Changing Tunes (4 page)

I wake to the smell of bacon. My stomach grumbles, the smell overpowering enough to nudge my ass out of bed. I tumble out and decide to make a trip to the restroom and shower. My head is at a dull ache; just enough for me to feel it as I wonder what kind of conversation is in store for me this morning with Mac. I shower quickly, throwing my hair up in a clip, and slip back into my room to get dressed and put some mascara on. I don’t like anybody seeing me without it. Call it my security blanket; although, I’m sure others consider it vanity. I finish getting ready and take tentative steps out of my room, heading into the kitchen. Mac is leaning over a frying pan and I hear the sizzle and pop of the bacon. I’m not sure how this works. This is our first morning waking up in the apartment together. Am I allowed to have some bacon, or is this her food? I feel silly for even pondering this, but I certainly can’t just walk over and take some. Can I?

As if hearing my thoughts, Mac pipes up, scaring the shit out of me and I jump. Not only do I jump, but I squeak like a damn mouse, too. “Are you hungry?” She asks in her perky and happy voice, still concentrating on cooking the bacon and not turning around.

How in the hell did she know I was in here?

“Um, yeah,” I say tentatively. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. I made plenty. You are always welcome to eat whatever I make.”

“Thank you,” I say, gratefully.

She doesn’t acknowledge my words, instead tells me to take a seat at the table. As if sensing my hunger, she piles my plate high with bacon and eggs and sets it in front of me. “Eat,” She instructs.

That’s exactly what I do. Mac takes a seat beside me, and we eat in silence until I can’t take the quiet anymore, especially after last night. It’s a big fat elephant in the middle of the room, and it’s bugging the shit out of me. I stop eating and look up at Mac, “About last night…”

Mac cuts in before I can say anything further, “What about last night? It’s all good, Ash; no worries.”

Okay, I totally noticed she’s not upset I left her last night, but honestly, I’m more focused on the fact Mac just gave me a nickname! I’ve never had anyone call me Ash. You would think it’s a logical option for a nickname, but nobody ever went there. What does that say about me? It feels strange, but kind of nice. I don’t react to it, just let it breeze by. Mac continues the conversation, oblivious to what has just passed between us. “What classes are you taking first?”

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of say in my class schedule; that was all my father’s doing. “I’m taking Chemistry, Applied Statistics, an English class and a Beyond History class.” I glance up and notice Mac staring at me open mouthed.

“What?” she blurts. “You must be smart or something…I’m sorry, that came out rude, but wow.” She looks at me in amazement.
Trust me, I am anything but amazing.

I snort, which my father would have had a fucking field day with, as I get up to rinse my plate and put it in the dishwasher. “Um no, Mac,
Daddy
wants me to be ‘well rounded’,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice and using air quotes when I say well rounded. Personally, I don’t understand the logic behind his choice of classes. All I can figure is that in addition to being ‘well rounded’ he wants me kept busy, and—let’s not forget—bored. Very, very bored. As if I would get into trouble. Briefly, my mind wonders to a time, not too long ago, when I did get into some trouble and I inwardly cringe at the memory.

Mac brings me back to the present when she asks, “So you didn’t get to choose your classes? What about your major? Surely, you get to choose what you want to do for the rest of your life?”

I turn to her, pinning her with a death glare. This is a sore subject for me; one that pisses me off every time I think about it.  It makes my blood boil. “No Mac, I don’t
get
to choose my major. I have one all picked out for me, nicely tied with a bow. One that will ensure I follow in my father’s footsteps. Unfortunately, we don’t all get the luxury of choice, you know.”

Mac throws her hands up in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised.”

I grab my purse, slide my flip-flops on, desperate for an escape. “Don’t worry about it,” I throw over my shoulder as I head towards the door.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t breathe in here. I just know I need an escape from my current thoughts.  I can’t keep thinking about college plans, or class choices I had nothing to do with determining. I walk out the door, briefly leaning against it and closing my eyes. This has always been my life. Do what you’re told and don’t ask questions. A life I’ve never had any say in. 

Taking a calming breath and getting myself back under control; I open my eyes, straighten my shoulders and take off down the hall. Up ahead I spot Austin coming out of his apartment. Remembering him being bitched out yesterday puts a little smile on my face, making me feel a tad bit better. Someone else’s misery and all…

Austin spots me and his face gets a hint of pink to it
.

Good to know he’s embarrassed about it, if nothing else.

“Sorry about yesterday,” he mumbles.

Not one to make things easy for people I say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Sighing and looking the other way before looking back at me he says, “I’m sorry for yesterday.”

Again, not making it easy for him
.

“For which part, Austin? Having a girlfriend, or for your girlfriend bitching me out?”

“You aren’t going to make this easy for me are you?”

“Hell no!” I say honestly, a hand on my hip.

“Both.”

