Halfway Perfect (15 page)

October 13, 11:45 p.m.

“Why did I have to pay five bucks for my beer and you didn't?” Alex shouts into my ear as we elbow our way through the herd of students.

This frat house event is actually pretty cool. The music is amazing and live, which is better than the last party I attended.

“Because I have boobs and you don't,” I shout back to him. “Want to go outside?”

I can't hear his answer but I can see that he's following me, so we won't lose each other in the crowd. It's cold outside, but I'm already sweating after the first two acts—both groups who played lots of thrashing, jumping-up-and-down music.

“Feels good out here,” Alex says as the cool air hits us from the yard in front of the frat house.

Steph waves us over and we join her group of two guys and a girl who I think are also journalism students like her. I can't remember their names though.

“Okay, so,” Alex says, turning to me and taking a big drink from his cup. “What if I send you in there to get my next drink? Will it be free?”

“If she's getting two drinks,” Steph answers, “then no, ten bucks.”

“Sexist pigs,” Alex mutters under his breath and we all laugh.

One of the guys points at Alex's head and says, “Dude, Packers? Seriously?”

He rolls his eyes. “I lost a bet.”

“You live on campus?” the guy asks Alex. Steph and I both stare at Alex, having no clue what he should say in response.

“No, I'm not a student here,” he says smoothly. “I'm at Hunter College.”

“He lives in Jersey,” Steph chimes in.

“I see,” the guy says. “So you just come here to steal all the hot Ivy League girls who have spent their school years studying and are ready to unleash their sexual prowess on you.”

Alex smirks. “You got it, man.”

I let out a sigh of relief. He's good at this. It's almost like he wants to be this person tonight.

Forty-five minutes later, while Alex is in the middle of an animated discussion about the first band with Ben or Bill or Bob (can't remember his name), my roommate tips over and falls asleep in my lap. At least one of us kept up the crazy drunk plan for tonight.

“I'm impressed that her head didn't hit the table,” the guy with the B name says.

Alex leans around me to look at Stephanie. “Time to go?”

I push the hair off her face and pat her cheek gently. “Steph?”

When she doesn't respond, Alex laughs, stands up, and then says, “Yep, time to go. Want me to throw her over my shoulder?”

Steph ends up walking most of the way back to the dorm, but she leans on me the whole time, her eyes opening and closing. I get her onto her bed and pull her shoes off, then grab Alex's bag for him.

He tosses it over his shoulder and leans against the door frame before hooking an arm around my waist, tugging me closer. “So, what are you doing tomorrow?”

I feel myself smiling. I'm kind of done acting cool in front of him. “Probably some studying, some picture taking, some running with my 5K team.”

His eyebrows lift. “Running? Let's do that. What time should I be here?”

Many different comebacks and smartass remarks surface about him not being invited or him being a little too eager, but none of them leave my mouth because they're all things you say when you don't want someone to know how you really feel. “We meet at ten.”

“I'll be back at ten, then.” He smiles then brings my face closer so he can kiss me again.

Kissing Alex is like getting the chance to be a kid again. It's light and uncomplicated and exhilarating and completely consuming in a way that isn't even a little bit scary. All I can feel are his lips on mine and his hands touching my cheeks and my neck and my hair and my body leaning against his. The way his legs shift to fit one of mine between them and the way our feet line up…if we were a picture, I'd never be able to decide which half to show.

His eyes are still closed when he whispers, “I should probably go.”

I give him one more quick kiss on the mouth before backing away. “It's no big deal if you change your mind about tomorrow considering it is tomorrow and already after one.”

He stands up straight and grins. “I won't change my mind.”

After he leaves, I lock the door and turn on my reading light so I can check on Stephanie and then I fall into bed with my clothes still on and start mentally replaying all my favorite parts of the evening.

November 20, 1:30 p.m.

“What happens if I let go?”

So, it's not Chuck E. Cheese's, but it's my idea of an appropriate date with a fourteen-year-old. Plus, I get to work out. Kill two birds with one stone. After six weeks, I've gotten pretty good at this fake girlfriend thing and I'm not too bad at the real girlfriend thing either.

“It's totally foolproof, I swear,” Elliot says to her.

My phone beeps, and I fish it out of my pocket to check the incoming text.

WES
: Someone just tweeted pics of you and the gf having lunch. Very cozy. Nice work! Keep it
up.

