Disclaimer: New Girl is the property of Fox and Elizabet Meriwether.
A/N: Nick decides to switch college, and move to San Francisco. There he meets a strange brunette, with a quirky sense of humour and a lack of boundaries. Romance ensues. This story is a slight AU. It's pg for now, but will be bumped up to M later (with good reason). Reviews are always appreciated.
Chapter I
I
Oh shit, oh shit.
This was not what he had signed up for. How had college ever seemed like a good idea? Having spent the last two semesters in relentless work, not so much on the education as on his motivation, Nick had decided that this year would be different. He had to get away. Upon making his decision, he compiled a list of pros and cons, but had managed to get it mixed in with the notes on a lecture in criminal law. Weather that said more about his note-taking abilities or his friends he wasn't absolutely sure. He didn't ponder it to much, because either way, they were both partly to blame for his decision. It would still have been a good idea to keep that list handy for moments like this. Anyway, this year was going to be different. No distractions. No getting shit-faced on a Monday. He was going to kick this year in the ass. Metaphorically. Wow, he really needed to work on his expressions.
Nick reclined in his beanbag, the only piece of furniture he'd taken with him from Chicago, whilst trying to turn the volume of his TV up with his toe. In his defence it was the big toe, and he'd arranged the room with the intention of never having to walk anywhere. Except to the bathroom. He was able to roll out of bed, and straight into the beanbag, placed underneath. The TV was standing in the middle of the room, accessible either from the bed or the saggy chair. The surrounding area had a carpet consisting of beer-cans and dirty plates. It was paper, though. He didn't own the real stuff.
It was when Schmidt pointed this out, while huffily stuffing paper-plates in a garbage bag, that Nick missed his list. Schmidt was the first word on it. It's not that he didn't like the guy. But he'd started to loose weight, and for every pound he dropped, he's ego grew exponentially. Actually, that wasn't the problem either. In many way's Schmidt was the perfect roommate. With Schmidt by his side, he suddenly looked much more attractive. He cleaned and went to the store when Nick was too high or hungover. One one occasion, Schmidt had even done his laundry. No, the problem was that Schmidt was an enabler. He made it too easy to drop the lectures and stay in with some weed and the Nintendo. Then there was the weekend partying and the middle-of-the-week-partying. In short, it was just too much partying. It was too many opportunities to just lie on the couch procrastinating, and not enough pressure to study, or indeed get dressed. And so, Schmidt had to go. Or rather, he did, not wanting to hurt the guys feelings. He needed a fresh start at this college thing, and so, he'd decided to move. To San Francisco. And Schmidt had decided to move with him. Now Nick wished he'd been a little meaner. And that he'd have his list.
There where a lot of good reasons for this move. Pity he couldn't seem to remember any. The point was to get away from his roommate and his habits. Partially, it was to get away from his dealer, and those soul-sucking dirtbags he called classmates. And to go some place sunnier. It didn't seem like the plan had succeeded. And without the list, he'd never know. He growled in frustration, trying to muffle the noise in his beanbag, while Schmidt reminded him, for the third time that day, where the trash-can was.
Having parked his beat up excuse for a car outside the doorms, he'd already felt a sense of foreboding. He'd meet some of his new classmates the previous day, and by all accounts he'd might just as well have stayed in Chicago. It seemed like lawyers are all the same, no matter what state they live in. There where a few cute girls, most of them escorted by their boyfriends. He'd conversed briefly with a hot readhead, but when she asked him why he wanted to be a lawyer, he choked, and had ended up denying any such wish with a rant that lasted a good five minutes, during which he's voice had grown more and more hysterical. He'd done his best to block out the incident, but the image of the dumbstruck girl still popped into his head at frequent intervals. Like when he was trying to park his car. Trying physically to shake the image out of his brain, he spotted an all too familiar figure running towards his car with an idiotic grin and keys jumbling from his waving hands. Schmidt. And that's when he accidentally set his car in reverse, backing into an unsuspecting student passing behind his vehicle. Yeah, this wasn't going to be as smoothly as he'd hoped.
