2. Cameron Leary
My nine o’clock alarm startles me awake, and I quietly, as to not wake Brandy, pull on a T-shirt and jeans. I tie my brown hair back into a messy ponytail, then grab my Writing 1001 class material and head to the dining hall.
I secure a booth in the middle of the room. I eat a bowl of blueberries and cereal with thirty minutes to spare before my class. Right as I go to check my social media, a guy walks up to my booth. Not the one from Saturday. Thank the Lord. He wears a plaid shirt and black-rimmed glasses and maybe reaches about five foot six. Brandy might label him as nerdy, but he’s kind of cute. He has a kind face.
“This seat taken?” he asks. I shake my head. “May I sit here?”
I shrug. “Uh, sure.”
“I thought I would introduce myself. I’m a freshman looking to expand my network.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m Mikey Millow.”
“Lainey Coleson.”
I face my phone again.
Damn, why is it so hard making eye contact with members of the opposite sex?
Maybe it’s because you’re lame, and they scare you.
He sits down opposite me and pushes up his glasses with a single finger. I barely lift my eyes to meet his, but I can see how he examines my expression for a moment.
“If you’d rather be alone, I can find another table.”
I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. It can’t hurt to have more friends.”
Mikey smiles genuinely. “I’d like that,” he says. “To be your friend.”
It turns out we are in the same writing class, at least that’s what he tells me. For nearly ten minutes, we sit and chat. It’s mostly silly small talk, but in a way it makes me feel more okay with this whole college thing. A main worry of mine is being a friendless loser, but maybe these four years I won’t be. Or maybe I’m overthinking again.
With twenty minutes to spare before class, Mikey and I leave the dining hall and find our way across campus. “I know we just met, but you’re really pretty,” Mikey tells me after we enter our building.
Yeah right,the part of me that cannot take a compliment wants to say. I choose the graceful approach though and thank him. However, it’s dry, and he can tell.
“What?”
“I’ve just never considered myself all that pretty.”
He raises his brow like I’m trying to make a joke that’s not funny. “Are you being modest, or have you just never seen yourself in the mirror?”
As nice as his comments are, there is not a man alive that I ever met who says those things for the hell of it. They are always looking for more. Verbalizing something like that is romantic and not a platonic new friend thing, right? I”m not interested in offering anything more than friendship, especially for a person I literally just met.
He lets out a sigh. “My roommate is having people over later. Do you want to come by?”
Way to change the subject.
“I can’t,” I respond.
Disappointment floods his handsome face. Maybe he is being genuine after all. “It’s not personal or anything—I just can’t. I don’t do parties. I’ve never really been to one anyway. I thrive in solitude.”
He nods in understanding. Great, now I feel guilty. I could tell he wanted me to come, possibly to get to know me better, and that’s fine, but the chances of me going to any kind of party with a lot of people are unlikely.
“But it’s really not a party anyway,” he continues. “It’s just some people on our floor. Does that help?”
He wears a hopeful smile that makes my chest tighten. How can I say no? I also told myself maybe this year I wouldn’t be so closed off to other people.
I give a grin. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a few minutes.”
His face lights up more at that, if it’s possible. “Great.”
Brandy walks in from her last class at around six in the evening and flops on her bed with a loud groan.
“Lainey,” she says. “I already have so much homework.” She bounces up into a sitting position. “Two classes in and I have a whole paper to write. These professors honestly suck.”
Because I am already on my bed, I lean down on my pillow.
“My English professor is making us write two pages on what we know about this college,” she continues. “Um, it’s in California and I go here. The end.”
“Some guy asked me to attend a ‘get-together’ tonight,” I say out of nowhere.
This seems to pique Brandy’s interest. “Is he hot?” Of course she would want to know this.
“He’s all right.” I didn’t actually give him an answer. I honestly did not come to college to attend parties.
“We should totally go. And you don”t have to worry about anything because I”ll be there whether they like it or not. I think it’s a great opportunity for you to meet some people and loosen up.”
I am perfectly happy with how I am right now. I’m pretty sure. I really do not want to go because if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that I am not going to know a single soul at this “get-together.” Like for goodness’ sake, I just got here two days ago. And that terrifies me. I suppose, though, that is the point.
Brandy rolls her eyes. “When and where is it? Did this boy give the deets?”
“It’s literally going to be in the room above us on the guys’ floor.”
I do all the homework I can in the next few hours. It’s not a lot, but it isn’t something I want hanging over my head. Plus, it’s distracting me from Mikey’s dumb get-together thing I do not want to attend. As I do that, Brandy searches desperately through her drawers and the university-supplied armoire to find something to wear.
“Why do you care so much about what you wear to parties?” I realize just how naive I sound right after I say it.
“It’s about making an impression, Lainey. You want to look confident, so you need to dress the part. Just like if you wanted people to think you are a couch potato, you’d dress like that.”
There is a moment before I process that what she said is a shot at my outfit. I could not imagine why. I am comfortable, and that makes me feel confident. If I were wearing what Brandy was right now, I would have a giant wedgie, which does not equal confidence in my mind. “Are you saying I look like a potato?”
“No, no,” Brandy replies, not convincingly. “You know what I mean. You wouldn’t wear a garbage bag to a job interview, would you?”
What?
Brandy pulls out a pair of blue skinny jeans and a striped crop top. “This says I’m fun, cute, and self-assertive,” she informs me. “You can tell a lot about a person by their fashion sense.” She begins undressing, which is when I turn my attention back to my work. “I know you didn’t want to go, but please change your mind. I need a buddy, or I just look stupid.”
My interest in this is about as much as I have in watching a slice of white bread grow mold. That being said, I myself am a firm believer in the buddy system. The best way to ensure safety and well-being of your friends is by accompanying them on their journeys. I turn to look, and she wears a giant pout accompanied by puppy dog eyes. I guess peer pressure is how it’s gonna be, huh?
“I have no clothes that you would approve of,” I say.
Brandy claps her hands like a toddler who was told she can stay up past her bedtime. She then pulls on her crop top, which truly is quite cropped. It ends just below her breasts. What an impression…
Two seconds later, Brandy throws me a piece of fabric. It hits me and lands on the floor. When I bend to retrieve it, I see it’s a pink-and-red floral long sleeved blouse. It’s not cropped, but the neckline is way lower than any shirt I own.
“If you have a pair of black jeans, you’ll look super cute.”
I dress at sloth speed and let Brandy drag me upstairs. It occurs to me that if I wanted to make a true impression of who I am, why would I wear a shirt that isn’t mine? Something that makes me feel quite the opposite of confident. Peer pressure wins again. My chest rarely makes an appearance, and I really wish I could hold my hands in front of me for the rest of the night.
Knock, knock, knockgoes Brandy’s hand on the door. She gives me a quick look up and down and smiles. “I’m so glad you decided to come.” She then pats me on the shoulder and lets her hand linger there until the door opens, and an attractive, brown-haired, nearly six-foot-tall guy comes into view. When I tell you I nearly choke when I recognize who is standing in front of me, I mean it. The cheating piece of crap I love to hate from high school.
Cameron Leary.