Plurally Inclined - Parts IV & V

IV

The Ice Cream Shoppe is located down town, just off campus. A favorite with students and townies alike, ICS has a brisk business during the day, then draws the laptop crowd at night with Wi-Fi access.

On a tall curbside table, Heather, Zoe and B.J. share a large hot fudge sundae topped with nuts, whipped cream and a cherry. In spite of our history of anorexia and body image problems, Heather isn’t sweating the calories. She’ll burn off like a million calories later on the ice.

“B.J., honey,” Heather is saying in her best Mommy voice, “I know you get bored and all, but you can’t go running around like that in class.”

B.J. pops the cherry in her mouth and says, “Why?”

“Well, you distract me.”

“Why?”

Heather glances at Zoe, looking for the assist.

Zoe adjusts the designer shades in her hair and gives B.J. a piercing stare. “Because you’re funny as all get-out, and if Heather gets kicked out of class for laughing at you, she’ll lose her scholarship, and if she winds up on the street living out of a shopping cart, who’ll buy you jelly beans and toys and stuff?” One breath. Impressive.

“Tyler?” B.J. suggests. Tyler is a super nice guy, and our bestest bud in the whole world, but even he has limits.

“Tyler is our friend,” Heather says, “not our sugar daddy.”

“Why?”

Before Heather can think of a response, a scruffy Goth-Emo-Eurotrash-something guy walks up to Heather and shifts his backpack to the opposite shoulder, smiling. He doesn’t look or smell like he’s showered in a week. B.J. grimaces and holds her nose.

“Suzanne,” Goth Guy says, and then, in French, “how’ve you been?” He uses the familiar. Evidently they’re friends.

Heather and Zoe exchange glances. Zoe shrugs -- she doesn’t know him from Adam. Heather offers a pleasant smile. “Très bien. Et toi?”

“Will we see you at karaoke next week?” he asks, again in French.

“Karaoke...”

Zoe gives her a “don’t look at me” glance.

“Évidemment.” Of course.

“Fantastique!” He kisses Heather on both cheeks and struts off.

Heather and Zoe stare at each other, baffled. WTF was that?

“Is it safe?” B.J. asks. Zoe baps her hand away from her nose.

“There is not enough ice cream in the world,” Heather says, diving into the sundae.

V

The grassy quad outside the library is a favorite place for students to hang out on afternoons like this. There are round concrete tables here and there down Old Campus, but students are just as likely to lean up against a tree or lay out in the lawn.

Zoe looks totally Hollywood leaning with her back to one of the tables, shades down, elbows spread, catching rays. She’s watching Matt and some of his friends, stripped to the waist, tossing a football around.

Next to Zoe, Heather has her back to the quad, the college catalog open in front of her. Every so often, Matt glances her way, hoping to catch her eye, but she’s too caught up in what she’s doing to notice.

Meanwhile B.J. works on a crayon drawing of a dog-like animal with a pig’s snout and corkscrew tail.

“I’m thinking abnormal psych.” Heather says.

Zoe glances over the top of her glasses at Heather. “I’m thinking you’re out of your freakin’ mind.”

“That’s the point,” B.J. says without looking up.

Heather: “Not helping.”

B.J. changes out her crayon. “You never listen to me anyway.”

Zoe raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? What about art? That was your idea.”

B.J. covers her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“I swear I didn’t know there’d be life models,” Heather says.

B.J. peeks out from behind her hands. “He had his peepee hanging out,” she whispers. Zoe covers her mouth and giggles.

A tall string bean of a guy and his whole-wheat girlfriend saunter up to the table and sit down across from Heather.

“Hey, Jules. Tyler,” Heather says while Zoe offers a casual wave.

Tyler’s been our friend for years now. He knows our voices, our personalities. Sometimes we imagine he can actually see us, the way he interacts. Julie is new to the group dynamic. We can tell she finds it hard to wrap her head around the idea of multiplicity, but she makes Tyler happy, so who are we to judge.

“Tyeeee!” B.J. says, sliding her drawing across the table. “See my puppy-hog?”

Tyler gives an appreciative nod. “Wow -- you drew that?” Then he remembers, “Oh, got something...” He opens his backpack, pulls out a small sack of jelly beans and slides them across the table.

B.J. gives an ear-splitting squeal of joy as she tears into the pack.

Julie covers her ears and smiles. “Excuses me while I turn my hearing aid down a notch.”

Tyler grins and nudges her with his shoulder. “So what’s the what?” he asks.

