BABY GIRL

“Me?” he asked stupidly as if there could be anyone else around, index finger pointing back to his chest clad with a thrifted Care Bears tee that had clearly been run through the wash more than a few times. “Yeah, I’m cool; just a few broken ribs and maybe a punctured lung, but other than that, I’m practically the best thing since sliced bread.” Had it been anyone else, his comparison likely would’ve been more vulgar and crude, but for her lamb-eyed sake, he abstained. Izzy eyed her with a suspicious air, gaze lingering on the foot that tapped anxiously on the pavement, little clicks accompanying the crickets that began to sing their nightly lullaby. He had seen her before, he knew he had. He knew because he wouldn’t have forgotten her. Not in the cliche, romantic, Jane Austen way, but in the way she presented herself as an individual, yet somehow remained unpretentious about it. It wasn’t like she was trying to be different or the fascination of some boy who John Green would make a protagonist out of, she simply marched to the beat of her own drum. And that interested him; again, not even in a platonic manner, just a human way. “Uh, I wasn’t asking if you’ve seen me,” he laughed, a goofy look on his face, “but I’ve seen you.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, a smirk more boyish than devious on his lips, “And you’re not helping your case by being weird.”

Noisily digging her fists into the pockets of her windbreaker, Ines breathed out audibly, an almost laugh. “Oh, cool. I won’t need to call you an ambulance then, right? They can be fairly expensive. Good ol’ American healthcare, or lack of-- I guess--” She stopped herself from talking too much, as she usually did, pressing her lips together in a tight line. The word weird bounced off her skin and she visibly cringed, took half a step back. She had been right. He was definitely just like his friends. Suddenly, she felt like she was back under the southwestern sun, among the miserable people in the miserable dry heat. “Man, what is it with Socal boys and calling me weird, hm?” She said it before she could think better of it, licking her lips before carrying on, staring straight ahead, not at him but at fixed point behind him. Ines couldn’t make eye contact with him for the life of her. “Like, are you all born bullies or does it happen gradually? Could it be the drought, maybe? Or too many concussions from falling off of skateboards? The hair bleach seeping into your skulls? So many possibilities...” She trailed off, intending to walk around him and be done with it, but she lingered for a second, too lost in her own head. Her foot continued to tap against the pavement. “Weird is a pretty weird word itself, now that I think of it,” she glanced at him quickly before averting her gaze back to dark space around them. “Maybe you could come up with something more interesting next time. Spice it up.”

Izzy was narrowly escaping the rowdiness erupting from the Kincaid house, slightly drunk and in a dreamlike haze as screams and shouts of glee still audible from even outside the home. The air was cool and balmy as it whipped his skin, flying at what felt like a rapid pace on his skateboard, and for a moment, Isaac wondered if he were the only person on campus, hell, in the world. After all, there were times Yates did feel like the whole world. Every face became familiar in a matter of months, if not from a class, then from an unnecessarily frivolous and colorful extravaganza that made the shitty house parties he used to frequent in Los Angeles look like juvenile territory. Izzy shut his eyes for only a moment, blissfully in solitude… Or so he thought. It wasn’t until they snapped back open that what he was sure was a ghost or apparition of some sort appeared right before his eyes, causing him to gasp and launch from his board in a less than graceful manner. “Holy fuck!” His arms flailed before he blinked yet again, now clearly seeing that it was a girl and not some spirit. Grinning sheepishly and regretfully as he retrieved his board, his lips pressed together in a straight line. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized before his brow furrowed. “Wait, do I know you? You look familiar as shit.” @inesbarnett​

