Rookie in Love [SYTYCW 2013]

Chapter One

Taking in the lawns littered with passed out frat boys and half empty red cups, I fight the buzz fueled giggle that bubbles up in my chest, as I mentally check off everything civilized adults have warned young women about.  Young girl walking alone, check.  In the presence of inebriated frat boys, check.  Impossibly high heels, check.  Tiny dress and a tinier purse containing only a key, my phone and small tube of lip gloss-noticeably too small for any weapon or attacker deterrent, check.  I should be terrified but I’m not. This is what freedom feels like - well freedom and two feet covered in blisters.

            Hopping around on one foot, I struggle to remove my high heel without tipping over.  I’m not drunk, but I’m not exactly sober and the uneven sidewalk along Fraternity Row is making these ridiculous heels impossible.  With shoes now dangling from my hand, I take the last few steps to the old frat house that has been converted into living space for students.  The sounds of a pool party echo through the night from the house behind the building, and I roll my eyes as a shrill girl scream pierces the air before a large splash. 

            The grass is cold and wet beneath my feet as I tiptoe along the side of my building to the trellis that climbs the wall to the roof.  I have lost track of exactly what time it is but hope I haven’t missed it.  Having done this before I know exactly what lies at the top of the trellis, so I back myself up and begin throwing my carried items onto the roof.  I can’t help but giggle, the freedom and ridiculousness of this moment in time is too much.  The heels land with a small thud and I reach into my purse, remove my phone and tuck it into my bra with a grin of satisfaction before whizzing my purse in the air with the hopes of a smooth landing. 

            A low chuckle behind me causes my heart to jump into my throat.  I turn around to find out if I have just become “that girl,” you know, the one that ends up missing in her last year of college; the one we all see on the news when they flash her high school picture and cut to a news conference on the lawn of her parents’ house.  The lights from the frat house are on and a large figure is cast in black sitting on the short, dilapidated brick wall extending between the two properties.  When he sees me struggle to see his face, he leans into the light and tips his cup in my direction in some unwritten college salute that I believe means carry on. 

            My eyes follow the path of his arm away from the cup and take in the tattoo that begins at his elbow and climbs his strong bicep then dips under his sleeve.  His jaw is strong and noticeably clean-shaven and his lips are pursed in a tight smile as he gazes at me over his cup.  I can’t make out the color of his eyes but his hair is dark and short from what I can see as it peaks out from underneath a baseball cap turned backwards.  The feeling in my stomach is definitely not fear as it winds tight and heavy with lust.  Killers don’t laugh at their victims right? I think I’m fine so I turn back to my trellis and hike my small dress up my thighs so that I can climb without killing myself. 

            I can feel his eyes on me as I climb off of the ground and I try to focus instead on the low thump of the music playing somewhere in the distance. 

            “Is this some LA tradition I don’t know about?” his voice rumbles low in my stomach and forces the air from my lungs.  I glance over my shoulder as uninterested as I can pretend and find him now standing at the bottom of the trellis working his bottom lip with his teeth, eyebrows lifted with question. 

            “How else I am supposed to get up to the roof when clearly it is a behavior the management frowns upon?  There must be twenty doors in the damn building and not one leads to the roof.”   I am rambling now, somewhere between a rush of words and a low mumble to myself.   Lifting my foot up again, I place it in the next small square but the wood is too wet from the dewy evening air and I slip unexpectedly, causing my body to dangle precariously from the slipping grip I have on the trellis.