A few assholes called him a freak on the first day, and then went on to talk about what they would do to me. Wreck me, I think they said. I thought college would be different from high school but it turns out the dynamics are pretty much the same.
My thoughts go to Zane. We dated through high school and he was popular for all the right reasons. He played sports and was intelligent. He had no time for bullies and gave everyone a chance. He was confident, outgoing and gorgeous. We had a puppy love, pure and beautiful. When we parted at the beginning of summer with a promise to always be friends it was a sad day, but a necessity. We were headed to different colleges after spending a year traveling together, temptation would be everywhere. He’ll always have a special place in my heart. He was my first love, the boy I gave my virginity to, but it wasn’t soul clenching, heart stopping love. We both deserve to have fun and then, later in life, find the love that devours everything that came before.
I rub the tattoo on my wrist. Zane used to call me his moonflower; “Queen of the Night,” a species of cereus flower that only blooms at night. I’m not a morning person. I’m often late and grumpy and I only come back to life at night. Zane told me I blossom in the moonlight, and he took my innocence under the beam of the moonlight in the back of his pickup truck. Not romantic to most but it was perfect for us, and he carved a little bit of his identity into my soul that night.
A sigh leaves me, making me conscious of the fact I’m in class and not at home alone. I risk a look at Ryan, who luckily, remains true to his character, ignoring me. His eyes almost seem shut, like he’s snoozing. I stroke the moonflower with LIVE tattooed underneath it. Zane and I got identical tattoos the day we parted, to remind ourselves to live. Life can be too short for some of us, a lesson he learned after his sister was the victim of a hit and run. Annabelle died at the scene, left in a ditch for three hours before she was found. If the car had stopped and got her to hospital she would still be here, breathing, going to school, falling in and out of love. Dreaming, aspiring to be the actress she wanted to become, to live a life beyond her short thirteen years. The same week, a celebrity who had passed through our town was getting married; guess which story got the front page?
I slip my paper into my bag without checking the grade and take out my tablet. I quickly check my emails while I wait for the class to fill. There’s an email from my mother dated yesterday, reminding me she would like me to visit this weekend. Her and Daddy won’t be happy I haven’t replied. I check my phone, relieved but surprised I don’t have a missed call or text from them. I read through the email. She’s called a family meeting and wants me there, repeating the same information she told me a week ago. I involuntarily roll my eyes at the screen, knowing how much of a drama queen my mother can be. If I go all the way home just to be told she wants my opinion on drapes for her new study, I will scream. I’m already dreading the night drive. I left it too late to book a flight after insisting I didn’t need Mom to do it for me. I close the email screen and look up at the T.A, Mr Walker, who hushes the class.
“There were some great pieces handed in for your first assignment.” He looks at me and Ryan with a soft smile and a head tilt, making me blush when all eyes follow his.
“And then there were some that made me think you only took this class because you had no other choices.” He frowns, looking over at the jock douches who take slouching more seriously than the class.
“For your next assignment I want you to partner up.”
Ryan groans and yawns; it’s the most vocal he has ever been. A small smile lifts my lips at his obvious dislike of interacting with something other than his pen.
“I want you to pick one thing one of you is really passionate about, discuss it in detail and then both write about it. I want to see how different the perspectives are from the person who is passionate about the subject and the partner who is indifferent about the subject.”
I watch as the jock asshole in the front row stands and looks over the rows of seats; his eyes land on me. He walks towards the stairs, his gaze never leaving my face. Oh, God. No way am I teaming up with him. I nudge Ryan harder than intended, making his pen slip and draw a line across his paper. I grimace when his eyes turn to me and squint; they’re cold, like a black abyss.
“Sorry,” I mouth, my nose wrinkling. My eyes widen as the Jock gets closer. Ryan notices him approaching and speaks up.
“She’s partnering with me. Go find different prey.”
The jock opens and closes his mouth for a minute before grunting his reply. “Why would she want to write about your passion? You’re a depressed freak who probably cuts himself.”