APRIL
With a book open on my torso, I lie on my bed and stare at the small potted flower that sits on my windowsill. It's tiny and yellow, I'm not sure what it's called, but I've spent the last few weeks trying not to kill it. I'm not sure if it's working.
I reach over and stroke its tiny petals softly, sighing enough so the leaves quiver. I laugh to myself and move my hand away, then pick up the phone. Tomorrow is the first day of classes, and I'm still waiting on the bookstore to receive a shipment that has my textbooks on it. It's annoying, to say the least, not being completely prepared.
I set my phone down, finding no notifications, and look at my plant again.
"You doing okay?" I ask it, tilting my head so the side of my chin rests on my shoulder. Of course, in the manner of a plant, it doesn't respond.
Before I can start speaking to more things that won't answer, my door comes open and my roommates burst in. My roommates, who also happen to be my live-in best friends, Addison Montgomery and Amelia Shepherd.
"Uh, hey guys," I say, jumping at the sudden sound.
"You're alive," Amelia says.
"Yes…"
"You haven't been out of your room all day," Addison says.
"I was reading," I say, gesturing to the book resting on me. It's The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It's not the first time I've read it.
"Uh, depressing much," Amelia says, raising her eyebrows at my choice. "I'm saving you from yourself when I say it's time to close that book."
"Why?" I ask.
She throws Addie a conspiratory look. "We're throwing a party!" she cheers.
I sit up a bit and lean against my headboard. "When?" I say.
"Tonight, duh," Amelia says. "Are you gonna be home?"
My lips part with confusion as I look between them. "Tonight?" I say. "No one's gonna come. Tomorrow's the first day of school. You're psycho."
"A ton of people already RSVP'd 'yes' on Facebook," Addie informs me. "So, your logic is flawed. Come on, you're gonna stay at the house, right?"
I sigh. I have an 8am tomorrow. It's not like I don't love a good party, because I do. But a party on the night before my first 8am of the quarter sounds like a recipe for disaster.
"I don't know, you guys," I say, scratching my head. I play with the fraying corners of my book that have been handled roughly over the years. "It doesn't seem like the best idea."
"Come on, A-Team. Don't ruin it. It's not gonna be the same if you aren't there," Amelia whines.
"She's right," Addie encourages.
I shrug, noncommittal.
Then, Amelia gasps. "My brother's coming," she says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
I can't help the spark that lights up my stomach. There isn't exactly a label to describe what's going on between Derek and me, but it's something. And it's been 'something' for the whole summer. Every time we see each other, we end up making out - drunk or sober.
Before him, I did this with Alex Karev, who turned into my closest guy friend. I don't think Derek is heading in that direction, but I'm not complaining about what we have going on. He forces to me to feel and be present, which is all I'm asking for.
"He told you that?" I ask.
"Yeah," Amy replies. "But you should text him. He'd definitely come if his little fuck-buddy invited him."
She pretends to be grossed out, but I know she's amused. Her brother and I are not 'fuck-buddies,' like she so eloquently put it. I've never slept with him, or anyone. I've gone just far enough, to the point where I have to stop. And no matter how drunk I am, I always stop.
My friends don't know that, though. They think, judging by what they know and see, that I'm decently promiscuous. That I've had my fair share of boys in bed, including Alex. But I never went all the way with him, either.
There's something holding me back from taking that final step. Making out feels good, it feels fine, but it's not perfect. And when I sleep with someone for the first time, I want it to be perfect.
Derek is a good placeholder for now.
"Come on, Amy," I say, laughing a little. "I don't even like him like that."
They both roll their eyes. "April, please. Everyone knows you guys are banging."
I raise my eyebrows, more interested than annoyed. "They think that?"
"Uh, it's true, isn't it?" Addie pushes.
I let her believe it. It's much easier than the third degree I'd get for still being a virgin, that's for sure.
"Okay," I give in. "I'll come."
"Yay!" they chorus, and hurry out of my room just as quickly as they'd come into it.
I flop back down on my bed and look to my plant again. Without saying anything, I think she knows how I feel.
