Faith.
I can’t believe I fell on my ass! Stupid. Careless. Skateboarder. What a small blessing the quad wasn’t filled with a bunch of people ready to capture that mortifying moment on KickBack. I need to stop obsessing over minor things and pay attention to what matters. Like the gorgeous butt of the guy climbing the steps to the building ahead of me.
Please God, let him have missed the spectacle.
The door shuts before I reach it. Typical. I’m invisible to guys like him. His gaze meets mine through the glass, and I shake my head at the lack of common courtesy. And it hits me—much like a Frisbee to the head. The jock who whapped my noggin with a flying disc is the hottie football player all the girls in calculus lust after. I never saw his face in class. Just his bod. Subjected to the never-ending whispers of the girls who sit in the rows ahead of mine, I should have realized it’s the same dude.
I bend to grab the handle, and my backpack swings off my shoulder and down to the concrete. Crap. My water bottle springs free, and I chase it down before it bounces into the bushes.
I’m having a colossally bad day. I gather what’s left of my dignity, step through the building entrance, and head toward class when the door to the auditorium opens. The jock smiles at me. Full wattage. I blink at the change in his expression. Still hot, adding a dash of boyish charm. Bad combination. Danger. Move along, Faith. Nothing but trouble with this one.
I’m about to pass him, but he steps in front of me. “Hi, Caleb St. John. I’m the jerk who nailed you…” He pauses. “I mean…hit you…with a Frisbee. I’ve been on the lookout for you to apologize, but I didn’t see you again until that boarder knocked into you. Are you okay?”
Dammit. I close my eyes to absorb the embarrassment then open them and glance down at his outstretched hand. Back up at his face. St. John—Sinjin as the Brits would pronounce his name. Apt for this cheeky bloke who reeks of sin, with his magnetism dialed to devastate.
“Listen up, Sinjin. I made a vow to stay away from anyone capable of having an erection. Adjust your game plan and move on to the next girl on your to-do list.”
His grin goes wide.
Something deep inside me clenches.
“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You’d talk to me if I told you my equipment is nonoperational?”
“No.” I pat his shoulder, which shouldn’t feel like granite, but it does. “Better not let your fan base hear about your faulty equipment or your to-do list will run dry.”
I brush by him, gaze averted, and climb to the last row, corner seat. My face burns. I can’t believe I opened my mouth and those words erupted. They’re now on a continuous loop in my brain. My mouth opened before my filter engaged. Charlene must be rubbing off on me. He’s the equivalent of human dessert, a guilty pleasure. He’d be tasty, but chock full of unnecessary calories and carcinogens. Besides, I gave up men.
Most girls would line up for a chance to risk their reputation with a guy like Sinjin. Right. I risked mine once and lost it spectacularly. Fellating Faith, the blow job princess is gone. No more fraternizing with guys who pretend to want you but don’t want anything from you beyond their next orgasm.
I glance across the room and make eye contact with Sinjin. He draws a number in the air like he’s adding points to an imaginary scoreboard, and mouths, “Game on.”
I almost crash into Raja in my dorm hallway. “Dammit. I’m going to make you wear a bell.”
“Sweetie, I’ll wear anything you ask.” He smiles wickedly.
I’m now familiar with his tricks and hit his elbow. “Shut up. You’re all talk.”
“When this year is over and I’m no longer your R.A., we can live together in sin.” He directs a dreamy-eyed look my way.
He doesn’t mean it. He flirts outrageously with all the girls. I’m learning how to flirt back. It’s harmless and fun. “Marriage or nothing, Raja. Sin is overrated.”
“Not the way I do it.”
I fan myself.
He barks out a laugh.
Our verbal sparring has become the high point of my dorm life. I open the door and find Charlene going through my desk. And I’m slapped in the face with my absolute low point.
“Is there something you need?” I ask.
Charlene spins around. “Uh. I was looking for an eraser.”
I glance at her desk. No notepad or pencil, nothing indicating she wasn’t using her laptop, which is open on her bed. “Wow, I didn’t realize those work on computers.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“You can’t know what I think.”
She shrugs her shoulder. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
Invading my privacy is meaningless? “Do you have any idea how this makes me feel? This is my home. I live with someone who holds no boundary sacred.”
“I looked in your drawer. I didn’t steal anything. You’re making this into a big deal. It’s not. I wanted to understand you.”
Such bullshit. “If you want to get to know me, have a real conversation with me. Don’t go behind my back and search my stuff for answers.”
The door slams behind her. Fine. We spend as little time with each other as possible anyway. Last weekend I avoided Charlene and the unsanitary communal bathrooms—which turn into the pit of hell by the end of the week—by hanging out with Dad at his condo.
