Mom and Dad drove down with Jake from Santa Cruz to USC the next day, just like they did the next year, and the year after that. After my annual tear-soaked morning send off for Jake, I was distracted by a long work shift.
On this mid-August Saturday afternoon two days after my twentieth birthday, Pizza Palace was completely deserted. As my eyes traveled around the hot, stale-aired restaurant, a small smile played on my lips.
I might even miss this place if I get a real summer internship next year.
My eyes drifted downwards to my starchy, itchy black work pants and the world's most hideous, red and white striped work shirt. The accented blood red circles of pepperoni, strategically placed in the worst possible locations over my breasts like nipple pasties, stared back up at me.
No I won't. But maybe I'll burn my uniform ceremoniously before I go.
The thought stretched my smile wider, although I wouldn't have been surprised if my uniform clothes were fireproof. The only thing they were good for was absorbing greasy and various pizza smells.
I still need my library and tutoring jobs.
While the past two years had proven that UW was the perfect school for me, its tuition rate was less than ideal. As an out-of-state student, my scholarship reduced my tution to in-state and I'd applied for and gotten a few more.
Despite the fact my NDA about Ryder's assault included a million-dollar payout, I wanted nothing to do with a single cent of that hush money. Mr. Reynolds had Ryder's parents set up a trust fund account, from which I legally was able to withdraw from once I turned twenty-one.
Not even if I was homeless.
Since I still worked two jobs, between those and studying I hadn't had any time for dating. My Netflix binges and occasional dorm social events on weekends were sufficient entertainment for me.
Money-wise though, Ellie's Kitchen sure doesn't pay enough.
As one palm absently wiped down the already spotless counter, I smiled at how the only work-related thing that came with me was my food blog. Although I now had nearly ten thousand followers on my weekly updated site and a few advertiser sponsors, I needed more than the $100 revenue Ellie's Kitchen generated.
Fifty-six dollars after the financial dust settles.
Obviously my blog wasn't for financial gain. Cooking returned as a huge joy in my life, which was one reason I was thrilled to be in an apartment instead of the dorms my roommate Charlie and I shared our freshman year. I'd planned to continue Ellie's Kitchen's weekly updates and had already lined up the whole first semesters's topics. 'Anything but Ramen' was going to be my first junior-year themed post once we'd moved in.
Mom and Harper started the blog for me as a Christmas present two years ago, which morphed into more than an enjoyable hobby. What started as a fun way to share some recipes and pictures in a self-sufficient hobby grew into video tutorials and feedback forums with site visitors. While my blog wasn't the most popular one out there, I was shocked at the fact my content had gotten thousands of views and such positive reviews on the recipes.
If only my most popular videos weren't the ones with Logan in it.
As my thoughts led back to him, with his sun-kissed blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes, the hollow pit in my stomach and chest tightness returned. I'd nearly taken down all of my videos with him in them but their large number of views prompted me to keep them up, for now.
Yep, that's it. Only keeping them for the number of views.
Keep convincing yourself of that Ellie.
My eyes shifted around the restaurant for my boss Derrick's pasty white skin and unruly red curls but he was nowhere to be seen. Then I remembered he'd run a cash deposit to the bank, so I leaned against the counter and pulled out my cell phone.
After I brought up my blog, I scrolled down to one of the videos in question. When my and Logan's frames that were on the opposite end of the height spectrum came into view on the screen, my thumb hit play for perhaps the last time.
"Hi everyone." My eyes rolled at the sound of my way-too-chippy-for-my-own-ears voice. "I am so geeked to have a guest here, my boyfriend Logan."
"Geeked?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "The only geek here is you, Ellie."
"Says the science guy." Video Ellie glanced up and gave him a lopsided smile.
"But I'm your science guy." He retorted with a grin. Then he looked straight at the camera, curved his mouth upwards into a toe-curling smirk, and added, "We all know she only loves me for my brains."
"Logan, please," I groaned and rolled my eyes. After a breath of composure, I smiled brightly. "If he can be serious for ten minutes in his life, today Logan's going to help me make one of the recipes that I make for him all the time. It's high protein, low carb, and perfect for the geek in your life."
"That's enough of that." I sighed and paused the video. My eyes lingered for a moment on the still frame, not at me, but at Logan. Half the comments had been on the meatball recipe but the other half were about our interaction.
Still looking for my Logan. 🥺 #relationshipgoals
Girl, if that's your definition of geek, then Logan can talk nerdy to me any day. ❤️✔️🔥
My eyes skimmed over similar compliments and a small smile tugged across my lips. "If Logan ever saw this... His ego would never fit into a room again."
My thumb traced the line over his broad shoulders and chest then my next breath caught in my throat at the gentle, sincere expression on his face while he gazed down at me.
Snap out of it, Ellie. This can't be healthy.
My thumb hovered over the 'Delete File' option but paused at the number of views on the video. My chest heaved with one more sigh as my thumb shifted over, shut off the browser app, and I tossed the phone onto the counter.
I need to stop living in the past like this. He's more than likely moved on.
"I can do this, I have big girl college pants," I reminded myself. Thankfully I was still alone and no one else here witnessed my personal pep talk. "Even if they are a size extra short."
Four years after I was sexually assaulted, or six months into my freshman year of completely blissful anonymity at the University of Washington, I found myself in another compromised position that involved a football player.
Unfortunately, this time I wasn't alone.
"Oh my God," a trembling voice quivered through the black air that surrounded us. "I can't do this."
