Chapter 20: CHAPTER NINETEEN: REALLY NOTHING

CHAPTER NINTEEN: REALLY NOTHING

Come cuddle with me.

The words blink back at me for a few seconds before my cell phone screen turns black again. A minute rolls by, and my screen lights up again reminding me of the text. The answer should be simple. Yes, no, maybe so. My stomach tightens at the thought of saying anything at all. I could just keep reading and pretend I didn't see it, but I did that the other night, and over the weekend my excuse was "I fell asleep."

My phone screen goes black again all the while maybe blinks around in my mind. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I've been reading this all wrong.

I tug at my lip. The lab write-up I was in the middle of now completely abandoned. My eyes are glued to the end of my comforter. It doesn't help when my phone lights up again.

Correction: come study with me? Trent tries again.

I finally pick my phone up off the desk. Library? I ask because aside from the fact that the study and homework sessions in his dorm room are only getting less and less productive, I might as well drag him down to the basement for another real talk. It feels necessary at this point even if I don't want to go through with it. I just can't let the nagging feeling I've had in my gut since the other day go away. The way he dropped my hand. The half-assed salute. Two steps forward, and yet always one step back.

I go back to highlighting the article I'm reading at my desk for a few minutes before my phone lights up again.

NoOoOoOo

My lips tip up. I can't help it because that's the Trent I know, that's the Trent I've been getting to know these last few months. It's just every once and a while he flips a switch and leaves me in the dark. He turns it on, and he turns it off.

My thumbs hover over the screen. Yes, no, maybe so. Fine.

He sends me a smiley face in response. The same smiley face I picture his face stretching into with all his big, bright teeth. Text me when you're on your way. He adds as a separate message.

I send him a thumbs up before placing my phone back down. I stretch my arms up before grabbing my highlighter. I might as well finish what I can before I leave.

****

My purple rainboots squish into the grass as raindrops continue to pelt against my head. I'm wearing my black windbreaker with the hood not only pulled up, but also the strings pulled so the sides are taunt around my head. The hitchhiker look is completed by my backpack flopping behind me.

Trent's not waiting outside, or near the door. He usually springs it back with the gallantry of a knight and ushers me inside, or sometimes if he's feeling extra goofy, he'll crack it open, poke his head from side to side to make sure we're clear from followers like spies before letting me in. Most times, my favorite times, is when he waits outside the building or right by the door. He'll perk up when he sees me, open the door for me with a lazy smile, and then before the door even closes behind us, he'll momentarily tug me into his side for a few steps, hugging me against him.

"So, how are we today?" He'll grin down at me.

"Not bad, how about yourself?" I'd smile back.

Today, he's nowhere in sight. I'm stuck waiting, but I don't mind because it gives me more time to muster up the courage to talk to him, like really talk to him, no jokes, no pit stops, or detours. My hands wring together at the thought.

Two girls notice me as they walk past me to get to the door, and thankfully hold it open for me. I'm glad the hood didn't scare them off.

I clomp my way up the stairs, peeling my hood off as I go, and attempt to fix my hair. I'm a few steps away from throwing it up in a ponytail.

Can I ask you something—no, we need to talk about something—no, look, this is random but—no, look, I understand if you don't want to use labels, but I just need—

I lift my hand up, make sure it's two hundred and twenty-seven, before knocking. I quickly retract my hand and wait.

I understand if you don't want to use labels—it's totally fine with me—but I just need—

I lean in closer to the door at the sound of laughter. I lift my hand up and knock again. The laughter and chatter continue, so I lift my hand up and knock harder only to wince at myself and curl my hands back.

I understand if you don't want to use labels, but I need to know if—

"Whazzz up?" Zack's head finally pops up in the crack in the door. He throws it back the rest of the way, and I'm greeted by a bunch of eyes blinking back at me. They fill both beds, parts of the floor, and the desk chairs. All with their own different skin colors and hair types. I would love to know all their different Punnett squares to see all the different DNA combos. It only makes sense since it's a Monday night. Trent and I usually hang out Thursdays, Saturdays, and the occasional Friday or Sunday.

