Chapter 7
SEVEN
Sunday is dreary, and I squint up at the ominous sky on the walk to my car, unsure if it’s about to rain or snow. Scott and Olive left after lunch, Noah an hour or so later, but Mom guilt-tripped me into staying for dinner, and so here I am.
By the time the sky opens up and it starts raining down slush, I’m pulling back onto campus.
The apartment is dark when I step inside, save for the glow of the TV illuminating the living room.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust before I notice my normally absent roommate sitting on the couch.
Quinn looks up and smiles at me. “Hey, where have you been?”
Her question catches me by surprise, and I speak before I’m ready. “I-I-” I shut my mouth. Take a breath. Start again. “I went home for the weekend.”
“Jealous. I’d kill for a home-cooked meal.” I shrug because while I like Mom’s cooking, I could go without the dog and pony show that comes with it.
“So, um, no Remy tonight?” I ask, hoping the question’s not too intrusive.
“Nah, not tonight. He’s practicing with his band. They’ve got a gig in town next week.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh, I didn’t know he was in a band.”
“Yup! Alternative Cash. Remy’s killer with the bass.” I nod. I’m not sure what to say next, but Quinn saves us from suffering through an awkward silence, gesturing at the TV screen. “I was about to start The Fellowship of the Ring. Want to join?”
My first instinct is to say no. In fact, my brain is screaming at me to say no, and I frown, glancing around the apartment. “Where are Kinsley and Ava?”
Quinn rolls her eyes. “Not here, thank god. Did you see the guy Ava’s been bringing by lately? I’m pretty sure he has a mullet. A mullet!” She shudders. “Her taste in guys is wild.”
“Yeah, it really is,” I say, cracking a small smile.
“So, movie? Hobbits? Wizards? Hot elves?”
I hesitate. It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with a girl one-on-one, and my recent experiences with them haven’t exactly been stellar. But look at Wes. I gave him a chance, and it turned out okay (so far, at least). Maybe I should give Quinn a chance, too.
“I did have a crush on Legolas when I was younger,” I tell her, and then blush because why did I admit that?
To my surprise, she grins at me. “Girl, who didn’t?”
I glance between the TV and my bedroom door, debating. “Do you mind if I change first?” I ask, ignoring the anxious tick in my chest warning me away from a potentially disastrous interaction.
But Quinn’s nice. And chill. And based on her comments, I don’t think she’s as close with Kinsley and Ava as I initially thought, which is also comforting. It makes me trust her more.
“Go for it,” she says, getting to her feet. “I’m gonna make popcorn.”
I hurry to my room, change into sweats, and throw my hair into a messy bun.
By the time I head back out into the living area, the air is saturated with the smell of artificial butter, and my mouth starts to water.
Quinn’s back on the couch with a blanket draped over her lap, two identical bowls of popcorn resting on the coffee table and the remote in her hand.
Cautiously, I take the seat beside her, tucking my legs up under me. Although I’ve lived in this apartment for months, I’ve spent little time in the common area. It feels…uncomfortable, but so does every impromptu change to my routine.
Quinn passes me a bowl, and I balance it on my knees. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Now, let’s do this thing,” she says and starts the film. When the music plays the iconic theme, I forget my discomfort and become absorbed in the fantasy saga.
About thirty minutes and half a bag of popcorn later, my phone vibrates on the cushion beside me. Wes’s name on the screen makes me sit up straight, and I swipe open the message.
Wes: I need a second opinion on this whole speech topic ordeal. I’m stumped.
I reread his words before typing out a response, something about the ease of texting—of not having to look him in the eye—making my reply come easier.
Me: You should just pick something that interests you.
I set the phone aside and focus back on the movie. Soon, it vibrates again.
Wes: If only it were that easy. Everything interests me is the problem. What topic are you going with?
I hesitate, feeling nervous about sharing. I tell myself that before long the entire class will know, so I might as well tell one person now. Baby steps.
Me: You can’t laugh…
Wes: Ives, I wouldn’t dream of it.
Taking a deep breath, I tell him my topic.
