Eleven
Eleven
I spend the rest of the morning in limbo, trying to untangle my knotted feelings. Leila doesn’t show up at practice, and Thomas ignores me. The cold war is still on, however, between him and Travis.
After class, I tell my mother that I’ll be sleeping over at the Bakers’. Tiffany invites me out to drinks with some of the girls in her class, but I’m not in the mood, so I tell her I’ll stay in with Travis. But when he starts kissing and touching me in the middle of a movie, I give him the headache excuse. I’m not in that mood either. I still feel restless and even a little guilty about all those strange feelings I allowed myself to feel near Thomas. Travis can’t hide his resentment, and so we watch the movie in total silence until we fall asleep facing away from one another.
***
I wake at the crack of dawn for a change, and I see Travis staring intently at the ceiling. I know what’s troubling him: today is Friday. The first game of the season is this afternoon. So even though I can’t think straight before my coffee, I sit on the edge of the bed and try to reassure him.
“Everything will be fine. The team is strong,” I say, rubbing my eyes. In actuality, I am not so sure. The University of Oregon Ducks are among the best. Last year we came within a hair’s breadth of winning the championship, but, in the end, they took it from us.
Travis snorts and sits on the edge of the mattress, running his hands through his curls. “I just want this day to be over quickly. At least this time, my father won’t be in the stands.” He jumps out of bed and heads for the bathroom.
I can see why he’s stressed. His father is always pressuring him to make a good impression in front of the sponsors. But when Travis is nervous, he makes me nervous too, and I can’t stand it.
After a silent high-protein breakfast, we get into the truck.
Campus is more chaotic than ever. On game days, the atmosphere is always hectic. Basketball fans are out in force. Lots of students, myself included, wear black sweatshirts with “Go Beavers!” written in orange lettering. Plus, tonight is the first party of the academic year—the electricity in the air is palpable.
In the parking lot we meet Finn and Matt, who greet Travis with fist bumps.
“Vanessa, how are you?” Matt exclaims, giving me a hug.
“Good, how about you?” I look around. “It’s a real circus around here, huh?”
“You’re telling me. I couldn’t even find a decent place to park the car. I had to leave her off campus, and I swear if I find one scratch on her, I’m gonna lose it.”
“Wait until the Ducks get here. Who knows if she’ll come out unscathed?” I grin and rub it in. At my side, Travis is still tense.
“Shit, they’re animals, if they so much as touch her, I swear…”
“Dude, give it a rest,” Finn interrupts him. “You parked so far away that you’ll have to have someone drive you to pick it up.” He punches him playfully in the side, and I burst out laughing.
“Yeah, relax. We have other things to think about today,” Travis joins in.
“So,” I say a little uncomfortably, trying to change the subject, “are you ready for the game? You guys rocked it at practice yesterday.”
“Bet, beautiful! This year we’re going to kick Duck ass!” replies Matt with an eloquent hand gesture. “We’ve got it all locked down and, now that he’s back at one hundred percent, we have a true prodigy on the team,” he adds proudly.
“Matt, you’re exaggerating like always, he’s not a prodigy. He’s just…passably good,” Travis says angrily, giving his friend a dirty look.
“Shit, I want to be passably good like him too.”
At these words, my stomach twists. And a strange intuition makes its way through me. They’re not talking about…
“Hey, Collins, c’mere!” shouts Matt.
Damn, I knew it.
I can feel Travis’s eyes on me, as if studying my every move. I force myself to not, under any circumstances, turn to look at him. I nibble on my cheek instead.
“Nah. I’ve got better things to do here,” Thomas replies from afar.
“Matt! What the fuck are you doing? I don’t want that asshole over here. Having to put up with him at practice is plenty,” growls Travis. I take advantage of the fact that he and Matt are arguing and allow instinct to override my reason. With utmost discretion, I allow myself to send one furtive glance toward the six foot three collection of muscles and tattoos that sits on the edge of a rusty railing a few feet away from us. He has an unlit cigarette between his lips, his leather jacket open over a tight gray T-shirt that emphasizes his sculpted physique and a pair of dark-wash jeans, a little baggy and ripped. He still has that rough and wild look that never seems to leave him.
He’s with Shana, for a change. She has positioned herself between his spread legs, with her back pressed against his chest. I know it shouldn’t, but the sight of them bothers me. When Thomas senses my gaze on him, he gives me a contemptuous sneer, the same one Shana also reserves for me. Instinctively, I cling tighter to my boyfriend.
