One

“What’s your major?”

I was beginning to hate the question. It seemed to be the only question people knew how to ask at parties or family reunions. Of course, it was a little better than, “Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

Deep down, I knew the question wasn’t the problem. It was my major: education. I hated it. I had no desire to be a teacher, but even less desire to go into medicine, like my parents, and that’s what landed me at the University of San Diego, majoring in English and minoring in Education.

I looked at the boy in the navy blue hoodie with “USD Toreros” emblazoned on his chest in Columbia blue letters, and prepared for the standard exchange I knew would ensue.

“I’m an English major,” I replied.

To which, as predicted, he snorted. “So, like, what are you going to do with a major like that, correct everyone’s grammar?”

I tilted back my bottle of Budweiser and swallowed the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m minoring in Education,” I said. “Probably teach high school.”

“Cool,” he responded. “Have you always wanted to be a teacher?”

“Nope,” I replied. “Not sure I want to be one now, but… it’s kind of a rule my parents set up: get a degree and work in the public sector, and they’ll pay for school.”

“Parents and their rules,” he said as he raised his beer bottle in a toast. “And here’s to their stinginess with money.”

I clinked my beer bottle against his and drained the last of the amber liquid before excusing myself to find more.

The party was in full swing. I weaved my way through bodies and small gatherings. A few from the men’s soccer team were chanting something while a girl half my bodyweight fell to her knees to funnel a beer. A small gathering of anarchist-looking undeclared majors were huddled on the main room underneath the Greek letters for Beta Theta Pi, passing a joint between them, all giggling at some unspoken joke. My eyes roved the crowds for someone, anyone I knew.

“Hey, Janice!” I heard my name from a chipper-sounding cheerleader type. When I turned to see Brittany Clark waving frantically to me from across the room, I felt a thud behind me and then the sensation of cool liquid traveling down my back.

Brittany approached, a pained look on her face. “Oopsy,” she said as she assessed the situation. I turned, ready to give the culprit a piece of my mind, only to find myself staring into piercing blue eyes, rimmed in the darkest, lushest black eyelashes. The eyes were wide, and underneath, the full lips were pulled into a hesitant grimace.

“Ah shit, sorry,” the culprit said in a smoky masculine voice. “My bad. I wasn’t paying attention, plowed right into you. Let me get something to clean this up.” He left and returned within a few seconds, dabbing at my damp back, the lace backing of my shirt granting the beer easy access to bathe my skin. I felt a chill from the beer, and then felt my face heat in an embarrassed blush.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll just treat it like a christening. After all, it’s my first frat party, so it’d be fitting.”

He smiled. “I should have grabbed that bottle of champagne then.”

“Oh, poor Janice,” Brittany was saying. “Don’t worry, I’m sure before the night is over, there will be worse party faux pas than this one.”

I glanced at her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, her intricate eyeliner, and her pouty pink lips and felt more cloddish than I had all evening. “Thanks, I think,” I mumbled.

“So, Janice, is it?” the smoky voice asked, pulling my attention back to the attractive guy still standing next to me, half-empty red plastic cup in hand.

“Yes, Janice.” I stuck my hand out to shake it, just as he shoved his beer forward to toast my first frat party, causing the beer left in the cup to slosh forward. We locked our gazes, our eyes wide and then burst into nervous laughter.

“This doesn’t seem to be going well,” I said.

“Let’s start over,” he offered, his eyes locked onto mine. I had resolved not to make another move before he did, afraid that I would cause an even bigger mess than we’d already made. He put his hand out. “I’m Tony,” he said. “And you are?”

“Janice,” I replied, shaking his hand.

“Sorry about the christening,” he smiled.

“It’s okay. At least it wasn’t red wine. That would have ruined my favorite shirt.”

His eyes travelled away from my face, down my torso and the length of my body, then back up. “It’s a great shirt,” he said and my stomach flip-flopped.

“Thanks,” I managed, lost in those blue eyes with lashes any girl would kill for.

“So, Janice, do you go to USD?” he asked.

I nodded. “You?”

“I’m on the five-year program,” he grinned. “Hey, everyone says to make college last as long as you can, you know, to avoid the ‘real world’. I’m taking their advice.”

“Hi, I’m Brittany,” the petite little Pomeranian of a girl chirped, seemingly unaware she was busting into our connection.

Tony and I glanced down at her in surprise. I think we had both forgotten she was there.

