Chapter 4 #3
“Actually, I see my friends are waiting for me. Excuse me.” I slip past the guy, curving my body so no part of me brushes against any part of him. Then I hurry through the crowded kitchen, hoping he doesn’t follow me or catch up to me before I can reach the other room.
And as I suspected, it’s not just Felix. Lukas spots me when I’m halfway there and nudges his friends to look my way. Felix only glances up briefly before focusing back on the cards in his hands, but the others keep their focus on me.
I know it’s pathetic how much I’ve been staring at their photo, and driving across town on the off chance of running into them (because I have to be honest with myself, I don’t think I’d have let Ronnie talk me into this if the party was near any other school) is worse.
And borderline stalkerish. It would definitely not be my best moment if they found out.
Stopping a couple steps away, I stare up at them. Only Felix is seated, and I have to crane my neck to see the others’ faces. Why does everyone have to be taller than me?
“Hi.” I’m not sure if Lukas and his teammates can hear me over the music, and now that I’m standing in front of them, I’m not sure what to say. Do they even remember who I am? I put a hand to my chest. “Rebecca. I interviewed you at your competition last weekend.”
And, I realize, now I’ve reminded them about the article that Carl edited down to nothing. Do I apologize for how short it was? Maybe they didn’t see it so they don’t know, and it’ll be weird if I bring it up. I shouldn’t have said anything.
“We remember,” Lukas says, and I register that he says “we,” not “I,” like he speaks for the entire group. Which, thinking back on my interview with them, I guess he kind of does a lot of the time.
I notice their hands moving in front of them and glance down. “You brought cubes to a party?”
“Yeah.” Lukas frowns a little and glances between me and the group of guys in shirts with Greek letters on them sitting across from Felix at the table.
The frat guys do not look happy. In fact, they look downright pissed, and without even knowing what game they’re playing, I can tell from the pile of crumpled bills in front of him that Felix is winning. There’s another pile of money in the middle of the table.
I’m not sure what type of situation I’ve walked into, but I’m pretty sure my presence is making an already tense situation worse.
I should just say it was nice to see them and leave, let them get back to whatever they’re doing and go find a quiet corner to look up bus schedules or order a rideshare to get myself back to campus.
I’m not going to see Ronnie again for hours anyway, so it’s not like she’ll miss me.
That’s what I should do. Instead, I keep talking.
“That’s cool.” If they want to bring their cubes everywhere, who am I to judge them? “It’s probably why you’re all so good at the competitions. Always practicing.” I hope that will placate them, and it seems to. Their shoulders relax, and the furrows between Lukas’s eyebrows disappear.
“Yeah,” agrees Elliot. “We have a lot of classes right now so we have to squeeze it in when we can.”
“But you’re still making time to come out and party. Multitasking. Good way to fully experience your college years.” I sound so stupid, congratulating them on actually getting out of their rooms as if they’re normally hermits.
Especially because they could say the same thing right back to me if they knew. I’m one hundred percent a hermit and not fully experiencing my college years, but it’s only because I want to make sure I’m fully set up for life after college. I don’t want to screw around now and pay for it later.
The guys all cock their heads, confused about why I’m congratulating them. It’s a little funny, the way they react as a group instead of as individuals.
“Sorry.” I laugh a little and shake my head, trying to make it look as if I’m laughing at myself, but really I’m panicking and embarrassed.
Cut your losses, Rebecca, my brain is screaming at me.
Just say goodbye and remove yourself from this awkward situation.
But I can’t. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to stop talking to them.
I want to remove my foot from my mouth and start over and act like a normal human.
“I’m just surprised to see you here, is all. ”
“Why? This party is closer to our school than yours,” Lukas says, that line between his brows making another appearance.
Now I feel judged, like they’re wondering why I’m here instead of at a party closer to my own school.
They probably think I’m banned from BU parties for being so awkward.
This is not the way I wanted this conversation to go.
Why am I failing so badly at this? It’s not like I can tell them I was hoping to see them here because for the past week I’ve been writing mental fanfiction about them and in it I’ve thought of them as nerdy, not the type of people to frequent college house parties.
“Good point,” I admit, watching Felix push more money into the center of the table.
Another card gets turned over. I rack my brain for something else to say, but I come up empty.
And I can’t just stand here awkwardly anymore, saying nothing, feeling smaller by the minute.
“Well, I should probably go find my friend.”
I’m about to follow it with, “It was good to see you all again,” and slink off with my tail between my legs to delete their photo and make a vow never to think of them or this interaction ever again, when Felix shoves his pile of crumpled bills into the center of the table.
“All in.” He sits back in his chair and pulls a cube from the pocket of his red zip-up hoodie. He turns the cube quickly as he flicks his eyes up at me, then back to the guys across from him.
“Fuck you!” His opponents throw down their cards and stand up. They’re jacked, more than a little drunk, and they look ready to fight.
“Sorry, Lady Luck was on my side.” Felix nods toward me—am I Lady Luck in this scenario?—and stands as well, pocketing his cube again and scooping up his winnings. “Until next time.”
“Fuck no, sit back down.” The guys flex their muscles, like they’re ready to throw some punches if Felix doesn’t comply. “We’re winning back our money.”
I’m suddenly terrified that they’re going to hit him, but Felix doesn’t appear to share my concern.
“Not tonight.” He shakes his head and keeps organizing his pile of cash.
The now-penniless frat guys splutter and grumble, slamming their chairs into the edge of the table as they push them in, but for whatever reason they decide to cut their losses and wander off into the kitchen, probably to drown their anger in cheap beer.