“Knock it off, Trav.” Matt’s voice makes me wince. “The other night you got outta hand, but it ends there. You’re even now, right? Let bygones be bygones and be a man. Team chemistry depends on it.”
“You’re ‘even’? What does that mean?” I stare at Travis, perplexed, waiting for an answer I’m not entirely sure I want to hear. Matt falls silent, awkwardly.
“Nothing. You know we can’t stand each other. Let it go,” he answers, scratching the back of his head and visibly annoyed.
“Let it go?” The two of them have secrets and a history that I know nothing about, and I’m supposed to just let it go? Does Leila have anything to do with it? Of course she does! I’ve known it since the first day I saw her in the gym!
“Does it have to do with his sister?” I ask around a rapidly forming knot in my throat.
“What? Jesus Christ, don’t start that again!”
“I asked you a question, Travis!” I shout, determined to take it all the way this time. It’s what I should have done from the start.
“Yeah, a stupid question, like always. Right now, I’m not in the mood for your ball-busting. Today is stressful enough as it is; don’t bring your fucking insecurities into it too,” he spits ferociously, leaving me and his friends frozen. I feel tears welling up, but I struggle to keep them at bay. I don’t want to start sobbing like a child. Not here, not in front of everyone; this is humiliating enough as it is. So, incapable of responding the way I should, I instead run away before it’s too late.
“Nessy! Come back here!” Travis shouts at my back. “Why did you bring that shit up?” I then hear him demand of Matt.
“And why do you treat her like shit every chance you get?” These are the last words that reach my ears before I cross the threshold of the liberal arts building. I run to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Leaning against the door, I finally burst into tears.
I feel so pathetic. I am a sophomore in college, dammit, and here I am locked in a bathroom, crying over a boy who deserves to be slapped in the face. I’m hopeless. I slide to the floor and pull my knees up to my chest. I sob heavily, until I hear someone banging on the door.
Some girls ask to come in. I wipe my cheeks and inhale deeply to settle my nerves before getting up and unlocking the door. I rinse my mascara-streaked face in the hope that a little cold water will get rid of the redness, but it is all in vain. I shrug my shoulders and, despite the pitiful image I see reflected in the mirror, I force myself to act like the mature person that I should be. I have three classes to take today and a game I want to attend. To hell with Travis and his continued lack of respect for me.
I leave the bathroom and head for my philosophy class. Obviously, because I cannot have a moment’s peace, I see that Thomas is already seated at the last table. Well, at least this time he won’t bother me. His eyes flicker warily over me. He examines me from top to bottom, frowning. But I ignore him, sit in the front row, and do my best to push down the heated sensation I feel whenever his eyes are on my skin, even from so far away.
When Professor Scott enters the classroom, he resumes his lecture on Kant. I hear him speak, but my thoughts are wandering. Matt’s words resonate in my head as my logic wrestles with my hope that it’s all some big misunderstanding.
“Miss Clark?” Professor Scott calls.
“Yes?” I reply, wincing.
“Class is over, you may go.”
What, over? I look around and there is no one left in the classroom. Yikes. I gather my things and hurry out. As soon as I step outside, a strong arm drags me around a blind corner of the hallway.
“What the hell are you doing?” I lash out at Thomas. “Will you stop constantly popping up out of nowhere? It’s starting to get disturbing,” I exclaim, annoyed, as I try to extricate myself.
He grabs my shoulders and gives me a look so intense that it takes my breath away. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I thought we set the record straight yesterday, didn’t we? It doesn’t concern you,” I snap. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re here instead of being with your girlfriend,” I add contemptuously. But I regret it as soon as I see the corner of his mouth rise.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” I tighten my lips into a hard line. “Let me go, please?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Believe me, I don’t care.”
“Sure, I believe you,” he says with a wry smile, closing the distance between our bodies. He brushes a strand of hair away from my face and I feel my heart leap. “Either way, that’s not my thing,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
“What are you talking about?”
“Relationships. They’re a cage I’m happy to stay out of. They all end up the same anyway.”
“Meaning?”
“They’re soul-destroying,” he replies in a rough voice.
“That’s crazy…”
“You think so? So tell me, how long have you been with Travis?”
“What?”
“How long have you been with your boyfriend?” he repeats determinedly.
“Two years.”
“You know, for some people two years is a long time.” He curls a lock of my hair around his index finger. “For other people, however, it’s almost nothing…” He stares into my eyes, then his gaze drops languidly to my lips. It seems like he’s thinking about something.
“So what? What are you getting at?”
