Dani’s [POV]
Drawing in a deep breath, I stare at the gray building of my new dorm at Stanford. Some things you cannot escape, as much as you want to. My father went to Stanford, and my brother went to Stanford; now it’s my turn. Still, as I inhale the brisk end-of-March air, I know I made the right decision to come back. I am home in California, after all.
After Damon left one year ago, all Hell broke loose. I channeled all my pain into{ lashing out at my parents and James. I wanted to punish them for my pain and for pushing away the boy I loved. It was a teenage rebellion at its finest. I had always prided myself in not going through the typical ‘teenage phase’, yet there I was, squeezing years’ worth of rebellion into a few short months. Ultimately, it all came to bite me back. My exam performance took a nosedive, and I missed my grades for Oxford, ending up at another London university. James begged me not to move, but of course, I didn’t listen. I moved to London and lived there for an entire semester. The best part of my stay there was my kick-ass flatmate, Jessica. The story behind meeting Jessica is quite funny.
Almost exactly one year ago, the night I lost Damon, James found Serena. He fell head-over-heels for her, and they are now engaged, getting married in three months. Jessica is Serena’s best friend, and she moved to London at the same time I did and hooked up with my cousin, Parker.
I was only halfway over my rebel phase when I moved in with Jessica, no longer lashing out at my parents, but I continued with a project I started in my rebel days back home: changing myself. I wanted to fashion out a new Dani, one who wasn’t a nerd. As a reformed party girl, Jessica was more than happy to help turn this good girl into a bad one. But I never felt right pretending to be someone else, just like I never felt comfortable in London. Turns out the answer to feeling at home someplace wasn’t moving to a foreign country. I yearned to come back, but pride kept me from admitting to myself and my family that moving had been a mistake.
One phone call changed all of that.
Before Christmas, James called me during the night with the news that my father had suffered a heart attack and the doctors weren’t optimistic. I jumped on the first flight to California, the last words I had spoken to my father playing in my mind over and over again. They had been resentful and mean, and the thought that those might turn out to be the very last words was unbearable. My father was in critical condition when I arrived, but he survived. The doctor ordered him to quit work right away because he was at high risk of having another heart attack. After a heart-to-heart conversation with James and my mother, I decided to return. Despite our differences, we are family, and I longed to be home.
James pulled some strings so I could start at Stanford in the spring, so here I am, in the place I should have been from the very beginning.
“Hazel,” I call the second I step into our room. She lifts her head, deep brown curls dangling from her messy bun. She’s wearing a baggy t-shirt, and her hands are full of books. Dropping the books, she rushes between the boxes, throwing her arms around me when she reaches me.
“I can’t believe you’re back.”
I inhale one whiff of her familiar jasmine and lily perfume before her hug becomes a tad too tight. “Welcome to Stanford’s finest on-campus accommodation,” she says. I lived in a luxury apartment in London, but I wanted an authentic college experience this time.
“Hazel, I can’t breathe,” I stammer. She lets go. “You have to stop doing this every time you see me.” Since I’ve been back, I’ve seen Hazel about four times, and she’s reacted the same every single time. Truth be told, I can’t get enough of her hugs. I missed her like crazy while I was in London. The prospect of experiencing college with my best friend makes me giddy.
“I still can’t believe you’re here to stay. If you insist I treat you normally, help me unload all of these boxes. We have about four hours. Then we need to start preparing for the party I told you about.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I can’t help bursting out laughing.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have an appointment at the orientation office in fifteen minutes. I’ll make sure to come back in time to prepare for the party, though.”
“Traitor,” she mutters under her breath. “By the way, I need to tell you something.” She purses her lips.
“Well?”
Hazel twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, chewing her lip. “I’ll tell you when you get back from the office.”
“Ah, resorting to cheap tricks to make me help you unpack.”
She rolls her eyes, starting to unload yet another box.
I stride through the campus, soaking up the sun. It’s good to be back. There is a lot of commotion at the orientation office, and I wait in line for at least half an hour, despite having an appointment. I keep myself entertained by going over the syllabus for this semester again. Thank God American universities force you to do a broad selection of courses. In England, you choose one subject and stick with it until the end. I love to read, but it turns out that studying English wasn’t exactly my thing. I still don’t know what my thing is, but luckily, I have some time to decide before I have to declare my major. I’m still buried in the syllabus when a voice I haven’t heard in months reaches my ears.
“How many courses do I have to take if I don’t want this one?”
The voice belongs to Damon. My heart does a double beat, my hands freezing on the brochure. I don’t dare raise my eyes for fear that seeing him might prompt a reaction that is best kept out of the public eye. The woman behind the desk explains something to Damon, and he acknowledges it with a short “Thank you.” I can’t help peeking sideways when he passes me. The air changes instantly, something like an electric shock zipping through me when our gazes meet. Were this the first time I saw him since he left that dreadful night, I think I might have had to grab the shoulder of the blonde in front of me for support.
I saw him once before when I was in London. I had found out that Damon was in London for a fight. I could hardly believe that after graduating high school he returned to fighting, so I set out to see him with my own eyes. It was a shock to my system to see him in the ring again. I was disappointed and told him so. Our encounter was very brief and bittersweet.
“Why did you never write or call, Damon?”
