“Well, yeah,” America said. “You’re really coming?”
I smiled and walked past them into the dorms, wondering if Travis would make good on his promise not to flirt. He wasn’t hard to figure out; he either saw me as a challenge, or safely unattractive enough to be a good friend. I wasn’t sure which bothered me worse.
Four hours later, America knocked on my door to take me to Shepley and Travis’. She didn’t hold back when I walked into the hall.
“Yuck, Abby! You look homeless!”
“Good,” I said, smiling at my ensemble. My hair was piled on top of my head in a messy bun. I had scrubbed the makeup from my face and replaced my contacts with rectangular black-rimmed glasses. Sporting a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, I shuffled along in a pair of flip flops. The idea had come to me hours before that either way, unattractive was the best plan. Ideally, Travis would be instantly turned off and stop his ridiculous persistence. If he was looking for a buddy, I was aiming for too homely to be seen with.
America rolled down her window and spit out her gum. “You’re so obvious. Why didn’t you just roll in dog shit to make your outfit complete?”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” I said.
“Obviously.”
We pulled into the parking lot of Shepley’s apartment complex, and I followed America to the stairs. Shepley opened the door, laughing as I walked in. “What happened to you?”
“She’s trying to be unimpressive,” America said.
America followed Shepley into his room. The door closed and I stood alone, feeling out of place. I sat in the recliner closest to the door, and kicked off my flip flops.
Their apartment was more aesthetically pleasing than the typical bachelor pad. The predictable posters of half-naked women and stolen street signs were on the walls, but it was clean, the furniture was new, and the smell of stale beer and dirty clothes was notably absent.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Travis said, collapsing onto the couch.
I smiled and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, waiting for him to recoil at my appearance. “America had a paper to finish.”
“Speaking of papers, have you started the one for history, yet?”
He didn’t bat an eye at my messy hair, and I frowned at his reaction. “Have you?”
“I finished it this afternoon.”
“It’s not due until next Wednesday,” I said, surprised.
“I just plugged it out. How hard can a two page essay on Grant be?”
“I’m a procrastinator, I guess,” I shrugged. “I probably won’t start on it until this weekend.”
“Well, if you need help just let me know.”
I waited for him to laugh, or to show some sign that he was joking, but his expression was sincere. I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to help me with my paper.”
“I have an A in that class,” he said, a bit miffed at my disbelief.
“He has A’s in all his classes. He’s a freakin’ genius. I hate him,” Shepley said as he led America into the living room by the hand.
I watched Travis with a dubious expression and his eyebrows shot up. “What? You don’t think a guy covered in tats and that trades punches for a living can get the grades? I’m not in school because I have nothing better to do.”
“Why do you have to fight at all, then? Why didn’t you try for scholarships?” I asked.
“I did. I was awarded half my tuition. But there are books, living expenses, and I gotta come up with the other half some time. I’m serious, Pidge. If you need help with anything, just ask.”
“I don’t need your help. I can write a paper.” I wanted to leave it at that. I should have left it at that, but the new side of him he’d revealed gnawed at my curiosity. “You can’t find something else to do for a living? Less—I don’t know—sadistic?”
Travis shrugged. “It’s an easy way to make a buck. I can’t make that much working at the mall.”