As I'm walking through the aisles of the cozy campus grocery store, I start to crave fruit soda suddenly and quite desperately. So I abandon my search for candy and head to the cold drinks section. I scan the contents of the freezer, squinting against the too-bright lights that line the insides. There are eight different varieties of fruit soda and it's a time-consuming process to outweigh each brand's pros and cons. Finally, I pick a small plastic bottle of grape soda with neon purple packaging. The bottle is so cold that my fingers begin to grow numb as soon as I wrap my hand around it.
Shutting the glass door of the freezer, I walk back to the aisle filled with a dizzying array of sweet treats. The colorful plastic packs are arranged so meticulously that it looks like a strange optical illusion from a distance. I pick a small bag of Skittles and take my things up to the short-haired girl at the counter who looks the same age as me. She has three metal piercings in each ear and a shiny ring on her left eyebrow. I touch the end of my bare earlobe self-consciously.
"Hi," I say to her, placing the soda and candy on the counter. Red, green and yellow fairy lights line the walls behind the counter, the wire looping around the back of the computer.
"Hi." She smiles back, billing the two items with a casual ease that comes with practice. The collar of her white polo shirt is sticking up unevenly.
I pull the square wallet out of my pocket and pay before opening the soda and taking big, thirsty swigs. At first, the drink is sweet and cold, the fizz tickling the roof of my mouth. But a moment later, a brain freeze kicks in.
"Whoa, slow down there," the girl says, staring at me from behind the counter. "Are you all right?"
"Not really," I mumble, grabbing onto the counter unsteadily.
A big gust of wind whooshes into the store as the door — a few feet to the right of the counter — is pushed open. Astrid walks in, her arm draped casually over the shoulder of a girl I don't recognize.
"Oh, hey!" Astrid grins when her eyes sweep the store before landing on me. The girl standing next to her smiles at me and the cashier politely. She's strikingly beautiful with her dark skin and high ponytail that reaches past the small of her back. Strands of her incredibly long hair are interspersed with purple and blue streaks.
"Hey," I smile at both of them, but my vision is still unfocused.
"This is Karah!" Astrid announces happily to me and the cashier who smiles awkwardly.
The four of us spend the next few minutes trying to simultaneously introduce ourselves to one another which results in a lot of commotion. I can hear the sound of my laughter above the others', unusually high-pitched and edgy. Stupid grape soda.
Finally, Karah walks further into the store to find something as Astrid leads me towards the personal care section. She grabs my elbow and leans towards me conspiratorially.
"That's her," she says to me, beaming. "The one I told you about!"
"Oh!" I exclaim as understanding dawns on me. I lower my voice to match Astrid's whisper. "She seems really nice! You like her, huh?"
"Yeah, I do." Two spots of pink appear on her high cheekbones as she smiles. She's looking away from me, at the rows of shampoos and conditioners on the shelves. Her long-sleeved, shiny silver top makes her skin appear as though she's sprayed herself with glitter.
"Someone's in love," I sing-song, carefully keeping my voice low.
"Shut up," she grins. I laugh as she picks up a baby pink shampoo bottle and swats my arm with it.
"But hey, speaking of love . . ." Astrid turns to me, her eyes filled with curiosity.
I feel myself tensing up in anticipation of her question. The inside of my mouth still feels cold and tastes like artificial grapes.
"How's your search for the stranger going?"
I think of Liam and without my knowledge, my face changes for just an instant at the thought of our second kiss before I pull myself together. But Astrid catches my slip-up and practically pounces on me.
"You found him!" she shouts, her tone high with excitement. She slaps a hand to her mouth and apologizes, misreading the panic in my eyes. Lowering her voice, she leans forward and shoots question after question at me.
"Who is he?"
"Did you go out?"
"What's he like?"
"Which one on the list was he?"
There is no point in evading Astrid's questions; she'd never give up. The realization hits me that the only way to get her to give up on this is to convince her that I didn't like the stranger.
"He wasn't on the list," I sigh, turning away from her and staring at the array of moisturizers and foot and hand creams behind her.
At this point, Astrid completely abandons her search for hair products and gasps, scandalized. "Oh my god. How did you find him? Who is he?"
"Uh, Matt something," I say, shaking my head in feigned disappointment. "I didn't even bother to ask for his last name."
