Livvy (20 page)

“It’s fine,” he says, finally turning around and walking toward the corner where my father’s waiting. I watch them until they get across the street, Jon’s hands tucked in his pockets and Dad’s clasped behind his back. I like seeing them talking once more.

“Livvy, you be careful.”

“I’ll call you, Mom. Thank you so much for the weekend. It was amazing.”

“Will we see you next week?”

“I’ll be home. Jon’s going out of town, so hopefully you guys won’t mind having me around some.”

“We’ve told you, honey, you’re always welcome here.”

“Okay.” We smile at one another and hug. “I want to know what Dad tells you about his little talk.”

“I want to hear Jon’s side,” she says back to me. “We’ll chat later. I love you.”

I can’t stop grinning the entire way back to college. I start playing music that I hadn’t listened to in months–music that reminded me too much of Jon when he wasn’t in my life, but now easily brings back the nostalgia and memories.

I can’t even imagine what the conversation is going to be like between him and Dad. I’ve seen so many heated arguments between them. They fight over me. I have no doubt that he cares about me. And I don’t need further explanation. If he needed time, he got it. It was sad that we missed those months together, but that short amount of time is a small price to pay if it means I get him for the rest of my life.

My stomach flutters in excitement. He makes my life better. I want him forever. I don’t think he would have come back to me if he didn’t want me the same way.

When I get back to my dorm, Katrina is lying on her bed reading a book.

“Hey!” I say, still unable to tone down my happy mood. “Where’s Rachelle?”

“She’s on a date,” she tells me. “Some guy down the hall asked her to dinner this afternoon. That guy with the weird black hair,” she says.

“The one with all the freckles?” I ask her.

“Yeah. His freckles are adorable, though.”

“I think his name is Dimitri,” I tell her. “He’s nice. I had lunch with him in the cafeteria one day. His mother’s a congresswoman.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’d be perfect for her.” She nods in agreement. “So did you have fun at the party?”

“Yeah, anytime you want a house guest, let me know. It was amazing and the view was incredible! And especially if Finn is around–”

“What?” I ask. “Finn?”

“You don’t mind, do you? We exchanged numbers...”

“I don’t mind at all, but he’s, like... far away. I’m not sure long distance is his thing...”

“Well, he’s just fun to talk to. And I used to play soccer back at home, so he’s already challenged me to a little friendly competition next time we’re both in Manhattan.”

“I know he’ll be home for Thanksgiving,” I tell her. “Did you have plans?”

Her smile’s wide. “I can’t afford to fly home, so...”

“Then it’s set. You’re coming home with me.”

“Won’t you and Jon want to be alone together?”

I shrug my shoulders. “We’ll be fine.”

“Are you happy, Livvy?”

“Definitely. I could never want anyone else like I want him.”

“He gave you that ring in your desk, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, our first Christmas together.” I tell her the story of that holiday, when he and my father got into a fight about our sex life. It wasn’t funny then, but we both laugh about it tonight.

“So are you going to start wearing it again?” she asks after my story.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I don’t want to put any pressure on him.”

“Do you think he wouldn’t make those promises today?”

I think about all the promises he’s made, and how they’ve changed into other promises since he first gave me the ring. “I think he would. But I also think I trust him without it. If he asks me to start wearing it, of course I will.”

Just then, my phone rings. “I made it home. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but I just got in,” I explain to Jon quickly.

“It’s okay, Olivia,” he says with a slight laugh.

“I’ve missed you so much, Jon,” I tell him, overwhelmed to be talking to him.

“I’ve missed you, too, baby.” I can hear the smile when he says it. “And I have a lot to tell you about your dad’s conversation, but I need to study for an early exam.”

“Just tell me if it was a fight.”

“It could have gone that way, but I think we’re past that,” he says.

“Good. And good luck on your test in the morning.”

“Thank you. Do you have photography tomorrow?”

“No, it’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“You let me know if Manny gives you a hard time, okay? And don’t let him intimidate you. Don’t be alone with him, either. Okay?”

“Okay, Jon, okay. I will, I won’t, and I won’t.”

He takes a second to think about my responses. “Thanks, baby. I had a great weekend with you.”

“Me, too. Go study,” I instruct him.

“Yes, ma’am. Have a good day tomorrow. Good night, Olivia. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

CHAPTER 10

Emmanuel didn’t show up to our photography class on Tuesday, and he’s making up for it today. I complained to my professor when I got assigned with him again in a partner-project, but since all the other teams had left class already, there was nothing she could do. She assured me she would make sure it didn’t happen again. When she asked if I felt unsafe with him, I told her that I didn’t, even though I don’t feel comfortable with him at all.

It’s not like we can split up, either. The assignment is to shoot a candid of our partner at some point over the next hour and a half that captures who we think that person is. With most of the teams, it’s an hour and a half of discovery of whom their teammate is. With me and Emmanuel, I know him already–at least I
thought
I did.

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time?” he asks me.

“I’m quietly observing you,” I tell him. “Just waiting for the right moment.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“You knew about him already.”

“I didn’t know you were talking.”

“We weren’t. He came to see me Saturday afternoon, and we both wanted the same thing.”

“You said I had a chance, though, and I intend to still get it.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Is that a threat?”

“How is going out with me threatening?” he asks.

“Emmanuel, even if Jon and I hadn’t started to work things out, what you called my uncle is inexcusable. Had I known you were a bigot, I would never have gone out with you in the first place.”

