“Did you know?” He stops in front of me, glaring, but even behind the anger, I can tell he’s shaken. I shrug uselessly.
“Thanks a lot,” he hisses, disappearing toward the exit. I feel a pang of guilt, but what was I supposed to do? Morgan is my roommate. Besides, it’s none of my business.
What is my business, however, is Sam. I scoot back to his side as soon as I can, sending silent thanks to Morgan and her friends for pushing us together. They’re right: the best way to get over Sebastian is to start seeing somebody else. As I snuggle closer to Sam, my ex-boyfriend and supposed intimacy issues seem very far away.
“What’s on your mind?” Sam touches my nose lightly.
“Nothing at all.” I smile up at him, determined not to repeat my last mistake.
“You look kind of sleepy.” Pulling me closer, Sam starts to trace light circles on my back. I practically sigh with pleasure. “It’s getting late. You know, you could crash here in my room. We closed off everything upstairs, and it should be quieter up there.”
“I don’t know . . .” Even in my pleasantly tipsy state, I still think of college rape statistics and “safety first” lectures.
“Nothing shady, I promise.” Sam mimes crossing his heart. “Well, unless you count making out.” He grins. I melt. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”
His expression is so sincere that I find myself wavering. The other girls do this all the time and come home with nothing worse than a hangover. Isn’t it my night to cut loose a little?
“OK.” I smile. Sam takes my hand and maneuvers us through the party stragglers up to the top floor.
“See? Quieter,” he says, closing the door of a room that just screams “college student.” I collapse onto the bed and look around. Posters of cars and surf girls in bikinis, stacks of CDs — nothing but typical, average teenage-boy possessions.
I relax, kicking off my shoes. “No bong? Or p**n collection?”
“I hid those,” Sam quips, suddenly looking a little nervous. I feel a rush of affection. Maybe he isn’t so smooth after all.
Bold, I reach up and take a handful of his shirt. “What was that you said about making out?”
He laughs, leaning down to meet my lips. “I thought you were tired.”
“Not that tired.” I exhale against him and then kiss, tasting beer and something different from Sebastian.
Normal. Teenage. Fun.
11
I walk back to Raleigh in a total daze. The streets are dark but full of kids on their way to clubs or coming home from the bars, and though I get my usual round of whistles and catcalls, I can’t be bothered to glare back.
The scene keeps replaying in my head. Maybe it’s because I’ve sat through so many movies for class or maybe it’s just shock, but right now I see the whole thing at a distance, like I’m sprawled out in my dorm room with popcorn and this is just the latest mishap of some adorable romantic-comedy cutie. You know, the ditzy leading girl who keeps falling over herself until the hero picks her up again. Only nobody thinks I’m adorable, and I sure as hell know no hero’s going to come along to save me.
What can I do?
The question bounces around all the way home. Nothing I seem to try makes a difference to these people — I just don’t blend in. If I was back home with my friends, I wouldn’t give a damn what those stuck-up bitches thought, but after a long month of loneliness, I just want a break. The silence, the cold shoulders: they’ve worn me down, and I’m so freaking sick of feeling low, I could scream.
I don’t. Instead, I stop at one of the fast-food carts and fill my mouth with greasy fries, smothered with chili and cheese and enough calories to make a girl faint.
Maybe my mom was right: all those times she said I’d have to face the consequences of my actions. Maybe this is it, my karma, my payback for playing around and bringing shame on my family. God, I remember all those screaming matches we had after the video broke. She couldn’t believe that she’d brought me up so badly to turn out a cheap slut, a whore. That’s what she says, but whatever. I tried to defend myself at first. I mean, I’m not pregnant or on drugs, and if the video hadn’t got out, she wouldn’t think any different of me. But I guess having everyone you know email you with shots of your half-naked daughter makes you lose all perspective, because anything I said only made her madder, until we couldn’t even stay in the same room without screaming.
And now I get the silent treatment. Money goes into my account every two weeks, but aside from that, I haven’t heard a single word from her since I left California. I don’t miss her; I just miss what it was like between us, before.
Sighing, I use my late key on the back gate and wander across the quad. It’s silent and still, and usually I find that the neat lawns and pretty stone archways calm me down, but tonight I wish it were humming with activity, anything I could be a part of. Cold staircase, empty hall. Emily’s room is as depressing as ever, and I collapse in front of my computer and reach for another fry, now soggy and gross. I check email, but as usual there’s nothing except junk and the handful of Tyler-related Google alerts, so I boot up my instant-messenger program and send out a silent prayer that somebody’s on.
AJ369, magikman, rudeyrude — only boys I used to flirt with. And then I catch sight of the schedule still pinned above the desk and figure there might just be someone who feels as much of an outcast as me. I’ve got her email and screen-name details somewhere in the exchange paperwork, so I only have to spend ten minutes rooting through every freaking pamphlet they sent before I find it.
Send chat request to user EMLewis.
12
When I wake up the next morning, Sam has disappeared and there’s nothing but wrinkled navy sheets tangled around me where his body used to be. My jeans are digging into my hip, and the underwire from my bra is squashed against my ribs, but nothing can stop the satisfied grin that spreads across my face when I remember last night. Just as he promised, Sam proved himself to be a complete gentleman, happy to keep things decent.
But oh, can that boy kiss.
Squinting, I catch sight of the digital clock display. Eleven? I never sleep that late! With a start, I sit up.
Ouch.
Falling back onto the bed, I wait for the thump in my head to subside. So this is what a hangover feels like. After a few more minutes, I sit up — far more cautiously this time — and try to ease the tension from my neck. Searching for my shoes, I wonder if I should leave a note for Sam. He’s probably at the gym, and it seems rather rude to just go without a word, but post-kissing protocol is completely beyond me.