The Culture of Hooking Up

CHAPTER TWENTY

"Mm-m." I hum and shake my head, but I'm still fighting a smile. Especially, when he sulks back against the seat, even more dramatic and jokingly. 

"I don't get you."

     A laugh bubbles out of me. "Okay."

     His eyebrows go up, and I can't help but think, there he is. "You're not even going to ask why?"

     "Nope."

     "Why not?"

     I shrug. "I don't know."

     The bus squeaks as it stops at the last stop before we finally exit campus. It feels crowded for a rainy afternoon. Then again, almost everything feels more crowded when compared to the middle-of-the-night route. It's a different kind of crowd. Oftentimes, quieter, too. But not by much. Even so, I can't help but shift around in my seat, adjusting my bag between my legs.

     "What are we doing?" I practically laugh even though I shouldn't have said anything at all. It's a stupid thought triggered by other stupid thoughts harder to ignore when there are more people on the bus than empty seats.

     Jack shifts to face me again. "We are playing twenty questions."

     I smack my head against the back of my seat. "I asked for that, didn't I?"

     "Yes." His eyes are really laughing at me now. "I'll go first."

     I close my eyes in response.

     "What's your favorite color?"

     "Guess."

     His silence makes me crack open an eye. After all that pestering, he has the audacity to look sheepish, even in my blurry little eye sliver. His shoulders inch up towards his ears. "Bla--"

     I crack open my other eye.

     "Pink." He resumes his usual confident posture, straightened shoulders, but still seeming completely and totally relaxed.

     I close my eyes again.

     "Well, mines--"

     "Red," I say at the same time as him, but I don't need to open my eyes to know his silence is most likely paired with surprise puppy eyes. "Continue." I wave my hand. That makes him chuckle.

     "Um, favorite animal?"

     The bus shifts and bumps around a sharp turn, lulling and pulling us in our seats.

     "Guess--right." If people were paying attention they may even think Jack's talking to himself. "Elephant?"

    "Owl," I correct, straightening back up. The place on the back of my head where my ponytail usually sits is starting to hurt.

     "That's cool. I'm a dog guy, but I supposed that's pretty basic . . ."

    Some girls on the back of the bus start giggling. I don't bother turning my head to check and see why because it's probably just something on their phones.

     "All right, how about . . . what is your biggest pet peeve?"

   "People asking me questions," I say, but this time Jack's the one to echo me, word for word. For some reason, that makes me want to never open my mouth again.

     It's like getting called on in class, and you know how to perfectly articulate the answer in your head, but your Professor just keeps staring at you as if prompting you to keep speaking, as if what you initially said wasn't good enough, but it was, and your left babbling in circles. No matter how hard I try to keep my mouth shut, Jack just stares at me with those puppy eyes, and I can't help but divulge in what other people may deem meaningless banter. But it's more than that. It always is. That's why I need to learn to keep my mouth shut like I usually do with guys I meet in clubs. I think my research is weakening my usual social defensiveness and even socially ingrained tough-skinned, treat people how they treat you, offensiveness.