Finding Dell (25 page)

“You should come with us, Dell,” Ruby said.

“We’re playing the Wildcats and it’s almost time for March Madness. This is not a game to miss,” Dean said.

Ruby and Dean were taking a day trip to Lexington to cheer on Seneca’s basketball team in an away game.

I shook my head. “I’ve got plenty to keep me busy here.”

My wrist cracked as I rotated it. I’d spent the morning working on my submission for the graphic design conference; it was nearly done, just in time to meet the deadline.

“Alex is going,” Dean offered.

I leaned back in my chair and looked at them carefully.

“All the more reason for me to stay behind.”

“Don’t isolate yourself, Dell. We want you to come. You’ll have fun,” Ruby said.

“No, not this time. I have to put the finishing touches on this submission and start working on my portfolio,” I said. “And you know I need a break from guys and relationships. It’s nothing against Alex, but I need some time alone.”

“He’s been asking if you’re coming,” Dean said.

Guilt nagged at me. I’d spent the last few weeks ignoring Alex’s calls and messages, avoiding the spots where I might see him. After what happened with Cam, I realized I needed time to figure out what I wanted, and I didn’t want to talk to Alex until I knew what that was.

“I heard that Rocco is planning to go to the game, too. Which means. . .”

“Will might go with him,” I finished.

I turned back to my computer screen. The theme for the contest was “inspiration in surrealism” and my submission was a balance of mixed textures and contrasting colors. The interplay between dark and light shades formed proportions on the page that begged a closer look. The effect was an altered perspective; it fit the contest guidelines well but reminded me of the importance of reexamination, too.

Dean and Ruby were silent, waiting for me to continue. Out
of the corner of my eye, I could see them study each other, searching the others’ face to decide what to do.

“I’m fine here by myself. I want to be alone.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dean shrug neutrally and turn away, but Ruby lingered.

“Ruby. Go. Have fun,” I said, still staring at the computer screen.

“I’ll tell everyone you say ‘hi,’” she said quietly. She turned to catch up with Dean, who was already halfway down the hallway.

When I heard the door snap shut behind them, I breathed a sigh of relief.

To sit next to Alex in the cramped backseat of Dean’s car for hours, to feel the heat and excitement rolling off his body as he cheered in the stands, was too much to endure right now. I knew I wanted something more substantial than an occasional meaningless hook-up. And if Will were also at the game, it would just confuse me more. My feelings for him hadn’t died, and if he showed up again I knew I couldn’t deny him.

Until I knew what proximity to either of them would do to me, I couldn’t enter into that situation willingly.

I studied the scale on the page. It was exaggerated enough to drive home the theme of surrealism well.

Professor Liu will be proud of this submission
, I thought.

A sense of accomplishment bubbled up inside me. I closed out of my completed project for submission to the design conference and started to work on my portfolio.

Will and Alex were unpredictable. But the rules of typography and design, those I understood.

CHAPTER 27

THE STACKS OF
art history texts towered high in the northwest corner of the library. The afternoon sun crept in through shallow windows near the ceiling.

I thumbed through the book spines, pausing on call numbers and referring to a scribbled note in my hand, trying to find the paintings and print makings of Francisco Goya. I crouched down to the lowest stack, nearly sprawled on my stomach, and a shadow passed over me.

“The architecture books can’t be too far from the art books, can they?”

The shadow belonged to Will Easton, and he was wearing the same green hat he wore when he most recently broke my heart after the lights parade.

I scrambled to my knees and grabbed a shelf for leverage to pull myself up, yanking my sweater down and smoothing my flyaway hair.

“Will! I didn’t expect to see you here,” I stammered.

“No? I thought I might find you here,” he said smoothly.

My mind flicked to the afternoon I’d spent in the library with
Helen. I wondered if she’d told him about my study schedule.

“It’s just . . . you’re
always
in the studio.”

“This semester isn’t so bad. I don’t have to be in the studio around the clock. I have a couple classes that deal more with the theories and history of architecture, less with construction and application.” He gestured with a small piece of paper in his hand. “I have to write a biography of a famous architect, and I’d like to avoid being cliché and not write about Frank Lloyd Wright, like the rest of the class.”

