Chapter 9
Morgan
I’m still smiling about my little joke an hour later. They all fall for it. It’s why I keep throwing it out there. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, like Tanya, the campus slut. My mother would be appalled, which is, of course, one of the reasons I do it.
I’m showered and may or may not be wearing my Sunday undies. Not that I’ll tell Nate, but I did put them on with him in mind.
I pack up my things for the library and head out the side door. Nate’s sitting on the stoop with a small paper bag in his hand.
“You’re early,” I say as I tap him on the back of the head.
“And you still haven’t learned to stop hitting.” Nate stands and stretches.
I can see the edge of his bright orange boxers and a strip of skin above them. I try not to look further down. I really do.
But by the time I told myself not to, I had already done it. I should feel like a perve—but I liked it. If he noticed, he doesn’t let on.
“Here.”
Nate holds out the bag and I take it. “What is it?”
“Look inside.”
I open it up and reach in to grab whatever is wrapped in the wax paper. I peel it back and my mouth starts to water. Rice Krispy treat. Yum.
“It’s still warm. Ya done good, Stevenson. Bonus points to you.” I take a huge bite and groan. So. Good.
“Thank you for this. Where’d you get it?” I don’t know of any place on campus that makes them.
Nate’s eying my treat like he’s going to snatch it from me. I quickly stuff the rest of it in my mouth. I’m not into sharing dessert.
“I made it.”
“You made it?” My mouth is full of food so it sounds more like oohmayuh? Luckily, Nate speaks gluttonese.
“Yes. A whole batch. I was hungry for something sweet and since you ran so far today I thought you deserved a treat.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet. Thank you. Where is the rest of the batch?” I ask because I’m fucking starving after the six miles of the hell Rebecca drug me through.
He looks off to the left and mumbles, “I ate them.”
“You ate them? All of them?”
Nate nods.
“Wow. Nate hungry. Nate real hungry,” I say in the deepest voice I can muster.
He smiles. “I’m a growing boy. But perhaps eating almost an entire batch of Rice Krispy treats wasn’t the healthiest of ideas.”
“Yeah, because that only leaves Morgan with one. You really should have more consideration for me.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” he says as he reaches out to tug on a strand of my hair.
His knuckles lightly touch the skin on my cheek. I’m suddenly very aware of his hands—his giant man hands—and the fact that they purposefully reached for me.
“Technically, I made them for you. Unfortunately, it was snack time for me.”
He steps off the stoop and I follow, trying to kill the butterflies attacking my insides over the fact that he made me a treat.
The meeting is at Dr. Fishel’s home. Two streets over is a row of houses, most of which are owned by college employees, including Fishel. It’s still on campus, but far enough away from the frats that they don’t get bothered by the noise.
We talk about the trip on the way over and why each of us signed up for it. I have a hard time keeping up with the conversation because I’m a tad obsessed with the fact that Nate said he had made the treats for me. Why would he do that? Is he really that nice?
Nate tells me he’s always wanted to visit Florence. It’s the birthplace of The Renaissance, which, of course, he knows everything about. He also tells me that during WWII, the Germans destroyed all the bridges in Florence, except one whose origins date back a thousand years.
Oh, Nate gives good academia. I’m starting to really look forward to the fact that I might have my own personal tour guide in Florence. I hope he likes museums as much as I do.
“So, you’re into art, but chose not to major in anything related to it? Persimmon has a decent Art History course of study,” he says.
“Yes, well, it’s not something I can make a living at, as my parents have told me a thousand times. Besides, sketching is more of a hobby, I guess.”
“Wait, you’re an artist?”
“Uh, no. I just like to draw. But drawing won’t pay bills, so I had to pick something else. I had no idea what to pick and waited until late sophomore year to declare. I picked based on the class I found easiest.”
I swallow, thinking how dumb that must sound to someone like Nate. “You probably think that’s stupid.”
“No, not at all. Most of us don’t really know what we want when we’re in our late teens or early twenties. I think it’s perfectly normal.”
I feel relief at his reassurance. I panicked and chose Sociology because I aced the intro course. It’s not exactly a great plan for life, focusing on what’s easiest. I figured I’d work a year or two and then try grad school once I knew for sure what I wanted to do.
We turn the corner and see a few students walking up ahead, close to Fishel’s home. One of them is in hot pants and teetering in heels. Really?