“A bigot? I was pissed because he was under-pouring. I was just kidding.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said it. You’re lucky he didn’t hear it, because he can defend himself.”

“I’m not scared of that candy ass–”

I stop walking. “You know what, Emmanuel? I don’t really care if I fail this assignment. It’s not fair that I have to work with you today, and I don’t have to tolerate your ignorance.”

“Take a joke already!”

“I don’t find it funny at all.”

“You’re just some prissy little goodie-two-shoes who has no idea what she wants and will use guys until she figures it out. You think you’re in love with Jon? You’re barely eighteen. You don’t have any idea what love even is,” he says, laughing. “I thought I was in love with someone when I was your age, too–”

“Yes, because you’re
so
much older, Mr. Four Girlfriends and Nineteen Lovers–”

“Twenty,” he corrects me. I shake my head in disgust and start to walk away from him. “Don’t judge me, you little bitch. You had your chance with me, honey, and believe me, if you had taken me up on what I have to offer, you’d never even think about that elitist asshole you’re with–”

“Elitist?” I ask him. “You know nothing about him. Or me. If you think I want that–”

“Yeah, this,” he says, grabbing his crotch vulgarly and ranting wildly. “It would blow your mind–” He stops suddenly when he hears the click of my shutter. “Give me your camera,” he says, his voice now slow and low.

“No,” I tell him as I turn my back to him. “This was the assignment. Capture your partner in their element.” I look over my shoulder and speed up toward a common area as his pace quickens. “I mean, if you’re so proud of
that
, you won’t mind this picture being hung in the gallery, right? Think of the dates you’ll–” His hand clamps hard on my shoulder.

“Give me the camera!” He pulls the neck strap hard against my throat.

“No!” I elbow him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. “Get away from me!” I keep my eyes on him as I walk away, noting that it takes him a few seconds to recover. He doesn’t follow me, though. He stares at me, intimidating me.

“Bitch!” he yells. I want to tell him to come up with some more creative insults for me, but instead, I just turn around one last time and flip him off. In that instance, he snaps a picture of me.
Good for him.
Our professor won’t let that one hang in the gallery. I’m sure she won’t display mine, either, unless I do some creative cropping. Fortunately, his rage was evident in lines across his face and skin the color of a tomato. I still have a good shot, even without his indecent gesture.

When I get back to the classroom, my professor sits alone at the front of the class, typing away on her computer.

“You’re back already?” she asks me, barely looking away from her work. I concentrate hard on my breathing, steadying it, as I debate telling her what happened. It all transpired so quickly that I’m not certain how things escalated the way they did. I touch my neck, feeling the spot where my camera strap burned into my skin, hiding it from my teacher. “Livvy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer quickly. “I got the perfect shot, I think.” Now that I’m calmer, I start to think that maybe it’s not such a good photo after all. It will show a very angry side to Emmanuel, and in fact, it isn’t one that represents the guy I’ve known since I met him last year. He’s angry with me now, but he wasn’t always angry. In fact, he was rarely angry. “Well,” I add, looking at the photo in the small digital display as I stand near the third row of seats. “I thought I had one... I think the card went bad. It says ‘card unrecognized; reformat.’ That can’t be good.”

“Let me see,” she says. I stare at his picture a little longer, wondering if I should just delete the image entirely.

“No, it’s toast,” I lie. “I’ve seen this before. I, uh...” I stammer, looking up at her for her response.

“Shall I have him meet you somewhere, once he returns?”

I shake my head apprehensively. “No, I guess I’ll just take the failing grade.”

“Livvy, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You might check with the IT department. They may be able to recover something off of the card for you.”

“Sure, yeah. Maybe I’ll go do that right now.”

“Good luck,” she says.

I veer toward the library to study for awhile before heading back to the dorm. “Where were you?” Rachelle asks me. “I waited after class, but you never showed up. I was worried.”

“Why were you worried?”

“You, partnered up with Emmanuel. Wasn’t that weird?”

“It wasn’t good,” I tell her. “I got a crude candid of him that I can’t use in class, and then we split up.” I pull out my camera and flip through a few photos I’d taken last weekend before reaching the photo from this afternoon.

“He can’t keep doing that–making you two partner up. That’s weird, Liv.”

“I know. I already spoke to our professor. She’s not going to let it happen again.” I hand my roommate the camera and let her look at the photo.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah. He was telling me I’d be sorry for not going out with him or something,” I explain. “This was his attempt of showing me what I’d be missing.”

“Well, that might have done something for me last week, but not after this weekend. I still can’t believe he said that about your uncle.”

“Me, neither. And he tried to casually explain it away. Like it was a joke.”

“He was pissed about Jon?” she asks.

“Yeah. He called Jon an elitist,” I say, still laughing at the thought. “I find it ironic because here Jon went to a public school and attended our non-profit art school for underprivileged kids, and Emmanuel got this scholarship for this prestigious art academy that I was supposed to go to. You know, they both had humble beginnings, but who’s the pretentious one, really? My boyfriend, or this photographer who only dates models and thinks he’s God’s gift because he can take a pretty picture?”

“I wouldn’t call Jon an elitist, but there is something about him that elevates him from that poor-boy you’ve told us about.”

“He’s smart,” I tell her. “He just knows a lot. And, yeah, he has confidence. He should,” I defend him. “That doesn’t make him snobby or anything.”