Something More (2 page)

“Yes, I’m Jamison Wilson. I’ve recently acquired an apartment here and desperately need to add some color to my walls,” he said in a pretentious tone Nyla recognized as mockery. They strolled off toward the displays, and Nyla went back to work, relieved he was out of her hair.

Angela tried to impress Jamison. He could tell, but he wasn’t very impressed. She did the typical things that most girls did back at home when they flirted with him –softly touching him, eyes lingering on his when she spoke to him, and the most obvious, mentioning she’d just dumped her boyfriend. She used big words as she spoke about the minimally impressive art work. He liked two pieces he knew his father would approve of. She was in the middle of explaining a piece of art, when he turned and went to one of the two.

“This one, and. . . ” He paused and tapped his finger to his mouth as if he were really pondering it. “That one.” He pointed to the second.

“Yes, well, those are excellent choices. Nyla will be disappointed.” She said the last part under her breath.

“Excuse me?” Jamison asked, suddenly interested in what Angela might have to say.

“Our receptionist, Nyla. Those are her favorite pieces. She will be disappointed. I’ll get the paperwork to process these.” She walked away. He smiled to himself. He did enjoy making Nyla uncomfortable. He enjoyed it too much, maybe because she was so easy to read. He liked when he said something to her and her face turned red. He liked that when he ignored her, it turned even redder. He smiled as he thought about the shocked look on her face when his name was called at the coffee shop. He’d seen her go in there a week ago, and he had gotten coffee there every day since. It just so happened that today was the day they were there at the same time. He took that as his cue to continue his assault on her. He didn’t understood why she hated him so much. He had never done anything to her, really. For three years, they had been forced to spend long summer days together and Saturdays through the school year, sometimes locked in one of their rooms, sometimes locked outside in the backyard while their older sisters talked to boys on the phone, watched movies, and read magazines. Their older sisters were inseparable even now. As juniors in college and halfway across the country from each other, they spoke on the phone for hours every day. Nyla and Jamison, however, were oil and water. She was smart; he was popular. She was quiet, but witty; he sometimes didn’t understand her comments though he never admitted it to her. She was the only person who would call him on his crap; he never understood why he always felt so drawn to her. Maybe it was because she was the only girl in their class who hadn’t had a crush on him. Maybe it was because she detested him. In high school he’d spend nights thinking of things to say to her to embarrass her or ways to annoy her. It wasn’t until graduation day that he looked at her and was terrified of the thought of not seeing her every day. He had been accepted to Notre Dame, but that day he put in a late application to Roosevelt College. He found out he was accepted at the end of June, and then he made plans. His parents took the news badly. They had both attended Notre Dame and already had the fight with his sister Lindsey when she chose Stanford without even applying to Notre Dame. When he told them his plans, they were disappointed. He could tell from the volume and anger in their screams
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but after a few trips to Chicago, the idea grew on them. Now he had a decent industrial loft apartment with high ceilings, tall windows, heavy metal doors and concrete flooring. He also had a roommate. His first day of classes had been great. He loved the campus and the fact that he was so close to her.

He wrote a check for the two paintings as Nyla made arrangements to have the paintings delivered. “You can always come over any time and visit the art if you want,” he said as she handed him the final paperwork.

“Not likely,” she said as she pointed to the line where he needed to sign.

“Just saying, you should see my new place; it’s huge.” He tried again.

“Again, not likely, but thanks for the invite.” She didn’t sound like she meant it. He still gave her his charming smile, the one that never worked on her, but it was worth a shot.

“It’s almost lunch time. Do you want to go grab some?” She looked at him like she couldn’t believe the words were coming from him.

“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly, hand on her hip.

“To purchase art,” he answered innocently.

“No, I mean why are you in Chicago?” She looked flustered. “Going to Roosevelt, a regular at MY coffee shop?” Mission accomplished, he was under her skin.

“I like it here, I like my school, and Coffee Anyone? has the best coffee. Everyone is so friendly there, too. Are you sure? No lunch? My treat.” He leaned on the counter again.

“Nyla, finish up please. We are ready to go to lunch, and need to close.” A gauntly woman with jet black hair piled on top of her head stood at the top

of the stairs beside the pipe railing. Nyla looked up at the woman when she heard her name. “Yes, Veronica,” she answered as she turned back to Jamison, as the other woman walked back to her office. “There is your answer; we’re going to lunch.” She narrowed her eyes smugly. He nodded, accepting defeat.

