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So many questions and so few answers when it comes to Emily. A faint smile curls the corner of my mouth upward, as my mind drifts back through the years and calls up an array of thoughts and images. Impressions from a long time ago. I smile as the memories come pouring back into my mind – things I haven't given thought to in ages.
* * * * *
“Dude, if you don't go talk to her, I will.”
That's always been Nick's go-to threat to get me moving when he doesn't think I'm moving fast enough. He's always been more about instant action than me. I'm more about quiet deliberation and making my move when the moment's right.
You can't rush something and expect good, let alone perfect, results. I'm pretty sure it's just a jumped-up way of rephrasing that old saying, ‘measure twice, cut once’, but it's something my father always says and something that's always resonated with me.
“Seriously, Aaron, I've seen glaciers move faster than you, man,” he presses.
I give him a grin. “She's working, Nick,” I say. “Odds are, she's not going anywhere for a few hours. I've got time.”
“Yeah, until somebody else swoops in and sweeps her off her feet,” he grins.
“Just – give me a minute.”
“You said that half an hour ago.”
I shrug. “You know, you’ve already graduated. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“What kind of wingman would I be if I left you here all on your own to ask that girl out?”
“The quiet kind,” I chuckle.
“Besides, I'm pretty sure if I left, you'd never ask her out. Which means I need to stick around to make sure you seal the deal.”
I don't say anything to that because there's nothing left to say. Maybe he's right. Maybe I wouldn't end up asking her out, left to my own devices. It's not that I'm shy – I'm most definitely not that. It's just that something about this girl has me completely rattled. I feel strange whenever I'm around Emily. More than strange – I just don't feel like myself. And that gives me pause.
It's like my hesitation to plunge in and ask her out is because my internal warning systems are trying to tell me something – something that I can't interpret. Which is disconcerting. I'm always able to interpret what's going on inside of me. I know myself better now, in my twenties, than most people will for their entire lives.
And yet, despite being this self-aware, I can't for the life of me figure out what it is about Emily Hall that has me so on edge.
She's working the counter of one of the juice bars in the student union and I can't take my eyes off of her. I first noticed Emily about a week ago. She's new to Rodham University, but even though she’s a freshman, she seems a bit more mature. She obviously comes from money – not a difficult deduction since most of the campus' population does.
I watch as her last customer leaves and Emily is alone. She wipes down the counter and restocks some of the cups and napkins – the student union is closing in about half an hour.
“Time's running out, Aaron.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Nick looks at me curiously. “What is wrong with you? I've never seen you act like this about a girl before.”
I've never actually acted this way about a girl before, so it's new territory for me. I'm not going to tell him that, though. He'll lord it over me forever and give me endless shit. And that's about the last thing I want or need. What I really need is to figure out why Emily has this kind of effect on me.
“You're not going soft on me, are you?” Nick chides. “You're not like, turning into a giant pussy or something, are you?”
“Eat shit,” I laugh.
“I mean if you are, that's cool and all. That just means more co-eds for me,” he goes on. “But it's kind of sad to see somebody who used to be an All-Star in this game declining and fading into mediocrity. Really sad, man. I mean, what's next – are you going to have to resort to something like the internet just to get a piece of ass anymore?”
I stand up and give him the finger, even though I can't help but laugh. He can be such an asshole. Amusing, but an asshole. I turn and head over to the counter where Emily is still wiping down the counter, scrubbing off the sticky residue of the smoothies.
“People are pigs,” I comment. “They make a mess and don't clean up after themselves.”
She doesn't even bother to stop what she's doing or look up at me. “Isn't that what you rich boys do? Leave messes for others to clean up?”
“Ouch. All that hostility,” I grin at her. “Correct me if I'm wrong though, but you come from money yourself. Your daddy's some prominent lawyer or something?”
