Chapter 9
9
MADDIE
I shouldn’t be cooped up alone in my dorm room on my second Friday night as a college sophomore.
Jasmine’s in Montreal, visiting a cousin of hers she’s close to who’s flying in and staying overnight for a conference at McGill University.
Spending a Friday night inside by myself usually isn’t something that bothers me. It certainly isn’t something I’m not used to. I can put on a movie, or binge-watch a show, or curl up with a book, or listen to some music, and I’ll be perfectly cozy and content.
But tonight there’s a restlessness simmering through me that keeps me from relaxing and getting into any of my usual solo activities.
A sharp blade of anxiety keeps poking me between the ribs, reminding me I’m doing exactly what I told myself I’d finally stop doing this semester: wasting another valuable Friday night of my college years sitting around alone, when I should be out experiencing life, making friends, maybe even flirting with a cute guy—heck, maybe even hooking up with one.
I try to tell myself I’m overreacting. Being too hard on myself like I’m prone to do. There are plenty of Friday nights left this semester, and I’ll naturally be getting out more since Jasmine’s going to be here for the rest of them and we’ll feel the pull to go out together.
But that rationalization doesn’t stop the restless feeling from tightening in my chest and making my limbs feel fidgety.
I push up from my bed so I can at least work off some of my restlessness by pacing up and down my dorm room.
Maybe I can at least go out and take a walk? Maybe go to Last Word since it’s open late. Maybe getting a tea and sitting in a busy coffee shop reading a book will feel better than hiding away in my dorm room.
Or maybe I’ll just feel like a loser, being out alone on a Friday night while everyone else is with a date or a group of friends, probably silently judging me.
I shake my head and check that last feeling. No one’s going to be silently judging me for hanging out somewhere alone on a Friday night. No one’s going to even notice to care. But anxiety at the thought has already wormed its way in and is crawling through me in a way I can’t totally shake off.
Darn anxiety. It must be so nice to just … do things, be able to go out and interact with people without constantly second-guessing everything you do like you’re a hyper-critical observer of your own interactions.
I go to the window and look out. A group of three girls walk down the pathway that passes the front of my dorm building, and the chime of their laughter passes the windowpane as they walk by.
This week, I overheard a bunch of students in my art classes talk about a traditional yearly party that most art students go to, being held tonight. It’s, like, not something you need an invitation to. People just show up.
Would it be so crazy for me to go alone?
Maybe it would be easier for me to meet people there than in my classes?
For a moment, a glimmer of impulse surges through me. I can do it, right? Put on a cute outfit, walk into the party with confidence, and … I don’t know, notice someone else who’s also randomly alone at the party and start talking to them and magically become friends?
Yeah, right.
I can’t even summon the courage to strike up a conversation with someone while I’m packing up after a class. Going to a party alone and somehow being able to have a good time? Please.
Disappointment gathers in my stomach and weighs it down.
A series of firm knocks sound on my door. My brow quirks, and I pad over, wondering who it could be.
When I swing the door open, it takes a moment for me to react to what I’m seeing.
It’s Rhys. Him showing up on a Friday night totally out of the blue is odd enough. If there’s anyone who wouldn’t have a hard time finding a way to spend a Friday night, it’s him.
But that’s not the weird part. The weird part is how he’s dressed.
Halloween is in October, right?
He’s wearing a pair of black jeans with the ankles rolled up to show off the red high-top Converses on his feet. A t-shirt with a Rene Magritte painting for a design is tucked into the pants, and over it he wears a vintage faded denim shirt with the sleeves rolled to expose his rippling forearms.
He looks like he’s just stepped out of a Brooklyn art studio.
“Rhys … why in the world are you dressed like that?” I ask. My lips slant to a disbelieving smile.
Not that I don’t like the look on him. He makes it work. Boy, does he make it work. Especially with the scruffy dark stubble covering his face.
“For the party we’re going to, duh,” he answers.
My eyebrows pinch. “Party?”
