Mine: A Love Story (13 page)

Yes, there is life after Chris. It’s not as much fun—there are no head-spinning, heart pounding kissing moments—but it’s a whole lot safer. And safer is just fine with this cautious girl. More than fine.

It helps to have really good girlfriends, which is something I didn’t have in high school, at least after Gaby moved away. Marissa and I spend lots of time together, hanging out, hiking, going to the movies and such, and Beth is around a bunch, too. She often joins us for the indoor stuff. Katie has started dating Grant from the Halloween party, so she’s not with us as much, but we still see her a lot, especially around the dorm. She says Grant’s really fun and really nice. I hope so.

Beth got a Wii from her parents for her birthday last week, and we’ve all been having fun playing
Guitar Hero
, rocking out and pretending we’re rock stars. I like being able to let loose and “play” guitar with other people around, even though the thing is just a plastic toy and doesn’t even have strings. One night there were eight girls from the dorm taking turns at the game, three at a time.

I finally played my guitar again for Marissa the other day, just a couple of songs. She felt very honored when I told her she’s the only person I’ve ever played for. I still won’t let her tell anyone else that I play though, not even Beth and Katie. If they knew, I’m sure they’d both want to hear me play, and I’m not ready for that.

I’ve been teaching myself some new songs. No broken heart songs—I don’t need to make myself feel sad, thank you—and no love songs, either. I know too many of those already, and I’m not really in the mood for fairly tales. And it seems to me that’s just what love is—a fairy tale. I don’t think it truly exists in the real world, not that I’ve seen, anyhow. So I’ve been looking for fun songs. Alan Jackson’s “It’s Five O’clock Somewhere” is a good one, even though I don’t drink. So is Jimmy Buffet’s “Cheeseburger in Paradise.” How can you not like a song with lyrics about lettuce and tomato, ketchup, and French fried potatoes? There’s not a mention of romance or heartbreak anywhere in either of those songs. And in my experience, cheeseburgers will never let you down, either. Even a bad one is pretty good.

My brain is working again, and I’m doing well in my classes, enjoying them all except for algebra, which is still a major pain. I’ve seen Chris twice, from a distance in vampire class. There’s still some hurt when I see him, but it’s getting a little better each time. I always make sure to sit between two people—girls, of course—so he has no chance to come sit by me even if he wanted to. I hustle out of class as soon as it’s over, too. I’m taking no chances with any unwanted encounters. So far, he hasn’t tried anything like ambushing me at the door, for which I’m thankful.

Tonight, I’m going to my first frat party, with Marissa. She got invited to it by a guy in her history class. I hesitated when she first brought it up, thinking why go to a frat party if I don’t drink and I’m not interested in trying to meet a guy—and believe me, I’m not—but then I remembered how much fun I had at the Halloween party a couple of weeks ago. So I figure, why not? There’ll be music, I can dance with Marissa, and it’s only a few blocks away, so I can leave anytime I feel like it.

Now if I can just figure out what to wear. Marissa says I should wear my hunting outfit, but I told her I am most definitely not hunting, and I don’t want to wear anything that will make the guys think otherwise. I almost wish I could dress up as a zombie again—that outfit kept the guys away just fine!

I put on a black and gray skirt that comes down almost to my knees. I think it looks cute in a very plain way. Now I have to figure out what to pair it with.

“C’mon, hot stuff,” Marissa says from across the room. “We don’t have all night.”

She’s finished dressing already, and she’s the one who looks hot. She’s wearing the shirt with the diagonal rows of skulls and hearts and the frayed edge she bought that first time we went to The Buff. She’s left it unbuttoned almost halfway down, exposing plenty of cleavage, and she’s paired it with a short dark green skirt that sits low on her hips and black fishnets ripped in several places. Black platform shoes add almost four inches to her height. I really don’t know how she manages to walk more than a few steps in those things, but Marissa seems to manage just fine. Practice makes perfect, I guess. A lower center of gravity probably helps, too.

“Help me out,” I plead. “I don’t know what to wear with this skirt.”

Marissa crosses over to my closet. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she says as she begins pawing through the hanging clothes.

“I want to look nice, but
not
hot or sexy,” I remind her. “I don’t want to give any wrong signals.”

“Don’t worry, I’m happy to save sexy for me,” she says, grinning. “The plainer we make you, the hotter I’ll look by comparison.” She pulls out a gray top that’s lined with cranberry pinstripes across the upper half. “Try this,” she says, handing me the shirt.

I slip into the shirt and check myself out in the wall mirror. Perfect. I look fine, without a hint of “come and get me, boys” anywhere.

“I think we’re ready to rock and roll,” Marissa says.

I’m not sure how ready I am to rock, but maybe I can roll a little bit. We each grab a coat and head out the door.

It’s pretty cool out, but we’re not going far and the coats are more than enough. The moon is visible only as blurry glow behind a layer of gauzy clouds. Marissa’s heavy shoes clomp loudly on the sidewalk—we definitely won’t be sneaking up on anybody tonight.

The frat house is an old white wooden place trimmed with red. Three Greek letters I can’t name are carved into the wall above the front door. Yellow light spills from all but one of the dozen or so front windows. The one dark window on the third floor stands out like a missing tooth in a bright smile. I don’t even want to think about what might be going in that unlit room.

Marissa grabs my arm and heads toward the front steps. A short line of kids fills the stairs, waiting to show ID to receive the precious hand stamp marking them as old enough to drink. I bet once you’re inside, it probably doesn’t matter whether you’re stamped or not. Not at a party like this one. Still, they’re going through the formality, probably to keep Campus Security off their backs.

“Remember,” Marissa says while we wait in line, “don’t drink anything unless you pour it yourself, or if someone gives you an unopened can. Some of these frat boys will do anything to get you naked, including drugging your drink.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s diet soda or water for me.”

