Chapter Three
Shell
What is this shell around me,
this protective layer to shield me from the pain?
But even this hard exterior can’t protect me.
The words penetrate through and hurt me anyway.
I tell myself I want to change.
I want to be bold, unafraid, and accept who I am.
What they’ve said has scratched more than the surface,
and I’m bleeding.
I’ll never be free.
^^^
Bells wrapped around the door shake as I swing it open. I enter the campus store and move to my left toward the notebooks. My latest notebook is already filled and I need to replace it. I pass by the candy and soda, as much as I can use both, and stand in front of college-ruled, wide-ruled, and composition style notebooks. I prefer the spiral bound because it’s easier to flip over to a new page and nestle it in my lap as I write. I’m trying new things, though, right? So I should opt for the composition style. And I do. I grab a purple and white flecked notebook off the shelf and turn to go back to the checkout. As I pass the junk food again, I give into my craving and snag a twelve-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew and a bag of Sour Patch Kids.
“Planning on being up all night?”
Jesse stands behind the counter, his hair pulled back in a pony tail, slicked back with every strand in place. A smile beams across his face. I place my items on the counter.
“You work here?”
He pulls at the name tag on his shirt. “Oh! Is that what this tag is for? Why I guess I do work here.”
I lean against the counter and when I do, I can smell him. Something about his scent relaxes me. “Why are you so sarcastic all the time?”
“Why are you so serious all the time?”
“Fair enough.” Sarcasm has never been something I’ve excelled in. I prefer it straight forward, no strings attached. Just tell me like it is. Jesse wears sarcasm well, though, and he makes me smile.
“So, are you anticipating a late night?”
“It’s only three o’clock.”
“Yes, but with that soda and candy, you’ll be on quite the sugar high.”
“This?” I pick up the Sour Patch Kids and toss them back onto the counter. “Trust me. This and a small Mountain Dew will not keep me up. This is my dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, dinner. I’m writing and plan on locking myself in my room all night. Well, not all night, but through dinner. I’ll probably head to bed around nine.”
“Nine?” He cracks a laugh. “Nine?” He follows this up with a hearty laugh.
“Yes, nine. Not all of us can stay up all hours of the night. Or want to stay up for that matter.” Night owl I am not. It’s not like me at all to make it much past ten. I need my sleep. Besides, the sooner I am asleep, the longer I can avoid Olivia.
“Not me. I don’t need sleep.”
“Everyone needs sleep.”
“Not me.” He pulls at the hem of his shirt and it tightens against his chest. His muscles…so many muscles.
“Are you saying you don’t sleep at all? Are you like a zombie or a vampire or something?”
“Vampires sleep. Didn’t you read Twilight?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny that.” For the record, I did, and I also enjoyed it. Can you honestly tell me dark and brooding Edward isn’t handsome? Besides, Bella was an outsider, different from everyone. I can relate to that. I like books I can relate to. “Wait. Did you?” How does he know about vampires and Twilight unless he read the book or saw the movies?
His eyes sparkle and he smiles widely. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I did. And I’ve seen all the movies.” He holds two fingers up. “Twice.”
I don’t tell him I have, too. And not twice. More than twice. Over three times. Probably too many times. “Interesting.” I nod as I smile.
“Haven’t you seen them?”
“Again, I’m not saying.”
“Why? I admitted I like the series. Me. A dude. All women like Twilight. That and Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“You sure know how to clump us all into a group of vampire-BDSM-loving Mountain Dew-drinking people.”
“You added the Mountain Dew.”
I did. Does that mean I’ve admitted to my guilty pleasure? Do I want him to know I pig out on junk food and binge watch Twilight? I’ve worn out my copies of the books, the pages curled, the cover showing signs of wear. I don’t know why I can’t seem to admit this to him. I think I like keeping him guessing.
I hold my hand over my heart. “I fully admit to drinking Mountain Dew. In fact, I drink it so much, I probably should be their paid spokesperson. That is all that I, Violet Duncan, will admit to.”
He slides his elbows against the counter and pushes his fist into his face as he sighs. “I don’t know why you won’t take ownership that you love Twilight. Are you an Edward or a Jacob fan?” He stands up straight and crosses his arms, moving from around the counter. Before I know it he’s standing next to me, and I can feel his breath on my face. He’s interrogating me.
