Just Like Fate (7 page)

The town of Clinton is quiet and kempt as I leave my father’s
house, following my brother’s car. Little patters of rain begin
to hit my windshield, and I glance uncertainly at the sky, wondering what’s to come.

Luckily the dorms are only fifteen minutes away from my
dad’s because what started as a sprinkle turns into a torrential
downpour as we pull into the parking lot. My brother snags the
last spot in the main lot and then runs to my window and directs
me toward the visitors’ lot—otherwise known as Siberia.

I pull up the hood of my jacket and jog—trying, and failing, to avoid the puddles. When I get to Teddy, safely waiting under the entrance overhang, I take a second to look over
the campus. The trees, the brick of the buildings, even the
crooked stop sign are the same. Gram loved coming here. Her
excitement when visiting Teddy was always infectious. She
once told me it made her feel young to be around young people. Then she’d lick her palm and smooth down one of the
stray hairs in my part. I nearly drown in the grief of the memory, how much I took her love for granted.

“Hey,” my brother says, bumping me. “It’s okay to miss
her, you know. You don’t always have to keep a brave face.”
He’s like a mind reader.

I lower my head. “Do you hate me for leaving that night?”
Teddy gasps and puts his arm over my shoulders to pull
me into a sideways hug. “Of course not, Coco. And neither
would Gram. You don’t seriously think that, do you?”

Yes.
“Not really,” I say instead, not wanting to drag him
into my grief and guilt. “I just . . .” I pull back to look into Teddy’s worried eyes. “I wish I was as strong as you.”

His expression weakens.“I’m not nearly as pulled together
as you think. Listen,” he says quietly. “Gram would want us to
be together. All of us. So this thing with Natalie, with Mom—
it’s got to end, Coco.” He smiles a little. “Even if I’m glad to
have you close by.”

“I’m glad too.” And I mean it. Being here with Teddy—it
helps. And even though I can’t imagine a world where Natalie
and I don’t hate each other, I think that my brother is right.
Gram would want us all together. Unfortunately, I don’t think
it’ll ever happen. “So,” I tell my brother, putting my chilled
hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “Are we going inside or
do you want to continue this heart-to-heart while I freeze to
death?”

Teddy laughs. “Inside,” he says, pulling open the door.
“But I’m ordering pizza before any more talking. You made
me miss Debbie’s roast.”

I smile, walking past him through the door. The dorm
lobby is a dirty white with army-green lockers lining the walls,
posters for upcoming events taped and retaped to pillars. The
elevator is slow and loud, and I have to remind myself each
time I ride in it that it won’t get stuck—mostly to keep from
panicking.

The floor is silent as we head toward his room. Teddy has
a double with his best friend from high school, Phillip Voss,
who I’ve known since I was a kid. Phillip pegs me in the face
with a dirty sock the minute I walk in, and suddenly everything is so normal I actually laugh. I pick up the sock, ready
to throw it back, but then I realize it’s a
dirty sock
and drop it.

“Wimp,” Phillip calls, and goes back to watching
The
Simpsons
. Teddy calls in the pizza as I shrug out of my jacket
and take up space on the saggy beanbag.

Teddy’s room hasn’t changed since he moved in—posters everywhere, especially Electric Freakshow, and a few over
Phillip’s bunk that he refers to as his “girlfriends.” Sure, if he
happened to be dating a pinup model in a swimsuit.

When the pizza arrives, the three of us pounce, calling
dibs on the biggest slices and then groaning when someone
else takes them. But once our mouths are too full to talk, we
finish watching
The Simpsons
and relax into the comfort of
college life.

