Part 1 – Graduation Year
“I live; I die; the sea comes over me; it’s the blue that lasts.”
Virginia Woolf
Year Four/Week One – Present
“Reservation’s at eight, right Carter?”
I gripped my phone tightly, following the path of a fellow York student. Her hair was in a gelled, long braid, swaying back and forth like a boomerang.
And then it hit me in the face.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
She didn’t notice. I’m sure she had slapped a thousand and one people just today alone with that death whip.
“What about Christ, Blu?”
I rolled my eyes, entering the communications building of my college. Only this time, I kept a significant distance from everyone around me. Like always.
“Someone hit me in the face.”
“No one hit you in the face,” Carter stated. As if he knew me. As if he saw through my exaggerations.
Not many people did.
Not many people cared to.
“But yes, eight tonight. Cuisine Mercanti.”
I nodded as if he could see, fully knowing he was sitting on his work laptop scrolling through a Tinder list of girls.
“See you later.” I hung up the phone before he could say his goodbyes and scoped out the class numbers.
My pop culture seminar was in room two-twelve and this building already disgusted me. Cobwebs, exposed brick with gum stitched to the crevices of broken corners – Eight months until graduation, I repeated to myself. Eight months until I run away.
I had this professor last year, but the class was online so showing up was a bother. Mind you, I heard her voice, I knew what she looked like, but everyone else was a mystery.
A mystery I didn’t care to solve.
“… And that is what Stuart Hall cited in the readings for next week, which I know all of you are dying to read.”
Quiet laughter emanated through the cinder block encasing around twenty students in uncomfortable seats and miniscule desks.
“Hi there,” my professor said. She had kind eyes – alert, but sweet. “Nice to see you. Take a seat.”
My fingers wiggled into a wave as I flashed a rehearsed smile. “Plan on it.”
A few people chuckled at that. I was good at eliciting reactions.
My bare legs hit the plastic chair before I could readjust the length of my black mini skirt. It was hot for early September, meaning fools just like the dirtbag in the corner were on the prowl to look up flowy dresses.
I matched this creep’s eye-contact until he looked away, shuffling a deck of Pokémon cards underneath baggy sleeves. Perv.
That’s when my eyes caught on something else, rather, someone else. His gaze held mine too, at least for a brief moment. A moment I picked up.
A moment I wouldn’t forget.
Light brown hair, long enough to peek out underneath a baseball cap, but not messy. Blue eyes, laced with a hint of green. Chiseled face, angular like a model – no facial hair.
I was observant, a trait I possessed and loved to gloat about. Carter knew that about me; nothing slipped by Blu Henderson.
When someone interested me, there was no going back. For them, I mean.
I was untouchable, unattainable, charismatic and charming. I held my pride like a sword.
This man would be mine, whether he knew it or not.
For the rest of class, I watched him. He sat in the front row and I jotted down assumptions:
- Two earrings. One dangly cross, one pearl. Hipster, maybe. Edgy? Social media star?
- White t-shirt. Navy blue pants. Nike blazers. Silver bracelet. Knows how to dress? A tad suspicious.
- Art major. Tattoos. Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam” below his elbow – a rose next to it. Definitely art major.
“What are your thoughts, miss blue hair in row three?”
- He’s staring at me. His eyes are definitely blue. He has pretty privilege, he must. There is no way that –
A girl tapped my shoulder, poked it rather. “Yes?”
“The professor asked you something,” she whispered. Her voice was nasally.
Ah, so that’s why he was looking at me. My eyes rolled around the room, meeting just about everyone’s until they landed on his. I felt my professor staring, but that could wait. Just a second longer; I needed to know what it felt like to be in his sights.
“What was that, Professor?” I finally ripped away my gaze, a subtle smile playing on my lips.
Maybe she thought I was smiling at her. Maybe that was for the best.
“I asked for your thoughts on the Adorno reading,” she started. “You were writing things down.”
Yeah, I was. Not like it was any of her business. I quickly fanned my assumptions paper, then placed it down on its backside.
“Grocery list,” I said, tapping my pen against the wooden desk.
Her face went cross. “I don’t think right now is the time to –”
“– but if you’re asking my thoughts on Adorno, I’d say his morals were skewed. His concepts on high and low culture are non-progressive.” My eyes never left hers as I continued.
“By identifying jazz music as low culture, he’s placing people into categories depending on their likes and dislikes, judging them, even.” I turned to Nasal-Nelly beside me. “Do you like jazz music?”
God, I could’ve halted traffic with the red in her cheeks.
“I, um –” she swallowed. “It’s nice. I – I do enjoy it sometimes.”
“She enjoys it sometimes.” I stated, flipping my attention back to the front. “And who am I to judge her partial enjoyment of jazz music? Adorno would. For that, I disagree with his beliefs. Thoughts concluded, Professor.”
Someone in the back laughed loudly and I turned around to soak in the reign. A beast of a man wearing a fishing hat, plaid overcoat and dark denim was eyeing me with praise.
I saw it in everyone.
They saw it in me.
“Thank you for sharing…”
She wanted my name. “Blu, Professor. Blu Henderson.”
Given any other circumstance, I would’ve shaken her hand. Seemed a bit inappropriate but I extended it anyway.
Like most people, she had the manners to receive the gesture, though it wasn’t sincere. I just wanted to keep his attention a little longer. I knew I had it. I felt him looking.
Ten minutes later, class had finally come to a close with no substantial contribution from anyone other than me. I knew Prof. Granger had her own list of assumptions the second she saw me walk through that door. How could you not?
Dark blue hair, light brown eyes, rockstar attire, and a personality that demanded attention because I deserved it. Attention owed me.
It fucking owed me.
He stood up, collecting his black backpack and Air Pods. My God was he ever tall. You can never really tell when they’re sitting down, but I would’ve placed him at 6’3. A full foot taller than me.
“Great to see you again, Jace,” the professor said to him.
Jace.
Jace.
Jace.
His name stamped onto me like a tattoo.
“Likewise, Professor.” That voice. The voice. Jace’s voice.
His eyes were on mine for a fraction of a second before he ducked out of class. That look, it floated in my head. It bounced. It demanded.
He would be a part of me.
I would be a part of him.
I quickly flung my purse strap over my shoulder, darting for the door when Prof. Granger called out, “You’re quite the character, Blu Henderson.”
You’re quite the character, Blu Henderson.
Of course I am, I wanted to say. Glad you recognized, I should have said.
Instead, I smiled. “See you next week, Professor.”
When I finally exited the room, Jace was standing next to the water-fountain, filling up a glass tumbler.
He looked up at me.
I glanced at him.
And I walked away.
