The Girl I Was Before (20 page)

With every step closer I take to the restaurant, the less I want to be there. I can see my sister’s smile through the window; she’s laughing at something Houston said. He’s funny; of course she’s laughing. And Rowe is gazing between the two of them. Bonding is happening inside—they’re bonding. Houston is being charming, and my sister is going to like him, and she’s going to
want
there to be a
me
and him.

There is a
me
and him. But I also think maybe it only works if we keep it a secret. Otherwise, it becomes a me and him and a whole lot of other people.

“So lots of cold showers, huh?” Cass says through laughter as I step up to the booth.
What the fuck? Cold showers?

“You wouldn’t believe how many,” Houston says, startling when I drop myself into the booth next to him. His leg slides toward mine a second later. I kick it.

“Who’s taking cold showers?” I ask, lips pursed, my face ready to accuse Houston of sharing too much.

“Houston is,” Cass says, pulling off a piece of crust and eating it like a carrot. My face feels hot, and Houston suddenly looks guilty.

“And he’ll be taking more,” I say, my lips pursed. I glance up to the counter to wave the waitress over, and when I glance back, Houston’s eyes are wider.

“You’re planning on taking even longer showers to drain the hot water tank?” he says, the words coming out slowly, his eyes signaling mine that I got that wrong—so fucking wrong.

“I am,” I say curtly, turning to the waitress and keeping up my persona. Frankly, it’s not unlike me to be a bitch just because I heard someone complaining about me. “Diet Coke, with a slice of lime, please.”

“She’s high maintenance,” Cass says, her mouth still full with her crust bite. “But I think you’ll find she grows on you.”

I smile into my lap and glance to the side at Cass, who winks. It’s been a while since she’s said something nice about me. It feels good.

“What do you study, Houston?” Rowe asks from the corner seat. Rowe always sits in a corner, her back to the wall. There was a shooting at her high school a couple years ago, and some of her friends didn’t survive. She’s only talked to me about it once. It strikes me how much she and Houston have in common.

“I’m in the Computer Science program. I’m a geek,” he shrugs.

“Oh, well that’s good,” Cass laughs, winking at me again. It doesn’t feel good this time. “My sister only falls for meathead athletes. You should be safe.”

I can’t stop the instant sour face I make at her statement, but I catch it quickly, before she notices. Not before Rowe, though.

“There’s nothing wrong with meatheads,” Rowe says through nervous laughter. She doesn’t like confrontation, and I think she might be changing the subject for me.

“Oh, no…I didn’t mean Nate,” Cass continues, putting her hand on Houston’s arm as she shifts her body to face him more. My eyes lock on that small touch, and I know the sour face is back. When I look at Rowe, she’s looking at me still.
Double shit.
“You see, Paige had a thing for Nate when school first started, but he was into Rowe. It was a little awkward, because we were all living together then. But turns out Nate wasn’t really her type anyway, wouldn’t you say Paige?”

I nod in agreement, reluctantly, my stomach sick. I’m too worried about where this conversation is going to be insulted by it.

“And what’s her type?” Houston asks. I kick him again under the table, and I don’t care that both Cass and Rowe see it.

“Well…” Cass smirks.

“Be nice,” I point at her, relieved when the waitress drops my drink off at the table. At least I can busy myself with the straw.

“Paige needs someone who has a spotlight,” Cass starts. I feel Houston shift, and I keep my eyes at my drink. I should argue with her, be offended or defend myself. But the old me, the girl I was before, wouldn’t. She’d agree. “Paige has always been a leader. Ever since grade school. I think maybe it started when the principal let her cut the ribbon to unveil the new playground equipment. Do you remember that?”

I nod, the face I show on the outside a little proud, my inside face nothing but worried about where this is going—and what Houston will think of me the more he learns.

Leah, Leah, Leah.

“Paige got to be the first one to go down the slide, and after that, it became known as
her
slide. She didn’t name it, the other kids did. They wanted her in charge,” Cass says. I know she’s sharing this because she’s trying to show how proud she is of me. But I also sound like a diva. “It’s always been like that—the kids at school looking to Paige to see what to do next. And if she decided a guy was the
it
guy, he became the
it
guy. And then he was hers. And every girl always wanted him. Even when she was done. Because Paige Owen’s exes were still better than any other guy in school.”