“Another time, then,” he replied as he stood upright again.

“Another time.” She went around the desk and walked him to the front door. He couldn’t help himself; he lingered around the corner and watched the building. He knew he was bordering on being a stalker if he hadn’t already crossed that line. But he stood in the doorway of a lawyer’s office a few buildings down. Within ten minutes, Angela and the other woman came out and grabbed a cab, but Nyla was not with them. He crossed the street and stood in front of the gallery. He saw Nyla sitting on the bench in the middle of the show room. She had a sandwich in her hand and a brown paper bag flattened beside her with an apple and juice box on it. She was staring at the first painting he had just purchased. He couldn’t help himself; he stood there and watched her. Finally, he turned away and walked back to his apartment.

His roommate was sitting at their dining room sized table with books piled up and his laptop front and center.

“Dude, there’s only been one day of school,” Jamison said as he plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV.

“This isn’t high school; you have to get on the school work and stay on it.” His roommate pushed up his glasses and looked back at his computer screen.

“Yeah, yeah, I just bought some artwork from a pretty cool gallery. It would be a cool place to throw a party. I wonder if they do that, host parties.” Jamison put his feet up on the coffee table and his arm on the back of the couch as he watched Sports Center.

“They’re a gallery; they host art shows. That’s the closest they probably come to throwing parties,” he said, not turning around. That was the extent of their conversation. After a few programs, Jamison finally went to his room. He didn’t want to give the appearance that he actually was concerned with school, so he did his homework in his room. When he went out for a drink from the kitchen, he changed into his pajamas and tousled his hair so that it looked like he was sleeping. His roommate was still sitting at the table, but he was on the phone talking to someone about a location to study for one of his study group. Jamison had to admit that he had the right plan; the people who wanted to study with Jamison were like him, slackers, who got by on what little they could in school. He wondered if he could join at least one of the groups. Then he had an idea. When his roommate got off the phone, Jamison asked him.

“What group are you having location problems with?” Jamison sat his now half-drunk bottled water on the counter he leaned against.

“Spanish, but I think my anthropology group will have the same issue next week.” He leaned back in his chair and groaned. This was good. Jamison needed into a group for both subjects.

“You know, you guys can always study here; I mean we have enough room.”

“Really? That would fix so many problems—wait. Why would you help?” He narrowed his eyes, wary of Jamison.

“I need in some good study groups. I was hoping I could join yours.”

“Which one?”

“Both? And I need a math group too.” Jamison sat down at the table and looked hopeful.

“If you join our group, then you have to carry your weight. You have until the end of the week to transfer to the right classes. We share projects evenly. We’ve already discussed it. If you can get into my classes, then you can join our group if the others approve too. Math though, you’re on your own. Check out the math lab; they have a bulletin board there for help.” He handed Jamison his schedule, and he went to his room. Jamison was relieved. Maybe he didn’t have to be the person he had been in high school. Maybe he could re-invent himself altogether. He went back to his room and jumped online to changed his schedule. All his classes were still Monday and Wednesday and the class on Friday he’d managed to schedule the same as Nyla. He returned Ethan’s schedule to the top of his books with a post-it note saying he’d changed his classes. Then he went to bed satisfied with the day he’d had.

Chapter 2

Nyla walked into her anthropology class and found Ethan. He had sat beside her on Monday and seemed extremely nice. He waved and smiled as she entered the large classroom. He pointed to the seat beside him. She made her way over to him and sat down.

“Hey girl,” he said smoothly. He had very pretty eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His dark brown hair hung in ringlets around his face. It wasn’t long, but it was long enough for most girls to be jealous of his curls. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch it. The light glistened off it so appealingly, but she held back. He had a nice oval face. He was nice to look at if you liked that intellectual look. Nyla had the feeling that she did.

“Hey, Ethan,” she replied as she pulled out her books and dug for a pen in her messenger bag.

“I’d like to talk to you and the group about someone, but not everyone’s here yet.” He nervously watched the door.

“Why, what’s up?” She looked up at him from her bent over position.