II
Nick was not happy. He'd resolved not to go out tonight, what with class first thing in the morning. His first class, at a new college. But Schmidt was already beginning to wear him down.
"Come on bro," he moaned, still not at ease with the college vernacular. "It's our first night together in a new city. In San Francisco!"
Schmidt was easy to please.
"You've got the whole semester to study. But if you don't make friends now, all the good ones will be taken. And by the time we get to October, everyone but us will be in a click, and all the hot girls will be taken."
The logic was sound, no denying that. And Schmidt had already bought far more beer than he could possibly drink alone. So either they would get stolen at the party, or they would be laying around for the next week, tempting him away from his books. Wouldn't it just be better to drink them now? Before the homework piled on, and the exams drew closer. That's when Schmidt delivered his final argument.
"This girl was asking about you earlier."
Nick tired to sit up, but it proved impossible, the beanbag sagging beneath him. This sounded promising.
"And how do you know she's going to be there?"
Schmidt smiled, sensing the triumph.
"She's the one hosting it."
III
Nick had a brief internal discussion about whether or not to take a shower. In the end he decided to, since he hadn't washed during his entire trip to California. Three beers, one shower and a panic-attac from Schmidt, they where finally on their way. The party was somewhere in the building.
"Just follow the noise," he instructed, as they pressed their way through the groups of people that had for some indiscernible reason had decided to flock in the forth-floor corridor. Most of these people knew each other, having already spent a year in the same dorm. It made the social pressure even more unbearable. Not that he wasn't a smooth talker. In fact, he was the smoothest talker he knew. At least back in their old Illinois-gang.
The building was an old one. They had made some adjustments, probably during the seventies, which would explain the linoleum floors and the brown wallpaper that covered every surface. Schmidt was the one to point this out, after complaining about the state of their bathroom. Nick didn't mind. He felt comfortable with dingy floors and mould in the window-sill. Any place that was too neat just brought on an unbearable pressure to clean. Besides you couldn't get bong-water all over a nice new carpet. Nick doubted whether anyone would seriously care what happened to this trash can of a house.
The party was some place on the first floor, but had now overflowed with guests, and spread into the lawn. People stood in casual groups, drinking. A few students where trying to get people to dance, without much success. The room was unbearably hot, and to crowded for Schmidt to easily move. The music was so fucking loud. Nick could feel himself sinking into a bad mood already. He opened a beer, while scouting for talent, but without much interest. It had been a while. He hadn't had sex since Rebecca. That was one month ago, and he was horny as hell. It's just that he was tired of repetition. Of going out night after night, Schmitty by his side, and working relentlessly on finding someone who would have him. Or at least someone who would let him stick his hand down her bra. But there where some nice girls here. He's relentless glaring was interrupted by someone – a girl - jumping out in front of him, introducing herself as the hostess. Nick shook her hand politely, before shoving her aside, and making his way across the room to the lawn outside. He just wasn't in the mood. What was it that Schmidt had said? She liked him? That was just too much pressure.
Schmidt followed him outside, nudging his shoulder, gesturing at a group of students, who, judging by their shifty stance and nervous looks, where new to college-life. Suppose he could teach them a thing or to...
"Dude!"
Schmidt was so excited, he bounded up and down on the balls of his feet.
"Check out those girls. Do I look okay, I mean, does this sweater make me look thinner? I think the blond one is looking at me, the one with the short skirt."
Nick new Schmidt wasn't actually going to initiate a conversation. That was what he was here for. But they all wore short skirts, and nearly every single one of the had blond hair. Probably fake, but what did it matter? They looked almost identical, and when they spoke, it was with the same, over-exaggerating turn of phrase. There was one exception. A girl with dark hair and, a long flowery dress that he liked. Not that he usually had an opinion about women's clothing. He would have helped Schmidt. At least, he usually did. But not tonight. Not while he was in such a foul mood. At least not until he was drunk. But Schmidt, still bouncing up and down on his toes, seemed unusually courageous tonight.
"I'm going over! I'm getting some strange."
The words just sounded absurd when coming out of Schmidt's mouth.
"If I hang a sock on the door, don't come in, okay," he pleaded, before adding "and if you absolutely have to, just make sure she doesn't see you. Or that you see her. You know, naked."
