Jones sat at the kitchen sink staring at remnants of red nail polish on her lavender sheet. There was a glass of bourbon in her hand.

Travis sat on a bench outside of the math hall, letting the winter air seep in through his coat and cool down his bones.

Derrick was making his way up the many stairs it took to get to the loft, rehearsing in his head how to bewitch Cathy Jones into bed.

Jones took a sip of her drink as Derrick walked in the front door.

Travis could envision Derrick walking in through the front door.

Derrick smiled as he saw Jones take a sip of what looked like bourbon. It also appeared as if she'd been crying.

She looked at him through narrow, vindictive eyes. Derrick was the last person she wanted to see. The first thought that hit her was, 'I wonder who he just got done doing tonight.' She watched as he crossed the room with that wicked, bewitching smile of his directed straight at her. She hated when he did that.

"Hey, Jones," he said.

She was silent, and cradled the glass closer to the palm of her hand.

"You okay? What happened to your sheet?"

Jones deliberately looked away from him. "I- I spilled some nail polish on it. Travis startled me."

"Hey, where is that little bugger? Hanging out after Waters' class again, I bet."

"I dunno," she said, wiping snot from her nose. "He just left about twenty minutes ago."

Derrick, playing it as cool as he possibly could, stood over Jones, picked her up gently and tried to lean her against the counter. "You don't look so good. Did he do something that upset you?"

Her eyes wandered their way into his. She felt a spasm deep inside her that had something to do with either lust or nerves, but she couldn't be sure which. "Nah," she casually lied.

"Jones, you're a horrible liar," he said as he took a lock of her stringy hair and put it behind her ear.

Travis wrapped his scarf closer to his neck. Thoughts were buzzing about his brain louder than normal. He could envision Derrick trying to seduce Jones by smiling that evil smile or doing something subtle like put her hair behind her ear for her. Inwardly, he beat himself up; he knew what Derrick's intent was, but what could he do? He was the quiet, shy, artsy kid who could never get laid, how could he compete with Derrick Webb, male prodigy, who cunningly found his way into the panties of every girl on campus?

He dug his eyeballs deeper into their sockets with the palms of his hands.

The wind took a chilly turn and bit into his bare cheeks and leaked in through the knit pattern of his overcoat.

"Come on, Jones, I'll help you put the sheet in the drier," said Derrick. He tried to take Jones by the hand, but she put it behind her back. "What?" he asked.

She looked into his eyes. "Derrick, I… What are you trying to do?"

"What do you mean? I'm trying to help you get your sheet in the drier."

"No, I mean…" She put a hand to her forehead. She was getting a little too tipsy to be having this conversation.

She watched as Derrick pulled the half-full bottle off the counter.

"Derrick, no, I'm a little off as it is-" Her protests were drowned in bourbon as her glass magically appeared full again.

She watched Derrick watch her. She watched Derrick encourage a sip of her drink. She heard Derrick say she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her world became slightly fuzzy in a whirlpool of light, and she didn't feel like herself.

She felt Derrick alarmingly close in physical proximity.

"Please…" she tried to protest.

"Shhhh," she heard him try to calm her. "Shhhh, this is what you want."

It was becoming unbearably cold outside the math hall, and Travis was beginning to loose cognitive abilities. He shook his head. It jumbled up all the thoughts. The first one that came to surface was the ever-haunting life lesson from his Abstract Painting teacher; 'If you're going to lay down and die instead of trying to win her over…'

Shivering, he stood up.