Going Geek (6 page)

I
sit through a full morning of classes, where I manage to raise my hand for attendance, collect syllabi, and not much else. Since I have a free period right after lunch, I make the trek back to Abbot. Hopefully I'll have the room to myself.

One of the doors on my floor is wide open, so I try to open my door as silently as possible.

“So that was a bummer this morning.”

I jump at the sound of the gravelly, braying voice and turn to see a tiny, freckled girl with fiery red hair pulled into a tight ponytail sticking her head out the open door. I'd say there's no way that color is natural, but it complements her fair complexion perfectly, and honestly, she doesn't look like the type to bother with her hair. She's cute, but that voice and her jeans and running shoes—a combination that I've always found particularly frumpy—aren't doing her any favors. “Um, excuse me?” I ask.

“Getting dumped is a seriously sucky way to begin senior year, am I right?” she says.

Between lack of sleep and fighting with Leo, my nerves are frayed, and I'm ready to snap. “That is not what happened. And I'm sorry, have we met?” I glare at her.

“I'm Jess. We were in the same orientation group as first-years.” I suppose that I should feel bad enough to pretend I remember her, but Jess waves her hand as if to say she doesn't care. “Save your breath. I like to keep a low profile anyway. So you were saying?”

“I wasn't actually. I'm still processing, and I don't really know you, so maybe I can fill you in some other time.”
Like never.

Inside my room I stare at my phone, hoping that Leo had a change of heart, when the door swings open and hits the wall. It's not Opal (the only person who has the right to open my closed door without knocking) but Raksmey. At least she appears calmer than she did when we first met in the kitchenette.

“We heard about you and Leo. I'm really sorry,” Raksmey says, then shifts to the side so that I see a girl standing behind her.

I'm actually not surprised that something as noteworthy as problems between me and Leo has misfired through the gossip-sphere. Every girl on campus has probably been waiting for some sign of trouble. They can keep dreaming, because we're not over.

I sigh, and somehow they take that as an invitation to come in. I'm pretty sure the other girl isn't in my class, but I've definitely seen her around. She stands out, with thick black hair that hangs long and shiny past her shoulders and a style that, while a tad on the uptight side, does show that she has impeccable taste. And money. She's wearing a slim blue oxford shirt tucked into a gray pencil skirt. I'll overlook her flats, since we do live out in the hinterlands. People call her The Princess, and I have no idea if they do it to her face or even if she's an actual princess, but just looking at her makes me wish I had better posture.

“You're Jasmine, right?” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “It's Yasmin. Jasmine's what those fools who made up the princess rumor call me.”

Oh. That answers that, then.

“Personally, I think that had more to do with your wardrobe and demeanor than it did with the fact that you're from the Emirates,” Raksmey says.

I nod stupidly, and Yasmin squints at me. “Anyway,” she says, “we wanted to stop by and see if there's anything you need. We've both lived here since we were first-years, and I love this dorm because we're like a family.”

“Seriously, if you need ice cream, sushi—you name it—we'd be happy to take you out, or even bring it to you!” Raksmey's offer is sweet, but I don't think my situation quite warrants these dire breakup recovery tactics.

“That's so nice. But, uh, I can't really eat sushi on this coast, being from California.” I realize it sounds snotty the second it's out of my mouth. But to my surprise, Yasmin nods.

“We have a Katsuya back home, so I know what you mean,” she says, referring to a famous sushi restaurant chain that started in LA.

“There's a Katsuya in Saudi Arabia?” I ask. Who knew?

Raksmey and Yasmin glance at each other. “She's not from Saudi Arabia. That's not even part of the Emirates,” Raksmey says.

“Oh, right, of course.” I'm uncomfortably aware that I'm being moronic and should probably just stop talking. This is what I get for trying to be polite when I'm too upset to think straight.

“But Dubai, where I live, has a Katsuya. And yes, Rock-n-Roll Sushi really can't compare.” Yasmin smiles, which makes me feel less like a jerk, but I need to cut this visit short before exhaustion makes me say something even dumber. Unfortunately, these girls show no sign of leaving.

“I didn't sleep well last night, so I'm going to try to nap before athletics,” I say.

“No problem. We're heading to lunch,” Yasmin says.

“If you're up for it, Club Raks is happening tomorrow night,” Raksmey says.

I have no idea what she's talking about but smile as I close the door behind them. I'm sure I'll find out about this club business later whether I want to or not.

After dragging myself through mandatory afternoon athletics, I have my senior elective, Images of Women in Film. It was the one class I was actually looking forward to, but now it seems like a cruel, term-long punch line to my humiliation. I enrolled thinking it would be a cakewalk based on my background, but now that everyone thinks I'm a liar, anything I say will be scrutinized. The easy A hardly seems worth it now.

When I get to Hartley Hall, the English and media building, I'm bummed to see Remy and Sid, Leo's teammates, already sitting in the classroom. I'd forgotten they were in this section.

I deliberately choose a seat on the other side of the room but sense Remy staring at me. I meet his eye and offer a wavering half smile. There are only ten students in the class, which means there's no chance I'll be able to avoid them all term.

