Page 19 of Strelitzias in Spring

10

Serena

When I woke up this morning, excited and deliciously anxious to go to a party with my new friends, I didn’t think I’d end the day with Wolf McCleery walking me out of a mixer, covered in dessert toppings.

What’s the saying? It wasn’t on my bingo card.

Though I don’t follow professional, semi-professional, or amateur sports, Wolf is a well-known figure, not only because of his athleticism but also because of his art. As we walk down the hallway, through the crowded living room, and toward the front door, I feel eyes on us, probably shocked that a local hero is in our midst.

If I had any desire to fade into the background after tonight, I could forget it.

“Fucking college kids,” Wolf mumbles under his breath as flashes start going off, betraying the people who are not so subtly taking pictures of Wolf. And me, since I’m huddled against Wolf’s side, trying to make it out of this house without another incident.

I breathe in relief the moment we walk out the front door, the crisp winter air filling my lungs with a burn that feels like a lifeline. “I’m sorry about the pictures,” I murmur, staring at the ground, too embarrassed to look at his face. “If I had never come here, none of this would have happened.”

Wolf releases a sigh, the sound both exasperated and sympathetic. “Listen, none of that is your fault. No one—no matter their sex or gender—should put their hands on you without your consent. Going to a party with your friends shouldn’t end in you huddled in the corner of a dirty bathroom. Don’t apologize for shit you didn’t do, princess.” I see his mouth twist, annoyance crossing his features, but all I can process are his words and the endearment he keeps using.

Before I can help myself, I ask, “Why do you keep calling me princess?”

Wolf remains quiet as we walk down the sidewalk and turn the corner. Whole minutes pass, and I think he’s not going to respond as we approach an imposing motorcycle. “Fuck if I know,” he whispers before clearing his throat and raising his voice. “You okay to ride on the back? How much have you had to drink?”

I shake my head, opening and closing my mouth in rapid succession. “I didn’t have anything to drink. Meg, or ‘Corset Girl,’ picked me up for the party and drove me straight to the house since her boyfriend lives there and she was spending the night. I was only there a few minutes when everything happened. But”—I pause, swallowing down the lump in my throat—“is that thing even safe for two people? The seat looks kind of small, and well, you’re not small,” I finish, wincing at my words.

He lets out a gruff laugh. “It’s a Kawasaki Versys 650, and it’s one of the best bikes for taller people. And listen, it’s as safe as any other motorcycle.” He reaches over the handlebars and grabs a helmet, thrusting it at me. “Here, wear this. I don’t have a spare helmet with me since I didn’t plan on a co-pilot tonight, but I’d feel better if you wore it.”

I look from him to the enormous object in his hand. “And you’re sure we’re not going to die?”

“Just put the damn helmet on, Serena, and tell me where you live.” As though his words hypnotize me, I grab the helmet and fit it over my head, not surprised by how much room I have in the safety gear.

“It’s a little roomy in here,” I comment and watch as Wolf rolls his eyes and levels me with a stare that says, “Address, now.” Clearing my throat, I continue, “Right. So, my address is 155 University Boulevard. It’s right by the library. Which you probably don’t know how to get to, right? Okay, so, go down this street and make a left at the house that looks like a gothic mansion transplanted to New Jersey. The one with the broken window. Then, make a quick right at the overgrown tree. You have to be sure to stop there because there’s a stop sign hidden behind the leaves, but the owners don’t seem to care. I think they should probably get fined for that, but what do I know?

“If you drive maybe a football field’s length and then make another right turn by the library—the big building that looks like a library—then you’ll get to my apartment complex.” I swallow the rest of the words bubbling up my throat; word vomit that doesn’t need to be voiced. Wolf just continues staring at me before taking out his phone and typing on the screen.

I rise on my tiptoes to see what he’s typing out and realize that he has a GPS application open on his screen, the navigation set to my address. I flush, embarrassed to realize all he needed was an address and not my tour guide explanation.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that you were just going to put it in your phone. How can you watch the screen while you drive?” Nerves replace my embarrassment, and suddenly, I’m wondering if he’s a safe driver or if tonight is going to end significantly worse than I thought.

At my question, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black case. “I have wireless ear pods so that I can listen to the navigation on my rides.” He tilts his head, peering down at me from his high vantage point. “Aren’t you a genius or something? Shouldn’t your directional skills be better?”

I cough, caught off guard by his question. “Being a ‘genius’”—I air quote—“doesn’t mean that I have a proficiency for geography or directions. And I’m not a genius; I’m just slightly above average when it comes to test-taking and retaining information.”

“Celeste said you’re graduating college next year?” I nod, silently confirming his question. “Yeah, you’re a genius. Here.” He shrugs off the leather jacket he’s wearing and drapes it around my shoulders, immediately wrapping me in his woodsy scent. I fight the urge to lift the fabric to my nose and inhale; he’d probably think I was insane if he witnessed me smelling his clothes.

“Put your arms through the sleeves and zip the jacket. Do you need help climbing on the bike?” He throws a leg over his large black motorcycle, straddling the seat, and I shiver, not from the cold or my damp clothing but from how indecent he looks on his bike coupled with the feel of his clothes on my body. I never understood the appeal of a motorcycle club romance, but suddenly, I’m sold.

He holds out a hand to help stabilize me as I throw my leg over the rear part of the seat, a poor imitation of his graceful display. Using my other hand to grab his shoulder, I pray to every god and goddess I’ve ever read about that I don’t fly off the back of this bike and have my vehicular homicide pictures commemorate that I dressed like a red velvet cupcake on my final day on earth.

I smile at that thought; I’m spending too much time with CeCe and Ava if death and falling are at the forefront of my mind.

As soon as I’m situated behind him, Wolf reaches back and grabs my hands, pulling me forward and guiding my arms around his waist. I squeeze instinctually, and I can feel the laughter shake Wolf’s body at my movement. I start to loosen my hold, but he stops me, placing his hand on top of mine and squeezing in a silent communication to hold on. He presses a button, and the sound of his bike fills the night just before Wolf kicks off the kickstand, and our bodies jolt forward from his twist on the throttle.

I squeeze my eyes shut, too petrified to watch as we race past trees and houses, road signs and road work. Wind travels over my body, and I press myself close to Wolf, telling myself that it’s the cool temperature that has me seeking his body and not the impossible attraction I feel toward him, especially when he’s between my legs.

Within minutes, I feel the bike stop and the engine turn off, a silence that’s just as deafening as the bike’s engine. Peeling open my eyes, I take in the modern façade of my apartment building, seeing it through Wolf’s eyes. To him, he probably sees a college living unit where teenagers pretend to be adults and live with an independence both revered and feared.

To me, it’s my second favorite sanctuary and a place where I can just be. My dad has never been through the lobby of this building, let alone my apartment, and no memories of him choosing another woman and child over me and my mom plague this building. Aside from my mother and the movers who helped me move in, only Dylan, Ava, and Celeste have been inside my living space. I sigh at the thought of Dylan; our friendship is a ghost that haunts me, forcing me to relive the times when I thought he was a safe space. Tonight and his aggression and manhandling have forced me to reconsider our relationship even more.

“Serena, you can let go of me now.” I flush at Wolf’s words, realizing that I’m clutching him to my body as though he’s still operating the machine between my thighs. I drop my arms immediately.

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