Someone else calls out, “I guess maybe because we’re creative and need a creative outlet?”
Dr. O’Neal nods again. “Ah, creativity. I would say that is one of the qualities we possess that perhaps drives our writing, but is that why we write? Is the creativity burning within us or within artists or musicians the reason why we do what we do?”
The class is silent again, and I glance over at Skyler. She’s fidgeting, her left foot bouncing a little and her pencil rolling between her fingers. I can’t tell if it’s because she wants to say something or because she’s insanely bored. I turn back toward Dr. O’Neal and raise my hand.
“I guess I can’t speak for everyone in here, but I write for a purpose – a purpose that changes each time. Sometimes it’s to evoke laughter, sometimes to make people think, sometimes to bring a feeling to life like romance or pain, and always – no matter what the topic – to entertain.”
Dr. O’Neal’s mouth twitches into a smile that falls a little too quickly and he points the dry erase marker in his hand toward me. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is an example of a reason to write. By the end of this semester, I hope you’ll all be able to answer as confidently as this young man.” He turns back toward the board and starts detailing the lesson plan for the semester, covering the grade breakdown and attendance policy along with what we can expect in class.
“You kind of have this all figured out, don’t you?” Skyler asks, tilting her head. I note the way the fluorescent lights darken the blue of her eyes.
“I like to think I know what my passions are, yes,” I reply.
She smiles. “Passion can be a dangerous thing.”
The corners of my mouth creep up as I turn back toward the front. “What’s life without a little danger?”
After class, Dr. O’Neal stops me to introduce himself. He seems taken back that I transferred here, just like everyone else I tell. Apparently no one ever comes to this shit hole half way through their college career.
I can’t imagine why.
When I walk out of the Visual Arts Building, Skyler is waiting, leaned up against the brick wall with her hair blowing softly in the breeze.
“You really are stalking me.”
She shrugs. “You should be so lucky, Four Eyes. Speaking of which, where are your specks today?”
I laugh. “Contacts. I’m heading to the gym after my last class today and they don’t fare well with sweat.”
Her eyes challenge mine as she chews the inside of her cheek. “You’re weird.”
“You like it.”
She rolls her eyes and turns, heading toward Greek Row.
“Skyler!” I call out and she turns, waiting. “How do you take your coffee? For next week.”
Her smile returns. “Trying to be a gentleman now?” I shrug and she shakes her head, still sizing me up. “I only like one thing on the Starbucks menu. You seem to have everything else figured out, let’s see if you can guess what it is.” She presses her lips together, fighting against a smile, and turns to leave again.
“Will I see you before then?”
She shrugs and keeps walking, turning just enough to let me see her blue eyes one last time. I’ve always thought my eyes were a unique shade of blue – exactly like my mother’s – but hers are on another level. It’s almost as if they change with her mood. I wonder if they’ll be the key to what gives her away at the table.
Shit.
Did I really just think that?
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and turn in the opposite direction toward my next class. I need to disconnect, to uncomplicate this situation – and fast.
I just have no idea how to do that.
“Damn these shoes,” I mumble, making my way back to the sorority house as gracefully as I can. Ashlei and Cassie helped me get dressed this morning, as per usual. I’ve been in sorority land for a little over two years and I still fail miserably when I try to dress myself appropriately. I’m more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but when you’re in a sorority – especially the top sorority on campus – you don’t really have the casual jeans option very often. If they do put me in jeans, it’s always with heels or wedges and some flowy top that makes me feel almost as alien as a dress does.
I want to be president next year, to take my Big’s place and carry on our Greek line’s tradition of holding that office, but I’d be fooling myself if I thought it was going to be easy for me to do. For my Big it was, and for her Big, too – but they’re nothing like me. We’re close, and I love them both, but everything about us is different. Our style, the way we speak, our hobbies – I think my Grand Big almost fainted the first time I told her I play poker professionally. She called it a “man’s thing”.
But, I want to be like them – I want to fit in, to blend with my sisters in one unified band of color. In high school, I was like a deep red in a sea of yellow – an eye sore, if you will. But when I rushed, my sisters took me in and made me feel like a part of something. They saw the “potential” in me, as my Big put it, and they still do.
I just hope I don’t disappoint them.
Jess meets me at the door, tugging on my arm and dragging me through the house. “Ex just texted us and said to meet in her room ASAP. Sounds important.”
I laugh, yanking my arm free so I can stabilize myself in my four inch wedges before walking up the stairs. “Crisis with Spring Break planning?”
Jess laughs but tries not to. “I’m sure it’s something equally as serious, knowing your Big.”
She pushes through Erin’s bedroom door first, jumping into the bed to join my Little. Ashlei is propped in the beanbag chair and my Big has her desk chair pulled up to make a circle with the three of them. I kick off my shoes and plop down on the floor.
“Ew, put your snatch away, Little.” Erin laughs and Jess throws me a pillow from the bed. I glance down, realizing I’m sitting cross legged in a short ass sundress.
“Did you just call my treasure box a snatch?”
“Did you just call it a treasure box?” Cassie chimes in.
“Would you prefer I say vagasaurus? That’s my personal favorite nickname,” I say, propping the pillow on my lap to cover the goods.
Cassie and Ashlei crack up while Jess looks at me appalled. “Do you really call it that?”
“Among many other things, yes.”
“Like what?” she asks, clearly diving into new territory with vagina names.
“I don’t know… hoohah, muffin, pink canoe.”
“Juice box, kitty, hot pocket,” Cassie chimes in.
“Tampon tamer, magic bean, cubby hole. I heard someone call it a finger hut once. My personal favorite is vajayjay,” Ashlei says.
“Oh! That’s another one I use frequently, Lei. Nice.”
Jess still looks taken aback. “I seriously have never used any of these. I say vagina. Or occasionally I get a little Jersey Shore and say co-cah.”
“Or cho-cha like Missy Elliot?” I pipe in.
“Yes!” Jess and Cassie say at the same time. We all laugh and Ashlei snorts a little before Erin cuts us off.
“Can we stop talking about penis fly traps for like two seconds? This is serious!” She tries to say it with a straight face but fails miserably, which just makes us all laugh harder. She reaches behind her for her desk and grabs a handful of highlighters, pegging us each in the head with them.
After another fit of laughter, Jess wipes the tears from her eyes. “Okay Ex, what’s going on?”
My Big’s smile has faded and she’s in complete president mode. Her classic look has always been absolutely stunning to me, and every time she gets down to business, it reminds me how much I want to be like her – how much I look up to her. She’s only a year older than me, yet she has taught me so much about life, about the sorority, about myself.