“For fuck’s sake. Those pants are so tight I can see her religion.”
“Shit, Morgan,” Nate hoots with laughter. “Your colloquialisms are the best. Seriously. Please keep talking.”
I punch him in the shoulder and it only makes him laugh harder. Who says words like colloquialism? I know what it means, but I don’t go around pulling it out of my ass when people use one.
I ignore Nate as we walk up the driveway. A note is taped to the front door that instructs us to go to the backyard.
Dr. Fishel has chairs set up, most of which are filled. I don’t know some of these students, but have seen them all around campus. My eyes quickly find hot pants girl, Maya Cook. She’s nice enough, but way too high maintenance for my tastes.
She’s a SIX, which is the sorority next door to mine. Two of her sorority sisters, Katelynn McKinney and Harper Lovell are here, too. They’re fun and I really like them both.
Also seated are Chad Pennington and Drew Williamson. Two guys from Nate’s fraternity that I’m good friends with. The outlook for this off-campus excursion is getting better and better.
Chad gets up and hugs me. “Hey, Morgan. I didn’t know you were going on this trip.”
“Right back at ya, Penny,” I say, using his nickname. Chad doesn’t let go, so I peak around his body and add, “Hey, Drew.”
“Hey, Morgan.”
Before we can make chitchat, Dr. Fishel calls our attention. I step out from Chad’s embrace and look at Nate to see where he’s going to sit. He’s frowning.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Right as rain, Morgan.”
He nudges me towards two empty chairs. We sit and listen to Dr. Fishel give an overview of the trip. We will fly in and out of Indianapolis. Some of the trip is rolled into our tuition and he gives estimates for what food and entertainment will cost. I’m going to have to get a credit card, just in case I get in a bind.
Fishel says he’ll have an itinerary printed up sometime around fall break. He also gives us a few handouts with the information he already went over, as well as some campus job openings for those of us that might need some help saving up cash.
Thankfully, the athletic center has a variety of jobs open and Coach Daniels deals with the student applicants. I took his tennis class last year and he likes me. I hope he’ll be able to help me out.
Fishel wraps it up and tells us we’re free to go. Nate and I stand and tell Chad and Drew goodbye. We’re going to the library, which is in the opposite direction that most of the other students are headed.
“Ohmygoodness! I can’t believe you’re on this trip, too, Nate!”
I cringe as Maya’s shrill voice invades my skull from close behind. She’s like a high-heeled ninja, sneaking up fast and silent. I have to fight my arms so that they don’t rudely cover my ears. Or choke her. Choking is bad, right?
Nate flinches, then schools his face before turning around to acknowledge Maya. I wonder how well they know each other.
Nate
“Hey, Maya,” I say as I turn around to greet the only girl on campus who wears heels daily.
“This is going to be so much fun. We should catch up soon and plan some things to do together in Italy. Are you headed back to Tau?”
I almost feel sorry for her. Some of my brothers nicknamed her Octopus because, when she’s drunk, she uses every appendage to attach herself to the closest male.
Once, when she was really wasted, she told me her mother only sent her here so that she could get her ‘MRS’ degree. I told her she needed to tell her mother it wasn’t the 1950s and then she started crying.
I felt like an ass and didn’t know how to handle girl tears. I’ve tried to keep my distance ever since, which isn’t easy since she’s also a History major and we have classes together.
I don’t get why Maya does half of what she does. She’s pretty and smart. Her mother shouldn’t make her feel like college is solely a means to land a man. She’s better than that.
“Actually, Morgan and I are headed to the library to study.”
Maya finally looks at Morgan. “Oh, hey.”
Morgan smiles. It’s not her normal smile. I can tell because it doesn’t reach her eyes. I’m so focused on her features that I don’t hear Maya say she’ll find me later and wobble away. What was she thinking wearing those shoes?
“That was a little ill-mannered, Nate. I thought men from Tennessee were gentlemen,” Morgan reprimands. But her eyes are twinkling again and I know it’s in jest.
“Sorry, not sorry. I had something better to look at.”
Morgan’s face turns red. “Oh, stop it.”
“Nope. Come on, Monday. The librarian has printed some stuff for us and I’m sure she’s chomping at the bit to help someone today.”
“Yeah, since she thinks the Internet took her job. Too bad most students don’t know shit about quality research.”
Smart girl.