Amy righted herself and slid her hands down her silver dress. She looked more like she was ready to attend the Oscar’s than pretend to eat her dinner of celery and lemon wedges. The way she swayed caught the lights in the cafeteria and made her sparkle like a disco ball. Why was it the meaner the girl, the more she sparkled?
William turned his head to see what had my attention, just in time to see Miss Sparkle come to a stop behind him, hitching a hand on her hip. “What have we here,” she said, looking him over like she was imagining him without his clothes, and enjoying every square inch of it.
“I’m Amy Kirkpatrick—your express ticket to the front of the line here at OSU.” She extended her hand palm facing the ground, as if expecting him to kiss it. She waited, but when William didn’t take it, or even look at it, she drew it back and ran it through her hair. “And you are?” she asked, smiling in a way I imagined had been passed down to the gorgeous girls around the world for generations. That, demure, interested-but-not-too-interested, luscious kind of smile that was equal parts lip and teeth.
William turned away from her and shoved his tray across the table. “Not interested.”
Her smiled waned for one heartbeat before it was back in all its former splendor. “I like when a man plays hard to get. It’s a breath of fresh air from dimwits throwing themselves at your feet.” Despite William’s back to her, she tossed her hair, releasing the scent of perfume that was sweet—too sweet. Like artificial sweetener. “Why don’t you sit with me and my friends? I promise we won’t leave you disappointed.”
“No,” he answered instantly. “I’m going to sit with Bryn and her friends when they arrive.”
“Bryn flies solo,” she laughed, as if it was obvious. “Other than the time she threw herself at Paul, I haven’t seen her show interest in anyone.”
William’s shoulder’s tensed. “Paul? Is he your boyfriend?” he asked, looking at me.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head a little too emphatically.
“She wishes. She couldn’t even tempt him enough for a one night stand.” Her eyes regarded me like I was a harlot. “I know all about you California girls.”
“Is Oregon the lone state of purity now?” I snapped back, having a hard time keeping my mouth shut.
She rolled her eyes and looked away from me like she’d already wasted too much time on me. “When you change your mind, here’s my number.” She placed a folded piece of pink embossed paper next to him, before strutting away from us. I imagined peacock feathers coming from her butt to lighten my mood. It worked, at least until I saw William’s hand close over Amy’s parting gift.
Somehow, that made me more angry than anything else had tonight.
“I know your type,” I said, shoving my chair a few feet away from him. Hoping space would get me away from whatever hypnosis I’d fallen under with him. I wasn’t that girl—that girl that batted their eyes and laughed in all the right spots.
He scooted in, erasing the space I’d found to separate us. “You do, huh?”
“Yep.” I crossed my arms and inched back, right into the empty table behind me. “Rich, single child, a girlfriend for every night of the week, drives some fancy sports car, majoring in girls and drinking.” My tone was acid, and it felt like it rising out of my throat.
He didn’t scoot any closer, but he squared his body so it was facing me. “I’m a middle child in a family of five, never had a girlfriend, I drive a ‘68 Bronco, and I’m majoring in pre-med.” His voice was calm, patient.
“What about the rich?” I said, his calm only fueling my anger, and did he really expect me to believe he’d never had a girlfriend? He could have told me he’d been born on Pluto ten-thousand years ago and I would have accepted this easier.
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking chagrined. “I shouldn’t be penalized for having worked hard.”
“Ha! You’re what, 21 . . . maybe 22?” I snapped. “You’ve had such a long time to work so hard, also known as Daddy’s trust fund.”
His forehead creased. “You’re one to point your finger. That car of yours doesn’t come cheap. And you’ve got single, pampered child written all over your face.”
“How do you know what kind of car I drive?” I said, bristling from his single-child comment. I had no say in my parent’s choice to be a one-child family.
He paused for the shortest moment, before his answer rolled out, “It’s kind-of hard to miss a vintage piece of American heavy metal in mint condition on a college campus.”
“So you think you have me all figured out because of the car I drive?” I shouted.
“Kind of like you think you know me because I’ve got a little more cash in my bank account than the next guy?” His voice was still calm. Infuriatingly calm.
“I do know who you are, and I’m not about to be fooled by your attempts at slumming it with the middle class students like me.” I jolted up. “And the car? It was part of an inheritance.”
“Some inheritance,” he said, looking at me in a knowing way. “Rich grandparents?”
“Nope,” I answered, my voice ice. “Just dead parents.”
His face fell until a look that was either pity or understanding filled his eyes. I didn’t wait around long enough to find out which it was.