“Are you happy?”
“Of course,” I blurt out, but I quickly realize that I’m lying.
He snorts a laugh. “Come on, you don’t believe that any more than I do. Two years in a relationship and he’s taken everything from you. Your eyes are empty, Vanessa.”
His words hit me square in the chest, creating a rift and unleashing emotions I didn’t even know I had. This conversation is beyond belief; he has known me for barely a week, yet he can read me better than anyone else in my life. Better, even, than I read myself.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I keep lying, discomfited.
I try to pull away one more time because, all of a sudden, I feel suffocated, but he clasps my hips with both hands and pushes me against the wall.
“Thomas, let go of me,” I say with less conviction than I would like.
He ignores me, runs a hand along my neck and looms over me, brushing my ear with his lips.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he whispers hoarsely. He caresses my cheek with his knuckles. I want to tell him that he cannot touch me like this, but I can’t. My throat is tight and dry. My head is fuzzy, and my heart is beating wildly. I break out in a cold sweat. He moves on to my neck and I feel his lips curving slowly into a barely there smile. He is well aware of the chills he is giving me as I feel a fluttering like butterflies in my lower abdomen.
“W-what are you doing?” I whisper-gasp.
“I’ll prove you wrong.” He aligns his face with mine, and the way he looks at me makes my knees go weak. Confident. Dominant. Passionate. He carefully hovers his mouth over mine, and my heart begins to beat even faster. Whether it is fear or desire, I don’t know. But just as our lips are about to touch, a ringtone brings me to my senses.
My phone.
With a trembling hand I pull it out of the pocket of my jeans. It’s Travis.
I stare at it and, in a split second, all my good sense comes rushing back to me. Oh God… What am I doing? I look at Thomas, lost and guilty. Unlike me, he looks perfectly at ease. When he lowers his gaze to the screen of the phone, however, his expression changes. He becomes cold and distant, just like yesterday. Before I can say anything to him, he takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. “Your eyes are more beautiful when they smile, Vanessa.”
He walks away, leaving me dazed and staring at the empty space where he used to be. It takes me a few minutes to recover from whatever was happening with Thomas. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes as the phone rings for the third time. And for the third time, I reject the call. My mind is in turmoil, crowded with thoughts and torn by guilt.
How did I find myself within a millimeter of his lips once again?
I rub my face and take a deep breath, trying to shake off the memory of his touch, of his eyes burning into me, of his body pressed close against mine. I cannot allow him to take over my thoughts, to destroy what I have built with Travis over the years. I cannot, cannot, cannot.
Guilt forces me to unlock my phone and type out a message for Travis: Meet me at the entrance of the Lit department . Ten minutes later, he materializes on the stairs of the neoclassical-style building where I spend most of my day. I grab him and drag him out to the trees in the garden, away from prying ears.
“I know you’re going to yell at me, but just listen for a minute,” he begins, clutching my arms. “This morning, I got caught up in the stress. You know, the first game, my father, the sponsors…”
I want to be angry, but remorse is eating me up inside. “I know,” I say simply.
“And then you exacerbate things with all that stuff about the Collinses. You make me out to be a liar, but I’m not the one lying to you, Nessy. I may be an asshole, but I’m not a liar.” His words hit me like a slap in the face because I’m the one, in fact, who has a guilty conscience. “Do you really want to know why I hate him so much? It’s because I overheard him in the locker room a while ago saying some really sleazy stuff about Tiff. His sister is cut from the same cloth. They get their kicks turning other people’s lives upside down.”
“Hold on…about Tiff? But that’s…ridiculous. And Leila… She seemed like a nice girl to me.”
“They are good at charming people, that’s why I don’t want you to get too close to him. Or to her. Look at us, they’ve already got us fighting.”
Indeed, there’s a part of me that has to admit everything seems to have taken a wrong turn since Thomas started approaching me.
“Are you telling me the truth, Travis?” I ask suspiciously.
“Of course I am,” he answers, looking deep into my eyes. Despite the sense of unease I still feel, I decide to trust him. He would never lie to me so blatantly. Instead, I am the one feeling dirtier than I ever have before. “All right, I believe you,” I sigh. Travis hugs me and, although hesitant, I allow him to kiss me.
At lunchtime, I head to the cafeteria, where Alex and Tiffany are waiting for me, while Travis is with his teammates. The Ducks players must have arrived already, because the room is crowded with students in green sweatshirts. I look around and I catch a glimpse of my friends at a table in the back. I walk toward them, but a player from the opposing team—very tall, with dark hair and eyes—walks past me along with a group of other students. He gives me a wink and a flirty smile.
