You Again: Part 3
A College Romance Novella
When I enter our apartment, I am both mortified and annoyed to see Luke sitting on our couch watching a movie with Shelby on one side and Becca on the other. In all the time he’s been hanging out with Shelby, he’s never stayed late into the day. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. They are dating. If they want to watch a movie together on a Friday night in the apartment, I can’t stop them. Still, I wish I hadn’t just come home from a crappy date and found him again.
In unison, they turn to look at me, and I catch each of their reactions in turn. Shelby is curious. Luke has his plastered “I don’t care, but I might have a different feeling about this underneath the surface” face on, and Becca is overjoyed.
She leaps off the couch and comes to bombard me, her blonde hair flying. “Ooh, how’d it go? You’re back earlier than I thought. What’d you get for dinner?”
Luke shifts in his seat but turns back to the television. Shelby continues to look my way, but I don’t feel like talking about my miserable night in front of the roommate who’s dating my ex.
“Um. We opted to skip dinner.” I shuffle into the kitchen because my stomach feels like it might cave in on itself, and I start my shame-faced rifling through the fridge. I snatch up the first thing that strikes my fancy—a casserole dish half full of leftover lasagna—and since I can’t wait another minute, I dig into it cold.
Becca gapes at me. “What? Why didn’t you eat dinner? You’re obviously hungry.”
I take several more bites before I’m settled enough to answer. I drop my voice so there’s no chance Shelby or Luke can hear me. “Jason wasn’t… feeling great. And we didn’t eat first because he was worried about getting to the movie on time.”
“So, was it still fun?” Becca’s hopeful eyes hurt me in a way I didn’t expect. She wanted me to have a good time tonight. She probably feels as bad for me as I do; I got dumped for my roommate, and now I’ve had a rotten first dip back into the dating pool.
“No,” I admit. “But I have other dates lined up. I’m not giving up just because of one bad date.”
Becca smiles and pats me on the back. “That’s the spirit. Maybe the next one will be phenomenal.”
In spite of my mood, I smile, too. “Fingers crossed.” And then I down the rest of the lasagna.
#
Friday seems to come at a snail’s pace. Each day leading up to it lasts longer than the one before. The worst days are the ones with my mass communication class, in which I have to pretend Jason doesn’t exist and that our date never happened. Thankfully, he seems as eager to forget that night as I am, so I scratch each day off the calendar, wishing I had enough dates to fill them all so this endless waiting will stop. But other things show up every day. Like Luke, for example, though I’m getting better at both ignoring and avoiding him.
This time, I’m dressed in my favorite capris and our college’s football team’s jersey, along with some sporty sneakers, since my date, Trever, is way into sports. I met him while working a shift at the library, and his enthusiastic energy is what made me say yes to the date even though I’d never talked to him before. He’s picking me up for a round of mini golf and then dinner at a local wing place that shows all the current games, but just to be safe, I eat a sandwich before he gets here.
Unfortunately, Luke is lingering near the kitchen as I’m grabbing my purse to go. He looks like he wants to say something. He shifts from foot to foot. Opens and closes his mouth. I don’t have it in me to deal with whatever explanation he wants to throw at me about why he dumped me for Shelby, so I just clear my throat and scoot past him.
“Sorry, just grabbing my purse.”
“I hope…” He trails off as a horn blares outside, and I open the front door.
I wave to Trever, who I wish had come to the door, then hold up a finger. One minute. In a moment of weakness, I look back at Luke. It’s more curiosity than anything that makes me pause. He hopes what? I make a face like, “Out with it,” and he shakes his head.
“Hope it goes better than last time.”
I blanch. Is he mocking me? Did Becca tell Shelby about my horrible date, and did Shelby tell Luke? Were they laughing about my misfortune behind my back? What does that even mean? He, the guy who dumped me, hopes this date goes better than the last. Yeah, right, he’s just relishing in the fact that nothing good has happened since he dumped me.
I grit my teeth and leave without acknowledging him.
How freaking dare he.
#
We’ve only just arrived at the mini-golf place, but already, I can tell a few things about Trever. First, he is very concerned with the rules. He’s explained that he will go first to demonstrate proper form, and he will keep score to make sure everything is accurate. I didn’t realize mini-golf could be so strict. Second, he is extremely competitive. Before talking about the rules, he told me all about every sport he’s ever played, every award he’s ever won, and every instance an award was wrongfully given to someone else. I note that he won’t be happy if I win our game, but then I also shrug it off because I’m terrible at mini-golf, so the odds of me beating him are slim to none anyway. Third, despite not being much older than me, Trever is ready to be married. He brought up qualities he’s looking for in a future wife, told me what career he’s going into and what he expects to make, and then proceeded to say that, should I make “the cut,” the only rule is that I’m not allowed to bother him if he’s watching a game.
