Definitely, Maybe in Love

“I’ll be…” I pointed off to the far side of the street.

After getting the A-Okay overhead wave from Mel, I headed through the crowd toward the curb. I weaved around a row of portable tables set off to the side where various card games and chess matches were going on under large lamps. Despite the dozen or so people gathered around those tables, it was the only semi-quiet corner of the street party. I slid between two tables, sat on the curb, and pulled out my cell to check messages.

There were two emails and one voicemail. I checked the emails first. They were both from econ majors blowing me off. Crap. Before playing the voicemail, I braced myself for more bad news. A couple hours ago, I’d emailed Professor Masen a few pages of notes, figuring that would tide him over while I kept searching for a source. I took in a deep breath, then pressed my hand over my free ear, listening to the voicemail. It was some guy from Statistics wanting to form a study group. I saved the message and exhaled in relief.

Not ready to return to the center of the action, I stayed where I was, practically hidden under the last card table where three guys were playing poker. Between their heads, I could make out the top halves of party-goers as they walked by. This view was temporarily obscured when a couple stopped directly over me to make out.

“Hello!” I yelped when the guy stepped on my foot.

Without bothering to remove his tongue from his partner’s throat, he leered at me in acknowledgement, then they stumbled away.

Maybe my location was a little too secluded. If there was a mass evacuation, would I be trampled and left for dead under a table surrounded by chess pieces? Just as I was about to stand up and find Mel, a glimpse of some tousled light hair came into view.

“You can take off, but I’m not ready.”

Through the poker players, I watched Dart Charleston reach into a red tub and pull out an icy can. I could see him pretty well. I could hear him perfectly.

“That’s obvious.”

The guy dealing cards blocked my view of who Dart was with. Whoever it was waved off the drink Dart offered.

“She’s amazing, man.” Dart’s back was to me now, his words less audible. “We’re hanging out tomorrow.”

“She’s clearly into you.” Henry Knightly’s head came into view. He leaned against the card table. I looked to my right where two girls suddenly appeared, watching something on an iPad. To my left was a line of five or six guys wearing nothing but towels around their waists. I was pretty much trapped in place for the time being. Eavesdropping by default.

“Convenient that she lives across the street,” Knightly continued.

I grinned when I realized they were talking about Julia. It wasn’t surprising, but it made me happy that Dart was already smitten.

“What about you?” Dart said. “You’ve met a dozen women tonight and you’re ready to bolt.”

Knightly shook his head. “No one I care to see again.”

Guy-talk was so uninteresting. At least I could report back to Julia that she had a fan in Dart.

Curving myself into a crouched position, I balanced on the balls of my feet, hands gripping my knees, ready to hobble away.

“No one?” Dart said, sounding surprised. “What about Julia’s roommate?”

I froze, staring down at the sidewalk.

“What about her?”

Still concealed behind the card table, I turned to peek in their direction. The sliver of Dart’s face that I could see was grinning. “I don’t have to tell you this, but dude, she’s hot.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Despite my mindset of brains over beauty, it was nice to be thought of as hot. I approved of this Dart guy more and more.

“I don’t remember meeting anyone hot,” Knightly said.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to be insulted.

Dart chuckled good-naturedly. “Whatever, man.”

“If you’re talking about the blond,” Knightly said, crossing his arms, “she’s not my type.”

Lucky me. My legs wobbled, straining from holding a tight crouch.

“The gorgeous type?” Dart asked. “She seems fun and damn smart. You’re saying that’s not your type?”

“Someone like her is not anyone’s type.” Knightly pulled out his phone. “Obviously.”

My mouth fell open.

“I think she’s studying biology,” Dart said. “You’d like—”

“She’s a tree-hugging feminist.”

Wow. How very unoriginal. The comment barely fazed me. Over the past year, I’d been called much worse than the antiquated “tree-hugger.” Coming from someone like Henry Knightly, the slur was practically a compliment. Sure, it was a little weird squatting there, listening to a stranger pick me apart, but nothing he said should matter.

