Love Story(56)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“I’ll see you in calculus, okay? And creative writing.” My body tingled as he leaned in and gave me one last, lingering kiss. Then he opened the door. He murmured something in the larger room. Summer giggled. The outer door closed.

I pulled on sweats and poked my head into the larger room. Jřrdis, in her pajamas and thick, heavy-rimmed glasses, made dissatisfied noises in Danish as she peeled faces off her collage and flicked the curled paper into the trash. Summer stood at the mirror over her dresser, evening out her hair with a pick.

“I’m really sorry, guys,” I said as I walked in. “I should have asked your permission for Hunter to sleep over. It just sort of happened.”

“What bull.” Summer grinned.

Jřrdis nodded. “Why do you think he cuts heads for me? I do not think he enjoys cutting heads.”

I was still trying to digest the fact that she thought of her art as “cutting heads,” which was disconcerting, when she went on, “I don’t mind what you do with him as long as I am not the one who has to sleep in the wee chamber.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t?” Summer squealed, setting the pick down. “What do you mean?”

“Have you read my story for Gabe’s class?” I asked her.

She nodded. “It was different. Brutal. I meant to ask you about it. It seems like you were depressed when you wrote it, or tired.”

“Angry,” I corrected her. “It’s about the guy Hunter helped me get away from last May.”

Her eyes widened. “Has Hunter read it yet?”

“Obviously not,” I said.

“What is the matter with this story?” Jřrdis asked.

“It’s incredibly dirty,” Summer said. She and Jřrdis turned to me, outrage on their faces at the thought that I would treat a gentleman such as Hunter in this manner.

“Honestly, guys,” I said, “a lot has gone on between Hunter and me and our families over the years. More even than you know about. I thought he was using me last night. I was mad and I used him back. But now that it’s happened, I think there may be more between us than using each other. And if that’s true on his end, I just screwed up everything with this story.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” Summer squealed again.

“I’m writing what I know,” I murmured.

“You don’t know shit,” Jřrdis said. “This boy clearly loves you. He sits here on the bed and cuts out my photos in the hope that you will walk by.”

“What do I do?” I whispered.

“Call him!” Summer forced her cell phone into my hand.

Feeling weak, I sank onto Jřrdis’s bed and punched in the number I knew by heart. “Busy.” Who was he calling this early in the morning?

“Text him,” Jřrdis said.

I dropped the phone into my lap. “I can’t bother him with this right now. He’s headed into a huge anatomy test.” Shaking my head, I handed the phone back to Summer. “I’ll try to talk to him in calculus class.”

But he came into calculus just as the TA was passing out the test—probably because he’d taken extra time with his anatomy test. He sat beside me and gave me the most brilliant smile. But we couldn’t talk. And while I was still struggling with imaginary numbers, he turned in his test and left. He had to be headed to the library to read my story. I couldn’t follow him because I had to go to history to turn in my paper.

That’s why I sat in the creative-writing class in the afternoon, poring over my story, reading it as Hunter would read it. The other students eyed me and whispered as they came in and sat down in their upholstered chairs. I put my hand over my mouth, anticipating the worst.

Obedience

by Erin Blackwell

“You will do as you’re told,” her grandmother said. “Your college tuition is a gift, and I am not obligated to give it to you. If you choose not to follow in my footsteps—study business, and run the family farm—I choose not to help you.”

The girl looked around her grandmother’s office, at the crystal chandelier, the silk Persian carpet, the rich leather-bound books on the walnut shelves, and considered her grandmother’s words. If she took her grandmother’s offer, she would give up her dream of becoming an artist. But how could she support herself out in the world? She would be destitute and so

low.

The girl made her decision. “You’re right,” she said, “and I’m sure I’ll thank you for this tough love when I’m older.”

“That’s the way.” Her grandmother smiled, a perfect bow of blood red lipstick. She reached out with one perfectly manicured hand and stroked the girl’s hair away from her eyes for the first time since this argument had begun several weeks before. “Now that we have that settled, you know what would make me even happier?”

The party started soon after their talk. BMWs and Mercedes and rare collector cars pulled into her grandmother’s driveway in place of the fine coaches and spirited horses of yesteryear. The girl stood at the tall front window, pulling back the silk drape, watching for her target. His family owned the neighboring farm, and her grandmother had suggested that the two of them would make an excellent couple.

And why not? The girl called a roaming waiter to her side and took her third glass of wine from his tray. He flared his nostrils in disapproval. She did not care. She was high and he was low. Right?

“Right,” said the boy, securing his own glass and taking her hand. As he pulled her toward a dark corner of the party, he whispered, “I love to see you like this.”

“Like what?” she asked. “Wasted?”

“Heirs to a fortune do not get wasted,” he corrected her. “We simply socialize. Do you want to socialize with me?” He slipped his hand inside her cardigan, unbuttoned the silk blouse underneath, and forced his fingers past her lacy bra to her breast. Gently he pinched her nipple. Electricity shot straight to her crotch.

Was this what her grandmother had in mind? She was sure her grandmother would heap praise on her for befriending the heir to the farm next door, as instructed. She was not so sure her grandmother would approve of the boy pinching her nipple in public. So she asked, “Did you bring your own car?”

“Did I ever.” He took her by the hand again. This time he led her winding among the dark bodies drinking and laughing. The light had begun to blur, but she thought she saw grins flashing at her and the boy. She and the boy were so sweet and such a perfect match! As they passed between the wall and a massive buffet table that shielded them from view, the boy put his hand up her skirt and into her panties.

The heavy front door of her grandmother’s mansion seemed to open for them like the sets moving and changing in front of the characters in a Broadway play or a romantic Depression-era movie production. As she stumbled after the boy, out of the mansion and into the vast yard, she realized she was about to lose her virginity in a sleek black Porsche, which definitely was not low. Good for her.