“How can I?” he questions. His brown eyes are peering into my soul, and for the fifth time in the last hour, I have to remind myself that I have a date tonight. A date that isnotwith Jason.
“I’m a very trustworthy person,” I say.
“Guess you’ll have to prove it to me,” Jason quips.
“You’re on.” Heart fluttering, I try to steady myself. I need to get control of my crush. He’s four years older, and a senior here at the university. Maybe that’s why I’m going on a date tonight, to remind myself of that fact.
The first day of classes last fall, Jason snuck into class ten minutes late. For some reason, he flopped down in the chair next to mine, and acted like it was no big deal he wascasually late to the first day of classes. He had an air about him, something that screamed, “I’m a seasoned student.” All his notebooks and binders were used. Not the fresh, unwrinkled ones everyone else in class seemed to have.
At the end of the first mind-numbingly boring lecture, he leaned over, offering me a hand to shake. Since that moment, we had slowly become friends, all leading up to now. Halfway through spring semester, we meet every Wednesday afternoon in the library to study, work on homework together, or commiserate about Professor Adams. After studying, we usually end up talking for hours. We don’t have as many classes together as we did last semester, but we still meet every week.
We’re both business majors, and surprisingly have a lot in common.Both of us are here on scholarships. He got a full ride through baseball, and I got many academic ones. That’s the only way either of us could afford to be here.
Jason wants to open his own business. He’s not sure what yet, but he’s got a lot of ideas. His Grandpa also runs his own woodworking business that his brother plans to take over, so he wants to be able to help him too.
He’s told me all about his siblings and parents. As an only child, I always get a little jealous when he tells me about his brothers’ latest antics, but then again, I have my mom, and I’m thankful I have her, that I have the relationship I do with her. I also am glad I didn’t have to watch a sibling go through the pain of losing my dad.
“How’s the dear old roomie?” Jason asks, pulling me from my straying thoughts.
I sigh in contempt. “It’s… fine,” I finally say.
“It sucks you have to live on campus your first year,” he says, pulling off his baseball cap andrunning his hands through his hair. Instead of putting it back on normally, he puts it on so the bill is backward.
Who allowed men to do that? Don’t they know what a backwards baseball cap does to women?
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Not like I know who I’d live with though.” We’re part way through the spring semester, I’ve made one friend, Jason. My roommate, Shiloh, is only interested in going to frat and sorority parties. Her long-term goal is to move into a sorority house, so she has no interest in forging a friendship with me.
“I wish Marley were here, I bet you’d be great friends with her.” Jason leans back, resting his hands behind his head. He’s been training nearly non-stop, and the baseball season doesn’t start for a few more weeks. His arms are thick with muscle, pectorals taut and strong. I look away, remembering what he said.
“Who is Marley?” I ask. I try to keep the accusation from my tone, but I can tell I didn’t do a good job of it when he smirks.
“Marley,” he says with a small laugh, “is my brother’s best friend. Though, she’s practically my sister. And if either of them get their head out of their asses, maybe someday she will be my sister.”
“Oh,” I reply. “Cool?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “She’s great though. I think you would get along well with her.”
I nod, twirling my pencil in my finger. The sun is setting, but it’s winter, so it gets dark early. I take a look at the clock across the room and groan.
I don’t know why I agreed to this date tonight. I’d much rather hang with Jason, but maybe I shouldn’t want to. I should let him enjoy his senior year of college without some freshman hanging on his arm, desperate for his attention. Heshould be out with his friends, partying, or whatever it is seniors do.
“I don’t know what I’ll do next year,” I say, bringing the conversation back around. “Usually people end up rooming with friends their sophomore year, and since I don’t have any of them, I’m screwed.”
Jason grimaces. “Well, I’d offer up my place, but…” he trails off.
I laugh. “Yeah, sorry, but not sure I’d want to live in your shared house, even if you weren’t graduating in the spring. Rooming with four guys? Sounds… yucky.”
“Hey,” Jason protests. “I will have you know that we are very clean boys. Men. We are cleanmen. We have a chore wheel, and we get beer for each task we complete.”
“I… I’m not surprised whatsoever.” I laugh. “A chore wheel with beer as a reward? Yeah, definitely sounds like the place to be,” I say, sarcasm lacing my words.
“Is it weird I wish I wasn’t graduating this year?”
“Why?” I blink at the rapid change in subject.
Jason shrugs, looking up at the ceiling. He doesn’t respond.
I pause, wanting to give him a moment. When we near a full minute passing, and he hasn’t said anything, I speak. “Jason. Why don’t you want to graduate?”
