‘I saw your dad from my bedroom window and thought he was so cute.’ Mom laughed at my eye roll. I couldn’t imagine my father ever having been cute.
‘I was sick of the pretentious artist boys I usually dated, and I thought someone like my father might suit me better. He always listened to my opinions and spoke to me like I had a brain of my own, and he spoiled me rotten, too. But his students were all so nerdy and awkward – until your dad. I thought if I could get his attention, I could get him to talk to me. Of course then he’d fall in love with me and ask me out.’ Her eyes crinkled at the corners, remembering.
‘I must have tried on a dozen outfits before settling on one. Then I waltzed down the stairs and nonchalantly cut through the living room on my way to the kitchen. My clever little plan worked, of course, because I was pretty cute myself back then.’
This time, I was the one who laughed, because my mother was beautiful. There were times I caught my father staring at her like he couldn’t believe she was standing in his kitchen or living in his house. Like she shouldn’t be real, but was, and somehow belonged to him.
‘He followed me into the kitchen to refill his iced-tea glass.’ She nodded at my confused expression. You couldn’t pay Dad to drink iced tea. ‘I didn’t find out until later that he hated iced tea. He leaned against the counter, watching me make a sandwich. “So are you Dr Lucas’s daughter?” he asked, and with a perfectly straight face, I said, “No. I just wandered in off the street to make a sandwich.” I turned and looked him in the eye to give him a smirk, and I almost stopped breathing, because he had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.’
I had my father’s eyes – clear and grey as rain, so this compliment was for me. I hadn’t known yet that I’d also inherit his height, his analytical abilities and the watertight way he could disappear into himself.
‘Then, Charles strolled into the kitchen. Your dad glared at him, but he grinned and said, “You must be Dr Lucas’s daughter! I’m Charles Heller – one of his many acolytes.” One of them asked me what I did, and I said I was an undergrad at Duke. “What major?” your dad asked, and I told him, “Art.” And then, Landon, he almost kept you from ever being born.’
I waited, stunned. I hadn’t heard that part of the story before.
‘He sputtered, “Art?” and asked me what I was going to do with such a worthless degree.’
My mouth fell open.
‘Right? I wanted to punch him right in his handsome, arrogant face. Instead, I told him I was going to make the world more beautiful – duh! I let him know how unimpressed I was that all he was going to do was ‘make money’. I stomped back upstairs, spitting nails and determined to never look at one of my father’s students again, no matter how cute he was. I even forgot to take my sandwich with me.’
The rest of the story was familiar: an impulsive invitation – passed through Charles in a chance meeting – to her very first gallery showing. Her best friend, Cindy, was there for support, in case Raymond Maxfield was insufferable. But my father was the opposite of insufferable. Appraising her work, he was awed. My mother always pouted that it was actually her paintings and not her charm, her beauty or her sass that made him fall in love with her.
He’d always insisted that it was definitely her sass.
I knew the truth. He fell for all those things, and when she died, it was like someone had extinguished the sun, and he had nothing left to orbit.
LUCAS
Hours after I came home from the club Saturday night, I still couldn’t stop thinking about holding Jacqueline – how she’d fitted against me, bracketed by my arms. Her eyes, dusk blue in the smoke-thick club. Her nervous swallows. Her stuttered questions. As if everyone else had disappeared the moment I pulled her close, I didn’t smell the mixture of sweat and cologne from the crush of bodies around us – just her sweet scent. I could no longer hear the music, shouts or laughter. I was only aware of the beat, pounding vigorously, like the blood tearing an endless loop through my body.
Once home, I lay in bed and stared unseeingly towards the ceiling as my imagination ran rampant. I pictured her stretched out on top of me, knees astride, her body meeting my measured thrusts, her mouth open to the stroke of my tongue. My hands kneaded my thighs and every nerve in my body blazed. I felt her soft, bare skin. Her silky hair brushing the sides of my face. Her complete trust.
