“Okay. That’s really enough,” I whisper. “You’re poking me. With your thing, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, sugar rump. Don’t be shy. It’s just my little way of saying hi to a woman I find so attractive.” He leans into me a little more.
“Hunter!” I hiss, trying to squirm away without being obvious.
I feel his body jiggling. The jackass is laughing. “It’s just my athletic supporter,” he whispers.
“Oh.”
“But who knows what’s underneath it? Could be just as firm,” he says in that low, deep voice.
I scoff. “I don’t want to know what you have going on down there.”
He finally releases me and then beams down and pinches my chin. “Is this whipped enough for you,” he turns up the volume so everyone can hear, “sweetie pie?”
I smile through my teeth. “Laying it on a little thick there, buddy.”
“I just wanted you to know,” he says loudly, “that I saved you a seat right in the front. I want my sugar rump right there watching the game.”
I try not to crinkle my face, but I’m pretty sure I look like I’ve just swallowed a bee or cockroach.
“Gee. Thanks, muffin nuts,” I growl loudly, with a smile.
“Muffin nuts?” he scowls.
“You can’t help that they’re all squishy from getting tackled all the time.” I look to my side at some fans who are gawking as they pass and have clearly heard what I just said. “Like ripe avocados! Poor guy. I tell him to wear a cup, but—”
“Okay, Tassie. Point taken,” he says. “So, see you during the game. Your seat is right next to Jennifer. Just look for the girl with the pink hat in the group of pink shirts.”
Oh, great. He’s got me sitting with the Gamma Nus.
“That’s very thoughtful, Hunter.”
He looks at his watch. “Oh, shit. I gotta go.” He leans down and pecks me on the lips.
Dammit. He got me again! Now I’ll never be able to lie to myself and claim that my first kiss technically didn’t come from Hunter because I didn’t kiss him back. I can’t use that excuse twice. Seems like a stretch.
I continue holding on to my fake-as-hell smile. “Score a goal for me!”
He frowns and then jerks his head. “Uh…sure. Goal for you, babe.” And then disappears inside the stadium.
I immediately realize I said goal, not touchdown, but he was nice enough not to sports-talk shame me. I glance over at Lainey and Jessica, who’ve witnessed the little show of man-whippedness.
They look like they’ve just observed a unicorn flying out of the sky or some other impossible crap. This time, I grin for real and then shrug at them.
They both glare and return behind the counter to fill orders.
Me? I’m happy as hell, and my body’s all lit up with tingles and adrenaline. Clearly because Hunter came through for me.
The feeling melts away as I realize that I’m up next and have to act like I want to give it up to Mr. Football.
I’m not exactly sure how to do that.
Oh, I’ll figure it out.
CHAPTER TEN
As soon as the game starts, the crowds around the concession area thin out, so I go inside to watch the game until halftime. I make my way to the pink section, where fifty-some odd Gammas are cheering and waving their Hunt-Pirates flags over something happening on the field. The rest of the Gammas are down in the action on cheerleading duty.
My eyes scan the front row of Pink Town, and I see a blonde girl in a pink hat. That must be Jennifer.
I make my way over, skootching by, careful not to spill beers or step on toes. “Hi, are you Jennifer?”
Her brown eyes look me over, mostly dragging over my shirt. “Oh, you’re Hunter’s little friend—the Tri-Kapp.”
Little friend? “Uh, yeah. I’m Tassie.”
“Well, take a seat!” She scoots over, creating a chain reaction of pink booties wiggling down the bench.
“Thank you.” I’m immediately surprised by everyone’s lack of snobbery.
“Any friend of Hunter’s!” she yells over the cheering crowd. “That’s Bea, by the way.” She jerks her head toward the girl to my other side.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I say to Bea.
“Hey, Tri-tip! Welcome to the fun zone.”
It takes a moment to noodle out that she’s merely trying to be friendly with the “Tri-tip” comment. Bea immediately passes me a cold beer, and I reluctantly take the offering, not wanting to be rude. I don’t drink. Or at least, I haven’t drunk before, and I’m underage.
