{Emma}

It’s pretty crowded in the bar for a Saturday night. Friday is usually the party night. Saturday, and most of the time Sunday, is spent recovering and doing the homework being put off until the last minute. At least it is with me.

Kayla, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. She won’t even go out until she’s not only done this week’s homework, she’s also got a jump start on next week’s.

Which is why we didn’t arrive until almost ten. She wanted to finish a paper not due until break. I haven’t even started my Java midterm and it’s due before her paper. I’ve still got time. And, I’ve got an ace in my hole—Ryan. For whatever reason, I glance around, hoping to see him, though I’m not sure why. His running buddies wanted to go out for a beer. I didn’t think running buddies drank, beer or otherwise. Then again, Ryan is in college. Drinking should be a core class. It’d be the one class every college student aces.

The fact he’s got buddies has me more than a little suspicious. He’s never mentioned them. Granted, I’ve only known him a couple days. I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about him. That doesn’t make me any less suspicious.

“Do you want to get a table? Or a booth?” Although Kayla asks, she’s already heading for a booth. She rarely asks a question she doesn’t already know the answer to. Watch out if she ever meets someone who makes her question herself. My mind jumps to Jake Swanson. He makes her crazy, makes her do questionable things—like sleep with him and expect him to respect her in the morning. Jake isn’t the kind of guy to stick around after he gets what he wants. He’s more of the bang and bolt type.

I think of Ryan and smile. He’s not the bang and bolt type. Just having him pretend to be a Delta dick gave him hives. The way I reacted—it pissed me off, I’m not going to lie—had him ready to cry. Nope, that’s definitely not the way a player acts. I hated the way it made me feel like I didn’t matter, like I was just a piece of meat. To a true player, that’s all I am. To Ryan, I’m more.

I don’t like the way Kayla’s eyeing me, like she’s waiting for me to come clean on some big secret. Instead of opening that door, I ask, “How’s Jake?”

“Oh, no you don’t. We didn’t come here to talk about me and Jake. Besides, there’s nothing to talk about. I gave up a night of studying to talk about you and this little project you’ve got going.”

“His name is Ryan.” I hate that she calls him my little project. It’s not any better than Britt’s Project Em’s Way title.

“I know his name. I know who he is. He works at one of the computer labs and seems like a nice enough guy. Definitely not your type.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Thank God our drinks arrive before Kayla replies. I take several gulps, consuming half my maraschino martini before nodding at the wide-eyed waitress. “I’m going to need another one.”

“You’re going to need a designated driver if you keep drinking like that,” she retorts.

Kayla offers, “I’ve got this. Get her another one, me a Diet Coke, and a basket of fries.”

“Sweet potato fries,” I jump in. When Kayla looks at me, I recall Ryan’s explanation over yesterday’s breakfast. After he explained a white carb, I went back to my dorm and threw out all the processed shit Britt and I keep on our shelves. She’s going to be pissed when she gets done blowing through her latest heartbreak. Mike? Mark? Mack? It doesn’t matter. He won’t be around long enough for me to learn his name. “Nothing white. White carbs are nothing but processed crap stripped of any nutritional value. It just turns to sugar, like I need any help with that.” I lick cherry syrup from my lips.

The waitress nods and disappears into the sea of college students letting loose on a Saturday night. Kayla is staring at me with wide eyes. I shrink back. “What?”

“When did you become such a health food expert?”

“I hardly think knowing the difference between white and sweet potatoes earns me the title of expert.”

“This from the same person who only eats deep-fried food at the diner.”

“That’s not true. I get the kitchen sink omelet sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why this one, Emma? What makes this one so different?”

I stop mid-sip and blink at her. It’s the very question I’ve been asking myself since spotting Ryan in the bar Thursday night. Still, I can’t just come out and admit as much. “Why this one what?”

“He’s not the type you typically go for.”

I’m immediately offended. “How do you know the type I typically go for?”

“I know.” She lifts her eyebrows. I hate that look. It’s are-you-shitting-me combined with I’m-not-an-idiot, all topped with a sprinkle of I’m-very-disappointed-in-you to really drive in that dagger of guilt. “Emma, how long have we been friends?”

