5. Daisy
DAISY
Over the next two weeks, I continue to sit with Liam and Jordan during physics, and it actually starts to feel normal. Or as normal as sitting next to your popular crush while trying not to physically combust ever feels.
Sometimes the way he smiles at me, I convince myself that he likes me too. But when class is over, he says goodbye and races out the door like he can’t wait to get wherever he’s going.
Today when I slide into the chair next to Liam, he gives me the same smile and greeting, but his face doesn’t light up the same way, and he drops his gaze to the table while Professor Green talks through the lab.
While we work through the lab, he barely speaks—even to Jordan. I’ve never seen Liam like this. He’s sullen, broody even. He ducks out to refill his water bottle halfway through, and Jordan scoots closer.
“The next step is to measure the amplitude.” He taps his pencil on the paper.
I nod, then ask, “Is he okay?”
“Yeah,” he says as he hitches the sleeve of his T-shirt up on his shoulder.
The movement lifts the cuff showing off his bicep and the bottom of a tattoo.
He has a few. A long, skinny cross on the back of his left arm, then a hockey player and a puck going into a net—one on each thigh, that I’ve seen on days when he has worn shorts.
Today his jeans cover them, and I imagine he has even more ink hidden underneath his clothes.
“He doesn’t seem okay.”
“Just a tough practice today.”
“Oh.” My brows knit in confusion. I expected something, I don’t know, bigger? “That’s all?”
“Were you hoping for more? Maybe a dead pet or incurable disease?”
“No, of course not.” My face heats.
He grins and brings his pencil up behind one ear.
“You were at practice too?”
His dark brows pull together slightly as he nods.
“And yet you haven’t lost your sparkle.”
His deep chuckle does something funny to my stomach. “Part of my charm, I guess. I don’t let things get to me like Liam does.”
I finish the measurement before I prod a little more. I want to understand Liam—what makes him tick and what gets to him. “A bad practice really gets him that upset?”
“Sometimes, yeah,” he says.
My face must show my surprise because Jordan shakes his head. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
I start to ask what he means, but Liam returns, and Jordan moves back to his spot. The time to himself seems to have done Liam well. He smiles a little brighter as he takes his seat and sets his bottle in front of him. “All right. Where did we leave off?”
Liam is more talkative for the rest of the class, and I forget all about Jordan’s remark until we’re leaving.
“Have a good weekend,” Liam says.
“You too. Good luck at your games.” I have the hockey team’s schedule memorized, so I know they’re traveling Friday and Saturday for away games.
His smile dims ever so slightly. It’s such a small change. I think it’s only because I’ve watched him so long that I’m able to notice. I steal a glance at Jordan. He’s watching for his friend’s reaction, too. I’ve hit a sore spot, which obviously isn’t what I wanted.
He recovers quickly, and his mouth pulls into a forced smile. “Thanks, Daisy. See you next week.”
Jordan tips his head to me and departs with him.
“Stupid, stupid,” I mutter softly as I head in the opposite direction.
I meet up with the girls at the cafeteria for dinner. Violet is in full-on planning mode for the ball. She flips through images from her Pinterest board, showing us everything from table designs to a photo background. As I suspected, she’s gone way overboard.
Jane is all about it, and Dahlia is busy cramming in homework. She has the craziest schedule of the four of us since she is on the golf team. They have practices in the afternoons and workouts in the evenings or mornings, sometimes both.
So, while my friends are preoccupied, I think about Liam.
I can’t believe I was so stupid to bring up hockey when Jordan had just told me that was why he was upset.
I guess I didn’t really believe that was all it could be.
I know student-athletes take their sports seriously, but even on bad days, Dahlia seems more like herself than Liam did during lab.
“Everything is still good with the flowers?” Violet asks me, shaking me from my thoughts.
“Yes.” I take a drink of water. I’ve said so few words during this dinner my throat is dry. “She can deliver everything that Saturday afternoon, or we can pick it up as soon as Friday on the weekend of the event.”
“Saturday afternoon?” Violet’s eyes widen. “That’s too late.”
I nod. Hence the need for a backup plan—aka picking it up ourselves.
“I don’t think you understand how many flowers we’re talking about here, Daisy,” she says.
“So, we’ll take more than one trip.”
I look to Jane and Dahlia for backup.
