Kellan tries to change the subject. “I’m pretty sure Susanna still works at The Sling. I can drop by there tomorrow.”
Susanna has been written in alongside her scratched out descriptor, Smells like French Fries. The Sling is a campus greasy spoon, known for serving late night breakfast to drunken revelers. And possibly STIs. This sounds bad, but I hope it’s her. Then the search is over and “Red Corset” stays in the closet, both literally and figuratively, because now that I think about it, I know exactly where that tacky thing is.
“And Purple Hair still has purple hair and sits in the front row of my English Lit class, so I can talk to her on Friday.” Kellan thinks. “Assuming it’s not another girl with purple hair. I never really looked at her face.”
“Oh my God,” I mumble, running my hands over my heated cheeks. “Oh my God, Kellan. Did you ever look at their faces? Ever ask their names? Even once? Did that not matter? Did they really matter so little that you can’t remember more than the color of their hair or that they smell like grease or they blew you at a party? Is it really that easy for you?”
He looks startled.
“Nora.” Crosbie puts a hand on my arm. “Calm down. It’s—”
I jerk away. “Why don’t you see how many of their numbers are in your phone, Crosbie? Do you have an entry for Sparkly Green Shirt or Parking Lot at Grocery Store or Walks with Slight Limp?”
“I don’t—”
“I mean, they’re people, you jackasses! Blowjob at May Madness? That’s a person! Red Corset? That’s a person too! And they have names and they have feelings and it’s so fucking infuriating to hear you talk about them like they don’t matter.”
“It’s—”
I swipe angry tears from my eyes. “Maybe it’s a big deal for them. Maybe they loved it. Maybe they hated it. Maybe they regret it. But maybe it’s more than some stupid game or some bathroom wall or some list in my living room.”
“Nora, we—”
“I can’t,” I say. “I can’t look at this. I can’t look at you.” I storm into my room and close the door, slumping against the wall before sliding down onto the carpet. So much for playing it cool. So much for putting last year behind me. I’d tried my very best to not be the non-entity I’d been in high school, the invisible girl hiding behind baggy clothes and tangled hair. And now here I am, hiding behind cardigans and library books and nowhere closer to knowing who the hell I am. “Red Corset” is the most exciting girl I’d even been, and all that got me was a bi-monthly meeting with the Dean, three hundred hours of community service, and not-so-prime placement on Kellan McVey’s “Did she give me gonorrhea?” sex list.
I grind the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing myself to get a grip. I’m just barely hanging on when there’s a tentative knock on the door. It slowly eases open and Crosbie sticks in his head, spotting me on the floor.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Sorry,” I mumble, twisting my fingers. Sorry you think “watched her tits bounce as we fucked” is hot. Sorry I’m Red Corset. Sorry, sorry, sorry.
He joins me on the floor. “You don’t have to apologize. All that stuff you told me outside—I mean, I thought it was funny, but if it really upsets you, I won’t make any more jokes about it. I mean, you obviously beat yourself up for stuff, and maybe you’re right. Maybe all the girls on that list regret being on it. I know one does, for sure.”
My breath snags in my throat until he clarifies: “The gonorrhea girl.”
The heart attack I was about to have subsides. “Oh. Right. Her.”
“And I’m going to ask them to paint over my name in the Student Union building. All that meaningless shit isn’t worth boasting about. The best girl I’ve ever known is sitting right here, and I’d die before I saw her name on some list like that.”
I’m about to start crying again.
“On my list,” he adds, making it all so much worse. “How bad would that be?”
I can’t speak, so I just shake my head.
“Are we okay?” he asks. “I don’t want to go if we’re not okay.”
“We’re okay,” I mumble. “I’m just tired.”
“Sure. All this gray weather makes people depressed. I saw a thing about it. Did you know they sell lamps specifically designed to give you vitamin D?”
“I did know that.”
“Should we get you one?”
I laugh helplessly. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. I just need to sleep.”
“Of course.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Feel better.”
“Thanks.”
He stands to go, putting his hand on the knob. “And please don’t kill Kellan in his sleep. He’s a jerk sometimes, but he’s my best friend. I’d hate to have to help bury him.”
“I can hear you,” Kellan calls from the living room. “And I keep mace under my pillow. Just FYI.”
*