“So we’re talking like quarterback, homecoming king stuff, huh?” Houston chuckles. He’s amused by these stories about me. I fear he won’t be for long.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Cass says, chewing with her mouth open. All I feel is embarrassed. “She’s never dated a computer geek, unless of course he was on his way to being a tycoon.”

Maybe it’s her laugh that follows that makes me react. It’s not any different from her normal laugh, but for some reason—at this moment—it strikes me like a cackle. It’s harsh, and I feel small.

“So as you can see, I’m super shallow,” I butt in before Cass says anything more. I speak through a tight smile, my heart sad to hear how my sister sees me. This is how everyone sees me. And they all think I’m fine with it.

“Paige, that’s not what I meant…” Cass says quickly. The laughing has stopped.

I step out from the booth with my purse in my hand and my backpack looped over my shoulder. “I know,” I say, smile still tight. Always. Tight. Everything always perfect. “Stories about me just sort of come out that way, though.”

The table falls silent. I just made things uncomfortable. I’m not sure what she was expecting. That I’d laugh along with her? Or maybe that I’d tease back. That’s all this was—teasing. I guess I’ve outgrown being in the mood for it. Or maybe it’s the fact that Houston was here for it. Maybe…maybe I’m worried about the butterflies and fairytales.

“I’ve got a lot of homework, so I’m going to head back,” I say over my shoulder. “Cass, you can buy my drink.”

I pick up my pace as soon as I exit the building, disappointed in myself—in the person I am, the person I was, and the person who just let that all play out inside the restaurant. My phone chirps, so I pull it from my pocket. It’s Cass.

I don’t respond. I know she was just telling stories, trying to be funny, but fuck if it didn’t hurt.

I’m rounding the corner, ready to walk down the fraternity row when I stop in my tracks. The sidewalks are busy, and for a second, I swear I see Carson walking with Chandra. When I focus, though, I realize it isn’t them.

“Hey,” I hear Houston’s familiar voice, his hand brushing against mine. I push my hand into the pocket of my jacket so he can’t touch it again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to just bail like that,” I say, still unable to meet his eyes.

“I get it,” he says, his eyes going to my hand, the one I put away. I don’t want to be touched right now. And why would he want to? “I, uh…I’m an only child. So sorry if I’m a little off-base here, but was that what they call sibling rivalry?”

A breathy laugh escapes me.

“Something like that,” I say, my gaze quickly falling to my feet. I can’t seem to shake feeling small.

“You know,” he says, kicking one of his feet into mine. My hand twitches, wanting to be touched, too. It’s betraying me. “Just because computer geeks weren’t your thing before…doesn’t mean they aren’t now. I have a way of converting people, just sayin’.”

I laugh again, this time a little harder, and finally I let myself look at him. His eyes are so kind. He’s so kind. And he sees me so differently.

“Yes, you are the Mr. November of the Computer-Geek Calendar,” I joke. Houston quirks an eyebrow and strikes a ridiculous GQ pose. Any girl on this campus would turn their head when he walked by. In fact, they do—they do all the time. I hate them when they do. As much as he’s nice-guy, computer geek on the inside, his outside is pretty damned opposite. He’s a paradox. Before I can react, he puts a hand on each of my hips, squaring me to him. My heart halts, and I start to look around to see who’s noticing.

“What do you care?” he asks, bending lower, bringing his line of vision to mine. I keep trying to look around him—worried our secret is going to be uncovered, when he brings his hand to my chin, pulling my face to look at his. “What do you care who sees us? Who cares if I’m not some beefcake quarterback or if you…”

He stops before he says it and I step away.

“If I’m the girl in that video?” I finish, my chest burning.

“That’s…not what I was going to say,” he says, stepping closer. I take one more away.

“Yes it is,” I argue. I hate that I argue. I always argue.

His hand reaches for my arm, sliding down to my hand, pulling it loose from my pocket until his fingers find mine. God, they fit together so well. They shouldn’t, but they do.

“No, Paige. It’s not,” he says, his voice stern. “What I was going to say is what do you care if you have to carry the spotlight all on your own, no guy to do it for you?”