I pulled a pillow over my face and groaned, knowing anything I did now to relieve the building pressure would be a goddamned inferior rendering of what I really wanted. I could not have her, for so many reasons. She was off-limits, as a student in my class – which she didn’t know. She was emerging from a breakup after a three-year-long relationship. I was the witness to a humiliation no one should have to bear, and she was afraid of me.
But maybe a little less so, now, my mind murmured.
I couldn’t contain the thrill that shot through me, so I let it run its course.
Then I stamped it out and gave myself that second-rate release so I could get some sleep.
Sunday night, Joseph and I met up at a bar in the warehouse district to see a fledging alternative band from Dallas that we both liked. Though I’d barely slept the night before and had put in two hours of training at the dojang that afternoon, I was both wired and weirdly contemplative – two things I can usually dispense with in one good sparring session.
Master Leu had agreed to spar with me, since no one else was there, which had kicked my ass. For a smallish guy, he was the biggest badass I’d ever met. At a training expo, I’d watched him – in two moves – put a larger but equivalently trained opponent in a chokehold that could cause a real-life adversary to pass out. Or could crush his trachea.
Jacqueline’s attacker had no idea how lucky he was that I was still a few levels away from being allowed to learn that move.
‘Dude, you are not in Kansas any more.’ Joseph’s voice broke through my reverie.
I smirked. ‘I’ve never been to Kansas, actually.’
He shook his head. ‘What – or who – are you thinking about? Never seen you so distracted. I’ve asked you three times if you’re going home for Thanksgiving and you haven’t so much as purposefully ignored me. You just aren’t hearing anything.’
Shaking my head, I sighed. ‘Sorry, man. Yeah, I’m going home. You?’
He shook his head and tossed back the rest of the tequila shot he’d been sipping. ‘Going home with Elliott. His mom loves me.’ His lips twisted as he leaned an elbow on the bar and looked at me. ‘Mine – does not.’
Joseph had dropped hints about his family’s rejection before, but he’d never stated it outright. I didn’t know what to say.
‘So … you’re not welcome to bring Elliott home with you?’
‘No, man. I’m not welcome home, period. It’s a no fags allowed zone.’
‘Jesus. That sucks.’
He shrugged. ‘Is what it is. Elliott’s family is more than fine with us being a couple – his mom makes up a guest room for us that would rival any bed-and-breakfast, but they’ve had to deal with him bringing home a blue-collar guy. They’re all educated and shit – whole family. His little sister is in fucking med school. The first time I met them, all he’d told them was where I worked. Imagine their surprise when they found out I keep the campus plumbing in order instead of teaching history or math or, you know, women’s studies.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t catch a break, man. I’m too gay to be redneck and too redneck to be gay.’
Whatever my dad thought about me, whatever I did to piss him off – even purposefully, he’d never told me I was unwelcome to come home. I knew without thinking about it that I could move home right now if I wanted to. I wouldn’t. But I could.
The band took the stage, and Joseph and I enjoyed sound that was neither pop or musical theatre, a few drinks, and more than a few attentive glances from girls.
‘Yep,’ he said, angling a brow at a boisterous trio of coeds who kept looking our way. Hands behind his neck, he popped his gu
ns from the sleeves of his white T-shirt. ‘I still got it, even if I don’t want it.’
Chuckling, I shook my head and signalled the bartender for one more round. I never picked up a girl when I was with Joseph, but I knew the ground had shifted beneath my feet when I found myself not even the slightest bit curious whether any of those girls were cute. There was only one possible reason for that disinterest.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how to get Jacqueline Wallace back into the circle of my arms, come hell or high water. I was all too familiar with both.
Monday morning, I was nursing a slight hangover and a dampened outlook. Every time I saw Charles, I felt guilty. Every time I thought of Jacqueline, I felt more so. She hadn’t emailed me over the weekend. I had what felt like a premonition about her figuring out that I was Landon, and told myself, again, that I had to put a stop to this. Now.
She dropped on to the edge of the seat next to me.
I was so thrown that I didn’t say anything. Just stared.
‘Hey,’ she said, knocking me from my stupor. Fearing my earlier gut feeling was about to go down, I focused on the subtle smile teasing the edge of her mouth.
