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Cash and the rest of the guys on the team already have called her number. The brother who detests his step sister isn’t exactly a new tale, but it’s enough for testosterone fuelled young adult men. He has pitted her against them with mere words, and she’s walked into the battlefield without any form of defense.
I know the deal with these kinds of places, and these kinds of people. I have been raised around them and have been around kids like me who haven’t known any different. One of those is Cash, who isn’t a stupid man, but often does a great job at impersonating one.
Maybe it’s my ability to look inward that’s separated me from the herd. I don’t say this with any ounce of conceit, quite the contrary. It’s severed bonds with men who should have been perfectly close to me, who I have instead, kept at arm’s length. It just feels safer that way.
That is, other than Cash, who essentially forced himself in based on the virtue of his own nature.
My closeness with Cash isn’t suffocating my desire to make sure Wren is okay. It’s the day after the party, and after thankfully waking up after barely sleeping with only the smallest pulse of a hangover, I decide to wander to campus. It’s a gray day outside, the best atmosphere for brooding.
I grab the textbook for my psych class, so my people-watching doesn’t appear creepy, off the kitchen table scattered with abandoned beer cans and cigarette butts. Cash is deep in sleep in his bedroom, where he managed to move in the early dawn hours.
I feel a bit slimy about hiding my defense of Wren last night from Cash. She is his step-sister, after all, and sworn enemy. I am his best buddy, who really should be on his side. But I’m finding myself not picking one or the other. The image of Wren at the party plays in my mind, those big lost eyes calling to me like a full moon to a werewolf.
As I yank the textbook off the table, a piece of paper slips off. When I pick it up, I notice that it is a class schedule. But it isn’t mine, nor is it Cash’s.
It’sWren’s.
My eyes scan the course titles furiously without hesitation. A name of one of the professors pops out at me, and I grin down at the sheet before placing it back on the table, tucked under a few dead beer cans.
Mrs. Chasten, a charming redhead with sleek style and an elegant repose, has run the Exploring the Classic’s English course since I was in my first year. Since then, she’s been a staple not only for English majors, but anyone willing to take a seemingly easy blow-off class.
Except it’s far from a blow-off. If I could think of any other term beyond ‘hard-ass,’ trust me, I would.
I absorbed a lot more information about aspects of novels, plays, and short-stories than I had ever planned on. A lot of the kids were trying to skive off-course, but she was on top of them. Especially the guys who were just there for the game, which I had initially been. Through osmosis I gained knowledge of the classics and even came to appreciate the power ofwords.
And it looks like Wren is in the same class.
I leave my apartment with my newfound information about Wren’s schedule whirling through my mind. Oh, the things I could do with this…
I know deep down that I’m only feeding the part of me that I should stay away from, that this obsession is going to spiral out of control if I don’t get a hold of myself, but I shove those thoughts aside. I’m not too far gone, I’ve got this. It was an innocent, happy coincidence that I came across her schedule, and what I am figuring out to do with that information will be far more pleasurable for her than whatever Cash has in mind.
I try to forbid the thoughts from my mind as I come across the library. It is mostly scant due to the weekend, the majority of the students likely lost to slumber for the entirety of the daylight hours, but something pushes me to go inside. I can’t really tell you what that feeling is, but I follow it anyway.
The librarian seems confused to see me but nods a greeting as I pass by. I hear a faint voice as she calls after me, somewhat accusatory already.
“What can I help you with today, young man?”
I turn my head back, my expression free of disobedience. She probably knows that I’m a member of the hockey team, an athlete not exactly known for strict studying schedules. She wonders if I’m planning anything conniving. I can read it through the deep grooves of her face like reading hieroglyphics.
“Just looking for a quiet place to read,” I say, tapping my textbook. “My apartment is distracting.”
I don’t have any desire to sugar coat my tone. She can’t stop me from being here, even if she is apprehensive. When she wrinkles her nose and says nothing, I keep walking.
I’m not really bothered by the preconceived notions of others. I am a tall, athletic looking man, and it makes sense that there would exist pre-judgments of me and my kind. Cash and the crew, including myself, haven’t exactly disproved any of those stereotypes, so I will let it slide off my back like water off a tin roof.
I turn the corner of the rows of computers, hearing the bell of the door chiming. I stop for some reason and pretend to log in to the nearest desktop while I wait for the person to round the opposing side of the corner.
And to both my chagrin and delight, I see that it is Wren.
Her hair is pulled to rest on one side of her shoulders, a haphazard, casual look that catches my eye. She is mulling something over in her mind when I make my way around to catch her spirited walk, then go still, waiting for her to notice me.
“Wren.”
If I hadn’t said anything, she may not have seen me at all. She stops in her tracks, blinking away the entranced look that made her hazel eyes look as bright as an autumn day.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be nursing a hangover?” she asks me with a little snark.
We end up talking about Mrs. Chastain’s class and one of her favorite topics, the soliloquies of Hamlet. The conversation flows easily, though I do sense some defensiveness when it comes to the party. I decide to avoid the subject when she sneers about it a few times, focusing on what makes her eyes shine and her tone dance like a butterfly.