"Trent's not here." Zack goes over and leans on his empty desk chair. "He's doing the laundry." He uses quotation marks.

"A.k.a." One of the girls on Trent's bed, wearing a lacey teal leotard, uses her own quotation marks. "Having a poker night in the basement."

"Where they"—another girl with curly red hair and round wire framed glasses throws her hands up— "don't drink."

"And pretend their mafia bosses," a girl on the floor grunts, not bothering with the quotation marks, but rather just pushes at the curly bangs on her head. They immediately spring back.

The guy sitting at Trent's desk chuckles as he continues to type something into his laptop on his desk. The blue hue from the screen reflects off his chocolate skin. "You guys are making it sound so scary." He looks up at me. "Don't be intimated by them—or us."

"Or do." The other guy sitting on Zack's bed pipes up, his voice the deepest note on a baritone. "We are pretty cool."

"Yeah." Zack laughs. "Feel free to hang with us instead. That there is cow bell." He points to the girl in the leotard. "Medusa." The girl with the dark hair. "Dane. Fischer." He points to the two girls on the floor. "Sammy." The red head. "Metal." The boy on his bed, who throws me a tip of his hand. "And Hi-C." The guy sitting in the chair, who promptly gives me a little prayer bow.

"Are you done?" The girl in the leotard arches her brow.

"Yes, take it away, captain." Zack salutes her before flopping down in his seat.

The girl scoots up a little on the bed. "I'm Bellamy."

The girl beside her mimics her smile but says her name around a laugh. "Melissa." Her curls are brown and red and spring up every which way on her head.

"Claire." The first girl on the floor chirps, while the other girl sends Zack a look.

"Carrie."

"Sam." The red headed girl lifts her hand. "Yeah, it's really not that different."

"Mine either." The guy across from her on Zack's bed chuckles and lifts his hand again. "Steele."

My eyes fall on the guy sitting at Trent's desk, who sighs good naturedly. "K.C."

"Oh!" Zack springs up again, like the human yoyo he is. "I almost forgot." He goes behind me and grabs my shoulders. "This is peas."

Bellamy laughs. "And I thought cowbell was bad."

I tug at my backpack straps. "It's a long story."

"It's not that long," Zack chirps.

"Lacie." I wave my hand in a circle with a smile before landing my gaze back on Zack. "I better go find Trent."

"Sounds good. Remind him to give me back my chips."

"The Star Wars ones?" Steele asks.

"Hell no. My potato chips. He brought them down with him, and I want them back."

I shake my head and start back towards the door.

"Oh, hey, if you happen to see my boyfriend, Henry," Carrie pipes up from the floor, finally looking away from her laptop. "Tell him I'm still waiting for my coffee."

"Will do." I laugh a little now knowing her general annoyance is with him.

Zack flops back down in his chair and picks up a paper. "Can I be Løvborg this time?"

"You're not cool enough to be Løvborg."

All their laughter trickles behind me as I finally close the door.

I rub at my rain drop stained leggings as I clomp back down the hallway. It takes a few steps for my brain to jump back into business.

Hey, can we talk. It's nothing serious, well, actually, it sort of is kind of serious, it's just—I'm not trying to make a big deal or anything, but I just wanted to know—no, I just need to know—we really don't have to use labels if you don't want to, but it's been a while, you know, so I just wanted to know if—

Each step down the stairs feels like another weight on my shoulders. My boots echo through the silence that is usually swallowed by basement party chaos. If there was music playing, I also probably wouldn't hear any of the laughter.

"No, seriously, spill it."

"How 'bout a drum roll?"

I stop in front of the basement doors as a bunch of rumbling and hollering bounces off the walls.

"Come' on," the same person drags out the words. "You've been hung up on this chick for months. What's up with that?"

"Nothing," someone grumbles, but they all begin banging their hands against the washing machines again.

I gently press my fingers against the right door and go to push it open.

"What's her name again? Lacie?"

My fingers fall back down as I step back.

"Oh, nah, it's vanilla, remember?"