“Congratulations on your win, Felix.” I can’t believe I’ve just said his name out loud.
It’s surreal to be standing here speaking to all of them.
The tension in the room has gone down significantly now that the guys Felix was playing with have left, and all four of them have turned their attention to me.
And of course, I can’t think of anything to say.
“You don’t want to stay and see if you could win even more?” I wave my barely-touched drink at the table.
“I want to hang out with you now that you’re here,” says Felix. “Unless you really have to go find your friend right now.”
“Um.” I’ve been thinking all week about the moment I would see these guys again, and in my head I expected I would be confident and cool, but now that I’m actually face to face with all four of them, towering over me with their fingers flipping their cubes so fast they’re a blur, I can barely string together a coherent thought.
And it’s so hot in here with all the partygoers and smoke, and so loud, I have to force myself to focus and not get all jumbled up in my head, lost between my fantasies about this moment and the reality of it.
“No, she’s probably fine. She can text me if she’s looking for me. ”
I have the same feeling I get before a big test or interview, like there’s a little flutter of hope inside my chest, and I’m worried I’m going to screw up and it’s going to be crushed.
But these guys want to hang out with me. That’s what I’d hoped would happen when I came over here, so why am I lowkey panicking right now?
Maybe I should have positioned myself where they’d be able to see me and let them come find me instead. But because I sought them out, it feels like they have the upper hand, and at any moment they could change their minds and say, “Just kidding.”
We’ve all been standing here not saying anything for too long. I’m trying to think of something else to say when Lukas breaks the silence. “You didn’t use our photo.”
Well, there goes my hope that they hadn’t seen the article.
Of course they saw it. They probably were excited to see themselves in the paper, and I let them down.
I glance away, not wanting to see the disappointment or anger or whatever other emotions are playing across their faces at my failure to do what I had said I would.
I spot Ronnie in the crowd, one hand possessively on Trevor’s chest and the other holding a drink. When she catches my eye, it’s questioning. What’s going on? Who are those guys and do I need to come save you from them? her expression is saying.
Little does she know, it’s not the guys I need to be saved from. It’s myself.
Shaking my head slightly to reassure her that I’m okay, I turn my attention back to Lukas and his friends. I don’t need to be saved. I need to acknowledge that I made them a promise I couldn’t keep, and I need to apologize. I force myself to breathe, wishing their gazes weren’t so penetrating.
“My editor cut the story down by a lot. I’m so sorry.” And I really am. It’s not fair that they shouldn’t be recognized properly simply because my editor just doesn’t care about what they do, and assumes most of our readers won’t care either. But there’s no way I’m going to say any of that to them.
“The article I wrote included a lot from the interview we did.” Like how many times they’ve won and how long they’ve been cubing.
“Do you still have the picture though?” asks Elliot.
“I bet she does,” says Sebastian, studying my eyes.
“Um.” Do I admit that I do? And that I look at it every night before I go to bed? And first thing in the morning when I wake up? And maybe a few times throughout the day?
Absolutely not. No way. I am never telling them that. My face heats just thinking about what they would say if they knew what a weirdo I’ve been about that stupid picture.
“What are the journalistic ethics of keeping our photo if you didn’t use it in the article?” asks Sebastian. He doesn’t look like he’s accusing me of anything, but more like he’s genuinely wondering. Or studying me and trying to figure out who I am.
I’m not sure what he’s trying to get at with this line of questioning. As a reporter, I should be able to follow the thread of a conversation and anticipate where questions are leading to, but for some reason I can’t with Sebastian.
Or maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s the feeling of his three teammates’ eyes on me all at the same time. Or, quite possibly, it’s the pressure I’ve put on this entire interaction by building it up in my head since the first time we met.
I’ve been acting like a flake all evening, and I really need to get it together. I force myself to focus.
“It’d be fine, ethically, to retain a photo that wasn’t run with an article for use in a future story.
” That sounds right, anyway, or at least feasible.
It’s definitely better than, “I don’t care if it’s ethical or not when the subjects of said photo are really cute and have an inexplicable hold on my brain. ”
“Do you look at it?” asks Elliot.
Now, how am I supposed to answer that? I could say no, but for some reason, I don’t want to lie to them. And something about the way they’re looking at me says that if I say no, they’ll be disappointed, which churns up a flurry of butterflies in my belly.
“Yes.” I want to see if those butterflies are telling the truth. I’m a terrible liar, anyway.
The competitors all nod and exchange a look that says they expected me to say that, even as they continue to solve and scramble their cubes.
Relief floods through me that they don’t jump down my throat and accuse me of being creepy.
For a split second, I wonder if they’ll move in closer, taking the admission that I look at their photo as proof that I’m attracted to one or all of them.
If they’ll hit on me. Maybe ask me to go upstairs with them.
Lukas’s words from last weekend slip through my mind. We like to share.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but my face flushes even hotter than it already was, and I bring my beer to my lips in hopes that the liquid will cool me down.
I don’t even know which part of this is more ridiculous, the idea that not just one, but all of them would be interested in me, or the realization that I might … be into that.
What am I even thinking about this for? Yes, they’re all hot, and yes, they seem to like the idea that I look at their picture, but I’m not interested in dating even one person, let alone four at once.
I promised myself that I would focus on school and not on boys, that I wouldn’t let my future be jeopardized because of a nice smile or broad shoulders or quick fingers.
I don’t want a boyfriend, and I really don’t want four boyfriends.
Even if they are good-looking and brilliant and driven.
“Well, if you still have a picture of us,” says Lukas, pulling out his phone, “it only seems fair that we have one of you.”