Elliot
Fiddling with my headphones, I pull one of the earbuds out to adjust the tiny piece of plastic, hesitating to put it back in when I hear a soft whimper.
Then a cry, and it’s coming from my usual spot in the corner, which was once again occupied when I arrived.
I tap my pencil, staring in the direction of the back.
Curious, but also…
Concerned.
Rising to my full height, I slowly make my way toward the sound.
Yup, someone is definitely crying, and it sounds like a girl.
Weak. Low. Barely perceptible sobs.
A hiccup.
I move closer, feet shuffling against the carpet, hoping to make just a little noise so I won’t spook her.
“Hey.” My voice is gravelly, gentle.
Her head comes up at my words, face splotchy from tears, red marring her skin, chest, cheeks.
Lips parting, she brushes the hair out of her eyes, the long brown strands glossy under the neon light.
She swipes a hand across her face, batting at the tears, dabbing them away. Dries them on the leg of her jeans, all without lifting her gaze to face me.
I advance a couple paces, stopping a few feet away.
“Are you okay?”
Another hiccup and she’s dipping her head deeper into her black Iowa hoodie. “I’m fine.”
She doesn’t look fine, certainly doesn’t sound fine, not even close. Those aren’t happy tears.
“W-Was I bothering you? I’m so s-sorry, I…” She can’t keep the crying out of her voice as she swipes at her rosy cheeks again, doing her best to hide it. “I’ll try to stop.”
Hiccup.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” She pauses, voice muffled. “But thank you.”
She looks up at me then, and I can see that her eyes are blue—a brilliant blue from the weeping, set ablaze by the redness of her blush-stained skin.
Dark brows.
Chin trembling, she offers me a wane smile, and I realize I know her; it’s the same girl who was here earlier in the week, the one who stole my study spot.
“You’re sure?” I have two sisters, so I’m kind of an expert on when girls are bluffing; this one is trying to get rid of me.
“I’m sure.”
I pull down the brim of my ball cap, tipping it in her direction.
“Well, I’m just across the way if you need anything, at the desk in the corner. Paper, pencils, body chalk for the corpse if you need an accomplice.” I give her a wide smile.
She tucks the hair behind her ears. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“All right, well, I’ll just be…” I point over my shoulder. “Give a holler.”
“Thanks.”
I meander back to my desk slowly, listening for the telltale sign of sniffles. Weeping. Sobbing.
Anything.
Despite hearing none, I have a hard time getting back to work, unable to focus, straining for noise on the other side of the room, and before I know it, I’ve wasted an entire forty-five minutes doing jack shit.
Deciding there’s no hope for it, I start packing up my crap.
“Hey.” A small voice practically whispers, interrupting.
Backpack slung over one shoulder, long hair now pulled back into a sleek ponytail, the girl bashfully approaches my table, face still red, eyes tired.
But friendly.
I bet when she’s not ugly-crying all over the library study tables, she’s actually kind of cute. Pretty.
“I’m heading out, but…I just wanted to say thanks for coming over to check on me, and, you know, being a concerned citizen and all.”
She musters up a weak smile.
“Don’t worry about it, I have sisters—I’ve been down this path a time or two.” Or a hundred, usually under duress.
When I was younger—ganglier—my sister Veronica used to sit on my chest to hold me down while she spilled her guts so she’d have someone to talk to. I had to hear all about her drama—drama with my parents, with boys, with her friends.
Her teen years were my worst nightmare.
“So are you feeling better?”
Her smile is wobbly. “I am. Much better.”
I shift on the balls of my feet, hands stuffed in the pockets of my jeans. “That’s good.”
“I’m…” she considers her words. “I’m new here this year and it’s been…a challenge meeting new people. Everyone has their friends.”
The backpack I’ve hoisted over my shoulder gets set down on the study desk.
“Yeah?” I want to ask her how it’s been challenging, but don’t want to pry. Still, it seems like she needs someone to talk to, and I have a little time to kill, so I sit back down in my chair. “How?”
She shifts, worrying her bottom lip, and I can tell she’s holding back, unsure about invading my space and taking up more of my time.
“Want to sit?” I grab a nearby chair, dragging it over as a gesture of encouragement.
“Uh…sure.” Tentatively, she closes the space between us, pulling the chair out the rest of the way. Sets her bag next to mine. “But only if it’s not a bother?”
