Page 20 of Heart So Hollow

“Yeah,” Katie tosses her empty Solo cup in a trashcan along the curb, “I know about her. She has a system,” she nods like she’s about to impart some major knowledge on us. “Dacia’s pre-law, planning on going to Harvard or some shit, and she’s so paranoid about accidentally getting pregnant that she only takes it in the ass.”

I stop dead in my tracks, “Nuh-uh!” I shoot Katie a skeptical look.

Emma screws up her face and cringes, making her eye twitch, “That poor girl.”

“Poor girl, nothing!” Katie shoots back. “We were tailgating next to her at the Michigan game last fall and she was bragging about letting Casey Lesser, Nick Rogan, Taylor Higgs, and Jamie Hollingsworth run a train on her in her room at the Theta house the night before. Casey confirmed it. Her ass is—” Katie blows a puff of air from between her lips and splays her fingers out to imitate an explosion.

I lose it right there on the sidewalk and erupt in laughter. Barrett grabs my arm to stabilize herself as we both stumble down the sidewalk, cackling uncontrollably. Katie saunters along behind us, no doubt thinking something along the lines of, I told you so.

“If he’s hanging with Dacia tonight, maybe you dodged a bullet,” Barrett gasps.

“God...” the humiliation sets in once again, “can we just forget this?”

Barrett clicks her key fob and unlocks her red Volvo a few feet ahead of us, “Easier said than done. He’s gon’ learn,” she snickers, “Brett Sorensen doesn’t forget anything…”

???

It’s a curse, it truly is.

Whether minor irritations or deep disappointments, events remain in my brain long after they should’ve exited into the ether. Some people wish they could remember the fond memories that inevitably fade with time. I wish I could forget the warnings and humiliating moments my nervous system clings to without my consent. But, if I did, I might not be as discernable and I might make more mistakes. Which is why when Colson walks into class the following Tuesday, I’m prepared.

He scans the room until he sees me sitting on the opposite side in front of the windows. I know what he’ll do. He’ll walk across the room to the desk on my right, drop his backpack on the floor, and sit down.

Except this time, when he reaches the desk, I plant my foot on the edge of the metal rack underneath and kick the entire thing across the floor. It screeches across the tile, catching on the leg of another desk and spinning around before crashing into the glossy white cinderblock wall beneath the whiteboard. A few students jerk their heads up. Some continue watching to see what happens while others avert their eyes and lower their heads again in an effort to avoid witnessing a potentially awkward exchange.

Colson looks down at me, unsure of what just happened. I lean back in my chair and glare at him, tilting my head and daring him to say something. It’s much easier to look someone in the eye when you harbor nothing but disdain for them.

Choosing to say nothing, Colson reaches for a desk in the next row and scoots it forward to replace the one I launched to the front of the room. He sits down just as the next wave of students enter the room, followed by Dr. Selter, who immediately launches into a tirade about the pitfalls of film adaptations. I would be the star participant in discussion today if I didn’t want to smash my laptop over Colson’s head.

Instead, I stare straight ahead, stewing at the audacity Colson Lutz has to come in here and sit down next to me like nothing happened. I’m so busy seething that I don’t even realize it when he slides my notebook right out from under my elbow. He scribbles something at the top of the page and slides it back onto my desk, nonchalant as ever.

COLSON: Are you OK?

The answer is no. And maybe I should leave it at that—with no response. But I can’t leave it at that.

ME: Fuck off

COLSON: ?

ME: Are you that dense?

COLSON: What did I do?

I don’t know what’s so difficult to understand. If I specifically invited someone to a party, saw them there, and just ignored them, I don’t think I would be confused as to why that was bothersome. Did he forget? Who forgets something like that? Does he slight people all the time and that’s just how he rolls? Is he a fucking sociopath?

ME: Idk, acted like I didn’t exist on Friday?

COLSON: You left before I could talk to you

I clench my jaw, his response scrawled in blue pen sending a lightning bolt through my chest. What fucking arrogance. As if I bailed on him. As if he didn’t convince me to go to Cade and Anderson’s destroyed house with the collapsed porch, decaying carpet, furniture that may or may not have had dead animals hiding inside them, and linoleum that felt like it was lacquered with caramel.

ME: We were there for an hour. In the same room. You seemed busy.

I pause, turning over the words in my head. What am I debating? I can see the writing on the wall, so I might as well just say what I have to say even though I’m the most avoidant person ever. If Barrett was sitting next to me, she’d die of shock at what I’m about to say. I wiggle my purple pen between my index and middle fingers before putting it to the paper again.

ME: Do your friends ever ask why you sit with me or do they already know you just use me when you get bored?

This time, Colson stares at the notebook for much longer.

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