She’d seen him around and, more importantly, she’d remembered him. In the broodiness of their Vermont campus, it was fairly easy to spot a fellow Californian. Especially with his hair-- it was pink, for fuck’s sake-- and the unmistakable air of a boy who could burn a church down with his gaze. Just spotting him in a crowd made a familiar type of nervousness begin to stir in the pit of her stomach. Memories of mutual friends who scared the shit out of her with their judgemental looks and whispers remained in the back of her mind, a pest that constantly reminded her how much of an outcast she had been. Consequentially, she avoided the pink-haired boy in question whenever she spotted him. Ines had gone to great lengths to avoid interaction, sometimes even taking the longer route to class and risking a late arrival upon seeing his figure in her path. But, today, her eyes glued dangerously onto her phone screen, she didn’t spot the bright pink in front of her until it was far too late. Her fingers typing furiously as she argued with some Ben Shapiro wannabe on Twitter, her head only snapped up to meet the boy when he let out a yelp. Slowly, she clicked off her phone and slipped it into the pocket of her highlighter yellow windbreaker, the familiar nervousness returning. “Um, jeez, are you okay?” Ines tried to feign a calm aura, though her foot tapped nervously on the pavement. “Uhh, nope, nope, nah. Have never seen you before in my life. Definitely no.”   

Of course Felix was running late. He had just laid down to nap for a few minutes, and somehow that had turned into a few hours, and now he was running to the lake for the canoe race with half of his hair sticking up in different directions and a pillow line on his face. His open Hawaiian shirt fluttered in the breeze as he made it to the shoreline, a panicked look on his face. He hadn’t even bothered to check who his teammate for the race was. He headed over towards the only person still standing and not already in a boat, his face freezing again as he realized it was Ines. Ines Barnett was someone he had seen around campus, admired from afar but never had the courage to talk to. And now she was speaking directly to him. Oh, fuck, he should say something. Felix opened and closed his mouth, trying to get rid of its sudden dryness when she called him Cute White Boy. She thought he was cute? Now that was certainly surprising. “Uh…. It’s uh, Felix. And I know it’s Ines.” Well, that sounded weird. “Um, not like, I know who you are or anything. I just uh, know your name. Small campus. Very small,” he rambled, grinning nervously, trying to flatten down his hair as he walked towards the boat. “I practiced a little earlier. But I’m really bad at steering. I just kept going in circles. I’m not like, an expert or anything,” he said, seating himself down, waiting for her to get in before he pushed them off with a paddle. “Oh, fuck, lifejackets!” He exclaimed, scrambling around to pick up his and throwing Ines’s towards her face. “Um, do you need help with yours or anything?”

Cheeks heated, Ines ducked her head down, became increasingly interested in the neon green sneakers on her feet. She managed to croak out a nervous laugh, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of her neck. “Yeah. Really small.” Her eyes darted between her shoes and his before she finally allowed herself to look up at him. “Felix. Like, the cat? Sorry I’m--uh-- really into cartoons. Like embarrassingly so.” Setting one foot in, she tripped over thin air, lurching into the canoe in a tumble, almost knocking the entire thing over. “Fuck. Sorry, sorry. I, uh, suck at functioning like a normal human. Obviously.” Scrambling to sit upright, she nearly hit herself in the face with the paddle in her hand, had to try her hardest not to knock Felix upside the head with it. She tried to help him push off but it was a weak attempt, one that resulted in them almost tipping over. Again. “Well, you’re better than me. But I think a dog would also be better than me, so. I don’t really know if that’s much of a complim--” Her rambling was interrupted by the smack of a lifejacket against her cheek. It was too light to hurt her, only made her laugh at the fact that the man in front of her was about as much of a mess as she was. “No, no. I got it. Uh--” Her head looked around frantically as she adjusted the lifejacket, realizing they had drifted far from where everyone else was. “Are we going in the wrong direction?”

( + 1 notification from Instagram ) @inesquik: *tennis court by lorde blasts loudly in the background*

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it was rhys’s turn to blush, apparently. he shook his head, looking down at his hands, then over at ines again, with just one eye open, squinting at her. skeptical.

