Chapter 1 #2
After turning on the washing machine, I slipped into my room.
Textbooks, notepads, and colored highlighters littered my desk.
Before David’s knock, I’d been deep into studying, trying to get a head start this semester, so I would have enough time to dedicate to my campus organization’s events.
Even though the semester just started a couple of weeks ago, my calendar was full of expectations.
As president of Westbrooke’s chapter of the Black Women in Development (BWD), I had the honor of spearheading events for Black women on campus.
Our organization worked to foster connections and encourage personal and professional growth through workshops, lectures, and events.
And since this semester marked my final year before graduation, I wanted everything I did for the org to be big.
I needed to solidify my place in its history.
My mom had been the president when she was on campus. She’d not only gotten the role as a sophomore, but she single-handedly put our chapter on the map with her incredible fundraising abilities and her (now staple) end-of-year balls.
My oldest sister, Aimee, had followed in her footsteps, making her mark by partnering with local hospitals to raise funds for research.
All the presidents before me at Westbrooke had done their part in making our chapter one of the most successful. They’d left their own unique marks. And then, I showed up.
Since becoming president, our chapter membership has been at an all-time low. Attendance at meetings was sparse. And I practically had to drag pledge members out of bed to attend events. The appeal of sorority rushing rang far louder and shone ten times brighter to new students.
I’d done everything in my power to bring the chapter back to life.
Partnered with after-school programs, coordinated unhoused outreach, and silent auctions for art funds.
But each endeavor had minimal success, and each semester felt like falling back down to the base of a mountain.
I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but on most counts, this chapter was dead.
For my senior year, I was going to do everything possible to defy the odds and breathe it back to life… or die trying.
“Do you always pick the same spot?”
I started and looked over to find a bare-chested David in my doorway. He had wrapped a fluffy pink towel (somewhat loosely, very risky) around his waist.
“What?” I cleared my throat and tried not to look as startled as I felt.
David gestured at the back of his head. “Your hair. You were picking at it.”
“No, I wasn’t.” I shot out of my seat, ignoring the churn of embarrassment in my stomach, and headed to the closet. “I might have a shirt for you.”
“I’m fine.”
I frowned, still rummaging through my clothes. “You’re half-naked. No one’s fine half-naked in a stranger’s room.”
“Is that what we are? After all these years? Strangers?” He was on the move now, near my dresser, where I kept most of my books. “That can’t be accurate.”
“Well, we’re not friends,” I countered, glancing his way for some sort of clarification.
“No, definitely not friends,” he agreed with a nod.
“Acquaintances, probably.” I pulled out a black oversized Halloween tee.
David didn’t accept the shirt when I held it toward him.
I wiggled it, doing everything short of tugging it over his head myself.
Washing and drying the clothes would take forty minutes to an hour.
I didn’t think I could wait that long without falling into the trap of distraction.
I’d started counting the freckles on his shoulders, for goodness’ sake. Ten on the right, eight on the left.
“Acquaintances don’t feel right either.” David gestured to my books. “Are these all film novelizations?”
I raised a brow, readying for some quip. “Yes…and?”
David shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve never known anyone who brought these, let alone read them. And from the looks of it–” He leaned in closer, inspecting cracked spines and peeling covers. “–enjoy them.”
See, this was why I never invited people into my room. Not even Haven got the chance to scan my belongings and cast judgment on their value.
I scoffed at David’s assumption. “There’s an entire market for them.”
“Maybe in the eighties,” he countered.
“I didn’t say booming. I said, market.”
He shrugged, unfazed by the bite in my tone. “What’s your color-coding system? These little circle stickers.”
I laughed, surprised he noted the inconsequential detail. “Really, David?”
“What?” He blinked, confused.
I squinted at him, searching for an ulterior motive, but there was none amidst his tired eyes and water-activated curls. “Purple’s my comfort reads, blue’s copies I’m willing to lend out, and red is ones I love but will never read again.”
“Why keep a book if you’re never going to reread it?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Sentimental value.” I tossed the shirt over his shoulder. Somehow, some way, even after showering with my soap, he still mostly smelled of himself: pinewood and early mornings. “Of course.”