Schmidt giggled at the thought.
"Okay man, okay."
Nick tried his best to sound encouraging. Schmidt was still bouncing, but a look of terror mixed with panic, overtook him.
"You're coming with me right?"
"Yeah, sure."
He gave up. While Schmidt bounded over to the group of identical girls, he wondered whether it would be too late to move back to Chicago. The girls where obviously not interested. They huddled closer together. Like sheep, Nick thought. Yeah, they where exactly like sheep. They looked the same, they talked the same, and he didn't need telepathy to know that they probably thought the same. Except maybe the dark-haired girl with the flowery dress. She remained on the outskirts of the group, and didn't seemed to notice that there where wolves on the loose. As it where. Seriously, he really needed to work on his imagery. But wolves or no wolves, the girl seemed unperturbed. It scared him. That, and her pretty face. But she was still the most accessible in the group, and, as Schmidt had never learned, you always go for the outsider. Seriously, was he going to kill this girl, or was he going to talk to her? He tried talking.
"Hey."
She looked up, noticing him for the first time. Her eyes where uncommonly big and uncommonly blue. She smiled. It was a pretty smile. A very pretty smile. It made him slightly giddy. Damn, this was not the plan, this was not what he wanted.
"I'm Nick."
He stretched out a hand, and she grabbed it. He was surprised at himself. This was so strange. No drunken dancing. No trying to yell over the music, and ending up making out instead. Just a mature introduction.
"Hey," she repeated, grasping his hand. "I'm Jess."
Okay, so maybe she wasn't all that mature. But she was different. For a few seconds she didn't say anything, but then...
"Standing in the garden."
She was singing. What the hell? It was a nice voice, deep and melodious, but even so... Nick could feel his face contracting in reticence, brows furrowed, his moth drawn up.
"Talking to this guy. He's wearing a red sweater. He looks really maaaaad."
The last vocal was drawn out into a high-pitched whine. Then, just as suddenly as she'd started, she stopped, and just stared at him with big blue eyes, her mouth slightly pouting, as if she wasn't entirely happy with what she saw. Or maybe she wasn't entirely happy with herself.
"What the hell was that?"
Okay, maybe he could have been a bit nicer. But the girl seemed unperturbed.
"Oh, it's just, I have this habit of singing to myself. A lot. Just something I do."
"Why?"
He noticed the incredulity in his own voice. Was he overstepping some sort of line now? Was he being mean? Honestly, who the hell cared, he tried to admonish himself. He didn't know this girl. And he never would. If only he could extract himself from this pathetic excuse for a conversation.
"Um..."
She drew the syllable out, and began tilting her hips from side to side, like a little girl. Like a woman who'd never grown up. Her dress swayed with her, splaying gently out with every movement she made. Colour and movement, he thought. She's like a cartoon-character.
"I don't know. Just something I do," she repeated. "I also like to draw cats, and dance, even when there's no music on. And I love crying. Well, you know, I don't actually love crying, but I cry a lot, and I don't think it's healthy to keep it in."
She held his gaze, her eyes steady. She was completely unashamed, as if she didn't notice his reaction. Maybe she was acting like a nutt-ball on purpose? Maybe this was some sort of bet?
"Okay. Good for you."
"Don't you like to cry?" she asked. And then: "dooon't you like toooo cryyyy."
What the hell was the matter with her? And what the hell was he supposed to answer?
"Uhm.. No, no I don't. I don't really cry."
"Maybe you should try?"
"Why?"
This was getting more and more out of hand. A sheep seemed pretty good right now, if only it would mean undemanding small-talk.
"You look so sad," she said.
He wasn't quite certain why he felt so offended. As if being accused of having feelings was an insult. Just as he was about to correct her, to tell her he was pensive, to tell her that this wasn't his idea of a great night, but that he in fact wasn't sad, Schmidt called, and began to ambulate slowly towards them. Probably attracted to the cartoonish girl standing in front of him. Cartoonish. That was an expression, right?
"I'm not sad."
He managed one defensive snap, and then Schmidt was by his side.
