Chapter Thirty-Six
Zarmenus is waiting for me by the exit doors of my lecture hall, holding two coffee cups.
He’s been showing up like this for the past few weeks. He does this so often now that I’ve started expecting him to be there, and am disappointed when he isn’t.
As the students file out, I see him scanning.
And then when he sees me, his entire face lights up.
I’m sure I’m mirroring him. I stop in front of him, and he hands me the coffee.
As I take it, our fingers brush. I’m used to the sparks I feel at his touch, so I’m not that alarmed by them.
I’ve decided to give myself grace whenever I feel something like that, or if I catch my thoughts about Zarmenus drifting toward non-platonic territory.
I can’t control how I feel, so I won’t feel bad for my feelings.
Besides, I know I’ll never, ever act on them. So they truly don’t matter.
“How was your class?” he asks.
“Good,” I say. “Really good, actually.”
I take a sip as the two of us start walking back to our dorm.
I’ve been enjoying watching the campus transform with the cooler weather.
Every morning the lawns are covered in sparkling frost, contrasting with the crisp blue sky.
Some of the trees have been covered in golden string lights.
I thought the campus was pretty before, but I think this might be the ideal time to see it.
It’s a good thing because Ashley has told me she and Jackson are planning a road trip to visit me in a few weeks, near the end of the semester.
She’ll be fairly late into her pregnancy, but apparently her doctor gave her the go-ahead to travel that week.
She’s cutting it close, but she’s assured me she’ll be fine.
I can’t decide if I want to tell her just how much I love Point. Or if I should downplay it so she doesn’t feel bad. That could be a nice thing to do, but it’s also potentially condescending and she’ll probably see right through me.
And yeah, I am a little worried she’ll figure out exactly how much I’m enjoying fake-dating Zarmenus.
“What’s going on in there?” asks Zarmenus. “You’re pulling your thinking face.”
“Sorry,” I say, before taking a sip of my matcha. “Just thinking about Ashley. I’m weirdly nervous.”
“About what?”
“Nothing, really,” I say. “I don’t want her to feel bad.”
“Why would she feel bad?”
“She wanted to go here,” I say. “That was the plan.”
“It was the plan. Plans change.”
It’s not that simple. We’ve dreamed of going here for years.
I can remember conversations we had back in our freshman year about Point.
I can remember how happy she was when she told me she’d gotten in, and how that conversation was so different from her telling me that she had decided not to go.
If I were her, I’m sure visiting Point and seeing the life that she could’ve had would be difficult.
I know I’d find it hard if I had been effectively forced by a random twist of fate into doing something else with my life.
“I’m just scared of losing her,” I say.
“Talk me through it.”
“It feels like our lives are going in different directions.”
“You should tell her how you feel.”
It’s good advice. If I want to feel close to her, I should tell her how I’m truly feeling. The worst thing I could do would be to lie and tell her what I think she wants to hear.
We reach our dorm room, and I take off my jacket. As I’m taking mine off, I catch Zarmenus checking me out. I’ve caught him doing it a few times, and I never mind, not even slightly. It’s flattering that he seems to like the look of my body. But I know it’s just because he’s attracted to men.
It’s nothing to get excited about.
“Do you want to go to the Phi Kappa fundraiser tonight?” he asks. “I’ll go if you want to.”
I had in fact heard of it, but none of my friends had made plans to go, and I’d been cautiously avoiding it as a subject with Zarmenus. Not because it doesn’t sound fun, it sounds like a great time. But the fundraiser is a pool party, and that means seeing Zarmenus in swimwear.
I’m trying my best to keep my emotions under control, and to keep thinking of him purely platonically. Seeing him in a pair of swimming trunks will not make things easier.
Plus, Adam might be there. Phi Kappa is a different fraternity from the one he is a part of and that Zarmenus quit, but there’s a fair amount of intermingling within the Greek system.
“Would you like to go?” he asks. “It could be fun.”
I did have plans to go over to Tyrell’s dorm and watch a movie, but I can always do that another day.
“It’s okay if you’re busy,” says Zarmenus. “No pressure at all.”
“No, I’d like that,” I say.
“Sweet.”
He goes to his closet and retrieves a pair of red swimming trunks. He turns around to show me.
“Do you like these?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying my best to keep my voice casual. “I’m sure you’ll look okay.”