I answer Kirsty’s Skype call on my laptop. Before I say hello, she’s already questioning me. “What’s wrong?”
No lead-in from my fair friend. As Nonno was fond of saying, she cuts to the chase quicker than a loose dog on a mail carrier. I take a breath. “Charlene is not you.”
“Obviously. Be more specific.”
“I walked into our room and caught her going through my desk.”
“Shut up.” She squints at me. “You’re serious.”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She pauses. “We need a good revenge idea for this one. I’ll get back to you with the plan.”
Instantly I feel better. Our solidarity calms me. “It has to be legendary, even though I probably won’t follow through.”
“Fine. Let’s move on. Which club did you join, pray tell?”
“I joined The Kink Sync.”
“What? No. You didn’t—”
I love this. This is our normal, which means I have to pull one over on her. “Yes, I did. Part of our mission is to provide a safe environment for individuals who are interested in exploring alternative lifestyles.”
Her mouth drops open. “Oh my God. Really, Faith?”
“Don’t judge,” I say straight-faced. “They’re good people who promote discussion on how to practice kink with other students who share the same ethos.”
“You’re kidding me.” She kind of wails a bit at the end.
I laugh. “Had you there for a minute.”
“Got me.”
I miss Kirsty. Skype isn’t the same as living in the same town, and my ever-present worry that the distance will create a wedge between us stabs my heart. “I considered the Wizarding League of Gladiators.”
“What, Quidditch?”
I nod. “Mmhmm, but I can’t see myself riding a broom without making a complete ass of myself. So, I’m checking out QUAC.”
“What, like ducks?” she blurts.
“No.” I snort. “It stands for Queers Uniting Against Contempt.”
Her face clears. “An LGBTQIA+ alliance?”
I smile. “Yes, I’m going to join them tonight on a field trip to Teen Space for their open house.”
“Excellent.”
“Meet anyone interesting at school?” I ask.
“Not yet. Newsflash. Markos got his license suspended for reckless driving.”
My heart stutters in my chest. Asshole number two. “And Dimitri?”
Someone yells outside my room, so I don’t hear clearly when Kirsty says, “Carmen got him.”
A new girlfriend? My throat burns. It’s hateful of me, but I don’t want him to be happy. “Who’s Carmen?”
Kirsty laughs. “No. Not Carmen, karma. As in fate. He tore his Achilles during his first game. Alice said she heard it pop over the sound of the crowd at Burris Stadium. Out for the season.”
I love karma. Then guilt hits, and the PB&J sandwich I ate thirty minutes ago bounces like a ball in my stomach. Be careful what you wish for. True statement. I mean he’s asshole number one, but I wouldn’t have wished him physical harm. I’m almost positive.
Kirsty asks, “What else is happening besides the ongoing war with your boundary-averse roomie?”
“I made a complete ass of myself with the hottie from calculus.”
She leans toward the camera. “Wait. Who?”
“I’ll tell you, my pint-sized friend…” I recount what happened with Sinjin earlier, repeating my embarrassing comment about erections. Kirsty laughs until tears track down her cheeks.
“Nothing stiff. Stick with the plan.”
I use the Rides app to request a lift to the open house. My palms are sweaty, and hiccups make my breath hitch. Nerves much? I inhale slowly while wiping my hands on my pants. Anonymity protects me like a security blanket. There’s comfort in blending in. I find my shoulders are more relaxed. Tension eases from my neck each day I walk the campus without being heckled. No one calls me Fat Faith or worse. With the exception of my ongoing passive-aggressive roommate battles, I’m enjoying college.
I am one girl in a crowd. I’m taking a step today that may lead to making connections with people at school. Part of me wants to wallow in the quiet, to go to class without conversation or distraction. I hate to admit it, but I’m lonely. If Kirsty were here, I’d be in heaven. But she’s not.
Getting involved now with LGBTQIA+ at-risk kids is an important step toward my career. It’s a good fit because I know what it’s like to be a target and called out for being different. The bully factor is relatable to me.
I take a deep breath and walk inside. I sign in and find the QUAC in charge of this event, introduce myself then step aside when someone else needs his attention. The front room appears to be one large living room. Blue walls soothe while several gray couches offer comfortable seating. There’s a long table against the wall with single-use coffee brewing machines and snacks. I find a staff member.
“Hey, can you direct me to the person on staff who accepts donations?”
“Well, hello, that would be me.” She extends her hand to me. “I’m Celine Boyd, I’m one of the directors and grant writer extraordinaire. Who are you?”
