’Tis the Season
Back in North Carolina, the dismal fifty-degree weather was like a sunny vacation compared to Ohio. Despite the climate change, my temperament hovered in an icy zone. My disillusioned mood didn’t stem from a yearning to be back in Canton. Nothing could have prepared me for four consecutive meals with Dad and Trudy over the break. Up north, home life brimmed with uncertainty. Thinking about Mom, Dad, and Trudy his girlfriend was complicated, and I didn’t know what I could do to make things right. Being an adult wasn’t how I pictured it. I longed for my parents to be the stay-married, get-back-together type. Contemplating those odds landed me on Denial Island. I liked my old life, and I didn’t want it to change. Surely Mom and Dad missed the way things were and would find a way to make up. It would just take some time.
I’d survived the first day of classes since Thanksgiving break. Under bright sun, gusty winds tossed my hair like a mixer’s whip blade that peaks egg whites. All the more reason to speed-walk toward the dorm. I had big news for the girls.
Thinking someone is witty and cute when you’ve been drinking is risky. It’s like choosing a donut in the afternoon. They look decent, and you pick one with lots of icing, but once you take a bite, you realize it’s stale. Thankfully I confirmed that Clay Sorenson—a.k.a. green jacket guy—is not a stale donut.
Today I spoke to him, sober. He was southern and could carry a conversation, which was good since I choked on most of my words. He’d been in my psychology lecture all semester, and I’d been too much of a wuss to approach him. After class, I stood to pack up, and my loose-leaf notes spilled into the aisle. Bending down to gather them up, I locked eyes with him as he handed me a page.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Clay Sorenson,” he’d said, and I hung on his every word until I remembered to close my gaping mouth. I barely managed to sputter, “Rachael. O’Brien.”
“Were you in the class right before Thanksgiving break?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I missed that one. Could I borrow your notes?”
He made me so nervous that I forgot how to take in air. Fumbling with my binder, I pulled out the notes and hiccupped.
“Is it okay if I return them to you next week?” he asked.
“Keep them as long as you like.”
“Great. Thanks,” he’d said and left.
On my way across campus, I scolded myself. I should’ve penciled my phone number on the pages, in case he wanted to deliver them to my dorm. Monster news has a short life expectancy, and if I didn’t tell someone in the next five minutes, the words would explode out of me and into the ears of some stranger.
A half block from my dorm an arm engulfed my waist and a deep voice with a twang whispered, “Did ya miss me?”
I turned around and punched Hugh in the shoulder. “Don’t do that to me. I almost doo-dooed my pants.”
He tussled my hair and walked with me toward Grogan.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” I asked.
Bouncing a wood toothpick around his mouth with his tongue, he said, “Let’s see, Dad never showed. He preferred to hunt elk in Montana, and Mom hit the bottle and passed out before one.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t all bad. I took the skiff out in the gulf and caught a red grouper. Twenty-one pounder. I cooked it on the grill and downed a partial case. How about yours?”
“Dad has a friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
“Hopefully a short-term one.”
Outside of the Grogan Hall lobby, a light rain spat out of the sunny sky. A droplet hit my cheek. Opening the door, he lodged his foot onto the corner. “You seem in a hurry. You got something goin’ on?”
I walked backward. “Hopefully.”
WALKING INTO MY ROOM, I was convinced I’d have a heart attack. I dropped my satchel on my desk ready to spill my newsflash, but Katie Lee distracted me. She was rifling through her underwear drawer, dropping the contents, piece by piece, onto the floor. A body lay stretched on my bed. Even with a towel turban hiding her hair and a magazine covering her face, I knew it was Macy. Who else in North Carolina would wear a “Mets” sweat shirt?
Tossing her magazine to the floor, she said, “Hey, Rach,” and flipped onto her stomach.
Katie Lee didn’t acknowledge me with her normal “Hey.” Before I shared my scoop she asked, “Is any of my underwear in your drawer?”
“Is that something you two share?” Macy asked.
As challenging as it was, Katie Lee and I ignored her. “Rach, just check. I have a quiz today, and I’m missing my lucky purple-stripe bikinis. They haven’t let me down all semester.”
