Black Number Four Page 7

  I can’t read Kip’s face, but he’s still quiet, so word vomit starts pouring out of my mouth. At this point, I’ve probably told him more than he cares to know, but it’s like I can’t stop – I can’t end the story here.

  “And now I have to win enough to pay the entry fee in May. If I win that tournament, I won’t have to play professionally anymore – not unless I actually want to, at least. I’ll be able to give my parents a nice check for them to use however they need to and, more importantly, I’ll be able to pay for the rest of school and finally focus on what I really want to do.” I let that last part sink in, remembering how badly I want this win. “I have to take first place in Vegas. There’s no other option.”

  Kip swallows hard, and I realize I just dumped a lot of heavy shit on him. Cool, Skyler, let’s talk about being poor with the new kid at a private school. Obviously he has money and doesn’t understand. I picture him treating me differently, looking at me with sad eyes the way the kids at my high school did. I finally fit in somewhere and instead of embracing it, I point out that it’s an illusion – I still don’t really belong.

  He goes to speak, and I brace myself for the I’m so sorry, that’s so sad, you’re so strong, but instead he asks, “So what do you really want to do?”

  Wait, what?

  I falter for a moment, staring at him like an idiot so he lifts his brows. I shake my head. “Um, well, to be honest I don’t really know. That’s part of why I need to win this tournament. I have a few ideas of what I want to do, but as of now I’m still undecided because I’m too worried about being able to afford next semester to think about my major or future career. I need a clear head to focus on me, for once.”

  He nods, digesting. I can’t tell, but for some reason it seems like he feels bad, but not in the way others do when they hear about it. The look on his face isn’t one of sympathy, but almost as if he’s the one who put me in this situation. He looks… guilty, and for the life of me I can’t imagine why. Maybe he’s just one of those types of people, the kind who just feel intensely. For some reason, it makes me uneasy… and I’m never wrong when it comes to my gut feelings. Suddenly, I feel like I should be paying more attention to his poker face.

  Maybe there’s something he’s not telling me.

  Ugh, there I go again, always looking for something that’s not there. Mom taught me how to hide my emotions and decode the emotions of others. It’s fantastic in a poker game, but it kind of sucks in real life. I’m more paranoid than the average person and tend to jump to conclusions. No matter how often I’m right, I still think I act a little crazy.

  I glance down at my toes sunk into the sand. “Do you see those shells?”

  Kip blinks and shakes his head, coming out of his own thoughts. He looks down. “Those little ones? Yeah.”

  “Watch them,” I say as another wave rolls over our feet. As it recedes, the shells begin to wiggle their way back into the sand.

  “Woah!” Kip yells, jumping back. “Are they moving?!”

  I giggle at his reaction, grabbing his arm and pulling him back next to me. “Yes, they’re coquinas.”

  Kip gives me a sideways glance and a confused look. I laugh. He looks ridiculous.

  “They’re little clams. They hang out on the shore where the waves hit because they eat the plankton that the waves bring in. So they burrow in, and then when a wave comes it washes them out, so they have to dig their way back down. Once they dig down enough, they use little siphons to draw in the water and eat the plankton. And then it all happens again, over and over all day long.”

  Kip looks down and wiggles his toes. “So they’re like marathon clams. They make other clams look lazy.”

  “I guess so.” I laugh. “I like them because they work hard for what they want and need in life. They don’t let the threat of waves thousands of times larger than them crashing down stop them. They persevere, and it’s not easy – but they do it.”

  He quirks a half smile at me, his blue eyes saying something that I can’t quite decipher. He bends down and picks one of the coquinas up, examining it between his fingers. I watch him as he studies it, wondering what he’s looking for. It’s as if he wants to know the secrets, like he’s thirsty for the knowledge on how to beat the waves in his own life.

  I think I am, too.

  “I want to help you this semester,” he says, delicately placing the coquina back in the sand and standing.

  “Help with what?”

  “Poker. I know you already know what you’re doing, but I can help you prepare for May. I’ll find you small tournaments to play in and I’ll sneak video so we can review it, work on your weaknesses.”

  I laugh, shaking my head, but then I realize it actually might be a good idea. I’ve always wished I could record a tournament and see what my face looks like when I’m bluffing and when I have a really good pocket pair. I don’t feel like I give anything off, but I’ve been beaten enough times to know I do. The novices don’t pick up on it, but the pros do – and I’ll be playing the best of the pros in Vegas.

  I turn to Kip, questioning. “Why do you want to help me?”

  He shrugs. “We’re friends, remember? I think this is what friends do. Although, I’d be happy to go back to sucking lime juice out of your mouth, if you’d prefer.”

  I blush and shove him.

  “Ah!” he screams, tiptoeing on the sand as I push him back. “Careful! I don’t want to step on the little bad ass clams!”

  I laugh and we turn back toward where we left our shoes. The sun is shining full force now, and I’m sure it’s at least eight. I yawn, the night finally catching up to me.

  “Want me to walk you back to the sorority house?” Kip asks, yawning himself.

  “No, I don’t want to do the walk of shame with you in tow. It’s already going to look bad as it is.”

