Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE: BEFORE
September 26th, 2004 The bass was so loud I could feel it in my ribcage. Not in an unpleasant way, in that way that made you feel like you were part of something bigger than yourself. Like the music was moving through all of us at once, making us all the same creature for a few hours. I was wearing a dress I’d borrowed from my sister. It was black, fitted, the kind of dress that made me feel like a version of myself that was slightly more confident than the actual me. Which was the whole point of borrowed dresses, I suppose. Sammy, my best friend, appeared beside me, shoving a cup of something into my hand. I didn’t ask what it was. Sammy’s drink concoctions were legendary for their ability to taste like nothing and hit like a truck. Every time I drank something from Sammy, I would wake up with an explosive headache.
“Oh my God,” he said, his eyes wide. “He’s here.” I knew who “he” was. We’d been talking about “he” for the past two weeks. Ever since the coffee shop incident, where Adam Olsen (the best athlete in college) had ordered a black coffee and smiled at me. Not the polite smile you give to strangers. A real smile. The kind that reached his eyes. “Where?” I asked, even though I was trying very hard not to look around frantically. That would be uncool. That would be obvious. “By the kitchen. Oh my God, Chris, he’s here. I repeat-” “I know!” I grabbed his arm, laughing. “You don’t have to announce it for the whole room!” But my stomach did that thing it does. My heart was suddenly very aware of how much work it was doing. Sammy was grinning at me like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. In Sammy’s defense, my romantic life (or lack thereof) was probably more interesting than whatever else was happening at this party. “He’s talking to people,” Sammy whispered, leaning close. “He’s being so nice. He’s laughing at what that guy just said. Oh my God, he’s so attractive when he laughs.” “Stop,” I said, but I was smiling. “Are you in love with him or something?” “Uh, duh! Who isn’t in love with the Adam Olsen? This is so romantic: a guy comes to a party, sees a girl, and falls madly in love with her. It’s the thing that happens in every rom-com! Super cliché, but still.” He almost jumped as he said it. I had to bring him back onto the ground. “He’s not- we literally spoke for like thirty seconds. He’s probably here for his friends.” “Maybe. Or maybe he’s here hoping to see a certain beautiful, blonde, green-eyed girl who laughed at his unfunny joke about coffee.” Sammy teased. He squeezed my arm. “Trust me. I have excellent instincts about these things.” I was about to argue (because Sammy’s instincts were actually terrible: he’d once insisted a guy was interested in me when the guy had been asking for directions) when someone appeared beside us. It was Adam. But before I could even register that he was there, he was already talking to Sammy.
“Hey man, I think your drink is spilling,” he said, pointing to a puddle forming around Sammy’s cup. “Oh shit—” Sammy looked down. “Goddammit. I’ll be right back. Bye, bestie, have fun!” He looked at me before disappearing, leaving me alone with Adam. He was taller than I remembered. Or maybe I’d just forgotten how much space he took up. He was wearing a Jersey shirt, and his black hair was slightly messy in a way that suggested he’d either just woken up or had been running his hands through it. His deep brown eyes were warm when he looked at me, not cold or intense like I’d been building up in my head. His skin is tanned, probably from all the activities he does outdoors. God, he's hot. “Hey,” he said. “I saw you earlier. Wanted to say hi properly this time.” “Hi,” I said brilliantly. Very smooth. Very impressive. “I’m Adam. Though you probably already knew that.” “Christina,” I said. “And yeah, I did. Word travels on a small campus.” He laughed, and it was easy. “Yeah, well, I’d like to make sure the word you hear is accurate, so..." He gestured vaguely at himself. “Here I am. In person. Can verify I’m real.” Wow, this was awkward. “Jury’s still out,” I said, and I was surprised by my own boldness. But Adam had a way of making you feel like he wanted you to be yourself. Like, there was no performance necessary. “Fair enough. I’ll have to convince you then.” He was smiling.
“Wanna dance?” It was direct, but not in a pushy way, just straightforward. Like he was genuinely asking, and if I said no, that would be the end of it. I hesitated. Dancing felt like a commitment to make. Dancing felt like moving the night from “chance encounter” to “something happening.” “I’m not a great dancer,” I said, which was true, but also wasn’t the real reason I was hesitating. “Neither am I,” Adam said. “We can be bad together.” There was something about the simplicity of that offer that made me say yes. “Okay,” I said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took my hand, his was warm, warmer than seemed right, and led me into the crowd. We found a spot where the music was loudest, and the crowd was thickest, and he turned to face me. And then he danced with me in a way that was somehow both completely normal and completely attention-grabbing. He wasn’t trying too hard. He wasn’t doing some choreographed thing or showing off. He was just moving, letting the music guide him, and somehow, he’d positioned himself so that we were close but not touching. Like he was creating a space specifically for me. I found myself relaxing. I found myself smiling. I found myself moving closer because it felt natural, because he seemed to be creating a kind of orbit where I fit.
