PROLOGUE
I
“Relax, Tammy,” my roommate Jane told me. “He would be five minutes early if he arrived right now. What kind of nerd would arrive five minutes early for a blind date?”
I slid the watch face beneath my wrist. Out of sight, out of mind. “You’re right. Maxwell Brody is definitely not a nerd’s name. He’ll probably show up a few minutes late—fashionably late without being annoying. Or without standing me up like that Blockhead my freshman year.”
“Let it go, Tammy. No sense in dwelling over the past.” Jane crossed her long legs in front of her. “Besides, how do you know that Max isn’t a nerd? You’ve only seen pictures of him online.”
“I know he’s on the soccer team and a marketing major. Not a physics major. Marketing. Besides, you’re pre-med and no one would ever call you a nerd.”
Jane raised one pierced eyebrow. “You can’t judge a person by their major, but did you tell him you’re one of them?”
“Not yet.” By them, she meant a marine biology major. Eckhart College was crawling with freshmen planning on majoring in the subject, but by the time they got to their junior year—like me—their numbers had dwindled significantly. I wore my major almost like a badge of honor. I was not a wanna-be dolphin trainer who dropped out at the first sign of organic chemistry.
“Hey,” Jane sat straighter on the couch. “That might be him.” An SUV had pulled in front of the complex. Normally I would look down on someone who insisted on driving such a gas-guzzler—after all, the EPA had just announced that the average fuel efficiency of the ‘99 models was the lowest it had been since 1980—but I was sure Maxwell Brody made up for his environmental faux pas in other ways. Besides, from the looks of it, his SUV was not a new model, anyway.
A man got out of the truck. When I say man, I mean he had a noticeable limp and thinning hairline that became even more discernible as he approached the dorm.
Jane leaned forward to get a better look. “Soccer player, eh, Tammy? Is he on the disabled list?”
I could feel my lip curling involuntarily. “That’s not Maxwell Brody. I’ve been studying his picture since he sent it to me a few days ago. Maxwell Brody has a full head of hair and a soccer player’s body.” The man was now standing just outside the door, frowning at the code box.
“Go answer it.” Jane waved her hand as he looked up. “He can see us, you know.”
“That’s not Maxwell Brody, and we shouldn’t let strange men in the dorm.”
“Like people don’t do it all the time.” Jane got up from the couch to open the door.
“I’m looking for Tammy Tymes.” The man’s voice was deep and gravelly.
“You must be Max.” Jane backed into the door to hold it open while she stuck her hand out. “I’ve heard all about you. You play for E-C’s soccer team?”
He shook her hand before stepping over the threshold into the dorm. He patted his heavy belly. “Used to. I’ve been sidetracked a bit with a knee injury.”
You should have updated your photo, then. I chided him silently. Clearly the one I’d memorized had been pre-injury.
Jane pointed at me. “That’s Tammy, by the way.” I suddenly realized I’d been hovering behind the arm of the couch. I summoned a smile and went to meet my blind date.
Two hours later, I burst back into my dorm room.
“That was quick,” Jane stated. She stood in the middle of the room, putting on lotion. A towel was wrapped around her hair.
“I made an excuse before he ordered a second dessert. Told him I had homework. I don’t think he bought it.”
“Duh. So was Maxwell Brody your new Mark Hamill or what?” She put the lotion bottle down and peered into my face. “I take it that’s a no?”
I sat heavily into my desk chair. “No. And I tried to get past his looks, but he just seemed so… old.”
“How old was he? Forty?”
“Twenty-four.” He ordered a beer at dinner. I’d have killed for a drink at that point, but, being eight months shy of legal and not in possession of a fake ID, was out of luck. As the night and lackluster conversation went on, the age difference between us seemed more like eons instead of just a couple of years. “And besides, it’s not Mark Hamill anymore. It’s The Man with a Glove.” I pulled a postcard out from the top drawer of my desk and passed it to Jane.
“Who is this one?”
“He hangs in the Louvre next to the Mona Lisa.”
“Listen to you,” she said, gingerly accepting the proffered post-card. “A marine biology major and yet you’ve seen the Mona Lisa.”
“It wasn’t nearly as cool as I thought it would be. It looks like every reproduction you’ve ever seen. And it’s way smaller than you’d think.” E-C encouraged us to spend the three weeks of Winter Term in non-major classes, and I’d somehow convinced my parents to let me go abroad. I took a class called, “London’s Treasures,” and spent most of the time touring the city, digging into its culture by attending plays and visiting art museums. I’d loved it. I couldn’t say the same for the weekend trip I’d taken to Paris with some of my classmates. We stayed in the Red Light District, and by that time, considering I was of age in England, I had spent all of my money on Oxford Street and at the pubs in Hampstead. I was completely broke and forced to tour the Most Romantic City in the World on the equivalent of less than 50 bucks. We visited the Louvre on the last day. After spending 45 minutes waiting in line to check out the most famous painting in the world, I felt as though it would be rude to not use all of my allotted time, so I glanced over at the painting beside it. And fell in love. I stared at the painting, soaking in the soft brown eyes and floppy hair of the subject, until the security guard told me to move on. I immediately went to the gift shop and bought the postcard.
Jane peered at it. “Actually…” She bent over her computer and woke it up by moving the mouse. Maxwell Brody’s picture from the dating website was still on the screen. “Don’t you think—”
“No.” I grabbed the postcard from the top of her desk. “Definitely not.”
“So, tell me what was wrong with Max.”
“He wasn’t him.” I waved the postcard at her before carefully placing it back in my desk drawer.
“Tammy.” Jane’s voice had softened. “You could have given the guy a chance. You get so fixated on guys that you are never going to form a relationship with. Like Dallas. And Ian. And Morgan.”
I dismissed her comment with a flap of my hand. “That’s just my guardian angel up to her old tricks. They were all Blockheads. I’m waiting for my Man with a Glove.”
“You keep waiting, you’re going to be a virgin forever.”
“I’ve still got eight months.” I both looked forward to and dreaded my 21st birthday. The arbitrary number loomed ominously like the 40th birthday of a childless single woman. Ever since I’d lost my “kissing seal” to my ex-best friend’s roommate Trevor in his dorm room my freshman year of college, I’d had lots of practice. I’d kissed countless frogs, but never found the prince deserving of my virginity.
“Well, we all know that E-C guys are worthless. Maybe you should try another online guy?”
“No way. I’m not going to date any more old men, and anyone our age ought to be in college anyway, which would mean they are E-C Blockheads.”
“The summer, then?”
I rolled my eyes. I’d spent the previous two summers working in my dad’s office surrounded by post-menopausal women who set the air conditioning on max, doing pointless, boring work. Not to mention I had to live at my parent’s house. Finding a place to smoke in private and going out of my way to avoid my sister and her boyfriend was not exactly high on my summer wish list.
Jane rustled through a pile on her desk. “They were handing these out at the student union.” She folded it into a quick airplane and sent it to my desk. It was a flyer advertising jobs as a camp counselor in Western Michigan for the summer. “Isn’t that up near you?”
“Sort of.” It was close enough to home to be within visiting distance, but far enough to be out from under parental supervision. I thought about all the camp movies I’d seen: Meatballs, Heavyweights, Addams Family Values. A slew of people my own age chasing after pre-pubescents? Handsome, non-E-C guys in shorts and Birkenstocks with whistles around their necks. “Maybe I’ll check it out,” I told my roommate. “After all, I’m a big fan of charbroiled marshmallows.”