Second Chances (5 page)

Reagan
, despite everything she’d seen so far from Allison, still felt skeptical – like all of these recent niceties was an elaborate ploy to get her defenses down and humiliate her.  “What changed for you?” she felt compelled to ask.

“Just
being in college, I suppose,” Allison said with a delicate shrug.  “Everyone at Brown is a little more talented than I could ever hope to be.  A little smarter.  A little richer.  A little prettier.”

“Well I find that
last one hard to believe,” Reagan interjected.

“Whatever,” Allison
scoffed.  She was a little annoyed Reagan kept talking about her like that.  She wanted to be more than just a pretty face.  That was the whole point of reinventing herself in college. “Either way, it was humbling,” she continued.  “I wasn’t at the top of the pyramid anymore.  I wasn’t even in the middle.”

“So, what? You just gave up? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I didn’t
give up
,” Allison denied with some heat.  “I’ve got a 4.0 at an Ivy-League school.  I hardly call that ‘giving up.’”

Reagan
shrank back. Allison’s eyes flashed a hard look that reminded her too much of their high school days.  She tried to keep the flashbacks at bay of clutching her books tight against her chest while walking down the high school corridor.

“My priorities changed,” Allison said earnestly.  The intensity and flicker of anger faded from her eyes. “Popularity, boyfriends, cheerleading…the same things that drove me in high school didn’t seem so important once I got here.”

Reagan took an experimental sip of her nearly forgotten beverage.  It was still hot.  “So what’s important to you now?” she asked.

“Getting good grades,” Allison noted with a shrug.  “My writing.”  She hesitated and licked her bottom lip.  “Making amends for the past.”

Reagan looked up from the rim of her mug at the mention of the past.  She was met with another intense gaze.  “Is that what this is? Is that why you invited me this weekend?” she asked, feeling very small under Allison’s unrelenting eye contact.  “Am I part of your 12-step program to becoming a better person?”

Allison finally looked away
and broke eye contact. “I don’t have a checklist or anything,” she mumbled. 

She looked back when Reagan reached across the table to grab her hands.  She stared down at where their hands connected.  Hers, pale and unblemished, and Reagan’s an attractive olive tone.  She knew
Reagan was saying something, but all she heard was white noise.  She was too distracted by the feeling of Reagan rubbing her thumbs up and down her wrist bones to make out the actual words.

“Allison?”

She blinked once and looked up from their hands.  “Hmmm?”

Reagan smiled softly. “Where did you just go?”

Allison shook her head and laughed, embarrassed.  “Sorry.  I totally zoned out on you, didn’t I.”  She gently pulled her hands away, but not so quickly as to offend her.  “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that even if this is part of some grand self-improvement scheme, I’m glad we reconnected.”

Allison allowed herself a rare, genuine smile. “I am, too.”

Reagan beamed.  “Great!” she exclaimed.  “So now that we’ve got
that
out of the way, where to next?  I want to see all that Providence has to offer.”

“I don’
t know what you’re expecting,” Allison admitted. “Providence isn’t exactly New York, so I hope it’s not too disappointing.” She stood and bussed their table, setting both of their practically untouched beverages near the garbage cans.

Reagan stood as well. “My, how chivalrous,” she remarked.  She picked up her canvas bag from the floor and flung the strap over her shoulder.

Allison snorted. “Don’t get used to it, Murphy.  I fully expect to be waited on like this the next time I’m in New York.”

Reagan clapped excitedly, causing Allison to laugh and roll her eyes at her antics. “You’d really want to hang out again?”

Allison smirked. “Sure. Why not? Besides, I’ve got those 12-steps to get through, remember?” she teased.

Reagan instinctively looped her arm through Allison’s.  The taller girl momentarily stiffened.  She wasn’t normally a touchy-feely person.  Her family hardly hugged, only when it was necessary. 

“Do I get to be your sponsor?” Reagan asked, leading them through the coffee shop door and out into the brisk Providence afternoon. “So whenever you’re feeling like being a bitch you have to call me, and I’ll talk you down.”

“In that case, I’d be calling you
all
the time.”

Reagan grinned. “I don’t mind.  I’ve got an excellent cellular plan.
  And there’s always Skype.  My dad and I talk on that all the time.”

“God, you’re a nerd,” Allison chuckled.  She tilted her head down as a particularly brutal gust of
New England wind blew at them while they waited for the pedestrian signs at the intersection to change.

“Remind me why
we didn’t choose colleges down South?” Reagan asked.  Her teeth practically chattered and she popped the collar of her jacket in a feeble attempt to keep the wind at bay. “We could be sipping Mai Tai’s at the beach right now.”

“Because serious artists study in New York City,” Allison pointed out.  “And you’re a serious artist.”

“And what’s your excuse?” Reagan countered. “With all your blonde hair, you’d fit in perfectly in the South or on the West Coast.”

Allison shrugged beneath her heavy coat.  “I’m a
frigid snob,” she said simply.  “And we snobs congregate in New England.”

Reagan looked up at
Allison, who was facing forward, looking ahead. She had always thought the girl walking beside her, their arms still linked in solidarity against the weather, had been the prettiest girl in their school.  They’d been friends once, real friends, back in elementary and middle school.  But the awkwardness of puberty had left Allison’s elongating limbs much earlier than it had Reagan’s.

While
Reagan still played with Barbie’s and Lego’s in junior high, Allison had discovered make-up and heels.  And in high school while Reagan hid behind her oil paints and photography, Allison had learned how to roll her eyes and hang prettily off the arm of the beefiest letterman jacket.

