Page 7 of Because of Dylan

“Yeah, seniors and juniors have the option for singles. They say the room assignment is done through a lottery. But I have my suspicions. Every person I know in a single room has a perfect or near perfect GPA. I think it’s more of a reward system.”

“That must mean you’re smart, then.”

I shrug. I work hard for my grades. If I were really that smart, though, I would have figured my shit out already. But I’m the same mess now that I was nearly four years ago when I left home and never looked back.

His eyes are intent on me, and suddenly, he looks much older than I imagine him to be. There’s too much knowing in his eyes. As if he’s lived more years than indicated on his birth certificate.

Tommy tilts his head, his eyes locked on mine. “Why me?” Hands in his jeans pockets, he waits for me to answer.

My heart speeds up with each second his eyes stay on mine. I don’t have the power to look away. He’s so honest in the way he gazes at me, so completely open and the opposite of everything I am.

“What do you mean?” I feign ignorance, but the lie heats my cheeks. I know exactly what he’s asking me.

“Of all the guys at that party checking you out, older and more experienced, why did you pick me?”

No one has ever asked me that before. I always make the first move, and they follow along. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. It's not like I can tell him the truth.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. You?”

“Older than you,” I hedge. I don’t know why I don’t tell him the truth. I never lied about my age before. Well … that’s not true either. Damn it!

He takes a step closer to me, hands in pockets still. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

I don’t want to lie to him.

“You're cute and sweet. I liked you as soon as I saw you.” And there's something familiar about him. Something I'm drawn to.

The words don't have the effect I expected. Flattery usually wins them over and feeds the ego well enough that the guy stops thinking about me and ponders his own greatness.

He doesn't smile or puff up with pride like every other guy I’ve been with and paid a compliment.

He runs a hand through his hair. “No, that's not it. I mean, I know I'm easy on the eyes, but there were a dozen other guys at that party much better looking than me. I'm not complaining, I didn't expect to leave that party with someone.”

I'm surprised again by his response. Even as he says he knows he's good looking, he’s not cocky. He watches me as if trying to read me. I cross my arms, my defenses coming up. I’m about to tell him to leave, but he stops me with a gesture of his hand.

“I like you too.” He waves his hand between us. “But this liking each other—it feels like the beginning of a beautiful friendship. And I’d hate to mess it up with a meaningless hookup.”

For the third time in as many minutes he surprises me. And I surprise myself as well. I expected to feel rejection, but instead I'm relieved. I smile, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a flutter of lightness inside me. Before I can say anything else, he speaks again.

“I could use a friend more than a hookup. In case you didn't notice, I'm a little on the introvert side, and it would be cool to have a friend who can help me find my way around campus.”

I like that. I like that a lot. This may not be the distraction I set out to get, but maybe, just maybe, this is even better. His friendship offer cracks a tiny fissure in my armor, but instead of scaring me, it gives me a little more room to breathe.

He gives me his hand to shake. “Let’s start over. I’m Tommy. Do you want to watch a movie and eat junk food?”

I laugh. A real laugh. “All right, Tommy. Friends it is. I'm Becca. Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand as I introduce myself to him for the second time tonight.

A smile lights up his face. “Now that we got that out of the way, what kind of chips do you have?”

I reach under my bed for the large plastic box where I keep my junk food and snacks handy. Open the container and survey my bounty. Tommy peers into the plastic tote and points at the salt and vinegar potato chips bag. My favorite. I knew I liked him.

A bag of chips, two cans of soda, a whole sleeve of chocolate chip cookies, and two hours later, we finish watchingThe Breakfast Club. That's another first. I have never had a guy pick that movie to watch with me. It's usually some mindless action movie, or they ask if I'm into porn.

That would be a negative.

“Okay, Tommy, I hate to kick you out, but I need to catch some Z’s. Which dorm you at?”

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