Julian & Lia Read online

  "Because she has her period?" I start to laugh, realizing how ridiculous it is.

  "Clearly she's helpless then." Vanessa rolls her eyes and smiles.

  Despite my bad mood I can’t help smiling back.

  "I lived in that dorm my freshman year," says Vanessa. "My roommate? Biggest bitch ever. At least nobody ever took a crap on the floor when I was there though. Come on," she continues and starts walking again. I follow along, thoughts of Greer being pissed growing fainter and fainter the further we get from the dorm.

  Vanessa turns to me, her long hair blowing in the wind, her green eyes sparkling. "Anyway, I hated the dorms. I was thrilled when my parents agreed to let me live off campus with my brother after freshman year."

  "Lucky," I say. I mean lucky that she doesn't have to live in the dorms, but also that she has a sibling here at school, a built-in support. I'm an only child, and though I've never longed for brothers or sisters, right now I think now nice it would be to have someone here for me. "How old is your brother?"

  "We're both twenty one. Twins."

  "That’s so cool. By the way, where are we going?" I realize I’ve just been following along without a clue where we’re headed.

  "My place? Get you out of the dorms for awhile."

  I know she's feeling sorry for me, but I don't mind. It’s nice to feel that someone cares for a change.

  "If we're lucky," she continues, "my brother won't be there. Or he'll be passed out. He has to get up early on Fridays for this class he failed freshman year. Film Studies. Who fails that? For someone as smart as he is, he can be pretty dumb sometimes." She laughs, but my heart is suddenly pounding, an inkling of what she's going to say next making me unbearably nervous. She shakes her head and laughs like someone does about a mischievous but lovable child.

  "Julian," she says. "He's crazy."

  ***

  Maine University at Deerfield, commonly referred to as MUD, is the center of downtown Deerfield. Unlike other universities, the school buildings and dorms are distributed throughout the community, among well kept residences and quaint shops. Many of the houses in town are old Victorians, which have been converted to apartments for university students, and we head to one such house. It's an a big purple Victorian with turrets and lots of windows and a huge wrap-around porch.

  "We just tell people to look for the purple house," says Vanessa. "It's pretty hard to miss."

  I want to make a clever joke or say something interesting, but I'm still so focused on the fact that Julian is her brother. Film Class Julian. The guy who makes it hard for me to breathe. I embarrassed myself at least twice in front of him today already.

  "It's nice," I say weakly. Lame. But my thoughts are scattered into a million pieces.

  "It’s so much better than the dorms,” she says. “I remember how embarrassed I was to even use the bathroom. I think I held it for two solid weeks."

  Despite my nerves, I snicker because I know exactly what she's talking about.

  The front porch stairs creak under our feet, and as she opens the front door, I follow her inside. Vanessa's apartment opens into a wide living room. Further through the house is the kitchen. The bathroom and two bedrooms, or what I assume are behind the two closed doors, open off of the large living room. I immediately wonder which room is Julian's, and I feel curious and restless thinking about what his room looks like. Is it messy or neat? Is his bed made, or are the sheets and blanket intertwined and rumpled? Are there posters on the walls, dirty dishes on his desk?

  I sit on the couch, which is big and overstuffed and way more comfortable than my stiff dorm room mattress, and Vanessa swings around the room putting her backpack down, leafing through the mail, then going into the kitchen to get us snacks. She totally looks like someone from the sixties, with that long straight hair, some of it in fine braids the rest free, and her peasant blouse and wide-ankled jeans. What she's wearing is totally not in style, but she somehow looks way more fashionable than anyone else I've seen. I look down at my own plain jeans and black long-sleeved shirt and sigh. I'm pretty far from fashionable. My hair is just past my shoulders and light brown, and I'm neither tall nor short, neither voluptuous nor skinny. I suppose I might be OK looking with a makeover and some cool clothes, but in addition to lacking any sense of coolness, I also lack a sense of fashion. And, to be honest, sometimes looking plain so nobody notices me is easier than trying to stand out.

  I hear Vanessa in the kitchen opening the fridge and cabinets, and I'm about to get up and help her when suddenly, one of the bedroom doors opens.

