His mention of New York made me self-conscious for no good reason, and I began to toy with my right earring as we walked. Jack had no idea that the man I still pined for lived there, or that for a long time, New York had been my Mecca. I’d tried to plan a trip there on at least half a dozen occasions, but I’d never found the courage to go without a real invitation.
“I have a good feeling about this semester,” Jack continued. “My professors seem chill so far, and I think I have a good chance at getting that engineering internship in the spring. What about you, Ivy?”
We walked out of the building. “Yeah, my classes seem fine.” Did I share Jack’s enthusiasm? No. In truth, I was rarely enthusiastic about anything school related. I’d decided to major in psychology because it seemed at least a little interesting, but I lacked a real passion for the subject.
When a few beats passed, I peered at him and realized he was waiting for me to say more. “Should be good,” I added.
He seemed satisfied with that. “Cool. Well, I wanted to see if you’d like to grab lunch on Friday?”
“That works for me,” I said, watching that happy-go-lucky smile return to his face.
“Super. I’ve missed you, Ivy.”
“So you’ve said,” I responded.
His laugh was bashful. “Ah, I guess I did. Just wanted to make sure you heard me.”
I gave him a small smile, “Thanks, Jack. It’s good to see you, too.”
He reached for my palm and squeezed it. “No pressure or anything, okay? I’m not expecting things to go back to how we left them back in March. Maybe we talk about it on Friday?”
Did he think I was aloof because I no longer wanted to hook up? He didn’t need to be so nervous. I wouldn’t mind resuming our activities. They helped me feel like I was moving on, even though when Jack went down on me, I often fantasized about another blond head between my legs.
“Sure. I’ll find you in the cafe after my class ends at noon.”
With one final smile, he dropped my hand and left for his next class.
It was the first week of October, but the heat had barely subsided, leaving the UCLA campus awfully hot. Being outside was unbearable when the sun was high and utterly unobstructed—the way it was now. I squinted at the sky. Not a wisp of a cloud.
I’d been working on my tan for two years now, but my skin had its own agenda. I knew if I stayed outside, I was likely to burn. I was still far from achieving the image of a sun-kissed Cali girl I had in mind. With a sigh, I dropped my head and headed toward Powell Library. I needed to get a few hours of work in before going back to the on-campus apartment I shared with Zoey.
The library was filled with freshmen eager to get a head start on forming their study groups and finding new friends. I walked past a few rows of desks before finding a reasonably secluded spot in a corner. I didn’t want to be disturbed.
I got through almost one chapter of the psych textbook when my phone buzzed in my bag. It wasn’thim, which meant I could ignore it for a little longer. His messages came accompanied by three rapid buzzes—a setting I had put in place years ago in an attempt to retain my sanity. Before I’d done that, every single notification would set my pulse racing, demanding my attention, and causing me to desperately claw inside my bag for my phone.
I flipped to the last page of the chapter and finished taking my notes before placing my pen down and checking the message. It was from a number I didn’t recognize. I tapped on the notification icon and began to read.
“Hey, Ivy. This is Jamie."
My eyes bulged. What on earth?
“You might remember me as the singer of Ritual Disruption. Not anymore, of course, but maybe you already knew that. A lot of things have changed since you last saw me. I’m doing the whole twelve-step-program-thing, and I’ve been clean for two years now. I’m reaching out because I wanted to apologize to you for what went down on that tour. I’d like to do it in person if you’re up for meeting me. I know you might not want to, and I respect that, but I thought I’d ask anyway. I saw on LinkedIn that you go to school in LA now. I live here, too. Anyway, let me know. It would mean a lot.”
I chewed on my nail. My first instinct was that this was some kind of sick joke. But who would think to mess with me like this? As I reread the carefully worded message, instead of finding clues that this was indeed fake, I began to hear the words spoken in Jamie’s velvety voice.
I’d never admit it even to Zoey, but I dreamt of that voice sometimes. Usually, it was just one element of convoluted dreams that featured an entire cast of characters from that summer. The hero was Oliver, the heroine, me, and the dreams didn’t have a happy ending.
The message had to be real. I reread it three more times and felt my initial disbelief give way to a simmering anger. Jamie wasn’t someone I had any desire to see again. His lies had started the entire sequence of events that had ended in Oliver walking away from me. Did Jamie expect me to move past that?
After I helped get him to a hospital, he never played another show again. They announced the tour was cancelled, and two days later, the news broke that he was leaving the band. I followed it all by stalking online forums and trying to get as much as I could out of Cole. Then I got that first text from Oliver. The hopeful euphoria I’d felt seeing that first message was stamped into my memory. Back then, I’d thought it meant our relationship still had a chance.
Oliver told me what really happened with Jamie. After the singer got discharged from the hospital, he said he was done touring and didn’t want to make music anymore. Oliver tried to convince him to stay, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Music had been Jamie’s religion, but he had a new god now. Alcohol. He couldn’t properly worship his god if he was constantly distracted with performing. Jamie had quit Ritual Disruption, and when the band tried to keep going without him, Jamie turned hateful, spreading lies about Oliver and deterring anyone in the industry from working with him.
Their friendship had burned down in a fiery inferno, and the band broke up. I could tell from the tone of Oliver’s messages whenever the topic came up that he was incredibly upset about it to this day. If I agreed to this off-the-wall request from Jamie and Oliver found out, I doubted he’d be pleased.
But there was one thing that didn’t add up. Oliver had made it sound like Jamie left the band to succumb to his addiction, not to kick it to the curb. So was the singer straight up lying about the two-years-clean part?
This was all very confusing. I needed to talk to Zoey. Stuffing my books into my bag, I hurried out of the library.
