No Matter What You Do

19. Good Old Marijuana

Noon on Monday, the fire alarm in my building goes off, screeching in my ears. Good thing I was already up and about, but I still take the time to put a pair of shoes on, throw a sweater on, and grab my key card.

At first, I tell myself it’s a drill like we did in high school every month. Then I realize colleges don’t give a crap, and some idiot probably really set something on fire. I reach the first-floor lobby, and that suspicion is confirmed by the horrific stench of burnt God-knows-what. I breathe through my mouth until Brandy and I reach the great outdoors. We isolate ourselves from the other students, all looking equally as frustrated.

Brandy runs a hand through her short hair. “I hate freshmen.”

“We are freshmen,” I remind her.

“Only by name. These losers forget how to function when they leave home.”

“If they ever knew how in the first place.”

Brandy titters at my comment, but I hadn’t meant it as a dig to our fellow freshmen. I still have no idea what the hell is going on. Maybe it’s just me and my own choices that make me feel that way. Whatever.

A pair of hands squeeze on my shoulders and jump on instinct. I sigh in relief to see Cameron. “Never sneak up on women, jerk.”

He ignores my insult. “Coleson, do we need to have a chat about causing fires in the building?” he teases.

“Not me, some idiot with a bag of popcorn.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I thought it was a dryer fire.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mikey heard it from someone. A friend of the perpetrator.”

Brandy’s arms fall to her sides. “You’re joking.”

Cameron bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head.

Brandy is way more bothered by this than necessary. These stupid kids take up much less space in my mind now that my mom told me she wanted to divorce my dad and I blurted it out to him when he didn’t know. Yeah. Proof I can’t function.

Cameron looks up to the building with squinted eyes being blinded by the sun, then back to me. “Want a coffee?”

Brandy answers before I can. “You guys go. I had coffee yesterday. I wanna see if I can catch this chowderhead who can’t use a dryer so I can give him a piece of my mind.”

“No violence,” I advise.

“Can’t promise anything,” she says, storming off.

I leave with Cameron.

“Your brother’s been talking. Why not you?” Cameron asks out of the blue.

“Oh, has he been going around discussing private family matters with everyone?”

Cameron rolls up the sleeves of his white Henley. “No. Just people he trusts. He’s takin’ it pretty badly.”

Could have fooled me.

“I told you about it.”

Cameron chuckles. “Yeah. ‘Sex-crazy mom divorces hardworking dad’ I remember, but there’s not much I can do with that.”

“That’s the whole story,” I tell him.

“It’s not.”

I liked his reaction better when he was drunk.

“You wanna know about it, ask your boyfriend David.”

“Point taken,” he says, closing the door on the subject.

I am suddenly aware of our proximity to each other. His arm is only a couple of millimeters away, and with each second, his hand gets closer to me until he slides it into mine. I let him, but I don’t grip it as tightly as he does. I suppose our occasional make out sessions have led him to think we’re on hand-holding basis, but if I return the gesture, all I’d feel is guilt. That being said, I do like his warm hand keeping my anxious one steady.

“Anything happening this weekend?” I ask, channeling my inner Brandy. I could use a distraction from my crapshow personal life. Even if it means going against my better judgment.

“You mean a party?” Cameron drawls.

I hate that I have become so desperate. “Sure. IDK.”

“I’ll do you a favor and ignore the fact that you just verbally said ‘IDK,’” he says, not ignoring that fact. “I might know of one, but I don’t think you’d like it.”

I’m oddly offended even though he might be completely correct. He probably is. “Tell me or else.”

He bows his head, and a cute little smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “The party takes place in a large house with a giant banner full of Greek letters.” He pivots his head to look me in the eye. “Delta Psi Phi.”

“Delta Sci-Fi? Like the genre of film?”

“Does that offend you?” He chuckles.

I nod. “Yes, it does.”

He snickers. “Sorry.”

I should have known the brown-haired buffoon was in a fraternity. The signs were all there. That was how he learned how to shotgun a beer, I assume. “You’re in a frat?” I ask, just to make sure.

“I could lie and say ‘no’ if it’ll make you feel better.”

