Chapter Ten
Bryan
After practice, with my ribs wrapped in ice again, I make the short walk to Susie’s dorm in West Campus. I’m hungry. The only meal the team feeds us is the night before a game. I won’t be eating until I get back to the apartment. If the guys left me some dinner, I hope it’s edible.
As soon as I push open the door, she’s the first thing I see, sitting on one of the three matching couches that are all covered in some kind of brownish tweed. She leans over some papers splayed out on the rectangular oak coffee table. I know my wood thanks to the Arboriculture 101 course I took last year.
As I walk toward her, admiring her concentration, I notice the clean gold shag carpeting, the light-colored drapes, and a big 26-inch console TV. The homey space reminds me of a nice living room, like the one in my aunt’s home—before she passed away.
Susie looks up, her pretty sun-kissed face automatically forming a smile. I stop. And stare.
“Sit down.”
She pats the couch next to her like we’re on a study date instead of teacher and student. While a big part of me is noticeably excited about the idea, I know it’s a bad one. The last thing I want to do is hurt Liz by openly flirting—or whatever—with her best friend.
“Let’s sit at a table in the dining room,” I say.
She scoops up the papers, stacking them and pushing them into a folder as she stands. “Good idea.”
Her cheeks look pinker than before, and the idea that I’ve embarrassed her gives me a pinprick of pleasure.
I am going to hell one of these days.
I precede her into the dining room on the other side of the hallway with the stairs that lead up to the rooms. I know the layout of these dorms because I lived in one like it my freshman year. It was an all-guys dorm, and it was a dump compared to the all-girls version.
Glancing up the stairs, I wonder what her room is like. Shit. Who the fuck cares? I’m never going to see the inside of Susie Bennett’s dorm room, that’s for damn sure. She’s Liz’s roommate.
“Where’s Liz?”
She shrugs one shoulder and looks away. “I told her you would be here, and she… meant to come down and say hello.”
There’s one of those pauses that kicks my heartrate up because it spells trouble.
She finally looks me in the eye. “She fell asleep. I think she might have been drinking before dinner.”
Fuck. I don’t say it out loud, but I bet my expression shouts it loud and clear. Fuck Liz. I can’t be there every minute to stop her from drinking, from turning into her father.
“Don’t say anything. Maybe I’m wrong. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She said she had a long day of classes. She was?—”
“Forget about Liz.”
Her eyes widen, but only for a beat. Then she presses her lips together like she’s squeezing away doubt. “You’re right. We have work to do.”
We sit at a table near the kitchen with a window view. Thank god the room is empty. Gazing around, I notice a basket of snacks, a box of hot chocolate packets, and a large plate filled with cookies covered in plastic.
“Someone having a party in here later?”
That’s the last thing I want. I don’t need a bunch of girls gossiping about me getting tutored—or hanging out with Susie Bennett.
She follows my gaze and deepens her smile. “No. Those are the evening snacks our cook leaves out for us. Would you like something? I can get you some milk to go with the cookies if you want?—”
“Are you fucking serious?”
I’m practically salivating. My self-discipline to stay away from sweets to keep lean wars with my empty stomach.
She saves me the decision, popping from her chair and bringing the whole plate of cookies over with some napkins. Then she goes into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of milk.
“You sure your name isn’t Susie Homemaker?”
I’ve already pulled the plastic wrap off the dish and helped myself to a handful of cookies. In for a penny, in for a pound. If I’m going to be bad, I may as well be absolutely wicked.
She laughs. “The women’s libber in me should feel insulted.”
She doesn’t let down her rays of sunshine, and I stare at that curvy mouth, maybe a little too long, but it’s looking too fucking inviting.
Turning away, I shove a cookie into my mouth and slap my notebook on the table, making a mental note that she’s not much of a women’s libber considering she came from Smith, and she’s serious as fuck when she’s not cheerleading.
Shit. She’s the worst kind of girl—she’s complicated.
“How about if we start with this week’s assignment?”
She catches my eyes for approval. She’s a people pleaser. Even though I don’t bother nodding because it’s obvious, she keeps going. “We’re supposed to write a personal essay about campus life, but we’ll need to narrow it down to something specific, something that means something to us. And that we know a lot about.”
I shrug. “Whatever you want.”
I almost smile at the way she darts her eyes down back to her paper. It’s a copy of the syllabus, and I wonder where she got it, whether she had to go back to Professor Yardly’s office for it.
She looks up, her face bright as if she has a cartoon lightbulb hanging over her head. “How about football? You love football.”
“Why do you assume that?”
She blushes awkwardly again, but sits up straighter, losing her smile. “You spend a lot of time and effort playing football.”
She’s defying me, daring me to tell her she’s wrong.
I don’t bother.
“What about you? What do you love, Susie?”
And why the hell are you teasing her?
