Grey_The Encounter Page 5

  “Fine,” he says, laughing. He holds his hands up in defense and walks over to a cooler and asks, “Would you like Diet Coke or Holy Water?”

  “Diet Coke, please.” I roll my eyes at his clear poke at me. He laughs like he heard the funniest joke ever made and waltzes back over to the counter with a can of beer for himself. “Just because I don’t want to damage my still-forming brain doesn’t mean that I’m a nun.”

  “But it does make you cute,” he says, and I clam up. He laughs as he leans on the counter. “Sorry, I get bold when I drink. I’m sure if you take even a sip you’d be bold enough to tell me a little more about yourself.”

  “I don’t need alcohol for that.” I smile and tap my fingers around the cold can. “I’m originally from upstate New York; I left high school with a 4.0 GPA, and I am majoring in psychology.”

  He’s nodding as he swallows his drink. “Tell me more about psychology, like—has it always been an interest? Or were you picking between that and every other major?” he jokes. His teeth are bared in his wide smile. I think it’s growing on me.

  “I’ve been interested in psychology since I was ten. From then on, I did everything I could to make that my definite career.”

  “I’m impressed,” he says, tipping the can back, holding eye contact.

  “Why? Is it so strange that I knew what I wanted to be ever since I was little?” I think it’s progressive to have a goal early on. To have no clear objective and stumble around in life blindly is foolish and a waste of time you can never get back.

  “No,” he says, putting the beer down. He lets out a drawn-out breath. “I actually think it’s inspiring. You know, you haven’t stopped going after what you want—” He glances at the couple still sucking face next to me, then back at me. “Some people give up after something is thrown in their way. But something tells me that you jump over those obstacles, gracefully at that.”

  “Thank you,” I say. He’s the first person that actually cares to engage in a real conversation. The last one I was part of involved the probability of a couple, who actually are making out on a countertop.

  “No problem,” he replies with a barely there smile.

  “Your turn,” I say.

  He smiles and proceeds to tell me about his major, which is law, his favorite color: green, how he came from a rough childhood, and he was born a female, which set me aback for a moment. He underwent the process of changing his gender from female to male about five years ago.

  After he’s done, I feel a bit closer to him.

  “Do you want to go sit down?” I gesture behind me. “I came with some people; they aren’t very…welcoming, but I bet they’re better than…” I clear my throat and discreetly point at the couple next to us, who have progressed to swallowing each other’s tongues whole.

  “Okay, I thought you wouldn’t have noticed, but I’d rather be anywhere else. I don’t care how unwelcoming they are.” He finishes off his beer then steps around the counter.

  We cut through the mob of people drinking and bumping into others carelessly. Mason and I roll our eyes in annoyance at the same time, and I look forward with a smile. When we arrive at the couch, the smile grows. Where Grey and that girl used to sit are two empty cushions.

  And my smile grows even more when I look at Julia’s faded smile, most likely an effect from whatever Tyler the Dealer was smoking. Even though it’s a result of drugs, a contented Julia is enough to ease my worries of tonight being a total disaster. I’d rather have her spewing nonsense among giggles than have her chewing off my head with her usual bark.

  “Hey guys, this is—” I begin.

  “Mason!” Jaimie shouts at the top of her lungs, lunging out of her seat and wrapping her arms around his body.

  Mason and I share a look.

  When I gesture with my hands as if I’m smoking, he shakes his head and gestures like he’s drinking, and I nod. She’s drunk. But I was gone for maybe ten minutes. Does it really take that short of time to get this intoxicated? She must have had a lot.

  “I’ll go get her some water,” I suggest, and he nods.

  “Please do. We’ll be here.” He sits her down next to her girlfriend and cracks a smile at me when they poke at each other jubilantly.

  I turn on my heels and weave through the crowd, scaring myself because of how skilled I’m becoming at getting through this overpopulated house. However, I won’t make this a master skill. I don’t plan on attending parties like this throughout school. What I do plan on is focusing on my studies.