“Janice and I are in Educational Psych together,” she offered. “It’s the most boring class ever, huh Janice?”

I nodded, but then again, I thought that about most of my classes. Not only were they boring, but each class led me closer to a career I knew I’d regret.

“So, I’m hanging out with the Future Teachers of America?” Tony grinned mischievously. “Makes me think of that song—Hot for Teacher.” He looked deep into my eyes when he said it, and I felt my stomach do that flip-flop again. I fought the urge to run my fingers through the thick black hair that fringed his face, such a stark contrast to the cool of his blue eyes.

“Oh, there’s Deshawn Bell,” Brittany said, hopping up and down and clasping her hands like she was watching the stars stroll the red carpet. “He’s so dreamy.”

Dreamy? I thought. Who uses that word anymore? I followed her gaze to the tall, lean dark-skinned guy who towered over the rest of the crowd in the doorway. Everyone knew him; he was the only black guy on the swim team. It was rumored that he’s on the short list to join the Olympic team. He’d put USD on the map earlier this year by winning nationals and making it to the finals in the FINA World Swimming Cup.

He was also in my Ethnic-American literature class, and from what he’d shared in class, was a pretty smart guy. The insights he shared in class when we studied Their Eyes Were Watching God proved to be intriguing, and when we were asked to indicate in writing who we’d be interested in completing our next criticism project with, I had put his name down as my first choice.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Brittany said. She turned and looked at me. “You coming?” Her eyes bounced from mine to Tony and then back to me as if she knew a secret. Was there something she wasn’t telling me?

My curiosity was eclipsed by her overt exuberance. I didn’t know if I could handle her extreme cheerfulness—I hardly ever could—so I waved her off.

“Nah, I’m good. You go ahead.”

Her eyes danced again back and forth between me and Tony and then she did a two-finger wave as she bounced off toward the towering Deshawn. I had a fleeting vision that she would have to tug on his shirttail like a little kid to get him to look down at her four-eleven form or risk being stepped on in the midst of all the people gathering to greet him.

I watched his fluid movement, his body lean and his muscles obvious, even under the t-shirt he was wearing. His face, however, didn’t match his movements. Instead, they showed a slight hesitation and nervousness, his jaw set firmly no matter how he tried to smile easily.

“You know Deshawn?” Tony asked.

“Only slightly,” I answered. “We have a class together.”

“Cool,” he said, taking a step closer to me. “So, how is it I’ve managed to take half the classes USD has to offer, yet I’ve never had one with you?” he asked, his breath warm and close.

“Maybe because I’m a freshman?” I asked, finding myself pulled to him, wanting him to close the gap even more.

“Fresh meat, eh?” he grinned. “And here you are at your first frat party.”

“Yeah, I, um, don’t go to these things very much.”

“Why’s that? Not a partier?”

I swallowed. “I party as much as the next girl, I guess,” I answered. “Just not a big fan of crowds.”

I peered around the room, feeling the claustrophobia beginning to settle in. The number of bodies seemed to be growing exponentially, and I was finding it harder to breathe.

“Hey, you okay?” Tony asked, sensing my anxiety.

“Just, maybe we could get some air,” I suggested.

He grabbed my hand, and we snaked our way through the main room toward the back of the house, through the kitchen and out the back door onto the patio. There was a pool; a few people swam in their underwear holding their beer cans and Solo cups high to avoid the chlorinated water.

“Hey, Tony!!” People in the pool began greeting as we stepped out onto the back patio.

“It’s Tony, guys!”

“Tony, Tony, Tony, what it is!”

He waved. “Bernstein. I think you owe me for last week,” he called.

A chubby guy in tidy-whities, sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet dangling in, raised his cup to Tony. “You know I’m good for it, man. When have I ever let you down?”

“How about Tuesday, when you gave me the same song and dance?”

“How about I drop by tomorrow, say around four? You be around?” Bernstein asked.

“I’ll make a point of it,” Tony nodded. He placed his hand on the small of my back and gently nudged me away from the pool. “Over here,” he said and pulled me to a wicker loveseat at the far corner of the patio. It sat in the shadows with one lonely tiki torch flaming behind it. “That better?” he asked as he settled me onto the loveseat.

I took a deep breath and let it gush out between my lips. “Yeah,” I said. “Sorry about that.”

Tony shook his head. “No. I totally get it.”

A girl in heels too high for drinking made her way over to where we were sitting. She wedged herself into the small space between me and Tony, paying as little attention to me as possible. “Tony,” she drawled drunkenly. “I’ve been missing you.” She fell forward a little, leaning against him.

