Three
Three
I’ve been one of the first people to enter the classroom for as long as I can remember.
I let my gaze wander over the vacant chairs and opt for the first row. Maybe I’m a nerd, but I love listening to lectures without being disturbed.
Within a few minutes, the classroom fills up with students, and a guy comes over to me. It’s not just any guy, it’s Thomas Collins. I don’t know him well, but I know that he moved to Corvallis last summer. He’s a sophomore like me and plays on the basketball team with Travis. I’ve seen him several times at practice and during games. I have to admit, he really is talented, except he walks the university halls as if he owns the place. The guys respect him; no one openly dares to go against him. As for the girls, he loves to reap victims, fully aware of his powers of attraction.
There’s bad blood between him and my boyfriend. Travis considers him a rank asshole—ironic coming from him—and more than once during the past academic year, he warned me about Thomas’s reputation. Not that I needed his advice; on campus, I just take my classes and try to stay out of the spotlight. Despite the fact that I’m the girlfriend of the captain of the basketball team, no one bothers me. In any case, I don’t need any more arrogant and conceited guys in my life, so I keep far away from Thomas.
But apparently that’s going to be impossible today. Despite all the empty seats, Thomas decides to sit right next to me. But it’s odd—last year he never even deigned to say hello, and he certainly doesn’t seem like the front-row type.
For a moment I consider moving, but I have no intention of giving up this spot for anything in the world, least of all Thomas Collins.
With his trademark nonchalance, Thomas tosses a notepad and pencil on the desk, and sits down, or rather, sprawls out, drawing looks from some girls who pass by, winking. He reciprocates by sneaking a look at one of their bottoms. Wow, what a gentleman… Still, I can’t help my curiosity, and I take advantage of his brief distraction to get a better look at him. Black, tousled locks hang over his brow, while the sides and back of his hair are shorter, almost shaved. His straight nose and sculpted jawline make him look tough and powerful, as do his muscular arms and his broad, athletic shoulders in his leather jacket, not to mention his tongue piercing and the tattoos on his hands and neck. At basketball practice even more of them are visible—he’s covered from head to toe. Sure, some people might say that all this, combined with his amber-streaked emerald eyes, make him attractive, irresistible. But I am not one of them.
I look away before he notices me staring, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him take his phone out of the pocket of his dark jeans and plug in his earbuds, lifting them to his ears. I arch an eyebrow, upset. Is that what he’s going to do? Listen to music during class? There is nothing more irritating than jocks who rest on their laurels just because of their athletic scholarships.
As if he read my mind, he turns to me with a bold look. He scans me from top to bottom, chewing on gum with his mouth half-open. I instinctively give him a dirty look to let him know that his pathetic, passé playboy tactics aren’t going to work on me, and add snarkily, hoping to at least scratch the surface of his conceit: “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that chewing with your mouth open in front of people is rude? Same way it’s rude to listen to music during a lecture.”
Thomas arrogantly arches an eyebrow. “Rude, huh? I get that a lot,” he replies nonchalantly, going back to fiddling with his headphone cable. Only now do I notice a completely irrelevant detail: this is the first time I’ve heard his voice. It’s low, scratchy—the kind of voice that many women consider sexy. “The point…” he continues, his irksome eyes latching onto mine, “is that I don’t really give a shit.”
Travis was right: he was a rank one. “You have a big head for someone who’s all muscle and no brain,” I say without thinking, falling prey to my unchecked anger. But if I thought those words would silence him, the smirk I see taking shape on his face a moment later tells me that I’ve miscalculated.
“I have a big something,” he says, looking down at the fly of his pants and leaving me speechless. “You can see for yourself if you want,” he adds smugly.
My cheeks burn in embarrassment. From the way he bites his lip to hold back a laugh, I can tell that was exactly what he wanted: to mortify me. I stare at him in dismay for a few seconds and then reply, “You’re disgusting.”
“I get that a lot too,” he admits with a satisfied grin.
I stare at him, dumbfounded, about to come up with a snappy retort. But then I realize it’s not worth it; I would just be playing his game. So I shake my head and turn away. I’ve already had enough bad mojo today. I have more important things to concentrate on.