“My roommate said we can use our place for our groups if he can join them.” He didn’t hold her eye contact; instead, he fiddled with his pen.

“As long as he understands the rules, I don’t care.” She tried to catch his eye to give him an encouraging smile. He looked over at her.

“I told him, but he’s not really like the rest of us.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but Nyla had the feeling it might be. She nodded as more people came in. Their group for this class consisted of another girl named Maddie and two other boys. They found seats around Ethan and Nyla. He filled them in on the new developments. They all said the same thing Nyla had said. She liked the group and hoped the new dynamic would only strengthen their newly formed bond. Right before class began, Jamison walked through the door. He waved at her. She gawked at him, shocked yet again. Then she realized he wasn’t waving to her but someone past her when he refocused his smile on her.

“My roommate,” Ethan said to the group in a low tone. Nyla jerked her head around and looked at Ethan accusingly. Confused, he tilted his head to her. She softened her expression, apology in her eyes as Jamison came over and took the seat in front of her. His smile broadened while her face reddened as she realized he’d waved at Ethan when he came into the class. This smile though, the broad cheesy smile, was for her. Ethan introduced everyone else first. He nodded to them and smiled his hello. When Ethan introduced Nyla, Jamison said, “Nyla Anderson.”

“You two know each other?” Ethan asked.

“Unfortunately,” Nyla said dryly not taking her eyes off Jamison then added, “I want to change my vote.”

“It’s too late; the votes have been cast,” Jamison said quickly, taking her

statement to mean that he was in. She glanced at Ethan, begging for support.

“Why?” Ethan asked.

“I have personal reasons.” Her voice betrayed her, wavering a little as she continued to look at Ethan.

“We’re all getting fresh starts. Don’t you think that’s all the more reason to give me a chance and let me join your group?” Jamison looked at the rest of the group hoping for sympathy votes. By the expressions on their faces, he was pretty sure he had them on his side. The girl, well, the girl was definitely in, but the other guys looked at him distrustfully, the same way Ethan had the night before. Could they have been intimidated by his good looks? He tried to put that idea from his mind because he was not trying to be that cocky guy any more.

“If you don’t pull your weight, you’re out, no second chances, one chance.” She looked at him sternly. He understood what she was really saying that she would be looking for any chance to kick him out of their group. He nodded OK as the professor began his lecture. He was pleased; he couldn’t have planned this better if he’d tried, but glancing back at Ethan, he realized that he didn’t like the way Ethan looked at her. He didn’t understand why he didn’t like it either. He took as detailed notes as he could, and when class was over, he looked back at Nyla as she slid her books back into her messenger bag.

“So when are we getting together to study, guys?” he addressed the group but kept his eyes on Nyla. She blushed, again avoiding his gaze.

“Probably over the weekend; we’ll get an email going. Are we all friends on Status Quo?” Everyone nodded except for Jamison. Ethan continued, “I’ve got to get to Spanish.” He threw his bag over his shoulder and began making his way toward the door, oblivious to the sudden tension between Jamison and Nyla.

“I’ll walk with you.” Nyla rose suddenly and followed Ethan. He paused and waited for her to catch up. Jamison smiled at the rest of the group.

“I guess I’ll see you this weekend; I have to get to Spanish, too.” The only other girl in their group smiled, but the boys were already discussing something that Jamison didn’t care about. He followed at a safe distance behind Nyla and Ethan. He figured he could at least give her a little space. He analyzed their body language. They walked really close to each other. Ethan looked down at his feet a lot. She bumped him with her shoulder, and they both laughed. He wanted to know what they were talking about. Why was it so easy for Ethan to talk to her and for her to talk to him? He didn’t get it. It had never been easy to talk to her. She never made things easy for him. Nyla and Ethan arrived in class first, when Jamison entered the class and realized, this meant they shared two classes, two study groups, and a three hour lecture on Friday. By the end of the semester he would get to the bottom of whatever was going on between her and him. Well, she hated him, but he would get to the bottom of what was going on with himself. If things didn’t work out, then he could just transfer back to Notre Dame. At least his parents would be happy, and he could put this whole Nyla thing behind him. That was actually what he hoped for. He didn’t want to be so hung up on her acceptance of him. He entered the class and this time sat behind Ethan. Her only acknowledgement of him was rolling her eyes just before she faced forward.