“Just okay?” he asks, teasing, because he knows exactly how good he’s going to look in them.
Something tells me this won’t end well.
The rest of the day passes slowly, and now it’s time for the Phi Kappa pool party fundraiser.
It’s already dark out, and it’s cold enough that swimming isn’t the most enticing idea.
Still, I have my favorite green trunks in my backpack, ready to change into them if I change my mind.
If I’ve learned anything about myself so far this semester, it’s that getting out of my comfort zone tends to be more fun than playing it safe.
Zarmenus gives my hand a squeeze. We’ve been holding hands so much lately that it’s almost second nature for us.
A table has been set up at the entrance of the campus pool where we have to buy tickets.
It is a fundraiser, after all, but parting with twenty dollars still hurts.
Once we’ve both paid, we’re let into the pool.
It’s part of the aquatic center, so it’s an indoor, Olympic-sized pool with bleachers at the back.
The lights are dim, and the water is clearly heated, as faint wisps of steam drift along the surface. Only a handful of people are swimming, and the majority are frat guys. Given the number of inflatable pool toys in the pool, they’re expecting a lot more people to get in at some point.
“What do you think?” asks Zarmenus.
“It’s cool,” I say.
“Are you going to swim?”
“Are you?”
“I could be convinced,” he says.
I wish that more people were swimming, or that there were less people standing around on the edges, either listening to the DJ or talking. It means that whoever is in the pool has nowhere to hide, and I don’t love having that amount of attention on me.
“Want a drink?” he asks.
We start moving through the crowd, which is run by guys in swimming trunks who, seeing as their hair is neat and they are all bone-dry, have stripped their shirts to show off, or are maybe trying to use their bodies in order to get more donations.
Zarmenus tries to buy each of us a Coke, but the frat guy working the table refuses him.
“On the house,” he says. “You being here is more than enough.”
Zarmenus tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “How so?”
“People will show up because you’re here,” he says. He points, and there is a small group of guys who were clearly talking about us, their phones out. I guess being at the same party as the prince of Hell is a pretty big talking point.
We take our drinks and go to sit in the bleachers. We’re far enough away from the main crowd I know we can speak privately, which in our case means truthfully.
“I should tell you something,” he says. “I have news, but I’ve been scared to tell you.”
Is he calling this off early?
The thought crushes me.
“My parents are coming to visit,” he says. “And they want to get dinner with us. It’ll be fine. I think.”
It’s been one thing convincing most of the campus, and the internet, that we’re dating. But what he’s asking me to do is lie to the king and queen of Hell. Straight to their faces, too. The risks there could be way higher than I’m comfortable with.
“What if I give us away?” I ask.
“Hey, don’t worry about that. I’m sure you won’t.”
I really do appreciate the vote of confidence.
There’s a moment of silence, and I notice just how close Zarmenus and I are sitting to each other.
His arm is brushing against mine, and I like how it feels.
Like, a lot. I hadn’t even noticed that he had sat this closely to me because we’re pretty much always touching in public now.
It’s more than a little alarming how much I’ll miss it when it goes away.
“There’s something else,” he says. “When my parents are here, I think I’ll ask them if I can stay another semester.”
His eyes meet mine, as if he’s trying to read my expression for my reaction. Which is what, exactly?
The first emotion is joy. Pure joy. Because I want him to stay, no matter what happens between us.
He might’ve caused a lot of drama, but everything we’ve done has been really fun.
Point wouldn’t be the same without him. At the same time, if he stays, what will that mean for us? We can’t be pretend boyfriends forever.
“Oh,” I say.
“Oh?”
“No, I’m just processing. That’s great. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“You seem disappointed.”
“No!” I say. “Not at all. I want you to stay.”
“How the turntables,” he says, I think getting the saying wrong. “Remember when you couldn’t wait to get rid of me?”
“Remember when you nearly burned down our room?”
“Touché.”
I fold my arms over my stomach. “Do you think they’ll say yes?”
“I don’t know. It can be hard to tell with them.”
I let the conversation fade out. I don’t really want to continue this line of questioning, because I know we’ll need to figure some things out if he does decide to stay.
I’m having a great time fake-dating him, I’ve decided there’s no point denying that to myself.
I can’t imagine doing it for an entire year, though.
That’s too much time to be spent wrapped up in a lie.