“i’m me, alright. that’s, uh. kind of the problem.”

he fell silent then, grateful to listen to the soft lull of ines’s voice. sometimes he wondered how she saw herself. even now, when she averted her gaze from him, or when she ran a hand across her stomach to smooth the satiny fabric, or when she stumbled into a corridor bathroom and saw her reflection in the mirror–what did she see then, in the dim light of a stranger’s commode, four feet away from a yellowing toilet bowl, boxed in by four walls seeming to close in more and more the longer she stood, what did she see and, more importantly, what did she think of it?

i’m writing you a story, rhys thought, amused. i’m writing you a story in my head, ines, but it doesn’t have an ending yet.

“i know what you mean,” he murmured, leaning forward a little, sharp shoulder blades peaking, creating a strange silhouette on the ground beneath them.

“i think you’re special, though, nes. special enough to be loved by somebody someday.”

rhys laughed at himself, at his phrasing, a breathy laugh, a cloudy one.

“i mean, i love you. but if we’re talking about somebody who’s gonna sweep you off your feet, yknow, tell you how beautiful you are when it crosses their mind–yeah, you’ll find that. the world’s not as unfair as people say it is, i think. a girl like you’s gonna get the love she deserves. one day. i believe that.”

Ines leaned forward, using her index finger to bop Rhys on the nose when he turned to her. Her face was contorted with confusion, not understanding--or not wanting to understand-- what he meant. “What problem? I don’t know anyone like you. And that’s a, uh, good thing. A great thing, come to think of it.”  Propping both her elbows onto the railing, she held her face in her hands now, apple cheeks protruding.

Truthfully, she always thought of herself of special, but not in the way he meant it. When Ines thought of herself, she associated her uniqueness with being weird, the proverbial black sheep, a sore thumb not only among her peers at Yates but among everyone. Her entire life. A huff of breath escaped her lips, and it was more melancholic than she expected it to be. “Isn’t that whole sweep you off your feet thing kinda fake? I don’t think people actually do that nowadays. It's like that--” She nodded lazily to the couple below them, snickering. “Or a Tinder match. Or something.”

Licking her lips in concentration, she focused her eyes on the sky above, the way the pale moonlight bounced off the silver jewelry around her neck. “All love is like milk. It’s really fucking good. Especially with some Fruity Pebbles. But it gives you gas. And it spoils. Really easily. Inevitably.”

rhys appreciated that comment silently, the implication that drinking wasn’t everything. it was hard to find people who shared that opinion–sometimes rhys wasn’t even sure if HE believed that. sometimes he had these moments, split second visions of a parallel universe where he picked up the svedka by the neck (by the throat) and downed it, halfway to hell, the way he used to. flashes of a possible future. the thing that always deterred him was really just the fact that it would be inconvenient. to him, to everyone around him.

“i wouldn’t mock you for that, ines. are you joking?” he laughed, glancing over at her, noting the blush creeping across her face. he didn’t think anything of it, really. instead, he looked back out at the couple, frowning.

“i’ve never even had my first kiss. ever. so.” he shrugged, squinting. changet the subject. fast.

“it’s–yeah. you’re right, though. i don’t think you’re sensitive. if you are, then i am. people don’t love each other right around here. it’s like they don’t know how.”

Taken back by his confession, she bit down on her lip. Mulled it over. She sometimes thought about if she had really had her ‘first kiss’ or even actually lost her virginity in the first place. The concept of virginity was, of course, socially constructed. Because of that, Ines supposed she could go without thinking about it so often. But, the truth was that she thought about it a lot; thought about her body as tainted, as the site of a crime. 

“Really?” She cringed at the shock in her voice, tried to smooth it over with a reassuring smile. “Sorry. I just. You’re you, you know?” Shrugging, she averted her gaze back to the couple, still going at it at an aggressive rate. “Wasn’t expecting that, I guess.” 

