The Singles (62 page)

“Never heard anyone call piss-flavored water good before, but hey, who am I to judge?” Still, I grab a can for myself because I can feel the body heat coming from the person who’s shuffling impatiently behind me. Cupping Corinne’s forearm, I steer her out the way.

Just when I think she’s given up on hounding me with questions, she turns to me and asks, “So, where exactly
did
you go to college last year?”

––––––––

I
should’ve known the silence was too good to be true. Positive that I’ll have to come up with a fib so Corinne won’t go digging around, I glance over only to find her darting her gaze everywhere but on me. It’s obvious that she’s trying to find Hollister in the crowd. She’ll probably forget the name of the school as soon as I say it, but that’s still not enough for me to tell her.

I’m an idiot for opening this conversation in the first place.

So, I do what I do best. I change the subject. It takes me five seconds to spot Daniel. “Look.” I point across the room to where he’s standing in front of a closed door with an oversized
Keep Calm and Play Baseball
poster hanging lopsided on it. He’s busy talking to two girls—the same who were smoking on the front porch when Corinne and I arrived.

They seem to be hanging on to his every word.

What the hell was the appeal with this guy?

“We should go over and say hi,” Corinne says, unable to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

I decline quickly. “You go ahead. I need to use the bathroom, but I’ll catch up in a few.”

Before she can offer to tag along, I take off in the other direction. When I reach the nearby hallway and glance back, I’m relieved to see that she’s made her way over to Daniel and is beaming up at him as he teases one of her springy curls.

Although every door is closed, the bathroom is easy to find—there’s a sloppily written sign that reads
Don’t Piss in the Garbage Can
taped to the center. Glancing down at the penmanship on the back of my hand, I’m 99.9 percent sure the guy guarding the front door made this sign, too.

When the door opens, a face I’ve seen before stumbles into the hallway. It’s the blond girl who came out of Professor Cameron’s office earlier this afternoon. She gives me a friendly smile and a nod before rushing away, leaving behind the scent of vanilla-scented body spray. Before I have a chance to go inside, a guy with shaggy brown hair and a giant grin comes out behind her. He doesn’t spare me a second glance before he takes off in the direction the girl went.

I’ve seen this so many times before that I don’t blink an eye. As soon as I’m finished, I adjust my hat in the fingerprint-smudged mirror. Behind me, there’s a frayed
The Hangover
poster and a wastebasket overfilled with crushed beer cans, paper towels, and God knows what else.

“Just like every other damn party,” I say.

Grabbing my untouched can of warm beer from the back of the sink, I follow the sound of music, which is louder than when I arrived, back to the party. Krewella booms from the sound system plugged in by the couch, and the musician in me feels every beat vibrating off the beer-soaked floor as I make my way over to Corinne and Daniel.

While I try not to run into anyone or anything, something hits me: This is the first time in the history of Evie vs. Parties that I’m not the cliché drunk—the one stumbling around, breathing beer breath in everyone’s face. Of course, the night is so young that nobody is at this point, but it’s bound to happen.

It always happens.

It just won’t be me.

The blond girl I’d seen in the music building and then in the hallway here a few minutes ago walks past me, but instead of continuing on, she freezes and faces me.

“You look totally bored.” She holds her cup to her lips, smiling over the rim as she inches closer to me. “I’m Mac, by the way.”

“Evie.”

Nodding, she mouths my name, committing it to memory as she races her hand through her chin-length hair. “Look, Evie ... what you saw back there—”

I shake my head quickly. “You don’t even have to explain.”

“—was my boyfriend, Eli,” she continues. “I was trying to talk him into coming back to my apartment with me tonight, but he thinks he’s got to be here with his team.” Rolling her eyes, she tilts her cup back. As soon as she’s finished chugging her drink at record speed, she crumbles the plastic in her hand.

“You can close your mouth now; it’s just water. Professor Cameron seems to know exactly when I drink because she swears she can hear it in my voice. Says it makes me sound like a drunken lounge singer.”

“Wow.”

With a giant grin, she shrugs. “She doesn’t hold anything back.”