I hold back the cheeky remark forming in my mind about how gross frat guys are. Maybe I’m too judgmental. “Seriously?”

“I can prove it to you.”

Oh God.

The rational part of my brain responds. “No thanks,” I say before he squeezes my hand.

We reach the student center and find our way to the small coffee shop. He’s still holding my hand. I hope he doesn’t notice how sweaty mine has gotten just by being so close to him. I pull it from his and use it to pull my hair into a low ponytail. He seems to be okay with that.

“Regular with two cream and sugar,” Cameron orders. For a frat guy, his coffee order is pretty unimaginative. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a black coffee, hold the coffee, extra beer.

All right, I’m done.

The student barista takes a cup from a nearby stack, jots his order on it in shorthand and then looks at me. “And you?”

I glance at Cameron, who uses his head to point to the boy behind the counter. I guess he’s paying. “Grande white chocolate Frappuccino, please.”

“I know you’re grossed out,” Cameron says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “But you are more than welcome to come along. I’d like you to come.”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “TMI.”

He grins at me as he places cash on the counter, and we step away to wait for our drinks. “So, are you com—will you accompany me?”

I pretend to ponder it, humming to myself and tapping the side of my jaw. “I guess.”

“And before you ask, Brandy can tag along too.” Doesn’t matter. She’d tag along even if she wasn’t invited.

The barista sets out our drinks a few minutes later and then we take a seat at a high table. Cameron pushes up his sleeves again, and I’m reminded of something I wanted to ask since I saw it.

Cameron slurps his hot coffee and blows out a breath to release the heat. I watch as he soundlessly taps his index finger against the paper cup.

“Cameron,” I say. He responds immediately to my voice. “I noticed a tattoo on your arm.”

“Waves,” he answers my unasked question.

“Does it have a meaning?”

Cameron sighs and lifts one shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Will you tell me?”

His face contorts into a painful expression. “Maybe later.”

I take a sip of my Frappuccino. I decide it best not to pry, especially because, though it looks like a simple design to me, it seems to have a greater, more painful explanation. He’ll tell me at some point. Just like I’ll talk to him about my parents, at least from my point of view. It might take a shot or two, but it’ll happen. I reach my foot under the table and brush it against Cameron’s. He perks up, a beautiful shade of pink flooding his cheeks. I love that face.

Brandy jumps for joy when she hears the news of Cameron’s invite. I may have accepted, but the thought of going to a frat party adds a strange weight to my chest. Brandy notices my nerves and does the usual.

“A frat party would be such a hot spot, Lainey. And I can assure you this time I will stick to your side and not disappoint.”

“Right.” We’ll see how long that will last.

“I’m so jealous I didn’t hop on that Cameron train before you did. This makes him so much hotter.” Brandy starts pacing around the room while simultaneously telling me all the reasons why frat guys are so intriguing. I completely disagree with every single word she says, and my expression communicates that. “You might not believe me, but once you see Cameron in action, he might blow your mind.”

I scoff at her ridiculous words, and she stops in her tracks right in front of me.

“You’ll see. It’ll make him irresistible to you.”

“You are insane.”

A week of hard work, essay writing, and journaling passes by. At least for me. Brandy seems pretty occupied with thoughts of tonight’s events. I mean, she obviously is doing other things, but every moment of free time she blurts out some outfit she wants to wear. Just two minutes ago it was “Oh my God! I got it. I’ll wear my pink tube top with my baby blue denim shorts.”

“Yeah, totally,” I deadpan as I type out the last sentence of my writing paper. I lean back in my seat and let out a breath.

“You should wear one of your new outfits,” she suggests, walking over to her armoire. She pulls open a drawer and messes around in it for a while. It’s silent for a few seconds, and I assume it’s because she’s holding up clothes to her body and admiring herself in the mirror.

In my case, two full hours of nonstop typing has taken its toll on my eyeballs. I shuffle over to my bed and flop on top of it, burying my face into my memory foam pillow. If I had it my way, I would dress in my pajamas and cuddle my pillow while watching some Netflix, but I made a stupid commitment.

