Julian

I. January, Ch. 7

      At six-forty-two on Friday, Calvin, Cookie, and Roger drove twenty minutes to Genevieve's two-bedroom house in a suburb six blocks from the University of San Kolbe.

     Calvin's social anxiety strapped itself to his back. The bottle of wine in his hands became as heavy as his stomach. He thought about telling Roger to turn the car around.

     Roger held Cookie's hand as he drove. "You should have seen him, baby. 'I don't know, Genevieve. I wasn't invited.'"

     Calvin scuffed at Roger's nasal, mimicking tone, savoring the lost possibility of not going to this party. He'd be at home reading or writing or reorganizing his closet. Anything but betraying his brother by spending time with the people who disliked him.

     Roger parked the car on the curb, half a block from Genevieve's house. Hers was the only one without toys and fancy sprinklers in the front yard.

     Every step towards her front door increased Calvin's nerves. Keep to yourself in there.

     Roger rang the doorbell, summoning Genevieve to the door.

     She wore a form-fitting dress, high heels, hoop earrings, and devil-red lipstick. "You made it."

     Calvin's lips parted open. Woah.

     Roger introduced Cookie and the three of them made casual chatter in the front porch, while Calvin stood a few feet away, holding his wine.

     The envy Calvin felt towards anyone more outgoing than him was in full force. We wanted to be part of their world, if only socializing didn't drain him.

     Genevieve pushed the couple inside, leaving only her and Calvin on the porch. She crossed her arms and studied him with a sympathetic grin.

     He was a victim of her freezing abilities once more. Damn, how does she do that?

     She shook her head in playful pity, reached for his hand, and pulled him towards her. "So serious."

     Her touch raised Calvin's body temperature. He knew that wasn't normal, but he'd search for a logical explanation later.

     Once they were inside, she closed the door and stood behind him with her hands pressed against his back.

     Calvin's skin grew goosebumps. He felt her small hands travel up to his shirt collar. He didn't know what she was doing. Why couldn't he stop her?

     "I'll hang your coat in the closet," she said.

     Of course. My coat. Calvin maneuvered his arms out of his coat as Genevieve peeled it from his body, switched the wine bottle between his hands as she did.

     Once his coat was in the closet, Genevieve took the bottle off his hands. She nodded as she read the label. "Impressive. Here I was thinking you'd bring wine only good for cooking."

     He wasn't impressed by her bravado. To him, she was just another teacher at Julian who hated Marlo.

     She walked to the kitchen, her eyes glued to the wine label. "Head to the living room. I'll catch up."

     Calvin stood alone in the hallway, wondering what kind of party host abandoned her guests upon arrival. He supposed it didn't matter. He didn't want to be around her anyway.

     He slid his hands in his pockets and stepped into the living room. At least fifteen people sat and stood around the fondue and the mini bar. Some he recognized as Julians. Others didn't strike him as teacher-material. He couldn't find Roger or Cookie in the crowd.