A/N: So this is another short story project for one of my classes. It's a period piece set in 1967 New England. I really like this one and I hope y'all enjoy it.
Fitz frowned as he left his literature class, slipping his sunglasses onto his face in the morning sunshine. His university had officially gone co-ed, and now his least favorite course was even more unbearable as the chirpy voices of the new female students dominated conversations. Between their giggling side conversations and their insistence on the romantic meanings of symbols in works that had nothing to do with love, he was at his wit's end and it was only Tuesday.
His only relief was that he had physics class next, his favorite class and the subject of his major, and he was confident it would be a woman-free environment if the difficulty of the preliminary examinations that the university had instituted were worth their salt. He entered the building and removed his sunglasses then walked into his classroom and took a seat at the end of the front row. He took out his textbook and began flipping through it.
It didn't take long for the other students to trickle in, most of them guys he already knew from the science department. The seats around him filled and the pre-class chatter began but Fitz didn't engage, though a few acquaintances—pledge hopefuls mostly—spoke to him. He was too engrossed in the textbook to make conversation. The clacking of high-heeled shoes jolted him from his thoughts and he looked up with a frown to find its source. A petite girl entered the room and the murmur hushed as everyone took notice. She stopped in the doorway, aware of the eyes on her, then squared her thin shoulders and walked to the middle of the front row to take an available desk. She sat down and opened a book, her ankles crossed demurely beneath her desk. Fitz took note of her black Mary Jane pumps and smirked, thinking that only feminine silliness could possess someone to wear heels when they had to trek across a college campus.
Class began as usual, nothing Fitz hadn't heard before. He was barely paying attention, still thumbing through the textbook. He ignored Dr. Beene's welcome spiel, the same small speech the white-haired professor gave every semester, but a smirk crossed his lips at the special welcome extended to the girl, who accepted it with a brief but beautiful smile.
"I've got the results of your preliminary exam. No one received lower than a 70. So either you're all very smart, or I'm getting soft in my advanced age. Whatever the case, I did have one perfect score," Dr. Beene announced. At this, Fitz shut his book and gave Dr. Beene his full attention. He sat up in his chair, sure his was the perfect exam as Dr. Beene began distributing the tests. Dr. Beene went on, "And to my surprise it was one of my new students: Ms. Pope."
Fitz's jaw went slack with surprise. He turned to look at her like everyone else. She seemed almost unfazed by the perfect score, her face never changing from its congenial blank expression as she took her perfect test. She was prettier than he'd thought, with wide brown eyes and the high forehead of a prima ballerina. Fitz got his a few minutes later and looked at the red number at the top of the page: 95. She had bested him by five points. He couldn't believe it and almost wrote it off as a flash in the pan, but something about her lack of surprise told him she was no stranger to A's. He watched her tuck the paper into her leather bag and resume leaning her delicate chin on her small hand as she watched Dr. Beene move back to his original standing place.
Fitz found his eyes continually drifting back to her as the rest of the class progressed. He laughed at himself inwardly, thinking that this was an unexpected complication. Distraction around women was anticipated, but not the kind that drew his eyes to swell of her breasts beneath her maroon sweater. He wondered if her ochre brown skin was as soft as it looked when she brushed a stray curl back behind her navy headband. The prospect of learning about theories of the universe paled in comparison to learning what she smelled like. He only allowed himself furtive glances, adding another reason to his support of gender-segregated learning.
He was immediately out of his seat when Dr. Beene dismissed them, moving toward her desk where she stood, passing flyers to the students who passed her. He took one and looked down at it, reading the heading's scrawling print: Poetry On The Green. He looked up at her, almost rendered speechless by her eyes boring into him. There wasn't anything unfriendly about her stare, but he didn't feel welcomed by it either. She seemed to be quietly appraising him.
"Hi," he said, nothing else coming to mind.
"Hi," she replied, lifting her chin to look up at him fully. She was a foot shorter than him, but her stance was as confident as if they stood eye to eye. She looked at the flyer in his hand. "Are you coming?"
He looked down at the date and time at the bottom of the page. It was to take place at the same time as his fraternity's first mixer of the semester, but he didn't want to tell her he would miss something as intellectual as a poetry reading for a frat party. "Maybe. I've got something else going on that night so I'm not sure yet."
