Easy (5 page)

As I bent to retrieve
my backpack, praying Kennedy and his fangirl hadn’t seen me, a hand grasped the
strap and swung the pack up from the floor. I straightened and looked into
clear gray-blue eyes. “Chivalry isn’t really dead, you know.” His deep, calm
voice was just as I remembered from Saturday night, and from Monday afternoon,
across the Starbucks counter.

“Oh?”

He slipped the
strap back onto my shoulder. “Nah. That guy’s just an asshole.” He gestured
toward the guy who’d bumped me, but I could have sworn his eyes raked over my
ex, too, who was crossing to the door, laughing with the girl. Her bright
orange sweatpants said
ZETA
across the rear. “You okay?” For the third
time, this question, from him, held deeper significance than the usual,
everyday implication.

“Yes, fine.” What
could I do but lie? “Thank you.” I turned and entered the room, took my new
seat, and spent the first forty-five minutes of class fixing my attention on
Dr. Heller, the whiteboard he filled, and the notes I took. Dutifully copying
charts of short-run equilibrium and aggregate demand, all of it seeming like so
much nonsense, I realized I would have to beg Landon Maxfield for help after
all. My pride would only cause me to slide further behind.

Minutes before the
end of class, I turned and reached into my backpack as an excuse to sneak a
look at the guy on the back row. He was staring at me, a black pencil loose
between his fingers, tapping the notebook in front of him. He slouched into his
seat, one elbow over the back of it, one booted foot casually propped on the
support under his desk. As our eyes held, his expression changed subtly from unreadable
to the barest of smiles, though guarded. He didn’t look away, even when I
glanced into my bag and then back at him.

I snapped forward,
my face warming.

Guys had shown
interest in me over the past three years, but other than a couple of short-lived,
certainly never revealed or acted-upon crushes—one on my own college-aged bass
tutor, and another on my chemistry lab partner—I’d not been attracted to anyone
but Kennedy. The economics lecture reduced to background babble, I couldn’t
decide if my response to this stranger was lingering embarrassment, gratitude
that he’d saved me from Buck, or a simple crush. Perhaps all three.

When class ended,
I packed my textbook into my backpack and resisted the urge to look in his
direction again. I fiddled long enough for Kennedy and his fangirl to leave. As
I stood to go, the persistently sleepy guy who sat next to me spoke.

“Hey, which questions
did he say to do for the extra credit? I must have knocked off for a few
seconds right around when he discussed those—my notes are indecipherable.” I
glanced at the spot he indicated in his notes, and sure enough, the scribbles
became less and less readable. “I’m Benji, by the way.”

“Oh, um, let’s
see…” I flipped through my spiral and pointed to the assignment details printed
across the top of the page. “Here it is.” As he copied it, I added, “I’m
Jacqueline.”

Benji was one of
those guys to whom adolescence hadn’t been kind. A scattering of acne dotted
his forehead. His hair was overgrown and curly—a skilled stylist could tame it,
but he was probably a fan of the eight-dollar place featuring flatscreens of nonstop
ESPN. Given his doughy midsection, I doubted he spent much time in the
university’s state-of-the-art gym. The t-shirt stretched across his belly gave
some sort of “bro” instruction best left unread. Expressive hazel eyes and an
engaging smile that crinkled them adorably were his saving grace in the looks
department.

“Thanks,
Jacqueline. This saves my ass—I
need
those extra credit points. See you
Friday.” He snapped his notebook closed. “Unless I accidentally sleep in,” he
added, giving me a genuine smile.

I returned the
smile as I moved into the aisle. “No problem.”

Maybe I was
capable of making friends outside of my Kennedy circle. This interaction, along
with the defection of most of
our
friends to Kennedy after the breakup,
made me realize how dependent on him I’d become. I was a little shocked. Why
had this never occurred to me before? Because I’d never thought Kennedy and I could
end?

Foolish, naïve assumption. Obviously.

***

The room had almost cleared, the
guy from the back row included. I felt a stab of irrational disappointment. So
he’d stared at me in class—big deal. Maybe he was just bored. Or easily
distracted.

