Among the Shadows: Part 1, Chapter 1
I heard the clacking sound of wheels on the pavement. My brain did not make the connection that the source of the sound was so near, so when I rounded the corner of the humanities building, I ran into him. Or rather, he ran into me. Skateboarded, to be more precise. Someone slammed into my body from the right. In that instant, we both fell to the pavement.
Somehow due to his propulsion and random luck, the skateboarder ended up on the ground first, and I landed on top of him. Having gotten my breath back, I hastily escaped the awkward pile by rolling off him and into a sitting position. Skateboard and other related collisions were not particularly uncommon on campus with the number of students (or number of students that don't watch where they're going), but this was the first time I had been in such an accident.
"Are you alright?" I asked without looking at him as I assessed my own injuries. He was the one who crashed into me, after all.
I felt a small twinge of pain in my left ankle. Glancing at it quickly, I breathed a sigh of relief that there was no blood, but since it could be a sprain, I touched it tenderly and swallowed in response to the renewed pain. I kept my eyes on my foot as I rotated it, trying to see any damage. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be a break.
A passing student had seen the crash and stopped to pick up my textbook, which had landed some distance away. I thanked him, even as I winced upon seeing the condition of my book. The cover bore a huge scratch, and a full third of the pages had been creased. I sighed as I tried to smooth out the pages. Casually looking over both of us, the boy deemed us fine before continuing on his way to wherever he was going.
"I'm fine," the skateboarder declared. Even though the guy had hit the pavement, he stood up, apparently unharmed. It could be male bravado, or maybe he really had escaped injury. Stranger things had happened. He hastily shoved his skateboard halfway into his backpack and swung the straps over his shoulders without bothering to close the bag.
Observing me fuss over my textbook, he said nervously, "I'm sorry, I did that. I'll buy you a replacement for this one."
From my position on the ground, I looked up at him. The nice guy was offering to buy a replacement. A lot of people would not offer something like that. While I would normally have liked a brand new replacement when a scumbag destroyed my belongings, classes were nearly over, and anyhow, the crash had been an accident.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "It's alright, the book is still functional." I thumbed through a chunk of pages to illustrate, watching sadly as the pages moved awkwardly. I was not happy with the situation, but I knew I would never use this book again once classes were over. The dozens of textbooks from previous classes were a testament to that dismal fact. They sat in a dust-covered plastic bin under my desk, providing a good foot rest.
Having noticed me rub my ankle, Nice Guy announced, "You're hurt." He bent down to my eye level and said, "Let me take you to the health clinic." Before I could protest, he scooped me up, textbook, book bag, and all.
I protested, "What are you doing? I'm fine, put me down!" I didn't exactly appreciate a complete stranger picking me up when it was unnecessary. My book bag was a single shoulder strap and across my body so the position was awkward. I squirmed a bit, but his arms were stronger than I expected, so I stopped trying to fight and finally studied the culprit. He was lucky that my classes were over for the day, or his escapade could have resulted in a girl screaming harassment.
The skateboarder had a bit of a dark goatee and a moustache, both carefully trimmed. His brown hair was cropped short in the back and sides, but the front bangs were long enough to hang over his forehead and eyes when he didn't have a free hand to brush it back. Behind those bangs, I saw blue eyes. The way this guy kept his facial hair indicated that he cared about the way he looked, so he had to have known I was admiring his face.
He had only walked a few steps, when he stopped and said, "Okay, after trying to make up for my super crash there, I'm not actually strong enough to carry you all the way. I'm going to have to put you down." He hastily added, "It's not because you're too heavy, I swear." Guys. It was a great attempt at machismo, but didn't pan out the way he wanted.
I nodded without acknowledging the possible insult or joke. I still felt some pain in my ankle, but as I insisted, not enough to warrant medical attention. Since the house where he lived was nearby, he suggested getting some ice on it, and I agreed. He seemed harmless enough, and he was carrying my things. I did keep pepper spray in my pocket to use against creeps, but my attraction to him was genuine, and the guy was trying to be nice.
When we got to the house, his roommates were engrossed in some Xbox game, shouting loudly at each other as they pretended not to notice our entrance. My benefactor gently guided me to his room and left. Subsequently, he returned with a hand towel full of loose ice and handed it to me. Only after doing so, he suddenly realized he had left the room a mess. His clothes lay on his desk and chair, and papers and textbooks were all over the floor. As he rushed around attempting to tidy up, I gingerly stepped over to his bed, which looked clean enough. I had seen similar rooms that belonged to both males and females. I placed the toweled ice against my ankle, even though I was already feeling better. Maybe it was just the ice.
In a few moments, he noticed where I was sitting. He stopped what he was doing, and introduced himself, "I'm Kyle, by the way." Kyle awkwardly held out his hand for a shake, "Usually I get to know a girl's name before inviting her to my bed, but..." He smiled down at me. I didn't see any guile in his face or demeanor. He seemed like a good guy, and I wanted to trust him. My ex-boyfriend, Paul, had broken up with me dissatisfied with the lack of night aerobics. Susie had dubbed him 'Pathetic Paul' for throwing away a good relationship. Even though he had initiated the breakup, I wasn't really too heartbroken over it. In retrospect, I knew that Paul and I would not have worked out in the long run.
"Alena," I said as I took his hand. His grip was firm and lingered just a bit longer than proper. "Just call me 'Lena'." I answered to both, of course, but nearly everyone, including my parents, used just 'Lena'.
"That name is derived from Helen, which means 'light'," he said. "Your parents must've taken one look on your beautiful face and seen how you light up their lives." I wondered if he had memorized a ton of popular girls' names just so he could have a conversation starter. Like I had never looked up my own name.
"And Kyle means 'pompous fool'," I replied without missing a beat. I didn't appreciate anyone assuming things about my parents. Picking up my things, I stood up and began taking the steps over the stuff on the floor. Once standing, I noticed that my ankle hardly hurt at all. Maybe it hadn't been a sprain after all.
Frowning, Kyle stepped back. He looked ashamed and rightly so. "Alright, that was lame," he acknowledged. "What else can I do horribly wrong?" He cracked his knuckles in a motion of nervousness.
Intrigued by his easy acceptance, I slowed my movements. My comment had been rather harsh. "Oh, so you're saying you can do worse," I replied. I made sure my tone was light-hearted. He hadn't intentionally annoyed me.
"Stay for dinner?" he asked, laughing nervously. "Then I can take you to the wrong place and make all the wrong jokes." His smile was contagious. Kyle may not have been the politest person I'd ever met, but he was trying so hard to be suave, it made me laugh. I didn't think he had been particularly 'wrong' exactly, but so far he hadn't been totally 'right'. That he knew his actions and outcomes were not ideal suggested that he knew he could do better. I agreed to stay for dinner.
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