"I don't think we should do this," I murmured quietly, more to myself than anyone else here because, at the moment, I had no idea what 'this' involved..
My knees ached from the cold cement I knelt down on, my heart beat pounded into my ear drums, and goosebumps prickled over the bare, exposed skin that wasn't covered by my bra and underwear.
At this point, I questioned my own sanity.
How the hell did I get here?
Oh yeah, friends.
Eleven other girls were in a similar position, nearly naked, hair tied back, and we knelt shoulder-to-shoulder together. Ironically, all twelve of us were here in the name of friendship, or companionship to start, on our search for sisterhood and acceptance. Now unfortunately, we only shared a collective sense of uncertainty and raspy breaths riddled with nerves.
While I'd been blessed with an amazing roommate Charlotte Montgomery, since frankly not many would've minded the fact their roommate had an occasional therapist call, I needed more friends than her. She also now had a boyfriend and while he seemed nice, my position as third wheel had gotten old fast.
Plus, college is about trying new things and making new friends, right?
Not this thing Ellie, and not these so-called friends.
Tonight's meeting started like any other pledge meeting at the Zeta Tau Epsilon sorority, the most prestigious and sought-after social sorority located on UW's Greek Row. Once we'd assembled with our pledge director Lydia in the pristine, white-carpeted living room at the "Zetas" house, with ZTE history and quiz material in our laps and shared smiles at how we had one more initiation round before we were all officially 'sisters,' the house lights flicked off.
Amidst the squeals and gasps, we were ordered to strip down to our underclothes, blindfolded with our own shirts, and led downstairs into the basement. I only knew that much because we'd gone downstairs in a chain, palms clasped over the shoulders of the girl ahead of us. The slight damp mildew smell that twitched my nose reinforced the fact we hadn't gone outside or left the house, so deduction concluded we knelt in the basement.
"I can't do this," the whisper sounded off again. "I've never been with a boy, I can't -"
Boy!? Fuck, I am not doing this.
Right when the balls of my feet grounded into the floor and the muscles in my quadriceps and hamstrings squeezed while I stood, a deep, low voice broke through the silence.
"Her." Every muscle in my body froze when he added, "I choose Ellie."
"Don't use her name," a curt, near chilled female voice spoke up.
My hands balled into tight fists and I clenched my teeth when I recognized the second voice as Lydia's. She was ZTE's Pledge Director, our initiation leader, a sophomore girl who recruited me to the first new member event, whom I had looked up to and thought was my friend, cut through the male's request.
"Number ten," the male voice clarified with a soft chuckle. His request was followed by a faint but distinct sound of a zipper pulled down. "I pick number ten."
My spine stiffened as hands grasped around my shoulders. Warm breaths fanned over my ear when Lydia's amused voice whispered, "Quarterback picked you first, be a good slut and don't disappoint him."
The words 'slut' and 'quarterback' were all that I needed before my entire body jolted to life. I ripped off my blindfold, slipped my T-shirt overhead, and planted my feet firmly. Fueled by more years' of pain, my life nearly ruined after I'd been assaulted by a quarterback, a time in my life when my body had frozen within action, I was damned determined that was the last thing that happened here.
"Fuck no!" I screamed out, then stumbled my feet across the floor with mummy-like hands, my fingers spread out and searched until they pressed into the cool, hard, textured surface of a cement wall. I roamed my fingers around like a window washer until they brushed up against a smooth, plastic switch and I hit on the lights.
My eyes blinked the view of the ZTE house basement into view, which flickered under the exposed ceiling's bare lightbulb. The eleven girls left in my pledge class trembled and clasped hands as they knelt in a circle in the center of the unfinished space. To my absolute horror, a further spread out circle of ten guys stood around them, with large, muscular frames and absolutely no sense of shock on their expressions.
A weight of recognition dropped in my stomach when a few familiar faces passed over my gaze around the room and those expectant expressions slowly changed to guilt when their eyes met mine. By far the worst guy was the tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed player who stood where I'd knelt, his hips pointed at the now empty space.
"Ellie..." He gave me a sheepish smile, tucked his exposed penis back into his jeans, then zipped them back up. "I can -"
"No!" I screamed and shuffled my feet towards the steps as fast as they moved. "This is beyond fucked up! You guys should be ashamed of yourselves!"
Loud pounds of my feet thumped on the unfinished wooden basement steps and the smoothness of the railing ran over my left palm as I ran as fast as I could. My heart rammed itself into my chest walls as I slammed the door behind me, scooped up the rest of my clothes and belongings, then burst out the front door.
I hadn't gotten more than two steps onto the front lawn before hot tears sprung into my eyes and blurred the view of the cherry tree-lined, divided street.
Football players. Just had to be football players.
While I'd dodged a bullet that evening and certainly hadn't completed my initiation, my involvement with the Zetas, Lydia in particular, hadn't ended that night. While I cried myself back to normal in the revered sanctuary of the school's library, Lydia blacklisted all the girl who hadn't made the final initiation cut in a list of 'The most prudish girls on campus,' complete with our full names, year in school, and the picture we'd thought was taken for our initiation.
The very next morning, stares and whispers greeted me in and between my classes, my job at the library, and worst of all, my tutoring position. During our first quarter, my roommate had convinced me to apply for a job within the Student Athletic Services Office, where I'd met and tutored a few of the guys on the football team. And now, my patience strained and ego fractured, there was no way I'd look at them the same way ever again.
I hate football players.