Chapter 1 : Drunken Mind, Sober Thoughts

*Jane*

“Are you ready for your entire world to change?”

I adjust the straps of the little floral ruched bust top I’m wearing and direct a pointed look at Rachel, not needing words to express my sarcasm. But despite my attitude, my fingers still toy with the frilly material, something I only do when I’m more than a little nervous.

“What?” my friend asks defensively, not taking her eyes off the mirror as she adds the finishing touches to her makeup.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think, Rach?” I move to sit on her bed, crossing my legs in an attempt to stave off the anxious foot-tapping. “It’s a party. We’re not exactly curing cancer or braving the frontlines.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. Her eyeliner is perfect. “Please. This is when the rest of our lives really begin.”

“I thought the rest of our lives started when we moved to campus and started classes.”

She shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Not at all. That was just the logistics of things, you know, the things that got us from A to B. Lifelong memories don’t happen in a classroom, Jane. Friendly reminder.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure the cheap beer and sweaty frat guys are really gonna make for some beautiful stories to tell our grandkids someday,” I say jokingly.

Rachel laughs but when she spins around with her hands on her hips, I know she means business. She has that serious look on her face, the one that lets me know that she’s made up her mind about something and I have no choice but to just go along for the ride.

So far, her decision-making has fallen into one of two mutually exclusive camps–putting us into horrible situations, or having us experience the best time of our lives. So far, her track record is tipped in her favor, but just barely. I’m hoping, despite my nervousness, for the latter. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone, especially Rachel.

“None of that overthinking you tend to do, smartass. Leave all that logic and sense in this dorm room and pick it up when classes start on Monday. Tonight is not for the wise.” She saunters over to me before squatting with her hands on my knees. She’s now eye-level, looking at me with stubborn determination.

“Look. It’s not about the alcohol or the boys, even though God knows I’m going to enjoy both.” I can’t help but laugh at her conviction. “It’s about us finally being able to have some fun. Come on, you know how hard we worked to get here, especially you. Don’t you think you deserve to let loose a little? Just enjoy yourself?”

My knee-jerk reaction is to respond with more sarcasm, but I know that she’s not exactly wrong, and the words die in my throat. If anyone knows how hard I worked for my scholarship, it’s Rachel. She’d been there with me through all of the stress and pressure of earning it. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to celebrate our first week of classes.

I sigh and she cheers, knowing that it’s my way of surrendering to whatever latest scheme she’s come up with.

“I promise it’s going to be a good time, okay? As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine.” She rises, then goes back to give herself one final assessment in the mirror.

“You look amazing,” I call out and she blows me a kiss. As she walks, I watch her, noting how different we are even down to the way we dress.

Rachel has no qualms about showing off her body, which is understandable because her years of doing track and field in high school and a sprinkle of God’s favor have gifted her with a figure most girls would kill for. She’s wearing a short black dress with nothing but slips of material and prayers covering the entirety of her back.

It’s a far cry from the jeans and cropped top combo I’m sporting. But even though we didn’t plan to coordinate and our clothes are very different, we do somehow complement each other… not unlike our personalities. Two very different peas that were lucky enough to find themselves in the same pod.

Without Rachel, I know that my time here would be infinitely more boring. She turns with a flourish before making me stand up and give her a twirl of my own.

“You look gorgeous. And to think you were going to deprive the male population of Billmore University from seeing you in that outfit,” she jokes, clicking her tongue. “Right, one more time … are you ready for your entire world to change?”

I know I don’t exactly have much of a choice. But Rachel has managed to stoke my confidence and calm my nerves, even just marginally. It’s not a total lie when I let the little glimmer of excitement I keep buried deep inside come out in my response.

“I am. Let’s do this.”

***

I wasn’t exactly expecting buck-naked bacchanalia, but I also wasn’t completely surprised to see some random kid wearing nothing but a bucket on his head, catapult himself through an open window.

Good news–this was the ground floor.

I might’ve had a stronger reaction if the room around me wasn’t beginning to spin just a little bit. I clutch tightly onto the half-empty solo cup in my hand, as though that little plastic container is going to prevent me from crossing over from tipsy to drunk.

Beside me, Rachel is far less concerned with keeping up the facade of sobriety.