I freeze at his words, my tongue literally feeling numb.

“Look, I am never going to be the guy doing a keg stand at some party. I’m not a Sigma Theta Kappa whatever. I’m probably not going to be a CEO, because frankly, I don’t want to work that hard. And I’m never going to throw a touchdown pass, unless it’s to my daughter—who, by the way, I believe has every right to catch one. I’m just a guy with a kid trying to figure out things as they come, trying to hang on to my youth where there’s a little bit left. I’m trying to figure
you
out, because I have to. I’d like to date you, Paige. And it’s weird, because now we’re roommates. And it’s weird because I have a kid. And it’s probably weirder for you than it is for me, but who cares anyway? I like you, and that’s what this all is to me—it’s me liking you and being perfectly fine with being the guy in the background, beyond
your
spotlight. That’s what I got out of that story your sister shared. I heard that you’re a leader, that you’re the one people gravitate to—people adore you! How have you forgotten that? I want to see that girl, more of that girl—the girl who rules the playground. This place needs her.”

I love the way he looks at me. I don’t think I breathed once while he spoke; I didn’t want to make a sound, do anything to make him stop. As much as the attention hurts, it also soothes. He’s so right. Where did that girl go? And since when did she need some guy with a title to define her?

Squeezing his fingers tightly, I reach up on my toes and brush my lips against his, my hand resting on his face.

“That was a pretty good speech, huh?” he says, his lip quirked up on one side in a half smile.

“It was okay,” I joke, shrugging and turning to walk down the main road back to Houston’s house, his hand still linked with mine.

“You’re just playing tough,” he says, with a sniffle. “That speech was bad-assery.”

“Oh…my god,” I roll my eyes. His playful arrogance is adorable. But yes, it was…
bad-assery. Bad-assery at it’s finest.

We continue to make jokes all the way home. Making jokes is easier than being serious—it’s something we both have in common. This morning, I had myself convinced that Houston and I were a fling, something that would stay secret until I moved out for the summer, moved on. But we’re not a fling. And the closer we get to his house, the more aware I am of the fact that he’s ready to tell his mom about us, to talk to Leah about us, to be a real
us.
That feels fast and intimidating, but I still want it.

I do…want it?

Leah, Leah, Leah. That word still feels heavy as it drums in my head.

What I’m sure of is that I want to be that girl in his speech. That’s partly why when he opens the back door and leads me into the kitchen, I don’t fight to loosen his hold of my hand. I let him hold it, and when his mother sees it, I ignore the flash in her eyes and the heat of her stare.

“Houston?” she asks, her voice not really upset, but more concerned…cautious.

Leah, Leah, Leah.

Houston scratches the back of his neck, then lifts our linked hands in the air, looking at them, looking at me beyond them, his nervous smile falling into place. His dimple. His eyes sparkle. Did I ever really stand a chance?

“I know,” he sighs, letting our hands fall together back to our sides. I keep my eyes on him, waiting for him to speak.
Please don’t apologize; please don’t say you’re sorry for us.

“Is this a…new thing?” Joyce asks, gesturing her coffee cup toward our hands. Houston lifts them again, smiling again.

“This part,” he says, shaking our linked hands between us, “is a new thing, yes. But the idea of this part…it’s been there for a while.”

His eyes skirt to me as he smiles, sweet and bashful. He looks like a teenaged boy, caught—in trouble. I can’t help but compare my thoughts to what it must have been like when he and Beth came to Joyce and his father—telling them about the baby. I squeeze his hand in acknowledgement and encouragement.

“Have you talked to Leah?” Joyce asks. I know this is her concern, and she glances at me, giving me the same look she did this morning.

“No, but I will,” he says, every word, so sure. There’s a small blip in my chest that feels like nerves; I ignore it. The chant of Leah’s name is softer now.

Joyce looks between the two of us, then slides from her chair and stands, passing by us without any expression at all. With her back to us while she rinses her cup off in the sink, she speaks. “Leah’s upstairs, coloring Paige a picture,” she says.

I swallow.

“It’s just…dating. We’re only…dating,” I hear my voice and wonder why it’s making a sound. Houston looks at me curiously, maybe a little hurt and offended. I nod at him, my eyes widening, telling him
I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I panicked.