I pull out my course materials, enthusiastic in spite of everything (and everyone), and meticulously arrange my workspace. I open the laptop directly in front of me on the desk and set a brand-new notebook next to it for taking notes, with my black pen on top. I place a pack of Kleenex in the upper left corner and a bottle of water in the right. My level of organization can be compulsive, I realize—another quirk I inherited from my mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Thomas has lifted the pencil from the paper where he’s been doodling and is staring at me with a cocked eyebrow. And although I try to restrain myself from opening my mouth so as not to encourage him, I can’t help myself.
“What are you looking at?” I blurt out, keeping my eyes on my orderly desk.
“The university provides mental health services, you know.”
I’m struck speechless for the second time in two minutes.
“Excuse me?” I ask, hoping I misunderstood.
He nods toward the items arranged on my desk, and I sense that no, I didn’t misunderstand.
“I just like to be organized. There’s nothing wrong with that.” I blink, dumbfounded, trying to keep my composure.
“That’s not organized, that’s sick, but hey,”—Thomas raises his hands—“no judgment. The first step is recognizing the problem. After that it’s a breeze. Trust me, I know.”
Okay, that’s enough. Whatever problem this guy has with me, he has to get over it.
“My God, do you hear yourself? You really are unbelievable! What am I saying, you’re worse than incredible, you’re…you’re…” I struggle to find the right term, a single word that would encapsulate a slew of insults sufficient to shut him up permanently, but I don’t think it exists.
“I’m what?” he taunts, a mocking smile on his lips.
“Bigheaded!” I exclaim, feeling like an idiot for not being able to think of anything more offensive.
Thomas all but laughs in my face, again. This day is turning out to be a total nightmare.
“I’ve been called worse.” He shakes his head, amused.
Oh, I bet he has.
“Let me tell you something: I don’t know you, I don’t know what problems you have, I don’t know why you decided to sit here next to me, when clearly your only goal seems to be to annoy me. But my favorite class is about to begin, a class that’s very important to me, a class I’ve been waiting for all summer, and if you dare—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupts me, widening his eyes. “What did you say?”
I look at him without understanding, wondering if he’d heard a single word I’d said.
“That my favorite class is about to start.”
“No, after that.”
“That if you dare ruin it…”
“No, before that.”
“That I’ve been waiting all summer for this class to start?” There it is again. That dumbfounded stare.
“Are you fucking serious? You spent the summer waiting”—he glances around incredulously—“for this?”
I lift my chin, proud. I will not allow this arrogant jerk to make me feel like something’s wrong with me just because I love studying more than anything. “Judge all you want, I don’t care. What I do care about is being able to follow the lecture in peace,” I say flatly.
A few seconds later, the philosophy professor finally enters the classroom. He immediately notices Thomas’s presence and rolls his eyes.
Same here, Professor. Same here.
“Mr. Collins, what an unpleasant surprise!” Professor Scott remarks sarcastically. “I’ve heard a lot about you at the faculty meetings. What brings you here today?”
“Nothing particular, just a requirement to keep my spot on the team,” he replies coolly, tapping his pencil on the desk. “Though, to be fair, the girls taking it are pretty good motivation.”
When I turn toward him furiously, I see that he was staring right at me. I feel my cheeks burn, and his smirk tells me that he wanted to humiliate me in front of everyone. The snickers coming from the back of the classroom were the icing on the cake. But why target me? I haven’t done anything to him.
Professor Scott isn’t at all bothered by the whole scene; he’s resigned. “Find yourself something to do, Collins, and don’t disturb the others,” he says simply.
As if nothing had happened, Thomas straightens up in his chair and leans toward me, invading my personal space. I’m enveloped by the fresh scent of vetiver with pungent hints of tobacco. “Careful, you’re blushing a little too much; someone might think you find me irresistible,” he whispers.
I look at him incredulously, dumbstruck by his presumption. “The only irresistible thing about you is your ability to show yourself exactly for who you are.”
“Oh, tell me, what am I?” he asks, as I see his eyes light up with curiosity.
