She stood there, panting harshly in the darkness, waiting for Maureen to wake up and ask what in the hell was going on. When she didn’t, Carrie slid out of her robe and stripped off her wet socks, shoving them shamefully under the bed before climbing into it and hiding under the covers, hoping morning would never come.
* * * *
Carrie hated working in the cafeteria. Nothing screamed “I’m poor!” more than serving her classmates food every day. But she was poor. And they all had wealthy parents. Hell, they all had parents. That was more than she had.
“Where’s Juliana?” Carrie poked her head out of the kitchen to see her staff sitting at a table together eating Frosted Flakes and scrambled eggs. She’d been the student manager since her freshman year.
“Sick,” was the reply someone mumbled through a mouthful of granola and Carrie rolled her eyes. Sick, translated in college-speak, meant hungover. Great. She was going to have to work the register.
It wasn’t that it was a hard job-it was actually the easiest job description in the world. You just had to sit there and run cards through the machine. Still, she hated it.
She hated the way they looked at her. Maybe she imagined the looks of pity, but it was the glassy not-there looks that bothered her the most. She was invisible, other, not a part of them.
At least it was mindless. She opened the doors when her staff had cleared their dishes and moved off to their stations. There was a power in that, seeing her hungry classmates lined up outside the locked glass doors, waiting to be let in. Still, it felt hollow, and it was.
Carrie sat and ran the first glut of cards as quickly as she could, the line backing up behind her, the chatter inane. And still, she envied them. She wanted to stand in line, too, oblivious to the concerns of the service worker sliding her I.D. through the card reader as she talked with her friends and worried about her finals.
Well, she was worried about her finals-but she was always worried about her grades. She’d lose her scholarship if she didn’t, and in spite of Maureen’s urging, she often turned down invitations to go out with the gang on a Friday or Saturday night because she had to study.
Two more weeks, she told herself, running another card through the reader and handing it back without even looking. At least the summer semester was slower than most. There would be a two week break between the end of the summer and the beginning of fall term, and she usually dreaded that brief break, with nowhere to go, no home to go to, but this year Maureen had talked her into coming with her to Key West.
She’d been saving all year for the trip. And it was just one more year of school after that and she’d be free.
She reached for the next card-the line had thinned out now, and students were coming in sporadically-but it stuck fast in the hand holding it. Carrie looked up in surprise and felt her stomach drop when she saw was whose card it was. Her eyes moved up to meet his. He was smiling.
“Hi, Carrie.”
Stephen J. Baumgartner. That’s what it said on his card, she could see it printed next to the picture his thumb was half-covering.
“Uh, hi,” Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. Last night was a dream. That’s what she told herself when she’d turned off her alarm this morning and Maureen had pulled a pillow over her head as Carrie started getting ready to work the breakfast shift.
It was all a fuzzy dream through the haze of Friday night drinking-she hadn’t really slipped into the men’s bathroom downstairs and watched a guy jerking off in the shower.
Except here he was, and just seeing him standing next to her, wearing the unofficial campus uniform-jeans, a preppy Polo shirt and loafers-brought it all back in a rush. She’d seen him out of those clothes, and the image of him sprawled on the shower bench, his cock in hand, was burned into her memory like a brand.
“So…” He let the word dangle and she flushed, willing someone to come in the door behind him. He’d finally let his card go and she ran it through the machine, handing it back when the indicator light went from red to green. The picture on it was a good one-he was photogenic, apparently, his dark hair a curly mop, a mischievous, lop-sided grin on his tanned face. Who took a good school I.D. picture, for pete’s sake? No one! She had her eyes half-closed in hers, her honey-colored hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.
“There’s gonna be a frat party tonight in our dorm.” He took his card back, slipping it into his wallet.
So they were going to pretend nothing had happened. Okay, she could do that. It was a relief to at least have a direction. But why was he telling her about it?
“Yeah, I’m sure Maureen will be there.” That was all she could figure-he was interested in her roommate. Maureen never missed a frat party, finals be damned, 10
especially one so close to home. Of course, Maureen didn’t have to worry about her grades, either. Her parents hadn’t sent her to a small, prestigious New England school to get good grades-they’d sent her to find a suitable husband. And she’d already practically done that. As long as James and frat parties never crossed paths, Maureen was golden.
“What about you?” His smile was infectious and she had to fight the urge to smile back.
Instead, she shook her head. “Finals coming up.”
“So you’re gonna be all alone in your room studying all night?”
“I guess.” She shrugged.
“Want some company?” Damn that smile. She thought he couldn’t get any better-looking and then he went and smiled.
“I study better alone.” It was usually enough of a rebuff for most guys.
He leaned toward her, palms flat on the table she was sitting at, his gaze fixed on hers. “Could be more fun with a partner.”
Were they still talking about studying? She took a deep breath and looked away, behind him, where someone was coming in for breakfast. Thank god.
“I don’t need a study-buddy, but thanks for the offer,” she said, waving her hand dismissively as she reached past him to take an outstretched card.
“Ouch.” The guy who gave her the card-she didn’t know his name but recognized him by the bright red shock of hair on his head and a matching beard-
slapped Stephen on the back and grinned. He must have overheard. She gave him his 11
card back as he steered Stephen past her table, toward the cafeteria. “Come on, Doc, they don’t call her the Ice Queen for nothing!”
Carrie sat there, all the air sucked from her lungs. Ice Queen? Did they really call her that? It was so far from the truth it was almost funny, but she wasn’t laughing. In fact, she found herself on the verge of tears.
She heard laughter as the two of them got into line. Her face burned and her eyes stung. She just sat there, motionless, her breath stuck somewhere in her chest.
Ice Queen, am I? she thought, her eyes narrowing, her mouth drawing into a tight bow. We’ll see about that.
* * * *
Carrie was still wet from her shower-she always took a long, hot shower after a shift at work, even a breakfast one-wrapped in a towel and just sitting on the edge of her bed when Maureen came back from her morning class.
“James called,” Carrie informed her friend as Maureen tossed her books on her bed. “Wanted to know what you were doing tonight.”
“Spoilsport.” Maureen rolled her eyes. “Did you tell him we were going to the library?”
“Of course.” Carrie watched as Maureen headed for their little refrigerator to grab a soda. “Hey Mo?” Carrie used her pet name.
“Hmm?” Maureen pulled the tab on the soda and tossed it into the garbage, already gulping.
“Do you think I’m frigid?”
A sugary spray of Pepsi came out of Maureen’s mouth and she gasped, blinking her watery eyes and wiping her face with the back of her hand. “What?”
Carrie frowned, trying to make the quiver in her lower lip disappear. “Do they all really call me the Ice Queen?”
“Oh sweetie…” Maureen put her soda on the dresser and came over to sit next to Carrie on the edge of the bed. “It’s just something they say to make themselves feel better…I mean, you’re kind of cool with the guys, you know?” She slipped an arm around her friend’s waist, resting her dark, curly head against Carrie’s shoulder. “They just don’t know you like I do.”
“But they’re right.” Carrie sighed. “I am an Ice Queen.”