  After taking a bottled water from the cooler, even though there’s a perfectly good fridge in the same room, I make my way back to the living room. But a cold substance splashing against my chest and dripping down my stomach stops me in my tracks.

  “Sorry about that,” a boy wearing a red beanie apologizes, and then he raises his head and lets out a big puff of smoke in my face and beams at me. “Oh, you’re that Ophelia girl—Julia’s roommate.”

  “Tyler the Dealer, what a pleasure you have been so far,” I gripe.

  He laughs and stumbles away before bumping into another girl; but instead of getting upset like me, she pulls him into a heated kiss. I look away, confused. Girls are so weird.

  I weave through another patch of people to get up the stairs. Once I’m on the second floor, I follow Sharpie-drawn signs pointing to the bathroom. I knock and receive word to wait, so I lean against the opposite wall. Each second that passes feels like an eternity because my chest is soaked, and suddenly I am very aware of how thin my blouse is. I knock again, and this time the door opens. This time I no longer feel cold. Instead, I feel hot. From embarrassment.

  Diana is standing from her knees, wiping her mouth, her eyes scorching through me. “Someone’s impatient, I see. If you got here any sooner, you would have seen something much more scandalous.” I step back as she brushes against my shoulder on her way out. I watch her bare back, which is on display from her shirt that cuts out from the sides—what company designs clothes like that?—as she saunters away like I didn’t just walk in on her finishing up something…delinquent and honestly disgusting.

  She could have been tying her shoes, my rather naïve subconscious suggests.

  “Doubtful,” I mutter under my breath.

  Hearing the other party involved in the disgusting act, I turn my head. Grey doesn’t look the tiniest bit horrified. Does he do these kinds of things often? Judging by the smirk on his face, I would say yes. He’s a manwhore who doesn’t mind getting caught in the act of something shameful.

  “Enjoying the party so far, Princess?” he says, teasing me with his teeth bared.

  “That was disgusting,” I say. “Couldn’t you have found an empty bedroom? There are about twenty you could have chosen from, yet your screwed-up brain thought it’d be more convenient to do…that in the bathroom.”

  “Unfortunately, all the rooms were booked.” What a sad excuse for something so revolting. I’m going to have to burn my eyes. “Sorry, maybe I should let you do the booking next time. But you can’t stop intense urges. Yes, there are some things you can’t control. Crazy, right?”

  “Should I just expect to find something like this behind every door I open?” I ask him, nervous. If so, this college has a lot of work to do keeping horny students from jumping each other’s bones. They can start with the co-ed dorms.

  He shrugs, pushing off the sink. I freeze in my spot as his long legs carry themselves to stand in front of me. His hand makes contact with my hair, and he pushes it aside and bends down and whispers in my ear, “Welcome to college, Princess.” My cheeks flare, and my chest swells.

  “Get away from me, creep.” I push away from him, stumbling out of the doorway. He grabs my hand to pull me upright, and I feel tiny flecks of electricity beneath his palm, but I ignore it. I rip my hand out of his hold and glare at him.

  He chuckles and stuffs his hands in his black jeans. “I’ll see you around, Princess.” He sends me a nauseating wink befo
re pivoting on his boots and walking down the hall.

  College isn’t like this. At least, it’s not supposed to be.

  Frustrated, I carry myself into the bathroom, shut the door, and lock it. I lean against the door with my arms crossed. If college really is just a mixing pot of hormonal young adults who love to party more than study, then I’ll stay away from them all and focus on my work, starting with Grey. A voice in me tells me I should stay as far from him as possible. And I’m going to listen.

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of the weekend thankfully flies by. I spend Sunday planning the week at the library. I was lucky to have found it as I was studying the layout of the campus and visiting the buildings my classes were in, that way I’m not scrambling back and forth between classes. I don’t want to take the chance of being late for any class.

