Roll out before I pour this glass of
ice water on you."
My eyes flew open to see that she indeed
had a glass of water poised to pour on me.
"Okay, okay! Don't," I gasped. Rihanna
got off my bed and stood back, watching to make sure I got up.
She might have been able to get me out of
bed, but nothing she did or said would make me give a graphic description of
the night I'd had with Justin. All I would say was 'amazing'. Finally,
frustrated, she gave up.
"So will you get an A in the
class?" she asked.
"Why does everyone assume I can't get
an A without sleeping with the professor?" I complained. "I was
already getting an A."
"Well, this cinches it, doesn't
it?"
"Whatever."
"When will you see him again?" Rihanna
continued to pry.
"Tomorrow morning, in class," I
said, smug with the knowledge that, while my answer was truthful, it wasn't
responsive. However, Justin hadn't said anything about next time. I assumed
he'd tell me at coffee in the morning.
The following morning, however, I sat in
the Student Union with my coffee, waiting for him in vain. Alicia came by and
asked if she could join me.
"Oh, hi Ali. Sure, why not?" I
said, brightening.
"Where's your boyfriend?" she
asked.
"Excuse me?" I responded.
"Where's Prof. Mackey?" she
clarified. "Isn't he usually here with you for coffee? I never see you
anymore, except in class." Our friendship hadn’t advanced much, as we’d
discovered we didn’t have a great deal in common.
"Oh, yes, sometimes he joins me."
The little white lie was for my benefit as much as it was for Justin’s. I
didn't know where he was, or why he wasn't there with me that morning, and I
wanted the whole thing to seem casual.
Alicia let it go at that, but seemed to
examine my face more closely than just a casual glance. We went our separate
ways when it was time for the next class. I spent the rest of that day and the
next in an agony of indecision. Justin had my number, why didn't he call?
Should I call him? Rihanna wisely stopped pestering me by Tuesday. By that time,
I was mad. Wednesday morning, I dressed carefully to wow any male who took
notice, and stomped off to class.
For the first half-hour, I'd raise my hand
for any question Justin asked of the classroom, regardless of whether I had a
prepared answer. He never called on me. I stopped doing it when I realized that
some of my classmates were throwing pitying glances my way, while others were
hiding smug smirks. After class, I went for coffee from sheer force of habit.
A girl whose face was familiar but whose
name I didn't know slid into a chair across the table from me. I looked up to
see a face full of sympathy.
"So, he nailed you and dumped you,
too," she said. My stomach did a flip.
"What are you talking about?" I
asked, knowing all too well what she meant, but unwilling to admit I'd been a
fool.
"Oh, come off it. It's his pattern. We
all know it, but we all hope we'll be the one to change him. He's a hot lover,
isn't he?"
I got up and left without another word. Let
her think what she wanted; I wasn't going to confirm or deny, as they said of
politicians.
On Friday, the same game played itself out,
without my participation, as I didn't raise my hand for the questions. If
Justin had just wanted to 'nail' me and then dump me, I wasn't going to
humiliate myself by begging.
Rihanna, however, was beside herself. It
took her all week to notice I was more subdued, but when she did, she was
relentless in ferreting out the reason. Friday night I finally broke down and
told her Justin had been ignoring me all week, without any explanation. She was
livid.
"That motherfucker! Want me to cut off
his balls for you, hon?"
I couldn't help but laugh. That's exactly
what I wanted to do, not let my friend fight my battles for me.
"Don't worry about it, Ri. It isn't as
if you didn’t warn me, and I did get a night of amazing sex out of it. So it
was a one-night stand, so what?"
"You used protection, right?"
"I think so."
"You think? "
ice water on you."
My eyes flew open to see that she indeed
had a glass of water poised to pour on me.
"Okay, okay! Don't," I gasped. Rihanna
got off my bed and stood back, watching to make sure I got up.
She might have been able to get me out of
bed, but nothing she did or said would make me give a graphic description of
the night I'd had with Justin. All I would say was 'amazing'. Finally,
frustrated, she gave up.
"So will you get an A in the
class?" she asked.
"Why does everyone assume I can't get
an A without sleeping with the professor?" I complained. "I was
already getting an A."
"Well, this cinches it, doesn't
it?"
"Whatever."
"When will you see him again?" Rihanna
continued to pry.
"Tomorrow morning, in class," I
said, smug with the knowledge that, while my answer was truthful, it wasn't
responsive. However, Justin hadn't said anything about next time. I assumed
he'd tell me at coffee in the morning.
The following morning, however, I sat in
the Student Union with my coffee, waiting for him in vain. Alicia came by and
asked if she could join me.
"Oh, hi Ali. Sure, why not?" I
said, brightening.
"Where's your boyfriend?" she
asked.
"Excuse me?" I responded.
"Where's Prof. Mackey?" she
clarified. "Isn't he usually here with you for coffee? I never see you
anymore, except in class." Our friendship hadn’t advanced much, as we’d
discovered we didn’t have a great deal in common.
"Oh, yes, sometimes he joins me."
The little white lie was for my benefit as much as it was for Justin’s. I
didn't know where he was, or why he wasn't there with me that morning, and I
wanted the whole thing to seem casual.
Alicia let it go at that, but seemed to
examine my face more closely than just a casual glance. We went our separate
ways when it was time for the next class. I spent the rest of that day and the
next in an agony of indecision. Justin had my number, why didn't he call?
Should I call him? Rihanna wisely stopped pestering me by Tuesday. By that time,
I was mad. Wednesday morning, I dressed carefully to wow any male who took
notice, and stomped off to class.
For the first half-hour, I'd raise my hand
for any question Justin asked of the classroom, regardless of whether I had a
prepared answer. He never called on me. I stopped doing it when I realized that
some of my classmates were throwing pitying glances my way, while others were
hiding smug smirks. After class, I went for coffee from sheer force of habit.
A girl whose face was familiar but whose
name I didn't know slid into a chair across the table from me. I looked up to
see a face full of sympathy.
"So, he nailed you and dumped you,
too," she said. My stomach did a flip.
"What are you talking about?" I
asked, knowing all too well what she meant, but unwilling to admit I'd been a
fool.
"Oh, come off it. It's his pattern. We
all know it, but we all hope we'll be the one to change him. He's a hot lover,
isn't he?"
I got up and left without another word. Let
her think what she wanted; I wasn't going to confirm or deny, as they said of
politicians.
On Friday, the same game played itself out,
without my participation, as I didn't raise my hand for the questions. If
Justin had just wanted to 'nail' me and then dump me, I wasn't going to
humiliate myself by begging.
Rihanna, however, was beside herself. It
took her all week to notice I was more subdued, but when she did, she was
relentless in ferreting out the reason. Friday night I finally broke down and
told her Justin had been ignoring me all week, without any explanation. She was
livid.
"That motherfucker! Want me to cut off
his balls for you, hon?"
I couldn't help but laugh. That's exactly
what I wanted to do, not let my friend fight my battles for me.
"Don't worry about it, Ri. It isn't as
if you didn’t warn me, and I did get a night of amazing sex out of it. So it
was a one-night stand, so what?"
"You used protection, right?"
"I think so."
"You think? "
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