Part 4 (1/2)

I stare at the door and feel the decision wash through me. What happened with Peter is best forgotten. I don't want to talk about it. Getting rejected is bad enough, but the fact that I just met him and let him do so much, and then got rejected-well, that's worse. It's like rejection a la mode. As if regular blow offs weren't cool enough. I shake out my worries and try to put on my game face. Nothing's wrong.

Our room is the social hub of the floor tonight. I walk inside and step over six girls doing crunches on the floor. I look at Millie and give her a what-the-f.u.c.k face.

She's sitting on her chair by our shared desk. It's built into the wall. From the lack of sweat and general lack of agony, I a.s.sume that she's waiting her turn. There's no more room on the floor. ”We found an old Abs of Steel tape. Megan said she could do the entire workout. We all took bets on who's going to die first.”

I nod and sit down on my bed, tossing my purse on the nightstand. Millie watches me for a second. I can tell she wants to talk, but she won't say anything, yet. Good. I kick off my heels and grab my stuff and head to the showers.

Today sucked. I want to wash it all away. The entire day.

As I stand in the shower, I let the hot water blast me, but no matter how long I stand there, I can't get the memory of Peter's hands on my body to go away. It's as if he tattooed his touch on my mind. I don't know what I did wrong. I don't know if I would have had s.e.x with Peter tonight-going that far, that fast would have been unusual for me-but I didn't think things would have ended so abruptly, either.

I try to shake off the hot and bothered feeling that has me coiled so tight, and head back to my room. It's been about twenty minutes since I left. Six girls are lying on the floor, clutching their stomachs.

”Oh my G.o.d! I'm gonna die.” Evie says, from her side. She's curled into a ball. Her dark hair spills around her head on the floor like a bottle of ink.

”I told ya'll that it was hard! I told you, but no one ever listens to me!” Millie's talking with her hands on her hips, giving everyone an I told you so.

”So,” I interrupt, ”who won?”

Mille looks at the sorry lot and shakes her head. ”Tia lasted the longest. Nine minutes.”

Tia raises her arm in the air and sticks up her thumb.

I laugh, ”Awesome, Tia, and congrats to all of you. That workout is insane. You're all going to be hunched over like 90-year-olds tomorrow.”

Someone starts to laugh, but it's quickly followed by a moan of remorse.

Millie looks up at me from her bed. She's sitting with her legs folded, hands in her lap. ”So, where'd you disappear to all night? I thought you would've wanted in on this?” Millie has a head of soft blonde curls. She pulled them up into a high ponytail when she got home and is wearing a tank and boxers.

I shrug as if it doesn't matter, but the pressure inside my chest tells me that it does. ”Nowhere, really. I'm sorry I bailed on you.”

Millie seems annoyed, but then her shoulders slump and I can tell she's forgiven me. ”I shouldn't have made you come.”

Tia blurts out, ”You took her on another blind date? You must want your a.s.s kicked, Millie.” It's true. Everyone else knows better than to ask me by this point in the year.

”Jersey Girl won't kick my b.u.t.t,” Millie says, and makes a face at Tia. ”I've got immunity.”

I laugh, ”Not after tonight. No more blind dates. Please restrain yourself and don't set me up with anymore a.s.sholes, okay? I can find them all by myself and when I do, I need you to feed me ice cream until I puke.”

”Ice cream?” Tia says from the floor. I glance down at her in time to see her sit up. Her face contorts in pain. ”What are you, twelve? Big girls get hammered after a s.h.i.+tty date.”

I don't get hammered. Not anymore, but none of them know that. I laugh with them and agree to go to the bar tomorrow night. I have to work the following morning, so I can skip out early-unhammered-and no one will think anything of it.

_____

The next morning I arrive at work early. I'm a teacher's a.s.sistant, a TA. I work in the English department, since that's my major. The offices are upstairs, away from all the cla.s.srooms. Me and a few other student workers are milling about, wondering where the professors are since the offices are glaringly empty. At this time of day, the place is usually bustling with activity, phones ringing and copy machines humming. The profs are usually in a rush to make it to their 8:00am cla.s.ses, but today isn't like that.

Today it's eerily silent.

I walk in and head back to Tadwick's office. There's no indication that he's here; no steaming coffee mug, no glowing computer screen. He must be running late.