“You’re seriously going to defend him after he talked to you that way?”
“Whatever,” I responded. “Just call me if a room opens up.”
I spent the rest of the day on campus. Curtis, who was already living in the dorms, invited me up to his room to introduce me to his friends.They seemed nice, and I was proud of myself for actually being social. I remembered how shy I’d been the year before.
Before we realized it, it was nightfall. I was lying in bed by then, another girl was lying next to me, and there were a couple of guys sitting on the rug. We were all staring at a computer screen where Gal Gadot was lashing shadowy figures with her golden whip.
“Wonder Woman’s so hot,” Curtis said. “I’d love to bone her with that outfit on.”
The girl next to me giggled and kicked him in the shoulder. “Have you forgotten our conversation about objectifying women?”
“Hey, I don’t discriminate, I’d do the same with Henry Cavill.”
You could never know, but Henry Cavill sure sounded like a guy’s name. Was Curtis bisexual? Awkward as it felt, I forced myself to ask, and he responded, “Duh! You don’t have to say it that way, though. You make it sound like I’m a serial killer or something!”
“No!” I reassured him, “I just, uh…”
“Forgive her, everyone,” Curtis said, addressing his friends with a relaxed smile. “Where Jenna’s from, nobody’s come out of the closet yet. It’s like one of those tourist villages where they still have blacksmiths and water mills and stuff.”
“That’s not true,” I protested. “It’s just people there…they don’t talk about their…sexuality or whatever.” I blushed as I said that, but I wasn’t lying. I couldn’t even imagine mentioning something like that in front of my neighbors. People back home were close-minded about everything. Even I had found it hard to ignore all their dumb prejudices.
I tried to say it didn’t matter, and everyone jumped on me, likewho are you to tell him it doesn’t matter, nobody asked you, and I could tell they were trying to teach me, but it was also a little mean. Thankfully, Curtis jumped in to save me with a joke: “Guys, she just got upset because for amoment she got scared she couldn’t have me. It’s OK, though, Jennifer. Just say the word, and I’m yours.”
Things relaxed again after that, and I think the awkwardness even brought us closer. Curtis gave me a bear hug when it was time to go home and waved at me from his dorm window when I was outside. The two guys who had been with us offered me a ride. When I told them they could drop me off a few blocks from Jack’s, they even offered to drive me home. I replied that there was no need, then said, “See you in class!” They told me to send Curtis a message when I got in so everyone would know I was safe.
Hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt, I walked the rest of the way home. It was a safe neighborhood, and I needed the fresh air and a few moments to clear my head. Just two days had passed and I already felt overwhelmed. I missed being home, living with my grandmother, when my biggest worry was whether my schedule at the gas station might clash with the time when I was supposed to be coaching. Then I found myself ducking before I even knew what was happening. Something flew past me: a beer can tossed by a drunk walking out of the one bar on the street. As the door slowly closed, I could hear loud music blaring. The guy laughed and flipped me off, and I crossed to the other side of the street.
That was when I saw the black car covered in stickers. I stopped. I knew those stickers. I knew that car. And I sure as hell knew its owner. I turned back to the bar—the only one in the area open on Monday nights—and asked myself: could Jack be inside?
I wanted to go in. At the same time, I wanted to take off running. I didn’t like the look of the place and didn’t want to push through the crowd—it grossed me out to think of all those people’s bodies pressed against mine. The place looked like a dump, and I imagined everyone in there was hammered. But at the same time, I couldn’t just leave, could I?
The drunk from before sat down clumsily and lit a cigarette, and I dialed Will’s number. He was my one responsible friend, and he picked up on the first ring.
“Jenna, what’s up?” he said cheerfully.
“Hey, uh…can I ask you something?”
Was that too direct? I wondered, because he took a moment before answering, “Sure.”
“Does Jack like to go to bars on Monday nights?”
Silence again. Tenser this time.
“Why,” he finally said, “did you see him?”
“I think so. I’m standing in front of his car, and there’s nothing on this block but a bar, and…”
“The one with the palm trees on the sign? Like just two minutes from our place?”
“Yeah,” I responded.
“Jenna, come home. I’ll take care of it.”
Take care of what? Will seemed worried. I guessed I should do as he said—he must know better. But then I hesitated. I told myself I wasn’t the old Jenna, the one who just did whatever others said. And I wanted to know what was going on. I walked over to the drunk guy squatting there and asked him, “You didn’t happen to see a tall guy inside, with shaggy brown hair, kind of tired-looking?”
“You mean Ross?”
“Yeah,” I said, shocked. “Is he in there?”