“I don’t think we have a vehicle big enough for the archway,” Jane says. “Unless it comes apart somehow.”
“It doesn’t,” Violet says. “We need a van or a truck or something.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Honestly, I’ve given the flowers very little thought at all beyond the specific instructions Violet gave me. But I can practically see the stress rising as her shoulders lift toward her ears.
“I will figure it out,” I say. When she doesn’t look convinced, I add, “I will. Leave it to me.”
“Thank you.” She exhales.
“Why are you putting so much pressure on this? We had a blast last year, and it wasn’t nearly this…” I search for a word that doesn’t make her extreme planning seem negative.
“Decadent?” Dahlia offers, looking up from her homework.
“Yes, that.” I point to her.
“Because…” The energy around Violet shifts as she struggles to put her feelings into words.
She gets this way when she’s really passionate about something.
“For one night, I want our friends to feel like they are part of something as amazing and unique as they are. How many times have we been turned away or left out because we’re not cool enough or outgoing enough or don’t have the right friends?
It’s dumb. We’re awesome. I want this party to be so incredible that people are begging to be invited. ”
“That’s sweet, Vi.” Also, slightly delusional. “The flowers will be there Saturday morning.”
She tilts her head to the side and narrows her gaze.
“I mean Friday night.” I smother a laugh.
“Thank you.” She smiles. “Dahlia, do you have the fliers?”
“Yeah. They’re in my backpack.” She stops working to pull out a stack of fliers.
“They turned out amazing,” Vi squeals and hands Jane and me each one to examine.
I groan when I see the bold title. “Wallflower Ball? You’re officially calling it the Wallflower Ball?”
“Wallflowers are awesome,” Jane says.
The fliers are amazing. Dahlia designed them with girls in big gowns and fierce pantsuits—a mix of her and Violet’s designs. And around them a big, floral archway like the one causing the current floral nightmare.
Violet divides the stack into four. “We should post these around campus, and I have the digital file we can post online.”
“Where?” I ask.
“We split up. I’ll take the dorms. Daisy, take the library and University Hall. Jane can get the theater and music buildings, and Dahlia can get the rec center and athletic facilities. Anything else, we’ll hit together tomorrow afternoon.”
“Can I take the dorms? Or at least Freddy?” I ask as I wrap my fingers around the fliers.
“Sure,” Violet says the word slowly. “Why? What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I need to talk to someone from class that lives in the building, so I’ll be there anyway.”
My friends are quiet for too long, and my face gets hot.
“Doesn’t Liam live in Freddy dorm?” Violet’s smile widens, and she bats her lashes.
Dahlia and Jane are watching me expectantly for more information.
With a smile, I stand. “See you guys back at the house.”
Sitting and talking about him will talk me out of my plan. And the plan isn’t half bad.
Freddy dorm is where most of the jocks live. Even a lot of the upper-class students stay here instead of moving out. The dorm is one of the nicest on campus, and the setup is in suites with two or four bedrooms and shared living space.
I only know this because it was in the housing packet when I was accepted to Valley U. I didn’t know then it was reserved for student-athletes, but I should have guessed as much.
In high school, well-meaning guidance counselors and teachers tell you that in college, it’s less about labels like jock and nerd and more about finding your people.
They were half right. It was easy to find my people here.
By the second semester, I had a group of people I called friends.
They are all physics or art majors or girls from the same dorm hall.
Then Violet, of course, once she stopped hanging with her sorority roommate.
The point is the division in groups still exists.
I guess because there are more of us, we’re supposed to stop caring.
I haven’t, but as I walk through the front entrance of Freddy, I wish I could. If just for a few minutes, I would love to be blissfully unaware that I am different than the other people walking in.
A girl in a Valley U volleyball tank top holds the door open for me and smiles. “Coming in?”
“Thanks.” My gaze sweeps over the large lounge area.
Girls and guys hang out in front of a TV. The sound is muted on a basketball game, and there’s music coming from somewhere—upbeat, party music. Which is exactly what it feels like—a fun, little Thursday afternoon party. Our dorm lounge never felt like that.
“Are you looking for someone?” she asks as I pause, still looking for which direction to go.
“Is there a bulletin board for announcements?”
She points to the left side near mailboxes and the front desk.
“Thanks again.”
With a nod and a smile, she bounces away from me, ponytail swaying with each step.