...
"Let's get fucked up!" I scream.
The house is packed; voices loud, music louder. I'm holding a red Solo cup, the beer inside sloshing onto my hand and wrist as I stand on the table and dance sloppily to a song I barely know.
"Jesus Christ, A-Team, leave some for us," my friend, Lexie says. She comes up to the keg and fills two cups, one for her and presumably her boyfriend, Mark.
"You're fine," I slur, rolling my eyes so hard they might bounce back inside my skull. "Plenty to go around. Drink up, bitches!"
I feel a hand around my ankle as the song changes, then look down to see Amelia standing there.
"A," she says, raising her voice above the bass. "Do you think you should slow down? You're fuckin' hammered, dude."
"I'm sober, Amelia Louise!"
She shoots me a look. "Yeah, right," she says. "Get off the table. You're gonna break something."
I clamber down with help from her, and wobble where I stand as I take another huge slug of my beer. Amelia takes it away, but it's already empty.
"I want more," I say, getting in her face to press my nose against hers. "Get me another one, babe."
Then, the male voices gather around.
"April's drunk!" someone says. "She's gonna make out with Girl Shepherd again!"
I smile loopily at the handful of blurry boys surrounding us, taking stutter steps to stay upright. Amelia's hands are firm on my upper arms, trying to keep me from falling.
"April, you should go lay down," she says, sternly.
"You're the one who wanted me here," I say, narrowing my eyes. "I'm having fun. And now you're taking it away? What's that about? Addie!"
"Shut up!" Amelia says. "Stop being so loud."
"Addie!" I shout again.
"Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her," some boy I don't recognize chants. Or maybe, I do recognize him, but his face is a mess of fuzzy features right now.
"You want me to kiss her?" I taunt, holding my friend's shoulder. "I'll kiss her."
"April…" Amelia says.
I hold her face in my hands and plant a big kiss on her lips, tasting her Chapstick as I do. I pull away to a mess of cheering males, clapping each other on the back and smiling open-mouthed and amused at me. I smile back, raising my arms up, hands balled into fists, celebratory.
"I kissed a girl and I liked it!" I shout.
...
I was repressed as a child. As a young girl, an adolescent, a teenager, until I left the house and moved to college. I wasn't allowed to wear pants, only skirts and dresses - calf length, at least. I wasn't allowed to have any friends that were boys. No secular music or reading was allowed. My family, which included my mother, father, and three sisters, went to church every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. We never missed a day.
I had the bible memorized backwards and forwards; I learned how to read from its pages. When I was a toddler, my imaginary friends were named Peter and John the Baptist.
We weren't allowed to question anything, not even innocently. If we did, our punishment was strict groundings. I was homeschooled, so being grounded meant staying in my room, without even coming to the living room to be taught by my mother.
Everything we did was monitored, on a regimen. I was taught that evolution isn't real, the Big Bang never happened, and God knew I was a sinner. Though, when that mindset was indoctrinated into me, I was five years old and didn't know what I could've done to deserve such harsh judgment.
My only friends were my sisters. We weren't allowed to socialize with the other kids from youth group, because they were too 'out-there' for my mother. They went to regular school and listened to popular music and read teenage books. They weren't basking in God's glory like we were, and she wouldn't have us tainted by them.
The only reason I was allowed to come to the University of Chicago three years ago is because I received a full ride scholarship. For academics, the presidential award. At first, my major was religious studies, if only to make my parents happy. But once I got here, I dove headfirst into a life I'd never known before.
Now, I'm majoring in psychology with a minor in women's studies. My parents don't know. They don't know anything about me. I haven't talked to them since Christmas of my freshman year; I've spent every moment since then trying to break out of the shell they so carefully crafted.
If they knew the parties I attend, the people I kiss, the places I go and the ideas I flirt with, they'd disown me anyway. My thought was that I might as well do it for them.
And now, I spend my life trying to prove that I can be different from how they raised me.
…
I sit on the couch next to Alex and empty yet another Solo cup. He looks at me and laughs, then shakes his head. I lean back against the cushion, looking at him with only my eyes.
