“For the love of God, tell me that you’re not still a virgin.”
“What?” Mat yelped. “He’s twenty years old, for fuck’s sake. He’s not a virgin.”
I felt a wave of nausea. They were both staring at me.
“Well? Are you or aren’t you?” Mat demanded.
“No,” I said slowly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Bickley held up two slim hands. “Step back a moment. Something does not add up. Alison let you shag her before she dumped you?”
I shook my head while Bickley did the math. I could practically hear his gears turning. “So… Alison dumped you. And then you had sex with someone else?”
Hearing it out loud only made me feel worse. Yes, that’s exactly what a cheap asshole I’ve been. Instead of answering, I hung my head.
“Blow me down!” Bickley gasped. “Who?”
I gave my head one more shake. I’d said too much already. And poor Bella. What sort of asshole has a one-night stand, and then tells his roommate ten seconds later?
“Come on.” Bickley dropped his coat onto the couch and perched on the armrest. “This is a big development. Uncle Bickley is going to need the details.”
Bickley had never heard the term “none of your business.” Part of the reason we were roommates was that nobody else on the soccer team could tolerate him.
“Out with it,” my stubborn roommate prodded.
“It’s private,” I muttered, the ache in my temples kicking up a notch.
“That’s too good to be private,” Bickley argued.
Mat spoke up, baiting Bickley like he always did. “You want to hear about your roommate fucking somebody? Why do you want those details, dude? Maybe you have a boner for Rafe? If you want a little man-on-man action, you can always come to me.”
“Fuck you, Mat.”
“I was thinking I’d rather fuck you.” Mat smirked.
Bickley turned sharply toward our bedroom, stomped inside and slammed the door.
Another soothing day at home. “Why do you do that to him?”
“I got him off your back, didn’t I?” Mat’s grin was evil. “Besides, he makes it so easy for me.”
“Isn’t that the definition of a bully?”
He shrugged. “If I held his face in toilet water while I said it, then yeah.” He gave me a concerned frown. “You know, man. If you need to get laid again, I’m single now. You don’t have to hit the bars. I’m here for you.”
I punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow!” He whimpered with such girlish exaggeration that I couldn’t help but laugh. Then he grabbed my soccer ball off the floor. “If sex is off the table, let’s kick this thing around the courtyard for twenty minutes until brunch opens.”
The offer caught me off guard. Mat rarely invited me to do anything except bet on football games. But what better offer did I have? “Sounds like a plan. Just let me change my clothes.”
That afternoon, I retreated to my bedroom to sulk. In the bag that Alison had given me, I found a brand new iPod.
Dear Rafe, the note read. I don’t expect you to understand. But I never meant to hurt you. This gift was meant to make it easier for us to communicate. And isn’t that ironic? I did a terrible thing, and I’m so sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know. Love you always, Alison.
I snorted. There was so much wrong with this note it was hard to tally it all up. Alison loved me enough to buy me a fancy toy. And yet she was sleeping with another guy.
Her choice of a gift was another red flag. Alison had always found it weird that I didn’t have a texting plan for my cheap-ass phone. “It would be so much easier if I could text you,” she’d said more than once. In the first place, I didn’t text because I’d rather speak in person, or at least hear her voice on the phone. I’d said that. Many times. I hated that everyone on campus was always bent over, tapping on apps with their thumbs instead of watching where they were walking.
I liked my gadgets vintage. I carried a pocket watch from the forties, for God’s sake. My cufflinks were made from old subway tokens.
Alison had obviously not paid attention. Which only served to remind me that I hadn’t, either. I only saw the bits of her that fit the image I liked best.
How utterly depressing.
Still, playing with the first iPod I’d ever owned was fun, for about a half hour. It occurred to me that I would like to listen to music on my longer runs. And fiddling with the music library made for a good distraction for my misery, at least until I realized how tricky it was going to be to rip all my CDs on my laptop.
Yay, technology. It saves you time, except when it doesn’t.
Bickley wandered in after a while. “How’s the iPod?”
“It’s apptastic. Hey, where’d you get that arm-band thing that holds your phone when you run?”
Bickley shrugged. “At the bookstore, I think? For twenty quid or so.”
Ouch. Maybe I could find one cheaper in the city.
“So who was she, anyway?”
“Not talking about it.” I kept my eyes on the little screen.
“Well, are you going to see the mystery woman again?”
That was the real question, wasn’t it? But I had a feeling it wasn’t up to me. “To be honest, I don’t know what to expect.” Bella was something of a mystery. I knew she worked with the hockey team as a manager, hence the team jacket. And I knew many of the players were her friends.
I’d once heard a guy say that sleeping with her was part of being initiated onto the team. But that was just jocktarded smack talk, probably started by someone who couldn’t catch her eye.
“But do you like her?” Bickley pried. He was desperate to trick me into saying who it was. But it wasn’t going to work.
“Of course I do,” I admitted. Bella was the best kind of girl. Smart, sexy and fun. But spending more time with her was a terrible idea. Because I did not trust myself with her. Dios. I’d been like the Incredible Hulk videos I used to watch as a kid. With very little provocation I’d come busting out of all my clothes and unleashed myself on that girl.
