Tristan breaks out with a relaxed smile. I apologize. I promise I'll be more considerate. He examines me with a bit more scrutiny than I'm used to. You don't have to be embarrassed about anything, Annie. You're a sweet soul. Everyone will pick up on that. Plus you're beautiful. Life always gives a pass to girls like you. He gives a quiet smile and turns to the front.
A pass, huh? Then why does today feel like one giant hurdle?
Professor O'Leary strides in. A tired looking man that has hands the size of baseball mitts. He tries his best to speak a little slower than usual and makes it a point to stand directly in front of me when delivering the lecture. It's both embarrassing and unnecessary, but I appreciate his effort.
Tristan signs as he speaks.
"I want each of you to put together a portfolio on campus life through your unique eyes. The final will consist of a montage of photos that you feel best express your Whitney Briggs experience along with an oral report in which you relay what the photographs mean to you and how your view of life may or may not be altered through photography. I'm looking for artistry, impeccable imagery, and creativity. Pull at my heartstrings. Make me see you as a soul, not just a body that occupies a chair twice a week. Although a photograph captures a world trapped in silence-nothing conveys emotion louder than stunning imagery."
It's true. And as cliché as it sounds, a picture can convey something more meaningful than a thousand well-spoken words. It's why I love to shoot the landscape, animals-people.
The class draws to a close as the professor examines our equipment. He gives my camera a brief nod of approval, but it's hard to miss the fact that other students have far more impressive technology at their disposal.
Tristan and I stand to leave just as the beauty contestants make a spectacle of themselves to him-each struggling to thrust their chest a little closer to the poor guy's face. We get it. You're big, beautiful, and breasty. I sneer at them, but no one is paying any particular attention to me.
The tall one picks up Tristan's hand with her freshly manicured fingers, speaking a mile a minute, flipping her blonde hair around like she's trying to swat a fly. Her buddy scowls my way before pressing her chest toward Tristan, lest she forget the task at hand. It begs the question is chest-bumping some new mating ritual I've been in the dark about all these years? Either that or they don't take kindly to other women hovering near their prey.
Tristan watches mesmerized as they swing their hips right out the door. His mouth drops open. Clearly he runs the risk of drooling all over his shoes.
They said to tell you hi. He stares vacantly in their wake while signing.
I'm right here, Tristan. They could have told me that to my face.
They're not used to you yet.
Used to me? That's okay, I laugh softly to myself. It's pretty clear you're all they want to get used to. Tristan is a good-looking Muppet if I don't say so myself. I'm sure there will be a lot of beautiful girls vying for his attention over the next few years. I gauge him for a moment, studying the contours of his face, daring my stomach to clench the way it did this morning, but it declines the offer.
His cheeks stain a blotchy purple. The tall one is Johanna. The shorter girl has a hard Jersey accent. Her name is Courtney. They're rushing for Alpha Chi. They wanted to know if you're interested.
I roll my eyes. That's classic-but nice of them. Next time they're around, I'll let you decline the offer for me. I'm not particularly annoyed with them. I realize it takes a little more effort for people to have a conversation with me. I don't really blame those girls for asking him to relay a message.
We head out to go our separate ways.
See you tomorrow, I sign, ready to speed to my dorm. There's nothing more I want than a nice, hot shower-my pillow has managed to seduce me sight unseen. I think I'll blow off the bar tonight. God knows I've had enough action for one day. Any more stimulation and my head might actually pop off, that is if I don't manage to get myself flattened by an errant semi in the meantime.
Tristan stuffs his hands in his pockets and sways back on his heels, examining me with an uncomfortable gaze.
"Hey, Annie?" I read his lips easily, and I'm thankful he's speaking at a normal speed-that he's speaking to me in general. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
* * *
"So what did you say?" Marley spins into her reflection and runs her fingers through her flaxen curls one last time. She's spent the last half hour wielding a gold-barreled curling iron with a hairstyling vengeance. She's sprucing herself up at a manic pace, getting ready to head out to the Black Bear in just a few minutes. She's begging me to go, but I keep refusing. The way my day is headed, I think it's best to shut my eyes and mercifully put this twenty-four hour interval to an end.
I cringe at what came next. Well … I show her my phone. Marley doesn't sign, but I can read her lips just as good as she can read the notes from my phone most of the time. I may have said yes.
Her pouty pink mouth falls open. "You lied?" Marley is your typical beautiful blonde with big ocean blue eyes that rival my own. And, unlike Johanna and Courtney, Marley has treated me just like anybody else right from the beginning. Maybe that's why I felt so close to her from the get go. Marley has been a life raft to me ever since move-in day. She's acclimated well to life at Whitney, so much so that she already has her own section in the school newspaper both the online version and the tree-slaughtering one. Her column, Sex and the Coed, has raised a few brows on campus, but, for the most part, she's engrossed the masses. She said she needed a catchy title to get everyone's attention. Her articles are mostly about fashion with the odd sex tips thrown in for good measure. Pairing the perfect jeans with a blowjob seems strange to me, but I grew up under a rock compared to everyone else, so I just go with it.
I type as fast as I can. I guess I did lie. But, I swear, I didn't mean to. My head was just all over the place today. Something happened this morning that sort of spooked me, and it was all downhill from there. I show her my phone.
"What happened?" Her concern grows as she leans in. The light catches her sticky gloss, and her lips shimmer like a tiny galaxy of stars.
I may have got in the way of a moving vehicle. I cringe.
"Annie!" Her hand flattens over her chest. "I'm sorry, I should have been there for you." She pulls me into a hug and rambles out a warm stream of words right into my shoulder before pulling back. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go out that door alone this morning."
It's fine, really. Baya and Bryson tried to walk me to class. I close my eyes a moment envisioning what my brothers would do if they knew about my brush with a chrome fender followed by my brush with all out lust for the boy who saved me. Please don't say anything. I thought my biggest challenge would be bikes and skateboards. I had no clue a freeway ran through campus.
She plucks the phone from my hand and pounds out a note.
It's rare, but I've seen cars and trucks. Be careful. Her lips twist. I won't tell but only under one circumstance.
I shrug in lieu of a written response. Marley and I are working out the kinks in our communication barrier quicker than I thought possible. In a few short weeks, Marley has managed to feel like the Whitney Briggs version of Kaya-not that Kaya could ever be replaced, just multiplied in a very sweet manner.
"Come to the Black Bear." She bites down on her lower lip, a devious smile hedges up the sides. "Or when your brothers ask why you didn't show, I might just have to spill everything."
* * *
The Black Bear Saloon vibrates with an energy all of its own. I've been to a couple of parties with Marley, mostly on "the row" where the sororities and fraternities line the streets. The party scene seemed like a fun idea in theory, but it's near impossible to read anybody's lips in dim lighting, and I felt bad for Marley every time she tries to transcribe a conversation for me. I agreed to come to the Black Bear but only if she agreed to hang out with some of her other friends while I took pictures. I figure what better time to start cataloging my collegiate experience than tonight. Besides, I've been meaning to take a few cute couple shots of Baya and Bryson, and of my brother, Holt, and his fiancé, Izzy. Holt is Bryson's fraternal twin, but only the discerning eye can tell them apart.