On my desk I hear my phone buzz at the same time something hits the center of my back. I blindly grab for what was thrown at me. I frown against the pillow then sit up to see what it is. In my hands is the gold halter top she got me at the mall along with the blue skinny jeans. She wasn’t looking through her wardrobe, she was looking through mine.

“This is what you’re wearing. It’s sexy, and you’ll feel gorgeous in it. Now go take a shower and shave every inch of your body.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I say on my way to the bathroom, about to do exactly what she told me to. Except for shaving every part of my body. She’ll have to settle for armpits, and legs. No one is going to be looking anywhere else anyway.

I slowly carry out my after-shower routine and dress into the clothes Brandy chucked at me. The angel on my shoulder likes the way I look. The devil criticizes my visible cleavage and skin just above the waist of my jeans. That part of me has never seen the light of day. I brush my damp hair and smile to myself in the mirror. I might be able to handle this, if I can top off the outfit with a job on my hair.

I open the door to the bathroom and call out to Brandy, eyes still admiring my outfit. “Brandy, can I borrow your hair dryer?”

“Sure! It’s on my shelf.”

I hear a knock at the door and Cameron’s voice behind it. “RA here,” he says. “Gotten some complaints of loud music and murderous screaming. I’m gonna have to write you up.”

I can see Brandy head to the door out of the corner of my eye, but I rush out of the bathroom and beat her to it. She raises a brow at me, but I ignore it.

I swing open the door to see Cameron dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a gray short sleeve shirt. His hair is soft and fluffy. His frat party attire. And here I am in my nicest outfit.

“Sorry, we’ll keep it down,” I say, playing along.

The smirk on his face fades as he takes in my appearance. His eyes find my chest, and he inhales a shaky breath. “You’re hot,” he says to my breasts. One moment later, he meets my eyes. “You—you look—you look really pretty.”

I can’t help the warmth that fills my cheeks. Have I just made Cameron Leary stutter?

“I like that wet hair thing goin’ on too,” he says, trying to recover.

I widen the door for him. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Kinda sad,” Brandy says. “Us ladies put effort into our clothes, and you show up looking like Joe the woodchopper.”

“Who?”

“Ugh.”

I whack Cameron. “Help me dry my hair?”

His forehead wrinkles as he scrunches his nose. “Why?”

“Because I can’t reach the back, and Brandy is busy.”

He glances at Brandy who is now sitting at her desk, lining her eyes with black and pressed up to her desk mirror.

Cameron looks at me slowly, almost seductively. “Lead the way.”

The closer we walk to the rowdy frat house, the louder the music, the more my hands sweat, and the faster my heart beats. I zip up the hoodie I threw on before we left. What was I thinking wearing this outfit to a place like this? I’ve heard all the frat house horror stories.

“Ya know what?” I say, stopping in my tracks. “I suddenly feel tired.”

Cameron practically runs to my side. “Are you sick? Dehydrated?” The genuine worry in his voice melts my heart.

“Uh, just exhaustion finally getting to me.”

Cameron tries his best to hide his disappointment when he says, “I can bring you back if you want me to.”

“Are there a lot of people? How do you know these guys are not perverts?”

Cameron sucks in air. “You might be overestimating these guys. It’s not like the fraternities on TV. Sure we indulge a bit, but?—”

“What about the guys not in the frat? The randos who show up at this party?”

“I’ll protect you from them,” he assures me. “I’ll sucker punch anyone who bothers you.”

Cute.

Brandy pops up beside me. “You’ve now been to other parties. I believe in you, girly. It’ll be fine.”

Cameron reaches up to my face and pushes some hair behind my ear. “Do you want to go in or leave?”

“We are staying,” Brandy insists.

“Coleson, what do you want to do?”

Brandy expresses her annoyance beside me with a groan. “It’s okay. It might just be hunger,” I lie. “We can go in.”

Cameron places a hand at the small of my back. “Okay.”

Brandy skips ahead of us. “Why don’t you live in this house?” I ask.

Cameron shudders as if he’s completely appalled. I guess it is pretty gross. Just in the front yard, there are ugly patches of dead grass accompanied by plastic cups and other garbage. The house itself is smaller than I imagined but still pretty nice. I suppose it’s what goes on inside that skeeves him out.

