Sunset Sips by Jasmine Bell
Sunset Sips
Jasmine Bell
“Did you hear the rumors?” River asks. “Supposedly, they are dating.”
I keep my attention on the co-stars in the movie, hoping she doesn’t expect a response. But I know my roommate well enough to know that she’s not gonna drop it.
Not even ten seconds later, she nudges my shoulder. I pause the movie on my laptop and begrudgingly turn to River.
“You’ve seen some press tour clips, Piper. Can’t you feel the tension through the screen?”
“They are paid to keep up the ruse during the press circuit. I’m sure the PR team put out those rumors.”
“I can spot a PR relationship anywhere, and this ain’t it.”
I don’t react, hitting play and leaning back into my original position. The scene transitions into another, the score drastically shifting from the previous mood. Without looking at the notebook in my lap, I jot down a note on the choice.
“When you have such great chemistry and spend so much time together, how can you not date?” River raises her eyebrows. “Well, you can answer that.” Her words echo off the student center study room’s walls.
“Excuse me?” My head jerks back.
She eyes my watered-downed matcha from Sipsational, A&T’s coffee shop, on the table. “Girl, don’t think I don’t notice you haven’t touched your drink because Malcolm wasn’t there to make it. Or that the cup is missing the usual heart that he always writes beside your name.”
“If you want my drink, just say that,” I say, trying to keep my voice even as I fiddle with the ends of my twists.
River reaches past me, grabbing it. “Thanks. But don’t change the subject on me.”
“If I wanted Malcolm, something would’ve happened by now.” The lie slips off my tongue easily. My cheeks warm, and I’m thankful my umber skin tone doesn’t give away my blushing. I don’t want to talk about the one person I’ve always had my eyes set on but can’t have.
“It’s a good thing you don’t wanna act ’cause you’re not very good at it. But I’ll play along. If you must follow your stupid rule—”
“You’re the reason I have the rule.”
For the first time all day, River shuts her mouth because she knows it’s true.
Similar to how I met River, my friendship with Malcolm sprung from our Honors College cohort freshman year.
Like the majority of the cohort, we first clung to each other for friendship because we were little fish in the vast pond that is A&T.
As semesters passed, Malcolm and I naturally gravitated to the same friend group while still leaving room for the blurred lines of our relationship.
But I’ll never forget the first piece of advice the upperclassmen offered to us during orientation: Don’t date within the cohort. “It’s too messy,” they said.
Unfortunately, I’ve witnessed it firsthand.
River and another scholar dated, and when they had a disastrous breakup, everyone basically became children of divorce.
Each person got custody of their time separately because having them in a room together felt like a pressure cooker waiting to explode.
So, I’ve kept to the rule of no cohort dating since.
The sound of River sucking every ounce of matcha from the cup pulls me out of my thoughts. I blow out a frustrated breath and slam my laptop closed. “This is exactly why I don’t take you to the movies.” I gather my things and leave the study room.
“Oh, calm down,” River roars over the usual thunderous volume of the Stu. “Everyone makes a little noise in the theaters. Plus, I don’t go to the movies with you because you’re such a snob.”
“And yet you read every issue of the school newspaper that has my movie reviews in them.”
“What can I say?” She shrugs. “I’m a great friend, and when you make it big as a film journalist and you’re invited to premieres, I expect to be your plus-one.”
I squeeze through the line of students trying to catch the last hour of lunch in the mini café and head downstairs to the first floor of the Stu. “Maybe I’ll have a boyfriend by then to invite instead of you.”
“You barely go out. So when actually are you going to have time to date?”
I don’t deny the irrefutable fact because I don’t go out, especially on dates. My grades come first because maintaining a 3.5 GPA to keep my scholarship feels impossible as the semesters drag on.
“Your mom, who cares more about academics than anything, got her Aggie love story,” River continues. “All I’m saying is that you need to have some fun in college.”
I sigh, knowing my parents’ time here was simpler than now. They didn’t have all the obstacles we have, and the dating pool is vastly different. Plus, the Honors College didn’t even exist back then. So our situations don’t even compare.
We continue walking through the Stu, brimming with students going to and from class, promoting their student organizations, or simply hanging out with friends. Every few steps, someone passes us and says hello because no one goes unnoticed in here.