“Your sister gave me an earful the other night,” Knightly said. He stared down at his phone, so I couldn’t hear very clearly, but I swore I heard the words “liberal” and “attention,” maybe even “phony.”

I ground my teeth. What had Lilah been saying to him? And what poison was this guy passing around?

Dart shrugged and took a drink. “Her hair is wicked cool. Those braids.”

Knightly muttered something about ridiculous and dirt, ending with “snakes.”

Oh, no, he didn’t. Say what you will about my politics, but leave my hair out of it.

“Hopeless,” Dart said. As he turned in the direction of the crowd, his expression brightened. “Here comes Julia. I gotta go. Sure you won’t stay?”

“I’m leaving now. See you tomorrow.”

I watched as Dart tossed his can in the trash, attempted to smooth down his unruly hair, then disappeared.

Leaving Knightly standing alone.

He leaned back against the card table, making it wobble. He probably was oblivious to the card game he was disturbing. He was definitely oblivious to the girl five feet away whom he’d managed to insult from head to toe in two minutes flat.

I couldn’t stop myself from replaying his words, his harsh, ugly words. The more they ran through my head, the angrier and more irrational I grew. Phony? Snakes? How dare he? He’s the one who drove a damn Viper.

My lungs started to squeeze, and each breath I pulled in was heavier and faster. My legs really shook now, cutting off circulation to my feet.

Almost out of obligation, I stood.

When he saw me, Henry Knightly’s expression barely changed. There was a hint of mild surprise in his eyes, but otherwise, he seemed unfazed.

A more fainthearted person would have walked away and made a beeline for the nearest keg. But I never cowered from a challenge. As I wove around the tables, nearing him, Knightly pulled his hands from his pockets and took a step back, giving me a wide berth.

“Snakes,” I said, when I was close enough that I knew he could hear.

He tilted his head like he was listening to a child. “Pardon?”

“Just so you know, referring to someone who loves the planet as a tree-hugger is just about the lamest thing I’ve ever heard. This isn’t nineteen-eighty.”

“Loves the planet,” he repeated slowly.

“That’s correct,” I said. “And I’m so sorry you haven’t met anyone hot. Especially someone who isn’t a phony, right?” When he didn’t speak, I shook my head in dismissal and turned away, spotting Mel heading in my direction. “And here’s a piece of advice,” I threw in as I started backing up, “be careful whose opinion you trust.”

“Springer, I have to tell you—”

“Shhh,” I hissed, looping my arm through Mel’s and leading her away from the scene. By the time we reached the bar, I’d told her everything.

“So, to recap,” she said, grabbing a Diet Coke from a tub, “the guy thinks your braids are repulsive.”

“He called them snakes,” I confirmed and took a sip from her can.

“And you care because…?”

“I don’t.” I stroked one of my precious blond ropes between my fingers. “The guy’s toxic, just like Lilah. They’re a perfect couple. You should’ve seen him, standing there with his arms crossed, pinned to his body like he was in a straightjacket. Probably afraid to touch anything that wasn’t properly sterilized.”

I kicked an empty plastic cup that bounced my way.

“He doesn’t know the first thing about my life. Him calling me a phony while he stands in a corner and doesn’t speak to anyone. That’s rich.”

I looked at Mel, who was being uncharacteristically unopinionated.

“Mel?” I said over someone talking into a mic. “Don’t you have anything to add—?” I cut myself off as a new thought occurred to me. “Wait, you don’t agree with him, do you?”

Her gaze darted around, down at her nails, up at a stop sign, everywhere but at me. When she finally settled on me, a sad, empathetic smile curved her mouth. “Okay, fine.” She took in a deep inhale. “That was quite the transformation last year, Springer. You have to admit that.”

I opened my mouth but didn’t speak.

“It’s like, one day you’re hanging out with your friends like any normal chick, wearing a skirt, pink tank top, and strappy sandals, and the next day you’re off meat, you’ve got those things in your hair, and you’re picketing City Hall to save some endangered mountainous tribe in Costa Rica that no one’s ever heard of.”