HARVARD
: Elana's salad looked really good. Was that
avocado?

I laugh to myself. Wes isn't the only one who's seen the tweeted photos already. And we just had lunch, like, an hour ago. That's insane.

ME
: Yes, it had avocado. Maybe I'll bring you one
later.

“Are you texting?” Elana says, looking over her shoulder. “You're going to drop me, aren't you?”

It's amazing to me how quickly Elana's accent is fading.

I stuff my phone into my pocket. “I'm a hundred percent focused on you. Just don't, you know, go crazy or anything. You can stop a few feet up if you want.”

That comment wasn't intended as a challenge, but when Elana glances over her shoulder at me, I know that's exactly how she takes it.
Oh
boy
.

By the time Elana climbs (to the very top, of course) and then figures out how to rappel off the wall, she's addicted and wants to go again. I'd been hoping to get in some weights and cardio since I finally landed that big
GQ
spread Wes has been pining for. And we start the week after next. Right after Thanksgiving.

The way things have been going with the fragrance campaign and the
GQ
spread, I have a feeling I'm going to have to add “and I owe everything to Wes Danes” on my tombstone.

“The treadmills are really cool. They have satellite TV,” I say, trying to entice Elana into helping me finish my daily to-do list. I might not be the best boyfriend, but I'm an excellent multitasker.

“If you want to go work out, I can help her climb,” Elliot suggests.

I can tell he doesn't really think I'll go for that, given the fact that I'm supposed to want to be around my one true love every waking hour. Before I blurt out a yes, I stop myself and glance at Elana, who's a whole head taller than Elliot and a whole year younger (though he thinks she's eighteen).

Elana gives me one of her famous smiles and says, “Go, we'll be fine.”

I pat Elliot on the shoulder. “Don't let her go anywhere or get hurt or anything.”

Elana rolls her eyes and then I take off before I can change my mind. If I can finish my workout and get Elana back to her crazy-ass nanny in time, then I might have enough time to pick up an avocado salad before I meet Eve on campus.

It takes me an hour to get back to Elana and Elliot. Neither of them are wearing a harness anymore. They're sitting on the bench across from the women's locker room, both with some handheld game device—a device that looks much too large to have fit into Elana's tiny designer handbag.

“How's it going?” I say.

Neither of them look up, but Elana says, “We're playing Words with Friends. Have you played before? It's so addicting.”

Yep. Chuck E. Cheese's would have been just fine. I do love Skee-ball.

“You just got this game,” Elliot says to Elana. “How are you so good already?”

She shrugs and gives him a smile before tucking her toy into the pocket of her long dress coat. “Beginner's luck.”

“Ready?” When she nods, I toss my gym bag over my shoulder and stick out a hand to help Elana up.

“Nice meeting you, Elliot,” she says.

He waves and says, “See you later, Elana. 'Bye, Alex.”

“Later, man.” I wait until we're out the door before throwing an arm around Elana's shoulder and trying to look madly in love with her.

“I like him,” she says right away. “He's so normal. Very American, but not like you.”

I laugh and give her shoulders a squeeze. “Thanks. Wouldn't want you to like anyone that's like me.”

She rolls her eyes. “That's not what I meant. He's more of an outsider…what is that word? I can't think of it now.”

“Loner?” I suggest.

“Yes! That's it. Loner.” She waves down a cab before I even get a chance to. “It's like that for me too. I'm not around people my age.”

I open the car door for her and wait until she gets in before sliding beside her. I never thought about what it might be like for Elana. “Maybe you can find a group or a club or something with girls your age?” I suggest because I don't know what else to say. Seriously, like what? Girl Scouts?

She stares out the window, keeping her head turned away from me. “It would be just like school. I scare people away. My mother and Lumina and everyone always tell me girls are just jealous and boys are intimidated. I don't know if that's true or not, but it doesn't matter. The outcome is still the same. They don't like me.”

I sink further into my seat, staring at the back of her head. Her tone put a note of finality on the subject that keeps me from asking questions or making more lame suggestions. But it doesn't keep me from feeling a tiny bit responsible.

Maybe I've spent too much time freaked out about the age issue and haven't paid attention to the fact that I could be a better friend to Elana. We are coworkers, whether I agree with that choice or not.

November 20, 4:00 p.m.

“I would like you to choose three images to turn in to me, and each one must have a human subject,” Professor Larson says to our class. “It's always the people thrown into the mix that make you all want to go screwing with nature.”

