Текст книги "The Opportunist"

Автор книги: Tarryn Fisher

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“Just a question Sunshine, don’t attack.”

I glared at him. “Can I help you with something?”

For a moment, I thought I saw a swatch of uncertainty cross his face, but then it was gone, and he was smiling at me again.

“I was interested in finding out why this tree made you frown,” he said, repeating his lame starter line.

I looked beyond his shoulder and spotted a cluster of basketball idiots leering at us.  He followed my gaze and must have shot his rat pack a fierce look, because seconds later the gathering dispersed. He turned his attention back to me.

Ah yes… I was supposed to answer his question.

I looked at the trunk of the tree, which resembled badly braided dough, and realized how intensely I must have been staring at it.

“Are you trying to flirt with me?” I sighed.

He let out a sort of strangled choke. “Caleb Drake.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My name,” he said, offering me his hand. Caleb Drake was a notorious name on campus and I had no intention of joining his fan club. I shook his hand firmly to make sure he knew I wasn't hypnotized by him.

“Yes, I was trying to flirt with you, until you shot me down, that is.”

I raised my eyebrows and forced a smile. Okay, I had to do this fast. Jocks had a painfully short attention span.

“Listen, I’d love to stand around and feed into your ego with chit-chattery, but I have to go.”

I moved passed him relieved to be heading toward the pint of heavy whipping cream and ice cream in my fridge. I was going to add chocolate sauce and make a bad-ass milk shake.

His laugh caught up to me as I neared the curb. I stiffened, but kept walking.

“If you were born an animal—you’d be a Llama,” he called after me.

That stopped me. Was this douche seriously comparing me to a hairy mammal?

“And why is that?” I kept my back to him, but my eye was twitching.

“Google them.”

Was this really happening? I twisted my head around, exorcist style, and glared at him. He looked so sure of himself.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets and heading back toward his group.

I rolled my eyes. Hopefully, that would be never. I steamed all the way to my dorm room. Before I could touch the knob, the door was flung open with gusto. Behold my freshman roommate.

“Why was he talking to you?”

She was dulcet, bright-eyed, blond, and as much as I wanted to hate her, she was a terribly cute little thing.

“He was recruiting members for his fan club. I gave him your name, Cam.”

“Seriously Olivia, what did he say?” she followed me as I stacked my books neatly on my desk. When I tried to ignore her, she started pinging M&M’s off my head.

“He was just showing off in front of his friends, there’s nothing to tell. Really!” She let me pass. I was headed for my whipping cream, getting ready to drink it straight, when she blocked me.

“You are so dense!”

“Dense?" I shook my head. "Are you calling me complicated or stupid?” I looked longingly over her shoulder at the fridge.

“Caleb Drake doesn’t go to girls, girls go to Caleb Drake. He just stepped out of his box to talk to you and you blew him off!”

“He’s not interested in me,” I said sighing. “He was showing off.”

“So he was showing off. Who cares? He’s earned the right. He's gorgeous!”

I made a gagging noise.

“Olivia,” she begged. “There is more to life than just books and studying!” she flung my textbooks off my desk for show. “Boy’s are…..they can…..do things,” she finished, nodding at me.

“You,” I said poking her in the ribs “are a slut.”

I rescued a textbook from the floor and started studying.

“O-liv-ia!”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I hated it when she said my name like that.

“Hmmm?”

She snatched the book from my hands.

“You listen to me, you ungrateful prude,” she grabbed my chin in her hand and yanked it up until I was looking at her. “He is going to talk to you again, just because you rejected him. He kind of liked it—and when he does,” she clamped her hand over my protesting mouth, “you are going to talk to him and flirt with him. Do you understand me?”

I shrugged.

Cammie shrieked, “Agghh!” and locked herself in the bathroom.

I certainly didn’t care what effect he had on the females on campus. Caleb Drake meant nothing to me. He would never mean anything to me. I was un-shmoozable. The end.

Cammie turned out to be right. Later that week, I had been studying all day when she started nagging me to attend a basketball game with her.

“I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”

“With extra whipped cream?”

“With clouds, if you’ll just hurry up!”

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the stands sipping hot chocolate with extra whipped cream from a little Styrofoam cup. Cammie was ignoring me and I was already regretting my decision to come. Caleb Drake was whipping around the court like an egg beater and frankly it was making me dizzy to watch him.

