Jude
a list of places he wanted to be, on a supervised lunch date with a stranger didn't crack the top one hundred spots. Hell, not even the top thousand.
But there he sat, occupying a table at Sugar Roux with his mom, one of her socialite friends, and the college-age daughter of said socialite. All four dressed for a semi-casual brunch but casual adopted a different meaning at The Royal Ridge.
Jude grabbed the nearly empty water glass from the table, shaking a few rogue droplets onto his crisp, white button-down shirt. The biting sting of the iced water elicited a few goosebumps, but it beat sweating from the heat.
September shouldn't be so warm, but he'd take it up with the Southern California sun.
Jude's eyes lazily skipped around the table at the other lunch guests. His mom and her companion—Janet or Jessica—laughed with their heads tossed back and faces framed by white-rimmed, round sunglasses. Their summery dresses and pink, white, and green statement jewelry blended well with the other ladies at different tables.
Beside his mom's friend, her daughter—whose name he also forgot—scrolled on her phone. The taut line of her lips telegraphed her displeasure to the rest of the table. If she was as bored as him, he sympathized.
Underneath the cover of the patterned tablecloth, Jude tapped his Oxfords against the stand holding the table upright. He followed an unspoken melody whose name escaped his thought but compelled him, nonetheless.
He treaded through the ambient noises around him in the clink of silverware against plates and chipper conversations about god knows what. Jude preferred to keep to himself until his dad rolled around with their predetermined "emergency" as a rescue, but luck wasn't on his side.
". . . isn't that right, Jude?" his mom asked, and Jude hadn't heard anything she said for the last half-hour. Then again, he hadn’t spoken for the last half-hour either, hoping his mom and her companions forgot about his presence at the table.
His eyes snapped toward her, and his foot-tapping immediately ceased under her watchful gaze. He glanced at her companion and the daughter who stared at him too, but their expressions danced along the edge of curiosity.
Jude cleared his throat. "Right. Yes, of course." He blinked at his mom, begging her to throw him a lifeline and guide him back to the conversation.
"Jocelyn says that Ashley's classes assign such heavy readings, and I couldn't believe English majors are burdened with heavy workloads. I thought STEM majors held the monopoly on suffering, but that's what Mrs. Keaton rambles about during book club."
Jocelyn was her friend's name. Jocelyn's daughter was Ashley. Right.
"Humanities have heavier readings, and the sciences tend to have more classes because of labs. I often juggle hundreds of pages of theory and research nightly for my courses this semester. However, it's more about the school. West Bridge has high rankings for both schools in national publications, so they keep up appearances."
At the end of his little ramble, Jude offered a hesitant smile to the women around the table. Luckily for him, his answer pacified the intensity of their attention. . . except for Ashley. The lingering stare at his mouth set him on the edge of his chair.
She was staring… again. He preferred it when she focused on her phone.
Jocelyn lifted her glasses to rest atop her hairdo, shaped like a beehive and smiled. "I can't imagine how exhausted and busy you must be all the time."
"I manage, ma'am. I'm lucky to be ahead for the moment." Jude tipped his head, minding his manners. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the twitch of his mom's lips and the fold of her hands on the table, glowing.
She raised him to be the modern gentleman, and he obliged her lessons since he was old enough to accompany her to the Ridge. His dislike of social settings and small talk be damned, he would keep her proud.
"Your mother mentioned something about a scholarship." Jocelyn waved her hand as one of the suited waiters skipped past the table, pointing to the empty water jug for him to whisk away for a refill. "Do you plan to continue your education after you graduate?"
"It's true. Someone in my department has nominated me for the Truman Scholarship. It’s a highly selective national scholarship for students interested in public service, hosting a cash prize and a great network of past alumni references. But that's more of a side perk. My focus right now is landing a good thesis advisor for my senior capstone, which should help my process for graduate school," Jude remarked, keeping the fidgeting of his hands on his lap to a minimum.
"Fascinating! Do you know where you're applying? What for?"