"What're you laughin' at," I grumble, a drunk smile on my face.
"You, drunky," he says, then lights up a bong before taking a hit. "C'mere. Share this with me."
I giggle, all topsy-turvy. "If you insist…" I lilt.
I put it to my lips and instantly my head is light. I feel more carefree, if possible, and take another one to hold it for a long moment. As long as I can, before I cough and burst out laughing with Alex.
We keep trading it back and forth until our eyes are bloodshot and everyone moves significantly slower around us. I rest back against the couch and let out a long sigh.
"Life is good," I say, nodding.
"You're so fuckin' stoned, dude," he laughs, leaning back too.
"And?" I say, smiling.
We hear a commotion near the door and I look over the back of the couch just in time to see Derek walk in.
"Oh, shit," I say, then smooth down my hair and pull my leg out from underneath me.
"I'm out," Alex says, picking up the bong and taking it with him. "Wrap it before you tap it, Kepner."
"Yeah," I say, waving him off before waving Derek over.
He catches my eye and saunters to the couch, plopping down where Alex had just been.
"Hey, A-Team," he says, tipping his chin up in a nod. "How are you?"
"Good," I sing, biting my lower lip. Right now, I'm turned on and everything about him is sexy.
"Yeah?" he says, chuckling. "You drunk?"
"No…" I say, shaking my head and jutting out my lower lip.
"Uh-huh," he says, that glint still in his eyes. "You high, too?"
"No way," I say, then whisper, "Just drunk."
He whispers back, playing along. "How drunk?" he asks. "Drunk enough to make out with Torres like last time?"
I smack his chest weakly. "Shut up," I say, then push myself forward to rest on my hands.
"You know she has a boner for you," he continues, moving closer too.
"Stop," I say, still laughing. "I'm drunk enough to make out with you. That's it."
"Alright," he says. "Sounds good."
In a moment, I'm under him. His body isn't exactly heavy, but it's substantial as it rests between my thighs and presses me down onto the cushions. When he opens his mouth against mine, I welcome his tongue inside and hold his face while his hands roam my torso, gliding upwards to grip one breast.
I smile against his lips, squealing a bit. He squeezes harder, propelled by my reaction. This isn't the first time, probably won't be the last.
His stubble is scratchy against my cheeks, but I don't complain. The feeling is easily lost among the others I'm experiencing, including that of his erection pressed against my inner thigh. And that feeling is perpetuated as he starts to grind his hips in a steady rhythm against me.
I don't have the mental capacity to know how to respond, so I wriggle out from under him and switch our positions so I'm on top. I laugh, lower lip between my teeth, while leaning forward with my hands on his chest.
"I got you now," I say, face close to his.
He grips my waist tight and pulls me close, pushing his tongue between my lips again. I keep up with him as best I can, and we kiss until I can barely feel my lips anymore and Amelia's voice interrupts us.
"Party's over, horndogs," she says, standing near the arm of the couch. "Get up. You heard me. Everybody out."
I sit up, still straddling her brother's lap. "But I live here," I giggle.
"April, I'm begging you to be quiet," she says, giving me a tired look.
I give her a pouty look. Even while drunk, I know she's fed up with my antics.
"So, leave, Derek!" Amelia says. "It's late, we all have class tomorrow."
"Your idea to throw a party," I slur, pointing a finger in the air.
"Not the time, A," she growls.
"Alright, alright," I say, stumbling up. "I'm going to bed."
"I can come up and keep you warm," Derek says, wrapping his arms around my waist where I stand. I'm by no means steady, so I almost fall over before Amelia takes my hand.
"I have an 8am," I say, stomach twisting with dread as I say the words out loud and remember.
"I'll be your alarm," he says. "I can wake you up with-"
"My phone wakes me up," I say, smiling sweetly. "With the song 'Filthy' by Justin Timberlake."
"And that's exactly what you are," Amelia says, one hand in the middle of my shoulder blades. "So, up the stairs and in the shower. Or at least, away from me. You smell like Budweiser."