Halftime came and I stood up to find the bathroom. I was trying to knee my way past Cammie when the president of the student body stepped onto the court and held up his hands for silence.

“Laura Holberman, one of our students, has been missing from the dorms for over five days,” he said into the microphone. I stopped to listen. “Her parents, as well as the staff, are urging anyone who has any information about Laura, to come forward right away. Thanks guys, enjoy the rest of the game.”

I shared a few classes with Laura my freshman year. College students sometimes liked to disappear for a few days when things got stressful. She was probably holed away at a friend’s house somewhere, eating chocolate and bitching about professors. People always made a big deal about nothing.

“She dated Caleb Drake her freshman year,” Cammie whispered. “I wonder if he will be able to concentrate on the rest of the game now that he knows.”

I looked at Caleb, who was sitting on the bench, drinking from a water bottle. He looked relaxed. The jerk.

It was during the fourth quarter, when there was a minute left in the game, that the opposing team made a parting of the Red Sea comeback, tying the Cougars 72-72. I wouldn’t have known this if Cammie hadn’t told me, since I had spent the last twenty minutes picking fuzz balls from my sweater. Caleb Drake stood at the free -throw line, preparing for the most important shot of the night. He looked calm, like he already knew he was going to make it. For the first time that night, the gym was strangely quiet. Intrigued, I forgot my fuzz ball picking, and sat up straighter. I wanted him to make it. I know it was shameful, but I did. For once, I understood the Caleb mania. He was like a jalapeño, bright and smooth, but dangerously hot. A small part of me wanted to bite him.

I turned to Cammie, whose eyes were big with anticipation. This was major stuff—right here. My eyes drifted back to the court. I jerked. Caleb was watching me. The entire student body was watching him and Caleb was watching me. Before the ref could blow the whistle, Caleb tucked the ball beneath his arm and jogged over to his coach.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” Cammie was hopping from one foot to another, her pigtails bouncing in time with the music.

Something didn't feel right. I shifted in my seat, crossed and un-crossed my legs. Caleb was handing his coach the ball. I suddenly felt like I was sitting in a sauna.

“He’s coming up the stairs, Olivia! He’s coming this way!” Cammie squealed.

I slunk lower in my seat. No way was this happening! He was headed right for me! I pretended to be busy digging around in my purse for something. When he stopped next to my seat, I looked up in surprise.

“Olivia,” he said, resting on his haunches to look me in the eyes. “Olivia Kaspen.” I saw Cammie’s jaw drop open and a multitude of heads turn to look at us.

“Bravo, you found out my name.” Then in a lower voice, “What the hell are you doing?”

He ignored me. “You’re quite the mystery on campus.” His voice was raspy, the kind that if whispered in your ear would give you goose bumps. I cleared my throat and did my best to look annoyed.

“Are you going to be making a point any time soon, or are you holding up the game to brag about your detective skills?”

He laughed. He looked down at the floor then back at me.

“If I make this shot, will you go out with me?” His gaze was traveling between my eyes and my lips. I felt the heat hit my face and I ducked my head. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. It was like he was already planning our first kiss, evaluating my lips. I shook my head. It was ridiculous. He was making a production of his wounded ego and I didn’t give a damn if he made that shot.

I narrowed my eyes. “If you were born an animal do you know which one you’d be?” I asked. A flicker of uncertainty passed across his face. After our little encounter in the rain, I had Googled Llama’s just as he suggested. Apparently, they were pretty rude; spitting, kicking and head-butting were part of their social decorum.

“A peacock.”

He grinned.

“It took you all week to think up that one didn’t it?” His eyes were on my lips again.

“Sure,” I said shrugging.

“So then, it’s fair to say that you were thinking about me all week?” Now it was my turn to look shaken. Damn. Just when I had him.

“No…and…. no, I will not go out with you.”

I leaned back in my chair and decided to look at the score board. Maybe, if I ignored him, he would leave. The Black Eyed Peas were playing loudly over the speakers. I tapped my foot to the rhythm.

“Why not?” He seemed agitated. I liked it.

“Because I am a llama and you are a bird and WE are not compatible.” There was an increasing rise in interest across the gym, as people were standing up to get a better look at what was happening. I started getting nervous.

“Okay,” he said matter-of-factly. “Then what will it take?” He was leaning so close to me I could feel his breath on my face. It smelled like peppermint. I held my breath and tried to gain control of my racing heart.

And then a brilliant thought.

“Miss it.”

