8:29 AM
Huh. I wished for him. In my alcohol induced haze, I somehow let it slip to Xavier what I'd wished for, and this is his idea of a practical joke. He's notorious for pranking people, so I can't say I'm surprised, but his flawless execution in such a small window of time is downright admirable. Enviable, even.
Jackson does not look like the kind of company X would keep. The man in front of me is a little more rockstar to Xavier's jockstar or whatever, but who am I to judge? I don't keep close tabs on his social circle, mostly because someone like me doesn't belong there, so the idea of Xavier being friends with someone like Jackson isn't entirely preposterous.
I square my shoulders and narrow my gaze on Jackson—who up until now remains unmoving.
"Tell X the jokes on him. I'm not falling for it."
The eyebrow decorated in stainless steel arches skyward. "Wow. How hastily you dismiss our love story, Lo. Xavier Morgan has nothing to do with this."
I wave my hand like I'm swatting at an irritating mosquito. I never once mentioned his last name, so hot-man-boy-dorm-intruder has just ousted himself. "Proof! Proof!" I say almost manically. "You know him!"
"'Course I know him," he says with a shrug. "He's your best friend, even ten years from now."
Ten years from now. I narrow my eyes, trying to get a good look at his pupils for signs they may be dilated, or his irises bloodshot. I see none.
"Are you high?"
He jumps up from the bed and extends his arms to his sides in a grandiose gesture. "High on life, dear Lo. Higher still on love and other peculiar things."
He is definitely high.
"Stop calling me Lo."
"What would you like me to call you? Baby, sweetie, snookum? How about something a little less traditional? Angel? Yeah," he decides. "I like that. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Now that he's vertical, I can see he's as tall as Xavier. This lends itself to the idea that they could play basketball or football together.
"Look," I say trying my best to project an air of authority. "I don't want you to call me anything. I just want you to leave."
"I don't think you do."
Oh yes. Yes, I most assuredly do. If a title exists for cocky bastards, he holds the record. "Rest assured Jackson Nathaniel Sunday, I do."
He winks. "Say my full name again, it's so sexy comin' from that mouth."
"Get. Out." I annunciate each word so there is no mistaking my instructions.
"Really?"
Why is he shocked? He broke into my dorm. Did he think I was going to clear out drawer space for him and roll out the welcome mat? "Yes. Really."
"You sure about that? I don't think it's the best idea."
I swing my eyes to the clock. "I don't recall asking your opinion. I can't be late for class."
"Never tardy—even in your youth."
"Leave please."
"You won't even hear me out?"
"There's nothing to hear out. Points to Xavier for being clever."
"Like I said, he has nothing to do with this."
"Well like I said, I need you to hit the road. Now Next time, I won't ask so nicely."
He gives a heavy sigh. "If you really want me to leave, fine, I will. But before I go, think about what you wished for, Lola."
Wait. What? How does he know I made a wish at all? Oh, right. Xavier. I'm not sure how or when, but X will pay dearly for this. I'll have the last laugh. "I know what I wished for. It wasn't some tattooed asshole."
He grimaces. "Ouch. That stings, Lo."
Good.
I cross my arms over my chest and press my lips in a firm, straight line. "Are you waiting for the second coming? The door is right there."
"Are you sure you won't her me out ?"
"Why, so I can hear the story you and Xavier concocted? I'm sure it's something rich, but I'm going to be late, and I don't have time to entertain your crazy theories."
"That's fine. When you're ready for me to come back." He voice dips lower. "And trust me, Angel, that will be sooner than you think, you come and find me. I rented this awesome little beach house right on the shore near the pier."
I march to the door and swing it open. "Sounds positively serene, Jackson."
He walks past me and turns, his face falling. "You know something, you aren't the Lola I know, but I see the smallest glimpses of her in you. Underneath this whole ice queen routine you've got going, she's in there somewhere. I can't wait to meet that girl—she owns my heart."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I can hardly entertain his nonsense, even if he is irrationally gorgeous. "That's sweet, Jax. See you around."