Once we enter the house, the smell of weed and alcohol hit me head-on like an eighteen-wheeler. My ears are also blown out by rap music blasting on a speaker.

A couple of guys come up to us. My heart rate quickens. These guys may or may not be insanely good-looking, but they still make me uneasy, as many guys do. One is blond with thick dark eyebrows, and one has a blue baseball cap covering most of his sandy-brown hair.

“Cam the man!” the blond says, wrapping Cameron in a bro hug. “I’ve missed your musk.” He laughs.

“What’s up, Eddie?” Cameron asks through laughter. It makes my heart pound hard against my chest.

Eddie asks, “Who are these ladies?” He smiles, and I don’t find myself being objectified by his question. It’s weird that the moment he speaks, my nerves calm down. His tone is not one of a frat guy trying to get in my pants. It’s friendly, and if he’s okay with Cameron, he should be okay with me.

Brandy and I introduce ourselves, and Brandy makes sure to sneak in a flirtatious lip bite. The boy in the cap slips his hand into Eddie’s, and it becomes clear why I felt at ease seeing these two. They’re taken. By each other.

Eddie tilts his head at his partner. “This is Tate, he only speaks to me.”

“No, I don’t. Stop tellin’ people that,” Tate says humorlessly.

Eddie’s jaw drops, feigning surprise. “Holy shit. He’s never done that before.” Tate pulls his hand away, but Eddie catches him with one hand and pulls off his hat with the other. Tate ducks his head too late, and Eddie ruffles his hair then kisses his temple. It’s intimate, and I feel awkward imposing on their moment. “Isn’t he cute?” Eddie asks.

Tate soundlessly snags his hat back and fixes it on his hair.

“Is there a quiet place to settle?” I ask.

Eddie grins. “Quiet? No. But we’re gonna go out back. Tyson’s rollin’ some for us. You guys wanna join?”

“Rolling some?” I ask.

Tate scoffs, but Eddie answers kindly. “Cannabis.”

“Cannabis?”

“Reefer.”

“Reefer?”

Eddie laughs. “You know, dope, weed, pot, good old marijuana.”

Cameron’s hand on my back moves up an inch.

“Oh,” I say, laughing nervously. Duh.

“Clearly she’s inexperienced in matters such as these. She has no idea what you’re talking about,” Tate remarks.

“Sure, she does. You ever smoke it?” Eddie asks.

Brandy answers for both of us. “No.”

“Bet you’ve never had alcohol either. No offense. Little Miss Skinny Jeans doesn’t look the type.” More sass from Tate.

Cameron grips the fabric of my sweatshirt tightly. “She’ll surprise you,” he tells Eddie.

We follow Eddie to a group of people in the yard. All gathered by a tree. I do my best not to gag on the scent of marijuana as we approach.

It also becomes clear who this Tyson person is. A tall, tattooed man. Eddie and Tate offer him a stack of cash for a handful of those joints. Then we cross the yard and sit down in a free space.

“Did I just witness a drug deal?”

“Naw,” Eddie says. “He doesn’t charge for the pot. He only charges for rolling.”

I cannot tell whether he is joking or not because there is literally no difference between selling the drugs and selling the thing that holds it.

“Come on.” Tate sighs. “Weed is harmless. It shouldn’t even be in the same category as cocaine or heroin. It can stimulate different brain behavior, but I’ve never heard of someone dying of too much marijuana. In my opinion, it’s safer than alcohol.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I say, a hint of sarcasm.

“Don’t knock it,” Cameron says to my left. “It helps with anxiety and pain.”

So, he does smoke it.

Eddie begins passing out joints to us, and I take one unenthusiastically.

“I say the naif lights up first,” Tate suggests, tossing me a lighter.

“If you want,” Eddie adds. “But fair warning. Your first time with a joint it might burn your throat. Don’t take in too much.”

I look to Cameron for some backup, but all he does is smile. I flick the lighter and just watch the flame there for a moment.

“Here,” Cameron says softly. “If you don’t wanna light it up, we can do it another way.”

“We don’t have a bong,” Tate informs him.