He cocked his head. I leaned closer, narrowed my eyes. I spoke slower this time, so there would be no confusion.

“Miss it, and I’ll go out with you.”

I saw the tenderness drain from his eyes. Asking a Peacock to pull out his feathers was a hard thing to do.

He stood up quickly, too quickly, and took the stairs back to the court two at a time. I settled back into my seat with a smug smile. Bet he wasn’t expecting that. Hotshot. Idiot.

Cammie was taking turns looking from me to Caleb. There was something like awe on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but I held up my finger to silence her. This was not the time for Cammie’s mouth.

“Save it, Camadora,” I warned her.

I focused my sole attention on the figure standing at the free-throw line, not looking quite as composed as he’d looked a few minutes ago.

The ref blew his whistle and Caleb raised his arms with the ball held lightly in his hands. I tried to imagine what he was thinking. He was done with me, no doubt. Probably angry that I would have the audacity to….I lost my train of thought. The moment of truth was beginning.

The muscles in his arms flexed, as the ball spun from his hands and sailed toward the hoop. In those few seconds, my mind had time to register that something wasn't right about the situation. And then it happened. The ball fell short a foot from the basket and hit the ground with a sickening thud. I watched in horror as pandemonium broke forth.

“No, no, no, no,” I whispered under my breath. How could he do that? Why would he do that? What an absolute idiot!

“Olivia, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear any of that,” Cammie hissed, grabbing me by the wrist. “We need to go before someone kills you.” As she pulled me though the throng, I turned back to the court for one last look at what was happening. Caleb was gone.

I didn’t hear anything from him for over a week. Guilt had started seeping into my self-righteous bones and it hurt right down to the marrow. I didn’t want to admit that Caleb Drake had surprised me and humiliated himself. Someone like him couldn’t surprise someone like me…right?

Somehow, the news that he had sabotaged the game for a girl had spread across campus. Since it was me he had been talking to minutes before his miss, I was prime suspect. Girls whispered when they saw me and the basketball team had taken to giving me searing and menacing looks.

“She’s not even that pretty,” I heard one cheerleader say to another. “If he was going to sabotage his entire basketball career; he should have done it for a better piece of ass.”

I ducked my head in shame and disappeared into the library. How was I supposed to know there were scouts at that game? My knowledge of sports was limited to being able to identify the different colored balls, and anyway who would have thought that he would actually have done it?

I spent a little more time in front of the mirror in the mornings applying mascara and curling my hair. Since all eyes were on me, I might as well try to be a good-looking piece of ass.

I was too pretty to be plain and my features were too round to be exotic. Men avoided me. Cammie told me once that I had a kind of fierceness in my eyes that scared people away. Yet, Caleb Drake had not been scared. He missed the hoop on purpose. He played my game and I lost.

“Olivia there’s a uuuh…delivery for you,” Cammie called through the bathroom door one evening.

A box was sitting on my neatly made bed when I emerged. I quickly removed it and dusted the spot where it had been. Cammie rolled her eyes and collapsed onto her own bed, which hadn’t been made in a week.

“Open the thing won’t you? It was hand delivered by that creepy guy from the campus post office. He even tried to smell my hair when I took it from him.”

“He has sinus problems,” I said grabbing the scissors, “don’t flatter yourself.” The box opened, and I stared into it not quite sure of what I was seeing.

“It’s a deflated basketball,” I said holding it up to show Cammie. There was an envelope attached to it. Cammie sat up her eyes suddenly alert.

“No genius, that’s the deflated basketball!”

I swallowed hard as I read the note:

Olivia,

Time to pay up. Meet me in the library in ten minutes.

–Caleb

“Unbelievable!” I said holding the ball in my hand. “Not even a please! He pretty much commanded me to be there!”

“You’re going.” Cammie stood up, hands on her hips.

I sucked in the corners of my mouth and shook my head-‘no’.

“OLIVIA! You ruined the most important game of the season for him! You owe him.”

I sort of did.

“Fine. FINE!!” I shouted, meeting her tone. I grabbed a hoodie from my closet and violently pulled it over my head. “But this is it, okay?” I said, stabbing my finger at her. “I’m meeting him in the library, and then I don’t want to hear another word about it from you or him or that damn cheerleading squad!”

Cammie beamed. “Make sure you remember every detail and try to mention my name.”

I slammed the door on my way out.

