The Opposite of Nothing (5 page)

“I’ll pay you back.” He slid his tray onto the table and pulled out a chair.

“It’s no big deal. I’ve got guest credits I never use.”

“My credits are always gone before the end of the first quarter. How do you still have yours?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

She swallowed, hard, trying to find an answer that didn’t highlight the scarlet L branded on her forehead since high school. He’d missed it so far. “I don’t have a lot of friends. I didn’t have many friends back home either.”

“Bullshit.”

His disbelief slapped her like a challenge. Pushed into that old ache she nursed, the one that held her hostage in her dorm room during half of freshman orientation, the one that kept her from making eye contact with friendly strangers on the quad, and it felt good and wrong. But mostly good. She wondered how far she could push back.

“Any. I didn’t have any friends.”

“I don’t believe you.” He tapped his thumb against the edge of his tray and grinned. He was waiting for a punchline.
Fine.

“I was a pariah. Untouchable. A black hole that sucked all the coolness out of anyone who came near me. Every school has one. You should save yourself and sit at another table now.” The sarcasm was so thick, so tart, she could’ve spread it on her toast.

“I may not have a dime on my meal plan, but I’ve got cool to spare.” He rocked back in his chair and smoothed a hand over his t-shirt.
Smug bastard.

“I’m not kidding. If we’d met in high school...” She turned away, afraid she’d break before she could bite the words out.

“What?”

“You’d have been dropping your trash on my table instead of sitting with me. It’s why I chose Copeland. I knew no one from home would be coming here.”

His chair smacked against the tile as he jerked back into an upright position.

“Someone actually did that to you?”

His voice was softer, the cocky edge melting as the realization that she wasn’t joking clouded his eyes with pity. Her heart thundered against her ribs, a caged animal desperate to break free. Escape. She touched her forehead to the window again and let her breath fog the glass as she spoke.

“Yeah. Trash on my table, on me sometimes. Always by accident, of course. Mostly it was being ignored, snubbed. I didn’t get invited to anything after middle school. Around the time people stopped inviting the whole class to their parties, you know? If I showed up somewhere, there would be whispering. There were a couple of girls who really hated me and it was like one day I just woke up in a parallel universe. I didn’t fit anymore.” She traced a circle into the condensation.

He pushed their trays to the end of the table and reached across the opened space. His hand was warm against hers. A solid weight pressing her palm flat against the glass. Reassuring. He curled his fingers around hers and drew her hand away, drew her focus back to him.

“You think I would have been a part of something like that? Have you ever seen me be cruel?”

“Not overtly. But—” She couldn’t stop herself.

“Covertly?”

She pulled her hand out from under his and pushed back from the table. He was supposed to walk away now that he knew what she was. She knew it would hurt him if she said what she really thought, but she did it anyway. Her voice barely above a whisper, she could hardly stand to speak this truth.

“The whole ‘hit it and quit it’ thing is pretty cruel.”

“Jesus Christ, Callie. I’ve never said those words in my life.”

She studied an Italy-shaped pool of syrup coagulating on the table top and took a shaky breath. She’d started down this path. She’d have to finish it. Calm, matter-of-fact.

“You don’t have to say them. It’s what you do.”

His lip curled with disgust and he raked his fingers through his shaggy hair. “We’re back to that. Like I’m some kind of man-whore. I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

It was like she was watching this all unfold from outside her body. She just kept wounding him, every barb designed for maximum destruction. “You haven’t dated anyone since I’ve known you.”

“Nobody dates.”

“You just hook up. And never with the same girl twice.”

He flinched.
Direct hit
. Anger and pain twisted his mouth into a dark smile. “Are you notching my bed post for me now?” he said.

“The pattern is hard to miss.” The sadness in her voice shocked her. Empty, hollowed out by her own cruelty. She’d poured all of her poison into him until he bubbled over in a rush of indignation.

