“How can you listen to this shit?” Chase asks, his unexpected voice startling me.
“Oh, my God. Get out,” I call as I automatically attempt to cover as much of myself as possible with only a loofah and my hands. I may be hidden behind a thick shower curtain, but I’m not taking any chances. I mean it’s a shower curtain, not a locked door.
“Hold on,” he replies with a sigh. “I’m putting on some good tunes for you.”
“I want the music I had on.” What the hell? Why is he messing with my routine? I have a process. There are certain cleansing and moisturizing procedures I perform for the lengths of certain songs. He’s completely throwing me off. How will I know how long I have my conditioner in my hair without Party in the U.S.A. playing?
“Your music is crap. I can hear it through the wall and it’s making me want to insert sharp objects into my eardrums.” The screech of a guitar fills the room as music begins to play. “This is Bob Mould. Listen. Learn.”
I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else and then I hear the door open and close.
I peek around the shower curtain, my eyes trailing through the empty room. Um…okay… I glance over at the counter where my iPod was sitting. In its place is Chase’s.
He totally just stole my iPod.
~*~
Even though I was furious with Chase, I had to take the time to put my make-up on and dry and straighten my hair. By the time I’m completely ready, most of my previous anger has faded. It helped that I actually kind of liked the music he had playing on his iPod.
Okay, I liked it a lot.
I knock on his door, preparing my argument in my head. There’s no answer, so I knock again. When I’m greeted once again with silence, I open the door slowly, peering inside.
Chase is sound asleep, his arm flung over his eyes. I pause, trying to decide what I want to do. I should go jump on him and demand my iPod back, but he looks so…
I’ll come back later. It’s not like he’s going to keep it. I have his as collateral.
I go back to my own dorm, but I just drop my stuff off and head over to the library because, by the dark-haired guy lying in Gretchen’s bed, I’m guessing things went well for her. I hate that I envy her. I’ll never understand how things come so easy to the people that seem to never try.
I say a quick hello to Lynn, the librarian, and settle into my usual table. I like this one because it’s close to the exits in case there’s an emergency, and the windows, so the lighting is good. But it’s still far enough from both that I’m not easily distracted.
I always sit facing the doors. I like to be aware of my surroundings. It’s good to know who is coming and going.
Ella Hamilton’s a few tables away with a large cup of coffee and several books. I smile as I recall what I told her about Chase, which she takes as an invitation to come talk to me.
Great.
“Hey,” she says as she pulls out the chair across from me. “Are you going to that pool thing?”
“What pool thing?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and leans forward. “That party thing the swim team’s having on Friday.”
I vaguely recall Chase mentioning that. He’s not on the swim team because that would require commitment and responsibility on his part, but he likes to swim. Somehow he managed to become buddies with the entire team. I even heard a rumor they tried to talk him into joining. And true to form, he blew it off.
I shrug. “I might stop by.”
Really I have no intentions of going. Pool parties mean swimming suits. I work my ass off to maintain my 115 pounds, which is exactly the recommended weight for my height, age, and activity level. I’m in great shape. But years of cheerleading have rewarded me with zero hips and my chest is still a lot smaller than it should be. I barely fill a B cup. I feel like a boy when I stand next to other girls in swimsuits.
“It should be fun. I love pool parties.” Ella grins and I stifle an eye roll.
Of course she loves pool parties. I’m sure Ella adores any excuse to put on a bikini and flaunt her hourglass figure in front of all the half naked boys. To girls like Ella, a swim party is like a boy smorgasbord. She can just walk up and down poolside and point her finger at whatever she wants. And get it.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Me too.”
She smiles again before returning to her table. I’ve gotten so good at lying it’s scary. People are so eager to believe you when you’re agreeing with them. This is how I made it through high school. I just followed what everybody else was saying and doing. Joined in on the gossip. Wore the right clothes. Connected myself to the right groups.
It was easy.
It was also incredibly lonely. Because at the end of the day, I didn’t have any real friends. I disliked everybody that I hung out with. Except for Guy and his friends. But we were from different social circles. And my circle didn’t associate with his. So neither did I. Not really.
After my Uncle Donnie died in a car accident with Hope’s mom, my family started fostering Hope. When she came to live with us, everything changed. Again. She was this quiet drummer girl with ridiculously dyed hair and crazy clothes. She had a bad attitude and got bad grades. But everybody loved her.
She did everything in her power to hide herself. Make herself unappealing. But it was like, the more she tried to hide, the more people began to notice her. I was doing everything I could at that age to stand out, to be noticed by somebody. Anybody.
I hated her instantly.
She moved into my bedroom, crowding me with her obnoxious band posters and musical instruments. And she took Guy away. Not that Guy ever really liked me, but he was my brother. Not once had he ever claimed me, but when Hope came around, he told everyone that would listen that she was his sister.
So I hated her more.
It was a bad time for me. Too much change at once. I was stuck in this hole that I had dug myself and all I wanted was a way out. It felt like Hope was just filling in the hole with me still in it.