But I don’t care why. Maybe it’s just fun to rattle her, to make her feel uncomfortable. Because if I’m going to hell anyway, I may as well fully deserve it.
The curve of her mouth returns. “You enjoy playing games, don’t you? And I thought Dane was supposed to be the player.”
It’s impossible not to stare at her mouth. I shrug, not bothering to deny it. If she thought she was going to make me feel ashamed or… anything, she was wrong.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I like dancing. And now cheerleading too.”
“Great. You can write an essay about being a cheerleader, and I’ll write one about playing football, and we’ll win the prize for the most conventional pair of students in the class.”
Yardley will have a field day with us, probably mock us in front of the class, but I don’t give a shit. I wonder if Susie cares.
She laughs. The sound pierces me. I physically feel it slicing me open, the burn of it, the excruciating pleasure of it. I was far too wrong about her not making me feel anything. And that’s not good.
“That sounds perfect. It’s a gas when you can be rebellious by being conventional, isn’t it?”
“Enough bullshit, Susie.”
I lean in and watch her mouth open with apprehensive surprise. She leans back away from me. But I take hold of an arm and pull her closer to where I can see the specks of gold that literally light up her eyes whenever she feels emotion of any kind. I’m an observant person, but especially when it comes to Susie Bennett.
“What—”
“You remember me from nine years ago. You remember what happened, but now I guess you don’t care. You’re sorry you ever?—”
“No. I mean yes, I remember you.”
She flutters her hand and shrugs from my grip because I loosen it, relieved that she’s admitting to that much. She aims her eyes at mine and opens them up all the way, letting everything inside her show, and… holy shit.
“I’m not sorry. How could I be? Why would I be? The only thing I’m sorry about is that I didn’t really help you. I gave you candy and… that’s so embarrassing right now because it was stupid and silly and?—”
And painfully sweet. “You thought about me since then?”
My blood hums so loud in my head I wonder if she’ll hear it, if I’m going to explode with too much emotion erupting to the surface, all of it suppressed for too long. My hand shakes, and so I withdraw it from her.
She nods. And stares.
“Did you tell Liz?—”
“No.”
The word is sharp and quick, and I realize she kept our encounter secret.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. You told me not to. The whole thing felt… unreal, like a dream, like you were…”
She lifts her hands in the air and lets out a breath. “You know what I mean.”
I do. I know exactly what she means, know the word that’s missing, that she refuses to say. It was life-altering. For both of us. For different reasons. I want to know her reason.
But there’s no way I’m going to ask. I have no right.
I pull back and swipe the hair from my forehead. “It was a long time ago.”
“But you remembered it. You remembered me.”
“Like you said. You gave me candy.”
I give her a half smile, and it barely hurts. Her return smile more than makes up for it. “In your defense, you also gave me the shirt off your back.”
Fuck. Leave it alone, Bryan.
Her cheeks pink up, but her smile widens.
“But then I bet that’s the kind of thing you do all the time.”
She shakes her head vigorously, reminding me of her little girl self. “No, believe me. I’ve never had another encounter like that one. You were in such distress. I’d swear you needed an ambulance. I was stunned when you got up and… left me there—I mean, you walked away. With all that blood. Your arm…”
She looks at my arm now, reaching for it.
I’m wearing a T-shirt, so I accommodate her, pushing the short sleeve up to show her the scar. She sucks in a breath and retreats.
“It’s almost as bad as I imagined it would be.”
“I hope you’re not going into nursing.”
She laughs. “No. You’re right, I’m a big baby, aren’t I?”
“You weren’t that day.”
My words are low and gruff. “Thank you. I never said thank you.”
She nods, her smile so tender it hurts, so I do what I always do in the face of tenderness; I look away, back down, run, and hide myself inside the impenetrable shell I’ve built.
Except that day I didn’t hide. And that’s how I made it home, made it through the devastation of learning how bad Liz’s father really was. I let the kindness of a nameless little girl carry me.
Inhaling deeply, I rake my fingers through my hair again.
“I wanted to know why you went out of your way to help me and to say thank you. I don’t want to make a big deal about it.”
“Right. I mean, it’s funny that we’ve run into each other after all these years. What a coincidence.”
“We both know Liz.”
She nods, realizing maybe it was inevitable.
She’s still staring at me with a confusing-as-hell expression, and I open my notebook to the first page, blank except for all the lines I need to fill in. Time to put in the work, Granger.
“Let’s get started on the essay.”
When I walk in the front door of the apartment, I find Eldy in the living room sitting at one end of the couch with an empty bowl on the TV tray in front of him. Mack sits on the other end, still eating. They look freshly showered, their second shower of the day, with real soap this time.
I should take my second shower before eating. Instead, I pass straight through the living room to the kitchen, barely answering Eldy’s grunt hello. I’m surprised to find some dinner left for me: spaghetti, red sauce from a jar, and meatballs, albeit the frozen kind.