"Yup! That's it!"

I'm surprised their laughter doesn't crack or shake the foundation. Itrattles my bones

"Now you've just got to tell us!" another guy mocks.

"Yeah, how sweet is she?" another guy asks. "I bet she's pretty sweet!"

The chips I ate earlier suddenly feel like rocks in my stomach. All sharp, jagged, and heavy.

"Have you at least—you know?"

I gulp as my fingers hover over the door once more.

"Yeah man! You've got to have at least tapped that by now."

"Oh yeah!" The rumbling and laughter starts up again with even some high fives in between.

I check behind me as if wanting to leave, yet also wanting someone else to hear this.

"Enough!" Trent shouts, and I almost jump into the door. "Look nothing's going on between us."

"Psh," someone hisses. "You couldn't have known this girl for months and not have gotten a little something-something."

"No," Trent says firmly over the snorts and snickers. "It's not like that."

Right, we don't need labels but—

"What is it like then?" another guy coos, but I just continue standing there with my knees locked and my pencil case stabbing my lower back.

"It's really nothing, okay?" Trent sighs. "She's just some girl. She doesn't mean anything to me."

My lips part but nothing comes out. Not even air. My boots squeak as I stumble back, and I throw my hand out against the wall to brace myself, but it's too late. I'm doubling over as both my stomach and backpack weigh me down.

"She's just some girl. She doesn't mean anything to me."

There's dirt and grass strands all over the tops of my boots. The air feels too warm as I breathe it in, and my heartbeat gets louder and louder until it covers the words that continue to echo in my head. I feel it pounding away in the tips of my fingers as I squeeze them into a fist.

I dig my fist into my stomach as I stand back up before kicking open the basement door. I relish in the way it clatters back against the wall and silences everything else. My steps are slow and deliberate as I come face to face with Trent and his friends.

They're all gathered around the appliances and a rectangular table with playing cards, snacks, and red solo cups. Some are sitting and some are standing, but all their eyes look like they're going to pop out of their skulls. I almost wish they would.

"Sh*t, Lac—" Trent digs his hand into his hair.

"Huh." I click my tongue as I continue to pace around on my side of the basement. My hands find my hips and a trace of a smile almost finds my lips. Almost. But instead, I lift my head back up. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Please"—I gesture with my hands—"keep going." My face feels hot, but I continue to dart my eyes around. "No one?" I watch as half of them scratch their jaws while the other half's Adam's apples bobble as they swallow.

I'm burning from the inside out and yet I still sense the cold down here compared to the crowd of people with Zack upstairs.

Trent's chair goes flying back as he stands up. "Lacie, listen it didn't—I didn't—" he stutters. He goes to step towards me but hesitates.

Every step back, every stutter, every distance look, half-hearted wave, and sheepish smile all add up to that hesitation.

"Is Henry here?" I ask. They all blink back at me, so I repeat the question with more force. "Is Henry here?"

"Oh, um, yeah?" A guy with square glasses nervously gulps. I keep my eyes glued to him. Anything to avoid the burn of Trent's gaze.

"Carrie wants her coffee."

"I'm dead." He squeaks and wrenches back his chair.

"Busted," another guy snickers, but the guy sitting next to him is quick to slam a hand in front of his chest to make him stop.

Henry scurries on past me, so I take that as my cue to shove my hood back on and twist back around. My clomping fills my ears again along with my heartbeat as I run back up the steps and out the door.

"Lacie, wait!"

"Weak!" Savannah's voice rings in my ears from memory of her and her black coffee.

My hood flies off, but the rain does nothing to stop the red-hot fury boiling inside me, nor does it stop the red-hot tears from flooding into my eyes. My rainboots and the ground go in and out of focus. I just keep track of each transition from cement to grass.

I double over again when I reach the side of my dorm building. My backpack falls onto the ground, and my wet hair flies into my face. I clench and unclench my fists and bite my lip, willing the tears not to fall, but they do. The adrenaline seeps right out of me as I slowly slide down against the bricks and curl up into a ball.