunting,” I say.
“You’re a
fucking liar, Nora.”
I can’t
keep a straight face. “I don’t do anything fun,” I tell him. And this time it’s
easy to meet his stare. “I kind of…can’t.”
“You
can’t have fun?”
“I can’t
balance it,” I clarify. “How you study and run and party—I can’t. It’s all or
nothing for me. Always has been. I don’t know why.”
“So you
just study? You never have fun?”
“Studying’s
not the worst thing in the world.”
“Well,
that’s a ringing endorsement. Okay, stand up.” The desk assembled, we both rise
as he arranges it upright and positions it against the wall. He rattles it a
bit, one big hand wrapped around the edge, and I want so badly to do something
“fun” right now. To feel that hand on me. “Look good to you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I
say too quickly. A bit breathlessly.
He gives
me a weird look. “Are you okay?”
“Totally
fine.”
“Did
anyone bother you last night?”
“No. I
didn’t even see anyone.”
His brow
is wrinkled, and slowly it relaxes. “Good.”
Because
my bed takes up too much room, we assemble the wooden frame in the living room,
where there’s just barely enough space. As before, Crosbie does all the work. I
mostly watch and pass him pieces. I don’t know if he senses that things were
getting weird in my room or he just wants to change the subject, but he asks
again about my “Steve Holt!” artwork and from there we just talk about TV.
When the
frame is assembled he carefully edges it through the doorway and back into my
room. I stand at the end closest to the door and hoist up the frame, then he
lifts the mattress as I push the frame under. It sounded better in theory, but
we eventually get it in place, and when I start to smooth the rumpled blankets,
Crosbie stops me.
“What?”
“You’ve
gotta make sure it’s sturdy,” he says.
“I beg
your pardon?”
“Up you
go.” He grips my arm and herds me onto the bed so I’m standing in the center.
“Jump,” he says.
“I’m not
going to—” I feel absolutely ridiculous.
“Jump,
Nora. For my peace of mind.”
“I’m not
planning to do a lot of jumping on this bed, Crosbie. If the frame collapses,
it’s a six-inch fall. I’ll survive.”
He folds
his arms. “Jump.”
“Screw
off.” I try to climb down but he blocks me. “Crosbie—”
“Have
fun,” he says. “Just for a minute. I want to know that you can.”
“All
right, you know what?” Now I’m just annoyed. “I appreciate your help, but
you’re making me feel really stupid. I know how to have fun, I’m just choosing
not to right now. I don’t need to perform for you to be fun.”
He looks
surprised. “It’s not a performance.” Then he glances at the bed. “Though I can
see how it might be misconstrued.”
He
doesn’t stop me when I step down, and I feel a little bit bereft. Like maybe
that was my chance and I missed it. And later tonight by myself, if I jump on
the bed alone, it won’t be nearly as fun as if Crosbie were here.
“Okay,”
he says, stepping up onto the bed. “I gave you a shot. But if the frame breaks,
you’re on the hook for it.”
“What are
you—”
He starts
to jump. The mattress squeaks, the pillows bounce, but nothing breaks. And
still he jumps. “This is the most fun ever, Nora!” he mock squeals.
“Shut up.
Get down.”
“I can’t
believe you’re missing out on all this fun!”
“Knock it
off.”
“One
jump.”
“You’re
going to break something.”
“Who
cares? You’re paying for it.”
“Crosbie—”
It’s impossible to keep a straight face. This may have started as a joke, but I
think he’s really enjoying himself. And when he holds out a hand, I take it and
climb on.
“Just
once,” I say.
“Totally,”
he agrees.
I jump
and the frame breaks.
The
bottom left corner gives out, sending the mattress skidding to the end. Crosbie
and I collapse, banging our foreheads together, squawking our surprise and
alarm. When we finally come to a halt I’m halfway off the edge of the bed, held
up only by Crosbie’s big arm around my waist. His eyes are wide with shock and
then they crinkle at the corners as he starts to laugh. I worm my way out of
his grasp and flop onto the floor and start to laugh too.
“Shit,”
he gasps. “Nora, I’m so sorry.”
“This is
what happens when people have fun!” I say, sticking a stern finger in the air.
“Never again.”
He swats
my hand. “It’s your fault,” he says. “I know I’m not supposed to say this to a
woman, but I think you’re too heavy. Your heaviness is what broke the bed.”
I’m a
hundred pounds soaking wet, and, as Marcela liked to say, I carry my weight in
my boobs. I know I’m not fat, and Crosbie knows it, and that’s why I’m not
really angry when I snatch up a fallen pillow and smack him with it.
“Sorry.”
He laughs and rolls away, face red. “Should I have said ‘big boned?’”
“You’re
going to hell, Crosbie. Fix my bed frame.” I feel hot and happy, despite the
mess. Despite the fact that the wood is snapped and splintered and I don’t
think it can be fixed.
He slides
down the angled mattress and joins me on the floor to inspect the damage. “I
have to go.”
“Crosbie
Lucas.”
“Bye,
Nora. Take care.” He stands but doesn’t actually go anywhere, staring at the
ruined frame.
I stand,
too. “Product defect?” I try.
“Definitely.”
“I guess
it’ll have to be taken apart now.”
He
glances at his watch. “Wow. Is that the time?”
I smile a
little. “Thank you, Crosbie.”
“For
breaking your bed? No problem. Wherever, whenever.”
I laugh.
“For the first part. This…not so much.”
“I’ll
help you pack it back up and drive it to the store. You don’t have to wait for
the delivery. We can do it today.”