I take a look around us. The outdoor crowd is way more chill than the indoor one. I suppose we’re all doing the same thing.

Cameron slides the lighter out of my grip. I watch him place his joint between his lips. My heart pounds in my ears, and my chest is overcome by a strange warmth. Like my heart is leaking thick, hot blood everywhere.

Way to be graphic.

Cameron takes a long drag that I find mesmerizing. The way his mouth forms around the end, how he closes his eyes. It is the first time I am noticing his eyelashes. The length, the beautiful curl.

He blinks slowly, and resting his hand on the dry grass right behind me, he leans in so close I think he might kiss me, so I part my lips and close my eyes for him. I only feel his mouth graze mine for a second. My eyes fly open, and I become aware of what he’s really doing. He steadily blows smoke directly into my mouth. It hits the back of my throat, and I ruin the moment by having a coughing attack. Laughter fills the circle as I’m choking to death. Okay, exaggeration, but…

Brandy whistles. “Fuck, that was hot. Do it to me.”

Cameron pats my back until I recover. “I’d only do that for one girl, sorry.”

I whip my head to see him. “Another.”

Brandy reaches over us to take the lighter, but I don’t look at anyone else. I’m fixated on Cameron and whatever he just did to me.

His brows lift. “Shit. Really?”

“Does this count, Brandy?” I ask without shifting my gaze.

“Hell yeah,” Brandy answers.

Cameron takes another drag and speaks carefully, holding back the smoke. “Does what count?”

“Never mind. Just do it.”

Cameron does as he’s told, and I only cough three times. I raise a brow. Do it again!

He bites his lip and puts his joint on the grass. “I’ll be back,” he says, leaving my side.

“What the hell was that?” Tate asks. “Does what count?”

I shake my head.

Eddie laughs, a lit joint in his hand. “Spill, we won’t blab.” He crosses his finger on his chest in an X.

“Does what she did with Cam count as smoking weed. She’s never done it,” Brandy blurts. I can tell she’s adapted faster than I. Her joint is already a third of the size it was a minute ago.

“You keep track of those kinds of things?” Eddie asks.

“Not really,” I lie.

“What else haven’t you done?”

Brandy reaches into her bra and pulls out a paper folded in four. Our list. She willfully hands it to Eddie who opens it with urgency. His smile widens the longer he looks at it. “This is so cute.”

I stare at the ground. At this moment the embarrassment is unbearable. Not just of what’s on that list but of how pathetically callow I was when Brandy and I wrote it.

“Kiss, sex.” Eddie’s eyes meet mine. “Can I assume who helped you with those? You and he were pretty PG-13 just now.”

I shrug. “All right. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s some list,” Tate says over Eddie’s shoulder.

“What list?” Cameron steps up beside me and Brandy reaches for the paper in Eddie’s hand. She stuffs it in her bra.

“Just Brandy’s grocery list,” I lie.

Cameron sits down and hands me one of two Gatorades in his hand. How considerate, you kind, lovely person.

“You keep a grocery list in your bra?” Cameron asks.

Brandy’s jaw drops as she feigns shock. “You don’t?”

I snap open the bottle of Gatorade and take a giant gulp. The last thing I need is Cameron seeing that list and realizing how utterly pitiful I am.

A half hour passes by. After finishing the one he put on the grass, Cameron lights up another joint. Brandy has a huge smile plastered onto her face, and giggles at something going on within her mind. And I am given an actual joint a try. Not nearly as good as Cameron’s secondhand smoke, so I ditch it.

Eddie and Tate spot a group of guys gathered around a keg that has been brought outside. Both of them get up and join the party over there. Cameron puts out his joint and wraps the two he smoked in a tissue he then places in his pocket.

“I love that you don’t litter,” I say without thinking.

He laughs, cheeks pink. “I love that you love that.” He pushes himself off the ground, pulling me with him. Like some kind of rag doll, I go where he takes me, leaving Brandy content with herself on the grass. We stop short by the keg where a blonde with jagged roots is dropped onto her feet to the ground. The girl is Brazely. She sloppily wipes her mouth.