On impulse, I reach my hand out and he looks at it strangely, quirking his eyebrow. “Well, normally, when one puts her out hand out, you shake it, Austin.” He latches onto my hand, pump it once as I say, “I will be your friend, but please don’t hit on me again, especially since you have a girlfriend.”

He smiles a sexy grin, which I’ve determined is just him. He can’t help the grin, and I don’t doubt this boy will always have girl drama. Dropping my hand he says, “Wow, you’re kinda cool, for a girl.”

“Thanks, I think…”

Austin lightly chuckles and says, “Well most girls wouldn’t have forgiven so easily. They either would have pretended I didn’t exist, or they wouldn’t have given a damn whether I had a girlfriend or not, and jumped my bones right there on the spot.”

He’s honest; I’ll give him that.

“I’m not most girls, Austin.” I begin to turn around, but stop suddenly and swing back smirking as I say, “I’ll see you around, Austin.” I wink giving him my best smile and turn away, swishing my hips all the while.

I don’t wait for a response; I just leave. I like getting the last word in. Am I bitch? Yeah, probably. I have no doubt I made him want me just a little more; just like I have no doubt he’s watching my ass as I saunter away and out the door.

I don’t have any direction in mind; I just walk. Before I know it, I’ve reached the campus library. I walk in, thinking it’ll be a ghost town. Surely no one will be in here yet; school doesn’t start until Monday. I see small clusters of people here and there; not the solitude I was hoping for. I’m still not alone enough. Doesn’t that seem like a strange thing to want? I want nothing more than to be by myself, lost in my own thoughts, with nobody—especially not my father—dictating my life. I decide to scour the aisles, look for a book and find a corner to just be. Maybe indulge in some scandalously sexy book my father would totally disapprove of.

I keep watch of my surroundings as I make my way to the romance section, taking note of the different groups of people along the way. Oddly enough, it’s a bit different from the groups at high school. Here, people are just together and it doesn’t seem as cliquish.

I reach my destination and spot exactly what I’m looking for—something that makes me think of my mother. I gingerly run my fingers along the spine of the book I’ve settled on, and for a brief moment I’m taken back to when I was a little girl. I remember her beautiful face and smile. I remember sitting on my mother’s lap as she read a Jude Deveraux historical romance novel. I close my eyes, trying desperately to recall every detail. I’m caught up in the desperation of remembering, and before I know it, I’m sliding down the bookcase until I’m sitting on the floor, my knees pulled up and the book clutched tightly to my chest. I remember asking my mother what the book was about, and her smiling with a twinkle in her eyes. Instead of ignoring me and telling me it wasn’t a story for a little girl, she told me tales; tales of pirates, and of handsome, stately knights. She would weave her story so perfectly that I would think of nothing else, hoping to one day meet a knight that would sweep me off my feet. I can almost smell her hair, the hair that mirrors mine, and smelled faintly of strawberries. I would burrow in her arms and she would hold me tight, wrapping her arms around me.

I force myself to give up the past and open my eyes. Who am I kidding? There are no knights on white horses; they don’t exist. There certainly aren’t any happily ever afters; I’m a prime example of that. She left me, and I wasn’t worth taking with her, obviously.

I shake my head to clear it, as if doing so will delete all the memories from my mind, scramble to my feet and begin walking. I turn the corner and bounce off of a chest—a hard one, at that.

Before I look up, I snap, “Watch where you’re going, would you?”

“Me? What about you? I’m not the one who had her head down, not watching where she was going!”

I’m ready to tear this male voice a new ass hole when I finally look up, and I’m captivated by a pair of dark chocolate-brown eyes. Being the girl that I am, though, I don’t let those eyes get to me.

“Are you for real? You were flying around the corner in a hurry!”

Apparently, he finds my reaction entertaining, his lips quirking up at me. It pisses me off, but I notice those lips, as well as the fantastic dark brown eyes twinkling with mischief. That’s when I notice the rest of his face. He’s wearing glasses one would think screamed geek, but they don’t. He’s got dark brown hair that’s curled around his ears with a lock of it hanging down, almost to his eyes. A strong jaw most models would kill for, and he’s tall; so tall, I realize I’m looking up, not straight at eye level. That rarely happens.

Shaking me from my perusal he says, “I wasn’t
flying
, as you say. I was merely walking, minding my own business when this girl, who wasn’t paying attention because she had her nose stuck in a romance book with some scantily dressed guy on the cover, careened into me.”

My face begins to heat, and not just because he noticed the book I’m holding. I have the oddest feeling he knows I was checking him out, and strangely enough, it embarrasses me. I don’t handle embarrassed well. It makes me bite back. Trust me, I’ve never claimed to be perfect.

“You guys are all the same. Why can’t you just say you’re sorry and let it be?” I spit out. I don’t wait for a response. I walk as quickly as I can out of the library and head back to the one place I can go; the apartment I share with a very chatty girl named Mac. A place I now call home.