Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

Oh, I got it now. “You don’t think I can take it.”

“No, I’m saying you shouldn’t have to. It’s misplaced pride.”

“I can’t believe you of all people would say that to me.” I put my hands on my hips. “What happened to all that bull you spout about our oaths coming before anything?”

“I almost can’t believe it myself.” He shrugged. “But I’ve been there, remember? I have huge regrets about the things I didn’t do when I was an undergrad. This is it, Bugaboo. This is your last chance. You don’t have any more semesters, any more ‘wait and sees.’ Don’t let it slip by while you ride this out. Trust me on this. It’s not worth thinking about.”

Now he sounded like Brandon, whose similar advice had tipped me toward joining Rose & Grave in the first place. Funny, I couldn’t name two people less alike. Brandon was warm, where Poe was cold; Brandon friendly and open, where Poe was distant and unforgiving. Brandon had loved me, whereas the most I’d ever expected from Poe was a reluctant truce. Brandon was honest and forthright where Poe was—okay, he was honest, too, but he tended to say things I didn’t want to hear. And he never spoke like this. Kind counsel wasn’t Poe’s usual style. I didn’t know how to respond.

“Anyway,” he said at last, “I should probably head home.” He made for the door, then paused for a moment. “Of course,” he said, “if you do roll over, don’t expect me to let you live it down.”

“Of course.” That was the Poe I knew.

I spent the next few hours studying and musing over Poe’s words. And in the end, I understood it wasn’t snowball fights or even Winter Balls that I was missing, and that it wasn’t Dragon’s Head that was keeping me from it, either. I’d been afraid my junior year when I’d told Brandon that I didn’t want anything more than a friendship-with-benefits. I’d been afraid last semester when I’d had my no-strings-attached fling with George Harrison Prescott. I was wallowing in fear every time I made fun of Josh and Lydia, or beat myself up over what Felicity had been able to create with Brandon. I’d been afraid of it for years, and I was about to graduate from college, still terrified of the idea of being in love.

Pathetic, huh? They teach us a lot here at Eli, but evidently not much about human nature. We’re all so awash in our own ambition that we can’t spare any attention for the ambitions of another. We can’t afford to invest in relationships that will likely crash and burn. And we really can’t allow ourselves to get distracted by the everyday drama of romance. There were too many other things to do.

But what about now? Arguably, I’d had a stellar college career. I’d run a publication, taken full course loads, drafted theses, joined a secret society, and taken on powerful conspiracies bent on my destruction—and no, that last one isn’t necessarily in the Eli brochure for prospective students, but I did it anyway, and I kicked ass. I didn’t regret one minute I’d devoted to these things.

I did regret screwing up with Brandon. I regretted that we were no longer close. If there was one thing I wanted back, in the twilight of my college career, it was him.

But I didn’t expect it so soon. Because when I finally packed up my books around three and headed back to the suite, I found Brandon waiting for me on my common room couch—locks be damned.

It was as if I’d fallen through a time warp. This could have been last year, when Brandon was a regular fixture on this couch, waiting for me to come back from wherever I was. Loyal, devoted, like a puppy. Except now he wasn’t puppy-like in the least. No, the energy he radiated was that of angry stray. Tonight, he was dressed in a rumpled suit, his tie undone, his dress shirt unbuttoned over a white tee, his dark, longish hair ruffled far past the point of respectability.

“Brandon?” I blinked. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at his hands. “I honestly don’t know.” He sighed, and stood. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Amy.” Now that he faced me, I could see that wrinkled clothes were the least of his problems. His usually warm, golden skin looked wan, his deep brown eyes were rimmed in red.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…a little late for a social call.”

He nodded absently. “Yeah, it is. I was beginning to think you’d be…out. For the night.”

Like, with a guy. I could fill in that subtext all right. “And I figured that you’d be at the Ball…with your girlfriend.”

He let that one hang in the air for a while. “Why didn’t you call me…ever? After the coffee shop last fall? After lunch last month?”

So much for chitchat. “I don’t know,” I said with the type of honesty that can only come of being taken by surprise. “What would be the point?”

“The point would be you calling me .” His voice was raw, like I’d never heard it before, not even when he’d broken up with me.

My eyes flashed to the door behind him. Could Lydia and Josh hear this?

He caught the direction of my gaze and waved dismissively. “They aren’t here. They let me in and left. It’s just us.”

You mean just me, on trial. “What I’m saying is, what would be the point, with the way things are between us now?”

He took a few steps closer. “How is that, Amy? How are things between us?”

I watched him approach with trepidation. I heard the way he said my name with even more. No one ever said my name like Brandon did.

“They’re…awkward. You have your girlfriend, and she doesn’t like me very much.”

“No, she certainly doesn’t. Especially not tonight.”

Tonight? But before I could say it out loud, I remembered. Valentine’s Day. Our anniversary.

He looked down for a moment, took a deep breath. This wasn’t like him. Brandon never hesitated to say anything. “The thing is, Amy, I’m really happy.”

“I’m glad.” Pure reflex. I was so lost here.

“I mean, really happy. This is my senior year, I’m acing all my classes, my badminton team has been kicking ass, I think that Calvin College might actually be in the running for the Tibbs Cup, and I have this gorgeous, amazing girlfriend who is very much in love with me.”

Wow, when he put it like that, the best thing for me to do would be go jump off of something tall. “I’m…glad,” I choked out.

“So then, what’s wrong with me?”

Nothing. Nothing was wrong with Brandon. He was perfect and happy. He had to be. I’d driven him away so he could be, in a way that wasn’t possible with me. “What do you mean?”

He looked up. “Why am I always thinking about you?”

Late that night, it started to snow again. The flakes floated against the windowpane, flashing blue when they caught the reflection of the emergency call box outside the entryway. We’d turned off all the lights in the suite, since there are things you can’t say if you’re not in the dark.

Snow is a different substance at 3 A.M. It accumulated on the ground, glowing in the moonlight, coating the campus with an unearthly, radioactive radiance. Part of me wanted to go out and roll around in it, see if I could shimmer as much as the crystalline trees and the icy ground and the frosted, wrought-iron banisters. The other part never wanted to leave the room. In the post-snowfall silence, it was easy to believe that the night would never end, and I’d never have to deal with the consequences that waited beyond this moment, beyond that door.