“Sure, buttercup. What do you need?” I flopped down on the sofa, tossing my phone on the coffee table.
“Willyougotodinneroncampustoday?” Ellie spilled out her request so fast that it was like one long word. I thought she was joking at first because Ellie knew I never ate meals on campus. Not since about midterms of my freshman year. Not since the unspoken words and low murmured whispers turned to actions. But when she didn’t laugh or give me a verbal cue that it was just a prank, I turned to look at her.
She gave me a pained, wry smile. “It was a stupid idea.” Unlocking her hands, Ellie came to rest on her side of the diseased-looking marshmallow.
“Tell me about it,” I said quietly. The invitation was all she needed. Turning to me, Ellie hitched one leg up on the sofa. As I looked at her glowing face and her sparkling eyes, I knew I was going to be eating on campus tonight.
“I’m totally in lust with that guy, Ryan, that I told you about from my Rocks for Jocks class. I need to know more about him,” Ellie babbled. “I’m pretty sure he’s a freshman. Maybe on the baseball team? I mean, I assume he’s a jock because why else is he taking that course?”
“So he’s eating where tonight?”
“Oh, um, I overheard him say he was meeting ‘the guys’ at the Quad Commons Café.” She blushed and said, “I don’t know what it is about him that I find so adorable, but he’s all dorky cuteness.”
“We need to do a little covert stalking is what you’re saying,” I finished for her.
She nodded. “I know I’m asking for something big here.”
“Nah.” I shrugged. “I’ve been thinking that my self-imposed exile is kind of dumb. How am I supposed to crush on Bo Randolph if I avoid campus?”
“You really want to go?” Ellie looked skeptical.
“And miss the opportunity to stalk this guy with you?” I grabbed her hand. “Tell me more.”
As Ellie described his mini Mohawk and retro cool eyeglasses, I mentally assured myself that everyone had moved on from my sex life. There had to be other scandals, other bits of gossip that people were exchanging. By the time Ellie had finished giving me an exhaustive rundown of this guy’s entire physical appearance from his eyebrow piercing to his dark wash jeans and plaid button-down shirt, I’d convinced myself that I had nothing at all to fear. What could anyone say that they hadn’t already said? Clay Howard’s threats were probably hollow. He couldn’t be on campus all the time, and the likelihood of running into him in the QC Café was very low.
Still, I spent an inordinate amount of time later that day wondering if my jeans were too tight or my T-shirt showed too much cleavage. In a fit of uncertainty, I changed into a pair of loose fitting khakis and a white button-down shirt and left the room to find Ellie inserting earrings in front of the hall closet dresser. Ellie looked me over and almost stabbed herself through the cheek with the earring post.
“Are you going to work as a clerk in a shoe store?” Ellie asked with a heavy amount of disdain.
I looked down at my clothes. “Too bland?”
“Girl, even the people at the Dockers store would be embarrassed to be seen in that outfit.” Ellie frowned. She was right. Ordinarily I had no problems picking out the right outfit, including for class, but for some reason tonight I was a mass of nerves and indecision.
“We don’t have to go,” Ellie said in a rush, measuring my anxiety by the hideousness of my outfit. She met my gaze in the mirror and her eyes softened in sympathy. That look sent a steel rod up my spine.
I hated pity more than I hated the gossip. Maybe she gave me that look on purpose, to help me find my courage. I turned on my foot and went into the bedroom, where I picked up a pair of discarded skinny jeans and a loose silky top. I pulled on a pair of heavy socks and a battered pair of riding boots. My heavy felt, navy-blue peacoat completed the outfit. I looked a lot less like Dockers layaway and more like hip young person. I felt better, too.
The past year had taught me that sometimes the best defense in the world was a stony glare and the right attire. Going into the lion’s den dressed like I was dressed for church was bound to create even worse talk than looking like a prostitute. The latter they expected, the former said I was trying too hard. The vultures never liked anything more than cutting down people who set themselves up.
I picked up my phone and ID card and headed out to meet Ellie. She was putting on the last touches of makeup. The au natural look required as much effort as the heavily made-up look. Guys never knew the difference, but the cosmetic industry didn’t have fifty shades of natural and blush lipstick because girls could run around with bee-stung lips just by biting them heavily. Biting led to chapped lips and teeth marks.