He slumps, shoves his hands in his pockets, and gives me one final sad look before walking away.
Mornings are never good. I'd rather stay in bed and contemplate the complexities of my belly button than rise and pretend to be human, but today thanks to Xavier and his idea of a prank, I'm at least 15 minutes behind schedule which sours my mood. I'm never late. He owes me.
I'm paranoid after my uninvited albeit dangerously beautiful guest, so I close and lock the door before changing into simple jeans and a lightweight sweater. At this point, a shower isn't an option, and I feel like death. As I work to braid my hair, every twist of a strand is torture on my sensitive head and my brain tries to compensate by splitting down the middle. I mentally berate myself for drinking two thirds of that whiskey. Stuff was Satan's own brew, no doubt.
A sweep of powder, a swipe of mascara, and some lip gloss is the best it's going to get today. I sling my book bag over my shoulder, perch my sunglasses on my face, and unlock the door.
After the mystery man this morning, Tori just about gives me a heart attack. I'm startled to see her there, holding the key as if she's about to insert it into the lock.
She looks how I feel.
Like death.
Dark rings circle her eyes caused by waterproof eyeliner that long ago expired but is stubborn enough to hang on. Her strawberry hair is matted and sticking out to one side and her lips look drier than a desert floor. The neckline of her off-the-shoulder top is nearly exposing a third or more of her skin and its fabric is stretched unnaturally. I step back for a beat, somehow unconsciously repelled by her physical state.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, fine." She pushes past me, taking the necessary ten steps to reach her bed before she unceremoniously falls flat on her face.
Do I stay and nurse Tori or do I go? "Are you sure you're okay?"
Her head moves up and down slightly on the pillow. "Yes," she says. "Hungover but otherwise I am tickety boo. Thank you for asking."
For someone who is hungover, she rolls over with astonishing speed and bolts upright, squinting at the clock on the wall before returning her focus to me. "You would normally be out of here half an hour ago. Wait. Are you sick? Please don't tell me you're sick. I have plans with Leo this weekend. I don't need to catch your germs."
Leo. Tori's latest endeavor. He's the lead singer of a band called 'Nova Theorem.' He chain smokes, writes poetry, and has dreadlocks that could be rad— if he took care of them, but he doesn't. Gross. Sweet. Gross. In that order.
"I have no germs," I say, "Just a bad case of Xavier." I consider telling Tori about Jax and how Xavier set up and nearly executed such a formidable prank, but not is not the time. Her hungover brain would have to work too hard to process it anyway. My own hungover brain can hardly wrap itself around the idea. I point to the doorway. "I'm going to go if you don't need me."
"I need sleep and two painkillers." She reaches into the bag that is still slung around her shoulder for a pill bottle which she promptly divests of two tiny white spheres, places them into her mouth and swallows without water. She's a pro at being hungover. Tori is the ultimate party girl, here on her father's dime. Her sole mission is to do everything in college that she didn't do in high school. An educated guess on my part tells me that doesn't leave much, except for maybe Leo.
Xavier doesn't like her. He thinks she makes the rest of us who have to actually work our way through college look bad. I can appreciate his thoughts but aside from being a total slob and wearing liters of offensive perfume, Tori doesn't bother me any.
I gather my stuff and head to the door, turning to face her, or at least face the backside of her body.
"Tori?"
"Lola?"
"Do you know a guy named Jackson Sunday?" Why am I asking? I shouldn't be asking. I shouldn't be interested. Guy is stark raving mad, Lola. Get a grip.
"Negative. Oh, wait. Is that the guy on RC's new TV show? The one about werewolves, or is it vampires?"
"What? No. I think he goes here. He's not like a celebrity or anything. Just a regular guy."
"Oh," she says. "Then still no."
As I walk through campus I wrestle with the idea of giving Xavier an earful about Jax's visit. There is no doubt in my mind he is bursting at the seams with pride, thinking he's pulled off the most epic of pranks. If I tell him I don't appreciate his early morning antics, I may as well pour fuel on an already burning fire, but if I downplay the entire event—pretend it never happened—he'll always wonder. The unknown is far more diabolical, and I have to bite my lip to stop the smirk when I get to the Human Bean, the most popular coffee shop in a three mile radius.