"At the moment, I have a tentative idea for a PhD but still need to solidify a program. I expect to decide within the next month, and my options aren't limited. I'm a political science major but working on an economics minor and might choose to specialize in economics instead."
"My goodness, your mom wasn't kidding about how bright you are, young man. Funny you mention economics. Ashley chose Introduction to Economics for one of her prerequisite courses next semester. Would you two consider becoming study partners?”
Despite the congenial smile on Jocelyn's face, the slight emphasis on partners caught Jude's ear. From the corner of his eye, he glanced toward Ashley, and the pink flush occupying her face confirmed his suspicions.
It wasn't the first time a friend of his mom's propositioned their daughter to him. It wouldn't be the last either, but Jude didn't foresee his answer changing.
He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with his discarded napkin, all too aware of the expectant stare his mom wore. "Yes, well. . . I've applied for a teaching assistant position for one of the introductory classes next semester. If our classes align, I'm sure I can run study groups."
"That sounds great," Ashley interjected and leaned onto the table, eyes raking down his face. "But I don't do well in group settings. Maybe we can schedule some one-on-one sessions."
"I know the tutoring center at the school has that option. Have you reached out to them before?"
"Once or twice. But I'm interested in a more consistent tutor. Someone who would be comfortable meeting me at the campus coffee shop for a couple of hours. . . or at my dorm room."
Jude glared at his mom, who looked toward the ceiling-length windows and sipped her mimosa to hide her amusement. Knowing that smile, Jude stared down more uncomfortable small talk with the eager pursuers in Ashley and Jocelyn without motherly intervention.
Not that he needed his mom to fight his battles for him, but he could use a diversion to dodge the thinly veiled attempts to get him and Ashley alone. She needed a tutor, but he suspected she and her mother saw a two-in-one opportunity to score a tutor and a boyfriend.
He turned back to Ashley and Jocelyn, lips parted open to speak, but hesitated. In that split second, his phone buzzed loud enough that the whole table could hear.
Jude fished the phone from his pocket and checked the screen, convinced his dad had gained a sense of divinely good timing. He could take the call and rush away on some pretend emergency with an apologetic smile and several assurances to see Ashley and Jocelyn again, never meaning any of them. As fake as that might seem, the people in his family's social circles embraced the double entendre of the mouth, preferring false niceties to a swift, inconvenient truth.
However, the caller ID revealed an unknown number with a 'likely spam' warning. Jude's plans might've been shot if he hadn't accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear anyway.
He could feel guilty later; Jude Beauregard planned his escape on an unexpected distraction.
He grimaced. "Jude Beauregard speaking. . ." Although a robotic voice greeted him immediately with a pre-recorded message, he paused and pretended to listen.
He tossed his napkin on the table, quickly rising out of his chair. He pulled the phone away from his ear and whispered, "I'm sorry, I have to take this. I'll try to be back soon."
"We’ll be here when you come back," his mom remarked before Jocelyn or Ashley had the chance. After a sidelong glance, she didn’t show her emotions one way or the other. But freedom was too tempting to ignore, so Jude accepted her permission, beelining for the double doors.
Jude slipped out of the Shore Building, one of the places for guests to stay, dine, and spend their time at The Ridge. He jogged down the staircase, eyes swept away by the gorgeous architecture.
With nowhere to be, Jude hung up on the robotic caller and tucked his phone away. Several footpaths outside the Shore Building offered different routes to explore around the Ridge. Still, all of them promised an escape from Ashley and Jocelyn.
Maybe she was a lovely girl with sparkling wit and other desirable qualities, but Jude wasn't looking. He was too busy at the moment.
So, he inhaled the fresh air of the warm autumn afternoon and wandered down the tiled courtyard outside the Shore Building. He tucked his hands into his pockets and moved briskly along, keeping his head down.
Although, he still noticed the world moving around him. He spotted families with their swimming gear, chatting and eagerly crossing the paved walkways to reach the pool area. Golf carts puttered along the mostly unoccupied roads winding through the resort, cruising toward the manicured greens of the eighteen-hole course at the southwestern edge of the Ridge. Members lounged around at the different decks and outdoor sitting areas, enjoying the shade with their drinks.
