Chapter 9
I hurried down the staircase of the student center, heels slamming against the carpeted floor.
Because of my frustration and annoyance, everything around me blurred.
My mind raced with new ideas for how to ensure this ball was an undeniable success.
I had a list of ways to make Olivia regret ever thinking of giving me a pitiful stare.
In my blind fury, my shoulder knocked into someone else’s. As soon as the familiar scent of summer linen hit my nose, I swallowed my impending apology.
“Took you long enough,” David said, mouth turned down in disapproval.
“Shut up,” I muttered and continued toward the doors.
He didn’t hesitate, falling into step right after me. David caught the heavy door that I had failed to hold up for him. His chuckle made me shoot him a hard, piercing glance.
“I see your meeting went well.” He wore baggy gray sweats and a loose white tee. His sneakers looked as if he’d dragged them through the mud one too many times. And one of them had duct tape wrapped around the toe.
“Went just as planned.” I itched to rant and complain about Olivia and my failure to establish a better reputation for BWD.
Instead of spilling my guts to a guy who didn’t give a damn, I continued down the sidewalk.
My hips switched, and my chin tilted upward as I channeled a newfound determination.
“Perfect, even,” I continued, only half-talking to David. I wanted to hash things out myself. But it was frowned upon to talk to myself in public (something I learned the hard way). So, his presence was helpful for once.
“Sure sounds like it,” David agreed. He was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. The chill of fall lingered in the air, the wind coaxing orange and red leaves from the branches above.
We walked underneath black iron lampposts, heading toward my bus stop. Only a handful of students were outside. Most people found themselves in warmer places like the library or dorms.
“Uninteresting?” I grumbled. “Her last event was a dinner themed after the periodic table. No speakers. Just cupcakes and scientific notation. And I’m uninteresting? A whole ball on a college campus is uninteresting?”
David blew against my hand. I didn’t realize I’d reached for my hair, twisting the strands tightly around my index finger. I winced and pulled away. He was supposed to be a silent observer.
“I can guarantee without knowing what you’re going on about that you’re stressed over something that won’t mean a thing in the next year,” David said.
I scowled. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Since when do I care whether you asked?”
“Can you be quiet for once and just pretend to be my friend? Lord knows I’ve done it enough times for you.”
He chuckled. “When was this? Was I there?”
My stop was abrupt. So was his. Those goddamn reflexes.
“When you called me up after midterms last year—” I crossed my arms over my chest. “—whining about your water bottles.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I don’t whine.”
I laughed at his inability to deny what had happened. “You whine all the time. It’s your second language.”
David had begged me to bring him extra water bottles, insisting it was an emergency. And I’d gotten out of my warm, safe bed to catch a bus to retrieve his water bottles from a corner store.
“Everyone else I knew was at the stadium. No one likes leaving during a game,” he defended. “You were my only option.”
“I don’t care about the reason. All I care about is that I was exhibiting peak friend-like behavior. It wouldn’t kill you to do the same.”
“It might,” he joked under his breath.
“Then we’ll both be put out of our misery. A win-win,” I said.
We were silent, glaring so hard we could probably burn through the red-brick buildings and cobblestone walkway.
“Fine,” David said through gritted teeth.
“Fine?” I blinked, and my shoulders loosened ever so slightly.
“What’s this about the periodic table and disinterest?” He gestured with his hand, indicating I had the floor.
I frowned and started walking again.
He didn’t miss a beat, following back into step with me. “What? Now you don’t want me to ask?”
“No, I don’t want you to ask because you don’t actually care. You’ve been forced into it.”
I was going in circles; I knew it. But with the twister of emotion building in my chest, I couldn’t figure out how to plant my feet back on the ground.
“Aren’t most people?” he asked. The dose of genuine curiosity in his tone made me glance at him. “To maintain a friendship, people feel like they have to ask questions about stuff they don’t care about. That’s being forced into it. Maybe in a less obvious way, but still not of their own volition.”
My laugh lacked any sense of amusement. “You can’t be serious. What anti-social boot camp did your folks put you in?”
