The Girl I Was Before (13 page)

“What do you need, Paige?” I ask, wincing that I’ve set her off, made her uncomfortable, or…I don’t know…that I’m now some creep.

She takes her time answering, and I can tell she’s affected by what I said. “I told you in the text,” she says, clearing her throat, trying to regain her place as the dominant one. It makes me smile.

“You told me to meet you at Hayden Hall. But…when? What am I doing? And you said bring help?” I don’t want to tell her, but I don’t really have help to bring. I’ll call Casey—if I
have
to—and maybe his roommate can come. But that’s all I’ve got…unless she wants a church secretary and a four-year-old to show up to this thing.

“We land at about four, if you can be there then. And I’ll explain more. Just…just be ready to move things.
Lot’s
of things,” she says. “Oh, that’s us. I gotta go. See you soon! Miss you!”

And just like that, Paige is back on top.

Miss you?
Miss you. She…
misses…
me.

Line gone.

Again.

P
aige

S
hit
!

That just slipped out.
Miss you
. I said, “Miss you.” I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone. Maybe my old life. My high school life—the one that was simple and didn’t require planning or plotting or moving in with a dude I met at the grocery store. I fucking
miss you?
What the hell.

That last sentence is all I think about the entire flight back to Oklahoma. I’ve been pretending to read a magazine, not wanting to talk to Cass because it’s her fault I called Houston in the first place. She has a scheme cooked up to prank her boyfriend and his brother, and that’s what I need his help with. I’m helping her—Houston is helping me. Cass’s fault.

We get to the dorm, exchanging a few words about her plan, what she needs me to do, but now that we’re back here, I can’t help but let thoughts of Chandra creep back in too. I’m moving tomorrow morning. If I had my way, I’d move everything tonight—before more people are there.

Before Chandra is there.

I wonder if my things have been destroyed or sold? I would have sold her things. In fact, that’s a good idea. If I’m ever in a position, I’m putting her things up on Craigslist—
with her phone number!

I let these thoughts of revenge amuse me for the elevator ride upstairs, but then reality slams right back into my face. Rowe, my old roommate, is jumping up and down. I smile, not a fake smile, but a real one—genuine—because Rowe…she’s actually always been good to me. Even when I wasn’t so good to her when we lived together. In a way, I’m kind of glad to have this chance to help her with something, no matter how unimportant it is. Maybe she and I can somehow start over too.

“Okay, so here are their keys,” Rowe says, handing me a ring with hers and another set with a Playboy cover attached to it. I hold the keys up and dangle them in front of my sister.

“These are your boyfriend’s keys,” I deadpan to Cass. Her boyfriend, Ty, is one of those over-the-top guys. I didn’t trust him at first. He’s in a wheelchair, but you don’t even notice because his personality is enormous—
arrogant.
His arrogance grew on me; maybe I recognize it in myself. Either way, watching him with Cass at my parents’ house when she was suffering last week sold me in his favor.

“Apparently, she was Miss April 2009, and that makes her special,” Cass rolls her eyes.

“I see,” I say, holding the laminated cover photo in front of me. It makes me think about the video floating around of me, and I wonder if maybe I’ll make someone’s key ring some day.
Jesus, I hope not!

“Are you sure you’re good with this?” Cass asks as she pushes the elevator button.

“I can handle this,” I say as I pull my jacket from my arms and drop it on top of our suitcase. We came right here, which is good, because my things don’t really have a place to go until Houston shows up anyhow. I kick off my Jimmy Choos too, which for some reason, makes Rowe and Cass laugh.

“What? I’m not lifting in those!” I motion down to my prized shoes, the ones I scored on after-Christmas clearance back home. I’ve wanted Jimmy Choos for years!

Rowe and Cass only giggle more. I blow my hair out of my face and retie the band around my ponytail, trying to ignore them. My back is still to the elevator when it opens, so I don’t notice Houston step off, or the two guys he’s brought with him. Suddenly, though, I’m in his arms. He’s squeezing me tightly, lifting me from the ground, and spinning me.

He’s…
he’s happy to see me!
Probably because I told him I missed him. And I did. But…not in the
spin me around like a ballerina in love
kind of way. His arms, though—they do feel…
nice.

