Ridorkulous (Dorky Duet Book 1) Page 8

  Annabel and Reese are still hovering by the entrance.

  Annabel is talking. Naturally. Bossing Reese around, more like.

  “Okay, now we need to get a pic in a jersey from one of those guys out at the dunking booth.” Annabel points over at the group of jocks. “You should ask number thirty-four. He looks nice.”

  “I can’t ask a guy to wear his jersey.”

  “Of course you can. Use your feminine wiles.”

  Reese is already turning red just at the thought of it. “I don’t have those. And if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do with them.”

  Annabel purses her lips, then reaches forward and, with a flick of her wrist, unsnaps the top three buttons of Reese’s shirt. “Now you do. Every man’s kryptonite. Boobs.”

  Irritation pulses through me, and it’s not because Reese’s cleavage is now on display. “Some of us are capable of higher thinking.”

  Annabel turns at the sound of my voice and shrugs. “Not many. You’re a unicorn, Fitzy.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” Reese says.

  “He’s a boy, it will work. Now go get ’em, tiger.” She smacks Reese on the bottom, making her jump and toss a surprised glance back at us.

  I stop next to my sister and we watch as Reese crosses the quad on timid feet and then attempts to inject herself into their conversation. I can see the red flush creeping up her neck from a hundred yards away.

  “Now, you can’t be helping her. It’s not fair.”

  She rolls her eyes, a move she’s been perfecting since she was thirteen. “I do what I want. Besides, it’s not like I’m actually doing the tasks, I’m just here for emotional support. Like a service dog. Now shut it, Fitz. Don’t you have other things you should be doing?”

  I do, but I’m distracted by the train wreck that is Reese Jackson. One of the players has finally noticed her. Reese is talking, gesticulating widely, and suddenly the brawny football player—who I think is a linebacker—reels back and guffaws. Then he’s whipping his jersey over his head.

  “Shit.”

  Annabel laughs. “She’s so adorably ridorkulous. Don’t you think?”

  I should leave, but instead I continue to watch in a fascinated stupor while Reese gets a selfie with the jock. Then he takes her phone, still talking to her, and keys something into it. She’s nodding as he hands her the phone back. Did he ask for her number?

  She does have a bit of awkward charm. The half-unbuttoned shirt probably helps.

  Something squirms in my stomach. I am not jealous. Not of that, anyway. Maybe it’s only because she got the jersey so easily and I’m probably going to have to commit some kind of felony. I can’t imagine one of the giant athletes taking off their clothes for me.

  “Better hurry.” Annabel smirks.

  “It’s still not fair,” I can’t help but grumble.

  “Number forty-two is gay.”

  My gaze snaps to her. “Now you’re helping me?”

  “So you can’t whine about me going along with Reese. And we’re totally kicking your ass already so I figured I’d give you a fighting chance.” She shrugs. “Makes it more interesting. Maybe we’ll see you over at Begonia’s pen. Good luck!” She slaps me on the back and runs after Reese, who is already heading in the direction of the barn where the mascot lives.

  I better get moving.

  8

  All serious daring starts from within.

  —Eudora Welty

  Reese

  “Why do they have security for a pig?” It seems a bit much.

  In a fenced-in pen outside a big red barn, Begonia rummages, snorting and chuffing. She’s not a boar. But she is a giant pig. A Large White, if I had to classify her particular breed of swine. They are large, to say the least. Males can exceed eight hundred pounds.

  Annabel and I are hiding around the corner of the student union building. We’ve already scoped out the area and procured a dress from the theater department—a red-sequined thing that will in no way shape or form ever fit on a Large White pig—and now we’re trying to figure out a way to get to the mascot.

  A guy looms outside the fence, wearing a Fighting Boars polo shirt and jeans. He looks like he could be the president of the student body, all proper and put together, hair slicked back and badge hanging around his neck on a Blue Falls lanyard. His arms are crossed over his chest as he scans the area and occasionally glances back at Begonia.