  Julian, I think. I hold my breath and wait for him to appear. I try to compose myself so I look cool and casual, though I'm well aware of the fact that the harder someone tries to look calm the less calm she probably looks. Being me is frustrating sometimes.

  Female laughter floats out of his room, getting louder as a girl, gorgeous and thin, with waves and waves of blond hair, walks out of the bedroom backwards, smiling back into the room I assume is Julian's.

  "Bye," she says coquettishly—really, that's the only way to describe it—and waves a fake cutesy wave. I want to vomit, both out of annoyance at her and at the fact that she's so blithely exiting the bedroom of the first college guy I've taken an interest in. Not that I have a chance. But still.

  When she turns and sees me, she giggles in obviously feigned embarrassment, her pink-nailed hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, hi," she breathes. "I was just leaving." Then, as Vanessa enters the room, the girl turns, her smile getting even bigger and faker. "You must be Vanessa!" she coos. I mean, it really sounds like a coo. "Julian's said so much about you."

  "Has he?" Vanessa sounds cold, such a surprising contrast to the friendly person I've been getting to know.

  "Mm hmmm," hums the girl. "Anyway, gotta run. I'll be seeing you!"

  "Not if I see you first," Vanessa mutters under her breath and rolls her eyes at me. As the front door shuts behind the girl, Vanessa whispers to me, "My brother has the worst taste in girls."

  "She was . . . pretty," I say, feeling like I have to defend . . . what? Julian? That girl? I'm not even sure.

  "Pretty annoying."

  "She reminds me of my roommate a little."

  "God, I feel sorry for you." Vanessa puts the two plates she's holding onto the coffee table. She's made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with potato chips on the side. It reminds me of being home, of my mom always making me a snack when I got back from school, and I'm flooded with grateful warmth.

  "Thanks," I say.

  "No problem." Vanessa turns on the TV and scrolls through the channels. We settle on a show featuring college dorm room makeovers, and I'm about to start eating when Julian's door opens. This time, he comes out.

  The first thing I notice is he's not wearing a shirt, and his chest is lean and muscular—not bodybuilding big, but strong and defined. He has a definite six pack, and I can't take my eyes off his lower stomach, where a faint line of hair starts, running down to . . . Stop thinking about that!, I say to myself, aware that I'm blushing. His jeans are low on his hips, a strip of his boxers showing, and his feet are bare. Without his hoodie I can see his hair clearly; it's dark brown, unruly and messy, some of it curling down onto his forehead in a boyish way, but there's nothing else about him that's boyish. And he just had a girl in his room. A swirl of jealousy churns in my stomach. Jealousy? I barely even know him!

  Vanessa's voice breaks my reverie. "Gross, Julian, put on a shirt," she says, throwing a pillow at him.

  He dodges and I can't help noticing the way his muscular body—those arms!—bend to avoid it as he laughs at his sister, a real laugh, not the sinister one I heard in class. He doesn't even look at me—I might as well be invisible—as he approaches the table and reaches out to take half of Vanessa's sandwich. She slaps his hand back. "Make your own," she says.

  He turns to me. For a split second he looks into my eyes, the smile from laughing with Vanessa turning into a smirk as recognition settles in.
I breathe in and hold it, wondering what he's going to say. Instead of speaking, he reaches out and grabs half of my sandwich. He takes a huge bite, staring at me with a cocky look, daring me to object.

  "Rude!" says Vanessa, and he turns away, laughing again. "Julian, this is Lia. Lia, this asshole who just stole half your sandwich is my brother Julian."

  "We know each other," says Julian, his mouth full.

  "We have Film Studies class together," I explain.

  "And she spilled coffee on my sweatshirt this morning."

  "Stop. You're kidding." Vanessa's mouth opens in fake horror.

  "I'm sorry," I mutter, embarrassed that it's been brought up.

  "Julian's a total weirdo when it comes to his precious hoodie," says Vanessa, rolling her eyes again. "Once? I was doing him a favor and threw it in the wash with my stuff. He seriously almost killed me."