“I heard of them,” I defended. “And I…I still wear skirts.”

“Change is good,” she continued. “And obviously college is the place to do it. You know me, I love your feminist passion and your adorable cynicism…” Her voice went singsong. “And your protests, your sit-ins, the occasional liberal rants—”

“Got it, Mel,” I snapped, rubbing my arms.

Mel and I had been best friends since we were ten. She was supposed to be the one person who loved me no matter what crazy things I did. I’d never been able to talk to my mother about my life—she was way too flaky, “emotionally stunted” as our family shrink called it. And my father, he’d never been around for me to rely on.

Mel knew my reasons—she knew I’d been struggling like hell to stand out last year, to really make a difference and get noticed. True, maybe some of my decisions brought the wrong kind of attention, but still, it made me a little nauseous to think that even Mel considered me some kind of joke. A phony, to echo Henry Knightly.

Angry tears pressed against my eyes, right there in the middle of the party. I clenched my stomach muscles, chomped down on the inside of my cheeks, and looked away. Right after my father left when I was ten, I used to cry a lot. I never cried anymore—didn’t solve anything.

“It’s just”—Mel sucked in her lips—“you can come off a little…abrasive.” She took a step backward, deliberately, comically, as if she were afraid I would retaliate with a karate chop.

“Hilarious,” I mumbled.

“Just remember, not everybody gets you like I do.”

“I know.”

She put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay, babe?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “You are the coolest person I know, Spring Honeycutt. Do you realize that? And that’s saying a hell of a lot, because I myself am exceptionally cool.” She squeezed my arm. “Never, ever allow anyone to make you feel badly about your decisions, okay?” Her smile twisted. “Not even a ho-bag like me.”

“Ho-bag.” I knocked her shoulder. “And I won’t,” I promised, my voice hitching with emotion.

It was rare for Mel and me to wax sentimental with each other these days. My cynicism had become a barrier, the protective shield I wore, even around my closest friends. Sometimes I regretted that. Few were the times when that shield slipped and I allowed myself to be vulnerable with anybody.

“The dude’s a jackwad,” Mel said, facing the crowd.

I exhaled a cathartic snicker. “This is true.”

“Oh my.” There was a smile in her voice. “But he’s a jackwad who is totally checking you out. Jeez, though—he is gorgeous.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jackwad.”

“Hope you’re not talking about me.”

I whipped around. “Alex, hey.”

“Hey yourself,” he said. Somehow, he was even cuter than an hour ago. Or maybe I was comparing his pleasant expression when he talked to me with Knightly’s sour looks and ardent distaste of all things Spring Honeycutt related.

“This is a great song,” Alex said, pointing disco fingers in the air. “I simply must dance with you.” He held a hand out, gallantly. “Please don’t make me go out there alone. I have a sinking feeling I’ll make a super-ass of myself if you’re not with me.”

“Okaa—” Before I completed the word, Alex whooped, grabbed me around the waist, and pulled me to the dance floor in a whirlwind.

“Can you ballroom?” he asked after we found space between two gyrating couples.

“I don’t think so,” I answered, feeling breathless and giggly.

“I’ll teach you.” He picked up my left hand and rested it on the front of his shoulder. After taking my other hand in his, his free hand moved to my waist, then slid lower to curve around my hip. I gasped in surprise when he pulled me close. “Follow me.”

He took a step forward, causing me to step back.

“Excellent,” he said. I laughed awkwardly and gripped him tighter, enjoying the feel of his hard shoulder muscle under my hand, the aftershave, the lazy blue eyes as he box-stepped us in a circle. Right after he twirled me under his arm, he pulled me close, his other hand sliding to my hip.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping low. We were so close now that I could feel his breath on my neck.

“So?” I replied.

“So…” He turned his head to the side. “How well do you know him?”

I followed his eyes, then blinked in surprise when I realized he was peering at Henry Knightly.