I giggle on the way to the stairs, and find Addie along the way. She looks at me funny, so I shoot her the same look back like a mirror, finding it hilarious as I do.
She rolls her eyes. "Heard you sending Derek home," she says. "Why didn't you fulfill your dick appointment? He was offering."
All I do is laugh and go up the stairs, leaving her with no answer at all.
…
Usually, I wake up with the very first note of my alarm. But this morning, the song plays four times in a row before Amelia bangs on my door and practically makes me roll off the bed in fright.
"I'm tired of hearing that damn song!" she says. "Get up!"
"'M up…" I groan, slamming my hand against my phone screen until the song stops. I remind myself to switch songs later.
My room is spinning. Even as I lie there with my head under the pillow and eyes closed, it still spins. So much so, that I throw the pillow off and run to the bathroom that I share with Addie and throw up everything I ate last night. I don't remember, but judging by what's inside the toilet bowl I must have had Pizza Rolls at one point.
"Shit…" I whisper, wiping my mouth.
I glance at the clock. It's 7:38am, and I have absolutely no time for this.
"Damn it," I mutter, then do my best to stand, but the bathroom is spinning, too.
I grab a Dixie cup and fill it with water before drinking it greedily, filling up five more to do the same. I brush my teeth, hoping not to smell like a beer can for class, and tie my hair up in a bun. A brush won't see its way through the mane today.
I always try to look nice for the first day of classes, but I can't say the same for today. Instead of putting together an outfit, I throw on a pair of gray sweatpants I find on the floor and a zip-up hoodie, just a camisole underneath. It's September, anyway.
I toss what I think I might need into my backpack and sling it over my shoulder, making sure I wear sunglasses since the sun is assaulting my eyes even through the windows.
"Good luck, Chuck," Addie says, sitting at the table with a banana. "You want this?"
I reach over and take it from her, shoving the last half into my mouth. "Thanks," I murmur.
"Try not to die," she says, laughing. "See you after."
On the walk to campus, I can barely put one foot in front of the other. My body is weighed down with bricks, and there must be boulders in my pockets. When I get to class, I put my head down immediately even though there's only a few minutes until it starts.
This morning, I have Gender and Sexuality, which is a class I've never taken before, but it feeds into my minor. I didn't get a chance to pick the book up from the book store, but I assume we won't need it today. The first day is always syllabus day.
People file in around me, cutting it close and finding their seats. I keep my head down, cheek turned to the side, lips puffed out. The classroom is spinning, too. I send a silent prayer to the god I'm not sure if I believe in anymore and ask Him to keep me from throwing up during the next 90 minutes.
I only open my eyes when I hear a deep, authoritative voice at the front of the room. Wanting to be respectful, I sit up straight and take my hood off, shades too.
"Hello class," he says. "I'm Dr. Avery. I'll be teaching Gender and Sexuality 200, so hopefully you're in the right room. If you're not, now's your chance to leave." He scans the room. "Or maybe, if you've decided you just really don't want to be here."
That gets a few errant chuckles throughout the room, but I don't laugh. I'm too busy staring.
I'm sitting in the middle of the large, slanted lecture hall, which I regret now. One part of me wants to be in front, where I can see him better. But the other half wants to be in the very back, where I can hide in this awful outfit and he won't notice my presence at all.
He's tall, with warm, bronze skin. I can't see much of it, because he's wearing a crisply pressed white dress shirt, the creases sharp to perfection. So perfect that I doubt he did it himself. He must have sent it out, though, because he's not wearing a ring.
On his face are thick-rimmed black glasses that amplify his greenish-blue eyes. I can't quite tell what color they are in this light, but they remind me of sea glass. I let my gaze roam to his mouth, which is moving as he speaks, though I hear nothing. All I can concentrate on are those lips - those plush, pink lips, that his tongue wets after his speech is over.
I've never seen someone more attractive. That is, until he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow and suddenly becomes ten times hotter.