David snorted. “Didn’t take you for the sentimental type. That’s… interesting.”
He said “interesting” as if it were a change in expectation. A disappointing awakening.
“Didn’t take you for the questioning type,” I shot back. Caring about disappointing him wasn’t typically high on my priority list. But a pinch of frustration burrowed its way into my chest, making itself a nice, happy home.
“Just starting a conversation,” he said simply. “My questions are arbitrary and meaningless, like most during small talk.”
I laughed dryly. “We’re not having a conversation. You’re judging me while I wash your clothes, give you something warm to wear, and offer you something to drink.”
He raised a brow. “Did I miss that last part?”
“It was coming up. I’m making coffee. You want some?”
“It’s a little late for caffeine, don’t you think?” Thankfully, David finally tugged on the shirt. He looked funny with a towel as a bottom, but unless he wanted to wear my dolphin shorts, that’d have to do.
When I smiled at the thought of him squeezing into my shorts, he frowned at me.
“Why are you looking like that?” he asked, every word infused with suspicion.
I shook my head. “No reason. Was that a no on the coffee?”
David didn’t look like he believed my lie for a second, but said, “I’ll take some water.”
“Coming up.” I went to the door, pausing before I left to say, “Touch nothing. If you do, I’ll know.”
“Your sentimental clutter is safe with me.” He drew an X across his chest.
I made a noise of disapproval. He winked and waved me off.
It took less than five minutes to turn on my machine and slip in a flavor pod.
Once I got back into the room with his cup of water, David was lounging on my bed.
He’d spread a blanket and rearranged the pillows so he remained propped up.
He flipped through one of my sketchbooks that’d been on the bookshelf.
“Uh, excuse me?” I snatched the sketchbook from him. My heart hammered at him, of all people, seeing my random doodles.
I was no artist. In fact, I was whatever the opposite of an artist was. But on my worst days, when the thoughts were anvils, and I was on the verge of plucking at my hair for too long to hide the damage, I had to put pen to paper.
“I said, don’t touch.” I pinned the book against my chest.
“You drew those?” He sat up a little straighter, which loosened his towel. I frowned at the sight. I felt as if I had swallowed ice, and it was stuck in my chest, melting painfully slowly. David’s brow raised as he studied how tightly I clung to my secret relaxation tool.
“None of your business. Now, here.” I shoved a glass of water in his direction, its contents almost spilling over the edge.
He took it and barely mumbled, “Thank you.”
I tossed a blanket over his legs before slipping my sketchbook into a drawer and sitting back down at my desk.
He chuckled, readjusting the blanket on his lap. “What was that for?”
“Your thighs were showing. No one wants to see that.”
“You sure? Because you seemed to look.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID and winced.
“What?” David asked, smelling blood in the water.
“Nothing.” I shoved down the guilt about sending the call to voicemail and opened a fresh Word doc to start my homework. The phone buzzed again. The guilt grew limbs, ready to run laps across my stomach lining.
“You need to get that?” he asked.
I took a breath. “No…. maybe.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“Maybe you could go into the living room?”
“Sure. And greet Haven in a towel.” He nodded. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “What should I tell her happened?”
My expression darkened. “The truth.”
He tsked and looked up at the ceiling to think. “That’s no fun.”
“She’d believe nothing else,” I said, even though that might not be the case.
I’d been in this dare battle with David since our sophomore year.
Haven and the rest of my friends became more curious about it with each passing semester.
I couldn’t blame them. If one of them swore they hated a guy since middle school, but spent copious amounts of time with him, I’d be a skeptic too.
But my dare battle with David was about principle. Something my friends didn’t understand. And I couldn’t blame them because I wasn’t the best at explaining it just yet.
“Promise you’ll be quiet?” I said when my phone buzzed with a few worried texts.
“I don’t like making promises, Yara. I’ve accepted a long time ago that I am regrettably human and thus, will most likely break them.”
“David, come on. Work with me. You owe me that much,” I insisted when I grabbed my phone. I needed to take this call, especially since it was Logan. Ignoring even a text from her triggered a spiral of shame I’d spend days trying to shake off.