At nine thirty on Friday night, the Dart Library was practically a ghost town. A crusty-faced woman was standing behind the checkout counter glaring at two freshmen who were making out. I passed a picture of Laura Helberman on the wall with information to contact authorities if she was seen. She was pretty in a Daisy Duke kind of way. Blonde hair, lots of mascara, and puckered lips that looked like they had just sucked on a lollipop. She had been missing for sixteen days and her story was being covered by Nancy Grace—my hero.

I sighed. I was early. I decided to take a stroll to the fiction section to see if there was anything worth checking out.

Caleb found me there a few minutes later.

“Hello, Olivia,” he strolled up to me with such ridiculous confidence that I wanted to stick my foot out and trip him.

“Caleb,” I nodded at him curtly.

He was wearing a black pea coat over an expensive looking cream sweater. My heart did a little gallop. I disciplined my heart, calmed it down and turned to face him. His hands were tucked causally into the pockets of his corduroys. Very GQ. I had expected him to show up in one of those silly basketball jackets and a dingy pair of jeans.

“Why are you so dressed up?” I snapped, adding a novel to the growing pile of books on the table.

“How do you find time to read?” he asked, picking up the book and examining the cover. I wasn’t going to tell him that I didn’t have a life and that I read my weekends away. I sent him a scalding look and hoped that he would drop the subject. The stupid jock had probably never read a book cover to cover. I was about to tell him so when he walked down the aisle next to me and came back carrying a chunky novel in his hand.

“Try this. It’s my favorite book.”

I looked at him warily before plucking it from his fingers.

Great Expectations. I had never read it.

“You’re kidding?”

He grinned.

“Do you think that because I play basketball, I’m illiterate?”

I sniffed. That is exactly what I thought.

“Why did you ask me to come here?”

“I thought that you might be more comfortable meeting me here.” He perched himself on the edge of a table. “Did you think that I wouldn’t want to collect on our bet?”

I was noticing an accent for the first time. British, I thought but I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, it had the same effect on me as vodka.

“I asked you to miss the shot. I didn’t say I would go out with you if you did.”

“Really? I don’t quite remember it that way.” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, pretending to be confused. I was the only one allowed to be sarcastic.

“You will go out with me, Olivia, because as much as you hate to admit it, you were wrong about me.”

My mouth opened and closed. My wit! Where was my wit?

“I…uhhh…”

“No,” he cut me off. “No excuses. I’m taking you out on a date.”

“Okay.” I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply. “A deal’s a deal.”

Cammie was going to love me for this. Love me!

“Wednesday, eight o’ clock.” He stood. I backed up a step. He was so tall.

He started walking away and then stopped.

“Olivia?”

“What?” I snapped.

“I’m going to kiss you. Just so you know.”

I heard his laughter echo across the library as he left. Over my dead body. Why did he have to be so good looking? And why did my name sound so pretty when he said it?

I snatched up my books and went to checkout.

Chapter Four

  I was afraid of him. He was outplaying me, plucking all of my weapons from my fingers and making me feel like a toothless tiger.  My solution was to hide in my room until Wednesday to avoid a run-in with him. Cammie kept me alive on frozen burritos and her private stash of Boston Baked Beans. I read Great Expectations, which as it turned out was really good. I Googled the rules of basketball so I cold fully understand what had happened when he missed that shot.

When the day of the date finally arrived, I was almost looking forward to it, almost.  Cammie set up a grooming station at her study desk (which unfortunately had never been used for studying), and I sat obediently like a chimp, while she groomed me. She picked at my hair, buffed my nails, and dabbed obscene smelling potions on my face. When she started lecturing me on safe sex, I jammed my headphones into my ears and turned the volume on high.

At exactly seven fifty-five, there was a polite tap, tap, tap on the door. Cammie jumped up and down, her face grotesquely frozen in silent screams.

“He’s actually going to be in our room!” she hissed, dancing over to the door. She ran a tube of pink gloss over her lips before unlatching the door.

I stood back while slutty mother freshman let our date in.

“Oh, hello,” she said casually. “I’m Cammie,” she offered him her hand and he shook it smiling politely. When his eyes found me he did a double take. I looked nice. Cammie had outdone herself. I was wearing jeans and a slinky cashmere sweater that slipped off one shoulder. My hair, as usual, hung in ropey waves to my waist, but Cammie had taken the time to style a poof and spritz it with sinful amounts of hairspray.