After his third slice, Phillip decides to share some of his
favorite dorm stories, to which I half-listen and half-cringe.
“You could see her black G-string through her white
sweats,” he says, shaking his head. “And I’m pretty sure she
did it on purpose.”
“Phillip, you’re disgusting,” I respond, biting into my
slice while still staring at the television. “I can’t believe any girl
would go out with you.” Phil isn’t entirely revolting. It’s just
that he crossed into that annoying-brother status years ago.
And then he smacks me on the back of the head with a pillow. The room erupts into laughter. There are a few more hits
until Teddy has to break it up before we really start to throw
down. When it’s done, we all sigh.
“I’ve missed you, snot nose,” Phillip says fondly from
above me on the futon.
“You too, reject.” I glance at the clock on Teddy’s dresser
and see that it’s nearly ten. I’m not sure if I have a curfew, but
it seems wrong to stay out until midnight on my first night
at Dad’s. I tell Teddy and Phillip good night and make my
brother promise to come over for a “family” dinner tomorrow.
I tell him I’ll need moral support.
As I cross the lobby of the dorm, I pause to fold the stillwet cuff of my jeans where they slip under the heels of my
sneaker. I do a quick hop, trying to steady my balance. A cold
rush of air hits me as the door opens, and when I look up, I
suck in a startled breath. And nearly tumble to the floor.
Chris lifts his head, his mouth opening with surprise. But
rather than ask what I’m doing here, he smiles. “This totally
counts as one of those random times,” he says, and takes out
his phone.
I laugh, not sure how to respond. More than anything, I’m
pretty stunned to have
actually
bumped into him again.
“Well?” he asks. “I believe your exact phrase was that I
could have
the digits
. So hand them over, Sweet Caroline.”
“Don’t sing it.”
“I never will.” He pauses. “Okay, I might once or twice.
But I will try to control any musical outbursts.” When I still
don’t give him my number, Chris slides his phone back into
his pocket and walks to lean against the wall of mailboxes.
“Can I at least assume you were stalking me?” he asks hopefully.
“Not this time.” When he glances away, I take the opportunity to size him up. He’s wearing a black thermal with no
coat, and his arms are more muscular than I had noticed at the
party. His blond hair is messy, but sort of adorable in its own
way. His eyes are a shade of blue you only see in the sky on
the clearest day. Maybe it’s the buzz of a normal night at last,
or maybe I’m intrigued, but I go to rest against the mailboxes
next to Chris.
“I regretted not giving you my number,” I say, staring at
my sneakers. “The day after my gram died was horrible. I
tried to find you, but”—I look sideways at him—“you’re right.
The houses do look different in the daylight.”
A broad smile crosses his face. “It was the red one.”
I snap my fingers at the missed opportunity, and then we
go back to leaning silently, even as more students enter the
building. After a minute he pulls out his phone, the screen lit
up before he hits ignore. I start to fidget.
“So what floor do you live on?” I ask. “My brother’s on
six.”
Chris seems surprised. “Oh, I don’t live here. I’m just
stopping by to see a friend. That’s who keeps calling, actually.”
I laugh. “So you’re the ditcher this time?”
“She’ll get over it,” he says with a shrug. I feel a pinch of
jealousy.
“Your girlfriend?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Chris
pulls his eyebrows together.
“Do you think I’d be asking for your phone number if I
had a girlfriend? Wow, you really do think I’m a douche.”
“No, I—”
“Just a friend,” he says. “Maria is a friend and I actually
have several others, all of which I’d ditch for a short amount of
time if you’d agree to go get coffee with me. Right now.”
“I can’t.”
Chris nods, then takes his phone out again. “God,” he
says, hitting ignore. But before he can put it away, I take it from
his hand.
I can feel his stare on the side of my face as I click into his
contacts and enter my number. When I type in my name, I put
Sweet Caroline. He watches me do all of this without a word,
and when I’m done, his bright blue eyes find mine.
“I’ll call you,” he says with a victorious grin.
“Maybe soon?” I ask, feeling like I should hug him or
somehow acknowledge that I’m completely and totally flirting
back.
“Oh, it’ll be soon,” he says. “I’m not letting you slip away
this time. Even if you run.”
The word “run” sends a shiver over me, but I refuse to let
even one bad thought in right now.
“It’s still raining,” Chris says as he slowly backs away. “So
drive safely. The bridge is out on Brinkerhoff if you’re going
that way.”
“I’m not. My dad lives really close, but thanks for the
warning.”
Chris walks to the elevator, looking back as if debating
whether or not to stay longer, but when it opens, he just smiles
and gets in.
And I’m not even to my car when a text pops up on my
phone.
TOTALLY LIKE FATE.

After school, I feel like I’m a bubble on the verge of being
popped, only I’m not as afraid of spilling air as I am of spilling
emotions. Reeling from the kiss with Joel and overrun with
sadness about Gram, I know I need to keep myself busy—my
thoughts at bay. So I head to my room hell bent on dismantling Penguin Palace.

