Plus, the rest of the night isn’t a total bust, no pun intended. We sit on the living room couch and watch a fictional fucked-up family, kind of like my real one.
I get to know Taya more than if I took her up to my bed and learn that I’m becoming even more infatuated with this girl.
12
Taya
Somewhere downstairs, a door slams after Callum rattles off a string of expletives.
Three minutes later, Bevan is barging into my room with Amelie hot on her tail.
“I could fucking kill him!” she screams, and I’m sure this is about her toxic relationship.
“I feel like we’ve been saying this a lot about Callum. Should we just do it already?” I quip, sitting up and making room for them on my bed.
Amelie takes up residence in my desk chair, curling into herself, while Bevan invites herself fully onto one side of my bed.
“He said he doesn’t feel like going to the business school dance, so I have to go alone.” She pouts, and I can tell she’s truly upset.
There are times when their fights are purely stupid. About who left the peanut butter lid off the jar or why Callum didn’t fill her car with gas. But this one? I can tell it hurt. Bevan is one of the Talcott Business School investing club leaders, and she loves attending events for it. She honestly doesn’t look like the Wall Street type, but she’s whip smart with numbers and is going to be a goddamn shark in that world once we graduate. One of her biggest achievements was being named to the investing club, and Callum hates going to the events. I think it’s because he feels out of place, and Callum loves to be the big shot. In that world, he’s just dumb. Or at least he sees it that way.
“I’ll come with you,” I volunteer, even though it’s not really my speed.
“Me too. Hey, at least I can flirt with some business majors.” Amelie shrugs.
“Oh, are we flirting?” Bevan looks to our petite friend.
“I figure I have to get over this Gannon thing. He’s probably not even coming back to school. Either way, I have to live my freaking life. So, flirting with business majors it is.”
I nod. “I could get behind that, too. Sign us up, Bev. You’ll look all professional and badass, and we can flirt with the future of Wall Street.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure you already have a flirt partner. And a damn fine one at that.” Bevan raises her eyebrows.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t take you upstairs and go to pound town. We’re sure he’s straight, right?” Amelie sounds cautious.
“Honestly? I don’t know. I can’t freaking tell anymore. One second, it’s so hot we’re practically burning the house down. The next, he’s cold as ice and skittering away. Then a day later, he’ll ask me to coffee but drop me off before things get too spicy. It’s the most confusing thing ever. I feel like I should just let it drop, because how the hell am I supposed to decipher it?”
“You went for coffee yesterday again?” Bevan taps her chin.
This is what we do, and if you’re not one of us, you’ll never keep up. The subject changes rapidly, from one person to the next or one situation to the next. And we all know what’s going on, we can all follow.
“Yes. UGH! I mean, the guy kissed me. It was a freaking great kiss! And then he just stopped it. And hasn’t kissed me since. I have blue balls.”
“Don’t talk to me about blue balls,” Amelie warns.
The virgin of our friend group. I swear, she’s saving herself for Gannon, which is dreamy, romantic, and somewhat admirable, but also stupid as hell because the likelihood of it happening is worse than a snowstorm in Cancun. Both Bevan and I have told her this, but I know she’s still holding out hope. She loves him with all of her being, and if it’s not the exact right situation outside of the Gannon thing, she won’t sleep with someone else.
I worry about my Amelie.
“Sorry.” I grimace. “I’m just frustrated. The guy I’ve had a crush on forever finally notices me, and instead of taking my willing vagina, he’s being … respectful? Is that what it is? Damn, I can’t believe I’m still pining over this kid.”
“If it helps, I’m in love with my best friend who has only ever seen me as a kid sister.” Am shrugs, her face clouding with sadness.
“And I’m dating the lunatic I can’t seem to get away from because I’m addicted to his toxic ways. God, we’re all fucking pathetic. Who would have thought back in high school, when we thought about college, we’d be here? Three strong-ass women pining over these weak fucking men.” Bevan collapses onto my pillows.
I am truly confused. Austin is going from hot to cold more times than my coffee does on a morning when I constantly forget about it. In one breath, I thought we were finally headed to the place I’ve always wanted to be. And then the next, he won’t talk to me for a day and acts like everything’s platonic when he sees me.
There were so many times, that I decided that I was done with this in a fit of rage. That I would go find some other guy who would be hanging all over me. But I’ve tried that with Landon for five seconds, and I hated it. There’s something I crave about the chase with Austin, about his inaccessibility and keeping me on my toes.
Bevan’s right, we really are fucked up.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to give this thing with Austin up, even if I know how much I’ll probably get hurt.
13
Austin
March first brings an unseasonably warm day, and there are students all over the quad as I walk back to my car.
Most classes are over for the day, aside from the ones that start around dinner time, and the students of Talcott have pounced on the rare above sixty spring day.
Footballs whiz past my head, girls are baring their legs on colorful blankets spread over the grass, and many people enjoy their meal out here instead of in the dining halls.
Sometimes, I miss my days of living on campus. But then I remember that I feel much more like an adult human living in a house on an actual street, not getting my omelet made by a dining hall staff member, and being able to check-in without answering to a resident advisor.
I roll down the windows in my car as I make the ten-minute drive down to the hill to my house, and nod along to Jimmy Buffett all the way there.
After parking, I grab the mail from the box down on the street. I usually check every day because it seems the other housemates aren’t so great at it. Maybe because it was my chore during my childhood, to walk down to the street and collect that day’s mail, that it’s just ingrained now. But the first time I went in there, there were about fifty letters and three packages stuffed into Six Prospect Street’s mailbox.
So as I grab it and make my way to the house, I start filing it out into piles for each roommate. Nothing for Bevan. An advertisement for tires for Callum. A letter from the school for Amelie and another for her that looks to be a personal card from her family to her.
Taya has some ads for clothing websites, and Scott got a small Amazon package.
Unlocking the door, I examine the last letter in the pile. Huh? An envelope addressed to the house, sent by Mr. Belding? Mr. Belding was my freshman English teacher in high school.