Me: Okay…it’s The Benefits of Spending Time Alone.
His response comes almost immediately, and my mind wanders back to that second day in class, when I told him I’d rather spend my last twenty-four-hours on earth by myself than with anyone else.
Wes: You really like being alone that much?
I study his question and deliberate my answer. It used to be a very cut and dry yes, but lately…lately I’ve been sensing some kind of subtle shift, one I try not to think about too hard. I just decide to be honest.
Me: I mean, it’s something I’m familiar with. Markham said it’s easiest to speak on something you know a lot about, and I have a lot of experience being on my own.
The moment I send off the message, I realize how pathetic it sounds. I’m practically admitting to Wes that I’m a loser with no friends, and I half expect him to stop responding. I wouldn’t blame him, so I’m shocked when my phone lights up.
Wes: Hmm let me guess, only child? Or is it more of a creative thing? Artists do their best work when they’re alone, don’t they?
Me: I’m not an only child, unfortunately, though I do work best alone…But also, I don’t have a big social circle, I guess.
I send the text and cringe, waiting for him to ask what’s wrong with me? Why don’t I have friends? Why don’t people like me? It must be a foreign concept to Mr. Popular, but once again, he surprises me.
Wes: Well, you have me! Don’t need a much bigger circle than that in my opinion. I’m awesome :p
I stare at his message, a warm, funny feeling stirring in my chest.
Me: And modest lol.
Wes: Haha alwayssss. Okay, which is more intriguing? Reasons team bonding is important in sports, why exercise is important for mental health, or…wait for it… the history of chicken piccata.
My mouth twitches up at the corner.
Me: Definitely the last one, no contest.
Wes: I value your opinion, I do, but what if Markham’s a vegan and he docks my grade?
Me: But what if he’s on the carnivore diet and he inflates it?
Wes: I didn’t think of that…
“Are you texting a guy?” I jump and look over at Quinn, worried she’s upset I wasn’t paying attention. But when she pauses the movie and leans toward me with bright eyes, I realize she’s simply curious. Maybe even excited.
I shrug a shoulder. “Oh, just this guy from my class.”
She grins and twists her body in my direction. “Yes, I need details. Is he a freshman?”
I shake my head.
“Sophomore, then? Junior? Remy might know him.”
I shake my head again.
Her eyes widen. “Senior?” I hesitate for a moment before I nod, and she lets out a long whistle, looking me over. “Damn, Ivy.”
“Oh, it’s not like that," I’m quick to assure. "He’s asking me about homework.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do not let him copy off you.”
“He’s not. He wouldn’t. He’s…nice.” My eyes drop to my phone, and I’m suddenly a little embarrassed. “At least, he seems genuine.”
“What’s his name?”
I’m sure she’ll know exactly who he is given the whole “Doc” football craze, but when I open my mouth to tell her, something stops me.
Fear of looking stupid, maybe. Of trusting a guy like Wes Tucker when I should know better.
Quinn’s the kind of person who would call me out on it, too, and for the moment, I like existing in this insulated little bubble, one where my Public Speaking companion is an honorable guy and I’m not a na?ve idiot.
You better hope that’s the reality.
I press my lips together in an apologetic smile.
Thankfully, Quinn seems to understand, nodding and leaning back on the couch.
“Alright then, keep your secrets,” she says, but with a joking undertone that doesn’t make me feel too bad.
“I just hope he graduates to asking you out before he quite literally graduates.”
“It’s honestly not like that,” I tell her, but there’s no denying that when my phone buzzes in my hand, my stomach does a somersault.
Quinn grins, a knowing glint in her eye. “Until it is.”
As we settle back into the movie, I refrain from checking Wes’s latest message for a good fifteen minutes, but when Quinn looks down at her own phone, I can’t stop myself.
Wes: Alright, I’ve come to the conclusion that the chicken’s too risky. Team building it is. Thanks for your help, Ives.
I put my phone away, vowing not to text him for the rest of the night. I helped him solve his dilemma after all, so I doubt he really wants to hear from me again. Right?
