Chapter Seventeen
Aveline
“I’M SORRY. I shouldn’t have left you.” Ricky texted.
Followed by, “Can we talk? I’d like to apologize.”
I wanted to respond to his messages. My fingers hovered over the screen on my phone, ready to follow my instinct to forgive and forget. But something in my gut held me back. Self-preservation took over and engulfed me.
“Okay, no response. See you in class?”
I contemplated skipping class. Like I somehow knew seeing him in person would shatter my resolve. Instead, I went to the top row of the auditorium, a place where few students sat. I imagined no one wanted the distance from Dr. Redmond. Her lectures kept students on the edge of their seats, but today even the lure of Dr. Redmond couldn’t stop me from hiding. Today, my embarrassment won.
Slinking into the seat, I opened my laptop and focused on reading through my class notes, drowning out the sounds of classmates settling in all around me. The lull of the muffled voices relaxed my nerves. I focused on my studies and not the rolls and waves of my stomach.
Without looking up, I immediately knew he was in the classroom. My body heat rose, and I licked my lips. Even after he hurt me badly, I couldn’t ignore the visceral reaction he caused in my body. I glanced up over the screen, my heart pounding as my vision locked on him. He stood at the base of the stairs, next to row one, seat one, my original favorite chair.
Clad in his usual jeans, t-shirt, black leather jacket, and boots, he grasped his backpack in one tightly fisted hand. His knuckles were white from the tension in his grasp. His jaw was taut, angled out and clenching. His eyes narrowed into slits as he scanned the auditorium. Finally, after searching row by row, he spotted me. The hard look in his eyes eased, but his lips remained pressed into a flat line. He trudged up the stairs before standing next to me, peering down.
He rubbed at his jaw with his free hand, almost as if he was willing it to soften. “May I sit next to you?” His voice was rough and raw.
Shrugging, I moved my knees to the side to allow him to pass by.
He settled into his seat, taking out his notebook and pen before turning to me. “Talk to me, Aveline. Let me apologize.” His eyes were wide and pleading, his tone defeated.
I shook my head, tearing my gaze away from his face. Looking at him caused physical pain behind my eyes. His handsome, rugged face showing this level of emotion was tough to process.
“Good morning, class. I hope you all enjoyed your weekend. Let’s get started.” Dr. Redmond stood in front of the lectern, sporting her usual pantsuit, this time in a deep red color. “This is one of my favorite topics to discuss. We’ll be producing a major project from this material for the remainder of the semester. Today we begin our study of social class and its effect on personality. Michener is our best renowned source for this study. Our readings and focus will involve his research findings and principles.”
Dr. Redmond moved away from her notes, walking along the length of the stage. “To simplify it, I call this our study of class warfare. Ladies and gentlemen, we are exposed to the issue of class every day of our lives. It’s focused on in the media, it impacts advertising and our consumer habits. Truly, there isn’t a facet of our lives not affected by the class of society that we define ourselves with. Class impacts every decision we make, and it is the context in which we shape ourselves. As time passes by, the gulf between the rich and the poor only seems to widen.”
I tensed, the reality of how different my lifestyle was from Ricky’s shone like a beacon of light between our seats.
Dr. Redmond clicked a pointer and the screen behind her illustrated a sheet of notes. She handed papers to several students in the front row and the stacks were passed around the room. “For this project that will comprise fifty percent of your final grade, you will study a person from a different class.”
Murmurs picked up as students whispered amongst themselves. “Look,” Dr. Redmond held up her hands. “This is not comfortable. I get it. You have to openly ask someone: ‘What class do you identify yourself as? Working class? Lower middle? Middle? Upper middle? Upper class?’ None of this is easy or simple. It’s the entire point of the project. There are huge differences in class that I want you to discover.
I would like you to visit one another’s homes. You will ask each other tough questions. How many friends do you have? How much support do you get from family? Explore health. When you or a family member are sick or injured, how do you get help? From family? From the government? Explore familial occupations. The idea that occupations are the source of income or lack thereof cements class status; you need to explore this and explain your point of view. You will learn consumer habits, stereotypes, and their prejudices. You will know this person inside and out.”
Dr. Redmond sauntered back to her podium, placing her hands on both sides. “Your project is to describe from your findings how social class effects personality.’” She clicked to a new slide. “I’ll give you the rest of today’s class time to mingle and chat. Find the person in the room as different as possible from you. Be open. Be brave. Be ready to learn as much about yourself as you do about them.”
She gathered her papers into her arms, leaning her face closer to the microphone. “This is one project you will remember the rest of your life.”
With that she exited the stage and the dull murmurs escalated into loud, excited shouts. People stood scanning the room, eager to assess classmates and begin the process of finding a partner.
I closed my laptop, packing my bag and preparing to join the melee.
“Aveline?” Ricky angled in his chair to face me. “Work with me on this project. I’m the definition of working class poor. I get the strong feeling that upper class might be an understatement for you. We are as different as night and day. Let’s do this together.”
“No,” I breathed. I couldn’t handle the proximity to him. I couldn’t stave the agony of embarrassment every time I was around him, knowing I had tried to be brave and put my heart on the line only to be shut down and abandoned. No, my heart couldn’t handle it.
A student approached our row, empty save for our two seats, a small, hopeful smile on his face. Ricky looked over his shoulder, and up into the young man’s face. “No,” he barked, and the guy’s eyes widened before he turned to hurry down the stairs.
“Ricky!” My voice was squeaky, and I stood to catch the guy. I could be partners with anyone in this room but Ricky. “Wait!” I called out, but the guy was gone. I’d heard Ricky say no, but I hadn’t seen his face. If Ricky had an angry scowl on it like I supposed he did, no one would be brave enough to come back up here.
His big warm hand clasped mine. “Please. Give me a chance to explain. To apologize. Let’s do this project together and hopefully end up understanding each other better.” His eyes were bright and pleading, his lips curved into a tentative crooked grin.
“I want to know you better, but more than that, I want you to know me. I’ve never asked anyone to get to know me before, but I’m asking you. I think if we take this time and find a way to understand where we come from and who our families are, each of us will end up stronger in the end. Please. Say yes.” His grip on my hand tightened and his eyes searched mine as he waited for my response.
Every cell in my body screamed no. Not to agree. To stay smart. Stay protected. Stay safe. But my heart. My heart whispered yes. That in the end, if my heart would be stronger, then working with Ricky was worth any pain that I met along the way.
“Okay.” I swallowed hard, my mouth dry and gravelly. “I’ll be your partner.”
Ricky blew out a breath, his eyes closing for a second. He opened them, relief taking over his. He nodded. Determination gleamed in his eyes and he squeezed my hand once before letting it go. “Thank you, Aveline. Thank you.”
* * *
RICKY FOLLOWED BEHIND me as I walked to my car. My stomach flipped and turned with each step I took. I wanted to speak to him. I wanted to ask why he left me in Manny’s. Why he couldn’t be with me the way I’d hoped. Why he sat next to me in class. And why he begged to be partners.
I ignored my desires and willed my stomach to settle. Instead, I focused on each step forward. With each breath I took, I grew stronger. I had to protect my heart—a heart that had never experienced romantic love before and I now knew would never with the man behind me. I wanted to experience some of life with Ricky, that much was true. But I would not allow myself to get hurt again. We could complete our project and I’d move on. To another class, a job, or the same monotony of my life. No matter the path I chose, the one promise I repeated in my mind and heart was that it would not include Ricky Martinez.