My neck got hot just thinking about it.
“Are you going to call her?” Bickley pressed.
“Yeah.” Of course I would do that. We were neighbors, after all. I couldn’t just duck her for the next eight months, even if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to duck her at all. So after I calmed down a little, the best plan of action would be to knock on her door and at least say…
I had no idea what.
* * *
I didn’t see Bella on Monday. But on Tuesdays we shared a class. Intro to Urban Studies had about sixty people in it, though, and was held in a lecture hall. The spot was not exactly conducive to a private discussion.
To make matters worse, Alison took that course, too. So now Urban Studies was fast becoming Awkward Studies.
Bella ran in at the last minute, parking herself in a seat by the door. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she’d been hurrying.
My traitorous body heated immediately. Just one look at her and I was transported back to Saturday night. Bella reached into her backpack on the floor for a pen, and the graceful line of her neck made me remember how I’d kissed every inch of that creamy skin.
Looking up then, Bella caught me watching her. And whatever she saw on my face made her frown.
Dios. I snapped my gaze away, staring down at the notebook on my desktop. What an ass I was. I felt guilty about what I’d done with Bella. But here I sat practically frothing at the mouth.
Not cool.
When the professor began speaking, I did my best to listen. I loved this class, actually. The prof was a long-time New York City planner, and often the examples he gave in his lectures were places I knew. Greenwich Village. Lincoln Center. Central Park. I’d passed those spots my whole life without knowing much about how they’d come to be. Professor Giulios knew, though. Soaking up his stories and theories was effortless for me. In this class I felt at least
as well equipped to learn the material as anyone else in the room.
That was rare for me at Harkness. I’d gone to a decent New York City public high school. But it wasn’t even forty-eight hours into my first semester as a freshman when I’d realized how outclassed I was. My freshman roommate went to Andover where he’d played first violin in the orchestra. The guy across the hall had gone to Exeter, where he’d built rockets in a physics lab and memorized two thousand Chinese characters.
This year, I roomed with Bickley, who had attended Eton, a school I’d only heard about in old books. Even Mat seemed to have gotten a top-notch education at his public school in Virginia.
At Harkness, I worked my ass off for B’s and C’s. Bickley, on the other hand, often slept through class and pulled A’s without seeming to try.
I felt someone’s eyes on me and turned to look.
Alison sat a few rows away. Her ivory skin appeared even paler than usual, and there were dark circles under her eyes. When she saw me looking, her face filled with regret.
Oh, just save it, I thought. Bitterness crawled into my throat, and I swallowed it down. She’d been so callous. And now she felt bad about it?
Giving the professor my full attention, I took careful notes on the lecture. This is what I’d come to Harkness to do, after all. This, and soccer. Everything else was just a distraction.
When class ended, I zipped my backpack and moved toward the door. As luck would have it, I arrived at the exit just as Bella did. “So you do still exist,” she said as we exited the building.
We stopped in a spot where there weren’t as many people around. “Look, about Sunday morning…” I began.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s no big thing, Rafe. Sneaking out is a time-honored element of the one-night stand.”
I studied her for a moment. The look in her eyes didn’t match the flippant statement she’d just made. Dios. I’d offended her. But what should I say about it now? Bella was awesome, but I didn’t know how to tell her I thought so. I rubbed the back of my neck. “I never, um…” And now I was starting to sweat. “I really didn’t mean for things to…”
“Rafe?”
I froze at the sound of Alison’s voice.
“Rafe? Can I talk to you?”
Bella’s eyes danced. “Aw, she wants to apologize. Are you going to let her?”
“No,” I said, loudly enough for Alison to hear. “I’m supposed to be at work in five minutes.”
“After your shift, then?” Alison asked.
Bella gave me a wink, hitched her backpack onto a shoulder and walked away, which was frustrating because I hadn’t apologized to her properly yet.
Alison stepped into my space. “We need to talk.”
“No, we really don’t,” I said.
“Yes we do. There’s something I need to explain.”
Seriously? “Did you cheat?” I asked. “Because that’s really the only relevant fact.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she did not deny it.
“I thought so.” Stepping around her, I headed to the dining hall.
That evening my soccer practice ran late. The dining hall was closed by the time I made it out of the locker room, so I bought a sandwich with eight bucks that I didn’t really have.
Eating at my desk, I spent some time trying to compose a suitable apology speech for Bella. I really didn’t mean for things to go so far, I’d tell her. But I think you’re great, and I hope we can hang out some time.
It all sounded really awkward. Because the situation was really awkward. And there was just no getting around it. Anything nice I said to her now was going to sound suspicious. Like a blatant plea to strip her naked and do it again.
That’s what you get for shooting first and asking questions later. So to speak. But there were things I needed to say, and I’d need to say them in private.
While I pondered this problem, it got late. I didn’t want to knock on Bella’s door after ten o’clock. So I waited until the next evening, but she didn’t answer my knock. And her neighbor’s door was ajar. I felt myself start to sweat just thinking about Saturday night when Lianne Chalice had heard me speaking to Bella from the bathroom.
