Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel (7 page)

He reaches up and turns his hat backward for no apparent reason, and rests his elbows on his knees. His smile is sickly almost. He thinks he's being smooth. He. Winked. Who would actually fall for his shit? Jock—oops, I mean Jack, thinks I'm interested. I think to myself,
Please don't ask me to partner, please don't ask me to partner.

"All right, break's up. Let’s continue." Oh, thank you Lord Thor and Professor Weiss. I've never been so happy for class to start. In the words of New Found Glory "What Will Happen Next I Don't Wanna Know."

Jock-Jack unfortunately stays next to me, casually focusing on the side of my head. I peer back at Roman when passing back the paper stack, like I always do. Staring has become a thing. Him catching me look during this class ritual. My stomach twisting each time. I get giddy, wondering the what ifs.

Gah, Jock-Jack needs to stop looking at me, because he is really starting to freak me out.
Oh, god! Is that what I look like to Roman? Am I the creepy fucker freaking him out?
I may need to rethink my strategy.

The rest of class was boring and uneventful aside from Jack-Jock and his inching his way uncomfortably close to conveniently ask me a question. And to give me a cocky smile. I officially, very badly, want to smack it off his face. Poor guy, he probably isn't as bad as I'm making him out to be. But I do distance myself from people like him for a reason.

"Class dismissed, I'll see all of your pretty faces Thursday," Weiss sings.

Oh, Professor Weiss is something. He has nick named a few others in the class. I haven't been singled out for that honor yet. He probably sees how big my eyes get in their pleading, when he looks anywhere near my general direction. Yeah, he knows I'm terrified to be picked. I should suggest to him my personal nick name for Jack-Jock, though. He would likely find it funny and use it.

As I'm about to walk out the door, I am halted by a voice.

"Hey, Rigbee, can I talk to you?" Jack-Jock asks, way too easily.

Has he not taken the hint?
I tighten up.

"Sorry, can't right now. Busy," is all I can muster being put on the spot. It's a trigger.

"Busy? We were let out ten minutes early, busy doing what?" He puts his hands in his pockets and grins, knowing full-well he got me. I know he's going to ask me to partner with him. I don't, and probably won't, have one. I think I'm going to end up stuck with him, so I make the crap decision and figure I might as well be nice.

"Busy being an introvert. Sorry, I don't do well talking … well, talking to people."

A devious grin stretches across his face, "I see, then we don't have to ta—”

"She said she was busy,
bro
," a deep voice coming from behind me cuts him off.

Roman
. The sound of him saying bro is funny. I don't think bro would come out of his mouth naturally. The thought makes me giggle. However, when I look behind me, it's to see him scowl, and suddenly nothing is funny. Eyes slanted, nostrils flared, jaw tight. Nope, not funny. Wow, random plot twist. Though, not an unwelcome one. He's staring Jock down as if he'd just killed his kitten. Okay, so maybe Roman's not the kitten kind of guy.

"Ah. Okay, I get it now," Jack-Jock sneers, and with disgust and disapproval clouding his face, he shakes his head back and forth.

"Get what?" I ask, looking back and forth look between these two guys who, before today, had not ever verbally acknowledged my presence.

"I see now, I'm not your type," he says condescendingly and walks out.

"What the shit was that?" I exclaim. "What was with you and Jack-Jock?" I ask Roman, secretly thankful he came to my rescue but a bit annoyed he thinks he can jump in out of nowhere.

"Hmph. Jack-Jock, more like Jackass," he grumbles and walks straight through the doorway, not looking back. No goodbye or anything. I gape after him, brows raised and mouth falling open.

"Unbelievable," I grunt and throw my arms up in confusion.

I just so happen to know he turns right to go to the end of the hall elevators. I'm not a stalker, I swear, I only noticed last week. I, on the other hand, have to go left and take the stairs. But I can't help but pause at the doorway.

I watch as this brooding boy with a brown backpack struts straight toward the elevator. He slams his hand unnecessarily hard on the down button. Something got to him just now. He was laughing not an hour ago.

"Rigbee, can I talk to you for a moment?" Weiss calls out.

Shit
. Twice in the same five minutes, really? I tighten up, turn around, and walk back to his desk. I should have left when I had the chance instead of standing there staring at the elevator door.

"Yes, sir?"

"Oh, you can cut the sir crap. You're an adult, and we're not in high school."

"Okay …" I say, nervously.

"I wanted to check in with you and see how you're doing. Have you found your partner and subject matter yet?"

"No, not yet," I answer. "But I have until Thursday right?" I ask in a panic. I swear I heard him correctly.

"Yes, yes of course. I …" He inhales and sighs. "Well, I'll come right out and say it. I want to let you know that I understand some of the reservations you're having in class, but you are going to have to start participating or I won’t be able to justify granting you the participation points each week." He shifts uncomfortably. "If you ever want to talk about anything, you know the office hours and my door is open," he reminds me. Then he sets his elbows on the table, intertwines his fingers, and sits his chin on his now folded hands.

