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12 - ADDISON
Thank you for doing this today,” Charlotte said, passing me an iced coffee from the campus coffee shop where she attended college.
“Of course,” I said, taking a sip of the mocha sweetness. It couldn’t compare to Olivia’s lattes, but it had the required caffeine to make it through the afternoon. “How are you enjoying the internship so far?”
“I’m learning so much. Your mother is fantastic.”
“Yes. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Have you thought about what you want to do after you graduate?”
Charlotte motioned with her soda to a building on the right, and we headed that direction, walking between students carrying too many books and ones who didn’t appear to have a pencil.
“I’d like to pursue real estate, and majoring in business will open a lot of doors.”
“Definitely, and it will keep your options open should you decide on something else. Tell me more about your class where I’m speaking.”
“You mean besides the fact that the professor is dreamy? But I’m sure he can’t compare to the man who sent you those beautiful flowers the other day.”
She nudged my shoulder, and I felt my cheeks heat, remembering the beautiful arrangements of lilies and tulips Simon sent to the office. My mother raised her eyebrow, face scrunched like she’d sucked on a sour gumball, and asked when she could meet him. I mumbled soon into the flowers and avoided the question, glad to lead the afternoon staff meeting and avoid further interrogations.
Not because I was worried we’d have another disastrous dinner, but because I dreaded the day whatever we had would end. I didn’t want her to see us together. To see how happy he made me, and then demand an answer as to why we were apart. The more I tried to fight my feelings, go against the odds or whatever stupid eighties cliché came to mind, the more my body protested.
“See? I’m right. Your eyes got all swoony and you almost ran into that guy on the skateboard.”
“What? I did not,” I said, stopping on the sidewalk to look behind me. The skateboard dude was no worse for wear, not giving us a second glance as he rode in the opposite direction. “Ugh. No comment. So, your professor?”
“Right. I already have an A in the class, but Professor Davis gives extra credit to students who bring someone from their internship to speak.” She opened the door to an older, large brick building and we stepped inside, the smell of paper and perfume filling the space as students hurried down the hallways.
“I’m happy to be more involved, and honestly, I was thrilled when you asked me. Where’s your classroom?”
“This way. We’re early, so you’ll meet Professor Davis—or Brad. I mean, how cool is that? He lets us call him Brad.”
She shook her head, brown locks swishing around her face and eyes glittering with a schoolgirl crush. My ears roared like I’d been dropped in a typhoon, and my pulse skyrocketed. It was a common name. A stupid, dumb, common name belonging to tens of thousands of assholes around the world. That a Brad Davis was here, in the same class I’d planned on speaking in, had to be a mistake.
“Brad,” I whispered, stopping to brace myself on a giant corkboard overflowing with announcements. The coffee was tasteless as I drank, but I did it anyway, hoping Charlotte would correct her mistake when I stopped, telling me she meant to say his name wasn’t Brad. It was Chad or Thad. Anything other than Brad.
“Are you okay, Addison?”
I nodded, keeping my mouth firmly attached to the coffee lid.
“Are you sure? You’re really pale.” Charlotte leaned forward, resting her hand on my elbow. I pushed off the wall, swallowing harshly and steadying myself. If nothing else, I needed to pull myself together for her.
“Sorry. I grew up next to a Brad Davis, and hearing his name caught me off guard.”
“Oh. This Professor Davis, or Brad, has black hair and brown eyes and is fairly young. Come on, let’s go see if you know him.”
“Right. Yes. Okay. Show me where the classroom is please, and I’m going to run to the ladies’ room quickly.”
By the time the swinging door to the restroom door shut, my palms were sweaty, and I felt like I’d been hit by a Mack truck. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and in its place saw a scared, nine-year-old girl with a dirt-smeared face and glassy eyes.
“Are you okay?” he said, coming up to stop beside me on his ten-speed.
Oh, gosh. Oh no. Not him. Please. I thought of anyone else but him, trying to keep my chin from shaking. Dirt streaked my face, and my bike was toppled on its side a few feet away, the back tire still spinning uselessly.
My older brother Adam had left with his friends on their bikes to jump over these big dirt piles, and they refused to take me with them. Adam was starting high school this fall, and suddenly I was nothing more than his annoying kid sister. Well, I was going to show him. I could jump the dirt piles better than any of the boys.
Only I couldn’t.
Adam and his friends weren’t there, and I fell and twisted my ankle.