“An asshole,” I reply dryly.
The insult seems to catch him by surprise, and the corner of his mouth turns up insolently. I’m not in the habit of talking like that, but he really had it coming.
The professor clears his throat, hinting for us to quiet down.
“You may have skated by in previous classes by some kind of divine grace. But this year, Mr. Collins, in my class you’ll have to work hard.”
Thomas only replies with a slight nod signaling his assent.
“Meanwhile, for all of you who take this class seriously and intend to broaden your intellectual horizons, I am pleased to announce that today we will begin with Kant.”
My eyes light up just hearing his name. I murmur gleefully as Thomas runs a hand over his face, muttering under his breath how stupid this whole class is.
Twenty minutes later, the arrogant tattoo-covered guy sitting next to me is calmly listening to music as if it were nothing.
I could disregard his disrespectfulness except for the obnoxious hum from his headphones preventing me from focusing on the lecture as fully as I’d like.
After lots of back-and-forth in my head, I turn to him and tap his shoulder. “You should turn that off, don’t you think?” I say with a pointed glare at the phone resting on his thigh.
Staring at me as if I’d just told him we’re not in a lecture hall but on a spaceship headed for Mars, he pulls out the left earbud and replies, “Why?”
“Because I want to follow the lecture, and you’re distracting me,” I reply calmly, trying to keep my composure. I don’t want to argue with him again, I just want to take my favorite class in peace. Is that too much to ask?
Thomas puts his earbuds back in, turning up the volume in defiance of my request. To make matters worse, he resumes chewing his gum, and it smacks noisily between his white teeth. I have to summon all my self-control not to pull that gum out of his mouth and plant it in his hair.
I shoot him a withering look, the kind I usually give my mother when she finishes the box of cookies without telling me. Or Travis when I realize he’s barely heard a word I’ve been saying.
“What’s your problem now?” he asks, irritated.
“Oh, I’m the one with the problem? Really? I’ve been trying to listen to this lecture from the moment you sat your butt down in this stupid seat!”
“So listen, what’s stopping you?”
“You are!” I exclaim, my eyes wide.
“Because of this?” he asks, pointing to his earbuds. “Jesus, you can’t be serious.”
“Ugh, you know what? Just forget it!”
I turn back to the slides and hold out for the last few minutes of class, looking forward to getting away from him.
“All right, class, that’s all for today. See you Friday!” the professor declares twenty minutes later.
I’ve never been so happy to hear a teacher dismiss the class in my whole life. And all because of some jerk who sat next to me for the sole purpose of bothering me. Thomas wraps his earbuds around his phone, slips them into his back pocket, grabs his pencil and the notepad he has been doodling on the whole time, and walks off without a word.
I need coffee to calm my nerves. Today has been an awful day. I walk into the coffee shop and wait my turn. Looking through the windows, I notice that it has started raining even harder. The rain and I have always been in sync; it comes when I need it.
I start to step forward, but someone pulls me from behind. It’s Alex, who wraps his arm around my shoulders. I hug him back, sinking my face into his sweatshirt with its citrusy scent.
I missed him so much last summer. My days without him were boring as hell. With Travis doing his own thing and blowing me off all the time, the only person I could count on was Tiffany. But she has a busy and exciting life—unlike me, always in my room studying, reading, or watching TV.
“Sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier. How are you?” He musses my hair with one hand, while with the other he slips the Canon he’s always carrying around his neck, ready to capture even the smallest detail and reveal its uniqueness.
“Next question.”
His lips curl into a grimace. “What did Travis do now?”
Oh, this time it’s not just Travis! Let’s see, the list is long: the fight this morning, all my mother’s orders, Thomas’s arrogance, which I will likely be forced to endure for the entire term. Or maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll drop the class or fail, and I’ll never see him again.
“Nothing, it’s just a bad day,” I say simply, taking a step. I don’t feel like burdening him with my stupid drama. It occurs to me that he doesn’t know anything about my fight with Travis or the video on Instagram. Just as well. It would only be more proof that his concerns are valid.