“Who I hook up with, and how often, is my business. But answer me this, Miss Observation, do you see a bunch of girls crying over me? Because I’ve seen girls crying over douche-bags, all ‘why doesn’t he call me’ and ‘he said we had something special.’ You’ve never heard anyone saying that shit about me. Have you?”

She hadn’t. Of all the girls she’d seen him with, she’d never even heard a whisper of a rumor that he’d broken anyone’s heart. Except her own. She could only shake her head and let him continue.

“I don’t lie. I don’t make promises. When I fuck someone it’s because we both want the same thing.”

Don’t ask. Do not ask.
Her heart lurched into her throat, but not fast enough to block the question she did not want the answer to. “What’s that?”

“Nothing. When we both want nothing.”

And it plummeted to the pit of her stomach, like an elevator with its cable cut. Nothing? That was worse than anything she’d imagined. “You’re lying to yourself then. Everybody wants something, and everybody lies. I’m not hungry anymore. Thanks for helping me out last night. Enjoy your breakfast.”

She left him sitting at the sticky table and forced herself not to look back.

* * *

W
hy was she always running away from him? Toe tapping incessantly under the table, he bristled with annoyance. He was the insulted party here, wasn’t he? He watched her stride away and was struck by the image of her on his bed, struggling into those tight jeans. Callie. On his bed. He stilled his foot. And he’d laughed at her. A jolt of adrenaline spiked his brain.
Fuck.
After what she’d just told him, he couldn’t think of a worse response.

“Wait up.” He shoved away from the table and chased her through the double doors. He bumped his shoulder into hers, pacing her as she walked in the direction of the library. “I’m sorry I laughed.”

She froze.

“Earlier. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the situation, but I wasn’t being fair. Who you hook up with is your business. I don’t have any right to judge.”

She stood there with her lips parted like she was about to speak, only she didn’t. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his hoodie and barreled into more apology. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He only knew he needed to make this right.

“Your friendship means a lot to me. I don’t want to fuck it up, but I can’t seem to help it.”

Searching her face for any sign that he’d succeeded, or dug his hole deeper, he held his breath.

She pursed her lips into a quirk of a smile, and her blue eyes fluttered shut. “Well, okay then.”

He released his breath with a whoosh. “That is great, really great. C’mere.”

He gathered her under his arm, squeezing her into a half-way hug and led her over to a bench. She felt solid against him, and alive, thrumming. Was she shaking? He was shaky himself, the adrenaline spike dissipating in a rush.

She ducked out and darted behind the bench while he sprawled against the arm rest, his other arm draped across the back to make a space for her that she obviously wasn’t going to use. She leaned against the back of the bench on the opposite end, her ass resting on the wooden slat at the top, her knuckles white as she gripped for support. They were so far apart again, but there was only a whisper of distance between their hands. He brushed a fingertip over the top of one knuckle, wanting to soothe whatever tension he could. She dipped her head, rolled her shoulders forward. He could only see her in profile, the tip of her nose jutting out from behind a curtain of hair. “I’m sorry, too.”

“You called me on my shit and bought me breakfast. We’re good.”

“Tayber, why don’t you have any money on your account?”

That was not a path he wanted to travel with her. He tapped the top of her knuckles once more, maybe to soothe himself, and bent forward, elbows resting on his knees. He rubbed the back of his head and smoothed his hair into place again. He had to give her something.

“I’ve been prioritizing my spending. I can go without a few meals. Nothing I haven’t done before. But I can’t go without a housing deposit.”

“You’ve gone without—”

He shut her down before she veered into pity, so glad she couldn’t see him while he spoke. Not his face, anyway. He didn’t want to see her, either. A sympathetic smile, an all-fucking-knowing nod. They weren’t supposed to do that to each other. “Not a big deal.”

“I could—”

“Hey, you got some time to work your math magic on me soon? I won’t need to worry about summer session if I flunk out this semester.” He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t circle back to his self-deprivation. He couldn’t take it if she thought less of him than she already did.

“Always. Tomorrow night, seven sharp.”

