One Time, Badly Read online

  One Time, Badly

  Allyson Souza

  Copyright © 2020 Allyson Souza

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Christina Rafanello

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  For my parents

  Chapter 1

  2018

  September

  She'd been thinking the same thing all day. From the moment she'd untangled her legs from her bed sheets and rolled towards the edge of the mattress, with that determined wave of anxiety snaking its way through her stomach, Cecelia had known. That familiar voice, whispering its way through three years of hard-fought progress, was already telling her to just stay home. But what could she do?

  She shook it from her mind as she dressed for work, as she packed an extra bag with her change of clothes for the party that night, as she rode the bus, then ordered a coffee from the food cart on the corner. Black today. Yes, I'm sure.

  She was hoping for a shock to the system, hoping for anything to knock the thought from her mind. But that voice telling her that she definitely shouldn't be doing this, that absolutely no good could come from this, just wouldn't go away.

  It nagged her through two meetings and one very trying conference call, it tried to persuade her not go as she changed into the vintage silk slip dress she'd picked up the week before and slipped on her one and only pair of expensive heels, Manolo Blahnik's a la Carrie Bradshaw. When she went for her favorite shade of lipstick it flat out panicked. That shade, with its sultry notes of burgundy bordering on red, could only mean one thing.

  But it was now, as she exited her office building, that the voice really and truly lost it’s shit. It was begging, it was on it's knees with hands clasped tightly in front of itself as it willed her towards the subway that would take her back to Port Authority, to a bus that would take her safely home to New Jersey. Nevertheless, Cecelia lifted her head and squared her shoulders. It was with a determined step that she turned in the opposite direction and began her walk uptown.

  It was a cool night in New York City. Just at the edge of September, this weather always reminded her of pencil shavings and worn textbooks. The hint of crispness to come brought her right back to days spent wandering quads and soaking in the last few weeks before fall semester took a turn for the cold and she was left rushing from her dorm to the warm reprieve of her classroom.

  Not that she minded. There was something comforting about the cold air, something startling and refreshing and altogether romantic. The sound of dead leaves scratching along the ground and crunching under busy feet was rhythmic, it was conversational. And, in her opinion, it just seemed to smell better than any other season.

  She was thankful that she wasn't battling the suffocating density of a humid summer night as she walked toward this moment, with all of its threatening possibilities. Yes, she'd always loved this time of year. She was grateful that she still managed to feel that way, despite everything that had happened. But then, he'd loved it, too. Hadn't he?

  2011

  September

  Cecelia Scott had been wandering around this party for over an hour now, spotting her brand new friends, their faces still unfamiliar for a split second, here and there. She was doing her best to strategically use that split second to plaster a nice, big I’m-having-so-much-fun-aren’t-you? smile on her face before anyone caught her staring longingly at the door. She’d quickly grown sick of the warm beer and loud voices, but didn’t want to leave and risk missing out on the moment that everyone would talk about for the rest of the weekend.

  She’d put on the tight dress, spent an unnecessary amount of time following a YouTube tutorial entitled “Perfect Party Makeup in 10 Minutes!” (45 minutes for the artistically inept), and even managed to work her long, chestnut locks into some “sexy” waves. It had all come together; she was College Party Girl – successfully navigating the treacherously narrow, inevitably beer-soaked stairs leading to any frat house basement, and in heels no less! And now she was testing how many hours she could stand in said heels, not quite buzzed and too bored to keep feigning interest in the aggressively long beer pong game happening before her.

  She spotted a deck where a few people were standing around smoking in small groups and quickly navigated through the packed kitchen to reach the swinging screen door that led outside. The fresh air felt like heaven against her sweat-dampened skin, and she seriously considered taking up smoking just to avoid the actual party portion of going to parties.

  Four seconds into that thought pattern she dropped it, already hearing her mom’s disapproval – not that the familiar voice in the back of her head had kept her from attending this party in the first place. One of the most important lessons she’d learned at Rutgers University was when to let the chatter in the back of her head affect her decisions and when to tune it out all together.

  It was more difficult to ignore when she’d been a freshman the year before. When she left her small town for RU, she promised herself that she would step out of her shell. She was faking it until she made it. Pretending to like parties and shots of cheap liquor and frat basements because that’s where the fun was.

  The way Cecelia saw it, memories were made in all of the places that made her a little uncomfortable. She had four years to live this way, and then she could go back to her books and Gilmore Girls with the knowledge that she’d tried it.

  She was learning what she’d been missing, so she wouldn’t have to wonder if she was missing out anymore. She wasn’t always having the most fun, but at least she was inviting the chance for something new to come along.

  She walked to a clear space and leaned against the railing, looking out over the other houses on the block. She could see similar scenes to the one she was currently a part of in various other yards on the block and the next one over. She focused on the closest one, trying to see if there was another girl bored and alone on a deck nearby, or if she was the only college sophomore who would rather be sleeping at 12:30 am than breathing in secondhand smoke and sipping on cheap beer that could only be described as piss warm.