  "It doesn't go in the washer," he says. "Or the dryer. That'll ruin it."

  "You are so disgusting," says Vanessa. "Anyway, I'm surprised you even know who's in that class." To me she explains, "He can barely get up for that class. The other day? I had to literally dump a glass of water on him to wake him up."

  "Whoever decided nine am college classes were a good idea should be shot," he mutters.

  "It's not a really hard class, though," I reply. "I mean, we watch movies. It's kind of fun."

  He rolls his eyes. "I was having a different kind of fun freshman year and couldn't make it to class. So I'm in it again."

  Great. I've just made it perfectly clear to the guy I like that my life is so lame I find a film class fun. When he was a freshman, he was doing all sorts of other things for fun, and I know I'd blush again if I think too hard about what, exactly, he'd been doing.

  "You don't party much, do you?" he asks.

  "Not really," I mutter.

  "That's cool," he says. "Being a nerd will pay off some day."

  A nerd. Of course.

  "Stop, Julian," says Vanessa. "Be nice."

  "But then I wouldn't be the Julian you know and love," he says, grabbing a handful of chips, which means all of them except for a few crumbs, from my plate. "I'm going back to bed," he says winking at me, then sauntering off to his room. He slams the door.

  "That's my brother," says Vanessa, shaking her head with a grin.

  I can't get that wink out of my head. I know I'll be thinking about it for an embarrassingly long time.

  Chapter Two

  We're finishing The Great Gatsby, in class. Professor Chooch—who for some reason lets Julian get away with calling him "Chooch" like he's a football coach while all the rest of us have to refer to him formally—lets us eat and drink in class. He says he wants us to feel entertained, like we're at the movies, and I usually grab a cup of coffee if I have time. Today I also buy a pack of strawberry Twizzlers, my all time favorite movie theater candy. It reminds me of going to the movies back home with my mom and best friend.

  In class, I quickly glance to the back corner where Julian always sits. He's not there, and I'm stunned by a sudden stab of disappointment. Maybe he's coming late. I've been thinking about him for days, about how he looked without a shirt, how he winked at me. When he stole my sandwich it felt so familiar, like we were closer than we really are, and I wish that feeling could continue. It's stupid; I know he was just playing around. But it's hard not to imagine how it would be if he really liked me. I keep reminding myself that's ridiculous and impossible, but the fact is that most of my fantasies over the past few days have been about him. And me. And, well, all sorts of things I've never actually done in real life.

  I take a seat towards the back of the room, two seats up from where Julian usually sits, and wait while the professor turns off the lights and starts the movie. Around me the other students are settling in, getting comfortable for the next hour. I start to open my Twizzlers as quietly as possible, trying to keep the crackling of the package to a minimum so as not to distract anyone. But I'm the one who's distracted when Julian walks in.

  He's wearing his hoodie, the hood practically hiding his face. His jeans are ratty, and he saunters into the room without looking around, like he doesn't give a shit about anything except finding a seat and taking a nap, which is probably what he really wants to do. The movie is still playing, but my focus is solely on Julian, who goes to the back corner just behind me. I wait to hear his backpack drop to the floor, but instead I feel his presence next to me as he slides his body into the desk directly to the right of mine. I think my heart actually skips a beat.

  I stare at the screen, pretending I haven't noticed him, when the truth is my entire body is nervous and flustered. Is he looking at me? Should I say hi? What does it mean that he's forgone his usual seat to sit by mine? I'm glad the classroom is dark because it's better for hiding, and that's exactly what I need to do. I'm so completely out of my league here, sitting next to Julian, like it's my chance to get him to notice me and I'm blowing it by doing absolutely nothing at all.

  All of a sudden, his body shifts, and his desk slides closer to mine. One of his legs stretches out, and he hooks his foot around the leg of my desk, pulling it so I'm sliding across the floor towards him. Our desks are touching now, and I summon up my nerve and turn my head and look at him. Even in the dark I can see his green eyes flicker as he stares back at me.

  "What are you doing?" I whisper.

  "Getting what I want." His voice is low. No guy has ever said something so suggestive to me before. Seriously? When you hear a girl talking about her heart fluttering? That's what mine is doing. I try desperately to think of something sexy or at least funny to say.

