“Do we even have any?” Tate calls from the kitchen.
“I don’t know. Look.”
I can hear the refrigerator opening, then silence. Chips in the fridge? Right. I’ll bet you anything he’s eyeing my orange juice right now. “Dude, the Tropicana’s mine. Back the fuck off.”
There’s a pause before he answers. “I don’t see your name on it.”
I knew it. Every time I buy a carton, it doesn’t last very long. “Goddamn it, Tate. Buy your own orange juice.” He’s such a mooch. Someone got into my Oreos the other day, too. I’ll bet you anything it was him.
I can hear cupboards and drawers opening. A minute later, he comes into the family room holding an open jar of peanut butter with a knife sticking out of the top, a sleeve of Saltine crackers, and a bag of Doritos. Dumping the munchies in the middle of the coffee table, he sits cross-legged on the floor and starts eating. Guess who’s high?
James flips back to Sports Center, grabs a handful of chips, and turns to me. “So why didn’t you bring her home? God, she was sooo into you down at the Hardware. I figured it was a sure thing.”
I really don’t want to get into it with him. I shrug. “Didn’t feel like it, I guess. We did meet for breakfast yesterday and I took her to Stella’s.”
“You took her to Stella’s? What the fuck is the matter with you? She’s going to think you’re a decent guy if you don’t knock that shit off.” He sinks back into the couch. “You’re not getting serious, are you?”
“Hell no.” I take a long drink from my bottled water, wishing it were a beer. “Ivy and I are just friends. We have a class together, so we’re working on a project. That’s it.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to explain myself to him.
James laughs. “School was definitely in session the other night.”
“The girl you were with is named Ivy?” Tate spreads a thick layer of peanut butter on a Saltine, taking care that it reaches all the corners¸ and covers it with another cracker. “My cousin Cassidy has a roommate named Ivy.”
“Ivy’s roommate is Cassidy. So you know her?” I ask, suddenly curious.
“I’ve met her a few times,” he says, not looking over. With his eyes glued to the TV, he shoves the cracker sandwich into his mouth.
I can’t believe the whole time I was looking for information about her at the party, all I had to do was ask Tate. “And…?”
He’s chewing as if he’s in a race and needs to finish first, reminding me of dinnertime at Forest Glen. You learned to eat the good stuff fast or someone might swipe it off your plate. Not that I’m going to steal one of his peanut-butter crackers. Although I should, considering all the orange juice he’s stolen from me.
Tate drains half the milk in his glass and belches. “She’s hot. I’d do her.”
I swear under my breath. “Thanks for that thoughtful assessment. It really helps.”
“But she’s got issues.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, issues?”
“I stopped in to talk to my cousin about something, but she wouldn’t let me in. I had to meet her downstairs in the lobby. Her roommate was in bed, depressed.”
“About what?”
He shrugs. “A guy, I think. Cass asked me all sorts of questions about some dude at the party.”
“Who?” I recall the conversation I had with Ivy after I helped her off the roof. She said she wasn’t up there because of a guy. Had she been lying to me?
“He was part of the group that Marshall brought.”
“One of the baseball recruits?” James asked.
“Yeah.”
“From high school? Ivy’s going out with a dude in high school?” That didn’t make sense.
“Not him,” Tate said, spreading peanut butter on another cracker. “His brother.”
My stomach clenches involuntarily. I run a hand through my hair. “He broke up with her?” So Ivy was up on that roof because she was heartbroken and didn’t want to face the brother of her ex-boyfriend?
“No. He didn’t break up with her. The dude died.”
I sit there for a moment, feeling as if someone is hollowing out my insides with a razor-sharp ice cream scoop.
“In love with a dead boyfriend.” James shakes his head. “Dude, you don’t want to be competing with that. You’ll lose every time.”
Numbly, I pick at a frayed hole in my jeans. Suddenly, her tentativeness around me makes sense. Maybe she hasn’t been with anyone since it happened, so she feels guilty. Unsure of herself. Even sad.
I recall the streaked tears on her face when I helped her off the roof. I assumed it was because a guy had hurt her. It didn’t occur to me she was crying because she was grieving.
“Although if you gave her a shoulder to cry on, she might be really grateful, if you know what I mean,” James says, arching an eyebrow.
“You’re such an asshole. You know that?”
I leave the family room and trudge slowly up the stairs. Spotting my guitar sitting in the corner near the window, I grab it, sit on my bed, and start playing a few random chords.
James is right about one thing. I can’t lead her on. Not now. Not anymore. This thing between us needs to stop before it progresses any further. She’s been through too much heartache. I’d only add to it by hurting her more.
Ivy, the girl who values truth and compassion, doesn’t deserve that.
Ivy
The butterflies in my stomach have been drinking Red Bull again, but I can’t totally blame it on the fact that I’m on my way to Coffee Addicts for my first day of work. The other reason is because the shortest route from my dorm to the coffee shop is right past the Student Counseling Services building, and I still haven’t scheduled an appointment.
The awning over the entryway is a cheery orange, as if it’s saying, Come on in. We’re very nice.
I’ve thought about it. I really have. But I haven’t been able to act on it yet. Unfortunately, Mom wasn’t able to get another refill on my prescription. If I don’t get more soon, I’ll be screwed the next time a migraine strikes.
I quicken my pace. Soon the counseling center is behind me and Coffee Addicts is straight ahead. I jog the next few steps, and when I open the door, the wonderful smell of freshly roasted coffee beans wafts over me.
I can’t ask Mom and Dad for anything extra, so I decided I needed to get a job. Luckily for me, I happened to mention this fact to Dani when I saw her out running the other day. She works here and told me to apply. I did. They interviewed me on the spot. And here I am.
“I’m Wanda,” says a girl with two high pigtails in her hair. She’s wearing a black corset-like top, a black lace skirt, and black combat boots, and both arms are covered in colorful tattoos. “You’re Ivy, right?” she asks brightly.
“That’s me.”
“I’m the shift manager.” She hands me a blue Coffee Addicts apron. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
And by everyone, she means the other two people working.
Lavon is an attractive African-American guy wearing black-framed glasses and a plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off, so it’s essentially a vest that showcases his muscular arms. “Howdy.” He throws a smile over his shoulder, lifts a pitcher of milk to the steam wand and twists the knob. The machine hisses loudly in response.
“Welcome aboard,” Toni says, pouring what looks to be juice concentrate into a blender filled with ice. Fair-skinned and curvy, she’s got beautiful dark red hair, secured down the middle of her back with three mismatched hairbands.