Well, I suppose one sip won’t hurt. I don’t want to be impolite.
I take a sip and want to spit out the bitter fuzzy liquid. Instead, I force myself to swallow it. “Mmmm…yummy.”
Bea makes a little laugh. “Not a beer girl, huh?”
“Uh…no. It’s great. Thank you.” I take a gulp to show my appreciation.
Something happens on the field and everyone stands and begins booing. I look over, and Hunter is no longer visible.
“Oh, shit.” He has to be underneath the huge pile of bodies in the center of the field. I stand, too, almost spilling my beer. “Is he okay?”
“We hope so,” says Jennifer. “We’re only five minutes into the game.”
I can’t breathe as I watch them peel the dogs off the dog pile, like layers of an onion.
Please be okay. Please be okay…
They remove the last guy, and there’s Hunter lying facedown in the mud, a football gripped tightly in his hands. He then stands up with the aid of a few teammates, and the crowd goes wild. I have no clue what just happened other than my heart is pounding. My body is sweating. I think I just had my first panic attack.
I take another chug of beer to cool myself off.
Hunter looks my way for the briefest of moments, and I know he sees me, which is a bad thing. Because I’m not staying. I can’t handle watching this—barbarianism. Violence and celebrating birthdays are phobias for me. I just don’t like them. The violence because my mother and father are pacifists and drilled certain antiviolence ideas into my head. That time in the eleventh grade when I smacked Kurt Lipmann, for example? I don’t even remember doing it. But I do remember feeling sick to my stomach and getting yelled at. So strange. As for my other phobia, birthdays, I simply don’t like the idea of my body slowly degrading over the course of several decades. It’s depressing. So I’ve got a strict rule about not celebrating my birthday, which is coming up in November. Not that I will give it any thought.
In any case, I can’t stay and watch Hunter get hurt. I don’t like it. But I also don’t like the idea of letting him down. I haven’t held up my end of the deal yet.
I start to think of options as the players on the field do that whole setup thing where they face each other and bend over. I close my eyes. I can’t watch.
The crowd is quiet and then everyone goes crazy, woohooing and screaming, “Go Pirates!”
Fuck. I have to look.
I open my eyes just as Hunter snaps the ball toward another guy all the way on the other side of the field.
There’s no way the ball will get all the way there. It’s impossible. But to my utter disbelief, that damned ball goes and goes and keeps on going until the guy on the other side snatches it from the air and then runs to the end.
Everyone yells, “Touchdown!”
“Oh, that’s a touchdown, huh?” I mutter to myself, absentmindedly sipping my disgusting beverage that seems to be growing on me.
Our entire pink section stands up and starts chanting, “Hunt is on! Hunt is on!”
I have to admit I feel kind of good for him. I mean, these people, they love him. He’s some sort of rock star in their minds. Still, I don’t think I can stomach seeing him hurt again. And didn’t they put out a movie about this sport, how it’s really not good for the brain?
I can’t believe I’m so worried about him.
Jennifer and Bea sit back down and the cheer
ing dies.
“That was so freaking awesome, right?” says Jennifer.
“Sure. Awesome,” I say.
“So how did you know Hunter?” she asks.
“Oh, uh.” I’m not sure what he’s told them, so I say something obvious. “He hates math, so I agreed to help him.”
“Do you have a class together?”
“Uh, no. I’m taking Modeling and Differential Equations for the Life Sciences.”
“Oh. I won’t take that until my sophomore year, but I’m looking forward to it.”
Have I entered a black hole and merged with an alternate universe once again? “Seriously? What’s your major?”
“Economics. I don’t technically need that class, so it’ll be an elective.”
“Ohmygod. Me too. I’m a bioengineering major, but I think I might do a double degree depending on how things go.”
“Bea’s a double major. Marketing and Economics.”
“Really?” I look at Bea, who shrugs.