This last thing has me almost ready to fake that I’m about to puke and ask to go home, but the thought of returning to the apartment and having to face Luke after yet another failed date is more than I can bear. So I decide to at least enjoy the golf and dinner on someone else’s dime, and then I will plead with the powers above that Trever will never come into the library again, so I’ll hopefully never see him after tonight.
Trever parks and stalks towards the entrance without waiting for me. I guess he wants to be the first to the help desk. I jog after, trying not to look as frazzled or disappointed as I feel. I jut out a hand to keep the front door from hitting me in the face and the smell of arcade hits me squarely in the face. It’s a mix of snack bar nacho cheese, tween sweat, and Clorox from the bathrooms. At least I can squat with confidence should the need arise.
Trever’s standing at the front desk with his wallet pulled out, eyes on the prices. The yellowed overhead light makes his blue eyes seem greener. It’d be pretty if he weren’t such a jerk. “Two for a round of mini-golf.”
The fact that he doesn’t say please doesn’t escape me. I go ahead and thank him for paying for my round, even though I doubt it’ll make an impression on him.
“That’ll be thirty-two-fifty. Here are your balls. Clubs are strung up there.” The girl running the counter points but hardly looks up from the cash register.
Trever shakes his head as he accepts his card back and makes his way to the club wall. He picks a red one, the color of power, of course, and mutters, “Thirty-two-fifty. Jacking up the prices like this is a nice place.”
I half-heartedly pick out a pink club but don’t respond. What could I even say? Then you should have taken me to a nice place? If thirty-three bucks got his knickers in a twist, I hate to imagine what he’ll say when it’s time to pay for dinner. Maybe I’ll just order water and tell him I’m not hungry.
We re-exit the building, and the fresh air brightens my spirits considerably. It’s a warmer evening, perfect for being outside, and despite what Trever thinks, I actually think this place is cute. It’s themed like a safari, so every hole has a wild animal statue, tons of fake foliage, and a variety of moving parts that are sure to trip me up.
“This looks fun.” I grin in spite of myself. “I’ve never shot a golf ball through the legs of an elephant before.”
Trevor seems amused at my amusement. “I’m from California. We have the best of everything out there. Our mini-golf courses there are way bigger than this. They’re better themed, too,” he adds, nudging the foot of a zebra statue to our left.
Aaaand this date is already so disappointing I could cry.
Since there’s no way to turn this conversation around, I don’t respond and instead gesture for Trever to lead the way.
As soon as the hole is free, he steps into position. He’s very methodical. Very precise. He lines up and relines up, so many times I think this game might last all night. Finally, he hits the ball. A hole in one.
Trever smiles like he’s waiting for me to freak out and gush over his mad skills, and honestly, if he were a half-nice guy, I would. But since he’s been more than a little condescending since he picked me up, I can’t fake more than an “awesome,” which knocks the smirk right off his face. “Alright. Let’s see what you can do.”
“Oh, I’m not going to hit a hole in one, in case you were hoping I learned something just now.” I tee up and bite my lower lip as I bring my club to my ball.
It goes flying and hits the concrete lining a couple of times before angling toward the hole, but stops about a foot away.
“You didn’t even line it up!” Trever shakes his head as he follows me to the end of the hole. “Come on, Ava. At least put in some effort.”
And risk you thinking I’m vying for the position of wife-who-does-not-interrupt-you-during-your-games? Not a chance.
“Sorry.” I shrug and hit the ball so that it sails clear past the hole again. “I’m just here to have fun.”
#
The rest of the game follows in much the same fashion. Trever nails every shot with either a hole-in-one or two hits. I take at least three shots each time, which seems to annoy him, but rather than blowing up, he offers corrective criticism. Tuck your elbow in. Take your time and line up the shot. Consider the strength of your swing before you swing.
I smile and nod and proceed to disregard every word.
We’re so close to the end, just two more holes, when I push Trever to his limits. We reach a hole themed to an ant hill—the hole is literally inside a hill with massively sloped sides and large ant statues placed strategically around the top rim—and with his skill, it’s an easy hole-in-one. But for me, who’s not only unskilled but hopelessly bent on irking this jerk, I take swing after swing, watching my ball climb in and out of the hill, hitting ants and getting knocked back out, over and over again. At some point, I start laughing, because even when I start trying, I can’t seem to get the ball into the hole, but Trever is turning redder and redder.
Around my twentieth swing, he yells, “THAT’S IT. You’re calling a mulligan on this one!” Then he snatches up my ball, drops it into the hole, and marches to the final tee.
Well, touchy, touchy.
