“Hey! Knock it off!”
“I mean, he’s still a very bad person, of course, but he is one hot piece of ass.”
“Now you’re making me hate him more.”
“Well, then you need to go tell him how awful he is right now.”
“Right now?” I hiccup.
“Yes. Seize the moment!” Steffi leaps up, pulling me with her, and runs a hand through my now-curly hair. “You go watch that video with him and point out all the jerky things about it!”
“Aren’t you coming with me? As backup? You know, you can yell, ‘Yeah, good point!’ and ‘Buuuuurn!’ when I say smart things.”
She pulls a red lipstick from her tight pants pocket and freshens her color. “I’m gonna pop over to one of those parties we got invited to. There are some damn cute boys on this campus. Text me when you’re on your way back.”
“I’m gonna go kick some Esben ass!” I sing out proudly. “Like a vigilante!”
“Esben’s ass, drunk vigilante, yes, yes. Now, let me just throw a bit more lip gloss on that pouty mouth of yours . . .”
CHAPTER 9
MACARONI AND VIDEOS
Steffi and I part ways in front of Esben’s dorm, and I march confidently (if a bit clumsily) up the stairs. At his room, I do not hesitate before slapping the door with the flat of my hand. I mean business tonight.
The door opens, and I am momentarily taken aback, unable to ignore that we are again only a few feet from each other. And also unable to ignore that his shoulders are broad, but not too broad, and that I know what it’s like to be crushed against him, feeling him hold me. I literally shake my head and look up at the obviously startled boy in front of me. “You and I need to have a conversation, buster!” I push past him and find myself in a single room, with barely enough space for the bed, desk, and dresser. His bed is unmade, a navy comforter scrunched over plaid sheets; his laundry is strewn around; and his desktop is so beyond cluttered that I verge on having a panic attack. “You’re a slob,” I say without thinking.
He takes a second to reply. “I . . . am. Sorry. I didn’t know you were coming by. Obviously.” There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Allison.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name, and I’m moderately shaken. “Ohmigod, I’m sorry. You’re not a slob. I’m awful.” I look around the room. “But you’re not a neat freak. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s a style choice. Very relaxed.”
“Here, let me just . . .” Esben sidles past me and begins furiously straightening the sheets and comforter to give some semblance of order to the room. “Would you like to sit down?” Without looking at me, he gestures to the bed.
“Fine.” So, I do, and he sits in the desk chair. Automatically, I begin smoothing the comforter with my hand and watching the way the fabric ripples as I skim my hand over it. Eventually, I look around his room. I can barely make out the small microwave propped up on milk crates because it is so covered with clothing, notebooks, and discs. I also spy a video camera on a shelf, and I look away.
The quiet goes on for longer than socially appropriate, yet it doesn’t feel as strange as it should. He’s just waiting. The way Simon waits for me, I realize.
“I have some questions,” I blurt out. Gin is making me annoyingly direct. I can’t face him, so I stare down at my hands.
“Okay.”
“Do you ever wear your hair in a man bun?”
He laughs. “I do not. It’s not long enough, but I highly doubt I would even if I could.”
“That’s good.”
“Next question.”
“Why don’t you have a poster of a kitty hanging from a tree limb, with some hideous font that says, ‘Just hang in there’? Or a poster of Gandhi and some sort of freakishly smart quote? Instead you have a black-and-white print of Lenny Kravitz.”
“I’m allergic to cats, and Gandhi was less photogenic than Lenny Kravitz.”
“Funny,” I say in a monotone. At last I raise my head. “Why did you do it? Why did you do that to me?”
“I don’t understand,” he says softly.
“Why did you put me on the Internet? Why did you make me a part of that whole thing? What did I ever do to you?” My voice is rising. “I was, you know, doing just fine, and then yoooooou made it so everyone was bugging me and asking about me and”—I drunkenly wave my hand in the air—“tweeting things and commenting about stuff and all that. I didn’t ask for any of that.”
“Allison, I’m so sorry,” he says gently, but with an air of surprise. “I . . . I . . . you signed the waiver. You . . . I assumed you knew who I was.”
“Ohhhh, well, don’t we think highly of ourselves!”
He laughs lightly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . I do a lot of these social experiments and such, and it’s a relatively small campus . . .”
“So, then you should have known that I like to be left the hell alone! That I don’t want people seeing me act like, like . . .” I don’t even know how to say what I mean. “No one should have seen that. Because it shouldn’t have happened. You did something,” I say too accusatorially. “I don’t know what, but you did something. Why? Did you need someone to be your big finale, so you had your sister grab the most introverted person you could find to see if you could . . . I don’t know. Break me?”
Esben actually looks hurt, and I feel a hard pang of guilt. He shakes his head over and over. “No, no. God, no . . .” He glances to the side as if searching for what to say.
“What happened that day? You have to tell me,” I plead. “Because I don’t get it, so you must. Why did we . . .” I can’t bring myself to say it. “Go on. Tell me everything, Mr. Esben Baylor. Maybe you think everyone knows you, but I do not know anything about you except that you’re a big jerk.” I hiccup, and he politely does not comment. “So, you start talking right now!” I am so crazy and not nice right now, but it’s impossible to stop the words that spill out.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I never know who will be involved in any of my projects. Really. Even though there were a lot of people there last week, we were having trouble getting volunteers. I think people get nervous when they’ve been watching me for a while. Besides, it’s usually more interesting with people who haven’t had a lot of time to think about what they’re doing beforehand. Kerry said she just grabbed you from the crowd. It wasn’t planned. Honest.” Esben looks at the floor and rubs the legs of his jeans anxiously.
“It still happened, though.” My voice is gentler than I’d planned. More scared, too, maybe. “It still happened, and I didn’t want it to.”
“If I’d had any idea that you didn’t want to be there . . . I didn’t know anything about you except that you spilled coffee one day.” A half smile peeks out. “I wanted to do that social experiment because I thought it would be a great way to see how two strangers can communicate and feel and maybe even find common ground, all without talking. How prejudgments about others sort of get washed away in the process, how a relationship of sorts happens in that short time. I didn’t know how anything would play out. How could I?” His sincerity is undeniable. “I included the video section of us because something very unique happened. Something that affected me that I was totally unprepared for. You want me to explain it? I don’t know that I can. I just . . .” He’s getting uncomfortable now. “Something about you reeled me in fast. I’m not sure I’ve ever been that hyperfocused on anyone. It’s like you were totally in my head, hearing me, questioning me, comforting me, reaching for me.” Esben laughs with a disbelief that I understand, and he runs a hand through his hair and shifts in his chair.