"Oh, my man tellin' you about his breakup. Man, that was rough. Promise you'll be gentle with him."
Schmidt smiled, all the while stabbing him in the back. Damn Schmidt. Nick balled up his fists, trying to resist the urge to kick something.
"Awww," the girl intoned. "I'm so sorry. How long did it last?"
Oh, if looks could kill. Nick gave Schmidt a look that in his mind clearly said 'I'm going to kill you later', but which he interpreted as 'tell her more'.
"Six months."
The girl reached out her hand, and introduced herself to Schmidt, who seemed like he couldn't believe his luck. Apparently he thought this bowl-of-crazy was interested in him. Well, in that case, good luck Schmitty.
"I was just dumped too. Well, actually I did the dumping. But my boyfriend was cheating on me. With my roommate. Yeah, I was going to surprise him, so I dressed up in like a trench-coat, with nothing underneath. Except a red ribbon to cover my... You know. Anyway, I was like completely naked, in my apartment, and then I find my roommate and my boyfriend coming out of my bedroom. They where naked too..."
She stopped talking, and for the first time she actually looked self-conscious. She trailed off her speech with a weak "yeah, so that happened," before her eyes locked firmly with the ground. This was obviously something that upset her. Yet she talked about it. And with two strangers no less. With a feeling of trepidation, and something that he couldn't quite describe, but which felt like he had spilt warm coffee inside his stomach, and instead of burning him, it was heating him from the inside, he managed to summon a sincere tone.
"I'm really sorry. That guy was an ass."
Her eyes glazed over. Oh no. Please no, don't cry. She didn't hear him. Obviously. Nick suspected that it wouldn't have mattered anyway. At least if she loved crying as much as she'd proclaimed. Maybe she sensed his discomfort thought, because she soon collected herself, and tried to change the subject.
"So, where do you guys live?"
"Um, right here." Nick gestured to the building behind them, in which smoke was now pouring from the designated party-zone. "Forth floor."
"Oh!"
The girl squealed, making funny movements with her arms, a sort of combination of finger-guns and a boxing movement.
"So do I. That's so cool. I'll come visit you sometime."
Before Nick had the chance to politely decline (he did have stuff to do after all, and that stuff did not include this over-exuberant girl, although... No, no, he was not going to start something up with a crazy-person) Schmidt had already accepted, with an enthusiasm that made Nicks stomach twitch uncomfortably. Nick didn't really know whether the thought of Schmidt going out with this girl was making him uncomfortable, or if it was the other way around. But he didn't feel good. What the hell was going on? Maybe he was sick? Yeah, that was probably it. Finally he had a good excuse to go back to his room. Mumbling an apology to Schmidt, he turned back to the girl.
"Eh, Jess, right?"
She nodded, smiling with a warmth that seemed genuine. Of course it's genuine, he admonished himself. She's crazy, she doesn't know how to conceal her emotions.
"So, I'm going to bed. Nice talking to you."
Apparently that was a trait he lacked. The girl, Jess, looked a little crestfallen at his obvious rejection. Not that she'd been coming on to him. But damn it, now he felt bad. Her eyes where once again brimming with tears, and the beautiful blue of her irises made it impossible to look away. Nick sighed internally, but tired to soften his expression.
"But stop by sometime, okay."
And then she was smiling again. He left at once after that, not sure how much more of her he could handle. While navigating his way across the lawn and up the stairs, and much later, when he was in bed, lights off, and the muffled noises of the last party-stragglers outside, he tired making sense of the girl. Jess. Jess, who seemed so simple, and naïve, like she took everything on face-value. Jess, who talked and talked, and who didn't even try to conceal her thoughts. Still, even after everything she'd talked about, he could not for the life of him figure her out. Also, she'd had really nice skin. And a cute nose. And her eyes where amazing. But no. Stop it, he told himself, using the sternest internal voice he had, and resolved that the next time he saw her, he would lock the door. And maybe bolt it. And maybe get a bolt. Man, this was a crappy start to a new semester.
A/N: I'm not too familiar with American colloquialisms, or indeed references. If someone would like to give me some hints (maybe proof-read) that would be much appreciated.