Halfway Girl (Girl 2.5)

I put a hand over my mouth to trap the morning breath and open the door. On the other side is a pledge I recognize, and before she says a word, I know she’s here to tell me the mural was destroyed. My shock and anguish last night prevented me from coming up with a plan to break the news to my new friends, but it appears I’ve been saved the trouble.

She’s visibly upset.

“Someone destroyed all of our work.” She backs into the hallway and I follow her, both of us whispering so we don’t wake the entire floor. “It’s totally gone, except for like, some of the bottom left corner.”

Am I going to rat out Jerimiah and his buddies? I haven’t gotten that far. It’s approximately the worst idea in the world to become enemies with the football team at the outset of my college career. But. I can’t let them get away with being horrible people. I don’t have it in me to look the other way. “I, um…I have to tell you something—”

“Now this linebacker dude is like, fixing it? I don’t know. People say he’s been there since this morning, cleaning up a-and trying to re-create what was there before—”

“Hold up. Linebacker dude?”

“Yeah, you probably saw him at the party the other night.” She shivers. “That six-foot-a thousand Frankenstein-looking guy.”

I take exception to the monster comparison, but no one else is that tall. “Jerimiah?”

“Is he the scary one?”

“He’s not—” I break off. Why am I defending him? He wrecked the mural.

And now he’s fixing it?

What the hell is going on?

I sidestep back into my room and snag my shower caddy off my dresser. “Um. Weird. I’m going to go make myself look human and go check it out.”

After I say goodbye to my friend, I dash down to the common bathroom, brush my teeth, wash my face and yank a brush through my hair. While my roommate continues to sleep like the dead, I throw on the only thing I have clean—a turquoise shift dress my sister-in-law bought me on a futile quest to imbue my wardrobe with color. Although, I guess it’s not so futile, since I’m wearing it now as I jog down the path that leads from my dorm to the quad. I skid to a stop at the edge of the grass, continuing in slow motion on my way toward the mural.

Son of a gun. Jerimiah is indeed standing in front of it. Surrounded by a crowd of at least two hundred students. I wouldn’t even be able to see him if he wasn’t a skyscraper. Obviously uncomfortable with the attention he’s receiving, his shoulders are bunched, his jaw clenched. But that intense focus I remember about him is narrowed down to what he’s doing. The slow, intricate strokes of the paint brush that’s dwarfed in his huge hand.

I have to shoulder through the onlookers to reach him, and it’s like he senses me, the ham hock-sized muscles in his back stiffening before he even looks over his shoulder. But then he does and awareness rushes over my skin, head to toe. How anyone can find this man less than beautiful is totally beyond me. In the darkness of the basement, he was handsome. Unique. In the light, he’s a diamond, shining in the rough. Can’t everyone see that?

His eyes are light blue, lit up by the morning sun and…there is so much honesty and integrity in them, I know on the spot that I’ve made a mistake.

“Birdie,” he rasps.

“You were trying to stop them,” I whisper, wanting to kick myself. “Weren’t you?”

His eyelids drop, his big chest lifting in a heavy breath. He nods once.

“I’m sorry for running away.”

“I understand.” I’ve never had anyone look at me the way Jerimiah does. Like I’m a new species of flower he’s desperate to pluck out of the ground and examine, but he’s clearly holding himself back from following through. With one final, long look in my direction, he turns his back to the crowd, determination in the lines of his strong body. “I’m going to fix it for you.”

“No, you’re not.”

God help me. When he turns his head and gives me a look that says, oh yeah, sweetheart? I fall flat out in love with Jerimiah. I skid straight into a home plate made of daisies right there in front of an audience of hundreds. Wearing a stupid turquoise dress. I was already in love with the gentle giant, but that show of stubbornness seals the deal. It speaks to mine and they marry together as perfectly as peanut butter and jelly.

Which, of course, is scary. Really scary. Because I’ve already decided things won’t work between us. I can’t be selfish and have him all for myself without taking Natalie into consideration. What would she want? Deep down, I know there’s something unhealthy about needing approval from my sister, but I don’t know how to stop without saying goodbye to her.