She smiled wryly. "Party?"
He wondered how she could read him so easily. "Well, it's a mixer. I would normally skip but-"
"You don't have to explain yourself to me," she replied, cutting him off. "A poetry reading probably isn't your scene anyway."
He looked at his new leather loafers, giving himself a moment to think of a retort, but she was already moving around him, leaving a flyer on Dr. Beene's desk then heading for the door. She was only a handful of steps away and luckily his long strides made it easy for him to keep up with her short, clipped gait as they entered the hallway. "A poetry reading could be my scene."
"Hmm," she replied, not looking at him.
Fitz frowned. "You don't know me. You don't even know my name."
"Judging from the monogram on your blazer, I'm guessing it's a family name. Something that screams old money and new cars." She glanced triumphantly at him.
Fitz smirked, stifling a laugh. She had pegged him pretty well. "It's Fitz. Perfect test score, comedian, psychic powers; you must be superwoman."
"And you must have assumed you're smarter than me if my perfect test score is the first thing you characterize me with." Another wry smile played on her full lips.
He didn't reply immediately because she was right. "Okay. So I judged you and you just judged me. We're even."
"Alright," she answered, pushing the building's front door open before he could do it for her. She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "You wanted to open the door for me, didn't you?"
"It's only polite." He nervously ran a hand through his dark hair.
She gave a dry chuckle, her springy curls bouncing as she descended the building's front steps. "Right. I might have broken a nail, or my dainty little woman wrist pushing such a heavy door. The world really isn't fit for women is it?"
"I didn't say that." He stopped himself from offering to carry her bag, lest she eviscerate him.
"You thought it."
"It's a heavy door."
"I've been opening doors for quite a few years, Fitz."
Fitz smiled, conceding. She wasn't afraid to lock horns with him like some girls. "You know my name but I don't know yours."
"I'd imagine that's because I didn't tell you."
"Are you planning to?" They reached the corner and she pushed the button for the crosswalk signal to change.
"I don't know yet." There was that smile again, playing triumphantly on her lips. She seemed to be enjoying herself sparring with him.
"Maybe we could discuss it over dinner tonight?" he asked as they crossed the street.
She laughed, shaking her head, making her raven curls bounce. "I've got a date with Edgar Allan Poe tonight. He's not really the type you can cancel on."
"Will you tell me at your poetry reading?" He followed her to the girls' dormitory, standing on the stone front steps.
She smiled again. "Somehow I don't think I'll get the opportunity."
He shrugged. "Well there's no time like the present. Would it help if I told you I won't tell anyone else?"
"You aren't going to go away until I tell you, are you?"
"I don't have anywhere else to be, and this seems like a nice spot." He gave his best smile, one that had gotten him much more than names on many an occasion. "Come on. It's one word, a word you've known your whole life. I bet it's a pretty one too."
She smile reluctantly, the corners of her mouth twitching. "It's Olivia."
Olivia... Fitz was sure he'd never worked so hard for four syllables. He smiled triumphantly. "Have a nice day, Olivia."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't come back here, Fitz."
XXXXX
Two Days Later
Fitz smiled when Olivia emerged from her dorm. That day she wore a blue floral shirtdress and brown pumps with thin ankle straps. Fitz smirked first, thinking that she should really choose more practical attire for class, then smiled, thinking that she looked beautiful as the sun reflected off her hair, pulled up into a bun at the crown of her head that day.
"You're stalking me," she teased as she descended the steps.
Fitz smiled, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to walk you to class. That's what friends do."
"We're not friends." She gave her bag when he offered to carry it.
"If you'd go out with me tonight, we can be better than friends."
Olivia shook her head, rolling her eyes. He asked her out at least once a day, each in a clever way that she never seemed to expect. She wasn't sure why she hadn't said yes yet, though it was mostly due to enjoying herself denying him. He was handsome, funny, rich, and smart to boot. He couldn't have everything handed to him so easily. "No thank you. I've sworn off dinner."
"We can go to that place that serves breakfast all day. Then it won't be dinner." He smiled, quite pleased with his suggestion.
She smiled, wrinkling her nose. "I've sworn off breakfast too."
"We can go to a bar. I'll bet you haven't sworn off cocktails."