“Since I came to BU.” I play with the cherry in my drink, focusing on it instead of Kayla’s judgmental eyes. I already know what she’s going to say. That I don’t know what I’m doing. That I’m playing a dangerous game. That I’m never going to find happiness looking for guys I already hate. “Don’t lecture me on everything I’m doing wrong. I already get that enough with Britt.”

She grabs my hands, nearly spilling my drink. I save it in the nick of time and drain it just in case she tries something like that again. She’s still got a hold of one of my hands as she says, “Don’t let him break your heart.”

Swallowing the burn in my throat, both from the vodka and the comment, I regard her. How’s she know exactly what to say? I’ve been trying to figure it out for two days. I barely talk to her about Ryan for two minutes and she already knows why I’m losing my shit. “What makes you think he’ll break my heart?”

“Because he’s exactly what you need.”

I refuse to believe that. Ryan isn’t anything close to what I need. I’m not really sure what I need, in all honesty, but I know it’s not a nerd in shining armor. “What’s that exactly?”

Kayla smiles that knowing smile. On any other occasion, I love it. Since it’s directed at me right now, I hate it. “He’s the opposite of the guys you like. You usually go for the hot guys, the ones who look great on the outside. After you see past his good looks and get to know the real person inside, you discover how messed up he really is. It’s the story of your life.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m immediately pissed and ready to walk out. She drove, which means I’d have to walk home. I could call Ryan for a ride on the Vespa, but don’t want to break up his guys’ night. Instead, I glare at the person sitting across the table, the person I thought was my friend.

“Ryan’s issues are only cosmetic. He’s a good person on the inside. You focus too much on the surface.”

“Are you saying I’m shallow?” Now I am ready to call Ryan and bust up his guys’ night for a ride home. I grab my purse.

“You’re not hearing me.”

“Oh, I hear you just fine.” I scoot to the end of the bench seat. “I came here tonight to talk to you about what’s going on with me, not get a lecture about how I only care about appearances.”

“I never said you only care about appearances. I said you focus too much on the surface.”

“What’s that even mean?” I hesitate with one foot on the floor. If she says one more insult, I’m gone.

“Stop looking at everyone like there’s something wrong with them, like they all have something that needs to be fixed. Not everyone is broken.”

“I guess not. Only me.” I swallow a tightness in my throat that causes my eyes to burn. That does it. I’m through having friends who constantly put me down for my life choices. As I storm off, her comment stops me in my tracks.

“Fixing them won’t fix you, Emma. Ryan is a good guy. Deep down you know that. You don’t want him to change. You want him to change you.”

My breathing comes in shallow gasps as the realization sinks in. It can’t be true. It just can’t. There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need fixing. I’m not the nerd begging to be turned into a player. I whip around to drive home my point, even though I’m not sure what it is. “Why would I want him to change me?”

“That’s the bigger question, isn’t it?”

I hate that answer. It’s not an answer at all. It’s a cop out. I don’t know how to respond, so I stand there, debating whether to walk away and damage our relationship, or sit down and find something else to talk about. The waitress appears with the sweet potato fries and drinks. The draw of another maraschino martini pulls me back to the booth. I scoot in and force a smile until the waitress disappears.

“I don’t want him to change me,” I mutter as I dig into the sweet potato fries. They’re sweet, better than I expected, and don’t need anything to dip them in. “I’m fine with who I turned out to be despite everything.”

She picks up on something and leans in. “Despite what?”

I gulp at my drink. The vodka has already hit me from the first one, relaxing my thoughts and lowering my guard. “Growing up without a dad sucks. I did okay.” I take another long drink and sigh, letting the alcohol seep into my brain. What little filter I have—if any—is completely gone. “It’s not like changing me will change the fact I wasn’t enough for him to want to stick around. That ship has sailed. He’s got a tidy little replacement family now.”

I swallow the rest of my drink and cringe at the burn. My vision blurs a bit. I dig into the fries to soak up the alcohol and to stop myself from talking. It’s like I have diarrhea of the mouth.

Kayla plays with her straw. “You aren’t the reason he left, Emma.”

“I was a pretty big reason.” I laugh bitterly and try not to think about that day. He never looked back. Why should I? With a shake of my head to close the subject, I push the sweet potatoes away. “Let’s get a pizza, a bottle of cheap wine, and go to your apartment to binge watch something on Netflix.”

“Now you’re talking.” She smiles.

“No sneaking in any studying.”

She loses her smile, which draws out mine.