Long forgotten were the childhood days of lemonade stands and playing pirates in the tree fort
in her backyard.  Allison was popular.  Reagan was not.  And in high school, that was all that really mattered.

Allison stopped walking when she noticed the grim, far away look on Reagan’s face.  “Hey,” she said
gently.  Reagan’s eyes refocused on Allison’s face.  “Are you okay?”  She grubbed her palms roughly up and down Reagan’s jacket-covered arms as if coaxing the blood to better circulate in her limbs.

Reagan mentally shook herself.  They were having a nice day; she didn’t want to ruin it by dragging them through the muddied past.  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said thickly.  “Just low-blood sugar, I think.”

Allison’s features pinched in concern.  “Let’s move those legs faster then and get you back to my house.  I’m not exactly sure what I have at home that’s vegan, but I’m sure we can find something.”

Reagan smiled and squeezed Allison’s arm once in thanks.  “And then I really do want to see your world,” she insisted.  “I want to see where this new Allison Hoge lives.”

++
+++

Reagan pulled off her hat and coat and looked around the front foyer, appraising the space that Allison called home.  She was slightly surprised at what she saw.  The rental home was immaculately cleaned, which wasn’t a surprise.  But the house was a little old, a little run down.  The house felt…
historic
, she decided.  It had a story to tell.

“I like your house,” she said, handing
Allison her jacket to hang up.

“It’s a drafty shack,
and it smells like mothballs,” Allison retorted, “but at least I don’t have to live in a dorm anymore.”

Reagan
frowned at the frank response. “I think it’s charming,” she protested.

Allison hung up Reagan’s
jacket on a hook in the foyer, took off her own coat, and did the same.  “Let’s see what we’ve got in the house you can eat.  I’m sorry I didn’t have time to go shopping before you got here,” she sighed tiredly, walking toward the back of the house.  “It’s been a busy week.”

“How
many roommates do you have?” Reagan asked, following her down the long corridor.  She didn’t actually know if Allison had roommates, but it seemed odd that she would have this large rented space all to herself.

“Two other girls,” Allison
said, continuing down the hallway.  “Meghan’s room is over here,” she said, pointing to a closed wooden door, “and Brice is at the back of the house.  They go to Brown, too.  Brice is a psychology major and Meghan is math.”

Reagan
wrinkled her nose. “Math? Gross.”

“Yeah, I know,” Allison
said, nodding. “But she’s surprisingly not weird or awkward. I think her dad is making her double major in economics and math so she can actually do something with her degree after graduation.” She made a face. “Unlike me.”

Reagan
looked horrified. “I was so busy talking about myself when you visited New York, I didn’t even think to ask about
your
major!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Allison
dismissed.  She started opening various cabinets, revealing boxes and packages of non-perishable food.  “New York and NYU is much more glamorous than the life of an English literature major.”

Reagan
, not knowing what to do with herself now that she was truly in Allison’s space, took a seat at the small kitchen table. “English Lit?” She crossed her legs and leaned forward with interest.  “And what would you like to do with that?”

“Well, I’m not naïve enough to think I can
make a living writing poems,” Allison rolled her eyes.

“And why not?” Reagan sniffed.  She wasn’t sure why Allison
continued to dismiss her life.  First her house, now her major.  Next she’d probably not make a big deal about being enrolled at an Ivy League College.  She had changed since high school, that was certain, but Reagan didn’t know how to interpret this more humble and understated version of her high school tormenter.  “You’re Allison Hoge, and you can do anything you put your mind to.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Allison
smirked. “But I thought
I
was the former cheerleader?”

“You might have had the outfit, but I’ve al
ways been your biggest fan.” Reagan blushed as soon as the words tumbled out.

Allison
blinked and shook her head. “You say the strangest things sometime.”             

Reagan
ran her thumbnail over the kitchen table. “I know.  You seem to bring out the awkward in me,” she sighed.

A
silence fell over the two and Reagan continued pretending to be interested in the finish on the wooden table.  When she finally looked up, she discovered that Allison was staring at her with a particularly perplexed expression on her face.

“We’ll have to work on that,” Allison
said.  Her mouth twisted into a smile. “Salad for dinner sound okay?”

+++++

Reagan couldn’t remember the title of the movie they were currently watching.  She couldn’t remember the names of the two protagonists either.  All she could do was focus on keeping her eyes open.  She was exhausted, but she didn’t want Allison to think she wasn’t having a good time.

After a thrown-together dinner of a simple salad and bread, neither girl had known what to do with the rest of the evening. 
Allison had reluctantly suggested they could go to a bar, but admitted that she wasn’t much of a drinker. Reagan had insisted she didn’t need to be entertained 24/7 and had, to the point of ridiculous, continued to apologize for being such a burden. 

Finally, when all suggestions continued to float in the air unresolved, Allison had put a movie into the DVD player and plopped down on the couch.  Reagan had sat down as well, putting what she hoped was an appropriate amount of space between them.  She didn’t want to invade Allison’s personal bubble by sitting too close, but she didn’t want her to think she didn’t want to be there either by sitting too far away.  Now that she was finally seated in a comfortable position and the radiator heat had kicked on, her exhaustion from traveling and the day’s events was starting to settle in.

Allison’s words wrapped around her head like a warm blanket. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

R
eagan’s eyes fluttered open.  “Hmm?” She nonchalantly wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and was relieved to find she hadn’t been drooling.

“Let’s get you to bed before you pass out entirely on my couch,”
Allison coaxed. “You can sleep in my bed.”

“Your bed?” Reagan
echoed. “But where will you sleep?”