“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t hang out with Liam,” she said, giggling.
“I’m tutoring him, that’s it,” I said, matter-of-factly.
“Oh my God, are you serious? When? How did this happen?” Her eyes were filled with excitement, not the ugly gloss of jealousy that filled Sara’s and Josie’s. This right here was how I knew she was the real deal. She lifted me up when they pulled me down. We needed more girls like her. If girls wouldn’t support each other, who else would?
“After classes on Monday and Wednesdays,” I said, shrugging her off. “He asked. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a huge deal!” she squeaked.
At that point, we were inside the lecture hall. Heads turned in our direction, and I slumped in my seat. Liam came in late after the professor started. A big, scary boy was sitting next to me, so he took a seat in the first row instead, but not before waving at me. Again, heads turned in my direction. Did I mention I hated attention?
After my classes were over, I walked to the coffee shop, mentally drained for the day. Liam was sitting in our same spot. There was a cup in front of him and one across. Before I could stop myself, a grin spread across my face. He was thoughtful, and sometimes that caught me off guard.
“Maybe you aren’t so bad after all,” I said as I took the cup in my hand. I carefully tasted it this time. I didn’t need another episode of pouring coffee down my shirt and being felt up by my friend.
“You aren’t so bad yourself, Mrs. Buchannan,” he said, smirking as he sipped his drink. I gawked, wide-eyed. There was no way he spent the weekend reading over course-required books.
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t being rude, just genuinely surprised, and not completely sure I heard him right.
“You pretend you’re happy. That you have everything you want, but one thing you genuinely want is right in front of you,” he said, all cocky. My lips pressed in a hard line.
“You’re right. This coffee completed me,” I said, firing back at him. He laughed, a full belly laugh that I loved, and I joined him. There hadn’t been anyone that I loved to make laugh since my brother died. It feels nice.
“Touché,” he said, looking smug. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he liked riling me up.
“I’m impressed, though. I am assuming you read the book. You didn’t watch the movie, right?” I asked.
“Fuck, there’s a movie?” he asked. He brought his face to his hands in an exasperated attempt at sarcasm. I rolled my eyes at him.
“Everyone knows there’s a movie. Three to be exact.”
“We should watch it. To get the full effect of the story,” he said, studying my reaction. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he looked hopeful. Did he set me up?
“Nice try. Since you binge-read the book, I guess you’re ready to write your paper,” I stated, changing the subject quickly.
He grunted. “I hate assignments like this one. I need one topic to follow…I’m not a pick your own thing to write about person.”
“I kind of like it. It allows you to explain what you took away from the story,” I said, looking off into the distance, thinking about my answers. There was no right way to make someone understand literature.
“Well, Ms. Philosopher, what are you writing about?” His voice was dangerously low. He leaned across the table, insisting that I look at him. That was one of the things I didn’t like about him. I didn’t like looking people in the eye. They could see through me.
“I haven’t completely decided yet. I’ve been toying with the idea of greed,” I said.
His brows shot up. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. When he did this his shirt rose enough for me to see a stomach I’d never actually seen in real life. Everybody back home was either large or rail thin. His muscles were defined and well trained. I quickly looked away before he noticed.
“Greed? Don’t you think that’s what everyone will write about?” he asked, amused by me.
“Absolutely, because it’s easy, but I’m thinking about it from a new angle this time. When I first read Gatsby, I fell in love with him. Someone that could go to those lengths for the one they love. Can you imagine that?” I asked, and immediately regretted it. He was watching me so intently. I shook my head, demanding him to leave my thoughts, and continued my rant.
“I’m exploring from the angle of “If you love something, let it go.” If Gatsby had lived his life and met another girl…got over his obsession with Daisy, he would still be alive. Greed got in the way of love. He couldn’t have loved her…He should have left her alone, and even if he did want to see her again, he should not have demanded she tell her husband those things or leave! She had a child, for God’s sake. On the outside, it’s a love story. When I dissect it it’s greedy, it’s ugly, and it’s just one big pissing contest between Tom and Jay!”
“Have you thought about being an English major?” he asked. He wasn’t smiling; not even amused. He watched me curiously. I shook my head stubbornly. Stories were my escape, not my reality. My reality was getting kids the hell away from homes like I was raised in.
“I’m going to into social work,” I said. Do not ask me why.
“Any reason why?” he asked. Of course, he asked.
“For the money, of course,” I said, grinning. “To help people.”
“I finally saw inside that mysterious head of yours, Autumn,” he said. His grey eyes watched me from across the table. His face was unreadable.
“And you want to run for the hills?” I joked nervously.
His shook his head sternly. “I want more.”
Thirteen
More. I keep throwing that word around. It’s so general. It’s