I smiled. “Too bad. I could help you there, no books needed. I pass some of his homes on my way into the city. He lived in Oak Park for a while. They have a historical society dedicated to him there.”

“On second thought, maybe I should go with old Frank, and you can dictate my paper to me while I type,” he laughed and his eyes sparkled. The bright sun always made his eyes extra blue, I remembered.

I bit my lip and played over what to say next.
Is it a coincidence you found me here? Did you know I dated someone else but I’m single now? If you have more free time, does that mean we can date again?

“Do you have a study carrel or a table where you’re sitting?”

I pointed to my table and tried to steady my shaking hands as Will sat down and unpacked his bag. He pulled off his green hat and raked a hand through his hair, ruffling it until a few pieces stood on end. It looked unwashed, but I still wanted to touch it.

The library wasn’t as crowded as usual; it was the Friday before classes let out for spring break and not many people were studying. I hoped Will wouldn’t notice that there were plenty of open tables and move to another one.

“I don’t think I’ll write about Frank Lloyd Wright,” Will said, looking up at me. “I know so much about him already. I’d
rather learn about someone new. More of a challenge, you know?”

I nodded thoughtfully and wondered how Will was so comfortable coming up with alternatives to everything, when I always felt so rigid and organized when it came to writing papers.

“Do you have someone else in mind to write about?”

“It depends. Whoever strikes me as the most innovative, I guess,” he said with a laugh. He pushed up from the table to find more books.

When he returned a few minutes later, I hadn’t made any progress on my paper about Francisco Goya. Somber, subversive portraits stared back at me from the textbook.

Will reached across the table and snapped my book shut.

“Dell, take a break. Staring at those morbid war paintings must be getting to you.”

I smiled gratefully. “It is almost spring break,” I conceded. “I could use a week to relax.”

“Too bad we’re not going to Panama City Beach again this year. Last year was wild. Staying in a room with ten people like that . . . I’d do it again,” he said wistfully. “Wait, are you going somewhere this year?”

I shook my head. It was strange to think that there was so much distance between us that he didn’t know my vacation plans, when just last year he’d slept on the floor inches away from my cot in a crowded room on the beach.

“I’m just going home to see my parents. I’m broke. I guess that’s the payoff for not having a job here,” I said.

“Same. I don’t think my parents would have let me go on vacation anyway,” he said sheepishly, as if embarrassed that his parents had the final word. “They think I partied a little too hard last year, and a week of spring break debauchery isn’t going to help me get back on their good side.”

“You’ve definitely been to fewer parties this year. It would be nice to see you more often,” I said quietly.

“I think I can make an effort to be around more. Just have to make sure my grades are good first. Dell, you’re good at writing, right? Maybe if you write my papers for me, I can spend more time with you,” he said, pushing the stack of architecture books closer to me.

He laughed and I reached across the table to swat his arm.

“I’m joking! I’m joking,” he gasped.

He laughed loudly. I forgot we were in a library, but no one reprimanded us to be quiet given that there were so few people studying.

As I laughed with Will, it hit me: if I were with anyone else being loud in the library, a pressing weight to be quiet and follow the rules would have left me nervous and unable to enjoy the moment. My eyes would dart around the room looking for an angry librarian, and I would desperately want the other person to stop laughing so I didn’t get in trouble. But with Will I felt like I could let go and enjoy the moment. I didn’t care about being perfect or following the rules, I cared about being happy and seeing his blue eyes fill with laughter.

Sex and the City
reruns played on the TV. I stared emptily at the screen while my own reel of reruns played in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Will at the library.

Natalie caught an early flight back to San Diego, and Dean offered to drive Ruby home to her parents’ farm on Ruby Ridge Road in Missouri. They left shortly after lunchtime. My dad would arrive in the morning to drive me home for the week.

I couldn’t concentrate on the TV so I got up and wandered down the hall, searching for open doors. From under Helen’s door, there was a sliver of light and muffled laughter.