I accidentally bark out a single laugh. I can't help it, it's so cliché. What complete bullshit. Very justified bullshit, but bullshit nonetheless. He has no clue as to what I go through to get through the day.

"You're laughing?" he says to me with a smile. "You know I don't open up about my own personal life to many people, so know, I see something special in you, let’s call it a kindred spirit or something of the sort." He unfolds his hands and gestures at me.

I stop laughing and start to listen to his exclusive piece of information.

"I don't like attention, you know, outside of the classroom I'm a quiet guy, but it might be beneficial for you if I tell you a little bit about myself. I have depression, and an anxiety disorder. I'm not sure if you can relate, but I sense you can," he says, cutting right to the chase. "I heard someone once recite a quote and it really resonated, so I'm going to tell you, ‘The worst mistake you can make is to be constantly scared of making one’.”

Well, damn, his advice makes sense. 

Wednesday after school I walk in to find the apartment empty—Enzo is out again. I do miss him, since he's been going out a lot. But sometimes I need alone time so I don't bring him down with me. I've started to focus my energy building a better me on my own. I've appreciated all of his help, but I can't be the broken friend who he feels he has to help fix anymore. He knows too much of my past, and I don't think I will ever make progress on myself if he doesn't let me do it myself. I want to be normal.

At school when I'm around people who don't know me, I feel like any other girl, which is nice. It's also hard, though, because I don't want to tell anybody about it. So, if and when it happens, no one else except Enz will understand, hence why I can't ever have a healthy, functional relationship. I am stuck overthinking for the remainder of the night.

"Let's skip out at break today and go get coffee," Martin says to me as soon as I sit down in class.

"What, why? I don't know if skipping's such a good idea," I reply hesitantly.

"Sure it is, we are not really doing anything we can't read about in the text later," he assures me. "Plus, it's the perfect way to get you and your hair boy talking."

"Wh-What?" I stutter. "What do you mean?"

"You know, casually ask a couple of us if we wanna ditch for coffee, he won't say no then," he states, matter-of-fact.

"Um … okay, sounds like a decently contrived, albeit, manipulative idea."

Martin points a finger at me and says, "There is one condition."

"Lay it on me," I counter.

"You have to ask him yourself." His mouth curves into a satisfied smile.

Son-of-a-bitch.

"Wow, you look pale. Are you okay?" he asks me.

"Yes, I think. I can … I can," I say more to myself than him. I need to. I
want
to do this.

"Atta girl, take a big dose of 'Might as fuckin’ well' and make your move." Martin slaps me on the back, like I'm a kid on his soccer team.

Roman is just walking in.

"Hey, man," Martin says to Roman as he takes his seat.

"Hey?" he replies, looking a bit confused.

I would be too; I think that's the first time Martin has spoken to him directly.

Come break time, I am a pile of nerves. Martin looks right at me, and gives me the go ahead look. I muster up as much courage as I have, and go with it.

"Hey, Martin, let's skip the rest of class and go get a coffee or something? I'm in desperate need of a break from Poli Sci." I think I sounded fine. Nice and normal.

"Sure, yeah okay. Sounds good, actually. I'll need some caffeine for my night class anyway." He winks at me, and looks at the little blond in front of me. "Katie, would you like to join us?"

Ahh, Katie is her name.
I was wondering.

"No, thank you. I really need to stay, thanks for the invite, though."

Wait, what.
I thought Martin said she'd go. She looks back and smiles at me. She turned him down on purpose for some reason.

"I'm game, guys," the big dude behind me says next.

Martin looks right at me with a what are you waiting for stare.

Here goes nothing. I look right at Roman. He's reading something out of the text again and doesn't look up. This is more difficult than I anticipated.

I clear my throat and say, "Do you wanna come too?"

He looks up from the book. I'm not sure if he knows it was him I was talking to.

I ask again, "Coffee. Would you like to go get coffee with us?"

"Now? As in, leave for the rest of class?" he asks, hesitantly.

"Yeah?" My answer comes out sounding more like question.

He looks completely conflicted. There is a war going on inside of that head of his, and I really want to know why. I watch with anticipation and intrigue as he comes to a decision.

"It's just coffee," I reassure.

A gruff sounding groan tumbles out of him almost like he's pained.

"All right, fine."

Way to be enthused
, I sarcastically think to myself. He's acting as if I'm making him do something terrible. Nevertheless, he's going, so a brick immediately forms in my stomach. Crap, I forgot how this means I actually have to socialize.

We all make our way out to the parking lot. I decide to take the dose of "might-as-fuckin’-well" Martin so eloquently suggested.

"Hey, Roman, can I ride with you?" I ask.

"Um … Yeah … Sure," he replies, pausing between each word, and then he nervously scratches at the back of his head.

"My car's right over there," he points to an old white Buick Lesabre.