  He clearly takes his job seriously, not even poking around on his cell phone like any other normal college kid would be doing.

  “That guy is hardly what I would call intimidating. It’s just a precaution because of what happened before.”

  “What happened before?”

  Annabel eyes me with no small amount of shock. “You haven’t heard about the time the mascot got murdered?”

  “What?” I can’t have heard her correctly.

  “It’s the whole reason we have Begonia Day. Reese, how can you be so smart and so clueless at the same time? It’s a campus legend.”

  “I didn’t go to freshman orientation.” I didn’t want to talk to people. If I don’t speak, I can’t stick my foot in my mouth or expose myself as the weirdo I am. I’ve talked to more people in the past few days than I have since I started here, I think. Probably more than any other week in my whole life.

  Annabel rolls her eyes. “But everyone knows.”

  At my blank look she sighs, keeping her voice quiet so it doesn’t carry. “Back in the forties or something, when another team was here visiting for a game, the handler of the mascot from the Ohio Laughing Colts got too close and the horse trampled Begonia, killing her instantly. That’s when Begonia Day started. Why else did you think they have Begonia Day every year?”

  I shrug. “I never gave it much thought, I guess. I didn’t come to the festivities last year. I . . . haven’t done much socializing since college started.”

  “Clearly.”

  “How do we get around security?”

  Annabel smiles. “You leave it to me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Run distraction.”

  “Isn’t this cheating? You’ve probably helped me too much as it is.”

  She peeks around the corner one more time, then turns back to me. “Jude didn’t say anything about someone assisting. And if Fitz gets here within the next ten minutes, he’ll benefit too. We don’t have time to argue. It’s eleven thirty. We have thirty minutes. Less if you keep talking.”

  And with that, she leaves me behind and strides toward the guard, confidence swinging in every step of her cowboy boots.

  “Hey,” she says. “I’m here to take over for the next shift.”

  His brow furrows. “That’s not for another hour.”

  Annabel props one hand on her hip. “Mr. Oakley sent me. You’ll have to check with him.”

  Wow. She’s really good. I almost believe her and I know she’s lying.

  I wouldn’t be able to prevaricate so easily. I would be shaking in my boots, both literally and figuratively.

  The preppy security guard pulls out his phone, keeping his eyes on Annabel and pushes some buttons.

  What is her plan? How is this going to work? He’s going to get Mr. Oakley on the phone and realize she’s full of it.

  “He’s not answering, is he?” Annabel’s smile is wide and confident. “He’s in his office. Go on and talk to him. I’ll wait here.”

  “Is this some kind of trick?” the security guard asks.

  Annabel heaves an exaggerated sigh. “What in the world do you think I’m going to do to a pig? Let alone in the five minutes it’s going to take for you to check with Mr. Oakley?”

  “Do you have student ID?”

  She pulls it out of her purse and shows him.

  “Fine. But I’m bringing this with me.”

  He disappears around the corner and Annabel waves me over. “Hurry. We’ll have less than ten minutes with the way he’s hauling that stick up his ass.�
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  “How did you know Mr. Oakley wouldn’t answer?” I search the fence line for an opening.

  “I didn’t. But I do know he likes to hang out in the parking lot and tailgate by nine so he’s probably already three sheets to the wind.”

  “Why do you have a student ID?”

  “My old one. I graduated last year. Here, this is the gate.”

  I nod and then focus on getting to Begonia. I peek over the top of the fence. She’s got her head in the trough, snuffling around. She’s fairly calm at the moment. I can do this.

  I finally find the latch but I can’t get it open. “It must be locked.” They really are serious about this pig.

  “We don’t have time to mess with it. Let me give you a boost.”

  Annabel helps boost me over the fence. It’s a bit of a struggle. She gets me mostly on top and then I have to throw myself over.

  I fall to the earth with a thud, startling Begonia from her happy foraging. She squeals and runs to the far corner of the yard.

  “Here, piggy, piggy, piggy.” I stand, wiping dust from my clothes and shaking out the dress.