But as I exited
the room, I spotted him across the crowded hallway, talking with a girl from
class. His demeanor was relaxed, from the navy shirt, open over a plain gray
t-shirt, to the hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. Muscle didn’t
show under the unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt, but his abdomen looked flat, and
he’d put Buck on the ground and bloody easily enough Saturday night. His black
pencil sat atop one ear, only the pink eraser at the tip showing, the rest
disappearing into his dark, messy hair.

“So it’s a group
tutoring thing?” the girl asked, twirling a long loop of blonde hair around and
around her finger. “And it lasts an hour?”

He hitched his
backpack, twitching wayward bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah. From one to two.”

As he gazed down
at her, she tilted her head and rocked her weight slightly from side to side, as
though she was about to dance with him. Or
for
him. “Maybe I’ll check it
out. What are you doing after?”

“Work.”

She huffed an
annoyed breath. “You’re always working, Lucas.” Her pouty tone hit my ears like
nails on a chalkboard, as it always has when used by any girl above age six.
But bonus—I’d just learned his name.

He glanced up
then, as though he sensed me standing there, eavesdropping, and I pivoted in
the opposite direction and started walking swiftly, too late to pretend I
hadn’t been purposely listening to their conversation. I wove through the rush
of people in the packed hallway, ducking out the side exit.

No way was I going
to those tutoring sessions if
Lucas
attended them. I wasn’t sure what he
meant—if he meant anything at all—staring at me like that during class, but the
overt intensity of his gaze made me uneasy. Besides, I was still in a mourning
period over my recently-shattered relationship. I wasn’t ready to start anything
new. Not that he was interested in me that way. I all but rolled my eyes at my
own thought processes. I’d gone from a marginal amount of interest to a
possible relationship in one jump.

From a purely
observational perspective, he was probably used to girls like the blonde in the
hallway throwing themselves at his feet. Just like my ex. Kennedy’s titles of
class and then student body president equated to small-time celebrity status,
and he’d relished it. I’d spent the last two years of high school ignoring the
envious girls who dogged our relationship, just waiting for him to be finished
with me. By the time we’d left town for college, I was so sure of him.

I wondered when I would stop feeling like such a clueless twit for that misplaced trust.

***

Landon,

I’m
having more trouble with the current material than I let on, but I’m not sure if
I’ll ever be able to make it to one of your tutoring sessions. Too bad for both
of us that my ex didn’t dump me early enough in the semester to drop this
class! (No offense. You’re probably an econ major and like this stuff.)

I’ve
started researching online journals for the project. Thanks for decoding Dr.
Heller’s notes before sending them to me. If you’d have forwarded them without
a translation, I’d be searching for a tall building/ overpass/ water tower from
which to yell “goodbye cruel world.”

JW

Jacqueline,

Please, no leaping from towering structures. Do you have any idea how much damage that
would do to my tutoring reputation?? If nothing else, think of the effect on me. ;)

I create worksheets for the tutoring sessions. I’ve attached the past three
weeks’ worth. Use them as study guides, or fill them in and send them back to
me, and we’ll see where you’re getting confused.

Actually, I’m an engineering major, but we have to take econ. I think everyone should,
though – it’s a good starting point for explaining how money, politics and
commerce work together to create the total chaos that is our economic system.

LM

PS – How did the regional competitions go? And btw, your ex is obviously a moron.

I downloaded the
worksheets, turning over his last statement in my mind. Whether Landon knew
Kennedy or not—unlikely, given the size of the university and their differing
majors—he’d taken my side. Me, a girl so absurdly unhinged by a breakup that
she’d skipped class for two weeks.

He was smart and
funny, and after only three days, I already looked forward to his name in my inbox,
our back-and-forth banter. All of a sudden, I wondered what he looked like.
God
.
Just yesterday, I’d left class telling myself to ignore the brooding stares of a
guy in class because I needed time to get over Kennedy’s desertion, and here I
was daydreaming over a tutor who could look like Chace Crawford. Or… Benji.