“My name is Faith Lacerna. I’m a student at Fortis. I have a small donation. My only request is that you thank someone else for it.”
She smiles at me. “As long as theft isn’t involved, I’d be happy to thank the devil himself.”
“Ha. No. Not stolen.” I take a deep breath. This is the part I hate, explaining why it’s important Mom gets the acknowledgment. “I receive gifts, and don’t want them. I’m not on speaking terms with the gift-giver. I’m hoping one day she gets the hint.”
She leads me to a quiet corner. “Are you being stalked?”
Crap. Now I really have to explain. “No. It’s not like that. The gifts are from my estranged mother.”
She turns to face me. “Okay. I’ll switch gears. Do you need to talk to someone about your situation? The counselors on staff here are excellent. Private. They can help. Let me get you a card.”
The fact she cares warms my heart. This is what I want to do for others. I smile. “No. Really, I’m fine. Unlike most, I have an excellent support system. My dad is amazing.”
Her brow wrinkles. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I nod. “The contact information for the acknowledgment is inside along with the check. I hope it helps.”
“Thanks. Every penny counts.”
I step away from the director and into what’s referred to as the family room. My gaze lands on the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen. He’s across the room from me and a look-alike for Matthew Nickler, the gorgeous blond actor from the 'Life Underground' movie. We make eye contact and our gazes fuse.
It’s the oddest thing—I swear we’re two opposite magnet poles drawn together. Mr. Gorgeous walks up and says, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a dead ringer for Sophia Loren, circa late fifties?”
After a beat, I decide he’s not serious and almost fold in half from laughing. “Good one.” I manage to straighten and choke out, “What’s the punch line?”
He shakes his head. “No. Seriously. The film, 'Boy on a Dolphin.' I spent the summer studying some of the first movies filmed in CinemaScope. I swear I did a double take when you first walked in.”
Sweet guy with obvious eyesight issues. “You’re definitely the first.”
“Beau Waverly.” He squeezes my outstretched hand. “I write screenplays. Do some acting, among other things. You?”
Drop-dead gorgeous and charming. “Faith Lacerna. Student. Interested in social change. If you’re straight, I’m a goner.”
His lips curve. “Sorry. I’m attracted to men.”
“Whew. So am I, but I’ve sworn them off, probably forever. It’s probably for the best you’re not bi.”
He grins. “You’ll make me blush. Swearing off men? Now that’s a story.”
“Long. Boring. Another time?”
“Fine. We’ll bookmark it for now. But if I were attracted to girls, you’d be my first.”
“Aren’t you sweet? Does that mean in fifteen years, when I might be thinking about having a child, you’ll consider being my baby-daddy?”
He rubs his chin. “Do we have to have sex in order to make this baby?”
I shake my head. I don’t do naked. I want to seal this negotiation and move on to other important topics. “Nope.”
He grins at me. “Deal.”
A few hours later, we walk out of Teen Space. I turn to Beau. “I had fun tonight.” I raise my hand between us to shake his.
He pulls me in for a hug. “I might father your babies someday. Don’t you think we’re beyond a handshake?”
“True.” I hug him back and marvel at the fact that holding him isn’t awkward. “I need to request a Rides car.”
“No need. I drove.”
“No thanks.”
He raises his eyebrows at me.
I blow out a breath and come clean. “If I die tonight because you’re a serial killer, my dad will kill me.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll wait with you while you make arrangements for another stranger to drive you back to your dorm.”
Said that way, it makes me feel even more foolish. “You’re not helping. I’m trying to be a responsible adult here,” I tease while I send a text to Kirsty.
Getting in someone’s car I just met. His name is Beau Waverly. I’m sharing my location with you. If I don’t arrive in a half hour, you can have my laptop, and tell my dad I’m sorry for being stupid.
I tell Beau, “Give me a minute.”
“What are you up to?”
“Asking my best friend from back home to watch my location for the next thirty minutes.”
Beau pinches the bridge of his nose. “You really believe I’m a serial killer with plans to kidnap and drive you away in my white panel van to perform life-threatening atrocities?”
Kirsty replies to my text.
Do you have any idea what time it is here? If he doesn’t kill you I will! Be safe, dumbass.
“Why thank you, Beau. I’d love a ride home. You’re very kind to offer,” I say with exaggerated primness.
He chuckles. “I’m in the lot across the street.”
Beau steers me by the elbow through the parking lot. “Here’s my ride.”
He studies my reaction.
We’re standing in front of a white panel van. Hair on my forearms stands on end, and my heart skips a beat. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”