5. Waverly
5
WAVERLY
“ A re you sure you're getting the right foods? The room is warm enough? You're in a good space?” Dad's voice echoed tinnily through my cheap handset, the one my brother sent me through the mail when he figured I couldn't afford my own after paying joint rent with Celia.
I shook my head at Dad, angling the phone so he couldn't see the peeling paint on the walls–or off them–and only the pretty yellow my bedroom. It was the single room I’d been able to upgrade in color in the dodgy apartment I rented off campus and lied through my teeth.
“Dad. It's lovely here. See?” I jiggled the phone enthusiastically so the picture blurred and all he got was a shower of bright color and a couple of my hand painted bees he knew I obsessed over.
“Well, as long as they're looking after you at that university…” Dad said, doubtfully.
“I've been quiet, studying and all. But it’s great. Food is too,” I lied again, praying I wouldn't be sent to hell where all the drones attacked For All Eternity and stung their prey endlessly.
“Oh, that’s good.” Dad squinted a bit.
“And Vincent sent me this phone.” More waving.
Dad let out half a laugh tinged with exasperation. “I can't see anything, Waverly.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I stopped waving my phone about. “How’s that?” I asked, still overly cheery.
I’d better turn it down or he’d suspect something was up.
I kept to my single phone call a week with dad to disguise the fact that I couldn’t afford anything at Rippton, much less a room on campus. But parents weekend was months away, and I'd sort something out between now and then.
Or, I kept us to online only, and we would make it work.
Besides, what Dad needed to see their daughter’s dorm room? I could always just wave to one of the tower dorms vaguely as a tour guide impersonation and say I was up there... My quandary was I couldn’t lie for shit like my big brother who got all the fun life skill genes. He was the only one who I'd been able to talk to openly about my problems.
When I was flat broke, my big brother stepped in mid way through his overseas Army deployment, and I was grateful.
Actually, that was the one thing that bothered me. We hadn't talked about the military much, or his life. More that it was a one way street of me oversharing and him listening but I knew that being in the army, he got it about eating ration packs or whatever it was that they had when they were away. His eyes got a bit haunted when he talked on rare occasion, though they lightened up when I offered him virtual chicken or beef noodles.
He usually raised me a stack of room temperature crispy bacon, over fried.
Two pieces, overcooked perfectly.
If Dad knew Vincent struggled, then he told lies, too.
“I just want to know…” Dad tried again, and trailed off, bringing me back to my own bomb shelter of an existence.
But it will get better. One day soon, Dad. I promise. This is only temporary.
All the words I couldn’t say.
“I'm great, honestly” I said, and managed to drop some of the false cheer in lieu of a dose of reality I could actually share with my sole remaining parent. “I love my classes. I suck at people, but I have my beehives. I study every night–” No lie there even if my study wasn’t always mine alone. “–and my papers are–” I scrunched up my nose. Time for the real truth I didn't actually want to share. “My papers are… I've got some work to do to get them accepted into scientific journals, but I promise I'll get there.”
Defiance and pride I didn’t mean to overshare warred in my voice, echoing how I’d talked to my lecturer just last week on exactly this topic.
Dad beamed at me, picking up on none of my inner turmoil. “That's my girl. The one who will win a Nobel prize.”
“Maybe one day.” A father’s dream I wouldn’t burst as it matched my own dream bubble far too closely.
Celia poked her head in the door and waved two fingers above her head. “Game time.”
I shook my head at her and pointed to my phone, mouthing, “ dad, ” back.
Dad frowned on the screen. “What's happening?”
“My housemate wants me to go to a sporting event. I don't do sports.” I shook my head adamantly at Celia and hurled finger gestures at her while smiling at him.
My expressions must've gotten crossed up because they both looked hellishly confused.
“You should go,” they both said at the same time.
Celia burst into a fit of giggles and shut the door behind her. There was a small thump as I guess she sat down on the floor behind the door, her laughter echoing along the hallway outside our apartment.
I hoped she just locked herself out.
“You should probably go,” Dad tried again. "Meet some people. I love that you’re academic, and I love that you're so smart, and clever and that you study so hard. But my baby girl should have a social life and meet some people. Maybe some nice boys?"
My lips twitched mischievously. “How about some nice girls?” I asked innocently.
Dad's eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he didn't bite, bless cotton socks. “Nice girls, then,” he said evenly. “Waverly, I raised Vincent, watched him go through the Army. Sexuality isn't a topic that I shy away from.”
I laughed at that. “All right,” I conceded. “I'll go. One match, but I'm not doing frat parties.”
Dad looked horrified. “Good God.” He crossed himself.
A peal of giggles erupted from me. I clapped a hand over my mouth but that didn’t stop anything. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Waverly.” He signed off, still looking slightly blindsided by that last comment.
I blew him kisses as I made my way across the room and let Celia back in, already berating her. “What have you done?”
“Give you a social life?” She fluffed blonde curls around her face and headed into my bedroom where she started tossing clothes on the bed. All I got was an eyeful of her rear end as she dug out a pair of denim overalls and rainbow T-shirt from my drawers.
I grabbed the clothes and stuffed them back where they came from. “No,” I snapped, ignoring her raised, manicured eyebrows. “Stay out of my things.”
“Have it your way.” She dragged me out the door in what I was wearing before I could object further, closing and locking the ratty, scarred door behind us.
I shoved my hand into my pockets as the door clicked shut, feeling for my keys there and grabbing my phone with my other hand. Nothing came up as Celia strutted alone, apparently oblivious to my growing discomfort as the dingy streets near campus passed by until we reached Rippton’s grounds. There, students streamed towards the giant stadium dead in the center like rats racing towards a coveted treat.
The closer we got to the stadium, the louder the crowd became and the less breathing room there was. I wrapped my arms around myself, patting my hands on my upper arms in an attempt at knocking the nearest people away.
“Okay, you gotta stop that,” Celia said in an undertone, giving me a one armed hug and attempting to detangle me under cover of affection.
“I can’t.” My shoulders itched at the memory of being trapped, and I overheated on the spot, scratching at them.
“Stop that.” She slapped at my hands.
“I’m still itchy,” I mumbled. I refuse to forgive Jax for what he did, though at least Crush offered some mercy to get me out of that damn jacket.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, sweating slightly under my layers.
“That’s it,” Celia warned far too cheerfully as she smiled at everyone around us, though desperation tinged her voice, even if I was the only one who heard it. “Come on, Waverly. And we're done.” She emphasized this last by pulling my hands away and throwing them to my sides. “Waverly. Can’t you try to be–” Her mouth snapped shut, and she didn’t finish that thought.
She didn’t need to.
“No, I can’t just be normal,” I said, quietly.
Just like everyone else.
She shook her head but wouldn't make contact with me. “That's not what I meant.”
The rest of the walk to the stadium we remained in silence, a good dozen feet separating us. I finally had the chance to breathe as the crowd gave me the grace of breathing room. Heck, I might even have been able to put up with people, and the sporting event and the Allstars, and seeing the team play who bullied me that awful night with Jax and the itching jacket.
I even talked myself into believing I had it all under control when Celia disappeared into the stadium without me.
Right as I ran smack into a leather jacket haunted my dreams for the last week since I was stuck in its confines.
But that wasn’t the worst thought that crossed my mind as I stared up into dark, fathomless eyes I knew hadn’t forgiven me since that night and were never likely to.
No, the biggest problem was that even though he tortured me and bullied me and restricted me in that stupid itchy leather jacket–
Jax Palmer was still sexy as hell.