As Dr. Fan hands out the syllabus and gives an overview of the class, I focus all my energy on looking natural. Judging from the way Remy keeps shooting worried looks in my direction and Sid hasn't acknowledged me, I know they've heard. I wonder how much detail Leo went into. Knowing him, I doubt he said very much.

“Screenings are every other week in this room, but since those classes run longer, we'll meet after dinner. Manage your time accordingly.” Dr. Fan peers at me, so I nod.

We spend the next thirty minutes watching clips from old movies. While I haven't seen all of them, I'm definitely familiar with the titles. Dr. Fan pauses occasionally to point out how camera placement or use of music influences the mood of a scene. It's a testament to her teaching that I'm absorbed enough to forget my personal problems.

When class ends and the lights flicker back on, I take a long time to gather my things, giving Remy and Sid time to leave first. I keep my head down, pretending to peruse the syllabus as I walk, so naturally I plow right into Remy, who's stationed outside the door. “Oof. Hey,” I say.

Sid looks as uncomfortable as I feel. “That was a pretty cool class,” he says.

“Yeah, I'm excited to watch
Broadcast News
—never seen it before,” Remy says, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

“It's one of my mom's favorites,” I say, earning an eye roll from Sid.

“I'm going to go ahead,” he says, looking only at Remy.

“Cool. Be there in a minute,” Remy says.

I watch Sid jog away. “I guess now that Leo's mad at me, there's no reason for him to pretend to be nice to me.”

“Don't worry about him. He just likes being contrarian. So, what's going on with you and Diaz?” Remy asks.

I start walking. “We're just giving each other a minute to digest some information.” On the one hand, I'm touched that he cares enough to ask, but on the other, talking to him about it feels traitorous. Remy and I are friends, but there's no question that he's Leo's friend first.

“I don't get it, you guys were totally fine the other night. What could've happened between then and today?”

“What did he say?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“Not much. That guy's a vault. He's really bummed, though. Did you mess around over the summer?”

I whack him on the arm. “No! God, are you serious? I'd never do that.”

Remy relaxes. “Then what could be so bad?”

“I…don't want to get into it, but I didn't tell him something I should've told him, but it didn't involve another person.”

“You mean you lied?”

The word makes me squirm. “Not exactly.”

“Come on. If it's not cheating and it's not lying, then I'm sure he'll get over it eventually.”

“Okay, it was kind of lying.”

Remy winces. “Oh.”

I groan. At the moment I feel like I have nothing more to lose. Plus, Remy's always been nice to me. “I didn't tell him that I waitressed over the summer. Or that my family's struggling financially.”

“I thought you worked for your mom,” he says.

“Right. Because that's what I told everyone. I'm honestly just stressed about my family, but Leo thinks I didn't tell him because I'm ashamed that I had to work a regular job.”

“Ooh. I can see that being a tough one for him.”

Another wave of misery engulfs me.

We arrive at the Canteen, and there's a mortifying moment when I can tell Remy's wondering how to ditch me before we go in. “I'm going to run over to Lincoln and see if anyone's around,” I say quickly. “I'll see you later.”

“Cool,” Remy says. I try to ignore the relief that flashes across his face.

I retreat down the path. Even though I'm not dying to share the gory details, it does feel better to tell my side of the story. Hopefully Whit's had a chance to calm down and is ready to hear me out.

Her door's closed, and a girl I don't know stops me as I'm about to knock on Elizabeth's door. “All the seniors went off campus to eat.”

“Really?” I check my phone, but there are no texts or missed calls. By now Whit's definitely told everyone about me and Leo. Guess no one's overly concerned about my shattered heart. “Where did they go?”

She shrugs and gives me a little wave as she joins another first-year girl coming out of her room. They walk downstairs, talking and laughing, so close that their elbows and shoulders knock together.

“Name?” the guy on the phone asks when I'm done ordering a pepperoni pizza with onions and mushrooms. If all my friends bailed on me, at least I can console myself with my favorite Winthrop meal.

“Skylar Hoffman.”

“Lincoln, right?”

I guess I've ordered from them a few times over the years. I'm a reverse snob when it comes to pizza and sandwiches—East Coast wins, hands down. “Actually this year I'm in a new dorm. Abbot House.”

“The really far one? We charge extra to deliver there.”

“Of course you do.”

“That okay?” he asks.

Like I have a choice? “Yeah, fine,” I say.

“Herb's driving today. You want to add anything to your order?” he asks.

That's the code name for the delivery guy who also supplies half the campus with weed. I'm not much of a smoker, and besides, I can barely afford the pizza. “I'm all good,” I say.

Eating alone in my room is absolutely not how I pictured starting this year, but it turns out to be about all I can handle. I sit on the floor, leaning back against my bed, imagining the conversation I'd be having if I were out with everyone right now. Would my lie be the elephant in the room? Or would I get an inquisition about my life? Comforting words about Leo and how none of the rest matters because I'm still the same person? The sad fact is, I'm really not sure.

Desperate for any silver lining, I mull over the idea that I can eat as much pepperoni and onion as I want, because I won't be kissing Leo anytime soon. As soon as I think it, my appetite disappears, and I put down my slice.