  He smiles a lazy, sleepy smile. “Everyone’s going to think we slept together. Want to give them something to talk about?” He waggles his eyebrows and I punch him hard in the arm.

  “You’re going to need that friend zone helmet for real if you keep pushing my buttons like that.”

  “Oh, I like pushing your buttons.” He winks. I roll my eyes, but can’t fight off the laugh. As annoying as he is, he’s equally sexy. I’ve always said that if a guy can make me laugh, he can make me do anything.

  Let’s hope I can resist this time.

  I take a sip of the hot liquid wrapped in a trendy Starbucks cup as Kip stares, anticipating. I know immediately that it’s not my drink of choice, the drink he’s trying to figure out, just by the smell alone – but I take my time drinking it anyway. I take a few sips, smack my lips together a bit, smile, and then shake my head.

  “No? Hmm, I thought for sure you were a White Mocha girl.”

  I pull my textbook from the Vera Bradley messenger bag my Little got me for Christmas and quirk a brow. “And what exactly gave you that impression? Do I have a face that screams White Mocha?”

  “You have a face that screams, all right, but I don’t think that’s the phrase I would go with.”

  I turn in my chair to face him completely. “So what does my face scream, then?”

  Kip places his chin carefully in one hand, his forefinger drumming on his cheek. “Maybe something along the lines of, ‘God, Kip, you are so dreamy. Please take me on a date tonight and I’ll show you why I’m worth that one thousand dollars.’”

  “Pig!” I laugh, smacking him and facing the front again just as Dr. O’Neal walks in. His hair is a bit more disheveled than usual today, but it’s his quirkiness that I adore. He’s one of the most interesting professors on campus, though I’m not sure why I even took this class other than to be in one with him all semester. I have no interest in screenwriting – at least, I don’t think I do – but I always see Dr. O’Neal walking quickly around campus and I’m curious about him and where he hurries to. I looked up classes he taught and settled for this one, wondering if maybe I could find passion in writ
ing. It’s only been a week, but just from our initial assignment I can tell that I won’t.

  I hate writing.

  Dr. O’Neal starts frantically scribbling on the white board, spouting off a television pilot scenario as he does so. Kip leans in close to my ear and whispers, “I’m serious, when can I take you on that date?”

  “We already had our date,” I remind him for the fiftieth time. He’s been texting me all week trying to set up a date, but I knew after that morning on the beach that it would be trouble. My Big has been so busy with adjusting to her new role as president that she’s either forgotten about our deal or hasn’t had time to bring it up to me. Either way, I’m skating under the radar and I prefer it that way. Maybe I can get out of this.

  But not if he won’t drop the date thing.

  “That wasn’t a date and you know it,” he whispers back from the corner of his mouth, his eyes trained on Dr. O’Neal.

  “What happened to our agreement?”

  “I never said it had to be a date-date, like the end-the-night-with-you-tangled-in-my-sheets kind of date, but you owe me. I paid a thousand bucks for a date with you and I’m going to get it.”

  I don’t say anything back, I’m a little too distracted thinking about being tangled up in bed with him. With those arms, those lips…

  “We need to go over your poker schedule anyway,” he adds, still not looking at me directly. Dr. O’Neal glances back in our direction, pausing a little before continuing on about writing the perfect pilot. When he turns to the PowerPoint up on the screen, I wheel around quickly to face Kip.

  “We can talk about poker, but that’s not a date. We can easily meet at Greek Library or the cafeteria for that.”

  “Fine, but I’m still taking you out on a damn date. So shut up and tell me the day and time that works best for you this weekend.”

  I bite against the smile fighting its way onto my lips and shake my head, turning to the front. He’s relentless. “I’m busy this weekend.”

  Kip goes to respond, but a girl in the row behind us shushes him before he can speak. I stifle a laugh and his fists tense, but we stay quiet the rest of the class.

  Dr. O’Neal assigns us another writing exercise to prepare us for our first project and then I’m free for the weekend. My phone buzzes on our way out of the building with a reminder to call my parents. They work the evening shift tonight, which means I should be able to catch them having their morning coffee. Talking about them to Kip earlier this week made me realize how much I miss them, and how little I keep up with them during the semester. Even though I just saw them for Christmas, I already feel guilty for my busy schedule. Dad always tells me not to worry about it, that they understand and they want me to be busy, but I still worry regardless.

  “So what time should I pick you up tonight?” Kip asks and I roll my eyes.

  “Seriously, Kip, not happening. I have a study group tonight, anyway.”

  “At Greek Library?”

  “Yes, and no you can’t come.” I start walking toward the sorority house and he jogs a little to catch up.

  “Why not? We can go out after you finish.”

  I stop mid-stride and turn to face him. “You’re really not going to give it a rest, are you?”

  He shoots me a cocky grin, his glasses lifting on his cheeks slightly. “I’m not one for giving up easily.”

  “Well neither am I, so I hope you’re prepared for a stand-still.”

