I could feel Clay’s eyes on the back of my head throughout the entire hour-long lecture. By four, I was crawling out of my skin and practically ran out of the room. Okay, so I totally ran. At least I had the forethought to ask Becca to meet me on the opposite side from where Clay parks. I don’t know how I’m going to face him long enough to get this project done. I was fine when he dropped me off Sunday, or at least, I wasn’t freaking out. No, that came a few hours later when Peyton showed up and she and Becca started giving me the third degree about spending the night in his bed. I haven’t seen her today because I’ve been in class, but she starts in the second I’m beside her.
“So …” she starts, avoiding looking at me as we walk towards our dorm. “I might have mentioned to Scarlett and Annabelle that you spent the night with Clay.”
“You did what?” I shriek. “I didn’t spend the night with Clay. We slept in the same apartment. It wasn’t a big deal.” Becca shrugs, and I groan. “Dammit, Becca. You know this!” Why would she do that? Never mind, I know why. I met Scarlett and Annabelle last year when I moved in with Peyton. At the time, they lived in the dorm room directly below us. The girls are complete opposites, of each other, and of Peyton and me. Scarlett is loud and outgoing, while Annabelle is very closed off and most of the time only speaks when you ask her a direct question. Thanks to rumors around campus, I’ve heard she was raped, but she’s never confirmed it, and there’s no way I’d ask her outright. No one talks about it in our little group, and since rumors around hear run rampant, you can’t put much stock in them anyway.
Ignoring my last exclamation Becca cuts her eyes to me and says, “It is a big deal. When has Clay Mitchell ever done something nice for someone?” Well, she has a point. Sort of.
“He’s done nice things for me before.” I’m not sure why I’m defending him since most of the time he’s doing his best to torment me.
She scoffs. “Yeah, he’s done nice things for the past, what? Week? Maybe two? I’m sorry, Kat, but every time he starts to act like a decent human being, he does three things that show he’s not.” Becca has a point. With Clay, it’s like, one step forward, three steps back. He’ll do something that makes me think maybe we can work together, get this project done, without killing each other. Possibly even end up as friends … but then, it’s like he realizes he was nice to me, so he does something douchey to make up for it.
Regardless … “Becca, why did you have to say anything? As if there aren’t enough rumors today with all the people who saw him carry me out.” I can feel a tension headache brewing behind my eyes. I had at least six people ask me outright about leaving the party with Clay, and no less than three times that many stopped talking every time I walked into class. If I’m not careful, that STD comment I made at the frat party is going to come back to bite me in the ass.
“I wasn’t trying to start a rumor.” Becca waves off my concerns. “Anyway, you can explain it to them now. I told them we’d meet them for dinner. After, we can hang with Peyton at Wyatt’s practice.” She’s completely nonchalant, like she didn’t blow Saturday night completely out of proportion. I’m so angry with her when we get to the dorms I leave her standing beside her car. I don’t want to spend dinner trying to explain everything to Scarlett and Annabelle, so while Becca takes her things upstairs, I head for their room.
Scarlett answers my knock. Today she’s wearing her flaming red hair in pigtails, making the black tips more noticeable. With the way she does her hair and makeup, she looks like a doll. It helps that she’s short too, at least compared to me. All my female friends, aside from Peyton, are shorter than me. I always feel like the odd man out. My eyes travel down her outfit and I wish I was as one-of-a-kind as she is. She’s wearing a burgundy tank top with a cross design matched with black skinny jeans that look like they’ve been shredded across the thighs and a pair of Doc Marten’s. A leather cuff around her wrist has a matching cross, and she has little crosses hanging from her ears too.
“Kat!” she squeals, springing forward to hug me before stepping back to let me enter the room. Annabelle’s sitting on her bed surrounded by books and wearing a sweatshirt that says “Proud Supporter of Messy Hair and Sweatpants” with a pair of dark wash jeans. Her feet are bare, she’s not wearing any makeup or jewelry, and her mousy brown hair is pulled up into a topknot in keeping with her shirt’s slogan.
Annabelle looks up when Scarlett shuts the door. “Hey Kat,” she says softly with a wave, before returning her attention to the notebook in her lap. I smile in her direction as I follow Scarlett over to her bed and take a seat. Their room is laid out much like mine, but while both my side and Becca’s are covered with papers and posters, Annabelle’s side is blank. She doesn’t have any mess; nothing is hanging on the walls. It’s like she’s making sure she’s ready in case she needs to bolt. Nothing in this room says anything about her while the other side of the room explodes with color.
Scarlett motions for me to sit before making herself comfortable and pulling her legs up underneath her. “What’s this I hear about you and the devil in football gear?” Her description of Clay makes me smile, but I quickly sober.
“There’s nothing to say.” I look down at the comforter on her bed, concentrating more than I should on the loose piece of thread I’m pulling on. When she doesn’t say anything, I chance a look up and she gives me a skeptical look. “No, really. It wasn’t a big deal.” I look back down and mumble, embarrassed by actions, “I got drunk at that party, and when I passed out, he took me to his apartment because Becca disappeared.” I feel like I should make a sign that says “I did NOT sleep with Clay Mitchell” and hang it on my chest. If it’s there, at least the boob men will look. Maybe I should put a matching one on my butt. That way I’ll get the ass men too.
Scarlett makes a disgusted noise in her throat. “Ugh. I can’t believe you were in his room—alone—and you can’t even give good intel because you were unconscious. Please tell me you at least woke up early and did a little snooping.” I shake my head, and she sighs, sounding very disappointed in me.
I don’t understand why she and Becca have such a fascination with him. He’s an asshole. He’s crude, he never, well, rarely, apologizes for anything he does wrong. And, oh. My. God. He’s the cockiest person I’ve ever met in my life! How can anyone want Clay when there are guys like Wyatt on campus? He’s the epitome of perfect. I just don’t get it.
But, then again, he took care of me. I was drunk and so out of it that he could have done anything, could have let someone else do something, but he didn’t. He took me home with him, let me sleep it off in his bed, then bought me breakfast and took me home the next morning. Those are not the actions of an asshole.
When I tell Scarlett the first part—the Clay is an asshole part, she laughs. “Oh come on, Kat! Haven’t you ever read a romance novel? They’re always these huge alpha dogs who act like cavemen. Bad boys are attractive … right up until you actually have one. We can lust over Clay from afar, but we know we’d never choose someone like him in real life. My knee would be sore twenty-four/seven from all the damage I’d do to his balls.”
Annabelle agrees, sort of. “I don’t know why you would lust over some dude you would never really want. Give me the nice guy any day. I want one who’s sweet and attentive, who never scares me.” Her voice is quiet, and Scarlett and I share a look. I don’t know what to do about Annabelle. She says she’s fine, but she’s never talked to anyone about it. Letting the attack—if that’s really what happened—fester the way she has been can’t be good for her. Peyton tried once last year to get her to go to one of the campus counselors, but she refused.
Before either of us can say anything, Becca knocks on the door and yells through it to say she’s ready to go eat. We file out, first Scarlett, then me, then Annabelle last since she had to put her shoes back on.