"I probably should. But I'm no quitter." She smiled at making him laugh as they crossed the street.
xxxxx
The bar was quiet as it was a weeknight but there were a few people around, most of them couples on dates. Olivia wore a green dress with a tight bodice and a full skirt that stopped above her knees. Fitz made himself stop staring at her like a schoolboy. He wore his usual outfit: a white button down shirt and blue pants with his maroon fraternity blazer. They had a glass of wine then joined the few couples on the dance floor. Olivia was surprised that Fitz was such a good dancer. She'd assumed he'd be rhythm-less or all hands. But he was a perfect gentleman, twirling her around to the R'n'B music.
"Olivia? I didn't expect to see you here," a man said, stopping their steps.
Fitz frowned when Olivia smiled at him. "Hey Marcus. I'm just cutting loose for an evening. You know how it is. This is Fitz."
The men shook hands, exchanging stale pleasantries. Marcus smiled at Olivia. "You look really good tonight. Mind if I cut in?"
"Yes. It's rude," she teased with a smile. "Maybe the next dance."
"I'll be waiting." Marcus smiled as he walked away.
Fitz looked down at her with a frown. "Friend of yours?"
"He'd like to be," Olivia replied.
"That's too bad."
Olivia laughed. "Is it?"
"Definitely."
XXXXX
Fitz huffed as he hurried down the street to the expanse of lawn in front of the library. He had put in an appearance at the fraternity mixer and promptly left for the poetry reading, making sure he got there early enough to get a good seat. He was surprised at the crowd already gathered, and managed to jostle his way to the front of the crowd so he could sit directly in front of the steps, even paying a guy five dollars to give up his seat. He wanted to make sure Olivia saw him to continue the flowering of their tenuous friendship.
In the two weeks that had passed since they met, he felt he was making some headway. She had accepted him as her walking companion around campus even though they didn't have any classes together on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays, and had allowed him to buy her lunch at the local café every day since they'd met, despite her assertion that his insistence on always paying was "repellant." Fitz argued that he couldn't have been terribly repellant if she smiled every time she saw him. But she had yet to consent to an official date, despite his daily requests. It was the most frustrating yet thrilling courtship he'd ever been involved in.
A hush fell over the crowd of students when a tall girl took the stage to read the night's first piece. Fitz wasn't a poetry fan, but he sat and listened intently, searching for some insight into her world to "broaden his horizons" as she'd suggested he do. She was an English major, with aspirations to write in Paris one day, after she'd retired from teaching at an all-girls' college. He was surprised to learn she too wasn't thrilled about the integration of their university either, that her school switch had been at the insistence of her father. She'd characterized his admiration of the school as sexist as he didn't believe she could receive the same quality education at her school. Fitz would have agreed with her father prior to meeting her. He didn't know how much was education and how much was her own intelligence, but he was willing to bet money on any curriculum that could claim her as a scholar.
She was the last to take the stage, wearing a black dress with a white peter pan collar. She had braided her dark hair down her back. Fitz had finally gotten close enough to know that it smelled like lemons and lilies during a break between classes when she lay on the grass outside the physics building to read to him from The Bell Jar. He had tentatively lay beside her and gotten to breathe in the scent before she realized he wasn't listening to her and rolled away from him with a smirk.
Fitz listened to her reading, a Sylvia Plath poem with lots of Nazi references that he wasn't sure he understood, then clapped for her when she finished. She smiled softly, her eyes landing on him, then hopped off the stool and thanked everyone for attending. She descended the stone steps and he was about to approach her but she was promptly swarmed by the other readers of the night. He watched her smile, thinking to himself that he was "smitten." That was the word Olivia would have used for it. Her fascination with words perplexed him, but his love of physics and astronomy didn't make any sense to her, so they were even.
She looked up and smiled at him, waving him over to his surprise. He walked over and smiled down at her. "Hi. You were great."
"You're here. I guess I owe you coffee," she replied with a smile. She had bet him a coffee date that he wouldn't make it to the poetry reading because he'd be having too much fun at the fraternity mixer to leave.
"I had to win at something since you're smarter than me." He had concluded that she was definitely smarter than him, having scored higher than him on two more physics quizzes, and she definitely knew him better than he would have liked, but this was one time when needed to win. After bidding goodbye to her friends, they walked to the coffee shop where she bought him a latte, her drink of choice. Fitz liked black coffee, but he grudgingly admitted that the latte was good after prodding. "So do you want to go back to the fraternity mixer?"