  At least it was a nice night. Just on the cusp of October, the heat had fully left the air, making way for a barely-there crispness that promised red leaves and an excuse to pull on her warmer sweaters. Her dorm room would still find a way to be as hot as Hades tonight, she'd bet money on that. But she was this close to relief from the torture that is the first month of fall semester in a building with no AC.

  Cecelia was trying to appreciate the novelty of sophomore year of college while it still existed. She had the tendency to wish away these first few weeks in her haste to get to the middle of fall semester. There was nothing she loved more than the point when she was familiar enough with her professors and classmates that even this huge university felt as warm and comfortable as her high school classes had. And then the weather would get nasty; this was New Jersey, after all.

  Classes during spring semester always felt a bit like a trap, all of that beautiful weather and so much to do with it. Open quads to lie out on, drinks to be had in backyards and on rooftops, iced coffees to gossip over. But not fall semester. Once November hit, classrooms became little havens. No one was lingering outside the building doors just tr
ying to get a few more minutes of sun and fresh air. The bustle to get indoors was amazing, the heated air like a gift to red cheeks and stiff fingers.

  Her classes seemed interesting, too. Her schedule was light on math and science, thank the Lord, and full of English courses, which she'd pay for later, but she wasn't going to think about that right now. She'd gotten through freshman year with a 3.8 gpa and without the freshman 15. As far as she was concerned, she deserved a reward and one wholly enjoyable semester was it.

  She looked down at her half empty cup and considered her options. She could refill it and give this night another chance, or she could call it right here, right now. She didn't have eyes on any of the girls she came with, all of whom were new friends from her dorm building with the exception of her roommate from last year, Lou. She figured at least a few of them would be willing to go so she didn't have to walk back to the dorm by herself. It was at least a 10-minute walk, which was 9 minutes longer than her parents would approve of on the walks-through-campus-at-night front. The voice was low, but always there.

  She hadn’t even noticed that he was there until he spoke.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re having any fun right now. And, damn, I spent almost sixty bucks on all these very inconspicuous red solo cups. Please don’t tell me I wasted that small fortune on a lame party,” he was failing to hold the serious look on his face, quickly giving way to one of the most endearing smiles she’d ever seen. It was funny how quickly a cute boy could make a girl forget her boredom, make her forget her aching feet.

  “I’m the wrong girl to judge the caliber of a party off of. I think this one happens to be a little out of my league, so compliments to you, purchaser of the cups.”

  This was the truth, she loved going out when the group was small, and the music wasn’t so loud. She always got a little overwhelmed by the mass chaos of the fraternity houses; it was something she’d figured she’d outgrow after some time, but she now accepted as her own preference.

  “Nah this party is lame, you’re out of its league,” he was leaning against the railing beside her, looking out over the yard as well, giving her the perfect view of a strong jaw line and even stronger bicep. He was clearly taking advantage of the bevy of free gyms that Rutgers offered.

  “I’m Nathan, by the way.” He reached across his body, sticking out his hand in an oddly formal gesture for a beer-coated deck in the heart of New Brunswick, New Jersey.

  “Oh, I’m Cecelia, it’s –“ whether she was going to tell him it was nice to meet him or try to defend his party again she never could remember. At that very moment, when she could have very well been meeting a man worth knowing, her back was drenched in what must have been the only cold drink at the entire party.

  She spun on her heel, fully awake now, and found herself eye level with a short, scruffy guy, probably a year or two older than herself. His cup was still tilted in her direction, a mouthful of amber liquid lapping up the side and back down again from the commotion.

  “Sorry, man! Didn’t mean to soak you like that! My bad,” his droopy eyes slid even further closed during his apology, making it difficult to tell if he even knew which one of them he’d spilled his drink on.

  “Actually, that was my bad. I knocked this little punk in the shoulder. Thought he could handle it. Also my bad.” He was tall. That was the first thing she noticed about him. She had to bend her head back just to meet his eyes. Which were the second thing she noticed about him.

  He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen on another person. Pale and bright at the same time, they looked almost translucent in the moonlight. He stood behind Droopy Eyes, clutching his own red cup absentmindedly in one hand and balancing a lit cigarette between the middle and index finger of the other.

  “Don’t worry about it, no big deal,” she spoke the words, feeling more awkward by the second as the liquid slowly warmed against the heat of her skin.

  “You can’t walk around like that for the rest of the night. We don’t want word getting out that girls that come to our parties get treated badly. I think between me and Nate we can find you something to wear.”