“See?” he said, leaning close so I could hear him over the music. “You’re not bad.” “You’re biased,” I said. “Maybe.” He was looking at me with those warm eyes, and I realized he had a small scar above his eyebrow. I wondered how he got it. I wondered if I’d ever get to ask him. If we will ever talk after this night. We danced for probably twenty minutes, and it felt like the rest of the party faded away. Like he was the only real thing in the room, and nothing else mattered. When the song changed to something slower, he didn’t suggest we leave or sit down. He just stepped closer, and I let him. His hand found my waist, gentle and careful, and his other hand held mine. He was a good dancer, actually. Or maybe I was just a good dancer when I was dancing with him. “I’m really glad you came tonight,” he said. “To the party? I didn’t know you were going to be here.” “My friends asked me to come. I’m glad I found better company.” I felt my cheeks warm. “Aren’t you supposed to like your friends?” “I do, they can be a little intense, though.” He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made you understand why people did stupid things for other people. It was genuine and warm, and like he was happy to be here, with me. As the song wore on, I noticed he was looking over my shoulder occasionally. Like he was aware of who was watching us. But when I looked back at him, he was focused entirely on me. Like the rest of the world had stopped mattering.
After the song ended, he released me but didn’t go far. “You want some air? It’s getting hot in here.” “Sure,” I said. I didn’t know, then, that I should have noticed the way he guided me toward the exit. The way he made the decision about which door, which route, which direction we’d go. The way he did it was so smooth that it didn’t feel like being steered. I didn’t know that yet. So I followed Adam outside into the cool night air, and I let him lead me away from the noise and the light and the safety of the crowd, and I smiled because for the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely happy. The balcony overlooked the quad. It was quieter here, just the distant sound of the party inside and the occasional car passing on the street below. The air was cool, and I was suddenly aware that I was cold in this dress.
Just as I was thinking about rubbing my arms, Adam took off his jacket. “Here,” he said, draping it over my shoulders. The jacket was warm, and it smelled like something earthy. Like the outdoors. Like him, I guessed, though I didn’t have a reference point for what he smelled like beyond this moment. “Thanks,” I said. “No problem.” He leaned against the railing, and I found myself standing next to him, also leaning against the railing. We were close enough that our shoulders almost touched. “So what’s your deal?” “My deal?” “Yeah. Like, what’s your story? Why is Sammy Wheeler, out of all people, so invested in you and me talking?” I laughed. “I think he just likes drama. He’s kind of a romantic.” “I can see that in him. He seems nice, though. Do you think he’s wrong for playing Cupid?” It was a simple question. Too simple. The kind of question that could mean a lot of different things depending on how you answered it. “I don’t know. He’s harmless, I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna talk after this.” “Do you think this is a one-time thing?” Adam asked as he turned his head towards me. Then, he was looking out at the quad, at the grass and the trees and the darkness beyond the campus lights. “I don’t feel like that. You’re fun to be around, Christina.” My mouth went dry. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I don’t really know you.” “I know,” he said. And he said it so simply, so kindly, that it didn’t feel like a correction. “But you could. If you wanted to.” He wasn’t pushy. His tone was gentle, understanding. But there was something underneath it, a kind of certainty. Like he’d already decided we were going to happen, and he was just giving me time to catch up. I should have noticed that. But instead, I just felt flattered. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”
“You’re really special, you know that?” he said. “What do you mean?” “I mean, most people, they don’t even try to get to know me, but you want to. You’re special.” He was still looking at me, and there was something almost reverent in his expression. “It’s rare.” “That’s not true,” I said, embarrassed by the compliment. “I’m just… normal.” “You’re not normal,” he said. “Trust me.” He took my hand, and his was warm. Warmer than you’d expect, actually. Like he was running a fever or his circulation was just very good. We stood like that for a moment, his hand in mine, his jacket around my shoulders. And then he said, “I do want to ask you something, though.” “What?” “Just- don’t let people poison your head about me, okay?” It was such a sweet thing to ask. And he said it in a way that felt vulnerable, like he was worried I might judge him for caring too much. “I won’t,” I promised. “I’ll make my own decisions about you.” “Thank you,” he said. And he seemed genuinely relieved. “That means more to me than you know.”
We stood there for a while, looking out at the quad, his jacket around my shoulders, his hand holding mine. And I felt like I was standing at the beginning of something. Something big and important and inevitable. The beginning of a love story, I thought. Adam brought me back to my dorm. When I finally got back, Sammy was waiting up for me. “Well?” he demanded as soon as I walked through the door. “Tell me everything. And I mean everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.” I was still wearing Adam’s jacket. I’d forgotten to give it back, and he hadn’t asked for it. It felt so warm to have around me. “It was nice,” I said. “He was nice.” “Just nice? Christina, your face is flushed. That’s not just nice. Did you guys kiss? Oh my god, did you?!” “No, no! We didn’t do anything but talk and dance.” I sat down on my bed and pulled the jacket tighter around me. “He asked me not to let other people tell me what to think about him.” Sammy’s excitement dimmed slightly. “That’s… kind of a weird thing to say.” “I know. But he said it nicely.” “Okay, but like, why would he say that? Unless people have been saying bad things about him?” I hadn’t thought about it like that. I’d just thought it was sweet. Vulnerable, even. Like he was asking me to see the real him, not whatever reputation preceded him. “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ll find out.”