‘Hey,’ I returned, opening my textbook to shield the sketch I was working on.
‘So, it just occurred to me that I don’t remember your name from the other night.’ She was nervous. Not angry. Nervous. ‘Too many margaritas, I guess.’
Here’s your chance. Sitting in economics class – what better place to clear up the … mix-up about your name.
I stared into her big blue eyes and said, ‘It’s Lucas. And I don’t think I gave it.’
Dammit.
Heller came slamming and cursing through the door down by the podium, and Jacqueline’s smile grew a little wider. ‘So … you, um, called me Jackie, before?’ she said. ‘I actually go by Jacqueline. Now.’
I called her Jackie? When … Oh. That night. ‘Okay,’ I answered.
‘Nice to meet you, Lucas.’ She smiled again before hurrying to her seat while Heller was arranging his notes.
She didn’t turn to look at me the entire lecture, though she seemed distracted – given the way she squirmed in her seat, unless she was talking to the guy next to her. They both laughed softly a couple of times, and I couldn’t help smiling in response. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard her laugh – but I was wired to her now. I felt the sound of her laughter all the way to my boots and back. I wanted to make her laugh – something Landon had undoubtedly done.
As absurd as it was to be envious of myself, I was. She responded to Landon’s teasing emails with teasing of her own. When he told her he was an engineering student, she’d replied, No wonder you seem so brainy. Flirtatious words to direct at a tutor. Careful, possibly innocuous words … but flirtatious in context.
Dammit. I was jealous of Landon. Of all the stupid-ass reactions I could have right now, that was the most ludicrous.
At the end of class, she shot from her seat and rushed out the door before I could even get my backpack loaded. Some primitive, predatory impulse urged me to leap up and chase her out the door, as if that would be the most sensible reflex to her cut-and-run exit. I consciously slowed the process of sliding my texts and notebooks into the pack, stunned.
She was driving me crazy. And I was loving it. Goddamn, I was in trouble.
I’d agreed to take a couple of hours of Ron’s shift so he could meet with an architecture professor who only had office hours once a week. I also had a parking-enforcement shift this afternoon – after the group tutoring session and after my two-hour team project course. I wouldn’t have time to study until after ten p.m. This day, with the singular exception of Jacqueline initiating that one-minute conversation this morning, was going to suck.
I glanced at my phone in between orders. Half an hour to go, and we were busy. Both canisters were running low. As soon as there was a break in the line, I closed my register. Just in time, too – because a group of students materialized and joined Eve’s line.
‘Eve – I’m going to the back to get coffee. It’s low.’
‘Grab me a bottle of vodka while you’re at it,’ she replied. Eve was grouchier when we were busy. Which was about ninety per cent of the time.
‘Grab one for me, too, Lucas!’ The mechanical-engineering admin was next in line. Dark-skinned and white-haired, Vickie Payton was an organizational wizard for professors, a valuable source of campus information for students, and a shoulder to cry on for everyone.
‘Little early in the day, isn’t it, Mrs Payton?’ I chuckled, backing through the door.
‘Spring registration,’ she answered with a smirk. ‘Oy vey.’
‘Ah.’ I winked at her. ‘Two vodkas and one bag of Kenyan, coming right up.’
‘I wish,’ Eve mumbled, taking Mrs Payton’s order.
I brought the bag out and sliced it open. The line had grown, but Eve – whose apathy towards people in general didn’t hinder her proficiency, luckily – had everything under control. Unthinkingly, I scanned the line, searching for Jacqueline. During the two weeks she’d missed class, looking for her on campus had become ingrained – something I did whenever I entered a room where she might have the smallest possibility of being.
The likelihood of her showing up here was better than most. Despite that fact, I was still mystified at the sight of her. My eyes swept over her, slowly, devouring every detail as if she were a last meal that I wanted to simultaneously consume wholly and savour.