It wasn’t until senior year that I finally started to see the real girl underneath her hard exterior. I made some mistakes and Hope was the one that stood by my side. I let my guard down and allowed her in. It had taken a long time, but I realized she pretty much felt the same way I did all my life. Where I felt like I was being buried, weighed down from pressure, Hope felt like she was drowning in it. Something changed between us, and though I’ve never been able to tell her this, she became my best friend and favorite person.
I sigh, my gaze moving through the library.
I miss her.
Pulling my cell phone out of my purse, I pull her number up, and stare at it. I think about hitting send, but she hasn’t called me once since she left. I remind myself that just because she became my best friend doesn’t mean I was ever hers.
I tuck my phone back into its spot and try to focus on studying.
6
Boyfriend
Chase
I’ve never really enjoyed school. I don’t like getting up early. I don’t like being forced to sit through boring lectures. I despise homework. Once I go home, I shouldn’t be expected to do more work.
But I love tests.
I know it’s weird, but I’m good at them. In high school, I didn’t do homework because we’ve already established homework is bullshit. But I’d show up to class, listen to the lecture, and take the tests. That’s how I passed with a B average.
College isn’t like that. One paper can be worth half your grade, so just passing the tests can’t save me. And that…sucks.
I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing in college. I only enrolled because if I didn’t, I would’ve been left behind. In retrospect, I should’ve made friends with people less goal-oriented. Then I could be sitting on my parents’ couch, playing my bass—not trying to write a paper about dead people.
Too damn late now.
I backspace the last two paragraphs I wrote as I glare at the screen. In my next life,
I better be an actor or a mafia kingpin because I’m not doing this college shit twice.
“Chase,” Pauly yells, pulling the headphones away from my ear. “That girl is here again.” He gestures toward the door and I follow his movement. Annie’s standing just outside the open door. She’s nibbling on her lip, which kills me a little bit. She does shit like that all the time, absentmindedly chewing her lips or licking them in this way that draws my attention. I can’t remember when I started actually looking at her like a girl, but it’s been torturous for the past few years.
I look down at where my headphones are connected to her iPod resting on my bed. Annie smirks and I know she just realized. Then I smirk because it’s not what she thinks. In fact, she’s about to be extremely pissed off when she discovers what I did. That’s why I did it.
I push the headphones back around my neck and unplug the chord. “You’ve got some good music on here,” I say as I switch it off and hold it out.
Annie steps inside, gazing around as she walks hesitantly in my direction. “I thought my music was crap?”
I smile at her, not replying.
She sighs. “What did you do?”
“Let’s just say I’m schooling you.”
Her head tips to the side as one blonde brow arches in disbelief. “You’re schooling me?”
“Hey,” I say defensively. “In this situation, I’m more educated. Clearly.”
She snatches the device from my hand and switches it back on, scrolling through the music I replaced her old tunes with.
“You erased all my music.” She drops her hand to her side and looks at me with round eyes. “Why would you do that? What is wrong with you?”
I blow out a long breath and stretch my legs out. “I had to do it. For mankind. That shit you call music…it’s…shit.”
She shakes her head, confusion furrowing her brow. “Okay, you don’t like it and that’s fine. It was on my iPod because I do like it. It wasn’t affecting you in any way. I can’t believe you did that.”
“It was affecting me—negatively—when you played it where I could hear.”
She’s glaring at me, but the corner of her mouth is twitching, fighting back a smile. “There’s something very wrong with you.”
I grin. “Don’t worry, I fixed the problem.” I tap her hand. “I put some of my favorites on there—you’re welcome. You only have eight gigs of memory, though, so I couldn’t put everything I wanted on it.” I set my laptop to the side and swing my legs over the bed. “How can you live with only eight gigs?” I stand up and she takes a step back. “Oh,” I continue before she can reply. “Don’t worry. I replaced all your playlists too.”
“What?” Annie’s cheeks ignite with color as she quickly swipes her thumb over the screen.
I lean in and point. “I really like how you had them named, so I didn’t change that,” I say. ‘“Don’t Let Your Ass Get Fat’, epic. Oh, and there’s my favorite—‘Who’s Your Daddy?’”
She presses her lips together and I grin at her.
“Do you really get it on to The Biebs?”
She closes her eyes, somehow managing to look more embarrassed and I chuckle. That would make the score 19 me—16 Annie.
“I know you may not understand because you can’t get a girl to hook up with you, but it’s not about who is singing the music. It’s about the rhythm and the way your body moves to it.”
She opens her eyes, her gaze landing on me, and I have no reply—which is a first for me. But I have the sudden desire to see the way Annie moves her body to Boyfriend. I used to love watching her cheer in high school. I’m not sure there isn’t a hetero male out there that wouldn’t. Images start flying through my mind and I puff up my cheeks, blowing out a big breath.
I still have nothing.
Okay…19 me—17 Annie.
She definitely scored that point.
