My Sweetest Escape (9 page)

parking pass and handed me back the keys

she’d stolen when I moved in on the

condition that I didn’t get into any

shenanigans. I’d been completely

shenanigan-free ever since I’d gotten here,

but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone.

They were all still watching me, waiting for

me to screw up. Maybe I should, just to put

them out of their misery.

I said goodbye to everyone, promising

I’d come back in one piece later.

I blasted Ingrid Michaelson on my drive

to campus and sang at the top of my lungs.

It took a few times of driving around the

football field for me to find a free

commuter parking spot. Apparently they

were real asshats about parking in areas

that weren’t designated for you to park in.

Finally, I found one, even though I had

to squish in between a minivan and a huge

truck and slide sideways to get out. I had

ten minutes to get to my first class, Intro to

American Law. I’d thought about changing

majors, but I knew I could pretty much

sleep through most of my poli-sci classes, so

I stuck with what I knew.

The class was full of clones of the

students I’d left behind. I even saw a few

girls with the exact same bag I had shoved

in a box back at my mom’s house. Since it

was a sophomore-level class, most of the

nonserious people had been weeded out,

but there were still a few people who

looked like they wouldn’t make it through

four years of this. And, of course, since this

was New England, there were the token

Birkenstock-wearing, patchouli-smelling

weirdos who were going to spend their time

protesting whatever the trendy cause of the

day was.

They were almost worse than the

buttoned-up, straitlaced kids. They just had

to be so self-righteous about every. Damn.

Thing. They also loved to hear the sound of

their own voices.

Fortunately, I’d brought my

headphones, and since they liked to talk so

much, they’d take up plenty of class time,

leaving that time for the rest of us to do

whatever. I booted up my laptop and

listened as the professor, a guy in a nice

button-up and tie—big surprise—droned on

about Marbury vs. Madi-son. Been there,

done that.

I kept one ear open and the other

covered as I listened to some new music I’d

found the other day on low volume. I’d also

bought some new albums that I needed to

review, so I switched to those. The first was

a ska group that was way more punk than

ska and didn’t have a whole lot going for

them. It wasn’t even bad in a craptastic way

that made you want to listen to it anyway.

They definitely weren’t Street-light

Manifesto, or Reel Big Fish.

I made a few notes about some of the

songs and moved on to the second album

that had more of a folky/bluegrass feel.

That one was much better, and I found

myself transfixed by the complex melodies

and haunting lyrics. I didn’t think there was

anything else like music for having the

ability to transport you to another place,

even when you were sitting in a class full of

strangers.

Finally, the class was over and

homework was assigned.

I’d managed to get a seat in the back

and had avoided making eye contact or

speaking with anyone, so I called the first

class a total win.

I wasn’t so lucky for my second,

American State and Local Government. It

sounded like a total yawner of a class, but

when I got into the room everyone was

talking and laughing like it was a social

gathering instead of a class. I sat in the

back, closest to the door and with at least

two seats in between me and anyone else,

and I thought I was set until a girl rushed in

and sat with one seat between us.

“Am I late?” she said, not even looking

at me and frantically searching through her

bag. All I saw was a huge quantity of very

blond, very curly hair that she had tried to

shove into an elastic band without much

success.

I looked around, but there was no one

else to respond to her, so it was up to me.

“Um, there’s still a few minutes.” She

was up to her elbows in her bag, and she

finally emerged, holding a bag of Skittles. I

opened and closed my mouth a few times

as she ripped the bag open with her teeth

and then held the bag in my direction.

“Want some?” I finally looked at her

face and then wished I hadn’t. One half was

perfect white skin, and the other was

mangled with what looked like a severe

burn. “Do I have something on my face?”

she said, her eyes getting wide as her hand

flew to her face. “Oh, yeah, I do. Duh.”

She dropped her hand and grinned at

me. Somehow her eyes had remained

unharmed, but the side of her mouth and

the rest of her face going all the way to her

ear were shiny and had a weird pattern on

them. It extended down her neck, and

though her arm was covered, I could see it

on the back of her hand, as well.

“So I’m going to tell you my name and

also tell you that you can stare if you want.

I’m Hannah, and it’s okay to stare.”

She flicked some of her hair back, and I

tried my best to look into her eyes, which

were a deep brown, in contrast with her

pale hair and skin.

“Jos. I’m Jos,” I said, because what else

was I going to do?

“Nice to meet you. And if you choose to

sit on the other side of the room next class,

I won’t, like, hate you or anything. I’m a

people repeller. It’s kind of my thing. For

obvious reasons.” She giggled a little, and I

turned to the front of the class, where an

extremely tall woman in a charcoal skirt and

jacket was writing things down on the

numerous whiteboards. She looked like she

just stepped out of a Senate meeting. When

she was done writing what looked like half

of a novel, she turned around and clapped

her hands.

Everyone shut up.

“Okay, I see you all made it here for

another week of mind-broadening.

Congratulations on being sober enough to

drag yourselves here.” Everyone else

laughed, and I sort of joined in. She picked

up a clipboard and read our names off. Of

course, since my last name began with the

first letter of the alphabet, I was the second

person called.

“Joscelyn Archer?”