“Tell me, Violet, what class does Bella have second period? Alice stole a car in Italy. What kind was it? What did Jacob give Bella for graduation? How does Bella describe the smell of blood?”
He circles me, asking me more and more questions, deeper into the saga each time. He’s trying to crack me, and I wonder if he can hear my heart racing as he asks more. Sweat beads on the back of my neck, and I’m thankful for my long hair so he can’t see it. He will not win this one. I’ve got this.
“You’re really not going to admit it, are you?” He makes his way back to his post behind the counter. “Here,” he pulls a sheet of paper out from under the counter. “Write down how many times you’ve read the series.”
He’s not giving this up. I kind of love it. He knows the truth. He realizes I’ve seen it, read it, memorized it, yet he’s making it seem like he doesn’t know. Like he wants me to tell him. He’s so spectacular and sarcastic and fun. I take the pen from his hand and think about this. I promised myself a fresh start. There have only been two times I’ve spoken with Jesse, but he hasn’t shied away from me or insulted me. Here’s my opportunity. I can’t let it slip away.
I write down a number and hand it back to him.
“What’s this?” He asks as he folds it in half and shoves it in his pocket, indicating he knows exactly what it is.
“My phone number,” I say. “Call me sometime.”
I can’t believe how unorganized I am. I’ve been here a few weeks now and I can’t seem to find a process that works well for me. With only a closet, my bed, and a desk, it should be easy, but I’m struggling to make sense of it all. I don’t like too much clutter on my desk but where am I supposed to go with all of it? I’ve spent the better part of my afternoon on Pinterest searching for organization ideas for dorm rooms. I don’t know where people come up with this stuff. My dorm room sure doesn’t look like anything I’m seeing on there. Where do people come up with the money to make these things? Honestly, it’d be cheaper just to buy these items in the store. The best thing I can come up with to add is a cork board. It’ll save a little space, I guess.
Olivia hasn’t been around much today. I came back from the store and she and Alex were snuggling on her bed. Once I came into the room, they left. He’s here so often I wonder if he even goes to school. I know he’s not too far away from here, but how does he have so much time to be here?
My stomach tells me it’s almost time to eat. I downed the Mountain Dew and Sour Patch Kids the second Olivia left the room. Stress eating. Now I don’t know what I’m in the mood for. The only thing I am sure of is that I need food in my belly sooner than later. I stack my papers on the top of my desk and shove the pens sitting out in the drawer. I can finish this after I eat. When I go to grab my dorm room keys off my night stand, my cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number at all. Should I even answer it? I hate telemarketing calls. Chances are, that’s what it is.
My mom would tell me I’m being rude by not answering the phone. She would say someone took the time to dial the phone so I should take the time to answer it. It’s funny coming from her seeing as she spends most of her time texting instead of calling people. I guess my mom goes more by the do as I say not as I do. Even though I am 90% sure I am about to pick up a call with somebody claiming I’ve won an all expenses paid vacation or that I need to switch my credit card, I hit the accept button on my phone. “Hello?”
I expect to hear static before a recorded voice talks. Even the telemarketers these days won’t even start a conversation until they determine they have a live person on the phone. Sometimes even then, it’s still a robot the entire call.
“Violet. It’s Jesse.”
I trip over my own feet and almost slam into the door. I gave him my number no less than two hours ago. He can’t be calling me already, can he?
“Jesse, hi. I wasn’t expecting your call.”
“You weren’t? You gave me your phone number. Do you normally give your phone number to people you don’t want to call you?”
I’m off to a shaky start already. “No. That’s not what I meant. I mean, isn’t there like a two or three-day rule before you call someone?” I’ve never given someone my phone number before, especially not a boy, but I always thought there was some sort of protocol to follow for this stuff. I make a mental note to ask Janna about it. She’s the expert. Not me.
“I don’t follow any dumb rules like that. If an attractive woman wants to give me her phone number and asks me to call her, I’m going to do it.”
Did he call me attractive? There’s no way I heard him correctly. I can’t ask him to repeat it. Besides, what if I ask him to and that’s not even close to what he said? I’ll pretend he didn’t use the word, or any word, at all.