She was with her friend, again, and that friend was watching me. Jacqueline was decisively not watching me. But they were talking, animatedly, and Jacqueline was blushing so hard I could see the blotchy pink of her cheeks from a dozen feet away. With effort, I turned to make the coffee, but the hairs on my arms stood up. My entire body was aware of her eyes on me.
My forearms were fully visible, and she hadn’t seen my tattoos before. That night, in her truck, she’d stared at my lip ring and I’d known that she was one of those girls who shied away from guys like me on principle. I looked like a poster boy for a bad life choice. From her mode of dress, I knew she was a preppy sort of girl, as were her friends. And her ex. Hell, if someone stood me next to that asswipe who’d attacked her and asked the general populace which one the rapist was, I’d get a helluva lot more votes.
Even so, she was watching me now. On the dance floor Saturday night, she’d come into my arms as though she felt safe, against all better judgement. She was confused, but curious. Interested. I felt that one truth in the pit of my stomach, and it was gripping and unnerving. I wanted her attention. Her full attention. And I meant to get it.
I popped start on the coffee and turned to the register next to Eve without looking up. As soon as Eve took the guy in front of Jacqueline, I shifted my eyes up to meet hers. ‘Next?’ She blinked as though I’d caught her misbehaving, but came closer. ‘Jacqueline,’ I said, as though I’d just noticed her. ‘Americano today, or something else?’
She was surprised I’d remembered what she’d ordered a week ago. I would happily catalogue her likes and dislikes. Every one of them. From how she took her coffee, to how she liked to be kissed, to what stroke to use where to make her shiver from head to toe.
She nodded. I grabbed a cup and a Sharpie, but I pulled the espresso and made her drink myself.
Eve cocked a double-pierced brow at me, because she knew what I’d just done. ‘In the habit of handing out your digits to sorority chicks?’ she murmured. ‘Lame.’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
Shaking her head, she wiped the espresso valves and dumped two shots into a grande cup. ‘No, actually, there’s not.’
I shrugged. ‘True enough. Is it acceptable if she’s not a sorority chick?’
Her lips twisted, and I got the feeling she was making a concerted effort not to smile. ‘No. But less unacceptable.’
As Eve and I took orders and began to whittle the line down, I didn’t allow myself to watch Jacqueline
cross to the condiment stand to get her three sugars and splash of milk. I knew exactly where she was, every second, but I ignored her until she walked through the door, at which point I couldn’t watch anything else.
‘Oh, dear God. Someone’s got it bad.’ Eve laughed, which made the guy across the counter smile at her.
He was wearing a Pike T-shirt.
‘What?’ she barked, glaring at him.
His smile disappeared and he threw up his hands. ‘Nothin’ – just … nice laugh. That’s all.’
She rolled her eyes and spun to grab a new carton of soy milk, ignoring him.
When he looked at me, blond brows arched, I shrugged. I didn’t know the girl’s history, but there was no crossing that explosives-laden barrier. She was barely civil to me half the time, and she liked me.
12
Landon
When spring semester began, I found myself in fourth-period biology with Melody Dover and Pearl Frank – who’d been Pearl Torres, fellow occupant of the middle-school loser lunch table, when I was in eighth grade and she was in seventh. Then her mom married Dr Thomas Frank, prominent local surgeon and one of the town’s most stubborn playboy bachelors – until he met his match in Esmeralda Torres, who wanted a big diamond on her finger and her daughter set for life.
She got both.
Pearl, who’d been a nerdy, awkward kid when I knew her, took a few summer-school courses to skip ninth grade altogether, got a makeover and a shitload of brand-name clothes, and arrived in tenth grade hotter and richer than she’d ever been.
Melody lost no time in making Pearl her new best friend.
They exchanged a less than euphoric look when they were assigned to the only half-empty lab table – Boyce’s and mine.
‘So why are y’all in bio this period now? Get kicked out for bein’ too sexy in class?’ he asked.
They both rolled eyes at him and I shook my head and stared at the scarred black table, trying not to crack a smile. He’d been batshit for Pearl the minute he’d noticed her in the hallway last September. Too bad he hadn’t paid her any attention in middle school, when she had no friends. She was returning the favour now.