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In the geology lab a few nights later, Russell showed me some of the rock samples he was working with. The lights were dim everywhere else, leaving us in an island of light, like we were the only two people who existed.
“This is a quartz matrix that has rubellite tourmaline crystal in it, and then is scattered with some gold mica. There are even some fluorite crystals.” He was totally focused on the rocks. “This one is the prettiest, I think.”
He held it out to me, but it didn’t honestly look like much. I opened my mouth to say something complimentary anyway.
“Hang on, you can’t see the flecks in it unless it’s wet,” he said absently. He raised the rock to his lips and licked the flat edge of it slowly, tongue coming out as his blue eyes sparkled at me. It was undeniably one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.
When he held the rock out, I could see a riot of colors, from a dark brownish-violet all the way to a pinky-red, some crystals of peach and blue packed together and the whole back of it studded with the gold bits of mica.
Russell’s eyes darted down to my mouth and he stepped closer.
I flushed with arousal and the sharp promise of possibility. I liked Russell. He was handsome and nice and smart and maybe… maybe….
“I, um, I just want to say that I….”
I can’t kiss you because I’m in love with someone else. I’m a total wreck over someone else, and it isn’t fair. But Russell was leaving in a few months, off to grad school in Chicago. He wasn’t proposing marriage.
I closed the distance between us, and I kissed him.
His lips were as soft as they looked, and he cupped my elbows firmly as we kissed. He tasted earthy, mineral. It wasn’t awkward or strange. It was nice. Comfortable. Sweet. So I kept kissing him. And at some point, I dropped Russell’s favorite rock, spit-damp, onto the floor.
I’D SOMEHOW managed to forget about midterms when I’d given Layne my schedule at Mug Shots, and I knew it would make her life harder if I asked her to switch my shifts, so I just kept showing up to work totally harried, downing four shots of espresso and vibrating through my shifts. Then, knowing I’d have to work when I got back to my room, I’d down a few more at the end of my shift, leaving totally strung out with my heart pounding, work intently for a few hours, and then crash hard and have nutso dreams, which made being interrupted by Charles’ alarm even more unsettling.
I was tearing my hair out trying to write a paper for my English class—the last thing I had due for midterms, thank god—when my phone rang and Will’s name popped up. I’d texted him the day after my birthday to thank him for the shoes, but I had made it clear that we weren’t going to start hanging out again.
I still thought about him all the time. Of course I did. But I was neck-deep in “Goblin Market” with no idea what I was writing, and I didn’t have the mental energy to hide how hurt I still was while I tried to have a friendly conversation, so I let it go to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message and I pushed down my disappointment and got back to writing.
The next morning, having stayed up all night to finish the paper, printing it in dark blue ink because my printer had run out of black and I didn’t have time to run to the library and print it there, I sprinted to my class and slammed the paper onto the desk with the rest of them, collapsing in my seat and immediately falling asleep on my Anthology of Major British Poets along with about half the class.
At the end of class I dragged myself back to the dorms and fell asleep in point five seconds, relief at not having anything else due (and the fact that Charles and his alarm weren’t in the room) letting me sleep for twelve hours straight.
After a shower I felt almost human again, and I met Milton and Gretchen for dinner in the dining hall, where we were mostly silent until we’d eaten. Once we’d satisfied our basic human need for food, though, the giddiness of being off for a week set in and we talked excitedly, lingering over multiple soft serves and more Coke than anyone should really consume, relishing the leisure to drink it.
When I got back to my room, where I’d left my phone charging, I saw that Will had called again, and again left no message.
THE NEXT day while I was at work, I finally had time to think about the calls I’d missed from Will, and I started to worry. If he’d just wanted to ask me a question or say congrats about midterms or something, he would have texted. Besides, he’d totally respected my need for some space. What if something was really wrong? Or what if—just maybe—he’d changed his mind and was ready to take a chance on us? I almost slapped myself at that thought.