She’s already flushed and at the point where she’s giggling at everything regardless of how funny it is. Even now, watching Bucket Boy fling himself outside sends her into hysterics. She grabs onto my arm. “Did you see that?”

“Yep,” I say, a bubble of my own unreserved laughter climbing its way up my throat. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and I can’t quite muster the frown I feel I should be wearing. Instead, I feel light and airy, and it’s such a wonderful feeling that I take another sip of the cup to clasp onto it just a little tighter.

“That is what I call bravery,” Rachel notes, patting my arm as though we’re having the most serious of conversations. “I want to be like that one day.”

“Throw yourself out of a window?” I ask, spluttering with laughter now. Rachel joins me.

“No, silly. I just mean … you know what, never mind. I have to pee.” We walk together to the ladies’ bathroom, bypassing several of the aforementioned sweaty frat bros who try to drunkenly paw at both of us. Rachel swats them away, and beyond a few disappointed protests that are quickly swallowed up by the loud, pulsating music, we don’t get much trouble.

But there’s a long line waiting for the bathroom and Rachel tries to shove her way to the front, eliciting apologies from me to the complaining girls left in her wake. Somewhere along the way, there’s a giant surge of people forcing their way inside and Rachel goes with them, trying to drag me along.

I shake my head, yelling over the noise that I’d rather wait outside. After a few more attempts to change my mind, she gives up and promises to be quick and I’m free to lean up against the wall and close my eyes against the spinning world around me.

The flashing lights in the otherwise dim passage only compound the fuzziness of my mind and just as I’m about to toss the solo cup, I feel a hand firmly grip my arm. My eyes fly open and I instinctively pull back, but the owner of the hand merely chuckles and refuses to let go.

“Easy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The voice sounds slurred, low, and gravelly. I look up and squint, and in the shifting shadow, I can make out the face of one of the seniors we saw on our way in. I don’t think much of him, other than the fact that he’s stocky and smells like cheap cologne. But when I don’t respond immediately, he finally releases my arm and takes a step back, palms up.

“Sorry. You just looked like you needed some help,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I reply, though the wave of sudden nausea that lurches in my stomach says otherwise. It must register on my face because the guy shakes his head and takes me by the arm once more.

“You look like you need some peace and quiet.”

Gingerly, I move away from the refuge of the wall. My confusion is only growing as time creeps on, but I have enough wherewithal to mentally cuss Rachel out for insisting I take those welcome shots. I do need to find somewhere to sit and gather my thoughts, and this guy seems nice enough.

After all, he’s a student here. It’s not like I’d be heading off with a stranger in the middle of nowhere. Still, my head whips around to the closed bathroom door to look for Rachel.

“Don’t worry about your friend,” the guy continues. “I’ll make sure to come back and let her know where you are. Let’s just get you out of all this noise.”

He definitely seems nice. Smiling gratefully, I let him lead me away from the mess of people in the hallway and the loud music that’s beginning to strum a headache along my temples. I barely register the movement as we stumble into an empty, dark room. He shoves the door closed behind us, but it doesn’t latch and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even notice.

I’m about to thank him for getting me out of there when he lunges toward me and tries to land a kiss. I just about manage to turn my head and his lips smash into my cheek.

“Get off!” I yell, panic ripping through the haze of tipsiness that had previously cocooned my common sense. The guy smirks at me and tries to come in again. I shove him hard, but he’s so solidly built that he barely moves.

A mix of sudden terror and anger co-mingles in my veins and I take a step back to try and create distance between us. My head is still too messed up from the alcohol for me to make any coherent plans, and the smartest thing I can register is the fact that I won’t be able to bypass him.

In the limited light pouring in from the hallway, I can’t see my surroundings clearly, and I don’t know if I’d be able to get my hands on some kind of weapon.

“Oh, come on, baby,” he slurs, grabbing at my hands to stop me from futilely trying to hit him. “I know you want it. Just relax and let it happen. I know you—”

“Fuck off!” I scream, and a flash of clarity shoots through my panic. I begin to scream even louder, hoping and praying to anyone listening that someone will come and help me. By now, the guy is very obviously agitated, trying to cover my mouth and from our newfound proximity, I can see the gleam of panic and anger in his own eyes.

