Prologue
VAN
Fall, Freshman Year
I flop back on my tiny-ass dorm-issued bed. “I’m in fucking love.”
Santos laughs from his side of the room. “You’re fucking drunk is what you are.”
“Yeah,” I admit, “but also in love. This girl, she’s perfect.”
My teammate laughs again. “So you’ve said like fifty times since you stumbled in the door five minutes ago. But you don’t remember her name?”
I shake my head, but that just makes the room spin. And since it’s dark, Santos can’t see me anyway. “I do remember it. I just don’t remember itright now. Once the room stops spinning, I will totally remember it. Like, almost definitely.”
“Ok, man, whatever you say.”
“I’m serious. She’s the girl I’m gonna marry. I’m gonna baby her up and love her and commit and shit.”
Santos is doubtful. “Yeah, I mean, if you find her again, and you phrase it like that, how could you lose?”
I can tell he’s making fun of me, and I get it. I’m being a total sap right now, which is ridiculous. I’m a fucking freshman in college. I’m a starter on the hockey team. I’m not trying to sound like a dick, but I could go back to frat row right now and find a hookup if I wanted to, even at three in the morning. But I don’t want that. I want…the girl whose name I don’t remember. The girl with the purple glasses and the long brown hair and teeny tank top with roses on it. The girl who sat on her bed and talked to me for an hour while one of my teammates scored with her neighbor down the hall. The girl who heated up my Toasty Pocket in her microwave. The girl whose closet was filled with books instead of clothes. The girl who’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny.
“So, what’s your plan for finding your dream girl again?”
“Still working on that,” I mutter. “I could put up posters? But that might be creepy.”
“Definitely creepy,” my roommate agrees. “What does she look like? Any distinguishing features? Like blue hair or prominent tattoos, by chance?”
“Nope…she’s um…shorter than me. Like, a lot. And her hair is brown.”
“Christ,” Santos mumbles. “So we’re looking for a brown-haired girl who’s well under six foot two? Yeah, piece of cake.”
I snap my fingers. Well, I just sort of mush them together. “One more thing! She has glasses.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Yeah?” I ask hopefully, wondering if maybe Pete Santos has seen my dream girl, too.
“Nope. That was me making fun of you. You really can’t think of anything else, Van?”
“I can, but…it’s not helping. She looks like this one movie star. From that one movie. I just can’t think of the name.”
“Of the movie star or the movie?” Santos asks.
“Both. My cousin Ivy loved it when we were kids. She used to make me watch it over and over. And dream girl looks just like the girl from the movie. Except she wasn’t wearing a blue dress, she was wearing a little tank top and shorts.”
“But the girl in the movie wore a blue dress?”
“Yep.”
“Let me guess, Cinderella?”
I roll my eyes. “No, genius, she’s a blonde. Jesus. My girl looks like the other one.”
“The other one? The evil stepmother?” His voice ratchets up a notch.
“No, the pretty one with the brown hair and the blue dress and the books and the clock.”