He followed me into the auditorium.
I stuff my penguin sheets
into a trash bag.
He confided in me about his uncle. Why now?
Down go the kid posters from the walls. Juju gets the lovely penguin snow globe that Dad brought back from his honeymoon in
New Zealand.
WHAT WAS WITH THE KISS?
Bye bye, hideous
lamp. Mom can deal with that one.
He’s an amazing kisser—even
better than I imagined.
I smooth down the black-and-white comforter that Gram gave me.
Gram can probably hear me thinking
about kissing boys. Boys with girlfriends.

My cell rings, making me jump. I go over and check the
caller ID—I can’t believe what it says. Last year during Simone’s
The Secret
phase, she had me program Joel’s number
into my phone—a way of telling the universe to make him call.
He never did. Um, until now.

“Joel?” I say like a complete loser, as if I’ve been waiting
by the phone for him. I’d smack myself if I didn’t think he
might be able to hear it.

“Hi, Caroline,” he says with that voice of his—that quiet,
commanding voice that’s never light, no matter the situation.
“Is this . . . are you busy?”

“I’m not, actually,” I say, sitting down on my pristine bed.
“I just finished doing . . . something.”
“What were you doing?” he asks.
“I was just fixing my room—at my mom’s,” I say. “I had
to move back after, you know.” I look around, amazed by how
much more “me” I feel now that I have my own stuff.
“Got it,” he says. We’re both quiet for a few seconds, then,
“So listen, I wanted to call and apologize for today.”
“Really, it’s fine,” I say quickly, not wanting to talk about
it.
“No, seriously, I feel like a dick for kissing you—like I took
advantage of you when you were upset or something. I mean
I’ve known that you liked me for a while but—”
“What?” I interrupt, instantly humiliated by both the
fact that he knows and the fact that he just went ahead and
acknowledged it out loud.
“What?”
“What did you just say?” I don’t really want to hear it
again, but it’s like sticking your tongue in a mouth sore—I ask
anyway.
“Come on, Caroline,” he says quietly. Intimately. “I mean,
I’m not wrong, am I?”
I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say something else, anything else. But he’s silent—waiting for me to answer. “I don’t
know what you want me to say here, Joel,” I tell him. “I mean,
so what? We’ve known each other forever and nothing’s ever .
. .” I can’t say it; I try again. “And you’re with Lauren.”
“Maybe not for long.”
My stomach flips,but I manage not to squeal “REALLY??”
into the phone.
“The whole long-distance thing isn’t working too well,”
he says, sighing.
Long distance? She only goes to school across town!
“That’s too bad,” I say, pretending to be sympathetic. He
laughs halfheartedly, calling me on the failed attempt without
saying anything.
“She’s jealous. You know she got into Clinton but stayed
at the community college to be closer to me, right? And she
always wants me to call and check in; she wants to know where
I am all the time. She asks me about girls in my classes and
who I talk to on a daily basis. . . . It’s like she went to college
and went batshit.”
It’s my turn to laugh, but I try to contain it.
“Shouldn’t you be the jealous one?” I ask, hating that I’m
having a conversation with Joel about his incredibly hot girlfriend. “She’s the one surrounded by older guys.”
“Jealousy isn’t my thing,” he says flatly. It sort of bugs me
for a reason I can’t pinpoint. What do I care if Joel doesn’t
get jealous? He’s not
my
boyfriend. And besides, isn’t trusting
someone a good thing?
He sighs again. “I don’t want to talk about Lauren.”
Thank
God.
“I was calling to apologize, but also . . . I wanted to tell
you that it wasn’t just out of the blue for me either. It wasn’t
like I was trying to get some from the girl in crisis.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m
totally
the girl in crisis,” I say sarcastically.
“You get what I mean,” Joel says, maybe a twinge annoyed.
“Do I?”
“Your grandmother just died—you’re not exactly up,” he
says. The banter is starting to feel a little like a battle.
We’re both quiet again, and I’m wondering what excuse
he’s going to use to get off the phone because clearly this call
is not going smoothly.
“You said you’re at your house?” he says instead.
“Yes,” I answer curiously. “Why?”
“I’m coming to get you.” He offers me no choice. “I want
to talk to you, but I hate phones. I hate not being able to see
your face. I can’t tell if you’re pissed or mellow or whatever.
Let’s just go somewhere and hang out for a bit, okay?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I look at myself in the
mirror by the closet to verify that I look as shocked as I feel.
It’s worse.
“Okay,” I say.
“Fifteen minutes?” he asks. I nod.
“I’ll be waiting.”