There’s a guy at the top of the stairs, apparently deciding who gets in and who doesn’t. I haven’t seen him turn anyone away yet, though he does question a few of the cuter girls a bit more thoroughly than some of the others. He definitely seems to be enjoying his position of authority, especially since right now the line is almost all female. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with red block letters across his chest proclaiming “
orgasm donor.”
I wonder if he bought the shirt because he thinks it’s funny, or because he thinks it will help him get some action. Neither choice is very flattering to him, but thinking it was funny would be the better of the two.

When we reach the top of the stairs, he gives me a quick look before fastening his eyes on Marissa and flashing her a big grin.

“Good evening, ladies,” he says, politely including me in his greeting even though his eyes remain on Marissa. “Welcome to the party.”

Never one to pass up a chance to flirt, Marissa extends her hand, palm down. It’s an obvious invitation for him to kiss it, so he does. Very lingeringly.

“Maybe I’ll see you inside later,” he says, still holding onto her hand even after he’s kissed it.

“You never know,” Marissa replies with a smile, even though I know that guy isn’t her type.

She gently disengages her hand, and we step into the party.

Pink’s “So What” is blasting from unseen speakers, and loud chatter competes with the music. Frequent shrieks of laughter or shock—I can’t really tell which—rise above the din.

“I think he liked you,” I say loudly, teasing her.

Marissa laughs. “Yeah, me and every other girl who’s flashing a little bit of tit.”

I smile. That’s Marissa for you. No holds barred.

The room is crowded with kids, and there seems to be at least four women for every guy. These frat guys definitely have a good thing going here. Little do they know, it’s a good thing for me, too. The more girls there are, the less likely anyone will find the need to bother me.

Marissa and I pick our way through the crowd to the far side of the room, where the crush of people is less thick. The air is hot from so many bodies, so we find a couch to throw our coats onto. I look enviously at Marissa’s mostly unbuttoned top and pull my own shirt away from my neck to let in a little air. At least my legs are bare.

A guy in a dark brown T-shirt decorated with a grinning white Cheshire Cat moves confidently over to us.

“Welcome to Phi Kappa Omega, ladies,” he says with a smile. “Can I get you a drink?”

Marissa gives him a quick once-over. He’s pretty cute, with thick black hair and big brown eyes. Apparently, Marissa agrees with my assessment, because she smiles and links her arm with his.

“We’ll get our own, thanks,” she says. “We know what you frat boys are like.” She winks. “You can take us to the bar, though.”

The guy laughs, then leads us into a room near the rear of the house. Three guys—almost certainly frat brothers—are busy mixing drinks behind a row of portable tables. A large plastic cooler contains cans of soda and bottles of water, while the booze is all behind the tables, out of reach. Water will be fine for me, so I grab myself a bottle.

“They got any tequila back there?” Marissa asks our escort.

“I’m sure they do,” he replies.

“I’ll have a shot, then,” Marissa says.

The guy grins, clearly pleased by her choice. “You got it.”

“From an unopened bottle, please,” Marissa adds.

The guy’s grin widens. “Naturally,” he says. “A girl can’t be too careful nowadays.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself!

He leans across the table and says something to one of the bartenders, who hands him a shot glass and a bottle of tequila. Marissa’s new best friend makes a show of breaking open the seal, then looks at her.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Perfect,” she replies.

He pours a full shot and hands her the glass.

“Bottoms up,” Marissa says cheerfully.

I grimace as Marissa tosses down the shot in one big gulp. I’m definitely going to have to watch out for her tonight.

“You want another?” the guy asks, his face a picture of friendly innocence.

“You wish,” Marissa says, grinning. She holds out her hand. “I’m Marissa.”

The guy shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Marissa,” he says. “I’m Gary.”

“And this is Heather,” Marissa says, introducing me.

Gary shakes my hand as well, but I can see that his eyes never really leave Marissa. That’s the second time this has happened already tonight, and I’m not the least bit jealous.

Gary leads us away from the bar area back into a third room, still crowded, but less busy with people coming and going. What starts as a three-way conversation quickly shifts into a lively chat between Marissa and Gary, leaving me feeling a bit like a third wheel. I don’t mind, though. Better no attention than the wrong kind of attention. I’m happy to be ignored.

I spend a few minutes people watching. I’m surprised how many of the girls seem drunk already—it can’t be any later than ten o’clock—and how many of them seem no older than me. I bet these guys are pouring really strong drinks. No wonder frat parties have the reputation they do. I’m glad Marissa turned down that second shot.

I nudge her on the shoulder. “I’m hot,” I say. “I’m going out back for some air.”

“Okay,” she says. “Don’t wander far.”

I smile. “You know me better than that.”

“Be careful, too,” Marissa says as she ruffles Gary’s thick hair. “You gotta watch out for these frat boys.”

I laugh to myself at Marissa’s warning. I’m the original careful girl, remember?

I descend a wooden stairway into the backyard. There’s plenty of kids out here as well. I stay close to the stairs, keeping to myself.

The difference in temperature between inside and out is startling. At first, the cold is a welcome change, but before long I’ve got my arms wrapped across my chest trying to keep warm. I tough it out for another minute or two before giving up and heading back up the stairs.

There’s a guy leaning against the doorframe. I have a feeling he’s been watching me. Why he would bother, I’m not sure, when there are so many hotter girls around. And drunk ones, too.

“Hi,” he says as I reach the top stair. “You enjoying yourself?”

I stop. I can’t walk by without saying something. That would be rude. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it. He’s too old to be in any of my classes, a junior at least, I’m guessing. I don’t know where else I could have seen him, though. He’s kind of cute—not that I’m interested in that kind of thing, of course. Taller than me, with short, very blond hair and pretty green eyes.