“It’s so... easy to love. I don’t know. I guess for me it is. Sometimes I worry that I’m always gonna be the one loving and never the one being loved. Does that make sense?” 

rhys stared out over the balcony, down at the manicured lawn beneath. people, as small as ants from up here, meandered around the yard. he watched a couple kissing sloppily with sloshing drinks in hand, and it made him smile. they looked sped up, the two of them; they were kissing like they couldn’t wait until it was over. he wondered if that was what kissing was supposed to be like and figured yeah, no, probably not. not that he would know. 22 years old, never had a first kiss. it didn’t bother him. not really. not most of the time.

“you see those two down there?” rhys extended a finger to beckon toward the couple in question.

“don’t they kind of look like they actually hate each other? i mean, not like hate-fucking style but like they’re just kissing to get it over with.”

he knew he’d glossed over what ines had said, and bit the inside of his cheek as a sharp punishment, a reminder to reel it in.

“uh–to answer your question, i don’t know how people drink, but i know i always drank as fast as possible. when i drank. so. it was a means to an end, i guess.”

rhys hadn’t yet told ines his reasons for abstaining from drugs, and he wasn’t planning on it. instead, he went back to ogling the kissing couple on the lawn.

“is that what kissing is, too, do you think? a means to an end?” he gave ines a sideways look, half-amused and half-curious.

“when i see people making out like that, like so aggressively, that’s what it seems like.”

“Drinking is overrated, anyway.” Softly, she smiled. Ines was never one to pester or push people into saying more than they wanted to. Eager to change the subject away from alcohol, she followed his finger to the people below them, leaning her elbows onto the balcony to get a better look. On her tippy toes, it was probably a dangerous position to be in, but she wasn’t exactly alarmed. Maybe it was the bit of alcohol in her system or her overall disregard for her wellbeing, she didn’t know.

Chin in her hand, she tried to avoid the blush that inevitably rose to her cheeks, letting out an apprehensive laugh. “Are you gonna mock me if I say I’ve only kissed one person? So I don’t think I’m exactly an expert on the subject.” She scrunched up her nose, the thought occupying her mind was usually reserved for when she was alone in her room, distaste sitting hot on her tongue. What she refused to mention was that said kiss was with her TA and that, afterward, she had squeezed an entire tube worth of Colgate into her mouth. She’d never had a consensual kiss, it seemed. Shaking the thought away, she squinted at the couple. What they were doing didn’t look like love. Or even mutual adoration. They looked frantic. Like they were just going through the motions.

“It makes me sad. You know? The thought that it’s a means to an end, at least to a lot of people... I dunno” Ines shrugged, gave him a small smile, eyebrows raised. “What ever happened to loving other people? It’s a lost concept. Everyone I see on this campus looks like them” she nodded to the couple below them. “Makes me kinda sad. Maybe I’m just sensitive though, you think?” 

“if we don’t, nes, then we’ve done something wrong.”

rhys followed her out the door, grateful for the wind and the quickly darkening sky punctuated with fat, low clouds reflecting back the color of the sunset. it was a beautiful night and there was no getting around that. ines looked beautiful, too. it seemed like she had this way of always picking outfits that accentuated a new feature every time. rhys remembered that the first time he saw her, it was her eyes that caught him. tonight it was her silhouette, her figure draped in soft fabric, like a statue or a portrait or something else with majesty and an antique kind of beauty.

he snorted at the shakespeare roleplay bit.

“what would that even be? wasn’t syphilis kind of a problem when shakespeare was around? i’m seeing a lot of flaws in that roleplay scenario, it’s a no from me.”

rhys found himself leaning into ines’s side as they stood at the balcony, just for comfort. it was second nature to him, that sort of affection with her. he looked down at himself, stretching a leg out to show off.

“yeah, it’s–oh, shit. you’re not gonna believe this.”

he stepped forward, shoving his hands into the pockets of the skirt.

“pockets. it has pockets, nes. this is unprecedented. think of how many items i could store in here. simply imagine.”