She tips her head in confusion. "Why?"
"It doesn't matter," I mutter in a hurry to answer her questions. "It didn't work out."
"Why?"
"I didn't like him."
"Why?"
"He was . . . weird."
Astrid, frustrated by my non-committal answers, drops the shampoo bottle back in its place and throws her hands up. "Weird how, Carmen? Give. Me. Details."
"He, uh . . ." I look away from her bright blue eyes, desperately searching for inspiration. My gaze lands on the skin cream bottles again. Before I can fully think about it, I blurt out, "I think he has a foot fetish."
Oh, god. Stupid, stupid grape soda.
Astrid purses her lips before asking, "Did you just say 'foot fetish'?"
I cross my arms across my chest and nod in silent mortification.
"How did you find out about it? Did he just tell you?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth, painted matte purple in a generous coating of lipstick, is twitching as though she's trying not to laugh.
I might as well lie in the grave I've dug for myself.
"Well, he was quite drunk when I met him last weekend. We talked for a while, and suddenly, he asked if I was wearing socks. I ignored him first, thinking he was just drunk. But he asked me over and over, so I finally said yes. And then he started asking if he could see my feet . . ."
The words materialize out of nowhere and leave my lips in a steady, confident stream that would make even Vera — an expert at concocting ridiculous stories — proud. Astrid lets out a little snort and quickly clears her throat to conceal it. She reaches up with her hands to tuck her golden-blonde curls behind her ears.
"And?" she prompts, peering down at me. The heels of her ankle boots make her loom over me, three inches taller.
"And nothing. I said I had to go and got out of there as soon as I could," I finish, resisting the urge to slap myself on the forehead. "Don't laugh."
"Sorry, I won't," she nods but immediately bursts into hysterical peals of laughter. She apologizes in between giggles, her neck turning the same shade of pink as the bottle of shampoo she had picked.
"Please, can we talk about something else," I groan when she picks up her shampoo bottle again. "Anything else."
Astrid obliges for the next ten minutes as we walk along the store, telling me about a charity concert that is coming up next weekend. I listen to her absent-mindedly, wondering to myself if things would've been easier if my beautiful stranger had been a drunk boy with a strange fetish instead of my best friend's boyfriend.
A little later, Astrid and I meet Karah at the counter. The cashier, whose name is Beth, bills their items in the same effortless and efficient way that she did mine.
Outside the store just before we part ways, Astrid says to me, solemn and sad, "Carmen, I'm sorry it didn't work out with your guy. I know you had real feet-ings for him."
Her mouth is set in a consoling frown, but her eyes have a teasing glint in them. Karah smiles at us in a slightly puzzled, polite way. I pretend to clutch at my heart as though I've been shot.
"Too soon," I say to Astrid. "Way too soon."
I turn around and stagger away, keeling over in deep pain for dramatic effect to the sound of Astrid's loud, tinkling laughter.
❅
"Liam?"
"Finally. Thanks for calling me back."
My eyes flit to Vera's empty bed as I lean against the cold wooden desk. I press my phone against my ear until it hurts. "It's Vera again."
A car passes by outside, its headlights momentarily illuminating the room in a smattering of yellow. Liam lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh on the other end.
"Right," he says. "Hasn't she come back yet?"
"No," I say frantically, waving my free arm about in helpless motions. "And she said she'll be back tonight. I've called her so many times, but her phone's switched off. What if —"
"Hey, hey, stop." Liam's voice is so deep and clear and rich that I find myself calming down instantly. "I know the place. It's a thirty-minute drive from campus. I can drive there and pick her up. I'm pretty sure none of her friends will be able to drive tonight, anyway."
"Thank you, Liam," I reply, my voice filled with relief and gratitude. I feel the sudden urge to see him like a physical tug in the pit of my stomach.
There's a momentary pause when I can hear Liam drawing a breath slowly, as though he wants to ask me something but is unsure. I find myself hoping that he will ask what I shouldn't want.
"Will you come w—"
"Yes."
I can almost hear the small, relieved smile in his voice when he says, "I'll pick you up in ten minutes, okay?"
"Okay," I agree before common sense kicks in and I can change my mind.
❅❅
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please vote and comment if you did. Thank you so much for reading! ♡
Love,
Amethyst