Jude's path brought him toward the tennis courts in the northwestern corner of the Ridge, a place familiar to him since childhood. He tucked into himself while sharing the narrow path with strangers and offered a smile when his eyes couldn't meet theirs.
Allegedly, he earned a reputation for being intimidating. His mom and dad joked he never smiled enough, stuck in the perpetual visage of a frown. He never understood why his lack of smile intimidated others, though.
Jude perked up at the bellowing, deep-throated laughter to his left and spotted a few older gentlemen in pressed shirts leaning over the balcony of the Shore Building. But the odor from the lit cigars held up to their lips pushed him further down the road.
Jude headed down the final curve until he landed at the start of the tennis courts, noticing them at total capacity with spectators in the stands. He stopped at the first court and leaned against the fence, taken by the heat of the game.
The pairs on the court wore matching attire in black and white, respectively, sweating under the simmering sun. The snapping of rackets and the fuzzy, green ball sailing over the net prompted scattered applause from the crowd observing the match.
Jude's hand gripped the fence and stared at the strangers darting around the white lines on green against his better judgment. His eyes followed the snappy, quick movements. He snorted, "If Coach Cara were here, she'd already shred the white team on their bad posture."
The image of Coach Phillipa Cara, all of five feet with shockingly silver hair, prowling the length of the court and using her infamous drill sergeant voice to scare the Del Mesa men's tennis team lived in Jude's memories. Oddly enough, he had always been fond of Coach Cara and her unconventional, strict personality. She took a shine to him back then, and compared to his teammates, he appreciated her favor.
Jude pushed off the fence, preparing to move onto the next court, but stopped. A young woman sat on the curb outside the fourth tennis court ahead of him. Her shaking shoulders and head tucked into her knees set off Jude's concern, mounting from mild to undeniable for a stranger.
He inched toward her, considering how to approach her. An awkward flush gathered around the nape of his neck, and the nervousness crept down his spine, slowing him down. Should he bother her?
While he was debating whether to approach, the girl's head lifted from her knees, and he caught a full glimpse of her profile. Jude froze, watching the girl swipe the back of her hand across her face and clean off her damp cheeks. He knew her.
Giselle Courtland had a face that would stand out in a crowd.
The loose, bouncy tumble of copper waves brushed against her upper back, shifting forward to hide her face despite several pushes of her agitated hand. Long lashes hung heavy over baby blue eyes, shimmering as clear as the cloudless sky. Her face slimmed out in the years since Jude last saw her and defined those soft cheekbones and her slightly elfin nose. But he couldn't process how she had become even more beautiful.
Giselle was beautiful then but blossomed with a little more age and maturity. God, the years had been so kind to her.
Jude's hands slid down the length of his linen trousers, damp with a sudden sweat from the heat. Seeing Giselle, while unexpected, brought his thoughts to a crashing halt, sparking off at the edges.
Yet, as quickly as he noticed her, her tear-slicked cheeks and quiet sniffling sent him off on a different spiral. Who hurt her feelings?
Another small thing Jude remembered about Giselle, which said something with all the different memories from high school jumping to the forefront, was how genuinely and kindly she treated everyone. She gained a reputation as a sweetheart, unable to harm a fly or raise her voice to anyone. So, the sight of her crying on the sidewalk while the world continued around her felt. . . wrong.
He stepped forward with all the thoughts pinging around his head like a tennis ball catching the edge of a racket, and his voice cracked into a whisper, "Giselle? Are you alright?"
Her head snapped toward him, and Jude braced, expecting confusion. He had grown since high school, more physically than she had; a second wind gifted him an extra inch on his already decent height while the miracles of modern medicine fixed his mild nearsightedness and cleared up his acne problem. He wouldn't blame Giselle for not recognizing him.
Giselle blinked and gasped, wiping her face again. "Jude? Is that you?"