I fold my arms and stare quietly at Trever as he finishes the game with, you guessed it, another hole in one. He’s so mad he’s sweating, and his knuckles are white on the club. He doesn’t even wait for me to hit my turn, so when he’s out of sight, I lean down and just chuck the ball into the final hole with my bare hands. It’s my only hole-in-one of the night, and he missed it.
Back at the car, I expect he’ll make some excuse about why we can’t go to dinner and then take me home. His jaw is set. His eyes are distant.
The whole thing makes me want to laugh. I want to shake him and yell, ‘It was just a game of mini golf, you hack,’ but I don’t want to tease a guy with so little emotional control. Instead, I wait for him to break the silence.
Finally, he exhales. “I’m sorry, Ava. I shouldn’t have gotten upset at you. I realize not everyone is as gifted as I am, and I shouldn’t expect you to play as well as me. Even though I was super annoyed that you didn’t take the game seriously, I have a feeling you did that as a protection to your ego because you knew you weren’t going to play half as well as me. So… I forgive you.”
He what? “Are you serious?”
Trever nods, so solemn and full of what I think he thinks is magnanimity. “Let’s not talk about this ever again, okay? Now, let’s get some wings.”
I stare in disbelief as Trever drives us to the grill. I’m so disgusted, I might actually puke, but when we get there and I catch a whiff of the food, I decide I can ignore his crap-fest of an apology to at least eat something. The dude owes me that, given how terrible this date has been.
Again, he doesn’t wait for me, and again, I scamper after him both into the restaurant and over to the table. Once we sit, he orders for both of us and then his eyes are glued to the television. It’s a soccer game, and I don’t recognize either team, but Trever is muttering encouragements for one under his breath.
I sip my water and play on my phone while I wait for the meal to arrive.
About ten rounds of Candy Crush later, my water glass is upended when Trever launches from the table, screaming, “NO! NO! RUN FASTER, MASTERS. THIS IS THE FREAKING FINALS!”
It rolls off the table and clatters to the ground with a splash. Thankfully, the water missed me, but the floor around my feet is soaked, and Trever is still yelling at the TV. He’s turning red again, raking his hands through his hair, and I am so mortified, I don’t know what to do except grab my purse and sneak away.
I break onto the sidewalk, and despite the nice weather, I’m shaking. Ugh, what did I ever see in that guy? I try to remember what he said that day in the library that made me think a date with him would be fun. What did Jason even say? I’m having some serious doubts about my plans for next Friday night, but then I remind myself, I’d never talked to Trever before going out with him, and Jason and I had only made small talk in class before the day he asked me out. Sean, my date for next Friday, has been in several of my classes, and he’s never done anything psychotic or weird. He seemed sorry to hear that I’d broken up with Luke and anxious to have a chance with me. Those are good signs, right?
I order an Uber and plunk on the sidewalk a good ways down the road in case Trever somehow notices I’m not there and comes looking for me, but I doubt he’ll look away from the game for that long.
While I wait, I make a note on my phone about the things I’ve learned from all this.
1) Don’t go out on dates with guys you just met.
2) Don’t ever go back to the campus library… just in case. (GOOGLE IS YOUR FRIEND, but I am going to need a new work-study position...)
and
3) Always eat dinner before you go on a date, even if he says you’ll get dinner. (You won’t get dinner.)
#
Upon returning home, I again find Shelby, Becca, and Luke there to greet me. This time, they’re playing a game of Monopoly, and Luke is explaining to Becca that he has every right to collect rent on the space he owns, and she’s hollering that she sold him that space, so he needs to cut her some slack. They’re so involved with their argument that it takes them a full minute to notice I’ve come back.
Shelby notices first, standing from the table to wave at me. “Hey, how’d it…” She gets a look at my face and doesn’t finish her sentence.
Though I try not to notice, Luke is staring at me, and I recognize his veiled concerned face, but I can’t imagine he cares that much about how my night went. No matter what he said before I left.
“Do you want to join us?” Becca gestures to the game. “We can start over. Make Luke play fairly this time.”
He looks away to glare at Becca. “I was playing fairly! You sold the space, it’s not your space anymore, and now I get to collect rent on it. If you wanted to not pay rent on it, you shouldn’t have sold it.”
“But when I sold it to you, I said—”
I frump away to my room since the only one paying attention now is Shelby, and I’m sure she’s not going to ditch out on time with her boyfriend to come console me. Once in my room, I flop onto my bed and pull out my journal. Prior to getting dumped and all the chaos that’s followed, I used to like writing down the things I was grateful for every day. It could be a little thing, like seeing my favorite flowers bloom in spring, or a big thing like when I got news that my big sister safely delivered her first baby, my nephew.