“Couldn’t make up my mind.” Bea looks back at the field. “Go Pirates!”
I’m thoroughly shocked that these two Gamma Nus are so academically focused and nothing like their reputation. They’re also pretty friendly, which is more than I can say for my sisterhood.
“So you’re tutoring The Hunt, huh? What’s that like?” asks Jennifer, casually watching the players get set for the next…thingy.
I really want to leave before I am subjected to watching these cement trucks in helmets park on top of Hunter again.
“I’m not exactly tutoring him,” I say, “but I am intending to sleep with him. Very soon. My first time, you know.”
Jennifer freezes and then starts busting up. Bea too.
Jennifer smacks my knee so hard that beer splashes down my leg. “You’re funny, Tri-tip!”
Her laughter dies down when she realizes I’m not laughing with her. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what’s so funny, anyway.
“Wait. You’re serious?” she says.
“Yeah. Why not?” I shrug. “I mean, I’m a red-blooded American girl. He’s a horny guy. And who better to crack open the dam of promiscuity than the Huntsman, The Hunt, Mr. Bigdick himself?” I smile politely and bat my eyelashes, hoping she’ll buy my obscenities and then spread the news. Yes, for the record, I am absolutely dying of embarrassment on the inside.
“Well, sweetie, good luck with that.” She turns to watch the game.
I don’t want to feel insulted, but I do. “Why? You think I’m not pretty enough?”
“What?” she scoffs. “No. You’re totally adorable with your whole,” she waves her hand over my body, “sexy hipster look.”
Sexy hipster? I’d been going for just good old-fashioned slut, but hey. Sexy hipster sounds kind of cool.
She continues, “Anyway, I’m sure any guy here would jump you, but Hunt there is untouchable.”
Huh? “What do you mean untouchable? Does he have an STD?”
She laughs. “I wouldn’t know. But he’s got someone back home. He won’t even look at another girl. And trust me, we’ve all tried.”
“Back at home? Who?” I ask.
“Hell if I know, but she’s one lucky girl.”
Okay, this has to be a lie. A complete lie. Because if he had a steady girlfriend back home, I’d know. Wouldn’t I?
My mind shuffles back to Elle’s comment regarding Hunter being in love. Then my brain starts throwing out all the facts to shoot down that theory. He’s about as faithful as a honeybee. The more flowers, the better.
Jennifer hands me a flag. “Here. You’ll need this.”
I take it and stare at the thing. “Why?”
“It’s as close as any of us are ever gonna get to action with Hunter.”
Suddenly, Elle’s other comment flashes in my mind. I think he was into you. Big time.
Shut the front door. I know her comments are ridiculous and unfounded—she doesn’t know jack. Or jill. But the fucking kicker is that my heart goes into cardiac-lite, thumping out of control at the thought of him wanting me.
I shoot from my seat, like I’m about to declare independence in a room full of oppressive aristocrats. I say there, old boy! You are out of order. We are free men. And free men we shall stay!
“Tassie? You okay?” asks Jennifer.
I nod stiffly and try to choke down a nonexistent crumb in my throat. “Sure. Super good. I have to…to…” I point toward the concession area. “Get ready for halftime cappuccinos.”
Bea raises a brow. “You have at least another fifteen minutes until halftime.”
“Yeah, but…”
Jessica places her hand on my arm. “Stay, Tassie. I know you Tri-Kappas hate us, but we’re really not so bad.”
The sincerity in her eyes makes me feel horrible. I don’t want her to think I’m a hater. Because I’m not. Am I?
I sit down. “I actually think Greek rivalry is pretty stupid.”
Jessica wraps an arm around me and squeezes. “You’re pretty smart for a Tri-tip, Tassie.”
I finally manage to swallow that lump in my throat. “Thanks.” This is the first time in my life that I’ve ever felt so welcomed. Ever. And it kind of makes me want to cry. Here I’d hated them for judging me, only to discover I was the hater, assuming all sorts of things.