His beauty has me stupefied for a few moments, so much so that I stumble over a bag left on the floor next to a table. Cheeks burning, I hurry and catch up with my friends. I don’t understand what is going on these days, why everyone seems to have taken notice of me all of a sudden. What’s different about me?
Sighing, I sit down next to Tiffany. Alex studies me for a moment, and I see him start to fret.
“What happened? You look pretty shaken up,” he says, stretching his hand across the table to take mine. I don’t even know where to start, but I decide to confide in them. At least partially.
“I got into an argument with Travis this morning…” I begin.
They both give me the same resigned expression. “Again?”
I nod and rest my head on Tiff’s shoulder. “We cleared it up right away, but I don’t know… I feel a little exhausted. This has been the most intense week we’ve had in a long time,” I murmur, distressed.
“You already know how I feel about Travis: you deserve better,” Alex replies.
“The thing is, sometimes… I’m not so sure that I do.” I steal a chip from his plate and nibble on it.
He looks at me, aghast. “What are you talking about? Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know, Alex. Maybe I deserve it. After all, I’m the one letting him disrespect me time after time, always forgiving him.”
“But no one should mistreat a person just because they’re good enough to forgive you,” he exclaims, gobsmacked.
“Alex has a point,” Tiffany interjects. “Travis is my brother. But, if I were in your position, I would have kicked him to the curb a long time ago.”
“The thing is… You know he was the first and only for me,” I confess in a low tone. “I can’t imagine being with someone else,” I continue. “Sometimes I think that, without Travis, I’d be alone forever. No one wants to waste their time on someone like me,” I admit with a hint of shame.
Tiffany’s eyes widen. “Vanessa, you are talking crazy.”
I shrug. “Why would anyone want to be with me, if they could get everything I have to offer from any other girl? Girls who are much more beautiful, more capable, and more experienced?”
“You cannot be serious right now.”
“I am serious, though. There is nothing special about me. Nothing desirable.” I bite my thumbnail.
“Have you seen yourself?” Alex cries in amazement. “As a man, I can assure you that is not the case.”
I roll my eyes. “Having some curves doesn’t put me ahead of anyone else. In fact, the only thing I get out of it are horny looks from creeps.”
“Okay, now you listen to me,” Tiffany interrupts me. “Nessy, you are completely beautiful, inside and out! You’re the sweetest, most sensitive person that I know, you care about others, you try not to hurt anyone, and you always see the good in people. You don’t care about outside appearances, and you are always yourself, even when that means being unconventional. Do you realize how much strength of character it takes to be yourself in a society that wants everyone to be the same?” She pauses and continues, “You’ve been putting up with my brother for two years! Two years! You deserve a sainthood just for that. And when I tell you that my brother does not deserve you, I am being completely goddamned honest! He is constantly being an asshole to you to try and feel superior, but you just are superior. You don’t have to be afraid to find out who you are without him, because I am absolutely certain that you will only shine brighter. And he knows it too, that’s why he keeps you tied down to a sham of a relationship that no longer has any reason to exist. You are not the one who needs him, Nessy, he’s the one who needs you.”
Her words move me so much that I have to hug her. “Are you sure you want to be a criminologist and not a life coach? You would be perfect,” I joke to disperse some tension.
Alex comes over and sits next to me, squeezing my shoulders with one strong arm as if to infuse me with courage. I really want to be completely honest and tell them all about Thomas and about the strange new feelings he is stirring up in me. But every part of my life that he touches seems to fall apart, so I decide to keep quiet.
We go on chatting about lighter topics for the rest of lunch, and afterward we start heading toward the gymnasium with the other students. The seats in the first row are already all occupied, but in the second row I find Leila. She points to some vacant chairs behind her and invites me to join her. I take the opportunity to introduce her to Alex and Tiffany.
The gym is so full of people that it seems much smaller than it really is. Many of our students have painted their faces orange and black, while others unfurl signs with slogans and cheers on them. On the opposite side of the gym, fans of the Oregon Ducks create an expanse of green. Alex, with his ever-present Canon, begins shooting. When the players finally enter, they are greeted by heated cheers, whistles, and applause.
Travis is nervous. I can tell by the clench of his jaw. I try to catch his eye to reassure him, but he doesn’t seek me out. He never does during games, always too focused on going over strategy in his head.
“Hey, hey. I guess someone here made an impression!” exclaims Tiffany, giving me a conspiratorial nudge.