I don't take my eyes off him. Not during his introduction, where he talks about his background and I hear nothing. Not during the reading of the syllabus or the outline of the class, none of it. My gaze stays trained on him wherever he moves, whatever he does. I've never seen someone quite like him.
"So, if you'll turn to the appendix of your textbook, you'll see…"
My brain tunes in at that exact moment, and my stomach drops when I realize I don't have a book. I hear pages flipping, though, which means a lot of people already do. I feel like an idiot, and I don't want him to call me out on it. I get out my planner and hope it looks like I'm doing something worthwhile as he goes on to talk about what's in the appendix that we all so desperately needed to look at.
When class is over, I stand up from my seat after everyone else in my row has left. There are still other students filing out, but the lecture hall has decreased in volume considerably.
I wring my hands together and keep my eyes on him as he gathers his things. When he reaches across the desk, the muscles in his lower back and shoulders ripple beneath his shirt and I have to work to retain my composure.
I want to talk to him, but I don't know what I'd say. Plus, I'm dressed like a bum. Today isn't the day for confrontation.
When he turns around, my eyes flit away and I pick up my planner in a hurry. I shove it into my backpack with haste and toss it over my shoulder, slumping as I head out of the classroom and into the hall, where I can finally breathe.
When I get home after my second class, I still have him on my mind.
"April? Is that you?" Amelia calls from the kitchen.
"Yeah," I say, tossing myself onto the couch with my arms above my head. It's hot now, being midday, so I strip off my top layer and lie there in sweatpants and a dirty bra.
"You're a sight," she say, coming into the room with a sandwich on a plate. "How was class?"
"Fine," I say.
Addie comes in the front door, tossing her backpack where I'd tossed mine. She joins us in the living room seconds later, at the end of the couch. In order to sit comfortably, she picks up my feet and sets them on her lap.
"Done for the day?" I ask her.
She nods. "I had bio and anatomy," she says. "Syllabus days. What about you guys?"
"Writing workshop and a chemistry lab," Amelia says, picking up a leaf of spinach to chew on it. "A, what about you?"
"Uh… Growing Up Female and Gender and Sexuality," I say. I cover my face with my hands and groan, then say, "And my professor is so damn sexy for my first class. My 8am. Holy hell he was so sexy."
"Um, spill," Addie says.
I describe his looks, and they listen in rapture.
"I didn't hear a word of what happened the entire class," I say. "Which, if that's gonna be a thing, I have a problem. But, yeah. He was so, so hot. I wanted to talk to him after class, but I didn't."
"Good choice," Addie says. "I saw your outfit today."
"Shut up," I say, and kick her lightly.
"A-Team," Amelia says, and I look at her with raised eyebrows. "I have a dare for you."
"What," I say, unamused.
"I dare you to sleep with Sexy Professor at least once before the quarter's over," she says.
"Amy!" Addie says, mouth wide open.
"You're on crack," I say. "As if that would ever happen."
"You don't know," she says, crossing one leg over the other. "Guys like you. You get around."
"Yeah," I say, sarcastically with my eyebrows raised.
"What?" she says. "You do. So, who's to say you can't win Sexy Professor over, too?"
"Uh, 'cause he's my teacher," I say.
"Who gives a shit?" she says.
"It's kinda hot, actually," Addie chimes in.
"You guys are stupid," I say. "I'm not going for your stupid dare."
"Whatever, you're no fun," Amelia says.
Addie gives me a look. "Heard you two kissed last night."
I frown. "We did not."
"Yeah," Amelia says. "We kinda did. You grabbed me a kissed me. You always do, when you're that drunk. You'll seriously kiss anyone. It's not cute, April."
"Whatever," I say. "I was having fun. You asked me to come, so I did."
"I didn't ask you to get shitfaced," she says.
I scoff. "Coming from you, that's funny."
"Guys, come on," Addie says. "Don't fight. I wasn't trying to start shit."
"No, but it's true," I say. "She tells me I can't let loose, but it was her ass we'd have to scrape off the floor our entire freshman and sophomore year." I narrow my eyes at her. "It wasn't cute, Amelia."
