We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (16 page)

Her lips twisted to the left as she considered my offer. “What’s in it for me?”

“Other than the pride of knowing you helped me master stats? What do you want?”

She started walking again. “I’d like to negotiate. Let’s make it a bigger challenge.”

My ego couldn’t resist. “Okay, what are your terms?”

“You get an A and I’ll hang out with you. Anything less, you forget you met me after the class ends.”

Harsh. “How about an A–and I’ll buy dinner?”

Negotiating with her had my adrenaline flowing.

Without pausing, she studied my face, searching for sincerity. “Okay. Deal.”

She stuck her hand out to shake on it.

I pressed my palm to hers and clasped her delicate hand in mine. It fit perfectly. I hesitated to let go after a normal handshake period ended. She had to tug her hand back.

I let her walk away from me, again staring at her backside like a pervert standing in the openness of red square.

I needed a miracle to get an A–and direct divine intervention for a solid A. Unless I could negotiate my way into a better deal after mid-terms. I wondered if she’d be open to the idea.

My Episcopalian grandmother would’ve approved of my praying in the days leading up to mid-terms. However, she’d have clutched her pearls over all the swearing and deals I’d also tried to make with the devil. Playing both sides meant I’d win either way. I needed to work every angle on this bet with Jo.

I resisted taking a single hit first thing in the morning to ease my anxiety. Instead, I went for a long overdue run. All my smoking caused me to hack and cough before my lungs adjusted to the unfiltered oxygen I sucked into them.

Post run, I showered and dressed in a green and white rugby shirt over Levis. No tie today.

I half expected to see Jo outside the exam room or proctoring the test for McDonald.

Less than an hour later, I felt confident I’d nailed it. Instead of staring at a bunch of confusing questions and formulas, everything had clicked. I’d been one of the first to turn in my test and leave.

I wanted to find Jo to celebrate early. Then I realized I didn’t know what dorm she lived in. I didn’t even have her number to call her. The dorm I could find out easily in the class book, but I decided to play it cool until I got my grade.

Instead, I headed to the CAB to meet my friends for lunch. Inside, I saw a huge banner covered in weird drawings of green balls and the following words:

“Free the lettuce! Lettuce is slavery! Boycott salad!”

Taking over most of one wall of the dining hall, it couldn’t be missed. I had no idea how the granola freaks even hung it without a major ladder.

“Ben!” Someone called my name and I glanced around.

Maggie waved from a table in the corner by the windows.

“What’s up with the sign?” I set my bag down on an empty chair.

“What do you think?” Crazy Quinn appeared at my side. His hair touched his shoulders. In his overalls, he looked like a hippie lettuce farmer.

“About what?” The guy seemed nice enough, but kind of weird.

He gestured to the banner.

“Boycott salad? Comparing lettuce to slavery? What does it even mean?” I asked the group.

“It’s a protest in support of Cesar Chavez and the migrant workers in California,” Maggie explained it to me.

“Really?” I sat down. “What’s the point?”

“We need to be aware of where our food comes from and the people who suffer to bring it to us!” Quinn’s enthusiasm clued me in.

“Ah, you made the banner.”

He beamed. “I did. Then I convinced the maintenance guys to help me hang it up. Turns out, most of them are from Mexico or Ecuador, and they’re totally down with the cause.”

I shook my head. How did I end up being friends with a hippie, tree hugger like him? More green near my feet caught my attention. A frog’s face greeted me from its position on Maggie’s foot.

“Are you wearing Kermit slippers? In the college activities building in the middle of the day?” Honestly, who were these people and how did they become my friends?

“I am.” Lifting her leg, she rested a disgusting slipper on the table in front of her. “I’ve had them since junior high. They bring me good luck.”

Age and dirt dimmed the once bright green. The sole had a hole on the heel and the beginning of a few more tears near the toes.

“Junior high? Those look like they’re much older.” I pointed at the hole, but didn’t dare touch it. “You probably shouldn’t wear them outside.”

She bent her knee to inspect the bottom of the slipper. “Oh, bummer. I love these things.”

Thankfully, she moved the fuzzy green petri dish to the floor.

“What are we doing this weekend?” I needed distraction from stewing over my mid-term grades. And Jo.

“My new band has a gig in downtown Olympia tomorrow night.” Gil reached into his bag and showed me a neon orange flyer covered in thick black letters and a blurry, black and white photo of three guys.

“Inflammable Flannel?” I read the page. “Is that your band’s name?”

“That’s the worst name ever.” Quinn gave his unsolicited opinion.

“Says the guy who loves Soft Cell.” Gil glowered at him. “We wanted something to capture the local scene.”

“Flannel definitely works. It’s practically the school uniform.” I glanced around and could’ve pointed out ten, no fifteen, people who were currently sporting flannel.

“I like it.” Maggie smiled at him. “You guys will become big rock stars and we’ll all say we knew you when.”

A group of men in blue custodial uniforms marched a tall ladder through the dining hall.

I tapped Quinn’s shoulder. “Looks like your banner’s coming down.”

He spun around and jumped out of his chair so quickly it tipped over. “Stop the man!” he shouted as he dashed across the room.

“Poor Quinn.” Maggie sighed. “He means well.”

“He’s crazy.” I wasn’t judging. It was the truth.

From our table we watched Quinn block the ladder by climbing up it and sitting on the top. Once on his perch, he crossed his arms and refused to budge.

“Atticus! Atticus!” Quinn’s voice carried over the room.