The muscle in David’s jaw ticked as he directed his gaze forward, expression half-pained, half-furious.
For the first time in a long time, I wished I could take a jab back.
I didn’t understand why my words settled under his skin, but I did know they’d dug in deep.
David remained quiet for the rest of the walk, his presence a waning ember that I feel horrible for nearly snuffing out.
“I’m sorry.”
Those words should have been coming from my mouth, but he’d said them. I looked up at him to find that the color had come back into his cheeks, and his eyes weren’t so hard.
I shook my head. “David, I…”
“I don’t know if I ever said thank you for the bottles.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You were a friend to me that day. And you’re right, I could do better at returning the favor since we spend so much time together. It’s only fair.”
It all sounded so logical and to the point.
I appreciated it. But I craved something more.
I wanted something colorful and connecting.
It’d be nice to be on the same side for once in our lives.
Because honestly, over the past few years, I have considered being David’s friend.
And unfortunately, there were merits to the idea.
For one, David was focused. He could—and most of the time preferred— to stick to a routine. He ate lunch at 1 p.m. , dinner in the café at 9 p.m, was up at 6 a.m. every week to run, and 7:30 a.m. on the weekends.
He didn’t waver in the wind. Every one of his opinions (regardless of how irritating they could be) was steady.
He stood in his belief without the fear of standing out in a crowd.
No one could talk him out of something unless they had definite evidence of his being wrong, and David wasn’t so far up his own ass that he couldn’t admit when he was wrong.
And on our best days, our conversations made me get out of my head and into the present. His nihilism was an anchor to the present—something I often abandoned for the what-if.
“Thank you, Yara,” he said. “Really. I was going through a rough time, and you pulled through for me.”
My cheeks burned because his brown eyes softened as he looked at me.
There was genuine gratitude in his voice.
My eyes flickered to his lips, mind rewinding to a few minutes ago when he’d blown on my hand to disrupt my nervous tick.
He hadn’t used the picking against me yet. Something told me he never would.
What the hell was happening? Why did he sound nice? Seemed like someone I could hold hands with down this cobbled walkway?
“You’re… welcome.” I cleared my throat and looked toward the trees, street lamps, and anything else that wouldn’t make me feel like I was struggling for air.
We were at my bus stop now. There were a couple of students sitting on the bench, so we lingered a few feet away. Whether it was maintaining our own privacy or respecting theirs, I’m not sure.
“It’s about five minutes out,” I told David after checking the schedule on my phone. “So if you have something to say or a dare to impart, now’s your time.”
“You should come to this party I’m planning,” he said.
I scoffed so hard I started coughing. The students on the bus bench glanced at me, concerned. But David said nothing, watching me with his resumed unbothered gaze. We waded back to normalcy.
“A party?” I asked.
“You’ll be fine,” he said.
I laughed at his attempt to encourage me. “Of course I will. Will you?”
“I’m hosting it, so it’d be concerning if I weren’t.”
“David Evans, hosting a party?” I teased. “What bet did you lose?”
“As you’re aware, I don’t make a habit of losing.” He pulled out his phone to text me the details.
I eyed the off-campus address. “What is it for?”
“Why does it have to be for anything?” He feigned offense. “Can’t I just host a party?”
“You can’t just do anything.”
David paused for a moment, watching me with a small smile. “A friend. It’s for a friend.”
“David Evans hosting a party for a friend?” My teasing tone melted into surprise. Between football, schoolwork, and our dares, I didn’t think he had much time (or interest) in socializing. But once again, I was reminded that despite how much we knew about each other, we didn’t know each other.
He seemed to sense my thoughts, or somewhere along the line of them. “I’m just offering you a chance to relax around halfway decent humans. Don’t read too much into it.”
I nodded, still trying to read between the lines and uncover everything he hid from me by just staring into his eyes. The bus rolled up, forcing me to let it go prematurely.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you at your party.”
He nodded and waited for me to get on. I claimed a spot at the window, glancing at the place where I had left him on the sidewalk. He was already walking away, back to me, and focused once more on whatever he did outside of us.