Smartypants Club
"Mary, Cassandra, I do believe I have solved all your problems."
My best friend Cass and I exchanged a skeptical glance. Professor Rogers was an educated man, no doubt. I doubt a less educated one would have had any interest in being the Academic Bowl faculty sponsor for the last 15 years. That was how we knew him, primarily. One of our other teammates, Alex, had attended his philosophy seminar, but that wasn't something I'd ever been interested in.
Before either of us could set forth a comment, however, he plowed on the way old men in tweed jackets are prone to doing.
"I have secured a fifth for our little team."
This got my attention. Ever since Natalia Grant (Eta Phi Beta President and business major) had transferred at the end of last year, we'd been one member down on our College Academic Bowl team. The four of us that remained (Alex, Dana, Cass, and me) had been recruiting like mad before the official competitive season began, but two weeks into the semester, we'd had no success to speak of.
No fifth member, no season, so as the deadline for the first major tournament of the year loomed, my fingernails had been bitten to the quick.
One glance at Cass told me her mind had been on the same track as mine had. We still had our notes spread out across the second-floor landing of our campus townhouse, plans for prepping the team once we were at full strength again. And now, it seemed, we might well be.
No one looking at Cass and me would suppose we had much in common. She was slender and willowy, where I was (to be polite) pleasantly plump, her aquamarine messy bun a contrast to my straight, brown bob. Her clothes were all over the color spectrum, while I stuck with neutrals, throwing in a bright accent only when I felt especially daring.
Or was forced.
Rogers was enjoying his dramatic suspense a little too much, and I clenched my muscles to slow anxiously bouncing knees.
"So, who is it? Where did she come from?"
Rogers chuckled, eyes sparkling like Santa Claus. "So presumptuous of you, Mary, to assume it is a 'she'."
Okay, but it wasn't a crazy assumption. Other than Alex, our team had been an estrogen-fest since I'd joined freshman year.
Not that all teams were. Some we'd faced in the past had been exclusively male. But you're used to what you're used to.
The Professor was still twinkling. He was up to something. "Um, Marcus... something... I believe the name was."
The name gave me an ominous feeling in the back of my throat, but I shook it away all the same. Old wounds don't always heal right, and that name poked at one of mine, but I needed to let it go. I couldn't be prejudiced against a name because it also belonged to someone who'd set my adolescence off to a bad start.
"Sure," I said, shoving the stampeding elephants into my backpack. "What's the plan then, Prof Man?"
"I gave him your mobile number. Maybe you guys could meet with him, see how you all mesh?"
Okay, I guess I'd just put aside for a moment that this man thought it was a good idea to give the personal number of a student away to another student? A stranger, nonetheless... But I was going to need to have that conversation with him later on.
Just then, I heard the soft *ding* of a notification.
"I bet that's him now," Rogers said, leaning his hunched frame back in his old desk chair.
Sure. Why not? We basically had a week and a half left to save our team's year. Worst that could happen was this guy being a total know-nothing, wasting my time, and I could handle that.
After getting the nod from Cass, I agreed to meet the unknown texter at Around the Clock Diner, a popular spot near campus with all-day and night breakfast.
I loved breakfast.
I wasn't sure if the rest of the group was free, so I messaged them as well.
I looked up, rolling my eyes. Alex was a perpetual mooch; he refused to get a job during the school year so he'd have more time for his gaming stream.
That had 10 subscribers.
I was just about to scold him when I got another notification from that same unknown number from earlier. We had left the Prof's office and were heading back down the hall, but I was worried there could be a plan change, so I unlocked my phone and went to check.
Who the hell did this rando think he was? Why did men think access to a woman gave them carte blanche to harass her, to do whatever they could to cast their nets wide for sex? Maybe he was trying to get his hundred "no"s out of the way so he could try for a "yes" later on. Dear god, that was a depressing thought.
Oh.
So he hadn't meant to send it to me after all.
I suppose that's alright then.
Except I felt oddly... bereft. What was the reason behind that? Had I wanted him to be speaking to me? I didn't think so. I'd felt incensed at the notion only moments earlier. But I couldn't deny that there was also a sizzle of excitement, somewhere behind the indignation. It had been a while since I'd nursed an active crush on anyone; maybe my hormones were missing the attention?
Maybe.
That didn't mean it was a good idea to throw my hopes and dreams at a mysterious stranger. That only worked well in novels.
Occasionally.
Sure, there were attractive, smiling faces around me, mostly in classes. But there was something different about a sustained, pointed crush, wasn't there? Where you think about them when they're not there, feel a flutter in your chest when you know you're about to see them, even from a distance?
Couldn't pick a crush out of a hat, though, could I?
As Cass and I got into my dark blue Toyota Corolla (handed down from my mom), I wondered what the new student might look like. I could probably assume he was academically inclined from his interest in our school club, but what else? Would he be easy to work with? I hoped so. Would he be tall, dark, and handsome?
My crush brain had what I thought of as a default setting: dark, curly hair, olive skin, and laughing, mischievous eyes. It was almost invariable: Josh in the 5th grade, Brian in 7th, Tony in 8th, Brad in 9th, and so on.
If he fit the mold, I might just be done for.
When we walked through the door of ATC, I saw that Dana and Alex had preceded us into the restaurant and had made sure to grab our favorite corner booth. The seats were dark red leather with only a few rips here and there. The display shelves on the walls were decorated like someone's grandmother had been walking through a thrift store with her arm sweeping the lot into her bag.
A lot of kids from our university liked the place because they could still stuff their faces at 2:00 in the morning, when the Dining Hall had long since closed.
I also saw that someone was standing speaking to them, his back to me as I went to join them. Was this the guy in question? I took a moment to study him, unobserved.
His hair was a dark red (auburn?) color, short but ruffled-looking. His shoulders were broad, and I was amused to discover an actual brown leather jacket, with a shearling collar folded back. It looked well-worn, like maybe he wasn't the first man to pull his arms into it. The rest of him seemed pretty basic, jeans and sneakers, but I couldn't help but notice how my friends were reacting to him.
Dana's dark eyes were practically sparkling, and Alex appeared to be laughing at some comment he'd just made, which boded well for the boys getting along.
Actually, the jeans he was wearing weren't baggy at all. In fact, they hugged the curves of a rather well-developed rear end. Normally I didn't notice that sort of thing, but with his leather jacket cutting off just above it, it was just sort of right there, wasn't it? He had the sort of bottom you might want to take a bite out of.
I couldn't help but imagine it, grabbing that firm ass and giving it a squeeze. It was startling; I wasn't someone who had a vivid fantasy life. Suddenly, I felt quite excited to meet this new guy, even if I'd likely only be staring at him across the table, sighing to myself.
Dana must have seen us arriving, because her eyes met mine. The guy standing there must have seen it, because he turned around to greet us.
And that's when I saw his face.
Saw sharp hazel eyes and eyebrows that seemed permanently quirked into a smirk. Saw freckles covering the bridge of his nose. Saw a grin like a shark about to catch its prey.
A familiar grin.
Marcus Fox, my middle school bully, now all grown up, smiled and said, "Hey Mary, still a virgin?"
