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“Whatever you want, Astrid.” Pierce yanks my arm back and pushes me forward. My heel catches on a rough spot on the pavement, and my body loses its balance as I start to fall into Terri. He tries clumsily to catch me, but he wasn’t ready. We both tumble down, and there’s a nasty crunch as we land on his backpack.
Pierce laughs at us sprawled on the grass, Terri under me, wincing as he reaches underneath his hip and pulls out his broken glasses, and me with my skirt up, which I quickly pull down.
“Take her,” says Pierce, “I’m done. I’ve had a mighty good fuck. You’re simping after the wrong slut, Terri. You have nothing to barter with.”
Terri’s glasses look like a trapezoid with a dangling line as he tries to put them back on his face. They sit askew on his nose. It’s not clear if he’s angry or trying to see as he narrows his eyes on Pierce. “Shut up about her!” he shouts. “You’re the slut. Just leave her alone.”
“I’m the slut?” Pierce laughs. He brushes his light brown hair back like a porcupine as he flashes a perfect smile. The boy is aiming for the kill. “That’s no way to talk to your princess. She fucked three ogres so you wouldn’t be turned into a frog.”
“What does that even mean?” demands Terri.
“It means she’s been whoring herself out so you wouldn’t get beat up.” Pierce glares at Terri. “Don’t you remember the time in the boys’ locker room?”
“Shut up!” shouts Terri. He looks at me with terror in his eyes as his face goes pale.
“Of course you do,” continues Pierce, “We pinned you down after you took your shower. You have a big one, Terri. Did mommy like the pictures? Should we show Astrid? She likes dick.”
I try to keep my cool, but it’s hard when you’re gawking. I look at Pierce and then at Terri. Pierce grabs my arm in a vise-like grip and pulls me toward him again. His hand tugs at the bottom of my shirt.
“Come on, Astrid,” he says. “He’ll show you his if you show him yours. He’s a big boy.”
Terri looks ill as he tugs at the hem of his blazer.
“She’s got nice ones,” Pierce winks, “I’ve seen them up close.” Then Pierce pointedly stares at Terri’s crotch.
Terri grabs his backpack and stumbles as he tries to figure out what direction to run. I watch as he runs stumbles down the hill, half running, half falling, headed in the direction of the dorms.
“You are a sick asshole,” I push Pierce away, “And you lied.”
“He’s so sensitive.” Pierce watches as I tuck in my shirt. “Terri writes poetry, you know. I stole some out of his room for my English assignment. A long rant about a Norse word for divinely beautiful. Where do you suppose he got that idea from?”
I feel ill, which only makes Pierce grin. My eyes follow Terri, who’s doubled over as he tries to run.
“Shame what happened last year,” continues Pierce.
“Tell me, you shit.”
“Temper,” he warns. “Terri was put on suicide watch after he slit his wrists over a girl. His roommate found him before he bled out. They had to replace his bed. He should at least have the good sense to do it in the bathroom out of respect for the staff.”
I stare at him, amazed by his cruelty. “You are one sick bastard.”
“You can waste time flattering me,” he replies. “Or go save your little friend before he goes searching for the nearest sharp object.”
I kick off my heels, pick them up, and race down the hill as fast as I can move. The wind beats me in the face, and I wipe my eyes. How could I not have noticed? But I only see Terri at the dining hall, and he spends more time staring at his soup than talking to me. Of course, he’s shy, but why? It’s not the 80s anymore. He doesn’t have to be around girls. Geeks are the new hunks.
It’s because of people like Pierce. I think as I pick up the pace.
***
I wait until a kid comes out and then rush into Terri’s dorm. He lives in one of the dorms that form the quad. The dorms face one another and alternate boy and girl. The upperclassmen live on the top floors, while the underclassmen live on the lower floors—most of the residents major in math and science, which determines who lives there.
Because Terri’s a senior, I race to the top floor and start looking for his room. Eventually, I find a kid in the lounge to ask. He stares at me with wide eyes, and I want to shout at him to hurry up.
“He’s in number fourteen.” His jaw is slack as he stares, and I wonder how many girls come into this dorm.
“Terri,” I tap on his door, “Terri.” No one answers, so I try the doorknob. It opens, and I walk in slowly. Terri sits at his desk with his back to the room. He’s sniffing periodically, and the poor kid is taping his glasses together.
“You don’t have a spare pair?” I ask softly.