The warmth of his body was a comfort, a bit of peace amid the seemingly always chaotic environment of Yates. Ines was trying to contain her laughter, but she was never particularly good at staying lowkey, and the stream of giggles bubbled out of her quite loudly. “I didn’t even think of the Syphilis, oh my God. I think he just wanted me to call his dick Hamlet or something. Which--” She shivered dramatically, pretended like she was about to vomit. “Disgusting. Just. Gross. No.” 

Her eyes remained on Rhys as he showed off his skirt, focusing on the flowing fabric. She dropped her mouth in an O shape at his declaration, arms crossing in dramatized jealousy. “It has pockets? Are you joking? None of my skirts have pockets.” Stepping forward, she leaned down to let her fingers graze the hem the skirt, soft fabric against her skin momentarily. “I’m definitely stealing this from you. I don’t think it will fit, granted, but I’ll make it work.” 

Leaning back against the balcony, she bounced her leg energetically, in tune with whatever music was blasting from inside. Her vision stayed focus on Rhys, the sight of him always putting her in a pleasant mood. He was perhaps the only other person who didn’t seem to conform to the general mold of Yates culture. It made her feel seen and like she wasn’t completely alone. He was there, and she felt less weird and more electric.

“I had one drink and I feel like one of those Jack in the Box toys ready to jump into the air. Or like a bunny. A rabbit? I dunno. How do people drink?”

it was…one of those nights, y’know? the kind where rhys had to peer into the mirror, peer hard, and say to himself, “alright, you’re gonna have a good time tonight. you look good, you feel good. you’re allowed to feel good. to feel. you know that?”

it sunk in like a shallow stab wound, which is to say that it didn’t sink in much at all but it certainly made him bleed. appropriate, though, given his costume of choice. rhys didn’t know much shakespeare, but he knew macbeth well enough to throw something together. it was a good excuse to wear a skirt.

he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking for ines tonight. ines acted like a lighthouse for him sometimes–someone he could trust to drink only a little bit, to partake but not so much that it would tempt him, someone whose voice hit like a breath of fresh air–especially in this moment. ines had found rhys just as he was charging through the crowd of bodies, attempting to remind himself why he was here, to forge some kind of reason at all. the panic was beginning to set in.

and then there was ines.

“oh my god. thank god. holy shit.”

the words spilled out in a supercharged flurry. he glanced in the direction of ines’s thumb motion and sneered.

“no, you don’t. i’ve never read the play but i’ll be goddamned if i haven’t seen the iconic leo dicaprio shitstorm adaptation. you’re, uh.”

wow, he really didn’t know the names. this was embarrassing, maybe. should he know shakespeare? like, is that a thing he should know?

“the…gay one. i’m sorry. the one who dies. i mean, they all die, right? don’t make fun of me for this. i’m so happy to see you.”

“Well. To be fair. I think he was the gay one.” Ines couldn’t help the laughter that left her, finally feeling at ease in the presence of someone she knew wouldn’t start shoving drinking into her open hands. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding in, physically relaxed her body. “So we both gender-bent classic Shakespeare characters. Do you think we’ll anger any conservatives tonight? I hope so, personally. ” Wriggling her eyebrows playfully, she gestured towards the front doors, desperately needing some fresh air in the midst of the suffocating crowd. 

Making her way outside, she continued rambling, just happy to escape the overwhelming environment. “I’m happy to see you. I was about to leave if one more person offered me an unknown substance. One guy--” She lowered her voice dramatically, cupping one hand around her mouth like she was telling a secret. As if Rhys wasn’t the only person within earshot. She did have a flair for the dramatics, if only in the playful way. “One guy not-so-subtly hinted at weird Shakespeare roleplay sex. I had to pretend my mom was calling me to escape him and hide out in the bathroom for an hour.”

The humid air outside was welcoming, like a warm hug on a summer night. Ines leaned back against the balcony, smiled at her friend. She took a minute, taking in his outfit, admiring the stark contrast between his dark attire and the bright colors she was adorning. “I like the skirt. Might steal it from you.”