The Other Girl

Chapter IX

My first was Lester Breuer, a British transfer with a delectable accent that spent the last two years of high school in the states before graduating to the prestigious Oxford University.

"Needed a little time away from mum and dad," he had explained, running his fingers backwards through his dark brown hair. "What better place than a boarding school?"

All the girls had fawned over the new hottie on campus that was immediately sorted into Calum's table, myself included. Stacey was perhaps the biggest fan at our table, only recently introduced to the glorious world of British boy bands, although the rage died down when he made his interest in me apparent when he sat down next to me one day at lunch.

"I heard you're not taken, Reyes," he had told me that lunch, waving his table over, "so I hope you won't mind me trying my luck."

And so it went until Valentine's Day during junior year when I finally caved in and answered "yes" at last. It wasn't fireworks or roses blooming anew—in fact it may have been one of my worst nights, excluding heads-over-heels-drunk fiascos. I stayed away from the subject for a few weeks, disillusioned about the magical process that everyone seemed so enamoured with until I agreed to give it another shot— a experience so different that you'd think I was probably drunk out of my mind the second time, which may have been the case.

Lester and I never officially dated although we did go to the odd movie here and there and a few embarrassingly awkward—but memorable—double-dates interspersed by steamy sex. When his acceptance to Oxford arrived in the mail, it was the beginning of the end of what never began and never will. Neither of us were particularly sad— there was nothing to be sad about when he was the campus player and I was the pretty face that only dated the worthy.

The two of us are still connected on social media, chatting each other up now and then to reminiscence about the past or whine about the present or just find someone to listen—to sit through our complaints, absorbed like it was the first time they ever saw something so beautiful, so amazing. Every Valentine's Day we text each other the first words on our firsts— first awkward exchanges on the first date that was mostly comprised of throat-clearing and water-drinking, my embarrassingly innocent questions and his equally embarrassing answers on my first, and our firsts words to each other—spoken right before math class on the wednesday of his arrival:

"Breath-takingly beautiful blonde with emerald eyes— wait, let me guess— Stella Reyes?"

"Sexy Brit with dark chocolate hair and hazel-green eyes— wait, don't tell me— Lester Breuer?"

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"Have I mentioned that you look gorgeous?" Jordan said yet again, taking a sip of his champagne, his grey eyes never leaving mine.

"Yes—multiple times," I told him smiling faintly. "And you've definitely had too much champagne."

"I can handle my liquor," he said, grinning. "You don't actually think that a cup or two of this can knock me out?"

"'Course not," I replied, looking around the room. Karen, Whitney, and Quinn were intermingled in the crowd, chatting with some guests by the living room; Tim and Hunter were making last-minute calls about the dinner and a DJ for the dance; Stacey and Chad were center high up on their thrones in the middle of the balcony of the imperial staircase, a fitting name for the elegant twin-flight design.

The party had begun nearly twenty minutes ago yet Calum was still nowhere to be seen. He had always been the punctual kind of person, arriving on the dot, so I was beginning to worry that something may have happened.