I don’t know what to say next. He’s the one who called me. He should have discussion points ready. I sit down on my bed and wait for him to say something. Anything, because I hadn’t a clue what to do next.
“Are you busy right now?”
My stomach spins. Does he want to see me? I contemplate my answer. If I tell him no, he may think I normally sit in my dorm room alone. That’s not a completely far fetched assumption, though. Telling him yes could mean he’s not going to say what I think, hope, he will say.
“I’m starving. I was about to get some food.”
“Me, too,” he says. “Care for some company?”
I place my hand over my eyes as a shy smile floats across my face. Is this really happening? “Um...yeah...sure.” That sounds like I don’t want him to come. “I mean, if you’re about to eat, and I’m about to eat, I guess we might as well do it together.”
Do it together. What am I saying here? I’m making a damn fool out of myself is what I’m doing.
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes, and I’ll bring something to eat.”
He’s coming over? Now? And bringing me food? “Okay.” What else can I say? Olivia isn’t here so I don’t need to worry about her. Besides, if she comes back to the room, what is she really going to do with Jesse there? Nothing.
And fifteen minutes later, he’s not a second late as he pops through my door with two bowls of ramen noodles, a beaming smile, and looking as slick as ever with his hair tied back tightly.
“Come on in,” I invite him in, motioning toward the desk I’ve cleaned off for us. I took everything off the top and shoved it either under my bed or into the closet so we could have a space to eat. He sets the bowls down and slides my chair out for me.
“Where will you sit?”
He steals a chair from Olivia’s desk, pinching my gut and twisting it into a maze. If she were to walk in right now and see he took something from her side of the room, I’d never hear the end of it. I don’t say anything, though. I can’t. What will he think of me if I’m afraid of his sister? How silly is that?
“Thanks for the ramen noodles. I haven’t had enough of these in the past few days.” The typical college diet on a typical college budget.
“But this isn’t chicken. This is shrimp.”
“Ah, and quality shrimp at that.” I take a bite with a tad bit of caution. Do I trust microwaveable seafood even if it’s only flavored that way? College students have been eating this for years. At just less than a quarter a package, it’s more than affordable, so we make it work.
“Maybe one day I’ll take you out for a real seafood dinner.”
I stop mid-chew when he suggests this. Is he planning a date for the two of us? No. Never. Not me. I’m not the kind of girl anyone dates. Jesse is much too good looking to be out in public with someone like me. People would look at us and wonder how that even happened.
“What are you thinking about?”
Have I been silent that long? I need to think of something, fast, that isn’t related to my jumbo butt and cottage cheese legs. Guys don’t want to hear about that kind of stuff.
“Tacos.”
Tacos? Did I just say tacos? Great job, Violet.
“Tacos? What about them?”
“Um, I really like tacos. They’re like my favorite. The hard shell filled with beef, lettuce, cheese, tomato, guacamole, cilantro, onion. All of it. What’s your favorite?” I think I saved myself. I mean, I didn’t come off as a complete idiot. Only half of one.
He smiles. “Tacos are good. I’m a seafood fan myself. Do you know what else I am?”
I can’t imagine what he’ll say now. He’s been full of surprises, and I’m never quite sure what will come out of his mouth.
“What are you?”
He glances around the room as he holds up a finger. “Where’s your laptop?”
“My laptop? What do you need that for?” Even though I ask, I get up from the table and retrieve my laptop, handing it over to him.
I wait as he opens it, hops onto a web browser, and navigates to Netflix. Using his information, he logs on, and clicks on Favorites. “How else are we going to have a Twilight viewing party?”
“Are you being serious right now?” He won’t give this up.
“Yes. I am. Maybe you should admit you love it.”
“If I admit it, will you drop it?”
“Sure, but we’ll still lie on your bed and watch it together.”
“Fine.” If he wants to watch together, I’m not going to fight it. “We can only watch the first two at most. I have class in the morning.”
He smiles at me, hits play, and takes my hand as we meet on the bed together. “That’s fine. As long as I’ve gotten you to admit you like it.”
I haven’t said the words out loud, but I’ve given in.