“Well, let’s go then,” I said, walking past him and out into the hall. I turned to watch him say goodbye to Cammie.

“I won’t have her back too late,” I heard him say.

“Oh, keep her out as long as you like,” she said in her southern drawl, “She needs a firm hand so don’t be afraid to use one.” She looked directly at me with that last statement. I made plans to sabotage her English Comp paper when I got back.

“She’s a character,” Caleb said as the door shut behind us.

I grimaced.

Understatement.

“She’s from Texas,” I said, as if that explained her behavior and then I blushed. Why did I say that? I looked up at his face to see him half smiling at me.

It took all of my self -control not to turn around and go back to my room. In the end, pride kept my feet moving. I didn’t want him to think that I couldn’t handle myself.

We passed two cheerleaders on our way to the elevator. Their eyes grew large when they caught sight of Caleb. He nodded at them politely, but kept moving, his hand on the small of my back. I tried to scoot away, but he was pretty adept at keeping it there.

“Do you take compliments?” he asked as we stepped into the elevator and I pressed the down button before he had the chance.

“If they’re original.”

He snickered and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” he said. He was trying not to laugh at the expression on my face. “Let’s see. You can kill with a smile, you can wound with your eyes….”

“That’s not original, that’s a Billy Joel song,” I interrupted. “And what kind of compliment is that anyway?”

We were walking toward his car. His hands were now in his pockets as we strolled casually.

“I’d say that song was written for you, but if you’re going to be picky…” his voice trailed off. “Do you want the jock to compliment you or the guy who reads Great Expectations?”

“Both.” I was trying to appear like I wasn’t enjoying this little exchange but I could already feel my shoulders relaxing, and now that his hand wasn’t on my back, I could think again. We reached his car and I stood at the door with my back to him, waiting for him to unlock it.

“Whether I’m standing behind you or facing you, the view’s pretty nice,” he said.

I felt my face flush as the automatic locks clicked and he held the door open for me. I could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice so I climbed in without a word. I had never met anyone so intent on making me feel uncomfortable. He took his time walking around the car. I watched him intently. He was wearing another one of those impressively well put together outfits.

I sank into the seat and breathed in the scent of his cologne. It permeated the leather seats like skin, making it smell like he was everywhere. The smell was Christmassy, like Douglas firs and Bergamot oranges. I liked it.

“Put your seatbelt on,” he said, sliding in the driver’s seat.

I pursed my lips. No way. He was not going to order me around.

“I’m not putting it on.”  The restored VW Bug that I owned didn’t even have seatbelts. One of its previous owners had cut them out. I silently chided myself for not taking my own car.

Caleb raised an eyebrow, something I was starting to notice he did quite often.

“Suit yourself,” he said shrugging. “If we come to any fast stops, I’ll just reach out my arm like this to stop you from jerking forward.” He illustrated his point by extending his arm across my chest where it came in direct contact with my B-cups.

I put my seat belt on.  He didn’t even try not to smile.

“Where are we going anyway?”  I asked bitterly. Hopefully, we could make this quick and I could be back to my room in time to watch Grey's Anatomy. Handsome, fictional men were so much easier to stomach than real life ones who smelled of Christmas and looked like a Calvin Klein model.

“To my favorite date spot.” He looked over at me as his hands shifted gears and I felt unwelcome warmth in my belly. I had a hand fetish. His hands were big, probably beneficial for that stupid sport he played. His were the kind of hands that made wedding rings look sexy—tan with vein lines that ran like snaking rivers to his wrist and disappeared under his sleeves.

“This isn’t a date,” I reminded him. “And, it’s really lame that you just told me you’re taking me somewhere you’ve taken other girls.”

  “Right. Well next time I’ll remember to lie to you then,” he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“What makes you think there will be a next time?”

“What makes you think there won’t?”

I didn’t bother looking at him I just sniffed my response and stared out the window.

Jaxson’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream was located on one of the busier streets in Dania. Its neon circus sign blinked impatiently from a nondescript shopping plaza, working overtime to attract the attention of passersby. Despite the bright lights, the cutouts where tourists place their heads on animal bodies, and the blaring organ music, I had never noticed the place.

“Oh,” I said, trying to mask my surprise. “This is interesting.”

“Are you lactose intolerant?” he asked sliding his car into a parking spot.

“Nope.”

“On a diet?”

“Not this week.”