He gestured around himself as if the mere fact that we were in a fighter dungeon should answer my question. In a way, it did, but I wanted to hear it from him. “I made you a promise when I left California that I will only come back into your life when I get my shit together, and I can’t make good on that promise yet.” He took my hand in his and pressed his forehead to mine. “I will look for you when I’m able to. I don’t know if you’ll still want me, but I will look for you.”
That was the first and last time I saw him since he left California.
I snap out of my reverie when the woman behind the desk calls my name, the fragmented memories of that night full of heartbreak and hope sliding away into the recesses of my mind. Leaning slightly over the counter, I try my best to pay attention to what the woman is saying. Since I spent the first semester of freshman year in London, and am now in the second semester at Stanford, I can transfer some credits. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damon waiting by the door.
He’s still there fifteen minutes later when I finish with the advisor.
“Hi,” he says.
“Damon,” I reply, unsure of what to say.
“Do you have time to talk?”
I lick my lips as I take in his appearance. He was sexy before, but now his sex appeal seems out of this world. He shed the few shreds of boyhood that betrayed his age sometime in the last year. Now he’s all man. The green shirt he wears store
This is over his shoulders, and I wonder if they were so strong before. Imagining what’s beneath the fabric muddles my thoughts.
“Well, I’m supposed to help Hazel unpack…” I squirm in my spot, fidgeting with my fingers, and then we move away from the door to a marble fountain. “So, Stanford, huh? Congratulations.”
“I have to thank someone for practically forcing me to apply.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t apply back when we…” I take a deep breath, letting my words fade.
“No, but you grilled me hard enough about college that I eventually applied for the spring intake.”
A grin spreads over my face. “That’s great. What about the fighting?”
“No more of that. I quit the day my Stanford acceptance came. I’m looking for an honest-to-goodness job, so if you know of anyone hiring, let me know. My dad is paying for Stanford, but I don’t want him paying for anything else.”
I nod in appreciation. “Wow, that’s a change I never expected. Not in a million years did I think you’d let your dad pay for anything.”
“I’ve learned a thing or two over the past few months. I have pocket money to last me about a week, but I’ll gladly give all of it out if you let me buy you lunch.” He checks his watch. “Or early dinner.”
“I can’t,” I say truthfully. “I promised Hazel I’d help her unpack, and then we’re going to some party.” I regret the promise more with every passing second. Damon unexpectedly cheers up.
“I’m supposed to go to a party, too.”
“I’m going to a party, no idea if it’s the same you are going to. Some guy from the soccer team is throwing it.”
“I’m going to the same one.”
“See you in a few hours, then.” I attempt to pass by him when his hand grabs my wrist. It’s a gentle move, but it stops me in my tracks nonetheless.
“I can finally make good on all my promises, Dani.”
***
My mind plays his words over and over on my way back to the dorm, sending shivers of anticipation all over my body. This exceeds all of my expectations. Damon attends Stanford, no longer fights, and accepts help from his dad.
A grin the size of California blooms on my face when I enter our room. Predictably, Hazel opened more than half of the boxes already.
“What took you so long?”
“I had to wait in line. Then they took forever to explain everything to me. Oh, and I ran into Damon.”
Hazel stops mid-stride, putting down the box she was carrying. “Shit, that was what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You knew?”
“I saw him on campus when I came to do some paperwork yesterday. How was it?”
“Good. Better than I expected.” A fluttering feeling forms in my stomach as I remember our conversation, and I try not to get my hopes too high up… but who am I kidding? I’m practically drunk on hope and excitement. “He’s meeting us at the party tonight.”
“Meeting you, you mean. I’ll make sure to disappear at the right moment.”
“You will not do that. Let’s get with unloading those boxes.”
“Are you nuts? You have a date tonight.”
“We didn’t agree to it being a date-”
“I’m declaring it a date. Come on, let’s get you ready.”
“You already factored in a two-hour preparation time,” I argue.
“Yeah, but that was before this was a date.”
My preparation time strongly resembles a spa visit: peeling, moisturizing, shaving… everywhere. Then Hazel and I debate what kind of makeup we want. I decide on a smoky-eyes do. I saw it a few times on Jess, and it looked fabulous. Well, Jess is a wizard with all things makeup, so of course she made it look flawless. But my results, even though they lack Jess’s touch of perfection, still look great. Hazel decides she wants a less ostentatious look, just a little pink eye shadow and mascara.
Another hour passes and we do our hair. I look longingly at Hazel’s long tresses. Last year, I started the process of changing myself by cutting my hair very short, which I don’t regret, but styling your hair while it goes through all the awkward growth stages is a pain in the ass. Now it brushes my shoulders, and I can’t wait until it reaches elbow-length again.
“How was your semester-opening party in the fall?” I ask.
“Interesting. I met a bunch of people, but I’m glad you’re here for this one,” she says. This time, it’s not Hazel who squeezes me in a tight hug; I hug her.
I decided to wear jeans and a fancy silk top, discarding the sexy dress Hazel’s mom bought for me as a present. In my rebel days, I would’ve worn it and hoped I didn’t look ridiculous. Maybe Jess infused some of her confidence in me while I lived with her in London because I’m more comfortable in my skin than I used to be. There is no point in trying to pass off as someone else.