My Sweetest Escape. Chelsea M. CameronЧитать онлайн книгу.
with him. He was about to open it but pulled his arm back at the last second and walked around to his side of the car. I wrenched it open, got in and fastened my seat belt.
“No, I mean that you’re one of those girls with layers. You know, you’re more than just a pretty face. Plus, you don’t have to scrape through a layer of makeup to get there.” While it was true that I didn’t wear a lot of makeup, I used to, back when I wore skirts more often than pants and had to look good for any photo opportunity. I used to get up early every single day and straighten my hair and line my eyes just so. I had the cat eye thing down to a science. I honestly didn’t know where my eyeliner was. I definitely hadn’t seen it in months. Renee had probably stolen it.
“Is that a nice and slightly weird way of saying I look like crap?”
“Jesus, do you take everything negatively? Man, kick a guy for trying.” He shook his head and started making drum noises. “Your turn.”
“I’m not telling you my life story, Dusty.”
“I’m not asking for your life story. Just...give me something.”
“Why? What do you want from me?”
He shook his head, a different kind of smile on his face. It was almost shy. If anything about him could ever be considered shy.
“Nothing, Red. Absolutely nothing.”
And by the time I could think of something to say, we were back.
“I know you didn’t forget your phone, you liar. Is something burning?” I pretended to sniff the air as we walked up the front steps. “I think your pants are on fire, dude.”
“Ha-ha, you’re so funny.” He reached out and rang the doorbell. I raised my eyebrow. I would have just walked in. The bell dinged and then donged and Dusty made the exact same sound with his mouth. Somehow. The door opened, and Hunter gave both of us a look before holding the door open to let me in.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said to Dusty, but it sounded like a question. He tapped two fingers to his forehead and then flicked them upward in a little salute/wave. Yeah, okay.
“’Bye.”
Hunter was still looking at Dusty. Hmm. I was distracted from watching the two of them by a retching sound coming from the upstairs bathroom and then Mase yelling that he needed a hand. There was a sound like a herd of stampeding models as Renee and Taylor clacked their way up the stairs to take care of their fallen comrade.
“Jos, can you bring me up a glass of water?” Renee said over her shoulder as the puking sounds got louder. Lovely.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on it,” I said, giving her a thumbs-up and walking toward the kitchen. I set the glass in the sink, turning the water on, and tiptoed back to where I could hear Hunter and Dusty, but they couldn’t see me.
“So, I’ll see you at Steiner’s tomorrow?” Hunter said.
“Yeah. I might be late, but I let Kent know.” Dusty walked into the living room, and I could hear him rustling about “looking for his phone.”
“Found it. See you tomorrow, man. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for coming.” I heard them slapping hands or fist bumping or performing some type of guy-bonding ritual and then the door closed and I realized the glass of water was overflowing. I went back to the sink and turned it off.
Bromance indeed.
* * *
My alarm shattered the calm of sleep the next morning so completely that I woke up cursing. Stupid fucking school. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. I was just taking care of business when a fist slammed on the door and Renee’s voice penetrated my morning fog.
“You’d better not be late your first day.”
“Thanks, Mom, but it would be nice if I could pee without being interrupted.”
“Just get your ass upstairs in ten minutes, or I’m coming back down and dragging your ass to class, no matter what you look like.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t even remember my mother being this wound up about taking me to kindergarten.
“Hurry up,” she said, rattling the doorknob for good measure. I had half a mind to walk upstairs stark naked and say I was ready, just to see the look on her face. But I didn’t fancy being naked in front of all the guys, so that plan was out.
Eight minutes later I was shoving an egg and cheese sandwich that Taylor had made in my face and shoving notebooks in my new messenger bag. Back in my “before” life, I’d carried a designer handbag just like all the other girls. Of course I also had a small clutch purse that went with it for all my makeup and tampons and such. Now I had a black messenger bag with lots of pins and buttons on it that I’d collected. I’d thrown my red hair back in a braid, put on my luckiest jeans and called it good enough.
Since everyone’s schedules were different, I was finally allowed to take my own damn car. Renee had gotten me a parking pass and handed me back the keys she’d stolen when I moved in on the condition that I didn’t get into any shenanigans. I’d been completely shenanigan-free ever since I’d gotten here, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone. They were all still watching me, waiting for me to screw up. Maybe I should, just to put them out of their misery.
I said goodbye to everyone, promising I’d come back in one piece later.
I blasted Ingrid Michaelson on my drive to campus and sang at the top of my lungs. It took a few times of driving around the football field for me to find a free commuter parking spot. Apparently they were real asshats about parking in areas that weren’t designated for you to park in.
Finally, I found one, even though I had to squish in between a minivan and a huge truck and slide sideways to get out. I had ten minutes to get to my first class, Intro to American Law. I’d thought about changing majors, but I knew I could pretty much sleep through most of my poli-sci classes, so I stuck with what I knew.
The class was full of clones of the students I’d left behind. I even saw a few girls with the exact same bag I had shoved in a box back at my mom’s house. Since it was a sophomore-level class, most of the nonserious people had been weeded out, but there were still a few people who looked like they wouldn’t make it through four years of this. And, of course, since this was New England, there were the token Birkenstock-wearing, patchouli-smelling weirdos who were going to spend their time protesting whatever the trendy cause of the day was.
They were almost worse than the buttoned-up, straitlaced kids. They just had to be so self-righteous about every. Damn. Thing. They also loved to hear the sound of their own voices. Fortunately, I’d brought my headphones, and since they liked to talk so much, they’d take up plenty of class time, leaving that time for the rest of us to do whatever. I booted up my laptop and listened as the professor, a guy in a nice button-up and tie—big surprise—droned on about Marbury vs. Madison. Been there, done that.
I kept one ear open and the other covered as I listened to some new music I’d found the other day on low volume. I’d also bought some new albums that I needed to review, so I switched to those. The first was a ska group that was way more punk than ska and didn’t have a whole lot going for them. It wasn’t even bad in a craptastic way that made you want to listen to it anyway. They definitely weren’t Streetlight Manifesto, or Reel Big Fish.
I made a few notes about some of the songs and moved on to the second album that had more of a folky/bluegrass feel. That one was much better, and I found myself transfixed by the complex melodies and haunting lyrics. I didn’t think there was anything else like music for having the ability to transport you to another place, even when you were sitting in a class full of strangers.
Finally, the class was over and homework was assigned. I’d managed to get a seat in the back and had avoided making eye contact or speaking with anyone, so I called the first class a total win.
I