When the credits roll, Quinn and I wish each other a tired “goodnight” and shuffle off to our rooms. Once I’m in bed, my earlier promise to myself goes out the window, and I respond to Wes’s text before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: You’re welcome.
Shutting off the light, I don’t expect him to reply. It’s almost midnight, after all, so I’m caught off guard when my phone glows a few minutes later.
Wes: I’m surprised you’re still up. It’s way past MY bedtime, that’s for sure.
Me: Then why don’t you go to sleep?
Wes: Well, I’m working on my senior project, and I’ve consumed enough coffee to power a jet engine. I couldn’t sleep right now if I tried. But also…I just like talking to you.
His words are like a jolt of caffeine to my system. Now I’m the one who won’t be able to sleep.
I debate how to respond, but my fingers freeze on the keypad, and my mind goes blank. A couple minutes pass, and he beats me to it.
Wes: I hope I didn’t scare you off, but if I did, sweet dreams, Poison Ivy. See you Tuesday.
Finally, I type out a reply.
Me: You didn’t. Sweet dreams.
A shadow falls over my desk, and I look up from my phone to see Wes’s broad chest blocking out the fluorescent lights.
“I have three very important questions for you,” he says, and I wrack my brain for what they might be.
I haven’t spoken aloud since my morning class yesterday, so I clear my throat to make sure it’s working right. “Okay,” I say, cringing when it comes out a little hoarse. Wes doesn’t appear to notice.
“Do you like ham?” he asks.
My shoulders relax a little. “Yes.”
“Cheese?”
“Who doesn’t?”
He pulls a Ziplock bag out from behind his back, some sort of pastry inside. He waggles his eyebrows. “I come bearing breakfast. A delicious ham and cheese pastry. But I need an answer to the most important question of them all.”
I blink at him. “I think you lost me.”
“Will you be my practice buddy? I need official confirmation so I can make good on my promise to you. Otherwise, they’re just empty words.”
I shift in my seat. Drop my eyes down to the desk, narrowing in on a marker stain as I consider my response.
My biggest fear is that I’m a lost cause. That I’ll fuck up so bad he’ll regret his decision to help me. And if he gave up on me…if he gave up on me, well, that would hurt. That would hurt badly.
He crouches down a little, so he’s closer to my eye level. “I’ll give you a hint. There’s only one correct answer.”
My gaze snaps up to his, my face growing warm from the eye contact. “I guess I can.”
He positively beams. Light radiates out of that smile, and I have to squint to protect my eyesight. “Right answer. That means you get the puff, sure, but you also win something much more priceless.”
“The pleasure of your company?” I ask wryly.
He sets the bag on my desk and slips into the seat beside me. “Well, that, too, but I was referring to your now inevitable A in this class.”
I sigh a little, averting my eyes and trying to tell myself this isn’t a horrible idea. It’s not like I have any better ones, though. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. We’ll meet up next week once our outlines are done. Sound good?”
“I’d give you my number,” I say, “but you already stole it.”
He blinks and then smirks at me. “I think I love it when you get sassy.” My cheeks warm, and I look down at the pastry puff. “I think you might love it, too. Just saying.”
I ignore his comments, mostly because I have no clue what to make of them.
While Markham begins his lecture, I nibble at the pastry, only slightly less self-conscious than last week.
Students eat in this room all the time—that’s not the issue.
It’s more that I’ve gotten out of practice of eating in front of people.
I consume most meals alone, and I’m hyper-aware of the way I bite, chew, swallow.
Of the potential for food in my teeth or bad-smelling breath, especially around someone like Wes.
But all that aside, I can’t understand why he brought it for me in the first place.
Why he’s being so nice. Why he’s offering to help.
I’ve ruled out the obvious explanation—that he’s using me for a hook up.
Which means the only logical explanation I can come up with is that he’s worried about the speech as well.
Maybe having an ally, a person that he can rely on and talk to, makes him more comfortable.
I just can’t fathom why that ally is me. Not when he could have anyone. Anyone.
So why me?