“Nah, I have a few minutes.”
“All right.” Pause. “Is this weird? I’m so sorry my crying interrupted you before—I’m really embarrassed about that.”
“You were crying? I thought that was a herd of dying cats,”
I joke, failing to mention that her crying was less irritating than her hogging my favorite study spot.
“Haha, very funny.” She laughs, sniffling. “But also true.”
“We’ve all had our shitty days—this one was yours, I guess.”
“Yeah.” She’s quiet for a few beats. “So what was it I interrupted? What are you working on?”
“Human anatomy paper. Tedious.”
“That sounds…” her voice trails off.
“Boring? It is.”
“Boring is not at all what I was going to say! What’s your major?”
“Kinesiology.” I grab the water bottle out of my bag and take a long pull, trying to stay hydrated. “What’s yours?”
“Pre-law.”
My brows go up. “What’s your focus?”
“I’m thinking family law.”
I smile. “My dad is a lawyer.”
This news perks her up. “Really? What kind.”
“Real estate. Mergers and acquisitions.”
“Whoa, fancy.”
It kind of is. “He loves it.” I rack my brain for something new to say, blurting out, “So do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Her shoulders sag. “Not really. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Why, did you do something stupid?”
“Maybe. I don’t know—I guess time will tell.”
“Time will tell?” I ask slowly, treading lightly.
“As in, nine months from now?”
“What?” She looks horrified, the implication turning her face an unflattering shade of red. “No! No, that’s not even remotely close. God no.”
“You know what, forget I asked.”
“Is it weird that I kind of want to talk to you even though I don’t know you?”
“No, it’s not weird, because you don’t know me and I’m not going to judge you. Plus, I live alone and wouldn’t have anyone to tell when I get home, haha.”
Her lean fingers toy with my notebook, bending back the edges nervously.
“So there are these guys,” she starts.
There always are.
I nod. “Uh huh.”
“Why does this have to be so embarrassing?” Her hands cover her face self-consciously and she shakes her head. “Phew, here goes nothing!” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, so, you know how some guys are complete assholes, and occasionally you hear about, like, fraternity guys or whatever betting that they can sleep with a girl?”
“Yeah. Happens all the time.”
“Well it happened to me.”
I’m ramrod straight, unmoving as she blushes bright red, silently waiting for her to continue.
“They, um…” Her tongue darts out, licking her lips. “They had a bet to see who could sleep with me, and I overheard some guys talking about it in the gym.”
“Were they laughing about it?”
“No, not these guys. They seemed upset about it—actually, they were discussing whether or not to rat out their friends.”
“Do you know who the guys are?”
“Yes.”
“Did you end up actually…” my sentence trails off and I can’t bring myself to ask her if she actually slept with the guy. Man this is awkward.
Her head gives a shake. “God, no, I’m not desperate. Or stupid. What is wrong with someone that they’d make a bet like that? What assholes.”
“Who were they?”
“Some guys who know my dad.”
“How do they know your dad?”
“He’s…” her voice stalls. “He works here.”
“Staffer?”
“Coach.”
I sit back in my seat, eyes glued to her face. “Are they players?”
Slight nod.
I let out a low whistle. “Holy shit.” Talk about shitting where you eat. “Does your dad know?”
“No, and I’m not going to tell him—not yet anyway. I have to give it more thought.”
I don’t point out that she won’t have to; these things have a way of being discovered all on their own. Her dad will find out soon enough.
Snitches, snitches everywhere.
“Do you mind me asking what sport he coaches?” Curiosity gets the best of me. “I won’t say anything, promise.”
Her response is a long, weighted pause as she considers whether or not to tell me.
Her lips move, the low mutter barely audible.
“Say again?”
“Wrestling.”
Wrestling. Coach Donnelly.
I’ve never met the man personally, but last roommates were wrestlers and have shared plenty of stories over the last few years. From what I’ve gleaned, the man is sharp, shrewd, and tolerates zero bullshit.
“I might have heard rumors that they’ve had problems with some people on the team.”
“Rumors?”
“Yeah. Last year a few guys were busted for hazing a new member on the wrestling team. Half of them faced suspension.”
“Really? Wow, I didn’t know that—I’m surprised my dad never said anything.” She tilts her head curiously.
“He never railed about it in front of you? He had to have been pissed.”
