It was a dream she’d had before. She was back on the bathroom floor, and the girls were on top of her. Instead of four, there were forty of them. There was a puddle of hot urine under her, and her jeans were soaked. She tried to move but she couldn’t because her skin was glued to the floor. But this time she was trapped in the Rose School bathroom. Ian was sitting in the corner, watching everything going down.
“You’re supposed to help me now.” She whispered to him.
He stayed where he was, just watching.
“This isn’t my fight,” he told her. That infuriating smile seemed plastered to his face. Lucy sat down and joined him. She snickered at Meg’s plight.
“So this is who you are, Ford.” She shook her head. “I thought you were cool.”
It was a relief when the doorbell rang, waking her up.
She rose from her bed, weary from not just the dream, but all the cleaning she’d done, trying to get the apartment back in order. Though Elena, Zach, and even Flynn had stayed to help out, Lucy had bolted right before the clean-up began. Ian had left around the same time as Lucy, so Meg hadn’t been able to ask him about the Jefferson girl.
She glanced at the kitchen clock. It was just before four. She pressed the buzzer and waited, expecting to see Lucy yawning as she trudged up the stairs, sleepy and disheveled after another encounter, but when she opened the door, she found Ian standing under the hall light.
“Hi, Meg.” His smile was sheepish. “Remember, a long time ago; you offered to let me crash at your place?”
“Of course,” Meg said. She held the door open wide, and Ian ducked under her arm.
“Thanks, Meg. It’s snowing again, and the car was really, really cold. Are you alone?” He asked, sitting down on the arm of the couch.
“Yes.” Meg rubbed her eyes, thankful she been too exhausted to slather on her nighttime moisturizer mask. “My mom is in Ireland. She’s coming home tomorrow.”
“I thought Lucy might be here. Or Elena. Or her boyfriend. That big dude?” He puffed out his cheeks and held out his arms. He looked like a gorilla, getting pumped up for some inter-species Greco-Roman wrestling. Meg snickered. It was the exact opposite of Zach, who more resembled a giraffe.
“What?” Ian asked when he saw her laughing. “He’s an intimidating guy. No Colin?’’
She’d forgotten who Colin was.
“Oh? Flynn. He left with Zach. The big dude.”
Ian nodded and grabbed a throw pillow off the couch.
“Do you have an extra blanket?” He yawned wide. He just needed a place to sleep. Meg bit back her disappointment and went to fetch her favorite throw.
When she got back, she saw him curled up on the couch, shivering. He was wearing the same t-shirt he’d worn to the party, and his worn jeans looked just as thin as the old jacket he had on.
“Ian, you’re freezing,” she said, tossing the blanket over him. “Come upstairs and sleep in a real bed for a change. I’ll sleep in my mother’s room,” she added, before remembering that several couples had made good use of her mother’s bed during the party, and she hadn’t had time to wash the sheets. “Or I’ll use Lucy’s sleeping bag. It’s in my closet.”
“Thanks, Meg. I owe you. Do you mind if I take a quick shower? It would warm me up.”
Meg ran to get him her cleanest, fluffiest towel. He took it and smiled. Meg watched him walk into the bathroom, and close the door, and then she sprinted to her bedroom.
She found the sleeping back and unspooled it, then hurriedly changed into clean pajamas and her best bra and panties. It was no use trying to tame her hair, but she did squeeze a bit of toothpaste onto her finger and ran it across her slimy teeth. She had nowhere to spit, so she swallowed it, and almost gagged at the gritty, minty taste. Feeling slightly fresher, and about ten times more nervous, she perched on the edge of her bed and waited.
An eternity later, Ian walked into her room, wearing only a towel. His hair wet and dripping down his chest. Meg commanded herself to look at his face, and only his face, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from traveling down.
“You wouldn’t have any…”
She opened her bottom drawer, grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and threw them at him.
“Thanks,” he said, and dropped the towel.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” she quickly said. “You take the bed.”
Meg jumped to the floor and busied herself with straightening Lucy’s sleeping bag while he changed, and by the time Meg settled on the floor, he was dry and dressed.
He bounded onto the bed, jumping up and down like a little kid at his first sleepover.
“Goodnight.” Meg gazed up at him.
“Goodnight,” he said, and grabbed a pillow. Hugging it tight to his chest, he turned away and curled up into a ball facing the wall.
Meg sat very still, trying to calm herself, expecting that at any moment he would turn back around and lunge at her. But he didn’t turn around. Eventually, she heard him softly snoring.
Frustrated, she sunk down into the sleeping bag, various parts of her aching in a most unpleasant way. What if he wasn’t attracted to her, and only thought of her in a chummy, friendly way? Did she imagine all the mixed signals, the lingering looks, the way he seemed to follow her everywhere? The thought made Meg tear up. He’d saved her life, and he’d never even asked for a thank you. She could face another round with the Jefferson girls, could handle losing all her new Rose friends, but she needed Ian to like her. It had become, suddenly, so terribly important. She gave in to the tears, and eventually, they pulled her back to sleep.
When she woke up, it was daytime, and Ian was leaning over the side of the bed, staring down at her.
“I made a fort,” he said. “Come see.”
She raised her head. He’d tied the sheets to her bedposts, and propped them up with pillows, making a tiny, polka-dotted tent over the mattress. He took her hand pulled up her up. She was still groggy, so she felt like she was sleepwalking when she hunkered down beside him.
“I used to make forts all the time when I was little,” she told him, as she rested her chin on the pillow.
“Me too.” He scooted up the bed so that he was lying next to her. “Forts are great. They keep out all the bad guys. Except for me.”
“You’re not a bad guy.”
“I’m not good.”
“I wouldn’t let a bad guy into my bed fort.”
“It’s my bed fort now.” He ran his finger up and down her bare arm, making her shiver. The ache started up again, more intense this time. His fingers slowly moved up to her bare collarbone and the nape of her neck. With the slightest bit of pressure, he could have nudged her head toward his, and at that distance, Meg wouldn’t be able to stop herself from kissing him. She wouldn’t be able to stop at just kissing either, despite all the talk of fire and brimstone from the nuns, and her embarrassment over her imperfect thighs.
But Ian just sighed and closed his eyes. Soon his breathing settled into an even pattern, and his lips parted. He was sound asleep. Meg tried to fight it, but she was exhausted too, and soon her own eyes fluttered shut.
When she woke up, it was well after noon. The corner of the sheet had come free and tangled in her legs. The rest of the fort had collapsed. The pillows that had propped it up were scattered all over the floor. The snow had stopped falling, and the t-shirt and pants were neatly folded on the edge of her bed. Ian was gone.