Page 6 of When You Smile

“Third year. Let’s go!” Emerson cheered, striking an actual cheerleader pose. There was no universe in which she wasn’t on the squad in high school.

The four of them, along with a small handful of other classmates, moved through the program together, withering beneath the brutal workload and leaning on each other for support. They each brought their unique personalities and writing styles to the table, which made for an interesting time. Their ninety-minute classes were often tense and ended on a less than comfortable note. When viewpoints were expressed, feelings were sometimes hurt. But in the end, when all was said and the writing shelved, they respected and admired each other. Gathering at Toby the Tiger’s after an especially trying day was not uncommon. Beer was on whoever had been the biggest asshole during critiques.

“Why do you call your place Toby the Tiger?” Charlie had once asked the owner, regularly referred to as He-Man, one night from across the bar. “Isn’t the common reference Tony?”

“Tony serves people cereal. Toby serves bourbon,” he’d stated gruffly. She’d spotted a mermaid tattoo next to an anchor and wondered if he’d served in the Navy.

“Is that your real name? Toby,” she’d asked, basking in her buzz.

“Hell no. I’m Brett, Crusher of Beers, Breaker of Hearts. Cheers to the revolution.”

“Cheers,” she said obediently. Brett was a force. Toby remained a phantom.

Regardless of the naming mystery, Charlie had grown to love the small college dive bar comprising dim lighting and too much wood to be fashionable. Maybe they’d even hit it up this week where they could haunt the dartboard and discuss why their instructors lived to torture them.

“Are we walking?” Emerson asked the group, indicating the Saunders Building, fifty yards away. They turned and stared up at the familiar structure in silence, probably all realizing that this was the last carefree moment they’d have before the brutality of third year hit them like a wrecking ball to the chest.

“Now or never,” Charlie said, leading the way up the eight steps they’d all trod many times in the past. She’d logged more time in this building than she cared to count, but she’d also written some very important words that she was proud of. It evened out.

“Hey,” she said to Danny once they were settled across from each other around the small conference room table that would serve as their classroom. It was something they often said to each other, a shorthand and way of semiflirting.

“Hey back,” he said, glancing at the table and back up. It felt like a stumble, their rhythm off. They just needed time to find their footing. That was all.

“Here goes everything,” Lawson said and stuffed his backward ball cap into his satchel.

Emerson tapped the table. “I have a feeling that this year is going to be the best one yet,” she said.

“It better be,” Charlie countered. “It’s all we have left.”

“Onward literary soldiers!” Lawson said too loudly for the small room. “Grab thy pen and use it as a sword.”

Emerson seemed to like the battle cry and tossed a fist in the air. Charlie and Danny exchanged an amused look. The year held promise, and Charlie was ready to explore exactly what that might mean. She had a future looming after grad school, and she wanted to take every opportunity to prepare for a career as a successful writer, someone who made a difference in this world with her words.

“You ready?” Danny asked her quietly.

“I think I actually am.”

Chapter Two

Tonight was an important night, and Taryn didn’t want to blow it. Her skin tingled in anticipation, her stomach jittery with nerves. After Spanish class, the ruiner of her existence, let out for the day, her thoughts turned to the night ahead. The marvel was that she actually had plans, which meant she had a social life again. Her.

After a month at Hillspoint, Taryn had slowly started to establish a circle of friends she actually liked. Caz had introduced her around, coming in clutch to make those connections happen. Those people had introduced her to a few others, and now her existence at Hillspoint was dotted with Hey, Taryns, which felt better than she could have imagined. She lit up after a good Hey, Taryn and felt more and more comfortable as the days pressed on. She was finding her social footing and allowing herself to embrace it. But she’d been on campus for close to five weeks before she scored an invite to an actual college party, leaving her eager, underprepared, and questioning her social skills. Never helpful. Having hidden away her first and second years, she’d missed out on what the actual party experience was like. Her indoctrination would happen in just six short hours, and now that it was upon her, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to go.

“This is the problem. I suck at small talk,” Taryn told Caz and their next-door neighbor Sasha, who had the prettiest chestnut hair and held the firm belief that if people ate more ice cream, most everything would be sweeter, if not colder.

“No, you don’t. I can vouch for your conversational prowess,” Sasha said, lying on her back in the middle of their couch. She tended to make herself at home, which was actually a relief. No need to host Sasha, ever.

Taryn held up a finger. “Let me rephrase. I hate small talk. It takes work, and I run out of polite things to say after ten minutes—and then, dead air.”

“No one small-talks at these things. You can barely hear.” Caz turned around in her desk chair. “And also? Get out of your head and get into mine because I think you’re awesome and would kiss your face off if we weren’t so platonic it hurts.”

Caz, she’d learned, was the kind of friend who pumped you up when you needed it most. “Oh, well in that case I’m flattered and would top you in a second.” She offered a playful wink and Caz winked back. Friendship rhythm was intact and thriving.

“What are we going to wear, though?” Caz pondered, strolling to her closet door on a perplexing mission. “I never like to choose too early because moods are like the weather, ever-changing, but now we’re sorely pushing it. The clock is not our friend. We need to be sexy.”

Taryn chewed her lip, attempting to assemble the meaning. “Just in general, or…”

“For the events of this evening, kind madam.” The party at Tau Kappa Epsilon was saints and sinners themed, which left a lot to interpretation. “We need to impress, stand out, show off our tits.” She emphasized by pushing hers forward.

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