“Great. Then you’re going to love it.”  He came around to open my door, and offered me his hand as I maneuvered my way out of the car.

We entered the lobby and were immediately greeted by an elderly man with cotton candy hair.  He wheezed in excitement when he saw Caleb and shuffled over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Caleb,” he said in a cigarette chapped voice. He was wearing a red pinstriped jumpsuit with buttons made to look like lollypops.

It embarrassed me.

Caleb put a big hand on our host’s shoulder as he greeted him. They exchanged niceties for a few moments and then annoyingly enough, Caleb’s hand found my lower back again.

“Harlow, is my table open?”

Harlow nodded and shuffled forward. We towed along behind him, passing through the first room and taking a small walkway between the ice cream coolers until we emerged into a second, larger room. I looked around in awe as we slowly made our way to the table. The place was a smorgasbord of twenties paraphernalia. In fact, there were so many knick knacks and doodads hanging from the walls, my eyes crossed in confusion.  “Caleb’s table” was rinky-dink and small, with a lopsided baby carriage hanging over it. I pursed my lips, unimpressed.  Caleb turned to look at me and smiled like he could read my thoughts.

Harlow began wheezing again as he struggled to pull out my chair.

“I can get it. Thanks,” I said.  He shrugged his shoulders and disappeared, leaving us alone.

Rich, British boys didn’t eat ice cream in places like this. They ate caviar on yachts and dated rich, blond girls with trust funds. He had to be seriously flawed in some unobvious way. I went through the possibilities in my mind; bad temper, clingy, mental illness…..

“I suppose you’re wondering about the table?” he said, sitting down across from me.

I nodded.

“I’ve been bringing girls here since junior high.”  He folded his hands on the sticky tabletop and leaned back in his seat casually. “Anyway, you see that table over there?” I turned to look at the corner table that he was pointing to. An old traffic light was spastically blinking red, green, red, red green above it.

“That is the bad luck table and I will never sit there again, not by myself, and not ever with a date.”

I turned back to him amused. He was superstitious. How tacky. I felt smug.

“Why?”

“Well, because every time I sit at that table something disastrous happens—like my old girlfriend seeing me with my new girlfriend and dumping death-by– chocolate on our laps, or finding out that you’re allergic to blueberries in front of the hottest girl in school….” He laughed at himself and I let a smile creep through my tough girl act.

A blueberry allergy was kind of endearing.

“And this table?” I asked.

“Good things happen at this table,” he said simply.

I raised an eyebrow but was too afraid to ask. Bringing a girl to an ice cream parlor that looked like it was funked in the twenties scored pretty big points. Cammie would be eating it up. It was his sex ticket, I decided.

I was inordinately relieved when our server showed up with two waters and a colander of stale popcorn.

I was still looking through my menu when I heard Caleb ordering for me.

“Are you kidding?” I asked when out server walked away. “Are you aware that women can now vote and order their own food?”

“You never give an inch,” he said. “—I like that.”

I lick the salt off my fingers and narrow my eyes at him.

“I saw you looking at this.” He tapped a picture of a banana split. “—right before you started looking at the low fat ice cream.”

He was observant, I’d give him that.

“So what if I wanted something low fat?”

Caleb shrugged. “It’s my night. I won. I make the rules.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

He told me about his family while we waited. He grew up in London with his mother and stepfather. He had the type of magical childhood every kid dreams of, fancy vacations, Christmases with the cousins in Switzerland, and a goddamn pony for his birthday. They transplanted to America when he was fourteen. Michigan first, and then when his mother said the cold was bad for her complexion, Florida. There was an abundance of money, little fighting, and an older brother who did things like climb Mt. Everest in his spare time. His biological father, whom he still occasionally saw, was a womanizer who graced the covers of British tabloids by dating and breaking up with famous models.  When it came my turn to spill, I filtered my story for his upper class benefit, leaving out my alcoholic father whom I just called ‘deceased,’ and replacing the projects with ‘a bad neighborhood’.  I saw little reason to drown him in the ugly details of my un-charmed life. I didn’t want to bruise his happily ever after.  He listened with attentiveness and asked me questions.  In my opinion, one could measure a person’s self-absorption by the amount of questions they did not pose. Caleb genuinely seemed interested in me. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Either it was a ploy to get girls in bed, or he really was that nice.

When I told him about my mother and how she had died of cancer during my senior year of high school, I saw genuine compassion in his eyes, which made me shift uncomfortably in my seat.