"Uh, yeah." Jude nearly cringed at how he stammered over two simple words, dumbfounded because a girl recognized him. Sure, Giselle and he had been close for a brief moment, but the years changed him. "I didn't think you'd recognize me. . . are you alright?"
He reached her side in a few strides. He offered her his hands, noticing the puffy dark circles under her bloodshot eyes and the exhaustion etched into her delicate features.
"I'm-fine," Giselle said, albeit with the least convincing tone Jude had ever heard. The cry lingered on the edge of her words where the slightest nudge might open the flood.
"Are you sure? You're not hurt, are you?"
"I'm not physically hurt. No."
"That only covers one part of it," Jude remarked. When Giselle grasped his hands in hers, he lifted her onto her feet—perching her on the edge of the curb. Giselle wobbled a little, and her hands grasped his forearms until she balanced again.
Giselle shrugged. "Sometimes you have an off day, you know? I'll be better once I get home and unwind. Don't worry about me."
Jude listened to her words and examined the halfhearted smile across her lips, but those eyes told another story. She thought herself subtle, yet Jude followed her line of sight to the tennis courts.
The one in front of them didn't host a frenzied game like the others, but he spotted one tennis player he knew well. Jameson Calloway.
A former member of the Del Mesa tennis team and the man who made Jude's high school experience hell.
Jude joined the team their sophomore year, the year after Jameson, and neither liked each other much. Ask anyone on the team, and they'd describe Jude and James as "mostly benign" rivals. However, Jude classified James as a class-A jerk with an ego too big for his athletic record.
He knew all about James and Giselle's relationship. So, the sight of James' arms wrapped around another girl's waist while he whispered something into her ear caused the pieces to fall into place—that jackass.
Disgust filled Jude's throat at the sight, and his jaw clenched hard, desperate to control his emotions before he said something regrettable in Giselle's presence. He knew James to be an idiot. . . but stepping out on a girl like Giselle screamed capital S-T-U-P-I-D.
Jude settled for a quiet, "Forget about him. Don't look."
"I can't." Giselle's panicked breath drew Jude's attention fully back to her. He spotted the fresh tears welling up in her eyes, summoned when the girl with James giggled loud enough for the whole Ridge to hear her. "She's so pretty."
"James is an idiot and not worth your tears. Do you need an escort to your car?"
"No, I'll manage. Thank you, though. . . and it was good to see you, Jude. Maybe I'll see you again."
Giselle's arms slid around her waist and curled hard, wrapping herself in a hug. The protective stance slid a wall between her, Jude, and the audacious display of one Jameson Calloway. She offered Jude a smile, one still reeking of a broken heart, and headed past him toward the parking lots.
Jude waited on the curb outside the tennis courts, fixated on seeing Giselle's retreating figure. Her slow, quiet drift across the walkways held his stare until she ducked between a small cluster of pedestrians and vanished. Yet, his eyes lingered on where he last saw Giselle Courtland.
"Jude, what are you staring at?" He didn't know how long he'd stood outside the tennis courts, rooted to the spot on the edge of the curb, but his dad's voice jolted him.
"Nothing!" Giselle's tear-stained face dissipated from his mind, and he couldn't compose himself fast enough, ramming his hands into his trouser pockets. "How'd you find me?"
"Son, you used to spend more time at these tennis courts than in your bedroom for several years straight. You're a creature of comfort."
"Right. Is Mom mad that I ditched?"
"No. . . but she's smart enough to know your phone call didn't last that long. She had already covered the bill, and Ms. Jocelyn and Ashley left for an afternoon at the spa. You promised me not to reject the girl before lunch finished." His dad hummed, clapping his shoulder with a guiding hand.
Jude sighed as his dad spun him away from the tennis courts and the parking lot. "Yes, but have you considered that I'm well aware of what I like in a girl and don't want to waste anyone's time?"
"I can't fault you for that. But try to last a little longer than thirty minutes next time." His dad walked Jude off the curb, mostly teasing about the dating dilemma, but Jude faded into his thoughts far away from the Ridge.
He returned to high school, remembering the last time he saw Giselle Courtland to reconcile the broken-hearted longing in her eyes.