“I actually didn’t live with him until this semester, and our phone conversations were always about me.” Her shoulders slouch. “Man that sounds selfish.”
“No, it sounds like you didn’t have tons of time to sit on the phone talking about his job. He wanted to hear about you, not complain.”
She bites back a smile. “Tell me more about the hazing. Do you know anything about it?”
I’m quiet, racking my brain for specific details.
“So I only know this information because my roommates were wrestlers and they would come home and bitch about it. Last year, when a new guy joined the roster, they gave him shit. Stuck him with a restaurant tab, ditched him at some cabin in the woods, shit like that. It probably seemed like harmless fun, but it wasn’t. I’d tell you to ask your dad about it, but he probably won’t discuss it if he hasn’t already.”
“Why?”
“Confidentiality.”
Her, “Oh,” is small.
“Have you considered telling him about these dickwads?”
“No. Well, yes, but he would totally lose his mind. This is our fresh start and it would, I don’t know, make him so mad. He’d freak, and I don’t want to ruin the semester.” Her sigh is loud. “Why do guys do stuff like that?”
“Stuff? You mean act like fucking idiots? I have no freaking idea since I generally try not to act like one.”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“I don’t know—you have a way about you. You’re more mature, and you’re not… you’re just different.”
Anabelle
This guy is kind of awesome.
He’s gazing at me insightfully, waiting for me to say something, to tell him what happened that had me so upset I was ugly crying in the back corner of the library.
So upset that I interrupted his studying.
Ugh.
As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the guy is really cute, and it’s never fun making an ass of yourself in front of a complete stranger you find attractive. Like, shoot me now.
He waits me out with a neutral expression schooled on his face, dark brows dipped into a worried line. They’re darker than his hair, a rich brown, expressive, arching and bending with each word I utter.
I noticed his height when he first approached my table, tall and toned with a gray T-shirt stretched across a set of broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Eyes I can see are green now that I’m up close.
A tiny cleft in his chin I’m finally forced to peel my eyes off of.
“As I mentioned, I, uh…” Could he not study me so intently? He’s listening so hard it’s making me nervous. “I overheard some guys in the weight room talking about me.”
“What did they say?”
I lower my voice into a false baritone. “Let’s get real here—the only reason he wants to fuck her is because she’s Coach’s daughter. I heard she’s not even hot.” I pause. “In a nutshell.”
“Not hot?” The guy laughs, tipping his head back. “Well we know that’s bullshit, and I can say this because I’m not trying to hit on you. You are definitely not a brown bagger.”
That’s his take-home factoid from all that? “Uh…thanks?”
“The good news is, now that other people know about it, it won’t be a bet for long. It will get back to your dad, trust me.”
“Yeah.” My voice is small and I hate it. “I bet it will.”
“Was that a joke?”
“Not on purpose.”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but maybe you should stay out of the weight room for a while, just until you figure out what you’re going to do, until the whispers die down.”
“Maybe, but I still have to exercise. If I see either of those guys, it’ll make me want to…”
“Cry?” he supplies when I don’t finish my sentence.
“No, punch them in their faces.”
He draws back with another laugh, his whole face changing.
Jesus, that dent in his chin—so freaking ugh!
“I doubt anyone would blame you if you planted them a facer, and Donnelly wouldn’t either.”
I sigh into my hands. “Yeah, my dad’s been known to support a good, swift kick to the groin.”
“That would level them to the ground, for sure.”
“That doesn’t solve my problem though—I have class with one of these guys.”
“Right.” His voice is smooth and steady like a rich whiskey. “What are you going to do?”
“Besides avoid him like the plague? I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it, maybe Google voodoo magic and revenge spells.”
“Well, I’m here all the time if you want to run any ideas past me.” He chuckles low and deep.
And that’s my cue to leave.
“I should get going.” I rise, collecting my things. “See you around maybe?” I glance at him over my shoulder, silky hair swaying.
He lifts his hand in a wave. Smiles. “Take care. I’ll see you around.”
“Thanks for, you know, listening.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
I saunter away slowly, checking my phone, shooting him another glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me, that handsome smile plastered on his classically handsome face.
What a nice freaking guy, unlike those assholes on the wrestling team.
I feel so much better after getting everything off my chest, but my mind still reels, not quite ready to let Eric Johnson or Rex Gunderson off the hook.
Those douchebags need to learn a lesson.
And I’m just the girl to teach them.