“So I take it you’re a voice major, too?”

“It’s my minor, actually. I switched majors at the beginning of my sophomore year.” Mac gives me a shrug before adding, “Minor or major?”

“Major. First year.”

She grins. “Welcome to the jungle. Get ready for life with the mega bitch.” The last two words are sung in a soft high soprano. “Don’t get me wrong—Cameron’s good, insanely good, but she’s also tough. She was my advisor freshman year but now she just does my voice lessons. Still ... she just keeps offering me advice. No matter how much I tell her I’m A-okay without it.”

“Thanks for making me feel better.”

“You’ll be alright,” Mac promises. “Plus, her grad student this year is hot. His body is in-cre-di-ble.”

Rhys Delane. Even at a party that has nothing to do with music, he still manages to affect me. God, I can’t imagine the carnage that’ll be my mind and heart if I go through an entire semester working side by side with him.

I force a smile. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

“Who’s hot, babe?” Her bathroom partner from earlier comes up behind her, wrapping his arms Mac’s tiny waist and resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Eli, this is Evie.”  After her boyfriend and I exchange pleasantries, she twists her head back to stare at him. “And we’re talking about that guy I introduced you to at the Red Denial show.” When he doesn’t immediately grasp whom she’s referring to, she lets out a little huff, blowing up a few unruly wisps of golden hair. “Your memory blows.
Glee
on the juice?”

Recognition dawning on his expression, Eli grins. “Ah, yeah.
That
guy.” Before I can ask if
Glee
on the juice is a reference to Rhys’ physique—which, even knowing who he is, I can’t help but echo Mac’s sentiments that it’s killer—Eli says, “Listen, I’m thinking about cutting out of here in a few minutes ...”

“Uh huh,” she says dryly, and he lifts his shoulders sheepishly before offering her a promising look and backing away. He grants me a smile as he immerses himself in the crowd of gyrating bodies.

“It never fails, he always waits until I find someone I really want to talk to and then decides he’s tired.” She starts digging around in the big purse slung over her shoulder.  “Ah ... there they go.” When she pulls her hand out, she’s holding an enormous set of keys and her phone, which is enshrouded by a bright pink case. She hands the phone to me.

“Add your number. We can do lunch or something and talk about how batshit insane Cameron is after she makes you sing “Sento Nel Core” eighty million times because she doesn’t think you quite grasp what pianissimo stands for.”

Arching my eyebrow, I work my fingers over the smooth screen, typing my number quickly. “You have officially made me not want to go to class on Monday. Thanks a million.”

“Tell her you saw her on Broadway sixteen years ago and that she was brilliant. Cameron’s a compliment whore—she eats that shit up.” As I make a mental note to research musicals my professor performed in while I was still in Pull-ups, Mac takes her phone back. She makes a few strokes across the screen, and a second later my own phone vibrates within my pocket. “There, you’ve got my number.” Boosting herself up on her tiptoes, she glances across the room to the front door where her boyfriend is talking to the stamper and rolls her brown eyes before taking off toward him. “Text me!”

Nobody else stops me as I return to my roommate, and the moment Corinne sees me, she throws her arm around me, causing me to go completely still. “God, you disappear too much,” she laughs when she lets go of me.

Automatically, my shoulders relax. “I met a girl who knows my advisor.”

“A good thing?” Daniel questions, and I shrug.

“We’ll see on Monday.”

Corinne shoots a look between us, and then finally heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, let’s play beer pong.”

For someone whom I’m pretty sure never had a drink before tonight, she doesn’t show any hesitation as she drags me off to one of the adjoining rooms where several people are taking turns playing on a makeshift table—an old door lying across what looks like two dressers. I’ve never been very good at beer pong because my aim sucks. Last year all I wanted to do was get right to the drinking, but I make an effort when Corinne and I play against Daniel and his roommate Elliot. By the time our second rotation to play rolls around, and Corinne starts to slur, I decide to call it a night.

“I’ve got to get up at seven to call my dad,” I lie, prying away her beer and tossing it in the nearest trashcan. “Walk back with me?”