Screwing with nature.
God, I love this man
. In the most unromantic way possible.

After Larson dismisses us, I stroll up to his desk to ask the same question that I asked last week and the week before. “Any word on the interview schedules for the Mason Scholarship finalists?”

He's shuffling papers on his desk, preparing to stuff them in his briefcase, but he glances up and smiles at me. “Your lucky day, Miss Nowakowski.”

I watch as he sifts through pages and then pulls out a single white sheet of paper with my name on the top. I scan it and see that my interview with the selection committee is scheduled for January twelfth.

January twelfth seems so far away and yet way too close. Will Janessa have had enough time to make gushing comments about my skills and responsibility in letter form for the selection committee? Will Larson?

“I'll have my letter of recommendation ready for you before final exams,” Larson says as if reading my mind. “How is your job with Janessa going?”

I tuck the paper into my camera bag. “It's been great. We're shooting a lookbook for Ralph Lauren now. Before that, we did a spread on New York City statues that I think you'll love when it's published. The angles are brilliant. I've never seen anything quite like it.”

He snaps his briefcase closed and gives me another grin. “Fantastic. I'm sure you have some wonderful stories to tell everyone back home over the holiday.”

“Actually, I decided to stick around here.” I shrug and try to act like I actually considered going back to Indiana. As far as I know, my mom's still in Florida and my dad is still in jail or court-assigned rehab. “Flights are so expensive this time of year, you know?”

He frowns and then grabs a pen and a scrap of paper before scribbling something on it. “My wife is famous for her Thanksgiving spread. She'd love to have a couple more guests at the house. She's trying to hide the fact that she's down about our daughter not making it home this year. Come over around noon.”

The way he says it, it sounds like an assignment instead of a polite suggestion that people make when they feel sorry for you. Which is why I find myself taking the paper from his hand where he's scribbled the address of an apartment building on the Upper West Side.

“Okay,” I say.

“And you're welcome to bring someone if you'd like.”

He disappears into his office before I can back out. When I look down at the paper, I realize he hasn't included his phone number, only the address. He's going to tell his wife that I might come and bring a plus one and then she'll cook more food and it would be awful if I didn't show. I've heard that's how normal families operate.

I shake my head, trying to figure out how I went up to ask a question and suddenly had holiday plans that involved a family dinner, something I have zero experience with. When I finally head outside, Alex is waiting for me, his skateboard tucked under his arm.

And he's brought food.

I smile and take the salad container from his hand. “You didn't have to bring me this.”

“It's only fair,” he says. “Have to give all my girlfriends equal treatment. Besides, Elana and I got our lunch for free.”

“Model perks,” I say with a sigh. “I do miss some of those extras, like free food and drinks just because.”

A little while later, I'm sitting at one of the outdoor tables behind my dorm, eating the delicious salad, and Alex is riding his skateboard along the ledge and trying to make it flip in the air. It's cold out, but in the sun it's tolerable.

“What would happen if you broke your arm before the GQ shoot?”

“Wes would murder me in my sleep,” he says and then he continues to attempt the crazy trick, which makes me laugh.

“My professor invited me to Thanksgiving dinner at his apartment.”

Alex spins the skateboard to a stop. “Kinda creepy. Isn't that breaking some university rule?”

I laugh at the idea of Professor Larson being a perv. “He invited me to dinner with his family. His wife and a kid or two and grandkids, I think. He's old and not even a little bit creepy.”

The concern drops from Alex's face and he goes back to balancing on the ledge. “That's cool.”

I shove the salad container aside and pull out my camera. He's engrossed in trying to get the skateboard to rotate once in the air and then land upright on the ground and not the ledge. I think he's eventually planning to land on top of the board. I take several shots of him deep in concentration.

“Remind me again why you're not going home for Thanksgiving?” I ask Alex, hoping maybe I can lead into him being my plus one at Larson's.

“My mom would flip out if I missed Christmas and I don't want to fly home for both.” He picks up the skateboard and sits down in the chair beside me, turning to face me. “Part of me wants to stay here because I don't want to have to deal with questions about my girlfriend and another part of me wants to buy two plane tickets and drag you to Nebraska with me just so I can be the Evans kid with the hottest girlfriend.”

That gets me to smile. “Your brothers don't have hot girlfriends?”