“Meaning what?”
She points to the boy from the cafeteria, who keeps looking up to smile at me from the sideline as he warms up with a few dribbles. I feel the heat on my cheeks, and I know I’ve turned bright red. My friends laugh at my embarrassment, and I give them both a shoulder check.
“He’s definitely looking at someone else,” I murmur, biting my nails. I turn to confirm my hypothesis, but behind me I can see only teachers, a few parents, and…a fair-haired boy sitting alone in the back row. As soon as he notices my attention, he greets me shyly with a slight nod of his head. It nags at me—do I know him? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, although he does, in fact, have a familiar vibe.
“Oh, knock it off!” Tiffany’s wail draws my attention back to her. “He is clearly looking at you! You are a beautiful girl, Vanessa: deal with it. And I’ll tell you what’s more, lots of guys on campus look at you just like he’s doing right now. You would notice if you didn’t spend every waking moment moping over my brother!”
Touché.
I take courage from Tiffany’s words and return the boy’s greeting, smiling shyly at him. We keep looking at each other for a few seconds, but the moment is interrupted by Travis’s menacing glare boring into me from afar. As if that were not enough, someone hurls a ball at the feet of the cafeteria boy with the charcoal-colored eyes: Thomas, who gives him a threatening look.
What the…
The surreal scene does not go unnoticed by my best friends or Leila. All three of them look at me, bewildered and incredulous, waiting for explanations.
“Okay, Nessy, what the hell is going on? Since when has your love life become more exciting than mine?” Tiffany asks with a mischievous smile on her lips.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She snorts in amusement and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m gonna pretend to believe you only because I know you’re probably having a panic attack right now and have plenty to think about. But know that this conversation isn’t over, my friend,” she concludes in a mocking tone.
I am saved by the referee, who blows his whistle and starts the game.
After an unfavorable first half, we start putting up buckets one after another until we are two points behind the Ducks. Travis maneuvers well; despite a redheaded, freckled boy who is all over him and tries to put him in a tight spot, he is not intimidated. He dribbles confidently, then passes the ball to Thomas behind the red-haired boy’s back. Thomas shoots it in the direction of the basket, but a member of the opposing team pushes him. Thomas falls back as all eyes watch the ball swish into the net. With two seconds on the clock, the score is tied and the foul is in our favor.
Thomas goes to the foul line to set up for the free throw. If he makes it, the victory will be ours. Before he does anything else, he bends his knees, rests the ball on the floor, and bows his head, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He is lost, staring at some indeterminate point in the distance, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as though reaching for the focus necessary to better visualize his target. As he does this, he continually worries the NCAA-approved wristband standing in for the black bandana he always wears tied around his wrist, twisting it over and over again. After just a few seconds, he gets to his feet.
When we think he’s finally ready to shoot, everyone stands up, all eyes glued to him. The gym, chaotic until a moment ago, plummets into total silence. The tension is palpable. Thomas darts his gaze from the ball to the basket. And, with each practice dribble, the impact of the ball on the hardwood floor is deafening. Suddenly, I remember two nights ago, when we found ourselves outside together and, of his own free will, he told me how it feels every time he hits the court. About the adrenaline that courses through his veins, pushing him through each movement.
Thomas turns my way. He spots me immediately in the crowd, as though we were connected by an invisible thread. Sweat beads on his forehead. There’s a flush across his cheekbones and his breathing is labored. But he smiles at me…a barely there smile, but nevertheless it seems to make time suspend, to expand endlessly around us. His eyes, that intense emerald green, are shining. They seem to me to be speaking: Here it is. Here is that most beautiful moment.
Against all common sense, I decide not to break the strange connection that has arisen between us. I smile at him knowingly and, for a moment, it feels like all the spectators around us have disappeared, that there is only me and him. The moment that Thomas turns his attention back to the hoop, I have absolute certainty that he will score. He centers the ball in front of his body, pushes it up, and…
“Ladies and gentlemen! It’s a miracle! The Beavers win the first game of the season!” shouts the commentator at the top of his lungs, as all the players on the team—except Travis—pile on Thomas. The crowd is in a frenzy as the Ducks and their fans leave the scene with their tails between their legs. I turn to my friends to cheer, and only then do I notice the identical astonished expressions on Alex, Tiffany, and Leila’s faces.
Oh, no…
I can’t explain what just happened either. All I know is that, right now, there is a part of me that would like nothing more than to run down from the stands and celebrate with Thomas.