the bar down the street. I might even get a chance to work on my study schedule for the fall semester of senior year. The one that started Monday.
A few dozen faces, some familiar and some not, greeted me as I descended the stairs to the open-concept living and dining area that took up most of the first floor. The town house we shared was just off campus of our state college in San Diego. A newer model, it had hardwood, granite and stainless steel, and didn’t reek of pot. The last reason alone made it a big step up from the typical local student digs.
“Happy birthday, Lex!” I was hit with waves of smiles and hugs, some wanted and some tolerated. Though it was nice to see familiar faces, the dull ache in my chest and the occasional sympathetic glance reminded me that many were mutual friends of Jake’s and mine. I’d gotten Ava and our roommates in the breakup at the start of the summer. It wasn’t clear where the others fell.
A couple of guys I knew from class were sending me glances of a different kind. I pointedly ignored them, made small talk with everyone I knew, and tried not to think about how many fire code violations we were committing.
The compulsive part of my brain started to kick into overdrive. At one point I had to force myself to stop counting the number of people with my peripheral vision. We weren’t equipped for this much party.
As I glanced across the room I spotted Jake Marsden. Shit . Every muscle in my body tightened. He was laughing with a circle of guys and girls. This was the danger of having common friends. Ava wouldn’t have invited him, but Jake showing up probably couldn’t have been avoided. This may have started as a birthday party, but I’m pretty sure it was advertised as “little-b” birthday and “big-p” Party.
It was the first I’d seen him in three months and I had to admit Jake looked good. His short, dirty-blond hair still suited him perfectly—the topping on the rest of his great body, earned from playing football at a school that worshipped sports and expected a lot from its heroes. He was several inches taller than my five-five and towered over most of the partygoers who weren’t varsity athletes.
Jake and I started dating four years ago in senior year of high school. Jake was that “first crush” guy: the one that makes your head spin and all the other girls send jealous looks because he smiled at you . Jake had transferred from another school and instantly fit in. We’d been close ever since, even through junior year of college when I’d been taking business and he’d gone into pre-med. He’d even seemed supportive of my dream to start my own label. We never fought. In a way he was the perfect boyfriend: doting without being overbearing.
In May I’d won a coveted summer internship in New York with the advertising and accounts group of a major lifestyle magazine. I could still remember Jake’s voice down the line when I’d called to tell him. That’s great, Lex. The pause, then, Listen … you going to New York is a good thing. I’ve been thinking lately that we’re going in different directions, you know?
That was the problem. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d declared that he was actually gay and had decided to run away to become a backup dancer for Lady Gaga. I didn’t like surprises. Especially ones like that.
Sure, his dad’s practice was in LA and I would more than likely move to New York when school was done. But that didn’t absolve him of anything. Bottom line: Jake Marsden’s face should appear in the Guinness Book of World Records next to Worst Phone Breakup in History.
Part of me never quite understood why he’d picked me in the first place. Jake could have had any girl in school. I always had lots of friends but was never the center of attention. I was a little too quiet, too studious, too repressed to be an “it” girl. But we’d met at a beach party at the beginning of senior year and
A few dozen faces, some familiar and some not, greeted me as I descended the stairs to the open-concept living and dining area that took up most of the first floor. The town house we shared was just off campus of our state college in San Diego. A newer model, it had hardwood, granite and stainless steel, and didn’t reek of pot. The last reason alone made it a big step up from the typical local student digs.
“Happy birthday, Lex!” I was hit with waves of smiles and hugs, some wanted and some tolerated. Though it was nice to see familiar faces, the dull ache in my chest and the occasional sympathetic glance reminded me that many were mutual friends of Jake’s and mine. I’d gotten Ava and our roommates in the breakup at the start of the summer. It wasn’t clear where the others fell.
A couple of guys I knew from class were sending me glances of a different kind. I pointedly ignored them, made small talk with everyone I knew, and tried not to think about how many fire code violations we were committing.
The compulsive part of my brain started to kick into overdrive. At one point I had to force myself to stop counting the number of people with my peripheral vision. We weren’t equipped for this much party.
As I glanced across the room I spotted Jake Marsden. Shit . Every muscle in my body tightened. He was laughing with a circle of guys and girls. This was the danger of having common friends. Ava wouldn’t have invited him, but Jake showing up probably couldn’t have been avoided. This may have started as a birthday party, but I’m pretty sure it was advertised as “little-b” birthday and “big-p” Party.
It was the first I’d seen him in three months and I had to admit Jake looked good. His short, dirty-blond hair still suited him perfectly—the topping on the rest of his great body, earned from playing football at a school that worshipped sports and expected a lot from its heroes. He was several inches taller than my five-five and towered over most of the partygoers who weren’t varsity athletes.
Jake and I started dating four years ago in senior year of high school. Jake was that “first crush” guy: the one that makes your head spin and all the other girls send jealous looks because he smiled at you . Jake had transferred from another school and instantly fit in. We’d been close ever since, even through junior year of college when I’d been taking business and he’d gone into pre-med. He’d even seemed supportive of my dream to start my own label. We never fought. In a way he was the perfect boyfriend: doting without being overbearing.
In May I’d won a coveted summer internship in New York with the advertising and accounts group of a major lifestyle magazine. I could still remember Jake’s voice down the line when I’d called to tell him. That’s great, Lex. The pause, then, Listen … you going to New York is a good thing. I’ve been thinking lately that we’re going in different directions, you know?
That was the problem. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d declared that he was actually gay and had decided to run away to become a backup dancer for Lady Gaga. I didn’t like surprises. Especially ones like that.
Sure, his dad’s practice was in LA and I would more than likely move to New York when school was done. But that didn’t absolve him of anything. Bottom line: Jake Marsden’s face should appear in the Guinness Book of World Records next to Worst Phone Breakup in History.
Part of me never quite understood why he’d picked me in the first place. Jake could have had any girl in school. I always had lots of friends but was never the center of attention. I was a little too quiet, too studious, too repressed to be an “it” girl. But we’d met at a beach party at the beginning of senior year and
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