“How did it go?” she asked.
I shrugged. “He’s a good tutor.”
“Just a tutor?”
“He’s a good friend, too.”
She seemed disappointed, and I giggled at the fallen expression on her face.
It had always been a dream of America’s for us to date friends, and roommates-slash-cousins, for her, was hitting the jackpot. She wanted us to room together when she decided to come with me to Eastern, but I vetoed her idea, hoping to spread my wings a bit. Once she finished pouting, she focused on finding a friend of Shepley’s to introduce me to.
Travis’ healthy interest in me had surpassed her ideas.
I breezed through the test and sat on the steps outside the building, waiting for America. When she slumped down beside me in defeat, I waited for her to speak.
“That was awful!” she cried.
“You should study with us. Travis explains it really well.”
America groaned and leaned her head on my shoulder. “You were no help at all! Couldn’t you have given me a courtesy nod or something?” I hooked my arm around her neck and walked her to our dorm.
· · ·
Over the next week, Travis helped with my history paper and tutored me in Biology. We stood together scanning the grade board outside Professor Campbell’s office. My student number was three spots from the top.
“Third-highest test grade in the class! Nice, Pidge!” he said, squeezing me. His eyes were bright with excitement and pride, and an awkward feeling made me take a step back.
“Thanks, Trav. Couldn’t have done it without you,” I said, pulling on his T-shirt.
&nbs
p; He tossed me over his shoulder, making his way through the crowd behind us. “Make way! Move it, people! Let’s make room for this poor woman’s hideously disfigured, ginormous brain! She’s a fucking genius!”
I giggled at the amused and curious expressions of my classmates.
· · ·
As the days went by, we fielded the persistent rumors about a relationship. Travis’ reputation helped to quiet the gossip. He had never been known to stay with one girl longer than a night, so the more times we were seen together, the more people understood our platonic relationship for what it was. Even with the constant questions of our involvement, the stream of attention Travis received from his coeds didn’t recede.
He continued to sit next to me in History and eat with me at lunch. It didn’t take long to realize I had been wrong about him, even finding myself defensive toward those that didn’t know Travis the way that I did.
In the cafeteria, Travis set a can of orange juice in front of me.
“You didn’t have to do that. I was going to grab one,” I said, peeling off my jacket.
“Well, now you don’t have to,” he said, flashing the dimple on his left cheek.
Brazil snorted. “Did she turn you into a cabana boy, Travis? What’s next, fanning her with a palm tree leaf, wearing a Speedo?”
Travis shot him a murderous glare, and I jumped to his defense. “You couldn’t fill a Speedo, Brazil. Shut the hell up.”
“Easy, Abby! I was kidding!” Brazil said, holding up his hands.
“Just…don’t talk about him like that,” I said, frowning.
Travis’ expression was a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Now I’ve seen it all. I was just defended by a girl,” he said, standing up. Before he left with his tray, he offered one more warning glare to Brazil, and then walked outside to stand with a small group of fellow smokers outside the building.
I tried not to watch him while he laughed and talked. Every girl in the group subtly competed for the space next to him, and America shoved her elbow in my ribs when she noticed my attention was elsewhere.