2 The Girl Without Hobbies #3
Seriously? What century was this? “I’m nobody’s,” I said, “except maybe my mother’s, because she gave birth to me.”
“You don’t have to be rude,” Mike said, “I was just asking.”
“You were asking rudely, and you got what you deserved, Mike,” Naya said.
Mike fired back, “What would you know? You’re in college and you’ve been with the same guy forever.
You two should try to enjoy life like me.
Look over there. I’ve got a whole line of chicks wearing T-shirts with my face on them.
I’ll take one of them home with me tonight. Or maybe two or three, if I get lucky.”
“How charming,” Naya said, taking a sip of her drink.
“Yep. Charming, that’s me,” Mike told her before asking me if I’d like a signed shirt.
“Nobody wants a signed shirt,” Naya answered for me.
“They do!” Mike pointed back to the groupies. “Speaking of, pleasure talking to you guys, but I’ve got to get back to my real fans.”
“Jesus, I can’t stand him,” Naya said. “I’m sorry, Ross, but…”
“I feel the same way you do,” Ross replied. “But I promised my mom I’d see him at least once a year.”
Will asked how his parents were, and Ross answered, “Same as always. Good, I guess? Mom’s still painting lines on canvases and calling it abstract art, and Dad is still reading books to keep from dying of boredom.”
That surprised me. I used to love painting.
My parents even sent me to lessons for a while, but then I had to give it up because they needed to give my brothers money for their garage.
It was exciting somehow to know someone related to a painter, and I said so, but Ross tried to play it down.
“Painter is what she calls herself. I can’t speak for how good she is.
One thing’s evident, though. As Mike has shown, artistic talent doesn’t run in the family. ”
Ross drove us back to the dorm so Will could get in the back and make out with Naya.
I called shotgun, which meant Sue had to sit back there and frown and groan every time they accidentally bumped her.
When Ross parked in front of his building, the two lovebirds and Sue got out, and he asked me if I wanted a ride back to the dorm.
I hesitated, but I definitely didn’t have enough money for an Uber, and I had no idea how far a walk it would be.
Plus, he seemed to want to drive, and that amused me, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
Instead of responding, he just sped off.
He was one of those drivers that made you long to set foot on solid ground again.
I tried not to get nervous every time he passed a car, took a corner at top speed, or ran a yellow light, but it was hard.
Monty drove like a tortoise, and I was used to that.
I tried not to let him notice as I reached up for the hand grip, but he asked, “What’s up? You OK?”
“You drive like my brother,” I said.
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, in a demolition derby, maybe.”
He smiled but slowed down somewhat, asking, “How was your first day of class?” Miraculously, he started using his turn signal and respecting the traffic lights from then on.
“Fine, I guess. Introductions. The teachers all seem kind of boring. Yours?”
“We were able to skip the introductions. It’s my second year, and we pretty much all know each other.”
For some reason, him being ahead of me made me feel like a ten-year-old.
He explained that it was a program with a focus on production, and after two years, you studied abroad or got an internship as part of your studies.
It made me sad, somehow, that he’d be leaving after a year.
I asked him if he had plans for the future.
“My plans for the future are to finish this degree. Then I’ll make it up as I go along.”
I liked his positivity and wished I could share it.
“And you, what do you plan to do after four years of English?” he asked.
“I hope I’ll know by then,” I said. “Worst-case scenario, I guess I’ll be teaching fourteen-year-olds the different types of relative clauses.”
“Now that’s a bright future. Do you honestly not like anything?”
“Not really,” I responded.
“That cannot be possible. Something has to excite you.”
I thought about it. Painting and running weren’t really life options. So again I told him no .
“What the hell have you done for the last eighteen years then?” he asked me.
Knowing how dull it sounded, I said I’d been trying to make good grades, survive my brothers’ harassment, and keep my mom from yelling at me.
It sounded so boring. He encouraged me, saying there was something for me but I just hadn’t found it yet, and when he dropped me off and I unbuckled the seat belt and threw on my jacket, I thanked him for taking me back.
“No problem, Miss Girl Without Hobbies. By the way, you look good in red.”
It wasn’t even my sweater. It was my sister’s, but I’d stolen it before I left. I didn’t usually wear things that flashy, but now that he mentioned it, I did look pretty good.
“Good night, Ross,” I said. But before I could get far, I had the overwhelming urge to turn back. He was still there, watching me. It felt strange, and I forced myself to come up with a question: “So, when’s our next cinema lesson?”
He smiled. “You tell me.”
“The next time Naya drags me to your apartment, then?”
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he said.
I smiled and turned around, and this time, I made it inside.
Chris was no longer at his desk. It was late, though.
Probably he had gone to his room. When I climbed the stairs and entered the hallway, I froze as I saw Mike, the singer from earlier, stepping out of the room across from mine with his shorts around his ankles and arguing with a girl who was pushing him before throwing his vest in his face and screaming, “Get out!”
“Whatever!” he replied. “You’re not that hot anyway!”
She closed the door in his face. Mike bent over to pull up his shorts and looked up. When he saw me, he smiled.
“Hey, you were with my brother, right?”
He sounded actually normal, but I needled him, “Yeah, and you’re the guy who just got tossed out of some girl’s room!”
“Some people can’t take a joke,” he said. “I just told her she didn’t look as hot in real life as she did in a photo she had in there. I didn’t know it was her little sister! Some people just go through life pissed off.”
I walked past him, shaking my head, and turned my key in the lock. By the time I cracked the door, he was leaning against the wall and smiling at me maliciously.
“And why are you here all alone?” he asked.
“To go to sleep.”
“Already?”
“I’ve got class tomorrow.”
“You don’t want some company?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“You never told me your name.”
“Jenna.”
“Jenna, you’re a little bit off-putting.”
“Great.”
“I’m…”
“Mike. You already told me.”
He seemed to have forgotten that, but then his phone buzzed and he lost track of what we were talking about as he saw a girl’s face appear on the screen. He grinned and said, “Well, nice to meet you, Jenna, but I’ve got new plans. Your loss.”
“I’ll be crying about it all night.”
He winked and strolled off, and I shook my head and walked inside.