Not what I’m used to at home, cold and far from ideal. But my pocketbook can’t keep me in good meat and vegetables, and I need the calories. I take my bowl into the living room because we have no kitchen table or chairs.
Chuck walks into the room from the hallway door and takes the last seat in the heavily soiled Barcalounger. I settle for standing against the wall, scooping a forkful of mystery meatball into my mouth and chewing. He waves a loaf of French bread at me.
“You want a hunk of this before I devour it?”
I swallow, and my stomach is immediately grateful. “No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
Eldy snorts and rolls his eyes. “You need more meat on your bones, Granger. Look at you. No fat.”
His sarcasm doesn’t bother me, and I would normally ignore him, but he’s starting to look soft even though he’s fit. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the beer padding his muscles.
“Exactly,”
I say in between mouthfuls. “I could use more muscle. Too many unproductive calories in bread.”
“I may not be a nutrition expert,”
Mac says, “but I’m pretty sure unproductive calories is an oxymoron since the definition of calorie?—”
“Fuck you,”
I say. He knows what I mean. Though he does have a point. I’m not good with words. It’s one reason I keep them to a minimum. Maybe I don’t always say things right, but I know what I meant is right.
I know what a calorie is—a unit of energy. I know energy is productive. But bread—too much of it, or too much spaghetti for that matter—feels like it weighs me down, makes me less productive somehow. I may not be good at explaining it, but I know my body and what makes it tick, what makes me go and what doesn’t. I’m very good at observing things.
“Bryan has a point,”
Eldy says, taking a long gulp of Pepsi—which has enough sugar to count as dessert—before he continues. “He’s a finely tuned machine. The boy—or I should say, man—has more energy than anyone on the team. He can go on forever.”
Holding his bowl close to his face like he’s going to pour the spaghetti and meatballs down his throat in one gulp, Chuck pauses as if he’s snapping out of a dream.
“Who can go on forever? You talking about me? Are the girls spreading rumors again?”
Eldy throws a pillow at him, and I almost smile, snorting instead.
“I wouldn’t bet against you,” I say.
“There’s my man.”
He winks at me. “I wouldn’t bet against you either if it comes down to it.”
This causes a giant groan from Mac, and Eldy pretends to cough up his food.
After we eat, I clean up because the others are too lazy. I refuse to live in a barn, knowing too well from the farm how food can attract insects and rodents.
Eldy comes into the kitchen and leans against the counter, tossing his football up and down. I know he has something on his mind.
“Where were you? Not like you to be late for dinner.”
“None of your business.”
I know I’m only postponing the inevitable, but the last thing I want to share with him is anything to do with Susie.
“What’s really up with you and Liz?”
No surprise his first guess is about Liz.
“Nothing. Like I said the last dozen times you asked.”
“Then why did you hyperventilate when I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I might want to?—”
“Don’t. Say it.”
I slam the clean pot on the counter with unnecessary force, creating a loud bang.
“Fuck. That’s a sore spot if I ever saw one. You’re still hooked?—”
“No. I’m not. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about her. I don’t want to see her thrown to the wolves.”
He chortles. “You calling me a wolf, Granger? Because that could be a case of the pot calling the kettle?—”
“Not even close.”
I know he’s right. But not completely. With Liz, it wasn’t—isn’t that way. “Some girls are okay with playing loose. And some girls are the serious kind. I know the difference. You?—”
“I know the difference.”
Tossing the used-up Brillo pad into the sink, I turn to him. “I have eyes, Eldy. And ears. And I’m in the room next to yours.”
He grins. “Sure, but none of those girls are serious types.”
I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know, Eldy, maybe it’s the tears the next morning that make me think otherwise.”
He goes white. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t pretend you never made a girl cry.”
“No. I didn’t. I mean, I never meant to. They know I’m not serious, and they say they’re cool…”
He has the good grace to trail off, not bothering to finish his lame defense.
I reach out and clap his back. “Don’t worry, Eldy. I still love you.”
He flinches. He hates talk of emotions and especially the ‘L’ word, as he calls it—as if it’s a secret spell or a curse that will doom him. I don’t tease him much about it because I think he’s truly afraid of love. He doesn’t have command of his emotions. Yesterday, I would have insisted that I have complete command, but only a fool wouldn’t admit when he’s rattled. I’m no fool, and I swear any rattling damage done by Susie Bennett was a one-time event and the effects temporary. Either way, love isn’t my particular fear. Bottom line is I don’t like hitting Eldy in his soft underbelly.
One of the few differences between me and my dad. I chalk it up to being rattled and take a reinforcing breath in an attempt to ground myself.
“You’re such a weirdo, Granger,”
he finally says. “You’re damn lucky you’re the fastest running back on the East Coast or I wouldn’t put up with you.”