With one hand clasped over my mouth and a free arm restraining both of mine, he tries to kiss my neck. I do my best to try and jerk out of his grip and scream whenever I manage to free myself, but he always yanks me back.

My heart begins to race out of control as the worst-case scenario plays out in my head and all I can think of is the deep regret I have for ever coming to this godforsaken party to begin with. Then the guy is suddenly dragged away from me, as easily as if he were a child. My brain struggles to process what’s happening until I see him crashing to the ground, his hands cradling half his face.

That’s when I finally register that there is another person in the room. This man is taller than the one groaning on the floor, thinner, but from what I can tell in the dim light, more solid. There’s little else I can see except the flash of bright blue eyes that stare down at me in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice deep, rich, and oddly comforting after the mini-nightmare that just happened. I’m frozen with shock and the residual alcoholic buzz but when the newcomer flips on the light switch, I can’t help the small sound of surprise that escapes me.

My rescuer is cute.

More than cute, he’s hot. In the newly illuminated room, I can now see that he does indeed have an athlete’s build. His dark hair falls in slight waves to his ears and is plastered by sweat onto his forehead. His features are boyishly handsome, even twisted into the look of graver worry he affects when I still don’t say anything.

Worrying he might think I have some kind of brain injury, I clear my throat. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Thank you for saving me, by the way,” I say, wondering immediately whether that was even the right thing to say.

My rescuer smiles slightly, then gestures toward the door to escort me out. I notice he doesn’t try to touch me, which I’m grateful for. As I hop over my attacker’s writhing figure, he calls out to the new guy with a voice brimming with violence.

“I’ll get you for this, Baringer, I swear to God!”

“Oh, fuck off, Preston. Touch her again and I’ll make sure you can’t see out of the other eye too,” comes the almost-bored response.

I don’t give “Preston” another look as I scuttle out of the room, suddenly grateful for the welcome claustrophobia of the hallway. I’m about to turn around to say something when Rachel comes bouncing off the walls and almost crashing into me.

“Jane! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?” she yells, shaking my shoulders.

“I was … it’s a long story. Some guy dragged me into a room and tried to kiss me.”

Rachel’s eyes bulge. “What?” She begins to look me over as though trying to find evidence that I’m okay. “What happened? Are you alright? Who the hell was that bastard?”

Despite everything, I find myself laughing. “I’m okay, Rach. Thanks to … uh, I’m sorry–” I turn to face the guy, who’s observing our exchange with an amused expression. “You saved me and I didn’t even get your name.”

“Noah,” he says with a smile.

My heart thuds and I just write it off as a side effect of having too much to drink.

“Noah,” I repeat, trying out his name. I like the way it sounds and from the look on his face, he seems to like hearing me say it. “Noah saved me. Laid the guy flat out.”

“Well, thank you for helping my friend, Noah,” Rachel adds, squeezing my hand tightly. She still looks worried. “Look, Jane, maybe we should go. I’m sorry that happened to you. I should’ve been there.”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. But I agree. I think I’ve had enough for one night."

“If you like, I could walk you ladies back to your dorms,” Noah offers.

“There’s really no need to—” I begin, not wanting to inconvenience him, but he waves off my protests.

“Please. It’ll be for my own peace of mind too. Preston Michaels is far from the only asshole who loses decorum when he’s drunk,” he points out.

I turn to Rachel, who nods her head.

My own head is beginning to spin again and I know that it’s the smarter choice. I agree and Noah walks Rachel and me back to our dorm rooms. Along the way, we make small talk, the type of lighthearted, booze-tinged conversation that somehow feels more significant than its overly serious and sober counterpart.

By the time we get to the room, Noah and I end up dawdling outside, somehow hard-pressed to say goodnight. Rachel lurks half in and half out of her door, obviously keeping an eye on us, but I don’t even really notice.

But when Noah asks me for my number, my sense kicks into full alert.

Somehow, through my muddled mind, I’m able to give him the right series of digits. I go over it once more just to make sure, something that makes Noah chuckle and the sound is something I think I could get even drunker on.

With a final smile, he nods before turning away and raising his hand in greeting as he calls over his shoulder.

“I’ll text you, Jane.”