~*~
Sometimes, on certain occasions…some might say I tend to lean—slightly—toward the sensitive side. I’m not going to deny that I tend to be more open to my emotions than others. Here’s important knowledge about me—if I like you, I like you. I don’t give a shit what other people say. I don’t give a shit if you fuck up because we all fuck up at some point. I have no problem reminding you how or why you messed up, but it’s not a deal breaker for me. If you’re my friend, that’s it. That’s `til the end. I will do anything for you. I will always have your back. And you can count on me for anything, including crazy-ass shit nobody else is willing to do.
What can I say? I’m loyal.
Has this gotten me into trouble? Hell yeah it has.
Do I regret it? Nope.
Does this make me weak or lesser of a man?
Well, I have a theory about this. I could easily say fuck it and blow off my friends when they need me. Choose to not open doors for women. Ignore calls from my family. Walk past someone struggling with his or her groceries. Take advantage of drunken females. Lie to get out of helping a buddy move his two-ton couch. It would be so simple to do nothing.
But I make the choice to help others out. It’s just who I am. I can guarantee I’m more reliable, more dependable, more trustworthy than most guys.
Not to pat my own back, but I think I’m a damn good friend to have. And I’d make a pretty good catch, too.
So why the hell am I still single?
No, really. Why am I still single? If you know, you should really help a guy out. I’m not looking to get married. I just want a nice, simple relationship with a girl that’s cool. One that likes music, can make me laugh, and that I get to have sex with on the regular.
It doesn’t take much to make me happy.
I pull my swim trunks out of the dresser drawer and toss them on the bed by my gym bag. Park started working out several days a week and I started going with him. He always bails after an hour, so that’s when I hit the pool.
There’s a bad side to being the nice guy. Sometimes even nice guys get pissed. Occasionally, I’m ready to scream “fuck the world.” But nobody understands when the nice guy loses it.
Swimming keeps me straight. It’s my release. My meditation. My stress reliever. I don’t admit this often, but the smell of chlorine takes me directly to my happy place.
And, man, our school pool is freaking spectacular. I could live in it if they let me. I’m almost positive I was a fish or a merman in my past life.
I would be badass as King Triton.
It takes a lot for me to not like a person, but anybody who hates water is untrustworthy in my opinion. How can anybody not love feeling weightless? Or how your body can move through water in a way it isn’t capable of on the ground? That’s not normal to me.
I shove my trunks and towel into my bag and pat my pockets. Wallet, cell phone, keys. I’m good. I open my door and pause as I almost run into Annie.
“Hey,” I say wearily. This is starting to become a habit, her showing up at my door unexpectedly. She licks her lips as she gazes up at me and my mind flips through several scenarios that involve her mouth and various parts of my body.
Just an FYI, every single time a girl does anything with her mouth, a guy will fantasize about it. Talking not excluded—that’s why men have such a hard time paying attention.
“You need to put my music back on my iPod.”
Oh. This again. “I’m on my way out. Can’t you do it yourself?” She can’t. I know she can’t, but I love pissing her off. It’s like an addiction at this point.
“You changed all my passwords,” she huffs. The way her voice squeaks at the end makes me smile.
I chuckle as I push past her. “Maybe you should have protected your music better. It took me four tries to figure out the password. ‘Annie rocks.’ Really?” I pause in front of the elevators and push the down button several times. “I find that ironic, by the way.”
She sighs as the doors open. I step inside, knowing she won’t follow. She has a thing about elevators and malfunctions. Something about plunging to a
fiery death. Blah, blah, blah.
I grin and wiggle my fingers as the doors begin to close. Her eyes narrow and she hurries inside just in time. My brows raise in surprise.
“Are you that desperate to be near me?” I ask, smiling smugly at her.
“No,” she pants. “I’m that desperate to get my music back.”
“Why?” I ask seriously. Her music is that lame, pop shit you can listen to on any of the top forty stations.
“I have a routine.” Her hands fist at her sides and I notice a sheen of sweat glossing her forehead. “I need it back. You don’t understand.”
She’s right. I don’t. She could stand here all day and try to explain and I still wouldn’t comprehend how she could possibly miss that shit she calls music. I open my mouth to tell her this, but stop when I see the panic consuming her.
7
Faint
Annie
I hate elevators. I feel dizzy and my stomach is knotting as every possible outcome is running through my head. I watched this time-lapse video once of a man stuck in an elevator for an entire weekend. Trapped.
I’m not claustrophobic, but I don’t like the idea of being imprisoned. Especially with Chase.
Plus, I’ve seen enough movies to know that sometimes, elevators fall. Crash.
I can’t breathe.
“I swear to God, Annie, if you puke in here…”
That grabs my attention. I narrow my eyes on Chase. “What? What will you do?”
We stop moving and my heart stops beating. The doors slide open and I scurry out as quickly as possible. My knees feel weak, my legs shaking.
I jump as a hand settles onto my shoulder. “You okay?” Chase asks. His voice is low, soft, and it almost makes me believe he cares a little about my answer.
“Yeah,” I rasp. “I’m fine.”
I look up and meet his eyes. God, I love his eyes. Even though he’s grown out of his awkward, gangly phase, and into this thicker, sharper, well-built frame, I still think his eyes are his best feature. He could be a male model.