  As for the party Friday night, after my mortifying run-in with Grey and that girl, I decided to leave early. I lost my ridiculous need to prove him wrong the moment that bathroom door opened. Now I can focus on the important things like school.

  I beat my alarm set for 5 a.m. Smiling proudly at the flashing numbers 4:30, I push the sheets off my body and stretch out my arms. I yawn as I grab my toiletry bag and towel. The good thing about waking up at the crack of dawn is the empty stalls.

  I take my time showering, scrubbing my skin clean of any possible distractions, like that Grey boy. Just thinking his name makes me feel dirty. But as I splash water on my face at the sink, his name dissolves into the steamy room.

  “You can do this,” I assure myself.

  I finish brushing my teeth before walking back to the room. I dry myself and put on undergarments, then saunter over to the closet door, where my clothes I ironed just for today hang, waiting for me. Imagining myself scrambling at the last minute looking for something to wear sends a chill through my body. It is always better to be prepared than to be all over the place.

  I smile appreciatively in the mirror, leaning against the corner on my side of the room. I decided on a light beige cardigan over a plain white dress shirt with cut-off sleeves, an ironed pencil skirt, and white ballet flats. As I gently run a finger along my hair that’s strained up into the neat, perfect bun I’ve assembled, I imagine Louise over my shoulder.

  She’d tell me how presentable I look, even going as far as saying pretty, but I’d brush her off and tell her looking pretty isn’t the main objective. You are supposed to look presentable and well-kept while doing your studies. Not pretty. I don’t even know why she says things like that. It’s so silly of her.

  I clasp on the shiny silver watch Louise gave me for my birthday last year and sling my backpack over my arms. It’s 5:10, and I want to pick up my medications.

  Paranoid, as usual, I check my watch again, then leave. The sun is peeking through the forest that surrounds the campus, and I take the moment to appreciate the location of the university. It’s tucked in breath-taking woodlands, filled with plush grass, soft breezes, and the enticing smell of nature. I may sound cheesy, but I’ve always adored the outdoors. The freshness of it all appeals to me. Sometimes I think I’d be happier out there, less stressed.

  My cardigan vibrates, and I pull out my phone. I’m briefly confused and surprised when I see my mother’s name on the screen. Nevertheless, I answer with a pep in my voice. This is my first day at college; I could use her cheeriness if she allows it to come out. I’m joking, of course; it never does.

  “Hello, Mother,” I say, “it’s so good to hear from you.”

  “Hello, dear,” she replies, her tone flat. My smile falters, but it mostly stays strong. “Today is the first day of your classes, am I right?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “I’m actually on my way to pick up my medication and coffee. I woke up so early, I hope there isn’t a line.” I laugh, but she doesn’t give me even a little chuckle. I clear my throat and try again. “I should be realistic, I know. But it doesn’t hurt to be hopeful.”

  “There is no such thing as hope, darling.” She laughs this time, but it’s tight and short-lived. “That word is associated with false-hope and dreamers. Oh, where has my bright daughter gone?” Her words are supposed to be light and humorous, but instead of laughing, it makes me frown. That’s my mother for you: cutthroat.

  “I’m still here, Mother.” I try to smile, but it ends up dissolving the second it touches my lips. “Anyway, how are you and Father? Have you guys got home yet?” The last I knew, they were in Korea for business; Mother’s thinking about donating a large chunk of money to a hospital in need, and my father went to accompany her. But I know him, and I know he’s most likely making big friends there. It’s all about having beneficial contacts to him.

  “We’re fine, dear; thank you for asking. How did you spend your weekend?” she asks.

  What she really means is: Did you plan and get enough rest for your first week? I do not want our family name smudged by your carelessness. This is university, honey. You need to be responsible.

  “You’re welcome, and I planned and got enough rest.” I smile. “I actually found the Library while getting a run-down of the campus—”

  “That’s great. Make sure to be on your best behavior and remember to inform your professors of your skills,” she cuts me off, and I sigh lightly, but I honestly expected it. “I’m serious, Olivia. It is very important to make a good impression.” She speaks to me like I am an incompetent little girl. But I’m not, not that I’d ever tell her that.