“Thanks, boys,” she says drunkenly. They whistle and cheer for her. I don’t know why, since she’s not that impressive. It might have something to do with the fact that she practically showed up in a two-piece bathing suit. Behind her bloodshot eyes is no sign that she sees or recognizes me as she stumbles past. Thank God.

Tate pushes through the small crowd and volunteers to drink next. Eddie reaches from behind him and removes his blue cap. One of the surrounding guys pats Tate on the shoulder, and Tate bends down to grip the keg with both hands. I watch as he’s lifted into the air.

“I never understood the hype over this,” I say.

“Come on,” Cameron says, arm brushing mine. “It’s fun. Seeing how long you can last.”

I shake my head. “I think I’d barf.”

“You probably would.”

I elbow his side. He leans into me, lips to my ear. “It’d be hot if you did it,” he says.

“If I barfed?” I joke.

He laughs. “No, I’d dump you if you barfed,” he jokes.

Instantly my heart drops. Last time I checked, to be dumped, you’d have to be in a relationship with someone. A romantic relationship. Is that what we are? Officially?

Tate is let down, and the people react with lots of whooping. Tate doesn”t even bother to wipe off the dripping beer from his chin. He, instead, grabs Eddie’s face and kisses him hard on the mouth. A kiss that makes me very envious of the certainty in their relationship. I wonder how long they’ve been together. How they got together. If they were in love or ever just in a kind of relationship that has no labels. If they were each other”s firsts.

Eddie pulls back from the kiss, wraps his arm around Tate’s neck, and calls for Cameron. “Cam, the man. I say you hit up the keg.”

He shakes his head. “Not in front of her.” Her. I’m her.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Cut the shit, just do it!”

“Do it,” I tell him. “If you want to.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “I don’t want to be one of those frat guys you find so appalling.”

“I’m never talking about you when I say those things. No matter what you do,” I assure him.

The weed must be making him overemotional because his eyes begin to tear up. I really couldn’t say if it’s because of what I said or not though. He lifts a hand to my cheek. “And you are perfect to me,” he sniffs, “no matter what you do.”

The other guys around the keg begin to chant “Cam. Cam. Cam.” It’s kind of silly but also adorable that so many people support him.

He releases me and rolls his head as if the praise is irritating him, but I can tell that’s not it. We make eye contact. “If I go, will you be my Eddie?”

I pretend to consider it until he starts to look disheartened. “Yes.”

He beams at me and makes his way to the keg. Two of the guys in the bunch bend to grab his legs. Within a few seconds, he’s in the air. Another boy positions the beer tap in his mouth, and he starts chugging.

Cameron’s shirt falls partially down, revealing a set of abs. I’m not at an angle where I can fully see, but I can tell. That gives me my first opportunity to fully appreciate his body, his blemish-free, slightly-tanned-by-the-sun skin. I could imagine gripping tightly onto that skin with him on top of?—

Okay, Lainey. Chill.

Ten-ish whole seconds later, he turns his head and pats the keg with one of his hands. He is let down. Unlike Tate, there is no beer residue anywhere on his face. Every bit went down his throat, or in this case, up his throat. He swallows his last gulp standing upright and pats his chest. Eddie and Tate do some weird dude handshake with him that ends in a fist bump.

He whips around to me and grins. It does something to my stomach and my chest. Once he’s close enough, I grab his face and smash my lips against his. He tastes like weed and beer, but that doesn’t stop me. I made a promise. His hands fly to my lower back, dangerously close to my ass. But what the hell. I’ve never been so desirable to anyone. I like it. I can tell he does too.

He breaks the kiss and takes a step back. “Fuck me, Coleson,” he says in a whisper. I’m not sure if that was in reference to my kiss or a demand, and I’m not high enough to ask. He leans his forehead to mine and says something else that sounds suspiciously like “I fucking love you” before he hiccups. That’s when my heart falls out my ass. I don’t even think he meant to say it.

He melts into my arms and bows his head so his ear is pressed against mine. He squeezes me tightly around my middle, and I lightly wrap my arms around him. Confusion fills my brain. He twitches against me as he hiccups one more time.

Say something!

What the hell do I say??

I love you.

But I’m not even sure I do.

Maybe you do.

How the hell would I know?

Fuck me.