  I approach slowly, blocking her into the corner, but with a snort she sprints in my direction. I leap for her but she dodges at the last second and I end up facedown in the mud.

  “Don’t y’all know how to catch a pig?”

  I sit up, wiping mud from my eyes.

  Fitz is next to Annabel at the fence, his arms crossed and resting over the top of the pen, watching me with a smirk.

  Ignoring him, I race for Begonia again, who skitters away and I end up running back and forth until I finally get close enough to leap onto her back and pull the dress over her head. “Take the picture!” I yell, holding on for dear life while Begonia tries to buck me off.

  “Got it!” Annabel finally calls out.

  I yank the dress off and fall back into the mud.

  Begonia kicks her hooves into the dirt, spraying more mud at me before scurrying away.

  “You’ve already lost, Fitzy.” Annabel holds up the phone in triumph.

  “I know. I still don’t have the jersey either.” He reaches over the fence, twists a knob, and the gate swings open.

  Of course. It’s just that easy.

  I focus on the man striding toward Begonia, confidence swaggering in every step. “Why are you still doing this if you’re going to lose?”

  He shrugs. “Can’t never could.”

  My brows lift. I’ve heard the expression before, one uttered by every Southerner over fifty at one point or another.

  Annabel laughs. “Don’t even get Fitz started. He doesn’t give up on anything. Ever. Even when defeat is staring him right in the face like a giant pig.”

  “Well, it’s true. You can only fail if you stop trying.” His eyes are still focused on Begonia, who continues to trot back and forth, pacing the far end of the fence.

  On nimble feet, he rushes at Begonia, but she skitters out of the way.

  “But that doesn’t make sense. There’s no chance you’ll get Begonia in the dress and a picture in a jersey sometime in the next,” I glance down at my watch, “eighteen minutes. It’s a logistical impossibility.”

  He’s still focused on the pig, who is once again running back and forth along the fence line. “I don’t care.”

  I blink. I don’t understand his logic.

  It’s confusing and yet . . . I’m weirdly impressed.

  But should I be? Isn’t it a waste of effort? I would never keep going if I were in his situation.

  What would it be like, to keep pushing no matter the obstacles in my way?

  To have enough confidence that I wasn’t afraid to fail?

  “Come on outta there, Reese,” Annabel calls. “Let’s get back to the library.” She waves an impatient hand at me.

  I glance over at her and then back at Fitz. She’s right. It’s just a quick jaunt and I’ve won this round and the rights to sleeping in a quiet bed for the night.

  Begonia squeals behind me and I turn in time to see Fitz tumble backward into the mud.

  “I admire your dedication and perseverance,” I tell Fitz.

  He stands to face me and underneath the splatter of dirt on his face, his eyes are gleaming, mouth tilted in a smile. So he remembers our conversation the night before.

  And before I can give it any thought, my feet carry me away from the fence and back toward Begonia.

  “What are you doing?” Annabel yells. “He’s the enemy.”

  “I’m winning either way.”

  Fitz is grinning at me, mud splattered all over his shirt and up his neck, and somehow he’s still glowing with a natural charisma I could never replicate.

  It almost makes it worth the effort I’m about to expend.

  “You helped me too,” Fitz tells Annabel.

  “I gave you intel, which clearly did no good. I was evening the odds, not doing the actual task for you.”

  “Ready?” I crowd Begonia on one side while Fitz approaches her from the front. I throw myself at the pig, catching her back hooves with my hands, lying facedown in the dirt while Fitz gets the dress over her squirming head.

  “You’re both crazy,” Annabel shouts. “And stupid.”

  “Can we do the name calling another time? I have a pig to dress up here,” Fitz says.

  I can’t see much from my position on the ground, but I hear some shuffling and squirming, then Fitz yells, “Got it!”

  I release Begonia, and she scurries over to the shade by her trough.

