Her body rotates mid-jump until she’s looking at me, and she clutches a hand to her chest. “Holy shit, you scared me.”
I hold my hands up as if to say sorry. “Didn’t mean to. I’m just getting in from the midnight shift at the radio station.”
“Isn’t the graveyard shift for newbies? I remember my freshman year roommate used to work it and play jazz at three a.m.” She scrunches up her nose like that’s the worst fate in the world.
I chuckle, because her expression is adorable, but also because I’m not sure how this girl manages to make cute and sexy seem to mesh so well. A pang of confusion passes through me because these are the first words we’ve exchanged in days, and I somehow miss her. We aren’t even an us, and yet I miss talking to her. Even after everything I discovered.
“I haven’t taken a midnight shift in two years, since I was lowly enough to beg for one. That sounds conceited. Shit.” I laugh nervously, because I don’t want Taya thinking I’m some asshole who lives up to his family name, the very one I got pissed at her over. “What I mean is, I’ve paid my dues and earned my right to the prime hours. But as the station manager and lead producer, I also have to pick up the slack should any shift not be filled.”
She nods her head. “I get it. The captain goes down with the ship, so you’re keeping it from sinking.”
“Something like that.”
We lapse into an awkward silence, and I’m painfully aware of how quiet the rest of the house is. Taya’s expression changes to something between uncomfortable and dejection, and I can see she’s about to bolt.
I’ve been debating seeking her out to talk but haven’t been able to get out of my own way. I’m taking this as the universe doing it for me, and I speak before she can run away.
“Listen, Taya, I feel like we should—”
She cuts me off before I can even finish the sentence, though I have no idea where it was going in the first place.
“I don’t really want to talk about it, okay? Let’s just pretend this never happened. Yeah?”
“It’s just, I think we’re avoiding each other.” I point out, though I don’t know why.
Isn’t that what I want: to avoid her? I was weirded out by that diatribe for me in her letter, and I should be avoiding her. This is exactly the type of girl from Webton that I don’t want to interact with, let alone entertain, having some fun or a relationship with.
“We’re housemates, that’s it. That’s all we have to be. Please, just put me out of my misery and don’t talk to me? Talking is the last thing I want to do.”
Her eyes beg me, and my chest constricts. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve been dead wrong about this situation the entire time. Taya looks so small, which is never something I want to make anyone feel. But especially her. She’s exposed, vulnerable, and here I’ve been avoiding her like some idiot who found out a girl liked him and sprinted in the other direction.
I’m just as bad as all those frat guys on campus that I hate.
“I just feel like there is an elephant sitting between us, and I’d like to address it.” I try to act like the man I’m supposed to be in a couple of months when college turns into the real world.
“Consider it addressed. I’m embarrassed, you think I’m creepy, and we can lay it to rest. No need to keep up this charade, we both move on. And I’ll see you around.”
She’s talking fast in a hushed tone, as if she’s trying not to cry. I watch the way her captivating hazel eyes go shiny with unshed tears.
“I don’t think you’re creepy at all, I just didn’t know what I was reading. It was alarming—”
Taya throws up her hands and snorts out a self-deprecating laugh. “Now, I’m not just embarrassed, but I have to worry about being alarming.”
“Shit, no, that’s the wrong word, I—” I fucked up with my words, which I tend to do.
Note to self, get better at communicating because you really suck at it. Especially with girls.
Taya backs away, retreating to the stairs. “I get it, Austin. I really do. You won’t have to worry about my ‘alarming’ behavior anymore.”
Another interaction gone wrong, I think to myself as I hear her footsteps up the stairs. There seem to be a thousand obstacles when it comes to Taya and me. I just can’t quite seem to say anything right to her, and maybe it’s for the best that we can’t seem to get on the right page.
So why do I feel so distraught and empty standing in this kitchen alone when my heart lit up the minute it saw her standing in the light of the fridge?
17
Taya
Dribble.
Swish.
Shuffle. Shuffle.
Dribble. Dribble. Dribble.
I shoot, but the ball hits the backboard and narrowly misses the hoop, bouncing off the rim. The basketball hoop in the driveway of our house is worn and rusty, more of an orange color on the hoop than its original red. The pole anchoring it to the ground has flecked paint coming off of it, and the backboard has black slashes all across it from being dinged a thousand times.
But I still come out here to shoot. Especially if it’s warm. There is something that takes you out of your head when shooting around outside, a calm that the big courts in the loud fitness center can’t give. When I need to think, I come out and shoot baskets, making some, missing others.
I’m no Kathleen, but I made varsity as a sophomore. I even got my letterman jacket—not that Mom and Dad were around to take me to the ceremony. I’d gone with Bevan and her family when she lettered for field hockey.
My mood is sullen today, because I haven’t heard from my family in a week and a half. It’s like I came to college and that was their out, their thumbs-up to forget about me. Whenever I call my mom now, it’s like she’s annoyed to hear from me. I’ll tell her about the hot gossip or something funny that happened in one of my classes, and all I get back is an okay or sounds great. Most of the time, I just feel like she isn’t listening at all.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing your mother doesn’t really care about you. I try to look at the people in my life who love me unconditionally, namely Bevan and Amelie. They’re the closest thing to family and real sisters that I have.
Kathleen and I were never close. Maybe when we were little, before the really competitive stages of her equestrian training, but I don’t remember that time. She was so focused on her competitions that she barely even noticed I was around. And Kath was …
Well, my sister is one of those people who understands horses more than she understands humans. There’s just nothing we connected on, and after a while, we stopped trying.
So I’m out here, avoiding the major issues weighing on my soul and tossing up a basketball instead. I should probably be in therapy. No, not probably. Definitely. But I’m a broke college student who treats my hefty emotional baggage with alcohol instead, just like everyone else around here.
That’s what I do these days. I avoid. And Austin Van Hewitt is bullet number one I’m trying to dodge.
After our disaster in the kitchen, Austin tried to approach me once more. It was the day after when we were both home, and everyone was cooking their individual lunches in the kitchen. I pretended I had a FaceTime meeting for a group project and scampered up the stairs. I was so mad I missed out on Amelie’s grilled cheese, but there was no way I was staying down there with him.