Opening my dresser drawer, I said, “Check for yourself. Are you sure you didn’t leave them home over break?”
“They’ve been missin’ since the trip we all took to The Bern. I thought I’d left them home back then, but I didn’t find them over the break.”
“Enough with the panty talk. After my psych lecture, Clay Sorenson introduced himself.”
“Who the hell is that?” Macy asked.
“Holiday Inn, green jacket. My lust obsession.”
She rocketed off the bed. “This is huge.”
“O’Brien,” Katie Lee said, “drop your pants. You must be wearing my lucky bikinis.”
“That’s gross,” I said.
With crossed arms, Katie Lee eyed me suspiciously. I tugged a corner of a hot pink waistband from beneath my jeans. “Mine are solid pink.”
Katie Lee pulled me by the arm. “Tell us what happened.”
“When class ended, Clay walked up to me. He introduced himself and asked if he could copy my notes from a class he missed before break. My body went mashed potato.”
“Did you butter your panties?” Macy asked.
“Macy,” Katie Lee said, “that’s nasty.”
“When Clay enters my orbit, my hormones play havoc with my neurological system. If he sits anywhere near me, it’ll be physically impossible to pay attention to Professor Hayes.”
THE NIGHT BEFORE OUR first final, Katie Lee and I planned an all-nighter. Processed foods filled the brain-drain void, and soda cans and Doritos bags overflowed our garbage can. Bridget stood in our open doorway and asked Katie Lee, “Do you want me to quiz you on anything?”
Since Patsy and I were still working on formulating a plan to reveal the lies she and Nash hid behind, I faked tolerating her. The sight of her prickled my backside, triggering a recall of bathroom captivity. Sharing the burden of the secret with Patsy hadn’t diminished the hurt the information would cause. If I’d slept with Nash, I’d have avoided Katie Lee. Not Bridget. She kept hourly tabs on my roommate, always complimenting her hair, what great colors of lip gloss she wore, blah, blah, blah. The two weren’t even the same major, but Bridget wanted to know all about Katie Lee’s classes. I had enough trouble keeping up with my own, let alone tracking someone else’s. If Bridget felt remorseful, she tucked it under care and concern for Katie Lee.
As we studied under the hum of our fluorescent ceiling light, the night stayed quiet with occasional plumbing gurgles and floor creaks. Katie Lee sat at her desk with her head in a book and slurped something carbonated. My eyeballs ached, and I closed my lids to dull the fatigue.
I awoke panicky and thought I’d overslept a final. The digital clock read 3:00 a.m. Katie Lee heard me stand and rotated her head in my direction, but didn’t say anything.
My fuzzy head clung onto my dream. Bridget standing in the dorm hallway in high heels, wearing only a green jacket. What grade would my psych professor give me if I filled a blue book analyzing relationships that cross a line of decency: “The Effect of Deceitful Friendships on the Inner Circle.” I couldn’t study psychology anymore and moved toward the built-in dresser.
“Rach,” Katie Lee said from her desk chair. “Please don’t tell me you’re organizing.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t organize.”
“You dusted and polished all your shoes, then arranged them from shortest to highest heel before the first time you used your fake ID. I watched you Windex the plastic containers of your cosmetics, lipsticks, and shampoos, then dry them with a Q-tip after the night you spent with Kentucky Travis. Now you plugged in an iron and pulled out your t-shirts and underwear. What’s bothering you?”
On top of our dresser, I smoothed out the smallest pieces of clothing I owned. “I’m freaked out about finals week, and smoothing the creases in my underwear makes me feel better.” I didn’t mention that her new best buddy had slept with her boyfriend a month ago. Knowing the secret I kept dodged the friend and roommate code of responsibility and ate at my core, but I didn’t have the guts to tell Katie Lee the truth.
“Everyone feels the same,” she said. “It’s one big cram session. You’ll get through freshman year. We all will.”
NOTE TO SELF
Clay Sorenson is hot, and when he talks, he’s even hotter. I need a plan of action.