“What about you? How’s your first day going?” I ask, curious. “You have no idea how sad I am not to have you in philosophy.” With that idiot today, he would’ve been a huge comfort.
“Aw, I’m sad too, but I had to do more art. And I joined the photography club,” he tells me enthusiastically. All summer, he did nothing but bombard me with photos from Santa Barbara, where he and his family spend every summer vacation: beach clubs, boat trips, sunset bonfires. And while he’d had all that fun, I had nothing to show for my summer but the slew of books and shows I’d devoured in his absence, Travis’s incredibly boring practices that I couldn’t say no to, and all the draining arguments with my mother during which I tried to explain to her that I was no longer a child who could be controlled by her ridiculous rules. All wasted breath.
“Good for you!” I say, back in the present.
“You know, I feel I’ve found what I really want to do,” he continues.
In the meantime, it’s our turn to order. I ask for a cup of regular and a double cappuccino for him. “I’m sure you have. Your pictures are incredible. I’m jealous of your artistic talent!” I pay and a moment later collect the steaming drinks, but before I can turn around, he snaps a picture of me, leaving me momentarily stunned.
“Alex! Don’t do that. You know I hate it.” I blink repeatedly, dazed by the flash, and hand him his coffee.
“Sorry.” He chuckles. “I couldn’t resist. You’re so photogenic,” he says, looking proudly at the image on his ultra expensive camera.
I have no makeup on, my hair is frizzy from the damp, and I have a pair of eye bags that rival Uncle Fester’s. I don’t know exactly what he means by “photogenic,” but I think we have very different parameters.
“Wanna see it?” he asks with a grin, his eyes glued to the screen.
“I’d really rather not, thank you.” We sip our coffees and make our way down the hall to class. “So, how are things with Stella?”
Alex met Stella this summer in Santa Barbara and has been talking about her nonstop ever since. I met her on a few FaceTime calls, and she was really sweet, with soft and kind features. She seemed perfect for him. Unfortunately, she lives in Vancouver and now they have to deal with all the difficulties of a long-distance relationship.
“It’s a new situation for both of us, we still have to figure out how to make it work, but she’s planning on coming down here for the weekend.”
I nod at his words distractedly, because my attention is drawn to a couple huddled together at the end of the hall. Immediately I recognize the bulging muscle of that idiot Thomas leaning over Shana Kennest: slender form, stunning figure, fiery red hair, and turquoise eyes. Compared to her, every girl ends up feeling like the ugly duckling, and she does everything she can to make sure they do. She’s close with the basketball team—very close—and she seems to be proud of that. But it’s clear to everyone that her interest in Thomas overshadows everyone else. Rumor has it that Thomas, though not granting her an exclusive relationship, prefers her over any other girl. In fact, he usually gets rid of the others without a thought once he’s had his fun with them.
Thomas pins her against the wall, and my eyes run over his tattooed hands. Although Shana is tall, Thomas towers over her so much that she has to tilt her head to look him in the eye. He leans forward, and their lips almost touch as they talk as if they were alone in the hall. When I think of how rude he was to me in philosophy class, I’m surprised to see him being so friendly. Shana slips a hand in the pocket of his jeans to reach for his pack of cigarettes. She plants one between her teeth, but he takes it out and brings it to his lips. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and before heading for the stairs down to the quad, our gazes meet for a split second. I wince in embarrassment at being caught looking at them. He, however, grins confidently and gives me a wink.
“Hey, are you listening? Who are you looking at?” Alex asks.
I immediately shift my gaze from that arrogant he-man and the redhead hanging on him and direct it back at my best friend before he notices.
“Nobody, sorry. You were saying?” I bite the edge of the paper coffee cup.
Alex looks around, but luckily the happy couple has already vanished.
“Stella is coming here this weekend. I was thinking that we could do dinner together, what do you think?” he resumes.
“Sure.” I smile at him. “I’ve been waiting all summer to meet her in person.”
“Perfect. She’ll be excited.”
We walk off toward the auditorium for our cinema studies class as I try to banish my feeling of annoyance at Thomas’s self-satisfied smirk.