“Yep,” he pops the sound, grinning. “There’s a big yearly party that all the art students go to every year, happening tonight. And I’m dragging you to it. I figured if I was gonna hang around a bunch of artsy people all night, I should look the part.” He steps into my dorm, making a shooing motion toward my closet at me. “Go ahead, get changed.”
I close the door, surprise still showing in my face. “But …” I begin, though I’m not even sure what I’m but -ing. I’m just too caught off guard to know what to do.
“Unless you’re sick, I’m dragging you to this party, Maddie.” Rhys’s words are firm, but there’s an amused grin playing on his lips. “This party is exactly the kind of thing you’d like to go to, and with Jasmine not here this weekend, I’m not letting you have an excuse for missing out on it.”
A warm feeling beats in my chest like a hummingbird’s wings. Rhys is giving up his own Friday night and put together an outfit he’d never wear otherwise, all to take me a party he thinks I’d enjoy but wouldn’t go to on my own?
“Where did you even get those clothes?” I ask, my cheeks going warm from an insuppressible smile.
“Went to that thrift store you keep talking about. Used Pinterest to see what hipster artsy guys are supposed to dress like,” he answers with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “You’re a nut.”
“And you’re making us late.” He tips his head to my closet and claps his hands. “Chop, chop.”
I throw up my hands. “I can’t get changed while you’re standing here!”
The thought of undressing while Rhys’s appreciative gaze burns up and down my skin flickers in my mind, sending a pulse of heat cresting through me, but I quickly chase it away.
“I’ll wait in the hall, but hurry up!”
His fake impatience makes me laugh as he exits. With Rhys being there by my side, looking like I’ve never seen him before, I’m excited at the prospect of going out and seeing what the night has in store.
I put on a floral-pattern button-up shirt I love and tuck it into a pair of jean shorts that I always think make my legs look great. I step into my shoes and then out to the hallway.
“Good enough?” I ask Rhys playfully, gesturing to what I’m wearing.
I must be imagining the way something smolders in his eyes as they elevator up and down my outfit, and the way his big Adam’s apple works past a hard swallow.
“Perfect,” he answers. He slings his arm over my shoulder as we head to the stairs. “Not quite as stylish as me tonight, but not all of us can be.”
I laugh. “Thank heavens for that.”
“I might start dressing like this permanently.”
“Oh, really?”
“Might even start wearing a mustache. What else is hipstery?”
“Well, you’ve already got the tattoos …”
As Rhys and I walk to the party, talking and joking around like this, nerves don’t even have an opportunity to gather in my belly at the prospect of going to an unfamiliar environment like they usually would.
When we walked into the party, more than a couple surprised glances shot our way. I guess star hockey players don’t often grace parties like these. But Rhys was utterly unfazed, a cool confidence rolling off him as he deftly inserted us into conversations.
It’s been two hours now, and it’s by far the most I’ve ever enjoyed being at a party.
I must have somehow picked up the confidence radiating from Rhys by osmosis, because it’s never been so easy for me to talk to new people. I’ve met tons of art students and talked with them about art, classes, traveling, life, and just random stuff.
For the past hour, Rhys has been on the other side of the room, talking to another group. I think he’s giving me space to try and be comfortable interacting at a party like this without him next to me as a security blanket, though he still glances at me with a supportive look in his eyes every so often.
I really hit it off with one girl, Yun-hee. I haven’t seen her in any of my classes, but we share a lot of favorite artists, and our senses of humor immediately click.
Yun-hee spots a friend of hers, Ayanna, and she joins our conversation. The time flies by, and eventually I realize I haven’t noticed Rhys here for a while.
My phone vibrates in my pocket with a message from him.
Rhys
I’m heading out. You got this.
A sense of support curls around me like a hug.
Yun-hee, Ayanna, and I are laughing like we’re already good friends when the party ends past two in the morning, and we walk to Pucelli’s, a pizza spot in Cedar Shade open super-late on Fridays and Saturdays. We contend with hordes of drunken students and buy our slices, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk outside to eat them.
Instead of a disappointing night feeling cramped in my dorm room, I’ve already made some new friends, all because Rhys was thinking of me.