I turned tail and went back downstairs again.
On Thursday I didn’t get a chance to speak to Bella after Urban Studies, because she answered her phone right after class. And anyway, I had to run off for another shift at work.
My work-study job was in the dining hall kitchen. Usually I worked prep in the back — chopping vegetables, cutting up chickens — it was the same work I’d been doing in my family’s restaurant since I was old enough to hold a knife. But at Harkness I got paid really well for it.
Thursday, though, they had me serving behind the counter. The serving line wasn’t my first choice of jobs, but you can’t always have what you want. Unfortunately, some of the guys who came through the line hadn’t learned that yet.
“Can’t you just give me two of those?” a big guy in a football jacket demanded from his side of the counter. “And save me the trip?”
The plate I handed him had one hot roast beef sandwich on it. “You can come back through for a second one,” I told him. That was the dining hall rule, because they didn’t want people to waste the expensive stuff. It was the same rule every freaking day, although some guys asked anyway. And I always said no, because I didn’t want to be fired.
“Thanks for nothing.” The ham-necked guy stalked off, as if I’d offended him.
“You’re so welcome,” I muttered to myself.
Good times.
Still irritated, I plucked the next plate off the stack. It was still warm from the dishwasher. “What can I get you?” I asked the next person in line. I raised my eyes and then froze.
Bella stared back at me from across the busy counter, one eyebrow cocked. “Hello again,” she said.
“Hi.” My neck caught fire just at the sight of her cool green-eyed stare. It was impossible not to remember where last I’d seen that level gaze, or hear an echo of all the crazy things we’d said to each other. I felt sweat break out on my back. But I wasn’t going to act like a chump this time. “I knocked on your door last night.”
“Why? Were you feeling lonely?” She winked at me.
Dios. My gaze swept over the waiting diners, and I wondered if anyone was listening in.
When I brought my eyes back to Bella’s, she looked unhappy. “It was just a little joke, Rafe. But if you want to pretend you don’t know me when other people are around, I get it. Could I please have the chicken fried rice?”
I reached for the scoop, tongue-tied again. I made Bella’s plate, trying to figure out what to say. This wasn’t the time or the place to give my little apology speech. “Will that be all?” I said quietly.
“Obviously,” Bella said. She took her plate and walked off.
I spent the rest of my shift feeling steamed at myself. Look, I never had a one-night stand before. That’s all I needed to confess. I feel like an ass, and I’m sorry. Can we be friends? Because I like you a lot.
Simple words, right? I could manage that. Except maybe I should go even further. I wanted to do something nice for Bella. But what? Flowers? That was a cliché. No, I would invite her to lunch. A new Thai restaurant had opened off campus, and since I ate every meal in the dining hall, I was kind of craving Asian food. Hopefully she was too.
The more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Lunch was a casual meal. Friends did lunch together. It sent the right message. I want to spend time with you, but I don’t expect anything.
Perfecto. I’d knock on her door and ask her tonight. And if she wasn’t home, I’d just have to keep trying. In fact, I made a little promise to myself. The next time I saw Bella, no matter where it was, I would ask her to lunch.
Seven
Bella
The next weekend I found myself at a fraternity party.
At Harkness frats weren’t a very big deal. The student body was already d
ivided into twelve “houses,” so most people didn’t see the point of dividing into further factions. I loved that about Harkness, actually. That frats didn’t rule the place.
But there were a few frat parties every year I’d always considered to be worth the effort. Casino Night at Beta Rho was one of them. The brothers rented a bunch of gambling equipment. They set up poker tables in the basement, and craps tables in the living room. There was roulette on the porch and blackjack in the dining room. All the pledges were made to wear tuxedos and funny little 1920s gangster hats.
Every year I went for the spectacle, played a few rounds of cards and watched some high-stakes poker. A fraternity party wasn’t half bad when dice and cards were involved.
Blackjack was my Casino Night game because it was simpler than poker but not as brainless as roulette. I was playing at a small table with Big-D, who was not exactly my favorite hockey teammate. (Though I was currently beating him, which made it more fun.)
My attention wavered a bit when Rafe walked through the front door with a couple of soccer players. And wouldn’t you know? He looked devastating tonight in a tight pair of jeans and another button-down shirt rolled up on his taut forearms.
Crap. I was not going to stare at him.
“Hit me,” I said to Whittaker, the football player who was acting as our dealer.
“You want a hit on seventeen?” he asked incredulously.
One of the rules I lived by was to never bet what you can’t afford to lose. But in this case, that was no problem. “We’re playing with Monopoly money, sport,” I reminded him. “Also, I feel lucky.” Furthermore, the Rangers game was on in the next room, and I’d promised my friend Pepe that I’d watch it with him. Going bust right now would not be the end of the world.
Whittaker turned over a three, and everyone gasped. “You are lucky,” Whittaker said with a smile. “The dealer takes a hit on thirteen and…” He flipped over a queen. “Bella is the luckiest girl alive.” He swept all my winnings, including a substantial portion of Big-D’s remaining bills, into a pile and handed them to me.