  “Eh,” he says, shrugging. “I think your defenses will weaken over time. See you soon.” He gives one last smile and heads off in the opposite direction. I watch him leave, losing my ability to respond due to my eyes drifting to the way his jeans hang on his hips. He’s dressed casually, his faded jeans paired with an Alpha Sigma shirt, yet still I witness three different girls crank their necks to watch him walk by.

  Shaking my head, I start walking again and pull up Mom’s contact, hitting the green phone button to call.

  “Morning, pretty girl! You’re on speaker phone,” she answers. Dad says hello through a mouth of what I can only assume is buttered toast. He’s had buttered toast with his coffee ever since I can remember. I smile at the thought and wish I was there with them.

  “Hey guys! I can’t talk long but I missed you and wanted to check in. How’s work going?”

  Dad groans. “Just peachy as always. I’m officially on the list for the next management meeting, so hopefully they actually move me forward this time.”

  “They will, Dad. No one works harder than you,” I say, but in reality I’m not sure they’ll actually follow through. They haven’t the past three years they’ve promised him a promotion, so I’m doubtful but hopeful at the same time.

  “How’s school?” Mom asks.

  “So far it’s okay. I only have classes Monday through Thursday, so I’m lucky enough to have a three-day weekend.”

  “That’s nice, sweetie. Have you declared your major yet?”

  I frown. “No, not yet. I’m still not sure what I want to do. I’m taking a class on entrepreneurship this semester, though, and it’s pretty interesting so far.”

  “Well, just keep your options open. It’ll come to you when you’re ready,” Dad says. We all know that by “when you’re ready” he means “when you stop worrying about us and focus on your schoolwork and not on poker”, but he doesn’t say that and I’m thankful.

  “I think I might try to come home before the tournament in May. I was thinking you guys could help me practice a little more before I fly into Vegas.”

  “You know your dad and I are always here to help,” Mom says sweetly. She always had the most sing-song voice, like she could do the voice-overs for a princess in a cartoon movie. I heard her sing once when she was in the shower and it was amazing, but she never does it in front of anyone. She’s shy, and I was a lot like her when I was younger. That is, until she showed me how to hide my emotions. She’s a better teacher of that fine art than she is a performer.

  “Okay, I have to go, meeting up with some sisters for brunch. I love you.”

  “We love you too, honey.”

  We hang up just as I reach the sorority house. I jog upstairs and hang my bag off the end of my bed before collapsing onto it. The first few weeks of the semester are always the busiest, and I’m exhausted. I set my alarm for thirty minutes and close my eyes, visions of Kip’s eyes in the early morning light lulling me into a blissful nap.

  I swear if one more person brings up something completely irrelevant like voting on what color our next shirts should be, I’m going to throw my planner at them.

  It’s the Sunday after a long weekend of sorority events and it just happens to also be the first chapter meeting of the semester. My Big stands proud at the front of the room, leading our agenda, as Jess and Ashlei sit beside her. Each officer goes through their reports each week , updating us on when the next philanthropy events are, informing us of all campus activities, discussing upcoming functions like Spring Break and Formal, and of course, reminding us of appropriate behavior when wearing letters (No smoking! No drinking! No having sex! No having fun!).

  In all seriousness, chapter is pretty important, but tonight is just not the night for my patience to make an appearance. I’m tired, it’s Sunday – I’m ready for a binge Disney movie night with pajamas and popcorn. Tonight is not the night to discuss t-shirts.

  “Okay, we have a few visitors tonight before we end chapter. Please welcome the lovely ladies of Zeta Pi Alpha!” Erin says before clapping. We all sit in our chairs and applaud politely as a row of seven perfectly dressed Zetas stroll into our chapter room. They announce their annual philanthropy, Zeta Dance Stars, and hand out a packet to our Philanthropy Chair. Zeta Dance Stars is one of the biggest philanthropy competitions each year and we’ve won the past two. We have a title to defend, and I’m sure I’ll once again be scouted to join the team this year. I have no idea why, because I can’t dance to save my life, but apparently I’m tall and lean enough to pull off
looking like I can.

  After the Zetas leave, Big welcomes in Omega Chi Beta. We all stand and clap for the boys, which I’ve always thought was a little strange – sit and clap politely for sororities, they taught us, and stand and cheer for fraternities. Some traditions in our sorority I completely understand and love, and others, well…

  We all laugh as Clinton and his brothers serenade us and hand out roses. Their singing is awful, but they’re hilarious – so it evens out. They finish by welcoming us back to school and saying they can’t wait for Spring Break. Omega Chi Beta and Kappa Kappa Beta always do Spring Break together, and this year we’re planning a cruise.

  A cruise rumored to have a really large poker tournament onboard.

  Cha-ching.

  Clinton leans down to talk to me on his way out. “You ready to go crazy this Spring Break?”

  “Always.” I smile and he waggles his eyebrows, following the rest of his brothers out the door.

  After Omega Chi Beta leaves, Big calls in Alpha Sigma. I tense a little when I see their new line of pledges enter and stand at the front. They’re all dressed identically – khaki dress pants, light blue dress shirts, and dark blue and white striped bow ties. Even so, I spot Kip immediately. He smiles at me and winks through his glasses, making me return his smile involuntarily. I swear he has a magnetic pull on the corners of my lips.