Heather glances up from her catalog. “Trying to figure out a schedule for next quarter. Core. French for Suzanne. I need electives -- getting absolutely no help from the peanut gallery.”

Julie glances at Tyler, then hesitantly says, “Have you considered drama?”

Tyler’s eyes flash back at her.

“What?” Julie asks. “She’d be a natural... I’ve heard it’s a great experience if you can fit it in.”

Zoe raises her hand. “I’m in,” she says. “Hey Heath -- Meathead’s checking you out.”

Heather tries a casual glance across the yard at Matt. They exchange smiles, and then Heather looks away, her face flushing three shades of red.

“I saw that,” Tyler says. “Did you see that?”

“I did,” Julie agrees. “Serious sparkage.”

Zoe yawns. “Violins played. The earth stood still.”

“It’s Matthew, not Meathead,” Heather says, rolling her eyes. “And I don’t know what y’all are talking about.”

Julie leans across the table. “You should go say hi. Seriously.”

Heather gives an uncomfortable shrug. “I couldn’t.”

Zoe lets out a loud frustrated sigh -- “You couldn’t. I sure as hell can.” -- and stands up, dusting off her rump.

“Zoe!” Heather pleads, but it’s too late. She’s already headed across the grass toward Matt and the guys.


Matt’s meaty friend, Kev, spirals the ball across the yard -- and Heather intercepts. She spins around and laterals it back to Matt.

“Nice catch,” he says, lobbing the ball off to one of the guys.

“Well, you made a pass at me, thought I’d toss one back.”

Matt cracks a smile. Anyone who knew us would see Zoe in Heather’s eyes and in her self-confident swagger, but Matt sees only the girl from his psychology class.

“Midnight Friday,” Heather says. “Buffy sing-along at the student center. Wanna come?”

“A what?

“They show the Buffy musical. People dress up, sing the parts.”

“The vampire thing?” Matt asks. “Didn’t know it was a musical.”

“You’d make a killer Spike,” Heather lies. Spike is the scrappy bleach-blond vampire from the TV show. Matt is taller, better built.

“Sorry,” Matt says, catching the ball and sending it flying again. “The Taus are having a kegger Friday. Live band. Jell-O shots. You should come.”

“It’s tempting,” Heather says without any real enthusiasm. “Ask me again when I’m twenty-one.”

She starts backing away. “Change your mind, I’m in three sixteen Lyman Hall.” She flashes a smile and strides off.

Kev steps up beside Matt. “Nice ass,” he says, watching Heather walk away. “What’s her deal?”

“No deal,” Matt says. “Had a question about psychology homework.”

“Yeah?” It’s one of those yeah’s that’s laced with meaning. Something along the line of “If you’re not interested, mind if I take a shot at her?”

Matt chuckles and claps him on the shoulder. “Not your type, man. Not your type.”

“Dunno,” Kev replies, glancing back at Heather. “Looks to me like she’s got a pulse.”


Back at the table, Zoe rejoins Heather, B.J. and Tyler.

“Oh my God!” Heather says. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Well?” Tyler asks.

Zoe shrugs nonchalantly. “He asked us out. We declined.”

“You what?”

“He’s Tau Kappa Beta.”

“So?”

“T.K.B? Tappa kegga brew?” Zoe sounds incredulous. “C’mon guys. Drinking’s for losers.” It also messes with our control mechanisms and we wind up doing stupid stuff we later regret.

Zoe glances around. “Where’d Julie go?” she asks, changing the subject.

“She had class,” Tyler replies.

“No she didn’t.” B.J. pops another jelly bean into her mouth. “We freak her out.”

“Hey, Squirt?” Tyler says, sounding more patronizing than he probably intends. “She’s trying. Give her a chance.”



"I gave her a chance, Ty.” Julie’s voice is frustrated and a bit whiney.

It’s late in the afternoon. The sun has dipped down below the line of trees to the west. Tyler and Julie walk in shadow towards south campus. “She weirds me out. Heather, Zoe, B.J., Suzanne -- I need subtitles.”

“Just be yourself,” Tyler says, his voice soft and soothing. “After a while you start picking it up. Like if she’s speaking French -- Suzanne.”

Julie stops, pouting. “Ty --”

“Come with us Friday,” Tyler says, placing his hand on her arm. “Heather doesn’t even like Buffy. It’ll be you, me and Zoe. Nothing to keep up with, I promise.”

Julie sighs. She takes his arm in hers and leans against him as they walk on.