“Fine. I will do everything I can to speak only if necessary.” His grin didn’t sit well with me. “In case of fire or flood.”
“I think I’d smell a fire or see a flood coming.”
He shrugged. “You never know.”
“But you do know…” I let out an exasperated sigh when my phone vibrated again. “Fine. But I swear to God I’ll ruin you if you make the slightest noise. Swallow your sneezes and coughs. Sip your water without gulping. And scroll on your phone with the volume off.”
David nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
I gave him one last look before pressing the call-back button.
“Everything okay?” It required focus to ensure my voice didn’t quiver with anxiety about the answer potentially being ‘no.’
“God, I was thinking I’d have to drive up there in the morning.” Logan breathed out a sigh of relief. Some of the tightness in my back uncoiled.
“I was busy with something, sorry.” David’s gaze weighed heavily on me. My cheeks burned, so I turned to face the window.
God, I should have said, screw any misunderstanding that might have happened with Haven. Having David hear my “younger sister voice” was potentially ten times more embarrassing.
“Mom wanted to make sure you remembered we got a table at Winsor’s, so wear something nice,” Logan said. “And preferably white and flowy. She wants photos with the dogwood trees.”
“Got it.” I pulled up my calendar and added a note to the already penciled dinner with Mom and my sisters.
“Minimal jewelry, no heels. Hair done or tucked away in a nice, neutral scarf.” Logan spoke in a monotone as if she were reading off a script.
Knowing our mother, it was wise to take notes on whatever she said.
Mom remembered everything and didn’t have the time or patience to expect anything less from others.
“The topic of discussion?” I dared to ask.
“Governors’ Ball, of course. Which means she’s going to run through everything. And everything in your case means graduation updates. I think it’s time you told her you didn’t get that internship in DC. Or New York. Or…well, you get my point. Honesty.”
I winced. My hand went to the back of my head immediately.
I picked at a few strands of hair, waiting for Logan to continue.
The springs of my bed creaked. I’d nearly forgotten about David’s presence until his hand nudged my wrist. I yanked my fingers away from my hair, ashamed at being caught for the second time tonight.
“Do you think my clothes are done?” he asked at a normal volume. I muted myself, but not fast enough.
“Who’s that?” Logan asked.
I glared at David. “I don’t know, asshole. Check.”
He didn’t move an inch.
“Oh, my God…” Logan sounded awake, alert, and amused for the first time in years. “Is that a guy? Yara, do you have a guy in your room?”
I unmuted and quickly confirmed. “It’s no one.”
David snorted once again, loud enough for her to hear.
“Uh, I think maybe I should leave you to it,” Logan offered, and I could practically hear the gossip travelling through the grapevine.
The news would begin with our sisters and slowly spread to the most distant relatives, where a twice-removed cousin’s partner would form an opinion to be discussed at the next family gathering.
“No.” I quickly tried to think of something that would reel her back in. Something interesting enough to make her forget. “I can talk. Let’s talk. How’s grad school? Is that other TA still taking credit for your work?”
Her adventures as a TA were low-hanging fruit. An easy trigger to steer her into a rant.
“Not falling for that.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “You know you’ve just made the agenda, right?”
“Lo, come on,” I pleaded.
“See you next week,” she sang. “Love you!”
As soon as she hung up, I turned to David and promised, “You’re dead.”
He gave me a warm smile that was so gentle I had to do a double-take to remember what we were.
“You can thank me later,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You wanted off that call but were too afraid to speak up for yourself.” He tilted his head. “Which is strange for you. I’ve never known you not to stand your ground.”
I frowned, unsettled by the observation and ammunition I’d just given him. “You don’t know me well enough to know what’s strange for me.”
David shook his head and leaned closer. My breath caught in my throat. Seriously, how did he smell so much like himself after being engulfed with my scent?
“I disagree. I think we both know one another better than most people in our lives.” His voice was almost too low for me to hear. “I’m going to find a word for us. Not strangers, acquaintances, or friends. There’s something more, and I’m going to find it.”
His promise rang in my ears. The words weren’t warm, and they were far from uncaring. And yet, David looked at me as if I were the mystery. I stared back, just as desperate to solve our puzzle.