We almost make it out the door without being stopped until I hear “Look who it is. My favorite movie girl.”
Before I turn to see him, I know it’s my film class partner, Nick. He pulls me into the side of his body and seemingly tries to wrap his hand around the curve of my hip, but with his athletic build compared to my five-foot-four self, he can’t reach. Instead, his hand falls to my mid-back.
“Hi, Nick.” I give him a quick hug, pull away, and notice the camera hanging around his neck. “Is that for class?”
“Yeah.” He holds the viewfinder to his eye, zooming in on my face. “Just testing it out with a beauty shot.”
I bashfully chuckle, a small smile spreading across my lips.
Nick has always been charming, which comes with the territory as he’s practically a student “socialite.” His flirtatious comments never faze me because he’s like this with everyone, so I just divert the conversation back to our classwork.
“Are you free to work on the project later today?”
“When you look at me like that, how can I say no?” He pauses, stepping closer. “But before we do that, I was thinking we should go out and grab a bite to eat?”
Heat flashes across my cheeks. Did Nick just ask me on a date?
“Um…” I fumble for my words, looking anywhere but into his eager eyes.
River stands behind him, aggressively nodding her head and mouthing the word “yes.” Part of me wants to say no because I don’t want it to affect our class partnership.
But the other nagging part says River is right about having fun.
“Just like a casual thing,” Nick adds, noticing my hesitation.
“Yeah, sure. Where were you thinking about going?”
Before Nick can respond, River unnecessarily interrupts. “You should take her to Sipsational. She loves it there.”
“Alright, then it’s settled. See you there at seven.”
He leaves me with a peck on my cheek, and it takes me a second to process what just happened. But when my senses snap back into reality, my heart rate rises along with my irritation. I tug River toward me, whisper-shouting, “What’s your problem? Why would you suggest Sipsational?”
“If you don’t like Malcolm anymore, then what’s the big deal?” River smirks. “Plus, how bad can a date with Nick be?”
If I hear Nick tell his “fun” fact again like I’ve never heard it before, I might spill my piping-hot coffee just so I have a reason to excuse myself.
My nails tap against my cup as I debate if the second-degree burn is worth it.
“Yeah, I don’t know if you know, but I’m the vice president of SGA,” he says for the fourth time.
Usually, I love learning about other people’s lore, but the conversation keeps returning to this. The way he talks about it, I’d swear he’s the damn vice president of the United States and not our Student Government Association.
I knew going on a date with Nick wasn’t a good idea. Sure, he has this captivating energy about him, but I don’t see much beyond admiring his excellent work ethic.
My eyes dart around Sipsational. Since the coffee shop is attached to the Stu with a walkway in between, its expansive windows give a perfect view of the skaters, the people snapping pictures of their outfits, and one of the several groups who shove a camera in your face asking you the most absurd question for content.
As the heat of the summer winds down, outside the Stu becomes less of a hot spot, and with fall here, everyone is utilizing the space before it becomes a ghost town.
The sun hangs low, hitting us directly in our faces and bouncing off the signature Aggie Gold–painted walls, making them even brighter.
Only a few other students are scattered around the café, some deeply engrossed in their studies, while a group of friends crowded around the couches, whom I’m jealous of, are laughing so loud that they are heard over the whirring of the espresso machine and the buzz of the latte machine.
Now I finally land on Malcolm. He’s behind the Aggie Blue–tiled coffee counter embellished with lousy fall decorations, stirring an espresso into a cup of iced milk. After placing the lid on, he reads the cup. “Blueberry latte with coconut milk for Jackie!”
I give him a quick once-over, examining his short-sleeved shirt, which allows me to see his numerous tattoos scattered across his rich mahogany skin. Then I notice his fresh, neat cornrows that peek from his rolled-up skullcap.
We both came in as baby-faced freshmen, but Malcolm has matured over the past three years, and he’s gone from cute to turning-heads kind of fine.
While I’ve maintained my dimply, chubby cheeks and still get carded anytime I go out, the most that’s changed about me is my profound fondness for my natural hair.
While that’s become an extension of my growth since coming to college, I wonder if I’ve evolved into a person who is fearless enough to go for my deepest desire.