  I roll onto my butt and find Fitz hovering in front of me, his hand held out.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I reach up and he grasps my hand, pulling me to my feet. I try to ignore the electric shock that shoots into my palm when our hands meet. It’s nothing. Just a static charge or something.

  “Do you think she’s been traumatized?” I wipe my muddy hands on my muddier pants.

  “I think I am. You smell something awful.” He grins.

  “You’re not much better.”

  We’re both covered in gunk. My clothes are ruined. “But that was fun, right?” he asks.

  I scrunch my face. “Is fun the word we want to use here?”

  He laughs. “Come on, champ.” He holds the gate open for me, happy even in defeat, which surprises me again. What happened to the rude jerk from a couple days ago? Is this all a ruse? Maybe he does have the jersey pic and I unwittingly aided him in victory.

  But no, we jog back to the library, where Jude is holding court and I’m declared the event winner, handed the key, and subjected to both applause from those who bet on me and groans of dismay from those who bet on Fitz.

  It’s now two to one, in my favor.

  I don’t see Fitz in the crowd anywhere. He must’ve already left.

  And I’ve won.

  So why do I feel guilty?

  Football is to Texas as backbones are to vertebrates. The entire state would collapse into a bloody heap without it.

  I thought partying at Jude’s during the week was chaos, but it being a Saturday night after Begonia Day, combined with a Fighting Boars football victory, tonight’s chaos makes previous evenings seem like teatime at an old folks’ home.

  After slinking around the house and observing the line of people stretching out the door, I still can’t believe it. Tonight, everyone has to pay five dollars to get in the door, but even that isn’t a deterrent.

  Almost the whole crowd is dressed up in Begonia shirts or pig masks or pig noses or all three.

  There are so many kegs in the backyard, the gleaming silver is probably visible from space. There’s also a DJ lording over a dance floor in the grass where the chutes and ladders game once resided.

  Annabel disappeared after the scavenger hunt and Fitz is here somewhere, socializing. Beast is managing the line out front, and lord only knows where Jude is.

  Despite the fact I know no one, everyone is kind . . . and overly familiar. Which I still can’t get used to. Ra
ndom strangers clap me on the back, offering congratulations or saying hi and asking me questions about my parents, but it’s too much.

  The house is packed, barely any room to breathe. Before the party even really gets going, I manage an escape, hiding in the room with the door safely locked, shut in like the recluse I am. Thank God I won today.

  I try to get some schoolwork done, but it isn’t easy with a backdrop of pounding bass. After an hour, I’m not focusing on anything but the noise, and I have to pee so bad my back teeth are floating. Can’t avoid the necessary any longer.

  I make a quick escape, locking the door behind me and pulling the key over my head.

  And of course, there’s a line to the bathroom at the front of the house and another at the one Fitz and I share.

  After waiting for what feels like hours but is probably less than ten minutes, I emerge refreshed. However, my relief doesn’t last long.

  There’s a couple in front of the bedroom door.

  Not only in front of it, but barring all possible entry.

  He’s got her back against the door. She’s moaning and throwing her head back.

  Now he’s kissing her neck and . . . What do I do? Should I say something? Oh dear, her legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s . . . I’m burning with embarrassment, but no one else is paying much attention to the live-action porno against my door.

  How can they be doing that in public, where anyone and everyone can see? Although, Abby did much the same while we resided in the dorms together. But I was at least sleeping. Or trying to. And it was just me, not a whole line of people waiting for a bathroom at a party.

  Now what? I suppose I can wait them out. If my recollection of Abby’s various paramours is any kind of indicator, they’ll be finished in fifteen minutes or less.

  I weave through the mess of people in the hall through the living room and finally out into the backyard, where I can breathe and the stench of deodorant, cologne, and beer isn’t quite so prevalent.

  Making my way to the edge of the yard, I stop near a hedge where it’s dark and I can observe without being spotted.

  People are dancing, shouting, laughing, drinking. Some guy does a keg stand, much to the delight of the onlookers, and then when he is deposited back on his feet, he immediately turns over and pukes.