He laughs. “Let's just say they roam around a lot. Although my mom did say that Jared is dating someone and they live together now. Or maybe he's just staying with her? Mooching off her, probably. High school football gods tend to get very spoiled.”

“You could bring Elana,” I suggest.

He shakes his head. “It's one thing to have my family reading tabloids about us and mentioning her on the phone every once in awhile, but to bring her into my house and completely lie to them, I can't do that.”

Every time he says something like that, it feels like the half images of him plastered on my wall get filled in a little bit more.

“I get it.” I place my camera back in the bag and scoot my chair until he's close enough for our legs to touch.

He immediately starts moving his hands back and forth over my thighs, like he's trying to keep my legs warm through my jeans. Which, of course, works perfectly because there's no other way to be except very warm whenever Alex has his hands on me. For a second, I forget that we're outside and debate crawling in his lap and putting more body parts within his reach.

“What do you and Elana talk about?” Alex asks, shifting subjects on me. “Like grown up stuff or kid stuff, or normal girl stuff?”

“I don't know what you mean. Like things besides work and modeling?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Okay, what's going on with Elana?
It's times like this when I think it could be helpful to tell Alex about me and Wes, but then I can't because I'm pretty sure it would change everything. And why should I have to have my past following me around like an unwanted shadow? I've already had to live it. Isn't that enough?

“We talk about modeling and college and the subjects she's studying now, how hot you look in Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Stuff like that.”

He laughs and then closes the gap between us, kissing me in a way that makes me forget it's November and that we're outside in thirty-degree weather. “Steph is still around, right?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. I love my roommate, but there are moments like this one when a single room would be quite useful. “She's not going home next week either. She has a relative in Jersey she's spending Thanksgiving Day with.”

His face brightens. “Oh, so she'll be gone for what? A few hours?”

“Probably, but I pretty much had no say in the matter of joining my professor on Thanksgiving. So I'll be gone too.”

He hides the disappointment well. Alex can be very patient when he wants to be. He doesn't seem to mind that our time together almost always involves being outside or at a public place like the campus bookstore. Last week, he even sat in the library with me for three hours, helping to make flash cards for my chemistry class. Of course we did explore the consistently abandoned rare books section.

“You should invite Elana,” Alex says suddenly. “To your professor's place.”

I smile. “I was hoping to talk you into going with me. He said to bring someone.”

He looks excited by this suggestion. “You think we can do that?”

“I don't see why not. Professor Larson isn't going to have any idea who you are or even care.”

“I'm in,” Alex says. “But maybe you should take Elana instead. Something's up with her. I think she's homesick or just…lonely.”

This surprises me because I didn't think Alex had allowed himself to look at Elana long enough to see something like that in her. And now I'm worried all over again. “What makes you think that?”

“She met Elliot today,” he says.

“Okay?”

“I left her alone with him.” He diverts his eyes from mine like he might be in trouble for this. “Elliot volunteered. She wanted to climb again and I wanted to work out. When I came back, they were playing video games and then on the way to drop her off, she said she really liked him because he seemed normal, but nothing like me.”

“Not like you, huh?” I can't help teasing him. “Maybe you're right. Let's bring her too. I don't think Professor Larson will have a problem with it and besides, you know she's not going to eat much. Thanksgiving is practically a carb fest.”

Alex picks up my hands and holds them to his face. “You're cold. We should go get coffee.”

We both stand up and then he tosses my bag over his shoulder. Instead of walking toward warmer places, I decide to kiss him again, which ends up lasting for several minutes. “Elana is very lucky to have you for a fake boyfriend.”

He takes my hand in his and starts walking. “I could probably be a better friend than I've been. I treat her like another bratty sister I'm forced to drive around. It's not like she isn't helping my career a ton.”

I can't make it to the coffee shop without throwing at least a dozen sideways glances in Alex's direction. Sometimes, I have to look to make sure he's real and other times I'm convinced he's the most real person I've ever known. There's no way to keep myself from comparing this to being with Wes, which was so heavy and dramatic. It's like comparing Advil to a narcotic that does the job but drags you into this alternate reality and it takes so long to find your way back. I don't feel lost or pulled under one bit right now.

My fingers lace through his, and I inhale a slow deep breath, closing my eyes for a second and memorizing this feeling. No matter what happens between me and Alex, no matter how long we get to be us, I need to remember what this version of falling in love feels like. I really thought there was only one way to do this, and that way is absolutely frightening to imagine now.