* * *

C
allie focused on the mountain of dishes she’d transferred to a towel on the peeling laminate counter beside her sink. Hot water, soap, the squish of the sponge between her fingers. Small things. Things she could control. She’d already dusted, sorted laundry, and stacked her papers into tidy piles. Anything to keep her mind off the gaping hole in her heart. The one Tayber blasted into her with his “nothing.”

She would never want
nothing
from him.

With the last of the dishes clean, all that remained was sleep. She folded back her comforter, smoothed her pillow—

The laptop blipped.

Her nipples tightened in a Pavlovian response. She needed a twelve-step program. Her inability to stop pretending was a sickness. She’d tried going cold turkey, swore it wouldn’t happen again, and then ended up bleeding lies over the keyboard at one o’clock in the morning anyway. She rushed over to her desk.

Tay: You didn’t let me finish last time. You got my email?

Sasha: Yeah

Tay: I should pretend I never sent it.

Sasha: That email, God. I don’t know what to do with it, but I am glad I have it.

Tay: You could pick up the phone.

Sasha: I’ll never live up to your expectations.

Tay: All I expect is a little heavy breathing. Or we could just talk.

Sasha: Do you need to talk?

Tay: Guys don’t “talk”

Sasha: What are we doing now?

Tay: Why are girls crazy?

Oh, no. Please don’t talk to me about me.

She pictured him pulling on his lip, trying to puzzle out her crazy, his own crazy, like a differential equation. She couldn’t help him solve this calculus.

Sasha: Why are boys?

Tay: You sound like Callie.

And her duplicitous heart leapt. Her deepest, darkest fantasy gurgled to the surface. That he knew she was pretending to be Sasha and didn’t know how to tell her. That he’d figured it out early on because he knew her so well. They’d laugh like idiots and start holding hands in public.
Stupid.
She should have made an excuse and shut it down immediately, but she didn’t. Her hands shook as she typed. No going back now.

Sasha: Callie?

Tay: A friend.

Tay: I don’t get her.

Just a friend ranked slightly higher than “this girl I know.” She gnawed a strand of her hair and deleted three different responses before she decided on a question she actually wanted him to answer.

Sasha: Are you mad at her?

Tay: Why would you ask that?

Sasha: I dunno. You said she’s crazy and you don’t get her.

Tay: Not mad. Confused.

Sasha: Maybe she’s going through stuff.

Tay: She’d tell me.

Sasha: Maybe you wouldn’t understand?

Tay: She’s lying to me about something.

Sasha: Everybody lies.

Tay: Callie said that too. Are you lying to me?

Fuck.
She mashed the power button on her laptop, severing their connection.

T
ayber sat on a shaggy area rug in Callie’s apartment, his back propped against the side of her futon, and smoothed a crinkled sheet of notebook paper against his thigh. He growled at his own scratchy handwriting. The frame shook as she shifted behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know she was propped up on one elbow, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. This was her trademark look. The
when will you get it through your thick skull that I can teach you this shit
look.

“You will get this. You always do.” Her words were pointed daggers aimed at the back of his head, and she followed them with a quick swat that barely ruffled his hair. He smoothed it down anyway, letting his hand linger over the spot she’d touched.

She was right. But ‘getting it’ always involved her explaining concepts eleven billion times. They were only around explanation number two hundred and forty-two and he wanted to drop a match on his Statistics folder. Miles to go before he could sleep.

“My brain is fried. How about a study break?” He eyed the shiny laptop whirring quietly on the crate across from him.
There be entertainment
. “A movie? Something scary?”

It was a calculated suggestion. There were three things Callie was physically incapable of resisting. If there was a good song on the radio, she’d sit in the car until it was over. If there was an open bag of gummy candy, she’d finish it. And if there was a new horror movie out, she needed to watch it.

The frame shifted again. “That new found-footage flick is streaming now. It’s not very long.” When she started convincing herself, he knew he’d won. He reached for the laptop, but she pinned him in place with a strong grip on his shoulder, launching herself off the bed. “I’ll get it.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I won’t touch the precious.”