  “Yes, Mother; I understand,” I tell her, pulling my phone away when I hear a small beep. It’s a text from Mason. We swapped phone numbers after hauling the girls back to the dorm.

  Mason: Want to grab some coffee before class starts?

  I pull up the message thread as she goes on about being perfect and living up to the family name—nothing pressuring, of course.

  Olivia: I don’t want you to go out of your way. Plus, I’m already almost at the coffee shop.

  Mason: I don’t mind, silly. I’ll be there soon. Save me a blueberry muffin.

  I smile as I shoot him back a text.

  Olivia: Can’t promise anything.

  “Olivia Renee Westerfield, are you listening to me?” Mother barks through the phone, just as I put my phone back to my ear.

  “Of course I am, Mother,” I tell her.

  “Then what did I just say?” She’s testing me.

  “You were telling me how I should plan my days around studying and doing extra credit work.” Over the years, I’ve picked up her theme of scolding me. It’s pretty easy to guess she was rambling about her expectations when it comes to academics.

  She takes a slight pause, clearly not expecting me to recall what she said. “Well, that’s right. Saturdays are perfect days for studying; no need to tire yourself out Sunday night before classes begin.”

  I smile, proud of myself for guessing right. There was a 00000.1% chance of me guessing wrong.

  I’m at the coffee shop, and I peek inside. There are a few people in line while others are on their laptops. “I have to leave now, Mother. I’ll talk to you later about how everything goes.”

  I enter the shop and order two black coffees—Mason told me he liked plain black like me—and two blueberry muffins. As I wait for him at a seat against the large window, I go over my planner for the week one more time. I’m a patient person, but when ten minutes go by and he still hasn’t arrived, I check the watch on my wrist. I need to pick up my medicine, and it’s just down the block. I give him another two minutes before asking a worker to watch what I ordered, then leave. I won’t even take long.

  I get a text from him saying he’s two minutes away, and I groan at my dreadful timing. I look up just in time, because a person, a tall one at that, backs out of the pharmacy before I can run into the door. That would have been embarrassing, to say the least.

  “Sorry, I didn’t see you,” I sputter apologetically, but then I put my phone away and look up into a pair of charcoal eyes and an infuriating
smirk. Grey. And I just finished wiping my brain clear of his existence. Now I get to be reacquainted. How amazing.

  “Watch where you’re going next time.” He brushes my shoulder harshly as he walks past. I whirl around on my feet and watch, confused, as he throws a medicine bottle in the garbage. He looks back and glares at me before turning around and lighting up a cigarette. That was strange.

  Why would he throw out medicine and look at me as if I told him he looks bad in all black—which incidentally he doesn’t, but that’s not the point?

  The curious side of me itches to go over to the trash can and see what he threw out. But the rational and considerate side of me, the better of the two, says otherwise. With a glance at his retreating back, I turn on my heels and walk into the pharmacy.

  ***

  When I finally arrive at the class I am most interested in—Psychology—a smile graces my face. I’ve been excited the entire day as I attended class after class. Now I finally get to experience the topic that’s been an interest of mine for years. It’s even more invigorating because I get to study it and learn more about it from a professor, someone who’s an expert in the field.

  I’m practically hopping on my toes as I enter the classroom, clutching my books to my chest. Eyes wide and mouth agape, I look around the massive space. There are at least fifty rows of seats with one podium at the front and a wide span of chalkboard and a projection screen hanging ten feet above it.

  I pick my seat in the front and anxiously tap my fingers, watching as students file in. Soon enough, the classroom is filled. The teacher introduces herself as Ms. James and projects this semester’s syllabus on the gigantic projection screen. I’m copying down the rousing list of topics we’ll go over in my planner when the door grates open and Grey walks in.