“Okay, you can put me down now,” I say, purposely not looking up at him. I direct my gaze right to my shoes on the floor. I pick them up as soon as he sets me down, tucking them in my suitcase so they don’t get damaged, or stolen.

“Sorry,” Houston says, and his mouth is grimacing. His friends are both looking at him trying not to laugh. “So,” he breathes out, clapping his hands together once. Back to business. No more
whatever that was.

“Hey, I’m Casey. And you must be the hot new roommate,” says one of the guys standing behind Houston. He reaches past him, his build nowhere near as broad or muscular, but he’s tall, and I immediately size him up to make sure he can lift things.

“Hot new roommate, meet Casey, my dumb-ass friend,” Houston says as we shake hands. I can tell he’s annoyed that his friend called me hot, and in a way gave away the fact that Houston probably called me hot, too. I’ve been called hot before, though. This isn’t special. There are lots of other things about me, things that only someone who really understood me would point out. Hot isn’t one of them.

“Dumb-ass Casey, nice to meet you,” I say, for Houston’s benefit. He seems happy when I take the dig at his friend. His smile dimples his cheek, and I…I notice.

“I’m Eli,” the other guy says. This guy’s bigger, strong like Houston. His face is half covered in a beard, and he’s wearing a shirt with a beard on it.

“Eli, nice to meet you. Clever shirt,” I say. He smiles and says
thanks,
even though I wasn’t really complimenting him. I glance at Houston, and he’s holding in a laugh. When our eyes meet, we both break a little and have to turn away. I need Eli to move a shitload of furniture, so I can’t go offending him right from the start.

“So what are we doing here, Paige?” Houston asks, leaning against one of the hallway walls. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that hugs his body more than most of the things I’ve seen him in, and when he crosses his arms, I notice that there’s a tattoo on his right arm. I don’t have to ask to know it’s for her.

“Follow me,” I say, walking down the hall toward my old room. The smell of paint is still strong, and when I open the door and see the horrible brown color that my sister’s boyfriend and his brother Nate have painted on the walls, I understand why my sister is doing this now. Rowe only sent pictures—and honestly, in the photos, it didn’t seem so bad. But seeing it live—
in person?
The brown paint looks more like a stain, a gigantic stain that drips all around the room. I have to give Ty credit—it’s pretty funny, and it’s far away from the pink we painted his room a few months ago.

“Dude, the paint stinks,” Eli says as he steps into the room and around me. Houston and Casey are still behind me, surveying the space.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. About three months ago, me, my sister, and our other roommate painted Ty and Nate’s room,” I start.

“Who are Ty and Nate?” Casey asks, now covering his own nose with his sleeve. Babies. The paint smell isn’t
that
bad.

“Keep up. Ty’s my sister’s boyfriend, and Nate’s his brother. He’s dating Rowe, my other old roommate. They have this stupid prank war. And now I have this to deal with,” I say, turning in a slow circle with my hand outstretched to take it all in. Their room honestly looks like one of those dens from the seventies. All it needs is orange shag carpet.

“So, we’re painting it back? That’s easy,” Eli says, rolling up his sleeves. Bless his little heart; he’s eager to get started.

“Not exactly. We’re moving their stuff down the hall, and putting the boys’ stuff…in here,” I say, stepping over to my sister’s bed. I start folding her blankets into my arms, and when I turn around, all three guys are staring at me, their mouths parted, their foreheads showing their confusion. “Just start grabbing crap and help me. We have two hours.”

Amazingly, they don’t protest, after an hour and a half of sweating and lifting more than I think I ever have, we have successfully relocated everyone’s belongings. I lock up both rooms, and direct the boys downstairs. We stop at the mailbox area, and I sweet-talk the very shy guy working the front desk into putting both sets of keys in Cass’s mailbox. By the time I turn around, Eli and Casey have left. It’s just Houston, me, and my giant suitcase and travel bag—and a landfill-sized feeling of
awkward.

Houston pushes his hands in his pockets. His jeans are dark; they’re the kind I would think a guy would wear going out to a club, not when moving furniture around a chick’s dorm room. I kind of think he dressed up, a little, for me. He’s staring down at his feet, and I watch as his mouth opens and closes twice, each time with a breath, about to speak. Finally, he just settles on smiling and looking up at me.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” I say, looping my hand through the strap to pull my bag along behind me. My things are heavy, and going to the Delta House is really the last thing I want to do. But I’m not asking Houston for any more favors.

