I turn off my computer, throw on pajamas, hit the lights, and get into bed. I don’t care that I haven’t brushed my teeth or that I totally need to pee. There is no way that I’m leaving this room to go down the hall to the bathroom. Who knows who I might run into? What if Steffi is right and some girl accosts me for . . . for the . . .
I scream into my pillow.
For the kiss.
I scream again.
How could I have let this happen? I have worked so hard to set up a life that I can manage, and all it took was three minutes to undo that. Three stupid, dumb minutes that I would kill to undo.
I have to regroup. People are fickle, and this is bound to blow over soon. I will simply pay no attention to Esben or this mess. I will not search the Internet or—God forbid—read comments. I will not watch this video. It will not exist. Problem solved.
Except that I toss around in bed for more than an hour, unable to relax, unable to shed my throbbing anxiety. When it’s obvious that I am not going to sleep, I notice that my cell phone is within arm’s reach, with moonlight practically shining a spotlight on it. I look away and wiggle my toes nervously. No, I will not.
But I do. I can’t help myself. I click my phone on. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I’ve got a lion’s roar going on in my head.
It takes two seconds to search for Esben’s video, and I find it on a different site from the one Steffi sent me. I groan. How many places is this posted? Now that I’ve given in and gone to this page, though, I still can’t get myself to watch. I don’t know what I’m afraid of. I was there. I just don’t want to relive it.
But I also kind of do.
I scroll toward the end and let it play for only a few seconds. I hit the “Pause” button and look at the image before me. And I can’t stop looking at it.
Esben’s hands are on my face, our kiss well in progress, and both of our expressions clearly show that this kiss is more than just any old kiss.
Was more, I correct myself. It’s not anything now.
Still, I allow myself to look at the picture, to hold the phone in my hand as I fall asleep, and to dream without nightmares.
I give myself that much. Just for tonight.
CHAPTER 7
JUST TRYING TO BREATHE
Never during my two years at Andrews have I skipped a class. Not once. But I skip Wednesday’s Social Psych class. I’m tempted to skip my next class, but that seems phobic and weird, even for me, and missing two classes would probably make me more anxious than braving leaving my room. Besides, having missed breakfast and lunch, I’m ravenous. There have been near-relentless knocks at my door all morning, and I put in my earphones and jack up my white-noise app to block out the demand for me to say something profound or meaningful or whatever these people want from me.
When there is a lull in the hammering on my door, I realize that I have a little time before my class, so I decide to stop by the Greek place where I ate with Simon. Nothing bad can happen when surrounded by falafel. At least, that’s what I’m going with.
I am only halfway along the path that leads from my dorm to the street, when a guy with a biker jacket and a messenger bag strapped snug across his chest holds up his hand for a high five. “Nice going!”
This is the sort of thing I was afraid of. My hand only raises limply, my unhappiness making me almost nonfunctional, but the guy claps our hands together and cheers.
“Very cool video,” he says.
“Oh. Well, thank you.”
He releases his hold, pats me heartily on the back, and gives me a weird salute as he continues on his way.
One down, who knows how many to go. I cannot hate this day any more.
Just outside the Greek place, three girls ambush me.
“You’re the girl from the video with Esben!” one says.
“Is he the best kisser ever? You have to tell us! He’s got to be, right?” A girl with flowing red hair makes a ridiculously dreamy face.
The third looks borderline pissed. “Why did you leave? Oh my God, I would have ripped his pants off right there if I’d been you!”
“So”—the first leans in conspiratorially—“are you a couple? Did you go back and get him?”
This is horrendous. “What? No! God! We are not a couple!” I say too defensively. Be polite. Be polite! I remind myself. I clear my throat. “I’m so pleased you enjoyed the video. I’m going to eat falafel now.”
I turn and yank open the door to the restaurant. The elderly Greek man who takes my order lights up when he sees me. “Hey, hey! It’s you!” He signals to the kitchen staff behind him. “Look! It’s her!” The Greeks all cheer, and my cheeks flush hotly.
I pay as quickly as possible and grab a seat. I have only taken one bite of my food, when two girls I recognize from my psych class plop down at my table, squealing, “So amazing. I cried!” and “What was it like? The whole thing?” I stand up, toss my uneaten food, and bolt.
The rest of the day continues this way, but thankfully my professor gives a detailed lecture that I lose myself in for an hour. I don’t look up from my note taking, but I can feel the stares from my peers. After, I grab a premade sandwich from the student union for dinner and retreat to my dorm.
Thursday is equally bad, and it occurs to me that I may be forever trapped in this hellish vortex of attention and have to drop out of college and go live in some remote part of the world without Internet access. I will live in a hut and forage for berries. Again, I think about the possibilities Amazon gives me. I can order everything I might ever need. Total isolation is doable. I could live like that.
By Friday, I am just plain mad. Seething and stoic, I go to my Social Psych class. I radiate stay-away vibes, but this does not stop people from looking at me way too much. All eyes turn to Esben when he walks in, and I see him scan the room. He stops when he sees me, his face brightening and hopeful as he starts to walk my way. Esben likes eye contact and silent communication? Fine. Two can play at that. I shoot him a glare full of rage, and he stops in his tracks. The chatter in the large room lulls, but right now I don’t care if everyone sees the rejection I hurl at Esben. His face grows worried, confused. Then apologetic. But my expression does not change, and when the professor walks in, I sharply pull my eyes from his and refuse to look back. Without words, I have told him and everyone watching what I need to.
So there. That is that. This is over.
My steely aura does a good job protecting me from further comments, and I get through my next class, pick up yet another care package from Simon at my PO box, and walk back to my dorm without harassment.
I should feel better now that I’ve asserted myself and shut down some of the drama surrounding the video. Instead, I feel like crap. Utter crap. I got what I wanted, right? No Esben, no connection, no one talking to me. World order has been restored.
This should feel better than it does.
I hear a familiar voice call out my name. “Allison! About time! I’ve been sitting here for twenty-five minutes, and I gotta pee like nobody’s business.”
I jerk my head up and stop in place. My heart soars; my emptiness washes away. “Steffi!”
Perched on the front step of my dorm is my best friend, looking for all the world like a rock star in her red leather pants and sleeveless black shirt. She’s got a small suitcase next to her. I can’t tell if I want to burst into tears or start laughing.