  Julian smirks and suddenly reaches over, grabbing my pack of Twizzlers and peeling one off. His legs are stretched out in front of him, and he pulls his hoodie tighter around him, like he's getting comfortable to watch the movie. He doesn't say anything else to me the entire class. But the whole time, out of the corner of my eye, I watch him eat every single piece of my candy. When class is over he's gone before I can even gather up my stuff.

  ***

  Greer is up to something. I can tell because she's being uncharacteristically solicitous of me. She's brought me cookies back from a pledge meeting, handing them to me on a little Styrofoam plate.

  "I just can't eat them," she says, patting her non-existent stomach. "But you're so skinny. It won't matter if you have them." From Greer, that's one of the highest compliments possible, so my suspicions are raised.

  It's Friday night, and I'm still thinking obsessively about Julian and our nonexistent relationship. I was looking forward to Greer going out so I could curl up and read a book or watch something mindless on Netflix, lying around wishing I had the courage to take Vanessa up on her offer to "stop by seriously any time."

  "Lia?" she says, and I know it's coming. "What are you doing tonight?"

  For weeks, that very question from Greer, from anyone, would have made my day, if not my entire semester. But I've learned enough about her to know we don't have a whole lot in common. Still, I'm a little intrigued.

  "Um, I . . ."

  "I need a favor," she interrupts. "But a good favor? Like, you'll have fun too. This guy? I'm supposed to be going out with? He has a friend, and I was going to ask Melanie, but she's got to go home last minute, and I can't find anyone . . ."

  I stop her before she completes her thoughts and confirms what I already know: that I am clearly a last choice for her.

  "I don't think so, Greer." The mere thought of getting dressed up and going out on a date with someone who will probably be disappointed the minute he sees me makes me feel spectacularly exhausted.

  "No, you can't say no. Lia, please. I'm begging. I'll, like, bring you lunch for a week? I'll do your laundry? Seriously, if I don't bring a friend he'll cancel."

  I want to suggest that if a guy is truly interested in her, he'd let his friend fly solo for one night rather than cancel their date, but I know that won't go over well. Greer wouldn't want to hear it. And
this might be a chance for me to get out of my comfort zone and try something new.

  "Fine," I mutter.

  She jumps up and down—literally, she does. "OK. This is so great. OK. But, don't be offended? I need to, like, get you dressed and do your makeup. Is that cool?"

  "Sure." I'm not offended. I know what is and isn't in my closet, and there's definitely nothing date-worthy. And makeup? I've never seen Greer without any, and she's never seen me wearing some. "Where are we going anyway?"

  "A party! At a house? Like, not a dorm party?"

  There is, clearly, a difference between the two, the house party being superior to the dorm party. I can glean that much from her voice, but I know nothing about any sorts of parties, so I nod like I understand.

  We spend the next hour getting ready. Greer makes me try on lots of different outfits before determining that I look best in a pair of my skinny jeans with her high-heeled boots and one of her shirts, a slinky black one showing ample cleavage. It's sleeveless and dips down low—like, really low—in the back. She blows my hair out so it's straight and shiny—So that's how all the girls get their hair like that! Mystery solved!—and spends at least fifteen minutes doing my makeup.

  "Oh. My. God," she says when she's done. "Seriously? Where's my roommate?" She pushes me towards the mirror, and I am shocked at my reflection. I'm actually pretty. Like, really pretty. I look like all the girls I see going out to parties every weekend. If nobody knew I was a nerd, I could seriously pass myself off as a normal, attractive girl.

  "Wow, Greer." There's genuine affection in my voice. "Thanks."

  "Thank you," she says. "Seriously? This is going to be awesome. Ready?"

  We're meeting the guys at the party, and I'm freezing as we walk out of the dorm and down the street. Greer insists we don't need jackets despite the cold, stating that they'll just get in the way or lost at the party. I shiver and regret listening to her, but I'm still so in awe of how she's made me look that it's hard to be completely mad about the fact that I'm definitely starting to suffer from hypothermia.