“Sherry,” he said, looking at me over her head. He mouthed the word sorry, and I shrugged, still trying to find my happy place. “Long time no see, girl. Where you been hiding yourself.”

“Finals are coming,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get my shit together to graduate. Had to clear my head for a while, you know?” She was weaving as she talked, and Tony had to place his hands on her upper arms to keep her from falling into his lap. “But once I get that paper, I’m gonna come see you again. We’ll celebrate!” She leaned in, inches from his face, when she said the last bit, and I thought for a minute she was going to kiss him with me sitting there, my hip digging into hers on the other side of the loveseat.

“That sounds like a plan,” Tony said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get to know my new friend Janice here.”

Sherry turned toward me and giggled as if she were just realizing I was there. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “Not trying to cock-block.”

“No, it’s not, um…” but my voice trailed off as I realized she may have helped plant an idea into Tony’s head. An idea I wouldn’t mind he had.

“We’ll do some catching up, girl,” Tony promised.

Sherry kissed him on the cheek, and then looked at me. “You got yourself a little hottie tonight, missy,” she told me. “And a perfect gentleman in the sack.” Then she got up and teetered away. I was amazed she didn’t fall into the pool as close as she got and as unbalanced as she seemed.

“So, the five-year plan means you have plenty of time to meet people, I see,” I said lightly.

Tony laughed and moved closer to me on the loveseat. “Well, a lot of these people are business associates.”

“Oh. You’re a business major?” I could have kicked myself, asking the very question I hated to be asked.

“Started out that way, then did a stint as a liberal arts major, switched to biology, and now I’m into philosophy.”

“You sound like quite the Renaissance man,” I said. “Are you really interested in all those areas or just trying to get your money’s worth?”

He laughed. “Guess I’m still finding myself, unlike you. I’ll bet you’re like every other future teacher: you’ve always dreamed of being a teacher. Probably lined up your Barbie dolls and taught them their multiplication tables when you were little. Am I right?”

It was my turn to laugh. “Hardly. I was too busy making my own outfits for my Barbies to try and teach them anything. I never wanted to be a teacher; it’s just this thing my parents want me to do.”

“Fulfilling their hopes and dreams, eh?” he asked.

“Nope. That would mean I was a bio major heading for medical school. My folks are both doctors, but I have no intention of going that direction, even though it was always assumed I would. When I finally put my foot down and swore I wouldn’t do medicine, they told me I had two choices: figure out a way to put myself through design school or go to USD and become a teacher on their dime. My game plan is to teach long enough to save up some money and eventually do what I want, but for now, this is my lot in life.”

Tony reached over and brushed an imaginary strand of hair from my face. His touch was soft, but sent electrical pulses through my body. Suddenly I felt parched.

“You’re just as lost as I am,” he whispered.

“Just trying to find myself,” I whispered back. I could feel his lips pulling mine toward his, and I watched his eyes shift between my eyes and my lips.

“Maybe we can find each other,” he said, and though I nearly laughed at the cheesy line, I held it in to get the payoff.

His mouth touched mine gently, and then pulled back. I reached toward him, but he was back before I could tell him to, and soon we were tangled on the loveseat, our mouths seeking the other with an urgency I’d never experienced.

“Hey, Tony—that you?” a voice came from across the patio.

We righted ourselves and watched as a broad-shouldered football player came across the patio in two strides.

“Shrek,” Tony said. Then he turned to me. “Janice, I’ve got to talk to this guy. Can I catch up with you later?”

I checked my phone. It was well past two, and I had promised my dad I would go to lunch and temple with him tomorrow.

“Actually, I should be going. I have a family thing tomorrow,” I explained. “Need to be shooting on all cylinders, if you know what I mean.”

Tony pulled out his cell phone. “Can I have your number, then? I’d really like to hang out with you some more.”

I felt the heat of his lips on mine and the pulling sensation from my belly to my groin increased as he stroked my face again. “513-626-8464.”

My phone vibrated in my hand, and I swiped the screen to save his contact info. “Got it,” I said.

“I’ll be contacting you,” he promised and swept his thumb lightly across my lips. “Soon.”

I watched him walk over to the monstrous being he’d called “Shrek” and slap him on the back as if he matched the guy pound for pound. My body cried out silently for him not to go.

We’re not finished here! it said, but I sighed evenly. It was just as well.