"We're older now," she says. "Partying doesn't mean blacking out and sucking face with a pair of siblings 'til I literally have to tell you to go to bed. I'm not your mom."
"Yeah, I know," I say, standing up from the couch. "But right now, you're being a real bitch. And you guys have that in common." I storm up the stairs to my room and slam the door, feeling attacked by this whole day.
I take off my clothes and get in the shower, simply standing under the jet long enough so the alcohol washes out of my system. I turned the heat as high as it would go, so by the time I come out my skin is red and stinging, but it feels better than the dirty grunge that the party left on me last night.
I lie in bed in my towel, reading, when there's a soft knock on my door.
"I'm too tired for this," I mutter.
"It's just me," Addie says, then slips in. "Hey."
I put my knees down. "Hey."
"She's not mad at you," she says. "She's just kinda… I think she's mad at the situation. It was supposed to be a small kick-back, and it turned into this big thing. And she felt out of control. You know how she gets when…"
"Yeah," I say.
"So, I just don't want you guys to fight."
"She can't tell me to come party, then get mad when I do," I say. "She can't shame me for that. I've had enough damn shame in my life."
"I know," Addie says.
I sigh and turn onto my side. "Sorry for getting sloppy," I say. "I'll try not to kiss like, everyone, next time."
That gets a laugh out of her. "Works for me," she says.
Later that night, I find Amelia in the kitchen and give her the same apology I gave Addison, and she gives me a hug from the side. I keep an arm around her shoulders and she keeps one around my waist, squeezing tight.
"Don't get in too deep with my brother," she says. "He's an asshole. I'm not kidding."
"I know," I say.
"For real," she says.
I laugh. "I know!"
"I want you to find someone nice," she says. "Someone who tries, who's gonna like, work to make you happy. Not someone who comes to a party just to give you hickeys and shit. And fuck you when his dick is hard."
I pause for a moment. "Yeah," I agree.
"Anyway," she says. "I still have my sights on Sexy Professor for you."
…
On Wednesday, I wake up early and spend extra care getting ready for my 8am Gender and Sexuality class. I wear high-waisted, dark jeans and a green tank top, flats on my feet for comfort. I'm not walking the runway, but I am trying to make an impression on Sexy Professor.
My hair is long. So long, it reaches the small of my back, which means it isn't easy to manipulate and style. But I do my best with curling it into soft waves, and I spend time on my makeup and make sure not to rush.
I try and keep my cool as I walk into the classroom, bag slung over my shoulder. I have all the books I need this time, and I sit in the front row. I also happen to be one of the only students in the room when Sexy Professor comes in.
I fold my hands together, then unfold them. Cross my legs, then uncross. As he approaches the desk, I wipe my palms on my jeans and force the nervous lump out of my throat.
It's fine. I can handle this.
Except, maybe I can't. Because he's wearing burgundy today with black dress pants, and I think I might die because of how attractive he is. Everything about him, even his wrists, is hot.
I don't let myself stare like last time, because I don't want to be found out. Instead, I flip through the textbook in what I thought was a nonchalant manner, before he calls me out.
"Interested?" he asks.
I glance up and find him looking my way. Those eyes, which are more blue than green today, are trained on me. Just me. He's talking only to me.
"What?" I stammer, hand flat in the middle of the book.
"The text," he says, nodding to it. "You're flipping through fast. You must be interested."
"Oh, I am," I say, smiling. "Very much."
"Is today your first day?" he asks.
I'm confused for a moment, until I remember I must look much different now than I did on Monday. "Oh, no," I say. "I was just… I… I was in the back last time. I came up to the front today."
"Well, I'm glad," he says, smiling with only a corner of his lips. "And anyway, welcome. To your second day."
"Thank you," I say. "My name is April, by the way. April Kepner."
"Dr. Avery," he says, pushing his sleeves up in the way that forces me to clench my thighs together. "I'm looking forward to working with you."
"Likewise," I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
He addresses the class, but keeps his eyes on me when he speaks next.
"Let's get started," he says.