I considered knocking for company but decided against it. As I turned away from her room I felt a familiar pang that told me I missed Bernie; she was probably enjoying Carnival in Rio while I padded down the quiet halls of Paso Fino.

When I got back to my room after a stop at the vending machines in the vestibule, my phone was chiming to announce an incoming text message. I set down a can of soda and picked up my phone to check the message. It was from Will.

“Hey, what are you up to tonight?”
it read.

My mouth gaped and I extended my legs in a wide stance as I brought the phone closer to my face. It had been so long since Will got a hold of me, I was surprised he still had my phone number. Even though I saw him in the library, I’d thought it was a one-time thing. I didn’t want to get my hopes up again.

I took a shaky sip of soda and counted out three minutes so I wouldn’t respond too quickly and seem overexcited. I let him know that I was relaxing in the dorm.

The phone buzzed with a response almost immediately.
“Sounds fun! Can I come over and do laundry?”

I blinked at the message. After months of imagining Will coming over to the dorm, I had never once created a scenario where he did his laundry in the basement on a Friday night. I texted him to say he was welcome to come over.

After sending the message, I walked to my closet and rummaged through the clothing rack, searching for a suitable outfit. Finally settling on a striped shirt and skinny jeans, I pulled the clothes on and tried to smooth my hair and fix my makeup in the mirror. I was more nervous than I should have been for a night with plans of doing laundry.

Will arrived a half hour later with a laundry bag slung over his shoulder and a grin on his face. He followed me downstairs to
the laundry room in the basement. The brightly-lit, window-lined halls of Paso Fino contrasted with the dismal fluorescent lights that hummed and flickered in the laundry room. The floor wasn’t tiled, and the bare concrete was cold.

I was unsure if we’d go back to my room while the washing machine cycled, or if we’d sit on the ratty couch in the corner of the room. As Will pulled lint-littered quarters from his pocket, I debated perching on a dryer, but wondered whether that would be cliché or casually cool. Instead, I lingered in the center of the laundry room and didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I crossed and uncrossed my arms and shifted my weight. I glanced around the room and searched for something to talk about. After seeing Will earlier in the day at the library, I’d used up all my topics of conversation and I was at a loss for words.

As I peered around the room, my eyes settled on an old poker table in the corner. Rumor had it, students had sex on it when their roommates wouldn’t give them privacy. Now it was strewn with abandoned laundry from people who’d lost a sock or left a T-shirt behind.

In the pile of discarded clothes I spotted a pair of green underwear that I recognized as my own. I gasped audibly and hurried over to the table to retrieve them, immediately embarrassed that I’d left them behind the last time I did laundry. I shoved them in the back pocket of my skinny jeans and sighed in relief when they were no longer in sight.

“What are you doing, Dell?” Will called from near the washing machines, his head still bent over a fistful of quarters.

Will glanced up, flicking his sandy brown hair from his eyes. He dropped the last quarter into the machine and turned the dials. As the machine whirled to life, he sauntered across the room, the long pant legs of his sweatpants shuffling on the dirty concrete floor. He approached closer until he stood inches away
from me, more intimately close than we’d been in months. My breathing picked up and I pushed both hands into my back pockets, trying to look cool and conceal the embarrassing underwear.

“Dell?”

“Hmm?” I squeaked.

“What are you hiding?”

He took a step closer and I could feel his breath on my face. He was close enough to kiss.

He slid a hand on my hip and his other hand circled under my arm to rest on my back. I desperately wanted him to kiss me. It was utterly important that he be the one to lean forward that extra inch and touch his lips to mine. He pushed forward until our chests were touching and his arms tightened around me. The back of my legs pushed into the old poker table and I understood then that those rumors about sex on the pool table were probably true.

Will’s hand slid from my back to my wrist to my hand, which was still shoved in my pocket. His other hand started to tickle my ribs, taking me by surprise. I squealed and wriggled against him, forgetting my grip on the underwear in my pocket and when Will stepped away a moment later, he was holding the green panties and smirking at me.