“You go ahead, I’ll walk back with Daniel, and—”

“I’m leaving, too.” He yawns, and I glance over my shoulder and shoot him an appreciative smile. He winks at me before telling her, “I’ll walk you both back.”

The ten blocks back to our dorm is traveled in awkward silence, besides Corinne who returns a call she missed while we were at the party. She immediately darts in our room the moment we reach our hall, but Daniel stops me at our door, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“What?” As I turn around, I maneuver away from his touch. “Do you—”

“You’re not really tired, are you?” He gives me a smile that’s meant to impress. “Because I’ve got a movie that—”

Oh, hell no.

“Can Corinne come?” I interrupt. He blinks a few times, and then I add, “Because, you know, you just spent most of the night talking to her. Plus, the only time you and I’ve really said anything was when your ass was parked on my bed.”

Smiling sheepishly, he runs his palm over his face and shrugs. “Guess she’s just not my type.”

And you’re definitely not mine
, I add silently. Giving him a little wave, I open my door. “
Goodnight
, Daniel.” Before he can protest, I’m already in our room with the door securely closed and locked behind me.

I stop short when I see Corinne lying on her bed with her forearm resting over her eyes. “Are you alright?” I ask, and she comes to a slight sitting position and nods.

“Tired.”

And drunk. Very, very drunk. Grabbing two bottles of water from the mini-fridge, I start to toss one to her, but then I think better of it. The last thing I need to complete this epic suck of a day is to knock her in the head with a full bottle of water. I cross the room and place it beside her.

When she gives me a quizzical look, I open my own and take a drink. “Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

She scoots all the way up and rests her back against the plain wood headboard as she takes slow sips. “So ...”

I lift an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Do you miss the school you went to last year?”

Instead of getting exasperated that we’re back on this subject, I think of Kendra. I haven’t checked my messages in the last hour or so, but I can almost guarantee she’s sent me another word of encouragement.

Turning my back to Corinne, I slide off my shoes and kick them under my bed. “I miss some things,” I say as I start rummaging through my top dresser drawer for my shower supplies. “But mostly it doesn’t bother me being somewhere new.”

As drunk as she is, the slight shake in my voice must give me away. “That bad, huh? I might talk a lot but I’m a really good listener, too.” She releases a hiccup. “If you ever want to talk, that is.”

Clutching my towel close to my chest, I shake my head. “Like I said, I screwed up last year. Time to make things right. But before all that,
you
should get some rest.” I dip my head to the nearly full bottle of water she’s nursing. “Try to drink that so you don’t feel like crap tomorrow morning.”

When I return from my shower twenty minutes later, I’m grateful Corinne is already asleep.

***

A
side from exploring Richmond with our suitemates, Hannah and Lara, who are both from Charlottesville, the rest of my weekend is, thankfully, uneventful. Of course, that’s also a bit of a curse. It gives me plenty of time to go to battle with myself about the Rhys Delane situation.

And this is one of those situations where there are
only
two actual solutions. Either I can go directly to Professor Cameron—who’s already let me know she doesn’t think I deserve to be in her program—and tell her I’m unable to work with her trusted assistant. Or I can suck up all my apprehension about Rhys, try my hardest to overlook our mutual connection, and get the hell through this semester.

Both solutions royally suck.

After spending most of Sunday driving Corinne to the nearest Ikea and helping her put together a small bookshelf, and then getting all my stuff prepared for the upcoming week—printing out my schedule and tracking down a book that I didn’t order along with the rest of my course materials—I’ve almost convinced myself to take the more difficult road.

Almost
.

Then again, that may be the exhaustion screwing with me. It’s nearly eleven-thirty. Corinne’s been asleep for almost an hour, and Facebook has sucked me in for the last twenty minutes. I’d stupidly reactivated the account I cancelled last spring, only to get an eyeful of all the dumb crap my ex-boyfriend James is doing already on his first weekend back to school. The sentimental fool in me wants to feel some type of emotion—anger or longing or even a desire to send him a message. I can see that he’s logged on, and despite the rocky way our relationship had ended, I know he’ll respond quickly if I contact him—but I don’t feel any of that.