"Actually there's an after party for the poetry reading in the humanities building that I promised I'd show my face at," she replied.
Fitz smiled. "An English department party? Am I cool enough to get in?"
"No. But you're with me so they'll make an exception."
They went back out into the chilly evening air and Fitz draped his jacket over her thin shoulders. Olivia glanced at him with a smirk like she might comment but she only stuck her arms through the too-long sleeves and slipped her hands in his pockets. He tentatively removed her left hand from his pocket and intertwined their fingers, half-expecting her to take it back. But she didn't, instead curling her fingers around his.
"This must mean we're friends," he said, glancing at her.
"We're not. I still don't like you."
He almost believed her until he caught sight of her cheeky smile under a street lamp. He chuckled, bumping her elbow with his. "You like me. Just admit it."
"You like me. I tolerate you," she replied.
"I don't believe you."
She laughed in a way he hadn't heard before. It was soft and sweet, like the tinkling of tiny silver bells. "You're welcome to believe whatever you want. I'm not a science major. I don't have to be right."
They had debated the merits of studying subjects with "right" answers. He believed there was a definite answer to any question that could be asked, but she disagreed, arguing that context and perception could make anything "right." They left the debate unfinished in a little diner just off campus and began another competition with chess instead. His attacks were always swift and deliberate. He could win a match in minutes. She preferred to wage a long war that wore him down. They disagreed on whose strategy was more effective.
"I believe you like me." He toyed with her fingers. "And that you should let me take you out."
"We're already out." She couldn't remember what number date offer this was, just that he was charmingly persistent without ever being pushy.
"I mean on a date, genius. Some people say I clean up pretty nicely. And there's more than a few girls who'll testify that I can show you a good time."
They stopped at a corner and she looked up at him, her bottom lip between her teeth. Fitz marveled at the glow of her eyes in the dusk light. They had disagreed on whether or not eyes could actually be beautiful. He didn't think so since they were only a result of genetics, but she had said that his were and confessed to only always wanting light eyes. He had conceded to her premise but told her that he didn't think blue eyes were that special and that he'd only ever fallen for girls with brown eyes. She had blushed and looked away, for once not having anything snarky to say. Fitz was sure it was the only argument that he'd ever won. "I don't know. What would people say? I'm so out of your league."
Fitz laughed. "You wish."
"So, hypothetically, when and where would this date take place?"
"Well, it would happen on a Saturday night, like tomorrow night-hypothetically of course-and I would take you to that new restaurant just off campus. It's got a really old Italian family style with white table cloths and jug wine. They even light candles on the tables. And there's a dance floor where you would hypothetically let me show you my best moves."
"Sounds like a very authentic first date," she replied.
"Well you'll have to come to find out."
"And that's the rub. I haven't been on a proper date in months, and I'd love to go, but with you as company? The price might be too high."
"And yet somehow I know when I show up at your dorm tomorrow at 7, you'll be wearing your favorite dress. You'll even curl your hair. And at the end of the night, you'll put on a little lipstick right before we leave the restaurant so it's fresh when I kiss you goodnight." He smiled at her as they ascended the steps of the looming humanities building. It was one of the campus's newer structures, its bricks not yet weathered.
"With that kind of imagination, you should be an English major too."
Fitz was surprised at the party's mellow energy. He was used to more raucous gatherings. Olivia smiled at her friends, slipping out of his jacket and returning it. He was surprised when she resumed holding his hand. "Everybody, this is Fitz. He's a physics major."
"Friends with a science major? You've betrayed us, Liv," a brunette teased with a smile.
Olivia smirked, turning to wrinkle her nose at him. "We're not friends."
Fitz smirked. "Definitely not."
The brunette looked at him. "So Olivia's not-friend, did you go to the poetry reading? If you didn't there's another one tomorrow night. The theme is romance."
"I was at the one tonight but I can't make the one tomorrow night. I've got plans." He looked at Olivia for confirmation.
She smiled, again wrinkling her nose. "I suppose we can stop by before dinner."
A/N: Don't forget to review! XOXOXO