Maybe I’m not as smart as I thought. At the very least, I’m lacking education. Education about people.
This is a startling awakening. But the evidence is sitting right beside me. Two perfectly nice people I had no business judging or disliking.
I have to wonder what else I’m under-informed about.
I raise my plastic cup to Jessica and then Bea. “Go Pirates.”
They smile in a way that makes me feel like they see me. They don’t judge. And more importantly, they’re real women with goals who know how to have fun.
And like me, they don’t have Hunter. Not that I want him. Just stating the obvious.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You really should come with me, Elle. The Gammas are nice. I mean, really nice,” I say, pulling a short little summer dress with yellow and white flowers over my head.
“Thanks, but I’m just not a big beer drinker. And we have a bio quiz tomorrow.”
“Thus the reason I’m not drinking and only going for an hour.” Really, just long enough to put on a show for Hunter’s frat buddies. They all need to know I’m planning to let him mount the white pony, slay the V-dragon, crack the seal.
Why do I keep coming up with this weird virginal slang? I suppose it helps make the topic more comfortable. In any case, once I show everyone that the big virgin is ready and willing to throw in the white towel—Crap, I did it again!—lose her virginity to Hunter, the rest will be up to him. He has to tell everyone that he slept with me.
I quickly start thinking about the “girl back home” Jennifer mentioned. This can’t be right. I’ll have to talk to him.
“Sure you don’t want to come for a little while?” I say to Elle. “We can laugh at the meatheads? Say big words and watch them get confused?” I joke.
From her desk, which is pushed against the foot of her bed like mine, she sighs with frustration. “Sounds entertaining, but I’m not in the mood.”
I suddenly realize that staying behind to study isn’t the real reason she won’t go.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Sure.” She looks down at her notebook.
“Sure, as in ‘yes’? Or sure, as in ‘I don’t want to talk about it’?”
“Both.”
I don’t like that answer.
I sit down on her bed so I can see her face. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, remember?”
It’s got to be her mother. Something not good. “Okay, but I’m here if you want to talk.”
She nods but doesn’t reply. I want to help her. I want to say something that will make her feel better and know that she’ll get through this. But wh
at do I know? My mother isn’t the one dying. Still, the thought of what Elle is going through makes me want to cry. Just full-on bawl right here. It’s just too sad.
No. That won’t help her. She needs sympathy, not empathy. That’s what my mother said once when I asked her how she dealt with people dying in their trials. First, she explained that it’s part of the work—keep testing, keep reformulating, keep going until someday they stop dying. “That’s all that matters, Tass. We can’t give up.” Still, I knew from the look in her eyes that it pained her not to be able to save people yet. Her failure meant their deaths, which would be a heavy burden on anyone. Perhaps it’s the reason I want to follow in her footsteps. I don’t want her to have to suffer through this alone. And I don’t want her to ever give up, so I want to be there to help.
As for sympathy versus empathy, that was the second thing she told me about. Sympathy is filled with compassion, but keeps you strong so you can lift others when they’re down. You keep your head on straight, but you still care.
Empathy is dangerous.
Their despair becomes your own, and you feel as though it’s happening to you. You’re of no use to anyone once you cross that line. Because someone needs to be there at the top of the mud pit, holding the rope, telling them to grab it and climb out. You can’t do that if you jump inside with them.
Regardless, I can’t help feeling my feet slide down that muddy embankment. Just a little. What Elle is going through, watching someone she loves die, is my worst nightmare.
I blink away the threat of tears and take hold of the rope.
“Nope. Nope. I’m not taking no for an answer.” I stand up. “You’re taking a one-hour mental vacation from your life.” I grab her hand and start pulling. “You need it. And it’s only four o’clock. You’ll have plenty of time to come back and study.”
She stays seated. “I’m really not in the mood.”
I look down at her big brown eyes and messy blonde hair, trying to find the right words to get through to her. It’s okay to live and smile a little, even though she’s dying; otherwise you can’t stay strong for her, I want to say, but those words are too harsh.