“Here, let me,” he says, reading my mind. He grabs the heaviest bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder. I take the opportunity to study his tattoo when he does—it’s a cross, with the letters M and B. I’m guessing the
M
is for his father’s name, because I’m sure I know who the B is.

“Thanks,” I say, pulling my roller bag behind us. We step through the main doors and out to the walkway. It’s a good ten-minute walk from here to the Delta House, so when Houston turns toward the parking lot, I sigh with relief. I’m glad he brought his car—no matter how shitty and old it is.

Houston puts my things in the trunk, then opens my door for me. I’m prepared for the seatbelt this time. What I’m not prepared for is the familiar smell of being in a small space that is permeated with Houston—his cologne—I don’t know what it is, but I like it.

I…like it.

Shit.

We drive the two blocks to the Delta House, the radio filling the awkward void for two minutes. Houston pulls up to the curb, and I sigh, relieved I don’t see anyone else’s car parked along the road. Chandra has a white Acura. Her license plate says W1N3R. She tells everyone it’s the only combination left she could get for
winner.
But I don’t know, it reads
whiner
in my head. I keep searching for the whiner car, not satisfied that I don’t see it. She could still be here.

“Hey, you wanna just stay tonight?” Houston’s question bursts through the silence, and it makes me start to sweat instantly. He’s leaning to the side in his seat, his head resting on the back, his hair a little disheveled from the move. He’s adorable. I can’t deny that. And yeah, I want to stay, because I don’t want to be
here!
But if I stay with you, it’s going to look like I want to
stay with you,
when in reality I just want to hide, and you’re giving me shelter.

No matter how adorable you are.

“It’s…it’s okay. It’s just one night. But if you can, maybe you can help me move in the morning? I’m kind of done with this place,” I admit. I haven’t told Houston why I’m leaving, but when we talked over break, I did let it slip that some of the girls I counted on as friends turned out to be ruthless bitches.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind. And Leah is excited about having a sister. Oh, yeah…by the way, she says you’re going to be blood sisters,” he says, the right side of his lip lifting, doing that dimple thing. I’m not sure what’s making my heartbeat race—the look on his face or the thought of Leah liking me.

For a few long seconds, I stare at him and consider his offer. My night can take two paths, one in a place I hate, and the other in a place I…

“I’ll be fine, really. See you at eight?” I make my voice sound definitive so he doesn’t try again. If he asks me once more, I’ll go with him. And for some reason, I feel like going with him now will make me notice those other things about him more. And Houston is a whole different life—one that I don’t want.

He meets me behind the car, and when I reach for my bag, our hands touch. He doesn’t move, and my fingers clutch around his on the bag’s handle. It’s a touch that’s somewhere between a standoff and fire.

“I can get it,” I say, my voice sounding a little bossier than I mean. “Really, thank you, but…”

“Paige,” he says, his head doing that tilt thing, and…yeah…there’s the dimple. “I’d be a real asshole to just drop you off and not help you carry your things. Just let me not be an asshole, okay?”

I let my muscles relax and smile as I let go of my grip over his hand. When he turns, I flex my fingers, trying to rid them of the feel of his hand in mine. It wasn’t even a handholding kind of touch. But still.

Once I open the door, I drop my bag and reach for the one Houston’s holding, pulling it inside with me. When he steps toward me, wanting to enter, I place my palm on his chest. I can’t have him come in here with me. That will make me look desperate. And maybe there’s a part of me that wants to keep my Houston-world pure, untainted from
this place.

“I appreciate it, but there are some people here I just want to deal with and move on. I can’t put it off,” I say, glancing up at him. He’s close enough he has to look down to see into my eyes, and the moment our gaze locks my heart starts to pick up its rhythm again. He looks like he wants to argue with me, like he has more to say, and we stare at each other for what feels like minutes, even though I’m sure it’s only a second or two. It’s long enough for me to imagine his hand coming up to lift my chin, and the moment I do that, I shake my head and take a step away.