Chapter 1
“I can do miracles, baby!” I cry to the crowded study room of the freshman dormitory. “Watch me turn water into wine.”
I hold aloft a two-liter bottle of what appears to be Sprite. It isn’t. It’s champagne, cleverly disguised to throw off anyone who might peek in and wonder what a bunch of crazy college kids are doing up this late at night.
A girl beside me giggles as I shake up the bottle, then unscrew the top. Bubbly liquid showers the front of her tight T-shirt, outlining a lace bra beneath it and stiffening her nipples. “So cold!” she gasps, rubbing her breasts through the wet shirt. “My headlights are on!”
“I can do anything,” I say, turning to pour the champagne into paper cups other students stick out at me. “Hold your applause, ladies and gentlemen. There’s more to come.”
Laughter again, and someone claps as I produce another bottle of illicit alcohol. It isn’t allowed on campus, for one, and sure as hellnot in the freshmen dorms, but I have connections. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the way everyone grins at me, already well on their way to getting shit-faced. And who’ll be the Big Man on Campus then?
Hello.
But as the second bottle empties as quickly as the first, I catch a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. He stands across the room with his arms crossed—no paper cup for him, no alcohol at all, and from the way he stares, no loving tonight, either. Silent, his disapproving mouth turned down, not quite a frown but enough to tell me I’m going to hear it later on.
* * * *
Afterwards, when the party has dispersed and the empty bottles are hidden in the trash, he sits at the study desk on his side of the room we share. He no longer looks at me. We live together off-campus, sharing a place with a girl a few years ahead of us who is in no real danger of graduating any time soon. This is only my second semester, but he’s been here a while now and is so serious sometimes, it hurts.
It hurts us
He’s my first in every way. First friend, even, if you’ll believe it. We grew up next door to each other, and my mother used to ask him to watch me when she ran out to the store. He’s five years older than me but was held back in the third grade because he was home in bed with mono that year. The age difference is there but he doesn’t seemall that much older than me. He was my first kiss, my first handjob, my first blow, and sooner or later, my first love.
When he went away to college, it damn near broke my heart. I cried myself to sleep each night after we got off the phone. I wanted him, neededhim, and didn’t even bother applying to any other school. I had my sights set on his.
On him
Now, this. The two of us alone, finally, after a long day and an even longer night, but so far, he’s ignoring me. Where I sit on the bed we share, I nurse a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, practically choking it down, glancing over after every bite to see if he’s looking at me yet
He isn’t.
He isn’t talking, either. He seems so far away, so distant, lost in his own thoughts. Talk to me,I want to say, but he doesn’t. Anything for his words, his touch. Please?
After a long moment, I clear my throat and hold out the sandwich like a peace offering. “Do you want a bite?”
He shakes his head without looking up from the book in front of him. No words. What did I say to bring on this silent treatment? What did I do?
I don’t know. Hell, it doesn’t take much anymore, does it? And he won’t tell me, not until he’s ready. If I’m lucky, he’ll say something when we go to bed, and maybe I won’t have to sleep alone on the couch downstairs. If he tells me why he’s mad, maybe I can apologize and sleep with him tonight. If he gives me the chance.
Minutes stretch like taffy between us. I force down the last bite of my sandwich, holding onto the dim hope he’ll want it instead of me, but he doesn’t. I finish my glass of water and think about brushing my teeth. Peanut butter isn’t all that great a chaser for champagne. My mouth tastes sour and it’s getting late.
As if he realizes the time, he pushes his chair back from his desk and stretches. I watch him openly, waiting for his gaze to turn my way, but it doesn’t. He stands, pushes in the chair, and heads for the door.