Tapping my pen against the edge of my journal, I stare at the empty page and exhale. I’ve been feeling so sorry for myself; I haven’t written a single thing down for weeks now. This can’t be good, leaning into this upset. It doesn’t matter how crummy things have been; I should still find something to be happy about, shouldn’t I?
I only get down the words “I am grateful for…” when there’s a knock on the door. I glance up from the page, heavy hesitation forming in my belly.
“Come in?” For a split second, I panic. Please don’t be Luke.
The door cracks open, and I release a shock of air when it’s Shelby on the other side. She creeps in and closes the door, probably so that we don’t continue hearing Luke and Becca’s argument. “Hey… can I sit down for a second?”
I pull my feet into the crisscross applesauce position, so the end of the bed is clear. “Sure.”
She drops down, biting her lip and playing with her hair as she does.
I realize this is the first time we’ve been alone since I told her Luke dumped me. It’s not the first time she’d tried to talk to me, but it is the first time I don’t have a great excuse to stop the conversation from happening. I figure tonight can’t get any worse. If my former best friend wants to give me the juicy, horrifying details about how she and the ex-love of my life got together and how they didn’t mean for it to happen, or to apologize or whatever, tonight might as well be the night I let her do it.
“So, what’s up?”
Shelby won’t look at me. She’s got her eyes trained on her sneakers. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
The hesitation in my stomach turns to lead. I lied. I can’t do this. I don’t care how bad tonight has been; I can’t hear how Luke fell for her instead. I can’t bear to know what he likes about her better than he liked about me. I can’t bring myself to accept that he chose her. “Look, if this is about why you and Luke are together, I really don’t—”
“Wait, what?” Her eyes are up and sharp now. “Luke and I are not together.”
Now I’m the one with the shocked expression. “You’re… not dating?”
“Oh no, not even close.” Shelby puts a hand on my knee, the other on her heart. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? You think I snaked you and stole him away?”
I can’t hide the blush creeping up my chest and into my cheeks, so I just shrug, then nod. “I mean, he’s over every day. You go running together. I sort of assumed this is why he broke up with me.”
Shelby’s shaking her head. “He’s never told me why he did that, but we are seriously just running buddies. I’m helping him train for a half-marathon.”
“Oh.” That would explain the dedication. “But… why is he over on the weekends? You’re not training at night, are you?”
“Obviously not.” Shelby’s face crinkles, and she tips her head to the side. “I’m not sure why he started hanging out on Friday nights. We were running, and I think I mentioned you were going on a date to the movies that night, and he suggested we watch a movie here. Then today, when we were running, I mentioned you were going golfing on a date, and he just showed up with the board games.” Her eyes alight suddenly, and she smirks at me. “Maybe he’s keeping an eye on you.”
Hope surges through my heart at the prospect. Of course, that would be the ideal scenario, but I shake my head in denial, my logical brain kicking out any possible fantasy outcomes. “If he wanted to keep tabs on me, he wouldn’t have dumped me. It’s more likely my date ideas are just giving him ideas of ways to spend time with you.” The likely truth of that turns the hope in my heart to poison, and just like that, I’m fighting back tears. “Maybe you’re not dating now, but it sounds to me like Luke is trying to find excuses to spend time with you. I’m betting he’s just biding his time until he feels it would be appropriate to pursue you.”
Shelby rolls her eyes. “This isn’t the 1800s with courting protocol, lady. If he wanted to ask me out, he would have already. I’m telling you, in all the days we’ve gone running together, he’s never once complimented me, or flirted with me, or even hinted at doing something more date-like.”
“Movies and game nights can totally be a date night,” I argue.
“But when he invites Becca to join?” Shelby raises her eyebrows like, ‘Do I not have a point?’ She goes on with a finger pointed at my chest for emphasis. “It’s not like he brought a friend and made it a double. And he’s never tried to get her to leave or ask me to go elsewhere with him. Tonight? Becca almost went out for milkshakes with a study group, but as soon as Luke asked her to play, she canceled. So she could have been elsewhere, and he didn’t capitalize on the opportunity. Think about that.”
As much as I don’t want to, I’m afraid I will. She does make some good points, but I can’t allow myself to believe this will turn around somehow. If he wanted me, he could have had me. And just because he’s being weird about Shelby doesn’t mean he doesn’t want her. It could be that he’s taking things slow, and this time next year, I’ll be hearing all about how he proposed to Shelby on one of their runs. For nostalgia.
I adjust on the bed and hug my journal to my chest. “Well, thanks for the thought-food, but I’m going to get ready for bed now if that’s okay. Tonight was… another disappointment, and I’m just done.”
“Oh, Ava.” Shelby’s face fills with concern, but she stands and backs towards my door. “I’m really sorry to hear these dates aren’t going well. Maybe third time will be the charm?”
For my heart’s sake? “I hope so.”