“Here,” I said, listening to my voice echo

in the large room.

She looked up from the clipboard and

searched me out.

“You’re new to us, yes? Transfer?”

“Uh, yeah.” I could feel the blood

rushing to my face and ears.

“Do you go by Joscelyn, or is there a

nickname you’d prefer?”

“Um, Jos is fine.”

She smiled, showing the most perfect

set of probably real teeth I’d ever seen.

“Jos. Lovely. Nice to have you with us.”

She moved on to the next name, and I

slumped down in my seat.

“I hope you’re not going to do that all

the time. She’ll call on you more if she

knows how much you hate it,” Hannah

whispered as someone else said, “here!”

“Great. Just fantastic.”

Hannah was right. Since I was new, the

teacher, who went by Pam, didn’t call on

me, but everyone else was fair game.

She fired questions out like bullets, and

if you answered too slowly, she’d move on

to someone else. There was a lot of

stuttering, a lot of red faces and a lot of

people shooting their hands in the air to be

called on so they could show everyone just

how freaking smart they were.

And then there were some, including

Hannah, who gave the answers when called

and didn’t elaborate unless Pam asked

them to. Everyone sort of turned to look at

Hannah when she talked, and I could see

that more than a few people’s gazes

skittered away from the burned side of her

face, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

I didn’t get out my headphones the

entire class. It was just too interesting. How

she could make something as potentially

boring as Colonial government riveting was

beyond me.

When the class was over, we all sort of

walked out like we were in a trance.

“Is it always like that?” I couldn’t help

myself from asking Hannah as she crumpled

up the empty Skittles bag.

“Pretty much. Awesome, huh?”

“It probably will be less awesome when

she starts calling on me.”

“Just do the reading. You seem like the

kind of person who doesn’t have her head

up her ass, so you should be fine.

So, where did you transfer from?”

“UNH.”

“Boo, hiss. Don’t say that too close to

anyone connected with hockey, or else you

might get your ass handed to you.”

So I’d heard. The hockey rivalry between

the University of Maine and the University

of New Hampshire had been going on for as

long as they’d been playing hockey. I’d

never gone to a game, but campus pretty

much shut down so everyone could go to

the games, and I bet UMaine wasn’t any

different.

I had some time before my next class,

and I was already starving, so I headed

toward the Union.

“Do you have another class right now?”

Hannah said as we got to the doors.

“Because, although that bag of Skittles was

totally satisfying, I could go for something

else. Why does this sound like I’m asking

you out? I’m totally not.” She shook her

head.

“Um, no. I’m available. For eating. Not

the dating.”

Her dark eyes went wide. “Because I like

boys. I swear.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

We shared one of those nervous giggles

that turns into full-on laughter, and by the

time we got to the Union, I was wiping tears

away.

“I swear, I’m not normally this weird,”

she said as we joined the lunchtime throng

and descended into the food court. Only a

second later she said, “Okay, that’s a

complete lie. I am normally this weird.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I whispered as we

scoped out what was available. The longest

lines were for pizza and burgers and the

pseudo “Taco Bell,” so we headed to get

wraps since those were the quickest. I

happened to be on Hannah’s “good” side,

but I was more than aware of the stares she

got. It was one of those things. You saw her,

realized there was something different

about her, did a look again to check and

then couldn’t look away.

She just smiled and giggled and acted

like a normal girl. She got a hummus wrap

and I ordered the special, known as the

“Winslow,” which was basically a chicken

caesar wrap with the addition of crushed

croutons, which was such a brilliant idea

that I couldn’t believe someone hadn’t

thought of it sooner.

Finding a seat turned out to be a

challenge, but we found a table for the two

of us in a corner. I was about to say

something, but Hannah beat me to it.

“So, in light of wanting to get things out

in the open, yes, it’s a burn. It happened

when I was a kid and it’s a long story and I’d

rather not go into it because it’s a bit of a

downer and a bit of a conversation killer

and usually after I tell it I never see whoever

I told it to again. Which is my weird way of

saying that I don’t want to make you

uncomfortable this early in our relationship.

Wow, why do I keep doing that?

I am so sorry.”

“No big,” I said, unable to stop laughing.

“How about you tell me something else?

Where are you from?”

She chewed and swallowed before she

spoke. “Up north.

The boondocks. The sticks. The butthole

of Maine. Whatever you want to call it. I

couldn’t afford to go out of state and this

was the biggest school in Maine. Great

place to get lost in, you know?”

I did.

“What’s your major?” she said after

taking another bite of her wrap.

“Poli-sci.”

“Me, too. Although, that’s only because

it sounded better than history and I’m a bit

of a law junkie. I have no idea what I want

to do, but I figured it was as good as

anything else. Plus, in the upper level

classes we get to debate and that’s kind of

one of my favorite things. You?”

“I used to want to be president, or a

senator or something,”

I said. I hadn’t decided quite what yet. I

figured I’d start out in local government and

work my way up.

“Used to?”

“Another one of those long stories that’s

a bit of a downer that I’d rather not tell.”

Hannah nodded. Honestly, the burn

wasn’t that bad once you’d been looking at

it for a while. You got used to it, and the

fact that Hannah didn’t seem bothered