“Does he mean Atticus Finch? From
To Kill a Mockingbird
?” Maggie asked.

“I think he means Attica, like the prison riots. Or the Al Pacino movie quote.” Of course Gil knew those random facts. He could tell you anything about US history. “How long do you think he can stay up there?”

“Wanna bet?” Maybe my lucky streak would continue.

“He’ll be done by this afternoon. He has a critique in his sculpture class over in the Art Annex at three.” Maggie smiled and waved at Quinn, who grinned and waved back, nearly falling off his perch.

“This might be the world’s shortest sit in,” Gil said.

“We’re a much more apathetic generation than the real hippies.” Maggie ate a french fry.

“It’s because we have cable TV and video games.” I knew I’d rather stay at home, watching movies and playing games than marching in a circle out in the elements.

“And MTV. Let’s blame them while we’re at it.” Maggie poked a fry into her soft serve ice cream.

“The radio star and civil disobedience, both victims of the video.” Gil wrote down his quote on a napkin. “I’m using that line in my history of unrest paper.”

“Um, the guy sitting on the ladder is calling your name,” a familiar voice said behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Jo standing there. On the other side of the room, Quinn yelled, “Benjamin,” and waved his arms over his head, causing the ladder to tilt precariously to the left before he found his balance again.

“Not me.”

“Aren’t you Ben?”

“I am, but it’s short for Benton.”

“He’s Benton Grant, the fourth,” Maggie said.

“The second.” I corrected her.

“Figures.” Jo sighed and crossed her arms.

“Want to join us?” I pointed to the chair next to me currently occupied by Kermit the Slipper.

“I . . .” Jo paused.

In the small silence I saw my opportunity. It wasn’t a no. I introduced her to Maggie and Gil.

“Sit with us.” Maggie took over for me like I knew she would. She moved her feet and Jo took the seat next to me.

We fell into easy conversation. Jo laughed as we explained Quinn’s misguided attempt at social action.

By the end of the half hour, Jo felt like part of our group.

“Gil’s band is playing downtown tomorrow night. You should join us.” Again, Maggie played the role of hostess.

“What kind of music is it?” Jo asked.

“We don’t really know yet. It’s the three of us. Mark on guitar and vocals, me on bass and back up vocals, and Mike on drums. We play mostly covers.”

“Mike Ramirez?” Jo crumpled up her napkin.

“Yeah, you know him?” Gil asked.

“I dated him a couple times last year.”

Dated? Some punk wannabe drummer? He was the kind of guy she dated?

“He’s totally cute.” Maggie’s compliment made me want to kick her, but she sat on the other side of Jo and I didn’t want to miss. Whose side was she on?

“Yeah, but not really my type.”

I exhaled with relief. I hadn’t completely misjudged Jo.

I offered to drive to the club. We could fit all of us in the Audi since Quinn bailed after having to meet with the Dean of Students to discuss his stunt with the ladder.

Gil drove in the van with the equipment. Jo said she’d meet us there, which sounded like an out to me. I doubted she would show up at all.

Maggie and Selah rode with me.

The bar had a long line out front when we arrived. Two other bands were scheduled to play. The crowd buzzed about another three piece with some Zen Buddhist name.

“Gil added us to the list.” Selah pushed her way toward the bouncer.

Inside, the crowd jostled for space near the bar. The long, narrow room ended with a stage in the back. Stickers from bands and previous shows decorated the black-painted ceiling and walls.

Most of the people there looked like Selah, wearing used clothes and flannel, with big boots and leather jackets. I stuck out in my navy and green striped rugby shirt. I worried someone would carjack the Audi even though we found a spot directly across from the bar.

Inflammable Flannel had the opening slot. They tuned up, squawking their amp and making the crowd cringe. Mark apologized and introduced each of the members. Selah and Maggie yelled so loud for Gil, I swore he blushed.

More than a few guys heckled them about the name. Ramirez flipped the bird at the crowd, which only incited more heckling. A fight brewed before they played their first song.

A brawl probably would’ve gone over better than their cover of “Like a Virgin.” Not sure I would’ve led with Madonna in this place.

“Madonna sucks!” a drunk guy next to me with an anchor tattoo on his forearm screamed in my ear.

“Posers! Posers!” the crowd chanted.

“This is a bloodbath,” I shouted in Maggie’s ear.

“I have an idea,” she said, then yelled, “Play ‘Freebird’!”

“Freeeebird!” Anchor-man gave her a high five.

Gil strummed the first notes of “Another One Bites the Dust.” He turned away from the crowd to say something to Mike, who picked up his sticks and played a different drum beat.

“What are they doing?” Selah asked over the grumbling crowd.

“Stalling for time?” Maggie guessed.

Finally, Mark followed Mike’s lead on drums with his guitar and Gil shifted to follow.

The first lines of “Jesse’s Girl” came out of Mark’s mouth, and the tide shifted in the crowd.

Selah whistled. I recognized the look on her face. Officially on the prowl, Mark was Selah’s new target. I gave the guy credit. He owned the lyrics.

“I fucking love this song.” Some guy slapped me on the back. Hard enough I spilled my beer.

I turned to see who the asshole was, and spotted a familiar head of blond hair a few feet away. I told Maggie and Selah I’d be back, and elbowed my way in Jo’s direction.

She smiled when she saw me. I gave her a goofy wave.

I squeezed in next to her, my shoulder brushing hers. “Can I get you a beer?”

“Thanks, I’m set.” She held up a cup containing what looked like soda.

She leaned closer to me. “They don’t suck.”