It's where all the hipsters go. I am a hipster by association only. My association, Xavier, is standing in line with his hands buried in his pockets, a pair of reflective aviators covering his eyes. Hangover spectacles. A tell-tale sign he's not feeling his best.
I walk up beside him. "Hey."
He looks down and smiles wide. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Of course he was so he could rub it in my face. Jokes on you, X. He yawns, and pulls a hand from his pocket just to tug on my braid. "Mornin' Mouse."
"Hardly a good morning. My head is pounding. When did you leave last night?"
He drops my hair and shrugs. "I dunno. Right around the time you started singing ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall."
"You lie. Like a rug."
"God's honest truth. Don't worry though, you stopped when the dorm next door started banging on the wall."
"You're so full of it."
"Swear to God. Ask them."
Oh my God. He's being serious. "Why would you let me do that?"
"Why not? You were having a good time. It was your birthday. Screw what anyone thinks of you. Coffee?" He grins.
It's not fair. Xavier flashes his deadly dimples and all is forgotten. When he pairs that Cheshire Cat smile with bribes of coffee, I fold faster than a lawn chair. I nod.
"Listen," X says. "I've been thinking. You're twenty-one now."
"More than halfway to forty."
"Gross. Anyway, you need to get out more."
"I get out just fine Mom, thanks."
"Going to the library and the coffee shop doesn't count, Mouse."
"I have to study," I say. "I'm here on a scholarship."
"I know kid genius. That doesn't mean your entire life has to be meticulously scheduled and planned out."
"It isn't."
"Is too."
"Is not."
"Lola, you have lists about making lists."
"Do not."
"Do too." X shuffles forward as the line inches ahead. "Anyway, there's this party tonight."
I stop him. "No."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"That's because I know what you're going to say."
He says it anyway. "Come with me."
I shake my head.
"Please."
"It's not a good idea."
"You're right. It's a great idea. You have to. It'll be a blast. I promise."
Ugh. One might think after being friends with the guy for a lifetime, I'd have developed some kind of immunity to his charms but it manages to elude me. It's the dimples. I know it.
I'll try the honest approach and hope he'll have some sympathy for my situation. "X. I don't fit in. You know that."
"That's because you're afraid to let people know you and that's a damned shame, Lola. It really is. Those books of yours will never love you back, you know."
His words, although true, are like pin pricks on my skin.
"Come with me. I won't leave your side. You have my word if you're not having a good time, we leave. No questions asked."
"Why do you want me to go?"
"Because as your best friend it's my duty to experience life with you."
"Do you swear we can leave?"
Xavier holds his hand up, palm forward. "I swear."
I reach into his back pocket and retrieve the little black book I know is there. Xavier has a cell phone with contacts like everybody else on planet earth, but he insists on carrying this thing. Thinks it makes him retro badass or something. I place it on my palm and hold it out to him.
"Swear on it."
He looks at me incredulously. "What?"
"Swear on the black book that when, not if, when I tell you I'm not having a good time and I want to go home, that you'll take me."
"You want me to swear on my black book?"
"Few things are as important to you. Swear it, Xavier Morgan. Swear it or I don't go."
He rolls his eyes and sets his hand atop the book. "I swear Mouse, when you want to leave, say the word. No questions asked. I'll even buy you pizza or something on the way home."
I move the book away and place it back into his pocket. "Fine. I'll go."
Xavier's smile morphs from one of amusement to a genuinely happy grin. "Perfect."
"Not even close," I mutter. I don't want to go but it's important to Xavier so by association, it's important to me.
"What?"
I force a smile back. "I said I can't wait to go."
The line has moved. Xavier strides to the front and orders two coffees. Black for him, one cream for me. He hands it to me, kisses my check and says, "have a good day."
"Yeah," I say, "you too."
As Xavier heads to his first class of the morning, it's easy to forgive the stunt with Jackson Sunday.