Brassy girl settled in noisily, bumping him with an elbow. She peeled a leather camera bag off her shoulder, set it on the floor by her feet. “You’re that new pretty boy on the soccer team, right?”
Matt wasn’t sure how exactly to respond. He didn’t consider himself a ‘pretty boy’ but didn’t want to argue the merits of his appearance with this girl. In the end, he nodded, staring straight ahead. He wished she would whisper. He didn’t want to attract Colton’s attention, trigger his gaydar.
Brassy girl sighed. “Just what SGA needed. An empty-headed jock paddinghis resume.”
“I guess you won’t be applying for president of my fan club.” Matt hissed.
Brassy girl studied him, reappraising him. Her face was all sharp angles: roman nose, pointed chin. “Okay, scratch ‘empty-headed’ from the list,” she said grudgingly.
Matt noticed kids claiming their seats. It must be close to kick-off time.
Two girls sat a couple of rows in front of him. They were whispering, looking back over their shoulders.
Was he imagining things, or were they looking at him?
“Has anyone told you that you look like that actor onSaved by the Bell?” brassy girl asked.
“The one who plays ‘Zack?’” Matt said absently. “I’ve heard that before.” He’d heard it a lot, actually.
“No, the other one. ‘Screech.’”
Brassy girl fixed him with a deadpan stare, held it for a few seconds, then laughed at her own joke. She extended her hand. “I’m Molly.”
Matt shook Molly’s hand. “Matt.” He pointed to the camera bag on the floor. “I thought you were paparazzi,” he joked.
“Maybe someday,” Molly said. “Currently voluntary photographer forThe Beakly News.”
Matt had seen the campus newspaper stacked in the cafeteria, freshly printed, waiting for takers—and in bathroom stalls where guys had left it after their constitutionals.
“SGA merits a photographer?” he whispered.
Molly shook her head. “I’m doing a photo-shoot with a friend afterward.”
“Excuse me.” One of the whispering girls motioned for Matt’s attention. “Aren’t you the guy who took a card to that lady in the Registrar’s office?”
Matt nodded shyly. He had not realized his visit to Debbie was public knowledge, hadn’t thought anyone would care even if they did find out.
“THAT WAS SO SWEET!” the girl gushed. Her friend nodded vigorously.
Colton looked up from his conversation, his attention drawn to the commotion. His eyes met Matt’s. He smiled knowingly.
Matt froze.
Molly elbowed Matt’s ribs. “I think we just found the next president of your fan club,” she whispered, pointing her chin towards the girl who had just gushed.
Matt didn’t respond. Fear fogged his brain.
Colton gaveled the meeting to order. He introduced the other officers. The short, skinny kid who’d guarded the door, Mike Huebsch, was vice president. The treasurer, Brent something was in the front row. And the girl sitting next to Colton was the secretary.
Colton asked Huebsch to give the opening prayer.
Huebsch puffed out his chest and stood stiffly, trying to add gravitas to his 5’4”, 95-pound frame.
Matt bowed his head robotically, his mind replaying that fleeting moment he and Colton had made eye contact. Colton’s odd smile.
It was as if Colton had sifted Matt’s memories and distilled them into a reel of Most Humiliating Moments. There was the Director’s cut of the rape, with a pathetic and eager Matt offering himself for the taking. The never-before-seen footage of Matt’s dad ambushing the youth pastor in the park, a sobbing Matt made to watch while his dad exacted the vengeance Matt should have taken. The “Sophie’s Choice” Matt had been forced to make.
Shame was a weed, a crippling kudzu in the garden of the soul. It sprang back no matter how many times you whacked it.