  Chapter 2

  2011

  September

  She was honestly never coming to a party again. She was bad at parties, College Party Girl she was not. And now she was following this complete stranger to what she could only guess was his bedroom, leaving all of the noise and people behind. She had two choices; it was either tune out the voice in the back of her head, or bolt like hell towards the front door and scurry back to her dorm room reeking of beer for all of the Resident Assistants to see.

  He seemed nice enough. He was friendly in his offer of fresh clothes, no leering or creepy comments about her body in the already-too-tight dress, which was now slightly see through for having been made wet. And he didn’t seem that drunk, definitely not drunk enough to be aggressive. But, that only applied if he wasn’t aggressive to begin with. Some men didn’t need alcohol for that.

  As if he could read her mind, he interrupted her increasingly frantic train of thought with an apologetic smile, “I’m really sorry about your dress, I hope it’s not ruined or anything,” he made a quick turn and led her up another flight of stairs. “I should’ve just grabbed something and ran it down to you instead of leading you to east jabib.”

  “It’s alright, this house is huge though, I didn’t realize there were so many floors,” the small talk was making her feel a little better.

  “Yeah, when there are so many people here it feels a lot smaller than it actually is. It’s not a bad deal, as long as you don’t mind the smell of weed and dirty socks all day, every day. Kinda makes me wish I’d joined a frat.”

  “Oh, I thought you lived here?”

  “Nah, my buddy’s in this frat, I wasn’t really into the whole paid brotherhood thing, but the parties are usually pretty fun,” when they finally reached the end of the hallway, he opened the door to a surprisingly neat room, and quickly began rummaging through the bottom dresser drawer. “He’s gotta have something to at least get you home and past the RA’s without broadcasting where you were.”

  “Like I said, it’s really not necessary. I can just have one of the girls that stayed in run a hoodie out to me or something,” she was just now realizing that accepting his help meant that she’d be spending the rest of the night walking around in men’s sweats and these ridiculous heels. Disaster.

  “Oh yeah, and did a lot of your friends ignore their raging FOMO and chill in the dorms tonight?” she could hear the mix of triumph and playfulness in his voice.

  He definitely wasn’t wrong about that. She couldn’t think of one person that she was close enough with to ask a favor of that wasn’t in this very frat house right now.

  “Honestly, not surprised at how well you have us college girls pinned,” she quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting to see what he said to that.

  She was confident that her nudging wasn’t far from the truth. He looked like he'd just walked off a movie set in 1955, old-school handsome. He definitely wasn't struggling when it came to the female population of Rutgers University, she'd bet money on that.

  He was the boy you noticed on the first day of class and did an internal cheer because, even on the most boring of boring days, there was a distraction sitting just a few seats away. He had the slight physical imperfections that only added to his attractiveness, rather than taking away from it. She’d already noticed a few scars on his face, a slight tip to his slightly too-big nose.

  “Hey now, don’t try to call me out in my own best friend’s frat house!” He was trying really hard to balance both fake-indignation and fake-anger on his face. “Did you consider that the only reason I’m not in bed watching Sports Center at this very moment is because men, too, suffer from FOMO? I’ll have you know, my throat was hurting all day, but I powered through. Because, I’m a man. And I was afraid that everyone would have fun without me.”

  And there was her proof. 'Grace under pre
ssure' is what she and Lou would call it, and you'd be surprised at the amount of men that would shoot a look her way at that comment, as if to say, "Just look at me. Yeah, I know about girls." Then there were the ones that completely folded, so unfamiliar with flirting that they could come up with exactly nothing which to say in response. She had live action here, though.

  “You had a sore throat all day, but you still came to this frat party? You’re an animal, so manly,” she played back. She might not have a ton of experience with guys, but she was smart, and that could get a girl further than most other things.

  “Yeah, well it’s a good thing I came, too. Otherwise you’d be sitting your pretty little behind in AA meetings for the next 3 weeks,” she didn’t mention that she’d already endured that punishment last semester when she got caught taking shots in her dorm room before Rutgers' Springfest. A smooth criminal, she was not. The consequences were worse for the second offense, hence her current situation.

  “Sending the FOMO gods all of my love and appreciation for ensuring your presence at this event. What’s your name? I want to make sure I include it in my mental thank you note,” she clasped her hands together in mock prayer.

  “Very thorough of you. I’m Max,” he finally stood up from the drawer, pushing down the mess he’d made of it and slamming it shut with a swift shot from his Nike-clad foot.

  “Hello Max, I’m Cecelia, such a pleasure to meet you,” she offered him her hand and he took it, swallowing it completely in his own. They both adopted serious faces, and gave a firm pump at the elbows as if they’d just closed on a million dollar business deal.

  “You know what, Cecelia?” He dropped the stern look, smiling all the way up to his eyes. She could tell from the excited quirk of his lips that he was about to say something that he knew was cute, something designed to melt her just a little bit. “I think from now on I’ll call it FOMO on Cecelia.”