It didn’t matter.
I needed time to recover, even if Landon was right. Even if Kennedy was a
moron.

I clicked on the first worksheet and opened my econ text, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Landon,

The worksheets are definitely going to help. I already feel less scared of failing
this class. I did the first two - when you have time, could you look them over?
Thank you again for wasting your time on me. I’ll try to get caught up quickly.
I’m not used to being the student who’s a pain in the butt.

I had two freshmen from rival schools in competition with each other at regionals.
Both asked me, separately thank God, who was my favorite. (I told each of them,
“You are, of course.” Was that wrong??) They were very smug with each other
when they came to get their basses from my truck, and I prayed that neither
would mention the favorite status in front of the other. BOYS.

Engineering? Wow. No wonder you seem so brainy.

JW

Jacqueline,

The worksheets look great. I marked a couple of minor mistakes that could trip you up on an exam, so check those.

Ah, sounds like your freshmen have crushes on you? Not surprised. A bass-playing college girl would have rendered me speechless at 14.

Of course I’m brainy! I’m the all-knowing tutor. And in case you’re wondering - yes, you’re my favorite. ;)

LM

***

Saturday night, Erin was once again
threatening to drag me out of our room, ignoring my protests and reluctance.
This time, three of us were heading to the strip to hit some clubs with our
fake IDs.

“Don’t you
remember how the party last weekend went for me?” I asked when she shoved a
clingy black dress into my outspread arms. Of course she didn’t remember; I
hadn’t told her. All she knew was that I’d bailed early.

“Jacqueline, babe,
I know this is hard. But you can’t let Kennedy win! You can’t let him make you
a hermit, or keep you scared of falling for someone new. God, I
love
this part of it—the hunt for a new guy, everything unknown, untried—the mass of
hot prospects in front of you, waiting to be discovered. If I didn’t lust after
Chaz so hard, I’d be jealous of you.”

The way she
described it, the process sounded like an expedition to an exotic continent. I
didn’t share her feelings, not in the least. The idea of finding a new guy sounded
exhausting and depressing. “Erin, I don’t think I’m ready—”

“That’s what you
said last weekend, and you did fine!” She frowned, thinking, and for the hundredth
time, I almost told her about Buck. “Even if you did leave early.” She rehung
the black dress I didn’t intend to wear, and I held my tongue, losing my chance
again. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her. I was mostly afraid she’d be
infuriated. More unreasonably, I was afraid she’d be disbelieving. Neither
response was something I wanted to contend with; I just wanted to forget.

I thought of Lucas,
annoyed that his presence in econ was making that process impossible, because
he was irrevocably connected to the horror of that night. He’d not looked at me
at all Friday—as far as I knew. Every time I snuck a look back at him, he
appeared to be sketching rather than taking notes, his black pencil held low
between his fingers, a concentrated expression on his face. When class ended,
he stuck the pencil behind his ear, turned and walked from the classroom
without a backward glance, first one out the door.

 “Now
this
will show off the goods,” Erin said, breaking into my reverie. Next up was a
stretchy, low-cut purple top. Yanking it from the hanger, she tossed it to me.
“Put on your skinny jeans and those badass boots that make you look like a gangbanger’s
girlfriend. This fits your tough, I’m-a-challenge mood better anyway. You have
to dress to attract the right guys, and if I make you too cute, you’ll flick
them all away with glares and irritated rolls of your big blue eyes.”

I sighed and she laughed, pulling the black dress over her own head. Erin knew me far too well.

***

I’d lost count of the number of
drinks Erin had pressed into my hand, telling me that since she was the
designated driver, I was required to drink for two. “I can’t touch any of these
hotties, either—so I have to live vicariously. Now finish that margarita, stop
scowling, and stare at one of these guys until he knows he won’t lose a limb if
he asks you to dance.”

“I’m not
scowling!” I scowled, obeying and tossing the drink back. I grimaced. Cheap
tequila refused to be concealed by an abundance of even cheaper margarita mix,
but that’s what you get for no cover charge and five dollar drinks.