He’s grinning while he says it, but I have no doubt it’s the god's honest truth.
“I have to hit the books,” I say.
He nods. “English Comp?”
I nod back. He knows about my trouble with this class. He may think I’m a weirdo, and we may be opposites in about every way there is, but we’re tight as brothers after three years of our uphill climb on the football team together and two years as roommates.
“Professor Yardly says I need a tutor.”
Not a lie.
“Yeah?”
He smirks. “Could be interesting if you get a sweetheart?—”
“She already assigned me someone.”
“Oh. You don’t look happy. Some dorky guy?”
“No.”
Shit. Maybe it’s time to bite the bullet—at least part of the way. “Susie Bennett. Liz’s friend.”
I wait for his predictable reaction.
“Are you shitting me? You hit the jackpot. She’s a doll.”
“She’s off-limits,”
I admit. “Not that I’m interested.”
For a million reasons, but mostly because of Liz. I know her and how she still thinks of me as hers. The idea irritates me.
But not enough to provoke her. It’s not like I’m interested in starting anything with a girl like Susie. I don’t kid myself that she’s the same girl she was nine years ago, the little girl so kind that I dreamed she was an angel. I don’t really know her anymore, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Susie is the definition of Serious Girl. Not someone to play with—no matter how much fun she is to tease. No matter how much I like the taste of her lips and—fuck.
Eldy’s forehead furrows for a second, and then his expression clears like he’s figured it out. “Oh, I get it. Because she’s friends with Liz, and you and Liz?—”
“Are still good friends.”
My words ring with the finality of church bells at midnight, and I grab the dish towel to wipe my hands off.
“What are you going to do about her?”
Of course, he doesn’t let it drop.
“Nothing. She’s my tutor.”
I shrug. He’s the only one besides Coach, the prof, and now Susie who knows I failed English comp last year.
“You going to tell her why you need a tutor?”
I raise my middle finger at him.
“You don’t trust her.”
He nods, pleased with the answer he put in my mouth. “I don’t blame you. She’s new and a little mysterious. I asked Liz where she transferred from, and she wouldn’t say.”
I barely nod, pretending I’m not interested.
“Smith,”
I say, regretting it the second I speak. It’s not like me to have loose lips.
Eldy’s face flares up like he’s been shocked. “No kidding. A brain, huh? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She seems the type. Like a brainy princess.”
I clap his back. “Good read, Eldy.”
At least it’s a good surface read. He’s dismissed the fact that she could be an angel with more compassion in her pinky toe than the Pope. She used to be that angel.
Either way, I know there’s a whole lot of her hiding below the surface. I shouldn’t be intrigued, but I can’t help myself. Our early encounter is like one of those before and after moments, dividing my life in two.
Not that I’m the melodramatic type, but I’m not used to kindness. Not even my mother is kind. She’s more like fierce and loyal. And Susie’s small act of fearless kindness to a stranger, a dirty, bloody, mean-looking hulk of a boy, even at twelve years old, hit me profoundly that day with a massive dose of life-altering hope.
The only other person who’s shown kindness, who had a positive impact on my life, is Coach Hammer. But I’m not so na?ve that I don’t realize the element of selfishness, that his main interest in me is all about football. His feelings toward me are more admiring than empathetic.
Susie is an enigma, a grown-up, gorgeously tempting enigma. I feel her presence like a deep raw wound I need to uncover, to heal. I need to find out if somewhere down under her cool surface she’s still that evasive storybook angel.
Even now that we’ve acknowledged our past, I still can’t get her out of my head. I can’t stop wondering if she’s the same girl she was when our paths crossed that one memorable time when she was an eleven-year-old kid and I was twelve. Or if I built her up in a dreamy mirage, embellishing our encounter with my desperate need.
Eldy strokes his chin in a mock professor gesture. “Interesting.”
“You have no idea,”
I mutter, and turn to leave the kitchen.
He grabs my shoulder. “Hey, wait a minute. What do you mean? You can’t say that shit and not explain.”
I don’t say anything. It’s my usual response rather than to say none of your fucking business. But this is Eldy, and he waits me out, knowing if it’s important, I’ll eventually talk.
Not understanding exactly why it’s important to admit it out loud to someone else, at least partly because I don’t want to know why I find it so important, I tell him. “We met, Susie and I, once, when we were kids.”
His face lights up. “And it was love at first sight?”
He cackles.
I give him the finger and reconsider telling him. But talking to him might help lift the weight that’s getting too heavy to carry and too disruptive.
I need to get rid of the disruption, to stay focused to keep my eyes on the prize, as Dr. Martin Luther King said. And though fear zips through me, I recognize that I’m in desperate need of help.
I need help getting Susie out of my head. I need to cut the impact of the angelic encounter down to life-sized reality, to remove the haze of hope.
To understand and acknowledge that Susie is just another girl.