recognizable representation of the efforts and goals of the organization itself.
I used to think of two people in love like that. Like puzzle pieces, fitting together. But it’s not like that at all. Love pulls a part of you out, and it pulls a part of him – like taffy, stretching but not separating. The tendrils of each one wrap around the other, until they meld together. One, but not quite. Separate, but not quite. Like my parents.
And then there are those like Colin and me. He never shared a shred of himself, but I didn’t know it. I’d embedded myself into him because he wanted me to, and thought he did the same. But when he broke free, he ripped a part of me away. He retreated, unaltered, and I came apart, fractured and incomplete.
What Reid and I have, right now, is enough. I love him, and he loves me in a way Colin never did, but that’s no guarantee of forever. I don’t know when it will end, only that it will, and I want to protect us both. I can’t let myself become a part of him, and I can’t let him become part of me. So I won’t whisper the words to him, even if they’re true.
Shayma is tossing a change of clothes and her toiletries into her backpack. She’s spending the night with a friend, and leaving the room to me – and my boyfriend.
‘Are you sure it’s okay? You’re sure you don’t mind? We can go to a hotel –’
She shakes her head and laughs. ‘Will you stop? If I say I’m good – I’m good. Hotels are expensive.’
‘Uh …’
‘One tiny stipulation, though.’
‘Yeah?’ I say, distractedly glancing around the room. I can’t imagine Reid here. Our low-cost dorm room, the size of his closet, looks like a set of a movie in which he stars as an average, albeit very beautiful college guy – not somewhere he’d deign to spend the night.
‘I need to meet him.
Wait
. Two stipulations. Second stipulation: not on my bed,
mmkay
?’
My face goes sunburn-hot and my mouth falls open. ‘I – I would never –’
‘Wow.’ Her brows shoot up. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen somebody blush that hard. You’re like …
maroon
.’
I hide my blazing face behind my hands, mortified.
‘So he’s driving from LA? Flying?’ She plops on to her bed, four feet across from me.
‘Flying.’
‘And you don’t need help picking him up, since you don’t have a car?’
‘No. I’m meeting him at the Starbucks. He’s going to … get a car from the airport.’
Her head angles. ‘Get a car … Like a rental? Like a taxi?’
I shrug. Shayma is one of the most low-key girls I’ve ever met. This level of curiosity from her is as weird as if the stuffed Cal-cap-wearing Golden Bear Deb bought for me two years ago – now sitting on my overcrowded desk shelf – suddenly struck up a conversation. I take a deep breath. If Shayma is going to meet Reid tonight, she might as well know it ahead of time.
‘Not exactly … more like the kind of car driven by a chauffeur.’
One eyebrow quirks up and her chin shrinks back. ‘A who? A what? Girl, you’ve got a man with
money
? No wonder you can afford to be a social welfare major.’
Shayma is studying international business, and plans to head for London or Hong Kong for graduate school.
I frown.
‘So he’s what – trust-funded? Or old? Oh shit – he’s from LA – is he Hollywood?’
My eyes widen. ‘Are you psychic, Shayma?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You know I don’t believe in that crap. The only things that don’t lie in this world are numbers. My mawmaw thinks she’s a seer. Daddy says she’s always claimed to have second sight, but ever since I was a little child – when she predicted Kelly Clarkson winning the first
American Idol
– she’s sworn she’s a bona fide clairvoyant.’
We laugh, and then I take a deep breath. ‘So. My boyfriend. He’s …’ another breath, ‘Reid Alexander.’
She stares, blinks once and shakes her head a little, like she’s trying to clear water from her
I used to think of two people in love like that. Like puzzle pieces, fitting together. But it’s not like that at all. Love pulls a part of you out, and it pulls a part of him – like taffy, stretching but not separating. The tendrils of each one wrap around the other, until they meld together. One, but not quite. Separate, but not quite. Like my parents.
And then there are those like Colin and me. He never shared a shred of himself, but I didn’t know it. I’d embedded myself into him because he wanted me to, and thought he did the same. But when he broke free, he ripped a part of me away. He retreated, unaltered, and I came apart, fractured and incomplete.
What Reid and I have, right now, is enough. I love him, and he loves me in a way Colin never did, but that’s no guarantee of forever. I don’t know when it will end, only that it will, and I want to protect us both. I can’t let myself become a part of him, and I can’t let him become part of me. So I won’t whisper the words to him, even if they’re true.
Shayma is tossing a change of clothes and her toiletries into her backpack. She’s spending the night with a friend, and leaving the room to me – and my boyfriend.
‘Are you sure it’s okay? You’re sure you don’t mind? We can go to a hotel –’
She shakes her head and laughs. ‘Will you stop? If I say I’m good – I’m good. Hotels are expensive.’
‘Uh …’
‘One tiny stipulation, though.’
‘Yeah?’ I say, distractedly glancing around the room. I can’t imagine Reid here. Our low-cost dorm room, the size of his closet, looks like a set of a movie in which he stars as an average, albeit very beautiful college guy – not somewhere he’d deign to spend the night.
‘I need to meet him.
Wait
. Two stipulations. Second stipulation: not on my bed,
mmkay
?’
My face goes sunburn-hot and my mouth falls open. ‘I – I would never –’
‘Wow.’ Her brows shoot up. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen somebody blush that hard. You’re like …
maroon
.’
I hide my blazing face behind my hands, mortified.
‘So he’s driving from LA? Flying?’ She plops on to her bed, four feet across from me.
‘Flying.’
‘And you don’t need help picking him up, since you don’t have a car?’
‘No. I’m meeting him at the Starbucks. He’s going to … get a car from the airport.’
Her head angles. ‘Get a car … Like a rental? Like a taxi?’
I shrug. Shayma is one of the most low-key girls I’ve ever met. This level of curiosity from her is as weird as if the stuffed Cal-cap-wearing Golden Bear Deb bought for me two years ago – now sitting on my overcrowded desk shelf – suddenly struck up a conversation. I take a deep breath. If Shayma is going to meet Reid tonight, she might as well know it ahead of time.
‘Not exactly … more like the kind of car driven by a chauffeur.’
One eyebrow quirks up and her chin shrinks back. ‘A who? A what? Girl, you’ve got a man with
money
? No wonder you can afford to be a social welfare major.’
Shayma is studying international business, and plans to head for London or Hong Kong for graduate school.
I frown.
‘So he’s what – trust-funded? Or old? Oh shit – he’s from LA – is he Hollywood?’
My eyes widen. ‘Are you psychic, Shayma?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You know I don’t believe in that crap. The only things that don’t lie in this world are numbers. My mawmaw thinks she’s a seer. Daddy says she’s always claimed to have second sight, but ever since I was a little child – when she predicted Kelly Clarkson winning the first
American Idol
– she’s sworn she’s a bona fide clairvoyant.’
We laugh, and then I take a deep breath. ‘So. My boyfriend. He’s …’ another breath, ‘Reid Alexander.’
She stares, blinks once and shakes her head a little, like she’s trying to clear water from her
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